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The Living age ... / Volume 173, Issue 2232 [an electronic edition] Creation of machine-readable edition. Cornell University Library 834 page images in volume Cornell University Library Ithaca, NY 1999 ABR0102-0173 /moa/livn/livn0173/

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The Living age ... / Volume 173, Issue 2232 Littell's living age Every Saturday; a journal of choice reading Eclectic magazine The Living age co. inc. etc. New York etc. April 2, 1887 0173 2232
The Living age ... / Volume 173, Issue 2232, miscellaneous front pages i-viii

LITTE LLS LIVING AGE. E PLURJEUS UNUM. These publications of the day should from time to time be winnowed, the wheat carefully preserved, and the chaff thrown away. Made up of every creatures best. Various, that the mind Of desultory man, studious of change And pleased with novelty, may be indulged. FIFTH SERIES, VOLUME LVIII. FROM THE BEGINNING, VOL CLXXIII. APRIL, MA 1, ?UATE, 1887. BOSTON: LITTELL AND CO. z L79~ ~ ~7;A4j TABLE OF THE PRINCIPAL CONTENTS OF THE LIVING AGE, VOLUME CLXXIII. THE FIFTY-EIGHTH QUARTERLY VOLUME OF THE FIFTH SERIES. APRIL, MAY, JUNE, 1887. QUARTERLY REVIEW. Naucratis and the Greeks in Ancient Egypt, 3 The Nonjurors 771 LONDON QUARTERLY REVIEW. St. Francis of Assisi, - - - .~ 515 CONTEMPORARY REVIEW. Transylvanian Peoples 131 The Decline and Fall of Dr. Faustus, . Contemporary Life and Thought in France 220 The Day after To-morrow, - . . 307 The Call of Savonarola, . - . - 433 The Imaginative Art of the Renais- sance 487 Some Notes on Colonial Zoology, - 707 Victorian Literature 803 FORTNIGHTLY REVIEW. Valentine Visconti, - - - 41, 349 The Present Position of European Politics, - - - 67, 323, 643 French Aggression in Madagascar, - 236 History in Punch 284 A Visit to Japan 614 Nature and Books 723 NINETEENTH CENTURY. The Trials of a Country Parson, - - 95 Mr. Gladstone on The Irish Demand, 167 England and Europe 387 The Ruin of Aurangzeb; or the History of a Reaction,.... 537 German Life in London, - - - 671 CHURCH QUARTERLY REVIEW. The Empress Eudocia,.... NATIONAL REVIEW. The Military Frontier of France, - India and Thibet Personification of the Mysterious amongst the Modern Greeks, - . - Madame de Maintenon On the Direct Influence over Style in Poetry of the other Fine Arts, - BLACKWOODS MAGAZINE. Revelations from Patmos, Recollections of Kaiser Wilhelm, GENTLEMANS MAGAZIN~. The Maid of Norway, - - At Bosig ~ CORNEILL MAGAZINE. Our L t Royal Jubilee, - - 243 - 752 - 365 .695 - 761 MACMILLANS MAGAZINE. Perugia, 49 Persia 420 William Hazlitt 473 The Earthquake in London, - . - 564 Het; a Romance of the Bush, . . 680 Duke Carl of Rosenmold, . . - 743 TEMPLE BAR. Lord George Gordon and the Riots of 1780 153 Memories of Undergraduate Life at Trinity Forty Years Ago, - - 600 The Pilgrims, 66o Peacock 68~ GOOD WORDS. Major and Minor, . . . 291, 547, 786 LEISURE HouR. Recollections of the Princess Victoria, - 377 LONGMANS MAGAZINE. The Oven Islands, - - Pastoral 442 ENGLISH ILLUSTRATED MAGAZINE. 451 A Secret Inheritance, . 20, 338, 525, 812 MURRAYS MAGAZINE. A Terrible Night 107 Major Lawrence, F L. S., 203, 269, 397, 462, 589 Brother Peter 714 Benaboo 737 Burmas Ruby Mines, . . . - 756 In 33 259 370 408 579 Iv SPECTATOL An Old French HQWSe,. The Sufferings of ~the Cltrgy, The Moated Grang~, . The German Empe*,.... A Book about Dickens, Word-Twisting versus Nonsense, Jewish Pauperism, . The Permanence of Natjonal Character, Spring Lord Derby on the Blind, - - The Wealth of the London Jews, - The Colonial Policy of Italy, - Literature and Action The Gwalior Find, - - - The Foreigners in England, - SATURDAY REVIEW. The Fawcett Memorial, Incidents of the Earthquake, Central-Asian Asparagus, - PALL MALL GAZETTE. The Burial of the Jews of Spitalfields, Mr. Ruskins Publishers, - Off with his Head, - - S-v. JAMESS GAZETTE. Snowstorms on the Hills, - - - The Sign-Language of Eastern Traders, My Niece Educational Nurseries A Pauper Training-Ship, - - Greek and Turk in Asia Minor, - The Egyptian Oil-Wells, (~0JTEN~ 312 317 375 379 505 509 510 572 632 636 638 764 822 63 121 640 6i 250 703 6o 316 445 447 507 574 766 CHAMBERS JOURNAL ~R~ha.r4 Cable, the Lightshipman, 3~, 87, 178, 233, 357, 429, 483, 607, 730 An Unintentional Trip to North Bemini, 5~ Jubilee Years 123 The Fight at Trinkatat, - - - 187 Novel Announcements, . - - The Queens Coronation, - - - 6z8 ALL THE YEAR ROUND. A Brush with Chinese Pirates, - The Shepherd of the Salt Lake, 53 - 142 ATHENAUM. An Evening with Carlyle, . - 381 NATURE. Homeric Astronomy, . . . 500, 569 Christmas Island 635 TIMES. Mr. Rider Haggard and his Critics, - 575 MORNING POST. A Result of Education inIndia, - - 702 STANDARD. Planetary Influences, - - MayDayasitisandwas, - MEDICAL PRESS. Sudden Changes of Temperature,. FIELD. A Days Boar-hunting in Bengal, - 314 - 701 - 63 767 INDEX TO VOLUME CLXXIII. AUSTRO-HUNGARY, Astronomy, Homeric Aurangzeb, The Ruin of Asia Minor, Greek and Turk in Action and Literature Asparagus, Central-Asian BEMINI, North, An Unintentional Trip to Blind, the, Lord Derby on Bosig, At Brother Peter Books and Nature, . Benaboo Burmas Ruby Mines Boar-hunting in Bengal CLERGY, the, The Sufferings of Carlyle, An Evening with Coronation, The Queens Christmas Islands, . Chinese Executioners, An Interview with Carl, Duke of Rosenmold, DAY, The, after To.morrow,. Dickens, A Book about Derby, Lord, on the Blind, EGYPT, Ancient, The Greeks in Earthquake, the, Incidents of European Politics, The Present Posi tion of. . 67, 323, England and Europe Educational Nurseries Eudocia, The Empress. Earthquake, The, in London, Education, A Result of, in India,. Egyptian Oil-Wells, The England, Foreigners in. FRANCE, The Military Frontier of French House, An Old. . . 58, Fawcett Memorial, The Fight, The, at Trinkatat, Faustus, Dr., The Decline and Fall of. France, Contemporary Life and Thought in French Aggression in Madagascar, Francis, St., of Assisi Foreigners in England 323 500, 569 537 574 638 640 714 723 737 756 766 126 381 628 635 703 743 307 375 572 3 121 643 387 447 702 766 822 33 I 19 63 187 95 220 236 GREEKS, The, in Ancient Egypt, - . 3 Gordon, Lord George, and the Riots of 1780 153 Gladstone, Mr., on the Irish De- mand, 167 German Emperor, The . . . . 317 Greeks, the Modern, Personification of the Mysterious amongst . . 370 Greek and Turk in Asia Minor, . . 574 German Life in London, . . . 671 Gwalior Find, The . . . . 764 HISTORY in Punch 284 Hazlitt, William 473 Homeric Astronomy, . 500, 569 Haggard, Rider, and his Critics, . . 575 Het; a Romance of the Bush, . . 68o IRISH Demand, the, Mr. Gladstone on 167 India and Thibet, . . 259 Italy, The Colonial Policy of 636 Italy, 643 India, A Result of Education in - . 702 JEWS, the, of Spitalfields, The Burial of Jubilee Years 123 Jewish Pauperism, . Japan, A Visit to 614 Jews, the London, Wealth of . . 632 Jubilee, Our Last Royal . . . 761 LITERATURE and Action, . . 638 London, German Life in . . . 671 Literature, Victorian . . . . 803 MAJOR Lawrence, F.L.S., 203, 269, 397, 462, 589 Madagascar 236 Major and Minor, . . . 291, 547, 7S6 Moated Grange, The . . . . 312 Mysterious, the, Personification of, amongst the Modern Greeks, . 370 Maintenon, Madame de . . . 408 May Day as it is and was, . . . 701 NAUCRATIS and the Greeks in Ancient Egypt, 3 Novel Announcements 190 Norway, The Maid of,. . . . 365 V VI Niece, My 445 Nurseries, Educational. - 447 National Character, The Permanence of 509 Nature and Books 723 Nonjurors, The 77 OVEN Islands, The . i8i Off with his Head, 703 Oil-Wells, The Egyptian . 766 PERTJGIA 49 Pirates, Chinese, A Brush with Present Position of European Politics, 323, 643 Parson, a Country, The Trials of - 95 Patmos, Revelations from 243 Punch, History in 284 Planetary Influences 314 Passover, The, at Jerusalem, - 319 Persia 420 Pastoral 442 Pauper Training-Ship, A 507 Permanence, The, of National Charac- ter 509 Poetry, Direct Influence over Style in, of the other Fine Arts, - 579 Pilgrims, The 66o Peacock 68~ RICHARD Cable, the Lightshipman, 37, 87 179, 233, 357, 429, 483, 607, 730 APRIL By the River, Belfry Tower, On the Baptistry, In the, Westminster Bronte, Emily . - Boast not of To-morrow, - Chaffinch, My . Canary Bird, Our . - Church, Alfred J.,To Down by the Shore, Ebb of Love, The. Echoes Forth Forster, W. E., In Memoriam Hyacinth, To a, in an April Storm, In Memoriam Jack Frost Journey, A Marston, Philip Bourke, - March Meadows March Blossoms Moon-Thirst INDEX. Russia 67 Ruskins Publishers, 250 Renaissance, the, The Imaginative Art of 487 Rosenmold, Duke Carl of . . . 743 Ruby Mines, Burmas - . . . 756 SECRET Inheritance, A . 20, 338, 525, 812 Snowstorms on the Hills, . . . 60 Shepherd, The, of the Salt Lake,. - 142 Sign-Language, The, of Eastern Traders, 316 Savonarola, The Call of - - 433 Spring 510 TEMPERATURE, Sudden Changes of 63 Terrible Night, A 107 Transylv~mian Peoples, - 131 Thibet and India 259 Turk and Greek in Asia Minor, . . 574 Trinity College, Cambridge, Forty Years Ago VIscoNTI, Valentine . . . 41, 349 Victoria, the Princess, Recollections of 377 Victorian Literature 803 WoRn-TwIsTING versus Nonseiise, . 379 Wilhelm, Kaiser, Recollections of . 752 ZOOLOGY, Colonial, Some Notes on . 707 POETRY. 258, 450 Abbey,. 2 94 706 - 322 - 642 - 770 2 770 770 - 450 - 450 - 450 514 66 706 2, 66 .66 194 - ~770 Nocturne, A Nature Penetralia Only a Week, Other Side, The Psalm of Life, A Pick, The, of the Whelps, - - Peace Politician, The Old - - Poets, Two Plymouth Harbor Sunday, - Rainless April, A Spring, In the Sunset, At Some other Time Spring and the Heart Song Two Days To-morrow We Two Wood, A, in Spring With Struggle, Strength, - Would thy warm heart were human, too. . - . - 66 706 66 514 130 258 642 770 578 130 322 642 2 94 130 578 706 706. INDEX. VII T ALES. BROTHER Peter 714 Pilgrims, The 66o Fight, The, at Trinkatat, . . . i8~ Richard Cable, the Lightshipman, 37, 87, Het; a Romance of the Bush, . . ~ 233, 357, 429, 483, 607, 730 Secret Inheritance, A . 20, 338, 525, 812 Major Lawrence, F.L.S., 203, 269, 397, 462, Shepherd, The, of the Salt Lake,. . 142 589 Major and Minor, . . . 291, 547, 786 Terrible Night, A ro~ p 4;

The Living age ... / Volume 173, Issue 2232 1-64

LITTELLS LIVING AGE. Fifth Series, No. 2232. April 2, 1887. 5 From Begimamg, Volume LVIII. 4 Vol. CLXXIII. CONTENTS. I. NAUCRATIS AND THE GREEKS IN ANCIENT EGYPT II. A SECRET INHERITANCE By B. L. Far- jeon. Part VI. III. THE MILITARY FRONTIER OF FRANCE, IV. RICHARD CABLE, THE LIGHTSHIPMAN. Part VI. V. VALENTINE VIsCoNrI, . VI. PERUGIA VII. A BRUSH WITH CHINESE PIRATES, VIII. AN UNINTENTIONAL TRIP TO NORTH BEMINI IX. AN OLD FRENCH HOUSE X. SNOWSTORMS ON THE HILLS, XI. THE BURIAL OF THE JEWS OF SPITAL- FIELDS XII. SUDDEN CHANGES OF TEMPERATURE, XIII. THE FAWCETT MEMORIAL, Quarterly Review, English Illustrated Magazine, Nat:~mal Review, Chambers ~ournal, Fortn:~htly Review, Macmillans Magazine, All The Year Round, Chambers Journal, Spectator, St. ~arness Gazette, Pall Mall Gazette, Medical Press, Saturday Review,. POETRY. 2 j PHILIP BOURKE MARSTON, 2 I DOWN BY THE SHORE,. Two DAYS, BY THE RIVER, MISCELLANY, PUBLISHED EVERY SATURDAY BY LIT TELL & 00., BOSTON. TERMS OF SUBSCRIPTION. For EIGHT DOLLARS, remitted directly to the Publishers, the LIVING AGE will be punctually forwarded for a year,free of#ostage. Remittances should be made by bank draft or check, or by post-office money-order, if possible. If neither of these can be procured, the money 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 & Co. -. Single Numbers of THE LIVING AGE, s8 cents. .3 20 33 37 4 49 53 55 .6o 61 63 63 2 2 64 2 TWO DAYS, ETC. TWO DAYS. SOMEWHERE in that strange land we call the Past, Where each of us has laid his treasures by, My heart has set one day whose light shall last When all youths golden years forgotten lie. Ever across my life it shines afar, As through a storm-tossed sky one glorious star. One day struck sudden midst the whirling years Into the perfect calm of Paradise; One day when life, set free from doubts and fears, Lay love-lit under shining summer skies, When I my hearts mad hoping dared confess, And found a heaven in my ladys yes. The clouds roll back; the gentle wind that sighs Low through the branches has her voices tone; Her eyes look in sweet answer to my eyes; Once more I feel her hand within my own. Let Fortune spoil my treasures as she will, That one bright memory is with me still. Somewhere within that unknown shadowy land We call the Future, waiteth me a day When I shall hold again my ladys hand, And listen low to hear what she will say. Ah, Love! that day must dawn for us at last, When all our weary waiting shall be past. Chambers Journal. D. J. ROBERTSON. BY THE RIVER. WE met at morning by the willowd river, Long years ago, when both our hearts were young. We met to watch the lights and shadows quiver, And listen to the song the waters sung. But deeper than the music of its flowing, The tide of love flowed on from mind to mind; While overhead the elder blooms were blow- ing, And dewy fragrance filled the wooing wind. We stand beside the waters of the river, But now the moaning of the sea is near. Far off the beacons mid the dimness quiver, And rolling breakers fill our hearts with fear. No longer choristers of morning greet us, Or blossoms of the May-time droop above; But shadows of the twilight rise to meet us, And cloud the golden harvesting of love. Ah! listen to the rushing of the river Towards its haven in the restless sea, While like a leaf upon its tide forever Our life flows onward to Eternity. -. Oh, mid its eager tumult and commotion, The whirl of waters, and the dash of foam, May Love, the beacon, shining oer the ocean. Lead us together to our Fathers home! Chambers Journal. ARTHUR L. SALMON. PHILIP BOURKE MARSTON. THE shorn lamb shivers, but the woolly sheep Feeds on and fattens thro the untempered storms. Felt thro a curly fleece, the east wind warms, While far away shines heaven: an azure steep. We loved thee, Philip, but we could not keep The wind away, nor quell the pitiless harms Such sorrow fans from hell. We had no charms For those blind eyes that lived, but lived to weep. Yea, weak to heal is Love; but Death is strdng, Balming the sorest heart that travaileth, As under bloody wheels of Jaganneth Even such a heart as thine even such a wrong; Soother of sorrow is he whose deathless song Keeps all the choral spheres revolving Death! Athen~um. THEODORE WATTS. DOWN BY THE SHORE. DOWN by the shore at morning Wearily moans the sea; The brown wrack clings to the bare grey rocks, And the wind sighs drearily. The mist creeps over the waters From windward on to the lee, Wrapping the ships in its cold embrace Sadly and silently. Down by the shore at evening The mists are rolling away In long white wreaths, on the solemn hills That shelter the lonely bay. Bright with a rare effulgence, The golden clouds are furled, And the faint blue peaks oer the distant sea Seem the dream of another world. Down by the sea of sorrow The mists lay cold and grey, And never a glimpse of the gracious sun Broke through the gloom that day. But the clouds were rolled together, Just ere the daylight died, And we saw the land of Beulah smile In the light of eventide. Sunday Magazine. 3. M. DUNMORE. NAUCRATIS AND THE GREEKS IN ANCIENT EGYPT. 3 From The Quarterly Review. tian era is the subject of a notable con- NAUCRATIS AND THE GREEKS IN troversy. On the walls of the temple at ANCIENT EGYPT.* Medinet Habu is painted a wonderful IT has more than once fallen to us to record of invasions of Egypt by great al- draw attention to discoveries, throwing lied armies coming from the north, a much light on ancient Greek history and record which for completeness and vigor manners, made on the soil of Greece by is surpassed only by the memorable tap- Dr. Schliemann and other German exca- vators. It is with still greater satisfac- estry of Bayeux which records the Nor- man invasion of England. But the fate tion that we have at present to record the of Egypts invaders was not that of the results of successful excavations, made Normans; they are said to have been de- mostly by Englishmen, which are of not feated successively by the warlike Pha- less interest to lovers of Greek history raohs Menephthah II. and Rameses III., and literature, though made not in Greek and either slain or reduced to slavery. Of lands but in Egypt. their ships, their arms, and their ethno- During the four years which have logical character, the wall-paintings give elapsed since the bombardment of Alex- us a vivid representation, and their na- andria by the English fieet, learned exca- tionalities are reported in the hieroglyphic vators, equipped by the Egypt Explora- text which runs with the scenes of con- tion Fund, have been at work in the Delta; flict and triumph. Nevertheless the best and from their labors important discover- authorities are not agreed as td who the les have resulted in both Biblical and invadincr arm classical geography. M. Naville has de- b ies were and whence they termined the position of Pithom- Succoth, came. There is no doubt that their main force consisted of Libyans, but with the the first station of the Jewish Exodus, as Libyans came as allies other races, Pu- well as of the capital of the Land of Go- losata, Tekkari, Danaji, Shardana, Leku, shen. Mr. Petrie has identified the palace Turisha, and Akaiuasha. Wiedemann of Pharaoh at Tahpanhes, a spot very considers that all these races dwelt near notable in the story of the later Jewish the frontiers of Egypt; Brugsch identi- captivity; and has further discovered and fies them with the peoples of Asia Minor, excavated, with the help of Mr. Ernest the Teucri, Lycians, Sardians, and the Gardner, the site of Naucratis, the meet- like; while Chabas and Maspero incline ing-point in the seventh century, B.C., of to spread them over a still wider area, Egyptian and Greek, and the fulcrum by and regard the invading army as a great which the enterprising Hellenic race confederacy drawn from the northern and brought the power of their arms and of eastern shores of the iEgean Sea by the their wits to bear on the most ancient and hope of conquest and plunder. Certainly venerable empire in the world. We must the theory that the contingents called leave it to others to speak of the gains those of the Danaji and Akaiuasha con- thus resulting to Biblical archa~ology; our sisted of Danaans and Ach~ans, and so of intention is to sketch, in the light of the men of Hellenic race, is very tempting, newly discovered facts, the relations be- and is as yet by no means disproved. tween the ancient Greeks and Egyptians But whether the Greekstook part in the down to the final establishment of a Greek invasions of Egypt in the thirteenth cen- dynasty in Egypt. tury or not, it is interesting to find that Whether the first contact between Egyp- such great expeditions were not unknown tian and Greek can be traced so far back at that early period in the Mediterranean. as the thirteenth century before the Chris- That the Greeks would not be behind * z. Naukralis; Part 1., 1884-5; the third Memoir other peoples in organizing them we may of the Egypt Exploration Fund. By W. M. Flinders be sure from our own knowledcre of the Petrie; with chapters hy Cecil Smith, Ernest Gardner, Greek character. And tradition lends and Barclay V. Head. London, s886. ample countenance to this conviction. 2. Gesckich/e Aegyj5~ens, von Psamme/ick I. dis auf Alexander den Grossen. von Dr. Alfred Wiede- The two sieoe s of Ilium, the two expedi- b mann. Leipzig, x58o. tions against Thebes, certainly had his- 4 NAUCRATIS AND THE GREEKS IN ANCIENT EGYPT. torical prototypes, and the Argonautic expedition is a reflection in the mirage of tradition of many a voyage of banded heroes or pirates sailing from the Greek ports in quest of plunder or adventure. Odysseus beguiled the divine swineherd Eum~us with a feigned story, how he had set sail from Crete with a pirate crew, and made a descent on the c.oast of Egypt; and how the king of the country, with many chariots, came out of the city, and put his companions to the sword, and car- ried himself away captive, just as Me- nephthah and Rameses slew and captured the invaders from the north. Nor would Homer have put such a tale into the mouth of Odysseus, unless it had been a tale of every-day life and plausible on the face of it. There were certain times in the course of their expansion when even Goths and Gauls, though not maritime peoples, organized great expeditions by sea; swarming times when, like colonies of those most political animals, ants and bees, they wandered out boldly in search of new seats; but we cannot think that a people so naturally fond of the sea as the Greeks would at any time in their history be unable or unwilling to swarm in search of new lands or in order to escape over- population at home. But in any case, military or piratical expeditions would not bring the Greeks into real contact with the art, the civiliza- tion, and the politics of the Egyptians ; to be fruitful, intercourse between nations must be peaceful and leisurely. Most of us are familiar with the de- lightful tale of Herodotus which narrates how Psammitichus, one of the chiefs among whom Egypt was divided in the middle of the seventh century B.C., became an object of suspicion to his neighbors, and how they cfrove him out as an exile into the Delta; how an oracle informed him that he should be set on the throne of Egypt by bronze men from the sea, and how these bronze auxiliaries appeared in the persons of lonian and Carian sea-far- ers clad in armor, who did really win for the exile a way to the throne of the Pha- raohs. And however much the critical writers of the new school, such as Wiede- mann, and Sayce, and Busolt, may warn us against the moralizing tendencies and im- perfect information of Herodotus, men will always find a difficulty in doubting the truth of his stories. For ourselves, we are often disposed to take the part of He- rodotus against modern criticism, which is apt to err through supposing that people in ancient days always acted reasonably, and valued motives according to the scale of Bentham. Even Wiedemann, though possessed of admirable judgment, is inclined to reject these stories of He- rodotus in which oracular responses play a leading part, and we cannot think that he is justified in so doing; with moderns, reasons of State would outweigh the worth of an oracular response; but we know for certain that among the less advanced of the Greeks, such as Laced~emonians and Megan ans, oracular advice would out- weigh any reasons of expediency, and there seems every reason to suppose that the same frame of mind would prevail in the barbarian kings, who at the dawning of Greek history had learned to value the advice of the Hellenic Zeus and Apollo as delivered at their oracles. We know, indeed, from monumental evidence * that Psammitichus reigned as colleague of the last Ethiopian king of Egypt, Nut-Amen, and presumably suc- ceeded him, but it can scarcely be doubted that he had great difficulty in making his nominal supremacy real. Whether he was led by an oracle, or by any other in- ducement, to seek the friendship of the Greeks and Carians, we are justified by a passage in Strabo in supposing that the Milesians were among his most important allies. Strabo says that in the time of Psammitichus, whom he rightly states to have been contemporary with Cyaxares the Mede, the Milesians sailed with thirty ships into the Bolbitine mouth of the Nile, and erected a small fortress; and that after~vards they sailed up to the Saitic nome, and vanquished in a sea-fight oneC mar05, after which they founded Nau- cratis. Now the only Inaros mentioned in history is the Libyan king, who about B.C. 460 tried to wrest Egypt from the * Wiedemann, Aegyptische Geschichte, (5884) p. ~ A stone at Boolak bears side by side tbe ear- toucbes of Nut-Amen and of Psammitichus I. NAUCRATIS AND THE GREEKS IN ANCIENT EGYPT. 5 Persians. But he was an ally, not an ene- my of the Greeks, and in his days Miletus existed only in ruins; it is therefore cer- tain that the Inaros whom the Milesians vanquished must have been a different ruler. As he does not appear in the Egyptian dynastic lists, we may be almost sure that he was a chief at the time of disintegration which preceded the final establishment of Psamrnitichus, when a multitude of petty potentates divided among them the land of the Pharaohs. Doubtless he was one of the rivals whom the Greek and Carian allies of Psammiti- chus put down for him. Far from think- ing, with Mr. Petrie, that this passage of Strabo is to be set aside as useless, we regard it as the simplest and strongest testimony as to the date of the earliest Greek settlement in Egypt. If with Wiedemann we fix the accession of Psam- mitichus at B. C. 664, we shall regard the building of the Milesian fortress as hav- ing taken place before B. C. 6~o, and the first settlement of Naucratis as dating from about B. c. 66o. This is the time assigned by Herodotus and Strabo for the earliest intercourse between Egypt and Hellas. And that this was the beginning of Greek knowl- edge of the Nile country, is fully confirmed by all the arch~ological evidence which bears upon the matter, both the negative evidence and the positive. When Egypt became accessible to Greek travellers, they crowded to behold its wonders, and we can easily understand how the vast size and venerable antiquity of the buildings of the Pharaohs would overpower the lively imaginations of the visitors, and how the fixity and order of Egyptian society would impress them. We moderns can see that a Greek in Memphis or Thebes as much represented a higher race and a nobler order of ideas, as a Spaniard in Mexico, or an English- man in Canton. With him lay the future, with the Egyptians only the past; while they were sinking into decay, he was just starting on his great career as master for all time in science and art. But in the seventh century before our era this was not so clear as it is now. The Greeks called the Egyptians barbarians, but that term had not yet acquired the haughty meaning which filled it at a later date. So when the Egyptian priests dwelt on the antiquity of their civilization, and told the Greek travellers that in its presence they were like children before a venerable master, we cannot wonder that the stran. gers felt abashed. When Hecat~us of Miletus was rash enough to boast in the temple at Egyptian Thebes that his six- teenth ancestor was a god, the priests led him into an inner sanctuary, and showed him three hundred and forty-one statues of high-priests who had borne sway for life in successive generations, and told him that since that series began the gods had not walked the earth or begotten mortal men. Solon, wisest of the Greeks, is rep- resented in the Tim~us ~ of Plato as having been gently set down by an aged Egyptian priest: You Greeks, Solon, are ever boys, and there is no old man among you; you are young in mind, for you have no ancient belief handed down by long tradition, and no doctrine hoary with age. It is natural then that with minds thus cowed and overshadowed by the vast age of all they found in Egypt, the Greeks should have been ready to believe all that was told them by the priests as to the derivation of the Greek gods and Greek rites and customs from the land of the Pharaohs. Herodotus is entirely van- quished. The names of the gods came to Greece from Egypt. The Egyptians were earliest among men in introducing religious assemblies and processions and set prayers, and the Greeks learned of them. The customs I have mentioned and others which I shall mention here- after the Greeks took from the Egyptians. And later writers, such as Diodorus and Plutarch, speak in the same strain. They pass at once from a conviction of the greater antiquity of Egyptian civilization to a belief that the Greeks must have borrowed from the people of Egypt those cults and those customs which were alike in the two peoples. So long as the Egyptian language was unknown and the early history of the country lay in darkness, modern writers not unnaturally adopted this view; and 6 NAUCRATIS AND THE GREEKS IN ANCIENT EGYPT. the French savants, who accompanied to to copy all sorts of handiwork procured Egypt the army of Bonaparte, went with from the valley of the Nile. This is an eager expectation that they would find proved not only by the excavations in in the land of the Pyramids the source Greece, but by the results of Sir Henry alike of the religions and of the civiliza- Layards investigations at Nimrud, where tion of antiquity. They hoped to find the many Phenician bowls of Egyptizing style origin not only of the laws of Solon, but were found in the north-west palace, as also of those of Moses, and to prove that well as by the results of M. Renan s mis- the earliest civilization in the world was sion to Phenicia. also one of the wisest and most fruitful. What kind of an influence it was which, It is hardly necessary to say that the read- after the building of Naucratis, Egyptian ing of the hieroglyphic texts, combined civilization exercised upon Greek beliefs with the progress of the historical sci- and laws and arts, we shall presently con- ences, has put an end to all such sanguine sider; for the present we will resume the anticipations. We now know that, high thread of Egyptian history, which exhibits as ~vas the development of Egyptian civil- the other phase of the connection, the in- ization in certain directions, it was by no fluence of Greek character and valor on means the fertile mother of other civiliza- th~ political fortunes of the valley of the tions; rather, like that of China, a corn- Nile. plete and fully developed growth, but not Psammitichus made his birthplace, in the main line of human progress. All Sais, the capital of Egypt. All the coun- modern writers are agreed, that religious try had greatly suffered in the wars with cults and national customs are exactly the fierce and brutal Assyrians, and the what the Greeks did not borrow from ancient capitals Memphis. and Thebes Egypt, any more than the Hebrews bor- were greatly reduced; but this was not rowed thence their religion or the Phceni- the only reason for passing them by in cians their commerce. All are agreed favor of a site in the Delta. The fatal that, before the reign of Psammitichus step of calling in armed strangers corn- and the founding of Naucratis, Egypt was pelled Psammitichus, after becoming king, a sealed book to the Greeks. still to lean on their support. He at- Excavations such as those carried on in tracted to Egypt large bodies of Carian Greece, at Mycen~ and Menidi, fully con- and lonian mercenaries, and settled them firm this opinion. At these places, amid at Daphn~e, on the Pelusian branch of the the remains of prehistoric Greece, there Nile, a spot well chosen as an outpost has been found nothing to point to any against possible invasion from Asia. Here useful intercourse between Egypt and the new-comers occupied fortified camps Greece. A few objects have indeed been on both sides of the river. Herodotus discovered, which, if not the work of says that the king entrusted to them cer- Egyptian handicraftsmen, bear traces of tam Egyptian children to bring up, and their teaching; but arch~ologists, almost that these became the parents of the entire with one accord, agree to regard their caste of interpreters, who in the next age presence on Greek sites as due to the became the go-betweens between Greek commercial and manufacturing industry and Egyptian. If the mercenaries came, of the Ph~nicians, and to consider the as was probable, without wife or child, it is people of Tyre and Sidon as the sole likely that Egyptian women were assigned mediators between the manufactories of to them, and that a large number of half- Egypt and the shores of Greece in pre- breeds arose, of whom a separate caste historic times. It is likely that the Phce- would naturally be formed by the exclusive nicians, who were from time to time the and stranger-hating dwellers by the Nile; subjects of the Pharaohs, were admitted, indeed, we are inclined to interpret in this where aliens like the Greeks were ex- way the statement of Herodotus. Within cluded. We have indeed positive evi- the last few months Mr. Petrie has inves- dence that the Egyptians did not wish tigated Daphnx, and found the site of the r strange countries to learn their art, for in Greek camps, where weapons and horse- ~ a treaty between them and the Hittites it gear may still be found underground, to- is stipulated that neither country shall gether with a quantity of fragmentary early harbor fugitive artists from the other. Greek pottery, in the neighborhood of a But however the fact may be accounted palace proved by a cartouche found under for, it is an undoubted fact, that long be- the foundations to have been erected by fore Psammitichus threw Egypt open to Psammitichus. the foreigner, the Phenicians had studied As a patient in a dying state is some- in the school of Egyptian art, and learned times revived by the infusion of the blood NAUCRATIS AND THE GREEKS IN ANCIENT EGYPT. 7 of one in vigorous health, so Egypt seems at once to have recovered some prosperity under the new ruler with his new allies. Temples of the gods arose, or were re- stored, on all sides, as we learn from many a dedicatory inscription still preserved. And it is interesting to find in the art of the SaYte kings a marked new impulse. At this period, writes Wiedemann, in sculp- tured figures, the proportions of the body grow slimmer and more shapely, the mus- cles are worked out with greater natural- ism. The features of the face, even the hair, shows a treatment careful in the smallest detail, and in the modelling of the ear and nose especially we may discern the industry and talent of the artists. And the new impulse was not less visible in arms than in art. After securing Egypt from invasion, by fixing strong garrisons on its eastern, western, and southern bor- ders, Psammitichus marched with his na- tive army and his Greek allies into Syria. Ashdod was taken after a long siege, and inscriptions found at Aradus and Tyre prove that all Palestine fell at this time into the hands of the Pharaohs. But a still more powerful invader came from the north; the dreaded and destructive host of the Scythians poured down into Syria, burning and slaying like the Mongol hordes of later times. Psammitichus was fain to retire; he is said to have bought his safety with money, and perhaps, but for his castle of Daphn~, the plague of human locusts might have followed him to the banks of the Nile. According to Herodotus and Diodorus, the favor shown to the Greeks by the king was the cause of a great revolt of the na- tive Egyptian troops, who left the frontier fortresses, and marched south beyond Elephantine, where they settled, resisting all the entreaties of Psaminitichus, who naturally deplored the loss of the mainstay of his dominions, and developed into the race of the Sebrida~. Wiedemann, how- ever, rejects the whole story as unhistori- cal, and certainly, if we closely consider it, it contains great inherent improbabili- ties. Even among a people naturally so unwarlike as the Egyptians, a great revolt of troops, and the march of an armed force from end to end of Egypt, could scarcely take place without some fighting. Psammitichus died in B. c. 6io, and was succeeded by his son Necho, who was his equal in enterprise and vigor. This king paid great attention to the fleet of Egypt, and Greek shipwrights were set to work on both the Mediterranean and Red Seas to build triremes for the State navy. A fleet of his ships, we are told, succeeded in sailing round Africa, a very great feat for the age. The king even attempted the task, of which the completion was re- served for the Persian Darius, the Ptole- mies, and Trajan, of making a canal from the Mediterranean to the Red Sea. He- rodotus says that, after~sacrificing the lives of one hundred and twenty thousand men to the labor and heat of the task, he gave it up, in consequence of the warning of an oracle that he was toiling only for the barbarians. It is an easy task with Wiedemann to suggest reasons for its abandonment of a more political and statesmanlike character, such as a wish to stop the waste of human life, or a fear which in such cases has at all periods of history terr~ficl engiu~ers, that the levels of the two seas might prove quite differ- ent, and that the waters might make a breach over the land. But, after all, we have no reason for assuming that a Pha- raoh would always act from motives which we would approve, and the simplest plan is to take the story as it stands, perhaps with a grain of salt. Necho, like his father, must needs try the edge of his new weapon, the lonian mercenaries, on Asia. At first he was successful. Josiah, king of Judah, came out against him, but was slain, and his army dispersed. Greek valor carried Necho as far as th~ Euphrates, and in gratitude the king dedicated to Apollo in the temple of the Branchid~ at Miletus the linen cuirass which he wore. But Nebuchadnezzar, son of the king of Bab- ylon, marched against the invaders, and defeated them in a great battle near Car- chemish. His fathers death recalled him to Babylon, and Egypt was for the mo~ ment saved from counter-invasion by the stubborn resistance offered to the Babylo- nian arms by Jehoiakim, king of Judab, a resistance fatal to the Jewish race; for Jerusalem was captured after a long siege, and most of the inhabitants carried into captivity. Of Psammitichus II., who succeeded Necho, we should know but little were it not for the archaeological record. Herod- otus only says that he attacked Ethiopia, and died after a reign of six years. But of the expedition thus summarily recorded we have a lasting and memorable result in the well-known inscriptions written by Rhodians and other Greek mercenaries on the legs of the Colossi at Abu Simbel in Nubia, which record how certain of them came thither in the reign of Psammiti- chus, pushing up the river in boats as far 8 NAUCRATIS AND THE GREEKS IN ANCIENT EGYPT. as it was navigable, that is perhaps, up to the second cataract. The importance of these inscriptions to the history of Greek epigraphy is well known; but their testi- mony had hitherto lost much of its force, because it could not be finally determined whether they belonged to the reign of the first or the second Psammitichus. Of late most scholars have agreed with Wiede- mann in assigning them to the later mon- arch; and the excavations at Naucratis seem to prove definitely that this view is right. Mr. Ernest Gardner, who pub- lishes with care and accuracy the numer- ous Greek inscriptions found at Naucra- tis, proves that many of them are of con- siderably earlier date than the inscriptions of Abu Simbel. As the earliest Naucratic inscriptions, however, cannot date from an earlier time than the reign of the first Psammitichus, when Naucratis was founded, it is certain that the Abu Simbel inscriptions must belong to the reign of the second king of that name. Apries, the Hophra of the Bible, was the next king. The early part of his reign was marked by successful warfare against the Phcenicians and the peoples of Syria; but, like his predecessor, he was unable to maintain a footing in Asia in the face of the powerful and warlike Nebuchad- nezzar. The hostility which prevailed be tween Egypt and B~byl.on at this time, caused King Apries to open a refuge for those Jews who fled from the persecution of Nebuchadnezzar. He assigned to their leaders, among whom were the daughters of the king of Judah, a palace of his own at Daphn~, Pharaohs house at Tahpanhes, as it is called by Jeremiah. That prophet was among the fugitives, and uttered in the palace a notable prophecy (xliii. 9) that King Nebuchadnezzar should come and spread his conquering tent over its pave- ment. Formerly it was supposed that this prophecy remained unfulfilled, but this opinion has to be abandoned. Recently discovered Egyptian and Babylonian in- scriptions prove that Nebuchadnezzar conquered Egypt as far as Syene, at which point a certain general, named Hor, claims to have stopped his advance. Mr. Petrie, while investigating the site of Daphn~, has found fresh evidence to the same effect. He has discovered the ruins of a royal palace built by Psaminitichus I., which to this day, most curiously, bears the title of the house of the Je~vs daugh- ter; ruins which by their condition prove that the palace was destroyed by a hostile invader, mall likelihood by the Babylonian monarch. He has even found the srjuare pavement on which, according to the prophet, Nebuchadnezzar should set up his tent. There are few people who do not feel, in the presence of facts like these, that our grasp of many scenes of ancient history is becoming stronger, and our out- look clearer. The fall of Aprie w~as brought about by his ingratitude to the Greeks, and his contempt for the lives of his own subjects. He had formed the project of bringing under his sway the Greek cities of the Cyrenaica, at that time in a most wealthy and flourishing condition, prospering un- der the rule of the Battiad princes, and drawing within the circle of Hellenic commerce all the nomadic nations of northern Africa. Apries despatched against Cyrene a large force; but the Cyreneans bravely defended themselves, and as the Egyptians on this occasion marched without their Greek allies, they were entirely defeated, and most of them perished by the sword, or in the deserts which separate Cyrene from Egypt. The defeated troops, and their countrymen who remained behind in garrison in Egypt, imputed the disaster to treachery on the part of Apries, believing that he would willingly reduce the number of his Egyptian warriors in his partiality for their Greek allies. They revolted, and chose as their leader Amasis, a man of experience and daring. But Apries, though deserted by his subjects, hoped still to maintain his throne by Greek aid. At the head of thirty thousand lonians and Carians he marched against Amasis. At Momemphis a battle took plkce be- tween the rival kings and the rival na- tions; but the numbers of the Egyptians prevailed over the arms and discipline of the mercenaries, and Apries was defeated and captured by his rival, who, however, allowed him for some years to retain the name of joint king. It is the best possible proof of the solid- ity of Greek influence in Egypt at this time that Amasis, though set on the throne by the native army after a victory over the Greek mercenaries, yet did not expel these latter from Egypt, but, on the con- trary, raised them to higher favor than ~ before. The troops which had been~ settled at Daphn~e in the camps, he brought to Memphis to be his body-guard. Herodotus says that it was Amasis who gave Naucratis to the Greeks to settle in; this is incorrect, since the inscrip- tions found at Naucratis prove beyond ,a doubt that the city was in the possession of Greeks before the time of Psammiti NAUCRATIS AND THE GREEKS IN ANCIENT EGYPT. 9 chus II.; but it may well be that Amasis accorded to the city special privileges, and laid the foundation of its great pros- perity. Mr. Petries careful investiga- tions enable us to conjecture what it was that Naucratis owed to the favor of Ama- sis, the building of the Hellenion, of which we shall presently have to speak. Amasis entered more fully than his predecessorsintothestreamofthehistory of the Levant. He conquered Cyprus and the cities of Phcenicia, and he won victories over the Arabs. He won by wisdom what Apries had vainly sought by arms, a predominant influence in Cyrene and a fair daughter of that city became his queen. He gave fresh impulse to the cutting of canals and the extension of agri- culture, and we are told that in his day there were in Egypt twenty thousand flour- ishing cities, a statement which seems to be an exaggeration. To him was ascribed the promulgation of the law, that every year each dweller in Egypt should report to the ruler of the district where he lived by what means he made a living, those who could make no satisfactory statement beingcondemned to death. Perhaps this is the earliest of recorded poor-laws, and it is certainly the most drastic; whether there was any relation between it and the flourishing condition of the country, we cannot venture to say. In the delightful dawn of connected European history we see Amasis as a wise and wealthy prince, ruling in Egypt at the ~time when Polycrates was tyrant of Samos, and Crcesus of Lydia, the richest king of his time, was beginning to be alarmed by the rapid expansion of the Persian power under Cyrus. We hear of Pythagoras visiting him and obtaining letters from him to the priests of Egypt, which induced them to communicate to that earliest of mystics some of their choicest secrets. Thales was also a wel- come guest at the court of Amasis. We need not repeat the story, familiar in these days to children, of the friendship between Amasis and Polycrates, and how Amasis broke off that friendship because he was convinced that some calamity impended over Polycrates. Wiedemann s version is that Amasis was afraid that he might be landed in difficulties, supposing that Po- lycrates should quarrel with his subjects; but we must confess that the German pro- fessors explanation seems to us uncom- fortably modern, while the story of the ring of Polycrates suits admirably the whole mental and religious atmosphere of Greek antiquity. Critical historians aie bound to m~tke new theories in such a case; but the tale of Herodotus will out- live them all, and afford a starting-point for fresh theories a thousand years hence. The alliance of Amasis and Crcesus must in any case be taken as a historical fact, for there were Egyptian troops, perhaps we should rather say a body of Egypto-Greek mercenaries, in the Lydian army when Cyrus defeated it; the Persian king espe- cially noticed their valor, and gave them lands for settlement in Asia Minor, where their descendants dwelt in later times. In the days of Psammitichus III., the son of Amasis, the storm which had over- shadowed Asia broke upon Egypt. One of the leaders of the Greek mercenaries in Egypt, named Phanes, a native of Hali- carnassus, made his way to the Persian court, and persuaded Cambyses, who, ac- cording to the story, had received from Amasis one of those affronts which have so often produced wars between despots, to invade Egypt in full force. Jn a battle fought at Pelusium about B. c. 525, the Egyptians and their Greek allies were utterly defeated by the Persian king, and this one victory laid Egypt at his feet. As the Persian conquest is the beginning of quite a new era in Egyptian history, and as it closes the time of the greatest prosperity of Naucratis, we will at this point interrupt our sketch of Egyptian history, in order to trace the fortunes of that city during the reigns of the Philhel- lenic monarchs of the SaYte line. On the subject of the position of Nau- cratis there is distinct and irreconcilable contradiction between Ptolemy and the map of Peutinger on one side and Strabo on the other. The two former authorities place the city to the left (looking down the stream) of the Canobic branch of the Nile, that is to say, outside the Delta enclosed by the Canobic and Pelusiac branches; while Strabo as clearly places the city within the Delta and on the right of the Canobic branch. Most modern writers had followed Strabo; but certainty would never have been attained, but for the spade. That useful instrument has settled the controversy. It was by the merest accident [writes Mr. ~$ Petrie] * that I got the clue to the site of Naukratis. An Arab at the Pyramids sold me an archaic Greek statuette, and, cross- questioning him, I heard of the place from which he had brought it. I visited the site as soon as I could, and found that the ground which the Arabs had cleared was strewn with * Report of the Egypt Exploration Fund, i8S~, p. 3. NAUCRATIS AND THE GREEKS IN ANCIENT EGYPT. pieces of early Greek pottery. When I went there to begin work this past season [18845] I saw at the very house, where I obtained quarters, a decree of the city of Naukratis which had been found in the ruins; and it only needed the results of our excavations to turn a hopeful probability into a certainty. The site thus identified is at present on a canal to the west of the westernmost branch of the Nile; thus, by the logic of facts, Ptolemy is proved to be right and Strabo wrong. On another point the correction of clas- sical authorities is rather less conclusive. At present the site of Naucratis is on a canal which joins the Nile some miles off, while in many statements of ancient writ- ers it seems to be implied that the city stood on the river itseW Mr. Petrie is at no loss for reasons why a canal would be a more satisfactory channel of communi- cation with the outer world than a river. If Naukratis * had been on an open branch of the river, it would have been almost unap- proachable during the three months of the inundation. And then these three months were the most valuable of all for trade; since then the natives had nothing to do, the whole land being under water, and at the same time they had all the proceeds of the harvest lying by in hand. This was then the great time for the Greek traders; and when the villages stood out of the water like the islands of the Aegean, as Herodotus describes them, the Greek pedlars were doubtless pushing their fortunes actively in shallow boats, sailing from village to village. Perhaps this argument, that a city on the Nile itself could not be approached during the inundation, must not be too much relied on, since almost all the cities of Egypt did stand on the Nile. And when Mr. Petrie goes on to cite Herodo- tus as a witness in favor of the position of Naucratis on a canal, he seems to us to misquote Herodotus. He writes, Herod- otus expressly says that, when the Nile was in flood, they sailed up from Naukra- tis to Memphis by the canal which flowed past the Pyramids, owing to the stream of the river being too strong against them. But what Herodotus really says (ii. 97) is quite different. At this season [of inundation] boats no longer keep the course of the river, but sail right across the plain. On the voyage from Naucratis to Memphis at this season, you pass close to the Pyramids, whereas the usual course is by the apex of the Delta. But though we cannot agree with Mr. Petries reason- Report of the Egypt Exploration Fund, x88~. 2!. ing, he has his fact. The site of Nau- cratis is now on a canal, and must have been so originally, unless the course of the Nile has changed, which is scarcely unlikely. By a close attention to the stratification of the remains of Naucratis, Mr. Petrie has recovered for us the outlines of the history of the city. The lowest stratum of all is a bed of charcoal and ashes, which seems to be the result of a conflagration of a cluster of poor houses built in large part of wood. This village may have been the earliest settlement of the Greeks; but it seems to us equally probable that it may have been a native Egyptian village, or perhaps a settlement of Phcenicians, con- quered and destroyed by the Milesians when they came to make a settlement in the land. The next stage of the history of Naucratis, corresponding almost to a certainty with the reign of Psammitichus I., has left us more distinct and solid me- morials. Among these memorials must first be mentioned a large quantity of scarabs and moulds for scarabs, evidently the stock in trade of a maker of seals and amulets. Of these many bear the name of Psammitichus I., some of those of Psammitichus II., and apparently of Apries. Here the series comes to an abrupt conclusion, and it would seem from the extent of the stock suddenly thrown away or buried, that the cessation of the factory must have been caused by some event which greatly disturbed the trade of Naucratis, perhaps, as Mr Petrie suggests, the defeat of Apriess Greek mercenaries. We may observe in pass- ing, that scarabs imitated from those of Egypt, and like those produced in the factory just mentioned, have been fo~ind in Rhodes, and on other Greek sites. They have always hitherto been supposed to be of Phcenician work, but in future arch~ologists will be more inclined to re- gard them as imported from Naucratis. To the same period as the factory of scarabs belongs the foundation of the ear- liest Greek temples of Naucratis. Of these several are mentioned in a well- known passage of Herodotus (ii. 178), who says that, besides the Hellenion, which belonged to the Greeks in common, the ~ Aginetans founded a temple of Zeus, the Samians one of Hera, and the Milesians one of Apollo. An early temple of Aphro- dite is also spoken of by Athen~us (xv. 18). Of these temples the Hellenion and the temple of Apollo were found by Mr. Pe~ trie in 1885; the temples of Hera and Aphrodite have been discovered during NAUCRATIS AND THE GREEKS IN ANCIENT EGYPT. II the present year, when the excavations have been continued by Mr. Ernest Gard- ner. A temple dedicated to the Dioscuri has also been discovered. Of the Helle- nion we shall presently have to speak. The other temples mostly show proofs of early foundation and subsequent refoundation; of the successive temples of Apollo, a few fragments, interesting in point of archi- tectural detail, have been preserved. All the temples, however, are very small; if we compare them with contemporary temples of the west or of Asia Minor, with the magnificent structures of P~stum or Agri- gentum or of Ephesus, they will indeed seem mean. Their scale proves beyond question that we must not think of Nau- cratis, even when at the height of its for- tunes, as of a great or ~vealthy city, but rather as of an emporium or trading-sta- tion, chiefly important as being the point at which the Greek and Egyptian civiliza- tions met. But time, which has destroyed all that was splendid in the temples of Naucratis, the marble pillars, the cultus-statues, the dedicated vessels of gold and silver, has made some amends by preserving to us their rubbish heaps. It was the custom of the city, that Greeks who entered Egypt by that way, should dedicate to the patron deity, under whose protection they voy- aged, a statuette or vessel of pottery in memory of a safe journey. On the object so dedicated they would inscribe the name of the donor. And as from time to time the temple became too full of these pious offerings, the te~~pie officers would dig a trench and bury all that they judged to be superfluous, breaking them up for econ- omy of space. Out of such trenches Mr. Petrie and Mr. Gardner have extracted thousands of fragments of pottery, painted with figures or inscribed with dedicatory formuke, besides many statuettes, mostly fragmentary also. To build up these f rag- meits into vases, nearly or partly coin- plete, is a laborious task, which is now in progress; and of which the results caii scarcely fail to be valuable. We shall ac- quire a long series of inscriptions for the epigraphist; and for the archceologist a quantity of vases, which can be dated by means of the inscriptions which they bear. And we shall acquire a sort of visitors album, a record of the Greeks who went to Egypt, from the foundation of the city under Psammitichus, down to the Persian conquest, when these dedicatory customs seem to have been discontinued. Mr. Gardner has already made public one name of no ordinary interest, which .he has deciphered, that of Rhcecus, probably the same sculptor Rhcecus who was in an- tiquity spoken of as having wbrked in the Egyptian style, and who was at the same time, with his son Theodorus, one of the originators of the production in Greece of statues of divinities. In another case we seem to find the name of Sappho,* whose brother, if not herself, is known to have journeyed to Naucratis. On one large vessel we read the name of Phanes, the son of Glaucus, whom Mr. Gardner can scarcely be wrong in identifying with the Greek captain of mercenaries, who led Cambyses into Egypt. It is a point which never can be fully settled, how much Amasis did for the Greeks of Naucratis, and in what light he really regarded them. The two statements of Herodotus,first, that he won his throne through Egyptian support and a vic- tory over the Greeks; and secondly, that he was a great friend and patron of the Greeks, seem at first sight to be dis- cordant. Mr. Petrie endeavors with con- sid~rable ingenuity to reconcile them. He maintains that the abolitioii of other Greek settlements in Egypt, and the con- cession of a monopoly of Greek trade to Naucratis, was really an act fully as agree- able to the conservative inhabitants of Egypt as to the people of Naucratis them- selves, It confined the Greek traders within definite limits, and prevented their from forming settlements in the great Egyptian cities, where their business ac- tivity, their love of innovation, their curi- osity and talkativ~eness, would render them very unpleasant. We may be quite sure, however, that unless the Greeks had in some way had the best of the bargain, they would not have formed of Amasis the very favorable opinion which Herodotus repeats. The likelihood is, that the king, being a wise and liberal-minded man, saw that the good-will of the foreigners was necessary to him, and behaved towards them in a generous spirit, at the same time conceding something to the exclusiveness of his native subjects. With the reign of Amasis, Naucratis reached its highest point of commerce and renown. Herodotus says that he allowed the Greeks of Naucrats to dedicate pre- cincts to various deities. It is a curious confirmation of this statement that, ac- cording to Mr. Petrie, while the founda- tions of the temple of Apollo date from somewhat after the middle of the seventh century, the outer ~vall of his precinct ap * Naukratis, p. 62, No. 532. 12 NAUCRATIS AND THE GREEKS IN ANCIENT EGYPT. pears to have been built a century later. We also venture to think it probable, that the building of the Hellenion belongs to the reign of Amasis. This is not indeed stated by any ancient writer, nor can we prove it from the results of excavation; but it seems to be implied in what Herod- otus says, and is in no way inconsistent with the testimony of the spade. After enumerating the Greek cities which had a share in the foundation of the Hellenion, Herodotus adds: These are the States to which the enclosure belongs; and it is these States which appoint over- seers of the market; other states which claim a share in it, claim that to which they have no right. The i~ginetans, too, by themselves founded an enclosure of Zeus, the Samians of Hera, and the Mile- sians of Apollo. It is thus evident that the Hellenion not only contained a tem- ple or temples dedicated to the gods of Greece, but also an important market. This Hellenion Mr. Petrie has, almost be- yond a doubt, discovered, and it fully bears out the description of Herodotus. The enclosure consisted of a vast rec- tangle, some two hundred and fifty yards square, bounded by a wall about fifty feet in thickness and in height, made of native brick. It contained two great buildings. Of these, one has entirely disappeared; the natives, who have in quite recent times destroyed it for the save of its ma- terials, state that it contained passages and rooms, with an entrance on the ground- floor, like a house in Cairo. More than this we can never knnw about it; but we may conjecture that it served rather for a dwelling-place than for temples of the gods. Of the other building there are abundant remains, and a most singular structure it must have been, but admirably adapted, like everything Greek, to the end which those who planned it had in view. It was in form a square, sixty yards each way, framed by walls sixteen feet thick and about sixty high. The en- trance was at eighteen feet above the ground, evidently approached by a wooden scaffolding, which could be on occasion removed, and led into a passage, from which branched off to right and left twen- ty-six chambers. Under each of these chambers was a cellar, but the cellars did not communicate one with the other. There were also upper floors divided into chambers in similar fashion. It is at once evident that we have in this building a great market and store- house. The deep cellars, each only ac- cessible from the chamber above it, would furnish ample and secure space for stor- age; the rooms above would serve as show-rooms and offices, as well as work- rooms. The whole would form a hive of industry much like a modern factory, full of looms and wheels, and the sound of iron and brass. Than the agora in ordi- nary Greek cities, nothing could be more open and simple. Outdoor life, with crowding and talking and sight-seeing, suited the restless and enquiring Greek. Yet here we see him living in a vast pile of building. And the reason is clear. In Hellas he felt himself to be surrounded by friends and fellow-citizens. Even on the coast of Scythia or Gaul or Libya, he had simple means for awing and pleasing his barbarous neighbors, so that their hos- tility soon ebbed away. But in Egypt he felt that he was surrounded by an alien race and a rival civilization; by a people who frankly despised instead of admiring him, and would be delighted at any oppor- tunity to drive him into tho sea. So he took precautions. Close consideration of the factory shows it to have been admirably fitted for de- fence, whether against a crowd or an army. There was no entrance save at eighteen feet from the ground, the approach to which could easily be removed. If an enemy began to mine the wall, which was i6 feet thick, he would at last, on getting through it, find himself in the bottom of a well [that is in one of the cellars] from which the besieged would have had ample time and notice to remove all means of communication. To mount a wall 18 feet high to a doorway, in the face of opponents above, would be impos- sible; or even the floors might be taken out and the doors fastened, so that the defenders could hurl down stones from a height of 50 feet or more on the enemy. The building was simply impregnable to direct attack, and has never been breached in this way. Nor would it be a hopeful task to try to reduce by famine a place so abounding in storage room for food and wine. And even before attempting either assault or blockade, the enemy would have to storm the outer wall of the oi-eat enclosure, fifty feet thick. b As we are now busy with the Hellenion, it may be well to sketch its history from ~ the foundation onwards. It appears that at some time during the Persian rule part of the outer wall of the enclosure was broken down, when and how we know not. Ptolemy Philadelphus determined on its restoration. In the breach he set a large building, faced with limestone, no doubt for offices and for commerce. In NAUCRATIS AND THE GREEKS IN ANCIENT EGYPT. 3 connection with this building occurred some of the most interesting discoveries of the year. lVIr. Petrie found that, ex- actly under each corner of it, had been buried a set of foundation deposits, which clearly marked the date and the character of the structure. In each deposit were models of the tools used for the building, and specimens of the materials employed in its construction; a model brick, a plaque of turquoise, jasper, agate, and obsidian; an ingot of gold, of silver, lead, copper, and iron; also models of ceremo- nial implements, libation vases, corn-rub- bers, a knife, and an axe, together with cartouches of Ptolemy himself. This dis- covery is not only charming in itself, but of great promise for the future, because it affords us hope of being able hereafter often to determine the date and character of Egyptian buildings, even when they have wholly disappeared, since it is likely that Ptolemy followed an old custom of the country in burying such record of his works. In the Roman age the building of Ptol- emy was pulled down, and its materials used for the erection of the houses and offices of Roman officials dwelling in the enclosure. But by that time Naucratis had gone far on the downward road lead- ing from greatness to decay. In all Greek cities, as is well known, there were two main parts, the acropolis and the lower city. At Naucratis there was no hill whereon to build an acropolis; the Hellenion, with its mighty walls, took the place of a citadel and refuge in case of danger. At its gates lay the dwelling- houses of the city, its streets and docks. Of these houses and streets the plan has, to some extent, been discovered by Mr. Petrie. Though the site has been ruined and the whole ground carried away by the Arab diggers of sebach, yet by pains and study the lines of street can be followed, and the ~valls of the houses distinguished from the mud in which they are embedded. And these investigations prove that the city, at its best, was small and poor. The contrast between the chief Greek settle- ment in Egypt and the contemporary Greek settlements in Italy and Sicily, on the ~Egean and the Euxine, is indeed marked, and calls for explanation. Nor is the explanation far to seek. When the swarms thrown off by the par- ent cities of Greece landed in a country inhabited hy Thracians or Phrygians, by wandering Libyan tribes or the rude but hardy races of south Italy, they came as a superior race, bringing with them.at least the rudiments of arts and letters, as well as social order and habits of self- government. Those among whom they settled at once felt their superiority; and they had a proud consciousness of it themselves. They did not hesitate, even if they ~vere few in number, to trace a great circuit for walls, and to set aside extensive precincts for their native deities. They knew that expanding Greece was behind them, and that their compatriots would flock after them across the sea. The peoples among whom they settled might sometimes harass them by force of arms, but had no arts, no civilization, no ideas, which could be set up against theirs. They were the force of light invading the kingdom of darkness, and the darkness fell away before them. But in Egypt the Greeks before the ripe of the Persian Empire met with a civilization which could dispute with them on equal terms. The Hellenic nationality being in its infancy was awed jy the ven- erable institutions and beliefs of the land of the Nile. Instead of imparting to bar. barians the rudiments of civil organiza. tion, the Greeks of Naucratis stood amazed in the presence of a society organ- ized in the most inflexible way. Instead of teaching strangers the use of letters, they found themselves wondering at scribes who had two or three quite different ways of writing, according to the occasion and the subject. Instead of being able to tempt the cupidity of the natives by a display of works of archaic Greek art, they had to admire vessels and textile fabrics, images and ornaments, designed with a skill which far surpassed their own, and showing a delicacy and pureness of style which roused their envy. Only in arms, elsewhere that in which they least excelled their barbarian neighbors, did the Greeks in Egypt surpass the natives of the country. Thus Naucratis might be compared to a tender plant growing in an uncongenial soil, and surrounded on all sides by hardier shrubs ever ready to en- croach upon its narrow domain. When the fostering care of kings like Psam- mitichus and Amasis was no longer exer- cised, the decay of the city set in slowly but surely. Meantime, while Naucratis flourished, it was as much an outlet for Egyptian as an inlet for Hellenic influences. Many of the wisest men of Greece in the seventh and sixth centuries, if we may believe the traditions accepted by their countrymen, passed through the city into Egypt, and brought away treasures of knowledge. 14 NAUCRATIS AND THE GREEKS IN ANCIENT EGYPT. According to Diodorus, Solon borrowed several laws from Egypt, among others the law that every citizen should once a year set forth before magistrates the sources of his livelihood. Pythagoras travelled with letters of introduction from Amasis himself, and was supposed to have learned in Egypt not only the lan- guage of the country, an acquirement in those days reckoned as wonderful, but also the principles of his mystic philoso- phy. Thales of Miletus is said by Di- ogenes Laertius to have learned mathe- matics and astronomy in Egypt, and to have taught his countrymen what he had thus learned himself. Hecat~us of Mile- tus, who perhaps deserves as much as Herodotus the title of father of history, journeyed into Egypt, and told many tales of the country which remained among the commonplaces of Greek historical knowl- edge ever afterwards. No doubt when philosophy and science had grown in Greece to their full stature, they did not retain many marks of the swaddling-bands of Egypt; yet they may, as the ancients believed, have been very usefully aided in their infancy by those swaddling-bands. There is, however, another field the field of art and manufacture in which the recent excavations should enable us to judge with some accuracy of the extent of the debt of Hellas to Egypt. No doubt they do supply us with materials for de- ciding this question; but the materials must be carefully considered in various lights, and during a series of years, before we can be quite sure how far their testi- mony reaches and what it teaches. It would be unwise to formulate ideas on the subject which may be unsound, and which must be premature, seeing that a large part of the antiquities from the site has not yet been exhibited. We will venture only on a few general remarks, justified by the plates of the volume before us. The products of Greek art from Naucra- tis, so far as published, consist chiefly of three classes of objects scarabs, pottery, and statuettes. The scarabs come from the factory of which we have already spoken. Had they been found scattered over the Greek islands, or in Cyprus, they would have been at once taken for works of Ph~nician craftsmen. For we do not usually think of the Greeks as making copies, barbarous copies, as archa~ologists term them, of the products of other peo- ples. But in that very early period the proud artistic consciousness of the Greeks had not developed, and they were not yet ashamed of making commodities which were in demand, even though the work of fashioning them was ignominious. And even in the commonplace products of this factory we find now and then a trace of Greek originality and skill jn design. The pottery from the site belongs nearly all to the seventh and sixth centuries. The bulk of it belongs to the class so abundantly found in the tombs of Ca- meirus in Rhodes, on which are painted friezes and heraldic groups of animals or winged monsters, lions, sphinxes, and boars, water-birds, and domestic fowls. Here, again, we have much that is Ori- ental, little that is Greek, and the pottery of Cameirus has usually been supposed to be of Phcenician origin. In certain other vases, however, which resemble the class which has hitherto been attributed to Cyrene, we find human figures, and more of human interest. But the con- spectus of the early pottery, which can be dated, it must be remembered, by the dedicatory inscriptions which it bears, proves that even late in the sixth century the pottery of the Greeks had not emerged from that merely decorative stage in which much regard was paid to color and the harmonious filling of space, and but little to form and subject. The result appears to show that our dates for early Greek ware are at present placed too far back, and need revision. The statuettes of Naucratis are seldom or never of purely Egyptian type; rather they are of the mixed character which we observe in statues and statuettes from the island of Cyprus. They too are not beautiful, and show little of the great wave of artistic inventiveness which was at the time pass- ing over Greece. Of course we must wait until the arch~ologists have had time to examine and exhaust the evidence of the antiquities brought from Naucratis; but the first glance warns us not to expect too much in proof of artistic connection be- tween Egypt and Greece. When the military power of Persia be- came dominant in Egypt, the function of the Greek mercenaries was for a time gone, and their influence diminished. And it was by no means unlikely that Egypt, which had long been suffering from phys- ical exhaustion of the warrior caste, and ~ long been used to respect foreign arms as irresistible, might have been content to accept Persian sway and pay tribute with- out a murmur, had the Persians been ~vise enough to spare the feelings and respect the institutions of the people. But this they did not do. They were usually very tolerant of the religions of those they con- NAUCRATIS AND THE GREEKS IN ANCIENT EGYPT. 5 quered. Babylon and Asia Minor had little ground for accusing them of the fer- vid iconoclasm which some writers have supposed to be part of their policy. And in Egypt, at the first conquest of the coun- try, they seem to have spared the political and religious sensibilities of the people. We possess a record drawn up by an Egyptian, who narrates how he initiated Cambyses in the sixysteries of Neith, and obtained of the king for the goddess spe- cial favors, and for himself the post of court physician. But afterwards, a sort of frenzy seems tohave fallen on Camby- ses. He is said not only to have dug up and ill-used the corpse of Amasis, who died during the Persian invasion, but to have treated his family with insult and cruelty. From persecution of the kings of Egypt he passed to persecution of the gods of the country. Every one knows the story told by Herodotus, how, when full of irritation at the news of the de- struction of the troops he had sent against the Libyan Oasis, Cambyses was driven to madness by the sound of joy and rev- elry in the streets of Memphis; and how, learning that the cause of the rejoicing was the instalment of a new Apis-bull, he sent for the new-made deity and plunged a knife into its side, so that it languished and died. It is curious that Wiedemann, who usually rejects stories of this kind, is willing to accept this tale, because he believes that he can identify among the tablets set up in honor of successive Apis- bulls in the Serapeum at Memphis, the record of the animal slain by Cambyses, a record graven in haste and wanting in the usual formalities. We also learn that Cambyses wasted with fire and sword many of the temples of Egypt; and carried off their treasures to Persia. In such deeds of impiety the Egyptian priests naturally found the cause of the madness which possessed Cambyses in his later years, and made him a terror to all about him. Herodotus is quite ready to accept the explanation. The conduct of Darius Hystaspes was very different from that of Cambyses; he buried with great pomp an Apis-bull which died dur- ing his reign, and took great pains to find him a successor; he built and restored many temples, endowed colleges of scribes which were impoverished, and is repre- sented to us in tradition as maintaining an easy and friendly intercourse with the Egyptian priests. But there were few Persian rulers like Darius; the Persian yoke was on the whole extremely uncon genial to the dwellers by the Nile, and wounded all their most settled sentiments. It was not long before discontent broke into open revolt; and during part of the fifth and most of the fourth century there were in Egypt native kings who enjoyed a degree of independence, were indeed often quite independent. Egypt was not really reduced to a Persian province until B. C. 350, a few years before the conquest of the country by Alexander the Great. We do not propose to trace the obscure outlines of the history of Egypt during this period of revolt and struggle. But it is part of our task to sketch the course taken by events when the Greeks organ- ized, as they did more than once, expedi- tions to aid the native Egyptian rulers in their efforts to be independent. Between the invasion of Greece by Xerxes and the invasion of Persia by Alexander, there was a perpetual enmity, whether flaming or smouldering, between the Hellenic race and the over-lords of Asia; andAhe ruling States in Greece were constantly on the alert to strike at any part of the Persian dominions which might seem open to at- tack. Soon after the accession of Artaxerxes to the Persian throne in B. c. 464, a revolt broke out in Egypt. The leader was not a native Egyptian, but a Libyan, mar05 by name. Our surprise at this circumstance diminishes if we consider that for ages, from the fifteenth century onwards, Lib- j an or Mediterranean mercenaries had een a chief element in the armies of Egypt; it was therefore natural that the Egyptians in any attempt to expel the Persians should call on their allies for help. They called also on the people ~f Athens, with whom the destruction of their city by Xerxes was a fresh memory, and they did not appeal in vain. There were two hundred Athenian triremes sta- tioned at Cyprus, ready for any service against Persia; these were at once ordered to the Nile. They conquered the Delta and two-thirds of Memphis, hemming the Persian troops into the citadel called the White Fortress. Ach~menes, the Per- sian satrap, came with an army and fleet to the relief of his men; but his army was defeated with great slaughter by Inaros, and his fleet by the Athenian triremes; he himself was among the slain. But a new and enormous armament was de- spatched from Persia under the command of Megabyzus, comprising, we are told, at least half a million of men. The Libyans and Athenians had to retire from Mem i6 NAUCRATIS AND THE GREEKS IN ANCIENT EGYPT. phis, and took refuge in the island Pro- sopitis. For a year and a half their naval superiority enabled them to maintain themselves there; then the Persians suc- ceeded in turning aside the water from the branch of the Nile which enclosed the island. Inaros was captured and cruelly executed; the Athenians capitulated, but were allowed to depart, and marched through Libya to Cyrene, leaving the ships to their conqueror. A reinforce- ment of fifty Athenian triremes ascending the Mendesian arm of the Nile, in igno- rance of what had happened, was en- trapped by the Persians and destroyed. The death of Inaros and the defeat of the Greeks did not at once bring the re- volt to an end. Amyrta~us, a native Egyptian, found means to carry on the struggle for some time longer. Cimon, then in command of the Athenian fleet near Cyprus, sent him sixty ships as an aid. But they accomplished nothing, and soon retired. That Amyrt~eus was able to make favorable terms for himself with the Persian king, appears from the state- ment of Herodotus, that the Persians allowed Pausiris, son of Amyrt~eus, to retain his fathers dominion, though he probably retained it not as an independent sovereign but as a vassal of Persia. A later revolt of Egypt about n. c. 45 was more successful; and for sixty-four years that country maintained a precari- ous independence under the 28th, 29th, and 30th dynasties. This was accom- plished only by the aid of Greek mercena- ries, who henceforward play the leading part in all wars on the shores of the iEgean. But to give a connected narrative of their doings in Egypt is very difficult, if not impossible. We lose the guidance of Thucydides, and have to choose between the discrepant accounts of writers like Diodorus, Plutarch, and Cornelius Nepos. The most abundant information comes from the slovenly pen of Diodorus. Of late certain Egyptologists, more particu- larly Wiedemana and Revillout, have tried to restore the reputation of this writer. They have succeeded in showing that his account of Egyptian law is based on good and native authorities; but even Wiede- mann does not pretend that his narratives of events are to be trusted. He confuses names and dates with the most exasperat- ing carelessness, and in repeating his account of civil and military events we cannot escape from the feeling, that it is lik~ly that what he is narrating never really happened. Unfortunately also at this period native records are scarce and meagre. The materials of history, there- fore, scarcely exist. The native ruler who shook off the Per- sian yoke was Amyrt~us, perhaps a grand- son of the Amyrta~us already spoken of. He gained possession alike of Upper and Lower Egypt, and it seems from a casual reference in Thucydides (viii. 35) that he was a friend of the Athenians. That he won his throne through Greek mercenaries is more than probable, and when a papyrus informs us in regard to his successors, that they owed their elevation to the sol- diers, we may be almost sure that the nucleus of these soldiers was Greek. Of Achoris, who ruled at the beginning of the fourth century, we learn that he sent building-timber and corn to the Spartans for their wars, and that he concluded with the active and powerful Evagoras, king of Cyprus, a treaty against Persia, and sent fifty vessels to his aid in that final battle against the great king, whi~ch put an end forever to the chance of Cyprus gaining a prominent place in the worlds history. As to the wars and policy of the next king, Nectanebus I., who came to the throne, according to Wiedemann, in n c. 387, we have ampler information. Evago- rus having been put down, the Persians made great preparafions for the reduction of Egypt Pharnabazus marched into the country with an army 6f two hundred thousand men, but even with forces so overwhelming he was disquieted by hear- ing that the Athenian Chabrias was in the Egyptian service. Sending to Athens, he procured the recall of that officer, and even persuaded the Athenians to let him have the services of Iphicrates, who joined him with twenty thousand Greek mercena- ries. Failing in an attempt on the Pelu- sian arm of the Nile, Pharnabazus and Iphicrates made good an entry into Egypt by the Mendesian arm. The land lay open to them, and Iphicrates counselled (we repeat the account of Diodorus) a prompt attack upon Memphis, which was not in a state of defence. But whether through jealousy or indecision, or through waitingfor orders from the Persian court, Pharnabazus delayed to move until Nec- tanebus had had time to cover Memphis ~- with his army, and the rising Qf the Nile so hampered the movements of the Per- sians that they were obliged to retire, and the invasion came to nothing. The reign of Nectanebus was dignified by visits paid to Egypt by noteworthy Greek savants; Eudoxus, the astronomer; Chrysippus NAUCRATIS AND THE GREEKS IN ANCIENT EGYPT. 7 the physician; and Plato, the philosopher. Letters of introduction from Agesilaus secured Eudoxus respectful attention at the Egyptian court. As regards one of the three, Plato, we may he sure that his imagination was not unmoved by the won- ders of the land, and that there are pas- sages in his writings which but for this visit would not have been written. The successor of Nectanebus, Tachos, being again threatened from Persia, ap- plied for aid to the Spartans, and procured for himself, it is said through heavy bribes, the aid of the aged Agesilaus and a body of Laced~monian troops. Being thus fortunate, and having further secured the Athenian Chabrias as leader of his fleet, he felt emboldened to undertake an offensive campaign. He rapidly made a conquest of Phcenicia; but during his absence a relation, Nectanebus II., re- volted against him. The people of Egypt seem at once to have accepted the new pretender, but the question was what line would be taken by Agesilaus and Cha- brias. Agesilaus had already been deeply wounded in his Spartan pride by Tachos, who had failed to understand that the coarse clothes and rude manners of the Spartan king were a sign not of humility but of infinite pretension, and had ven- tured to slight him. He is said to have referred to Sparta the question which side he should take, and to have received in reply the answer, that he should do what- ever was for the advantage of Sparta. He left the party of Tachos and adopted that of Nectanebus; Chabrias followed his ex- ample; and Tachoss Egyptian troops not venturing to retain their loyalty, he fled to the Persian court, where he was received as a useful ally. We hear next of a fresh Persian inva- sion of Egypt, which was repulsed by two Greek leaders of mercenaries, Diophantus of Athens and Lamius of Sparta. But a subsequent expedition, which took place in the reign of Artaxerxes Ochus about B. C. 350, was more successful. The man- ner of its success is very characteristic of the times. The Persian army of invasion was accompanied by a large body of Greek troops under Nicostratus and Mentor of Rhodes. Nectanebus marched against it, accompanied by twenty thousand Greek troops under Cleinias of Cos. On the frontier the two bodies of mercenary troops came into collision, and Cleinias was defeated. The disaster was irrepara- ble; Nectanebus fled to the south, and the cities of Egypt surrendered without fur- LIVING AGE. VOL. LVIII. 2966 ther struggle. The Persian king Ochus visited Egypt, and is said to have re- peated all the cruelties and enormities of Cambyses, down to the slaying of the Apis-bull; though it may perhaps be doubted whether the fact is that Ochus copied Cambyses, or merely that Plutarch and other late ~vriters who record these deeds copy Herodotus. In any case this was the end of Egyptian independence, and the historian must allow that the end was due. A nation that could allow its national existence to depend on the vic- tory or defeat of one body of foreign glad- iators by another, can scarcely claim our pity when it fell. Egypt had still a history before it; but it was a history not con- cerned with conquest or war, but with science and poetry, religion and philoso- phy. But before the first page of that later history could be opened, it was neces- sary that Greek influence should affect far more deeply the national life. Hitherto Greeks had been only the defenders and mercenaries of Egypt; it was necessary that they should become her masters; and not masters only of her political organiza- tion, but also of her learning, her science, her religion, and her art. Persian authority had scarcely been re-established in Egypt, when Persia in turn succumbed to a new and mighty foe. Alexander the Great, having welded into one force the wisdom of Greece and the hardy strength of Macedonia, brought that force to bear with irresistible energy on the languid and overgrown empire of Asia, and it crumbled at once to pieces. In no country was the victory of Alex- ander more rapid or more easy than in Egypt. City after city opened its gates on his approach; and the throne of the Pharaohs cost him scarcely the life of a spearman. Of course to forces and talents such as those of which Alexander dis- posed, Egypt could under any circum- stances have made but a weak resistance. But there is reason to believe that she did not care to resist. Sabaces, the Persian satrap of the country, had fallen at Issus, and the Persian garrison was withdrawn to meet the nearer needs of the empire. The Egyptians had no motive for resisting Alexander on behalf of their foreign mas- ters, and they were too weak and dispirited to oppose him in the interests of their independence. Rather they were inclined to welcome him as a liberator, as a hero belonging to another and more tolerant race than the lords whom they were used to obey. Alexander offered sacrifices to NAUCRATIS AND THE GREEKS IN ANCIENT EGYPT. th~ national deities, and amused the peo- In religion, we find under the Ptolemaic ple with warlike pomp and agonistic fes- kings a process of syncretism. The re- tivals. The Egyptian priests were ready semblance, which had not escaped Herod- with a fiction to make submission in some otus, of the worship of Isis to that of the sense a duty. Nectanebus II. had disap- Greek Demeter, made it easy that she peared at the time of the Persian recon- should retain her place at the head of the quest; the priests gave out that he had pantheon of Egypt. But her consort made his way to Macedon, and there, Osiris gradually recedes into the back- through the use of magic arts, become the ground before a new deity, Serapis, whose father of Alexander. The story was an worship was introduced into the country invention, as obviously false as the earlier by Ptolemy in consequence of a dream. fable which had made Cambyses daughter Serapis took his place beside Isis, and the of an Egyptian princess; in both cases other Egyptian gods, Anubis, Harpoc- the motive was the same, and in both rates, and the like, sank into mere sat- cases the story fulfilled its object. ellites of the supreme pair, into whose Escorted by his troops, Alexander sailed worship more and more of symbolism and from Memphis by the Canobic branch of of mysticism entered, until the Egyptian the Nile; he landed at Racotis. Here religion seemed to the pagans of the third ~vas the place ~vhere Homer represents century of our era no unworthy rival of the imaginary raid of Odysseus into Egypt Christianity. But the State religion of as having taken place, in a poem which Egypt in Hellenistic times was less the cult Alexander knew by heart. He at once of Isis and Serapis than that of the kingly made up his mind to build there a great race. According to the tales of the priests, city to bear his name and to be a memorial all the gods of Egypt, from Osiris down- of him forever; and thus the greatest of wards, had been originally successive all the Alexandrias came into being. kings of the country; it was therefore not Hence he visited the oasis of Ammon, led difficult, especially since the Libyan Am- to the spot, when the way was lost in the mon guaranteed Alexanders divine par- sand, by two serpents; and found in that entage, to raise him also from the rank of deity a third claimant to the honor of hay- king to that of god. The worship of the ing begotten him. Macedonian hero and his Greek succes- As Alexandria grew, Naucratis de- sors became the central worship of Egypt, dined. In the troubled times of the Nec- and not only united Macedonian, Greek, tanebi the city had rather shrunk than and Egyptian in a common litany, but increased, and had suffered from some served to give religious sanction to the hostile violence, of which traces still re- power of the reigning dynasty. main. Despite the efforts of Ptolemy As kings, the Ptolemies stepped into the Philadelphus to restore the place, it never customs and the honors of the Pharaohs. again flourished. A fragmentary papyrus This was natural, since among the Greeks proves that it retained under the Greek there was no precedent for such relations kings its municipal organization, under as existed in the East between sovereigns magistrates called rqiovxot, remaining a and subjects. Alexander did indeed for a free Greek community. About the third short time assume the position of a Per- century of our era, after giving a home to sian king of kings, and in some part of the some notable men of letters, Philistus, station which he thus claimed most of his Proclus, Athen~us, and Julius Pollux, successors tried to imitate him. But Naucratis ceased to exist. Since then probably the precedents of the Persian the site, one of the coolest, healthiest, and court had less effect in Egypt than in pleasantest in Egypt, has been tenanted by Syria or even Macedon. Of course the re- none but scattered copts and companies of lation of the king to his Greek subjects and agricultural Arabs. to his Egyptian subjects would not be the Egypt was indeed fortunate in being same. To the former he would be a coun- assigned, when Alexanders flimsy empire tryman in high station; to the latter, an fell to pieces, to Ptolemy, son of Lagus, earthly god. From the facts of archreol-~ the gentlest and wisest of the Macedonian ogy we may illustrate this distinction. generals, a man who understood, while When on the walls of an Egyptian temple bringing fresh life into the administration, one of the Ptolemaic dynasty is depicted the religion, and the social condition of as engaged in religious or political oh- Egypt, how to avoid shocking the sensi- servance, he is represented, as were the bilities of the conservative people of the older monarchs of the land, in Egypti~n land. dress, in conventional attitude, with the NAUCRATIS AND THE GREEKS IN ANCIENT EGYPT. 9 Inexpressive features of an abstraction, goods which were everywhere in demand: not of a person. When on their silver line linen, ivory, porcelain, notably that coins, struck for the use of Greek com- papyrus, which Egypt alone produced and merce, the portraits of the Ptolemies ap- which was necessary to the growing trade pear, they appear as men, idealized indeed in manuscripts. Artificial barriers being to some degree, but still as men, liable to once removed, enterprising traders of the accidents and diseases of humanity. Corinth and Tarentum, Ephesus and On the bronze coins struck under Ptole- Rhodes, would naturally seek these goods maic rule, mostly for the use of the Egyp- in Egypt, bringing in return whatever of tians themselves, we have usually no most attractive their own countries had to portrait at all, but the effigy of a deity. offer. It seems probable that the subjects Something, however, was changed even of the Ptolemies seldom or never had the in the government of the native Egyptian courage to sail direct down the Red Sea population. Writers on the Ptolemaic to india. In Roman times this voyage constitution of Egypt attach great impor- became not unsual, but at an earlier time tance to the establishment of boards of the indian trade was principally in the judges who moved in circuit into the dif- hands of the Arabs of Yemen and of the terent districts of Egypt. Hitherto the Persian Gulf. Nevertheless the com- courts of justice had had their fixed seats merce of Egypt under the Ptolemies in the great cities ing, like all pleas and the peasantry be- spread eastwards as well as westwards. ant cultivators, very liti- The important towns of Arsinoi~ and Bere- gious, had flocked into the towns with nice arose on the Red Sea as emporia of their causes, and waited for long periods the Arabian trade. And as al~vays. hap- until they could be attended to. We are pens when Egypt is in vigorous hands, told that the resi~it was that much of the the limits of Egyptian rule and commerce fertile land of Egypt remained for con- were pushed further and further up the siderable periods untilled. Instead of Nile. abolishing the local courts, the Ptolemaic The influx into Alexandria and Mem- kings strove in some degree to supersede phis of a crowd of Greek architects, art- them by providing boards of Chrematist~e, ists, and artisans, could not fail to produce who moved among the people, vested movement in that stream of art which had directly by the king with a portion of his in Egypt long remained all but stagnant. authority, and responsible to him alone. A wealthy Greek court and self-indulgent Thus cheaper and speedier justice was Greek satraps had to be supplied with made accessible to the peasantry. But articles of luxury, which would not offend in Ptolemaic as in Pharaonic Egypt, the them by hieratic stiffness or bear the im- king was practically an autocrat, whose press of a religion which they half de- rescripts were law, and whose officers spised. That the Egyptians responded to held power not a moment longer than they the demand we know; the best proof is to retained his favor. In Ptolemaic as in be found in reading the extraordinary ac- Pharaonic Egypt, the nome or district was count in Athen~us of the pomp of PtoI- the unit of government; probably the emy Philadelphus. We there not merely hierarchy of officials in the nome was not hear of a display of wealth such as was much altered. perhaps never rivalled, of mountains of But although the political constitution gold and silver, but also find precious in- of Egypt was not greatly altered when the dications of a new departure in Greek art, land fell into Greek hands, yet in many which seems on that occasion to have bor- respects great changes took place. The ro~ved something from the abstract ten- mere fact that Egypt took its place among dencies of.Egyptian thought. There were a family of Hellenistic nations, instead of statues not merely of gods and kings, but claiming as of old a proud isolation, must of a multitude of cities, and even personi- have had a great effect on the trade, the fications of qualities such as Aret~, valor, manufactures, and the customs of the and of spaces of time such as the year and country. To begin with trade. Under penet~ris. Such abstractions are not to the native kings Egypt had scarcely any be found in Greek art in its best period, external trade, and trade could scarcely nor are they in the spirit of Greek art at spring up during the wars with Persia. all; but they mark the new age and the But under the Ptolemies, intercourse be- progressive amalgamation of Greek and tween Egypt and Sicily, Syria, or Greece, Egyptian nationalities and ideas under would naturally and necessarily rapidly the just and benign rule of the earlier advance. Egypt produced manufacture~i Ptolemies. 20 A SECRET INHERITANCE. If we may trust the somewhat over- colored and flighty panegyrics which have come clown to us, the material progress of Egypt under Ptolemy Philadelphus was most wonderful. We read, though we cannot for a moment trust the figures of Appian, that in his reign Egypt possessed an army of two hundred thousand foot- soldiers and forty thousand horsemen, three hundred elephants and two thousand chariots of war. The fleet at the same )eriod is said to have included fifteen hundred large vessels, some of them with twenty or thirty banks of oars. Allowing for exaggeration, we must suppose that Egypt was then more powerful than it had been since the days of Rameses. The number of towns in Egypt under the early Ptolemies is given by some writers as over thirty thousand. But far more noble, and far more dura- ble in its effects than any mere material expansion, was the rise at Alexandria of a great literary and scientific school. Among the scholiasts on the great poets and prose-writers of Greece there was no doubt much pedantry, but a literature which was adorned by the writings of Theocritus, and Bion, and Callimachus, cannot be despised. And to our days all children are trained to mental accuracy by the writings of an Alexandrian professor of mathematics, Euclid. A large part of the thoughts which dominate the worlds views in philosophy, religion, and science,saw the light first in Alexandria. But if it were our intention to do justice to the glories of that illustrious city, it would claim not the last page of an article, but a volume. We have introduced the Greeks as they made their first appearance in Egypt as mail-clad warriors from over the sea, and we have followed their career until from being the hired protectors of the Egyp- tians, they became their masters. The later relations between Egypt on the one side, and Syria, Athens, and Rome on the other, would form a subject not less inter- esting, but beyond our compass. Egypt, with Alexandria as its capital, plays a great part in the drama of history; Egypt, with Naucratis as its link with the outer world, can form only a dim background to the splendor of the later fame of the country. It is therefore the more welcome, when excavation helps us to clear away some of the mist which envelops the earliest of the Greek settlements in Egypt, and en- ables us more clearly to understand under what conditions it existed and what were its relations to Greece and to Egyptv From The English Illustrated Magazine. A SECRET INHERITANCE. By B. L. FARJEON. BOOK THE FIRsT. CHAPTER XVII. SUCH a story, which Doctor Louis truly described as strange and eventful, could not have failed to leave a deep impres- sion upon me. During its recital I had, as it were, been charmed out of myself. My instinctive distrust of the twin broth- ers Eric and Emilius, the growth of a groundless jealousy, was for a while for- gotten, and at the conclusion of the re- cital I was lost in the contemplation of the tragic pictures which had been pre- sented to my minds eye. Singularly enough, the most startling bit of color in these pictures, that of the two brothers in their life and death struggle on the outer walls of the lighthouse, was not to me the dominant feature of the remarkable story. The awful, unnatural contest, Avicias agony, Silvains soul-moving appeals, and the dread silence of Kristel all this was as nought in comparison with the figure of a solitary man standing on the sea- shore, gazing in the direction of his lost happiness. I traced his life back through the years during which he was engaged in his relentless pursuit of the brother who had brought desolation into his life. In him, and in him alone, was centred the true pathos of the story; it was he who had been robbed, it was he who had been wronged. No deliberate act of treachery lay at his door; he loved, and had been deceived. Those in whom he placed his trust had deliberately betrayed him. The vengeance he sought and consummated was just. I did not make Doctor Louis acquainted with my views on the subject, knowing that he would not agree with me, and that all his sympathies were bestowed upon Silvain. There was something of coward- ice in this concealment of my feelings, but although I experienced twinges of conscience for my want of courage, it was not difficult for me to justify myself in my own eyes. Doctor Louis was the father of the woman I loved, and in his hands lay my happiness. On no account must I ~ instil doubt into his mind; he was a man of decided opinions, dogmatic and strong- willed. No act or word of mine must cause him to have the least distrust of me. Therefore I played the cunning part, and was silent ~vith respect to those threads iim the story which possessed the firmest hold upon his affections. A SECRET INHERITANCE. 21 This enforced silence accentuated and have urged them not to waste their lives strengthened my view. Silvain and Avi- in a village so small and primitive as that cia were weak, feeble creatures. The in which they were born. man of great heart and resolute will, the Somewhat destructive of your own man whose sufferings and wrongs made theories of happiness, doctor, I ob- him a martyr, was Kristel. Faithful in served. Yourself, for instance, wasting love, faithful in hate. Trustful, heroic, your life in a small place like Nerac, when unflinching. In a word, a man. by your gifts you are so well fitted to play But he and his brother, and the woman your part in a large city. who had been the instrument of their fate, I am selfish, I am afraid, he said with belonged to the past. They were dead a deprecatory smile, and am too much and gone, and in the presence of Dr. wrapped up in my own ease and comfort. Louis I put them aside awhile. Time At the same time you must bear in mind enough to think of them when I was alone, that mine is an exceptional case. It is a Meanwhile Eric and Emilius remained, regretful thing to be compelled to say that They lived, and between their lives and the majority of lives and homes are less mine there was a link. Of this I enter- happy than my own. Often there is love, tamed no doubt, nor did I doubt that, in and poverty stands at the bright door this connection, the future would not be which opens but on a scene of privation colorless for us. To be prepared for the and ill-requited toil. Often there is wealth, course which events might take, this was in the use of which there has been an en- now my task and my duty. The thought deavor to purchase love, which, my friend, was constantly in my mind, As Kristel is not a marketable commodity. Often acted, so would I act, in love and hate. there are sorrow and sickness, and neither I observed Doctor Louiss eyes fixed faith nor patience to lighten the load. It earnestly upon my face. is my good fortune to have none of these You are agitated, he said. ills. We have love and good health, and Is not such a story, I said evasively, a sufficient share of worldly prosperity to enough to agitate one? Its movements provide for our days. Therefore I will are as the movements of a sublime trao edy. b leave myself out of the question. What! he cried, interrupting himself in a tone at True, mused Doctor Louis; even once light and earnest; am I entirely in obscure lives may be found such ele- useless in Nerac? Do I do no good what- ments. ever? You have told me little, I said, of You do much, I said, and also do Eric and Emilius. Do they reside per- Eric and Emilius in their village. You manently in the Ii ghthouse in which their have admitted that they are fishermen on mother died? a large scale, and possess boats. Conse- They have a house in the village by quently they employ labor, and the wages the sea, replied Doctor Louis, and they they pay support the homes of those who are in a certain sense fishermen on a large serve them. scale. The place has possessed for them With some young men, said Doctor a fascination, and it seemed as if they Louis, with a good-humored laugh, there would never be able to tear themselves is no arguing. They are so keen in de- away from it. But their intimate associa- fence that they have a formidable parry for tion with it will soon be at an end. every thrust. To the point, then, without In what way? argument. Eric and Emilius have in them They have sold their house and boats, certain qualities which render me doubtful and are comino- to reside in Nerac for a whether, as middle-aged men, they would time. be in their proper sphere in their village I started and turned aside, for I did not by the sea. The maidens there find no wish Doctor Louis to see the cloud upon serious favor in their eves. my face. Do they look, I a~sked, with a tortur- Only for a time? I inquired. ing pang of jealousy, with a more ap. It depends upon circumstances, said preciative eye upo& th~ maidens in Ne- Doctor Louis. If they are happy and rac? contented in the present and in their pros- Tush, tush, said Doctor Louis, in a pects in the future, they will remain, kind tone, laying his hand upon my shoul. Otherwise, they will seek a larger sphere. der; vex not yourself unnecessarily. Is this their idea? Youths hot blood is a torrent, restless by Not theirs alone. I am partly respon. day and night, never satisfied, never con- sible. We have talked of it often, and 4 tent, forever seeking cause to fret and 22 A SECRET INHERITANCE. fume. You have given evidence of wis- dom, Gabriel exercise it when it is most needed. You are still disturbed. Well, question me. Of all the maidens in Nerac, I said, striving to speak with calmness, Lau- retta is the fairest and sweetest. Go on, my friend. I, her father, will not gainsay you. Is it because she is fairer and sweeter than any Eric and Emilius have seen in the village by the sea that they quit their home there, and come to live in Nerac? A plain question, obscurely put. Were I simply an ordinary friend of yours, and not Laurettas father, I might feel inclined to play with you; but as it is, my happi- ness here is too largely at stake. Do not fall into error, Gabriel. Viewing with a selfish eye a human failing, common enough your own immediate affairs, for- get not that I, Laurettas father, am as deeply concerned in them as yourself. Never would I be guilty of the crime of forcing my childs affections. Do you think I love her less than you do? If it should be your happy fate to be a father, you will learn how much purer and higher is the love of a father than that which a young man, after an hours acquaintance, bears for the maiden whom he would wed. After an hours acquaintance! I ex- claimed, somewhat hotly. It cannot be said to be more, re- sponded Doctor Louis gravely, comRared with my knowledge of my child. The retort was well-merited, and I mur- mured, Forgive me! The consistently sweet accents of Doctor Louiss voice pro- duced in me, at this moment, a feeling of self-reproach, and a true sense of my pet- ulance and imperiousness forced itself upon me. There is little need to ask forgive- ness, said Doctor Louis; I can make full allowance for the impetuous passions of youth, and if I wish you to place a curb upon them it is for your welfare and that of my child. Indulgence in such ex- travagances leads to injustice. Gabriel, I will be entirely frank ~vith you. Before your arrival in Nerac I had a slight sus- picion that one of the brothers towards both of whom I feel as a father had an affection for Lauretta which might have ripened into love. It is in the nature of things that a beautiful girl should inspire a sentiment in the breasts of more than one man, but she can belong only to one, to him to whom her heart is drawn. What passed between us when you spoke to me as a lover of my daughter was honest and outspoken. The encouragement you re- ceive from me would have been withheld had it not been that I saw you occupied a place in Laurettas heart, and that the one end and aim I have in view is her happi- ness. Is it too much to ask, I said, to which of the brothers you referred? Altogether too much, replied Doctor Louis. It is an unrevealed secret, and the right is not mine to say more than I have said. - I did not speak for a little while; I was the slave of conflicting passions. One moment I believed entirely in Doctor Louis; another moment I doubted him; through all I was oppressed by a con- sciousness that I was doing him an injus- tice. Anything more, Gabriel ? he asked. Nothing special, sir, was my reply, but in a general way. XVell? Born under such sin~ular circum- stances, and of such a father as Silvain, it would not be unnatural to suppose that they might inherit some touch of his strangely sympathetic nature. They have inherited it, said Doctor Louis there exists between them a sym- pathy as strange as that which existed in Silvain. I am at liberty to say nothino more. He spoke in a firm tone, and I did not question him further. As I accompanied him home we conversed upon general subjects, and I took pains to convey to him an assurance that there was nothing really serious in the ungracious temper I had displayed. He was relieved at this, and we fell into our old confidential man- ner with each other. I passed the evening, as usual, in the society of his wife and Lauretta. Peace descended upon me, and in the sweet pres- ence of these pure women I was tranquil and happy. How lovely, how beautiful was this home of love and tender thought! The wild storms of life died away, and strains of soft, angelic music melted the heart, and made themselves heard even in the midst of the silences. Doctor Louiss gaiety returned to him; he smiled upon me, and indulged in many a harm- less jest. I was charmed out of my moody humor, and contributed to the innocent enjoyment of the home circle. The hours passed till it was near bed-time, and then it was that a change came over me. Sit- ting by Laurettas side, turning the pages of an illustrated book of travel, I heard A SECRET INHERITANCE. 23 the names of Eric and Emilius spoken by Doctor Louis. He was telling his wife of the impending change in their mode of life, and there was an affectionate note in his voice, and also in hers, which jarred upon me. I started to my feet, and they all turned to me in surprise. 1 recovered myself in a moment, and explained that I had suddenly thought of something which rendered it necessary that I should go at once to the house I had taken, and of which Martin HartQg was at present the sole custodian. But you were not to leave us till the end of the week, expostulated Laurettas mother. Is it so very important? Indeed it is, I replied with a smile, and should have been attended to ear- lier. You will return? she asked. Not to-night. You need have no anx- iety; everything is prepared, and I shall be quite comfortable. Mv wife is thinking of the sheets, observed Doctor Louis jocosely; wheth- er they are properly aired. I have seen to that, she said, and there is a fire in every room.~~ Then we can safely let him go, re- joined Doctor Louis. He is old enough to take care of himself, and, besides, he is now a householder, and has duties. We shall see you to-morrow, Gabriel? Yes, I shall be here in the morning. So I wished them good-night, and pres- ently was out in the open, walking through dark shadows. CHAPTER Xviii. IN solitude I reviewed with amazement the occurrences of the last few moments; It seemed to me that I had been impelled to do what I had done by an occult agency outside myself. Not that I did not ap- prove of it. It was in accordance with my intense wish and desire which had lain dormant in the sweet society of Lau- rettato be alone, in order that I might, without interruption, tHink over the story I had heard from Doctor Louiss lips. And now that this wish and desire were gratified, the one figure which still rose vividly before me was the figure of Kristel. As I walked onward I followed the hap- less man mentally in his just pursuit of the brother who had snatched the~ cup of happiness from his lips. Yes, it was just and right, and what he did I would have done under similar circumstances. Of all who had taken part in the tragic drama he, and he alone, commanded my sympathy. The distance from Doctor Louiss house to mine was under two miles, but I pro- longed it by a ditour which brought me, without premeditation, to the inn known as the Three Black Crows. I had no in- tention of going there or of entering the inn, and yet, finding myself at the door, I pushed it open, and walked into the room in which the customers took their wine. This room was furnished with rouot tables and benches, and I seated myself, and in response to the landlords inquiry, ordered a bottle of his best, and invited him to share it with me. He, nothing loth, ac- cepted the invitation, and sat at the table, emptying his glass, which I continued to fill for him, while my own remained un- tasted. I had been inside the Three Black Crows on only one occasion, in the company of Doctor Louis, and the land- lord now expressed his gratitude for the honor I did him by paying him another visit. It was only the sense of his ~vords which reached my ears, my attention be- ing almost entirely drawn to two men who were seated at a table at the end of the room, drinking bad wine and whispering to each other. Observing my eyes upon them, the landlord said in a low tone, Strangers. You do not know them? I asked. Never saw them before, he replied. Their backs were towards me, and I could not see their faces, but I noticed that one was humpbacked, and that, to judge from their attire, they were poor peasants. I asked them, said the landlord, whether they wanted a bed, and they answered no, that they were going further. If they had stopped here the night I should have kept watch on them. Why? I dont like their looks, and my wifes a timorous creature. Then theres the children youve seen my little ones, I think, sir? Yes, I have seen them. Surely those men would do them no harm.~~ Perhaps not, sir; but a man, loving those near to him, thinks of the possibili- ties of things. Ive got a bit of money in the house, to pay my rent thats due to- morrow, and one or two other accounts. They may have got scent of it. Do you think they have come to Nerac on a robbing expedition? Theres no telling. Roguery has a plain face, and the signs are in theirs, or my names not what it is. When they said they were going further on I asked them where, and they said it was no business of mine. They gave me the same answer 24 when I asked them where they came from. Theyre up to no good, thats certain, and the sooner theyre out of the village the better for all of us. The more the worthy landlord talked the more settled became his instinctive conviction that the strangers were rogues. If robbery is their errand, I said thoughtfully, there are houses in Nerac which would yield them a better harvest than yours. Of course there is, was his response. Doctor Louiss, for one. He has gen- erally some money about him, and his silver plate would be a prize. Are you going back there to-night, sir? No; I am on my road to my own house, and 1 came out of the way a little for the sake of the walk. Thats my profit, sir, said the land- lord cheerfully. I would offer to keep you company if it were not that I dont like to leave my place. Theres nothing to fear, I said; if they molest me I should be a match for them. Still, urged the landlord, I should leave before they do. Its as well to avoid a difficulty when we have the op- portunity. I took the hint, and paid my score. To all appearance there was no reason for alarm on my part; during the time the landlord and I were conversing the stran- gers had not turned in our direction, and as we spoke in low tones they could not have heard what we said. They remained in the same position, with their backs towards us, now drinking in silence, now speaking in whispers to each other. Outside the Three Black Crows I walked slowly on, but I had not gone fifty yards before I stopped. What was in my mind was the reference made b~r the land- lord to Doctor Louiss house and to its being worth the plundering. The doctors house contained what was dearer to me than life or fortune. Lauretta was there. Should t leave her at the merc~r of these scoundrels who might possibly have planned a robbery of the doctors money and plate? In that case Lauretta would be in danger My mind was instantly made up. I would return to the Three Black Crows, and look through the win- dow of the room in which I had left the men, to ascertain whether they were still there. If they were, I would wait for them till they left the inn, and then would set a watch upon their movements. If they were gone I would hasten to the doctors house to render assistance, should any be needed. I had no weapon, with the exception of a small knife; could I not provide myself with something more formidable? A few paces from where I stood were some trees with stout branches. I detaczhed one of these branches, and with my small knife fashioned it into a weapon which would serve my purpose. It was about four feet in length, thick at the striking end and tapering towards the other, so that it could be held with ease and used to good purpose. I tried it on the air, swinging it round and bringing it down with sufficient force to kill a man, or with certainty to knock the senses out of him in one blow. Then I returned to the inn, and looked through the window. In the settlement of my proceedings I had remembered that there was a red blind over the window which did not entirely cover it, and through the uncovered space I now saw the strangers sitting at the table as I had left them. Taking care to make no noise I stepped away from the window, and took up a position from which I could see the door of the inn, which was closed. I myself was in complete darkness, and there was no moon to betray me; all that was needed from me was caution. I watched fully half an hour before the door of the inn was opened. No person had entered during my watch, the inhab- itants of Nerac being early folk for rest and work. The two strangers lingered for a moment upon the threshold, peering out into the night; behind them was the landlord, with a candle in his hand. I did not observe that any words passed be tween them and the landlord; they stepped into the road, and the door was closed upon them. Then came the sounds of locking and bolting doors and windows. Then silence. I saw the faces of the men as they stood upon the threshold; they were evil-look- ing fellows enough, and their clothes were of the commonest. For two or three minutes they did not stir; there had been nothing in their man- ner to arouse suspicion, and the fact of their lingering on the roadway seemed to denote that they were uncertain of thea r route they should take. That they raised ~ their faces to the sky was not against them; it was a natural seeking for light to guide them. To the left lay the little nest of build- ings amongst which were Father Daniels chapel and modest house, and the more pretentious dwelling of Doctor Louis; to the right were the woods, at the entrance A SECRET INHERITANCE. A SECRET INHERITANCE. 25 of which my own house was situated. Which road would the strangers take? The left, and it was l)art evidence of a guilty design. The right, and it would be part proof that the landlords suspicions were baseless. They exchanged a few words which did not reach my ears. Then they moved on- wards to the left. I grasped my weapon, and crept after them. But they walked only a dozen steps, and paused. I also. In my mind was the thought, Continue the route you have commenced, and you are dead men. Turn from it, and you are safe. The direction of the village was the more tempting to men who had no roof to shelter them, for the reason that in Father Daniels chapel which, built on an eminence, overlooked the village lights were visible from the spot upon which I and they were standing. There was the chance of a straw bed and charitys help- ing hand, never withheld by the good priest from the poor and wretched. On their right was dense darkness; not a glimmer of light. Nevertheless, after the exchange of a few more words which, like the others, were unheard by me, they seemed to re- solve to seek the gloomier way. They turned from the village, and, facing me, walked past me in the direction of the woods. I breathed more freely, and fell into a curious mental consideration of the relief I experienced. Was it because, walking as they were from the village in which Lauretta was sleeping, I was spared the taking of these mens lives? No. It was because of the indication they afforded me that Lauretta was not in peril. In her defence I could have justified the taking of a hundred lives. No feeling of guilt would have haunted me; there would have been not only no remorse but no pity in my soul. The violation of the most sacred of human laws would be justified where Lauretta was concerned. She was mine, to cherish, to protect, to lovemine, in- alienably. She belonged to no other man, and none should step between her and me neither he whose ruffianly design threatened her with possible harm, nor he, in a higher and more polished grade, who strove to win her affections and wrest them from me. In an equal ~vay both were equally my enemies, and I should be justified in acting by them as Kristel had acted to Silvain. Ah, but he had left it too late! Not so would I. Let but the faintest breath of certainty wait upon suspicion, and I would scotch it effectually for once and all. Had Kristel possessed the strange power in his hours of dreaming which Silvain pos- sessed, he would not have been robbed of the happiness which was his by right. He would have been forewarned, and Avicia would have been his wife. In every step in life he took there would have been the fragrance of flowers around him; and a heavenly light. Thus with me, and for me. Did I, then, admit that there was any resemblance in the characters of Avicia and Lauretta? No; one was a weed, the other a rose. Here coarseness, there re- finement. Here low desire and cunning; there angelic purity and goodness. But immeasurably beneath Lauretta as Avicia was, Kristel~ love for the girl would have made her radiant and spotless. All this time I was stealthily following the strangers to the woods. Once I tripped. The sound arrested tbem;. they clutched each other in fear. What was that?~ one said hoarsely. Are we being followed? I stood motionless, and they stood with- out movement for many moments. Then they simultaneously emitted a deep-drawn sigh. It was the wind, said the man who had already spoken. I smiled in contempt; not a breath of ~vind was stirring; there was not the flutter of a leaf, not the waving of the lightest branch. All was still and quiet. They resumed their course, and I crept after them noiselessly. They entered the wood; the trees grew more thickly clus- tered. This will do, I heard one say; and upon the words they threw themselves to the ground, and fell into slumber. Sleep came to them instantaneously. I bent over them, and was satisfied. The landlord of the Three Black Crows was mistaken. I moved softly away, and when I was at a safe distance from them I lit a match and looked at my watch; it was twenty minutes to eleven, and before the minute hand had passed the hour I arrived at my house. The door was fast, but I saw a light in the lower room of the gardeners cottage, which I had given to Martin Hartog as a residence for him and his daughter. Hartog is awake, I thought; ex- pecting me perhaps. I knocked at the door of the cottage, and received no answer; I knocked again with the same result. 26 A SECRET INHERITANCE. Hartog! Hartog! I called; and still no answer came. The door had fastenings of lock and latch. I put my hand to the latch, and finding that the key had not been turned in the lock, opened the door and entered. Martin Hartog was not there. The room, however, was not without an occupant. At the table sat a young girl, the gardeners daughter, a sleep. She lay back in her chair, and the light shone upon her face. I had seen her when she was awake, and knew that she was beauti- ful, but as I gazed now upon her sleeping form I was surprised to discover that she was even fairer than I had supposed. She had hair of dark brown, which curled most gracefully about her brow and head; her face, in its repose, was sweet to look upon; she was not dressed as the daughter of a laboring man, but with a certain daintiness and taste which deepened my surprise; there was lace at her sleeves and around her white neck. Had I not known her station I should have taken her for a lady. She was young, not more than eighteen or nineteen I judged, and lifes springtime lay sweetly upon her. There was a smile of wistful tenderness on her lips. Her left arm was extended over the table, and her hand rested upon the por- trait of a man, almost concealing the fea. tures. Her right hand, which was on her lap, enfolded a letter, and that and the portrait which, without curious prying, I saw was not that of her father doubt- less were the motive of a pleasant dream. I took in all this in a momentary glance, and quickly left the room, closing the door behind me. Then I knocked loudly and roi~ghly, and heard the hurried move- ments of a sudden awaking. She came to the door and cried softly, Is that you, father? The door is unlocked. It is I, I said. Is your father not at home, then? She opened the door, and fell back a step in confusion. 1 should have let your father know, I said, that I intended to sleep here to- nightbut indeed it was a hasty decision. I hope I have not alarmed you.~ Oh, no, sir, she said. We did not expect you. Father is away on business; I expected him home earlier, and waiting for him I fell asleep. The servants are not coming till to-morrow morning. I know. Have you the keys? She gave them to me, and asked if she could do anything for me. I answered no, that there was nothing required. As I wished her good-night a mans firm~teps were heard, and Martin Hartog appeared. He cast swift glances at his daughter and me, and it struck me that they were not devoid of suspicion. I explained matters, and he appeared contented with my ex- planation; then bidding his daughter go indoo~rs he accompanied me to the house. There was a fire in my bedroom, almost burnt out, and the handiwork of an affec- tionate and capable housewife was every- where apparent. Martin Hartog showed an inclination then and there to enter into particulars of the work he had done in the grounds during my absence, but I told him I was tired and dismissed him. I listened to his retreating footsteps, and when I heard the front door closed I blew out the candle and sat before the dying embers in the grate. Darkness was best suited to my mood, and I sat and mused upon the events of the last forty-eight hours. Gradually my thoughts became fixed upon the figures of the two strangers I had left sleeping in the woods in con- nection with the suspicion of their de- signs which the landlord had imparted to me. So concentrated was my attention that I re-enacted all the incidents of which they were the inspirersthe fashioning of the branch into a ~veapon, the watch I had set upon them, their issuing from the inn, the landlord standing behind with the candle in his hand, their lingering in the road, the first steps they took towards the village, their turning back, and my stealthy pursuit after them not the smallest de- tail was omitted. I do not remember undressing and going to bed. Encom- passed by silence and darkness I was only spiritually awake. CHAPTER XIX. I WAS aroused at about eight oclock in the morning by the arrival of the servants of the household whom Laurettas mother had engaged for me. They comprised a housekeeper, who was to cook and gener- ally superintend, and two stout wenches to do the rougher work. In such a village as Nerac these, in addition to Martin Hartog, constituted an establishment of importance. They had been so well schooled by Laurettas mother before commencing the ~ active duties of their service, that when I rose I found the breakfast table spread, and the housekeeper in attendance to re- ceive my orders. This augured well, and I experienced a feeling of satisfaction at the prospect of the happy life before me. Like mother, like daughter. Lauretta would b~ not only a sweet and loving companion, but A SECRET INHERITANCE. 27 the same order and regularity would reign in our home as in the home of her child- hood. I blessed the chance, if chance it was, which had led me to Nerac, and as I paced the room and thought of Lauretta, I said audibly, Thank God! Breakfast over, I strolled into the grounds, and made a careful inspection of the work which Martin Hartog had per- formed. The conspicuous conscientious- ness of his labors added to my satisfac- tion, and I gave expression to it. He received my approval in manly fashion, and said he would be glad if I always spoke my mind, as I always speak mine, he added. It pleased me that he was not subservient; in all conditions of life a man owes it to himself to maintain, within proper bounds, a spirit of indepen- dence. While he was pointing out to me this and that, and urging me to make any suggestions which occurred to me, his daughter came up to us and said that a man wished to speak to me. I asked who the man was, and she replied, The land- lord of the Three Black Crows. Curious as to his purpose in making so early a call, and settling it with myself that his errand was on business, in connection, perhaps, with some wine he wished to dispose of, I told the young woman to send him to me, and presently he ap- peared. There was an expression of awkwardness, I thought, in his face as he stood before me, cap in hand. Well, landlord, I said, smiling; you wish to see me? Yes, sir. And there he stopped. Go on, I said, wondering somewhat at his hesitation. Can I speak to you alone, sir? Certainly. Hartog, I will see you again presently. Martin Hartog took the hint, and left us together. Now, landlord, I said. Its about those two men, sir, you saw in my place last night. Those two men? I said, pondering, and then a light broke upon me, and I thought it singularas indeed it was that no recollection, either of the men or the incidents in association with them should have occurred to me since my ~.waking. Yes? You are quite safe, sir, said the land- lord, I am glad to find. Quite safe, landlord; but why should you he so specially glad? Nothings happened here then, sir? Nothing. Thats what brought me round so early this morning, for one thing; I was afraid something inzght have happened. Kindly explain yourself, I said, not at all impatient, but amused rather. What mz~ht have happened? Well, sir, they might have found out, somehow or other, that you were sleeping in the house alone last night and here he broke off and asked, You did sleep here alone last night? Certainly I did, and a capital nights rest I had. Glad to hear that, sir. As I was say- ing, if they had found out that you were sleeping here alone, they might have taken it into their heads to trouble you. They might, landlord, but facts are stubborn things. They did not, evidently. I understand that now, sir, but I had my fears, and thats what brought me round for one thincr An expression you have used once be- fore, landlord. For one thing. I infer there must be another thing in your mind. There is, sir. You havent heard, then? As yet I have heard nothing but a number of very enigmatical observations from you with respect to these men. Ah, yes, I remember; you had your doubts of them when I visited you on my road home? I had, sir; I told you I didnt like the looks of them, and that I was not easy in my mind about my own family, and the bit of money I had in my place to pay my rent with, and one or two other accounts. That is so; you are bringing the whole affair back to me. I saw the men after I left the Three Black Crows. You did, sir! When? Where? To tell you would be to interrupt what you have come here to say. No more roundabouts, landlord. Say what you have to say right on. Well, sir, this is the way of it. I sus- pected them from the first, and you will bear witness of it before the magistrate. They were strangers in Nerac, but that is no reason why I should have refused to sell them a bottle of red wine when they asked for it. Its my trade to supply cus- tomers, and the ~vine was the worst I had, consequently the cheapest. I had no right to ask their business, and if they chose to answer~me uncivilly, it was their affair. I wouldnt tell everybody mine on the asking. They paid for the wine, and there was an end of it. They called for another bottle, and when I brought it I did not draw the cork till I had the money 28 A SECRET INHERITANCE. for it, and as they wouldnt pay the price come straight from the doctors house. not having it about em the cork There was the blood, and there the man; wasnt drawn, and the bottle went back. and from the description I should say it I had trouble to get rid of them, but they was one of the men who were drinking in stumbled out at last, and I saw no more my place last night. It is not ascertained of them. Now, sir, you will remember at what time of the night he and his mate that when we were speaking of them Doc- tried to break into the doctors house, but tor Louiss house was mentioned as a the attempt was made. There is the evi- likely house for rogues to break into and dence of it. They commenced to bore a rob. hole in one of the shutters at the back; the A moment, I interrupted in agitation. hole made, it would have been easy to en- Doctor Louis is safe? large it, and so to draw the fastenings. Quite safe, sir. However they did not get so far as that. And his wife and daughter? They could scarcely have been at their Quite safe, sir. scoundrelly work a minute or two before it Go on. came to an end. The villains couldnt hear what we How and by whom were they inter- said, no more than we could hear what rupted, landlord? That, of course, is they were whispering about. But they known? had laid their plans, and tried to hatch It is not known, sir, and its just at them worse luck for one, if not for both this point that the mystery commences. the scoundrels ; but the other will be There they are at their work, and likely to caught and made to pay for it. What be successful. A dark night, and not a they did between the time they left the watchman in the village. ~Never a need Thee Black Crows and the time they for one, sir. Plenty of time before them, made an attempt to break into Doctor and desperate men they. Only one man Louiss is at present a mystery. Dont be in the house, the good doctor; all the oth- alarmed, sir; I see that my news has ers women, easily dealt with. Robbery stirred you, but they have only done harm first if interfered with, murder after- to themselves. No one else is a bit the wards. They wouldnt have stuck at it, worse for their roguery~ Doctor Louis not they! But there it was, sir, as God and his good wife and daughter slept willed. Not a minute at work, and some- through the night undisturbed; nothing thing occurs. The question is, what? occurred to rouse or ak~rm them. They The man lies dead on the ground, with a got up as usual, the doctor being the first gimlet in his hand, and Doctor Louis, in he is known as an early riser. As it full sunlight, stands looking down on the happened, it was fortunate that he was strange sight. outside his house before his lady, for al- The man lies dead on the ground, I though we in Nerac have an idea that she said, repeating the landlords words; but is as brave as she is good, a ~voman, after there were two. all, is only a woman, and the sight of blood No sign of the other, sir; hes a van- is what few of them can stand. ished body. People are out searching The sight of blood! I exclaimed, for him. But that I was assured that Lauretta was He will be found, I said safe and xvell, I should not have wasted a Its to be hoped, interrupted the land- moment on the landlord, eager as I was to lord. learn what he had come to tell. My mind, And then what you call a mystery will however, was quite at ease with respect to be solved. my dear girl, and the next few minutes Its beyond me, sir, said the landlord, were not so precious that I could not spare with a puzzled air. them to hear the landlords strange story. It is easy enough. These two scoun- That, he resumed, is what the doc- drels, would-be murderers, plan a robbery tor saw when he went to the back of his and proceed to execute it. They are ill- house. Blood on the ground and what conditioned creatures, no better than sav~ is more, what would have given, the ladies ages, swayed by their passio~is, in which a greater shock, there before him was the there is no sho~v of reason. They quarrel, body of a man dead. perhaps about the share of the spoil which What man? I asked. each shall take, and are not xvise enough That I cant for a certainty say, sir, to put aside their quarrel till they are in because I havent seen him as yet. Im possession of the booty. They continue telling the story second-hand, as it was their dispute, and in such savages their told to me awhile ago by one wlw had brutal passions, once roused, swell and A SECRET INHERITANCE. 29 grow to a fitting climax of violence. So with these. Probably the disagreement commenced on their way to the house, and had reached an angry point when one began to bore a hole in the shutter. This one it was who was found dead. The proof was in his hand the gimlet with which he was workino~ Well conceived, sir, said the landlord, following with approval my speculative explanation. This mans face, I continued, would be turned toward the shutter, his back to his comrade. Into this comrades mind darts, like a lightning flash, the idea of committing the robbery alone, and so be- coining the sole possessor of the treasure. Good, sir, good, said the landlord, rubbing his hands. No sooner conceived than executed. Out comes his knife, or perhaps he has it ready in his hand opened. Why opened, sir? Would it not be a fixed blade? No; such men carry clasp.knives. They are safest, and never attract notice. You miss nothing, sir, said the land- lord admiringly. What a magistrate you would have made! He plunges it into his fellow-scoun- drels back, who falls dead, with the gim. let in his hand. The murder is explained. The landlord nodded excitedly, and con- tinued to rub his hands; then suddenly stood quite still, with an incredulous ex- pression on his face. But the robbery is not committed, he exclaimed; the house is not broken into, and the scoundrel gets nothing for his pains.~~ With superior wisdom I laid a patroniz- ing hand upon his shoulder. The deed done, I said, and he, gaz- ing upon his dead comrade, is overcome with fear. He has been rash he may be caught red-handed; the execution of the robbery will take time. He is not familiar with the habits of the village, and does not know it has no guardians of the night. One may stroll that way and make discovery. Fool that he was! He has not only committed murder, he has robbed himself. Better to have waited till they had possession of the treasure; but this kind of logic always comes afterwards to ill-regulated minds. Under the influence of his newly born fears he recognizes that every moment is precious; he dare not linger; he dare not carry out the scheme. Shuddering, he flies from the spot, with rage and despair in his heart. Unhappy wretch! The curse of Cain is upon him.. CHAPTER XX. THE landlord, who was profuse in the expressions of his admiration at the light I had thrown upon the case, so far as it was known to us, accompanied me to the house of Doctor Louis. It was natural that I should find Lauretta and her mother in a state of agitation, and it was sweet to me to learn that it was partly caused by their anxieties for my safety. Doctor Louis was not at home, but had sent a messenger to my house to inquire after me, and to give me some brief account of the occurrences of the night. We did not meet this messenger on our way to the doctors; he must have taken a different route from ours. You did wrong to leave us last night, said Laurettas mother chidingly. I shook my head, and answered that it was but anticipating the date of my re- moval by a few days, and that my presence in her house would not have alt~red mat- ters. Everything was right at home, I said. Home! What inexpressible sweetness there, was in the word! Martin Hartog showed me to my room, and the servants you engaged came early this morning, and attended to me as though they had known my ways and tastes for years. You slept well? she asked. A dreamless night, I replied; but had I suspected what was going on here, I should not have been able to rest. I am glad you had no suspicion, Ga- briel; you would have been in danger. Dreadful as it all is, it is a comfort to know that the misguided men do not be- long to our village. Her merciful heart could find no harsher term than this to apply to the monsters, and it pained her to hear me say, One has met his deserved fate; it is a pity the other has escaped. But I could not keep back the words. Doctor Louis had left a message for me to follow him to the office of the village magistrate, where the affair was being in- vestigated, but previous to going thither, I went to the back of the premises to make an inspection. The village boasted of one constable, and he was now on duty in a state of stupefaction. His orders were to allow nothing to be disturbed, but his bewilderment was such that it would have been easy for an interested person to do as he pleased in the way of altera- tion. A stupid lout, with as much intel- ligence as a vegetable. However, I saw at once that nothing had been disturbed. 30 A SECRET INHERITANCE. The shutter in which a hole had been bored was closed; there were blood-stains on the stones, and I was surprised that they were so few; the gate by which the villains had effected an entrance into the garden was open; I observed some par- ticles of sawdust on the window-ledge just below where the hole had been bored. All that had been removed was the body of the man who had been murdered by his comrade. I put two or three questions to the con- stable, and he managed to answer in mon- osyllables, yes and no, at random. A valuable assistant, I thought, in unrav- elling a mysterious case! And then I reproached myself for the sneer. Happy was a village like Nerac in which crime was so rare, and in which an official so stupid was sufficient for the execution of the law. The first few stains of blood I noticed were close to the window, and the stones thereabout had been disturbed, as though by the falling of a heavy body. Was the mans body, I inquired of the constable, lifted from this spot? He looked down vacantly and said, Yes. You are sure? I asked. Sure, he said after a pause, but whether the word was spoken in reply to my question, or as a question he put to himself, I could not determine. I continued my examination of the grounds. From the open gate to the win- dow was a distance of forty-eight yards; I stepped exactly a yard, and I counted my steps. The path from gate to window was shaped like the letter 5, and was for the most part defined by tall shrubs on either side, of a height varying from six to nine feet. Through this path the vil- lains had made their way to the window; through this path the murderer, leaving his comrade dead, had made his escape. Their operations, for their own safetys sake, must undoubtedly have been con- ducted while the night was still dark. Reasonable also to conclude that, being strangers in the village (although by some means they must have known beforehand that Doctor Louiss house was worth the plundering), they could not have been ac- quainted with the devious turns in the path from the gate to the window. There- fore they must have felt their way through, touching the shrubs with th~ir hands, most likely breaking some of the slender stalks, until they arrived at the open space at the back of the building. These reflections impelled me to -make a careful inspection of the shrubs, and I was very soon startled by a discovery. Here and there some stalks were broken and torn away, and here and there were indisputable evidences that the shrubs had been grasped by human hands. It was not this that startled me, for it was in accordance with my own train of reason- ing, but it was that there were stains of blood on the broken stalks, especially upon those which had been roughly torn from the parent tree. I seemed to see a man, with blood about him, staggering blindly through the path, snatching at the shrubs both for support and guidance, and the loose stalks falling from his hands as he went. Two men entered the grounds, only one left ~ that one, the murderer. The blood-stains indicated a struggle. Between whom? Between the victim and the perpetrator of the deed? In that case, what became of the theory of action I had so elaborately described to the land- lord of the Three Black Crows? I had imagined an instantaneous impulse of crime and its instantaneous execution. I had imagined a death as sudden as it was violent, a deed from which the murderer had escaped without the least injury to himself; and here, on both sides of me, were the clearest proofs that the man who had fled must have been grievously wounded. My ingenuity was at fault in the endeavor to bring these signs into harmony with the course of events I had invented in my interview with the land- lord. I went straight to the office of the mag- istrate, a small building of four rooms on the ground floor, the two in front being used as the magistrates private room and court, the two in the rear as cells, not at all uncomfortable, for aggressors of the law. It was but rarely that they were occupied. At the door of the court I en- countered Father Daniel. He was pale, and much shaken. During his lifetime no such crime had been perpetrated in the village, and his only comfort was that the actors in it were strangers. But that did not lessen the horror of the deed, and his large heart overflowed with pity both for the guilty man and the victim. So sudden a death! he said, in a voice broken by tears. No time for repentance! Thrust before the Eternal presence weighed down by sin! ~ have been praying by his side for mercy, and for mercy upon his murderer. Poor sin- ners! poor sinners! I could not sympathize with his senti- ments, and I told him so sternly. He A SECRET INHERITANCE. 3 made no attempt to convert me to his views, but simply said, All men should pray that they may never be tempted. And so he left me, and turned in the direction of his little chapel to offer up prayers for the dead and the living sin- ners. Doctor Louis was with the magistrate; they had been discussing theories, and had heard from the landlord of the Three Black Crows my own ideas of the move- ments of the strangers on the previous night. In certain respects you may be right in your speculations, the magistrate said; but on one important point you are in error. I have already discovered, I said, that my theory is wrong, and not in ac- cordance with fact; but we will speak of that presently. What is the point you refer to? As to the weapon with which the mur- der was done, replied the magistrate, a shrewd man, whose judicial perceptions fitted him for a larger sphere of duties than he was called upon to perform in Nerac. No knife was used. What, then, was the weapon? I asked. A club of some sort, said the magis- trate, with which the dead man was suddenly attacked from behind. Has it been found? No, but a search is being made for it and also for the murderer. On that point we are agreed. There is no shadow of doubt that the missing man is guilty. There can be none, said the magis- trate. And yet, urged Doctor Louis, in a gentle tone, to condemn a man unheard is repugnant to justice. There are circumstances, said the magistrate decidedly, which point so surely to guilt that it would be inimical to justice to dispute them. By the way, he continued, addressing me, did not the landlord of the Three Black Crows men- tion something to the effect that you were at his inn last night after you left Doctor Louiss house, and that you and he had a conversation respecting the strangers, who were at that time in the same room as yourselves? If he did, I said, he stated what is correct. I was there, and saw the stran- gers, of whom the landlord entertained suspicions which have been proved to be well founded. Then you will be able to identify the. [body, already, added the magistrate, identified by the landlord. Confirma- tory evidence strengthens a case. I shall be able to identify it, I said. We went to the inner room, and I saw at a glance that it was one of the strangers who had spent the evening at the Three Black Crows, and whom I had afterwards watched and followed. The man who has escaped, I ob- served, was humpbacked. That tallies with the landlords state- ment, said the magistrate. I have something to relate, I said, upon our return to the court, of my own movements last night after I quitted the inn. I then gave the magistrate and Doctor Louis a circumstantial account of my movements, without, however, entering into a description of my thoughts, only in so far as they affected my determination to protect the doctor and his family from evil designs. They listened with gre at interest, and Doctor Louis pressed my hand. He un- derstood and approved of the solicitude I had experienced for the safety of his household; it was a guarantee that I would watch over his daughter with love and firmness and protect her from harm. But you ran a great risk, Gabriel, he said affectionately. I did not consider that, I said. The magistrate looked on and smiled; a father himself, he divined the undi- vulged ties by which I and Doctor Louis were bound. At what time, he asked, do you say you left the rogues asleep in the woods? It was twenty minutes to eleven, I replied, and at eleven oclock I reached my house, and was received by Martin Hartogs daughter. Hartog was absent, on business his daughter said, and while we were talking, and I was taking the keys from her hands, Hartog came home, and accompanied me to my bedroom. Were you at all disturbed in your mind for the s~ifety of your friends in conse- quence of what had passed? Not in the slightest. The men I left slumbering in the woods appeared to me to be but ordinary tramps, without any special evil intent, and I was satisfied and relieved. I could not have slept else; it is seldom that I have enjoyed a better night. Cunning rascals! May not their slum- bers have been feigned? I think not. They were in a profound 32 A SECRET INHERITANCE. sleep; I made sure of that. No, I could not have been mistaken. It is strange, mused Doctor Louis, how guilt can sleep, and can forget th~ present and the future! I then entered into an account of the inspection I had made of the path from the gate to the window; it was the magis- trates opinion, from the position in which the body was found, that there had been no struggle between the two men, and here he and I were in agreement. What I now narrated materially weakened his opinion, as it had materially weakened mine, and he was greatly perplexed. He was annoyed also that the signs I had dis- covered, which confirmed the notion that a struggle must have taken place, had es- caped the attention of his assistants. He himself had made but a cursory examina- tion of the grounds, his presence being necessary in the court to take the evidence of witnesses, to receive reports, and to is- sue instructions. There are so many things to be con- sidered, said Doctor Louis, in a case like this, resting as it does at present en- tirely upon circumstantial evidence, that it is scarcely possible some should not be lost sight of. Often those that are omitted are of greater weight than those which are argued out laboriously and with infinite patience. Justice is blind, but the law must be Argus-eyed. You believe, Gabriel, that there must have been a struggle in my garden? Such is now my belief, I replied. Such signs as you have brought be- fore our notice, continued the doctor, are to you an indication that the man who escaped must have met with severe treatment? Undoubtedly. Therefore, that the struggle was a vio- lent one? Yes. And prolonged? That is the feasible conclusion. Such a struggle could not have taken place without considerable disarrange- ment about the spot in which it occurred. On an even pavement you would not look for any displacement of the stones; the utmost you could hope to discover would be the scratches made by iron heels. But the path from the gate ot my house to the back garden, and all the walking-spaces in the garden itself, are formed of loose stones and gravel. No such struggle could take place there without conspicu- ous displacement of the materials of which the ground is composed. If it tookplace amongst the flowers, the beds would bear evidence. I observed no disorder in the flower-beds. Did you? Then did you observe such a disar- rangement of the stones and gravel as I consider would be necessary evidence of the struggle in which you suppose these men to have been engaged? I was compelled to admit but I ad- mitted it grudgingly and reluctantly that such a disarrangement had not come within my observation. That is partially destructive of your theory, pursued the doctor. There is still something further of moment which I consider it my duty to say. You are a sound sleeper ordinarily, and last night you slept more soundly than usual. I, un- fortunately am a light sleeper, and it is really a fact that last night I slept more lightly than usual. I think, Gabriel, you were to some extent the cause of this. I am affected by changes in my domestic arrangements; during many pleasant weeks you have resided in our house, and last night was the first, for a long time past, that you slept away from mAs. It had an influence upon me; then, apart from your absence, I was thinking a great deal of you. (Here I observed the magistrate smile again, a fatherly, benignant smile.) As a rule I am awakened by the least noise the dripping of water, the fall of an inconsiderable object, the mewing of a cat, the barking of a dog. Now, last night I was not disturbed, unusually wake- ful as I was. The wonder is that I was not aroused by the boring of the hole in the shutter; the unfortunate wretch must have used his gimlet very softly and wa- rily, and under any circumstances the sound produced by such a tool is of a light nature. But had any desperate struggle taken place in the garden it would have aroused me to a certainty, and I should have hastened down to ascertain the cause. Gabriel, no such struggle oc- curred. Then, said the magistrate, how do you account for the injuries the man who escaped must have undoubtedly re- ceived? The words were barely uttered when ~C we all started to our feet. There was a great scuffling outside, and cries and loud voices. The door was pushed open, and half-a-dozen men rushed into the room, guarding one whose arms were bound by ropes. He was in a dreadful condition, and so weak that, without support, he could not have kept his feet. I recog THE MILITARY FRONTIER OF FRANCE. nized him instantly; he was the hump- backed man I had seen in the Three Black Crows. He lifted his eyes and they fell on the magistrate; from him they wandered to Doctor Louis ; from him they wandered to me. I was gazing steadfastly and sternly upon him, and as his eyes met mine his head drooped to his breast and hung there, while a strong shuddering ran through him. From The National Review. THE MILITARY FRONTIER OF FRANCE. IN 1870 the French authorities were so confident that the quarrel with Prussia would be fought out on German ground that they provided the army with tens of thousands of maps of western Germany, and neglected to supply it with any of Alsace and Lorraine. A French officer of engineers, who afterwards published an interesting diary of the campaign,* tells how he tried to buy a map of the east of France as soon as it was evident that this would be the real field of operations. The booksellers told him that they had re- ceived a circular stopping the sale of the ordnance maps, and all they could give him was a small map, fit only for a schoolboy. Other officers were even worse equipped in this respect. This mistake, the result of an exaggerated con- fidence in the efficiency of the armies in the field, was only one of many springing from the same cause. That the French army might have to fight in France and on the defensive was not to be thought of. No preparations were made for such a contingency. Most of the fortresses were in such a condition that they could not stand a siege against modern artillery. Metz was well fortified, because it had always been looked upon as the destined point of concentration and mobilization for the campaign against Prussia; and in the same way some attention had been paid to Strassburg, as the fortress which was to cover the passage of the Rhine into southern Germany. But neither of those places was properly provisioned for a siege. At Paris the forts were un- armed; and when defeat on the frontier made the siege inevitable, they were hur- riedly armed and garrisoned with guns and men withdrawn from the fleet, which thus practically ceased to exist, in order Trois Mois & lArm~e de Metz, par on Officier de Gdnie. Paria, 1871. -. lAYING AGE. VOL. LVIII. 2967 33 that Paris might be defended. As to the minor fortresses, most of them fell before a mere bombardment, without any regular siege, others were blockaded and starved out. Both their works and their arma- ment were obsolete. The French had clung too long to traditions running back to the days of Vauban, in the matter of fortification, and when attacked by long- range rifle artillery their fortresses were little better than open towns. Metz and Strassburg were feebly defended, and soon fell. The minor fortresses were mostly incapable of a prolonged defence. Only one of them held out till the end of the war. This was the little hill-fort of Bitche, in the Vosges. The siege was a memo- rable one, not only for the obstinate and successful resistance made by the garri- son, but also because it had a distinct effect upon the plans subsequently adopted for the fortification of the new frontier. After the battle of Woerth one of McMa- hons regiments, or rather what was left of it, instead of retiring across the Vosges, threw itself into the little fortress. The place was blockaded by the Germans in the second week of August, but held out until it was evacuated after the treaty of peace. Perched on a bold rocky height, the guns of Bitche commanded the rail- way from Metz to I-Iagenau, and the Ger- mans were forced to expend much time and labor in constructing a loop-line be- fore they could use this railway to supply the army before Metz. The defence of Bitche had thus some influence on the general course of the campaign. Moreover, it taught the French engineers the lesson that a strong fort with a small garrison, unencumbered by a large civilian population, may be much more effective than larger fortresses where the defence is often cut short by the mere difficulty of feeding a multitude of non- combatants, or by the panic terror excited among the people by bombardment. The new scheme for the defence of France contains only two kinds of fortresses: (I) the great fortresses of the first class, cov- ered by a mile of detached forts, and (2) small forts well placed so as to cover some important point, and having within their ramparts a garrison unencumbered by non-combatants. These forts are very numerous, and the large part assigned to them in the general plan is in no small degree due to the successfur defence o~ Bitche sixteen years ago. The cession of Alsace and Lorraine placed Metz and Strassburg, the keys of the old French frontier, in German hands. 34 THE MILITARY FRONTIER OF FRANCE. It gave France a new frontier, and a very daz515u1 as bases of operation in the heart open one; a frontier unprotected by any of the country. The accompanying rough very great natural obstacles, for the Ger- sketch ~vill help the reader to understand mans now held both sides of the Rhine, what follows, and will explain the general and the northern uasses of the Vosges system adopted by the French engineers (the passes by which the French armies better than many pages of description. used to march to the Rhine under Napo- The sketch omits the forts that link leon I.) were well within the new German tegether the fortresses of the first line, territory. Moreover, this naturally open and the other minor features of the gen- frontier might be said to be wholly un- eral scheme of defence. It shows only protected by art once Metz and Strassburg the main points of that scheme, these be- were gone. True there was the fortress ing (i) the line of fortresses immediately of Belfort on the extreme right, guarding inside the frontier, (2) the two groups of the well-marked valley between the Vosges fortresses placed on either flank of the and the Jura, which French geographers line, by which an invading army must ad- call Za Iroule de Be~for/. But Belfort, vance on Paris, (3) the three great rallying- shattered by the successful siege which points for a defensive campaign like that was the last act of the xvar, was only the of I 8yo7~I Lille, Paris, and Lyons. Be- wreck of a fortress; and in any case its fore proceeding to a more detailed account works were not of such a character as to of these three lines of defence, it must be fit it for its new position on the very fron- noted that the French railway system in tier line. Taught by the hard lessons of the east of Franc~ has been greatly devel- defeat, the French government at once set oped since 1871, a large number of cross to work to put the new frontier into a lines having been constructqd with a view thorough state of defence. Successive to the rapid concentration of a large army war ministers have steadily worked upon immediately to the rear of the first line of the lines originally laid down by the engi- defence. neers charged with the task in 1871. Thisfirst line isformed of the fortresses Money has not been spared. It has been of Belfort, Epinal, Toul, and Verdun. spent by millions, and now, after the labor Belfort is linked with Epinal, and Toul of sixteen years, the work is done. Prob- with Verdun, by a line of detached forts. ably so vast a scheme of military engineer- But between Epinal and Toul, and again ing was never before planned and executed between Verdun and the Belgian frontier, in so brief a time. The French engineers there are wide openings left in this line, have not been content to erect upon the and these gaps are all the more remarkable new frontier three or four first-class for- on account of the immense labor that has tresses to serve as points of support for a been expended in closing with forts and defending army. They have closed i~ batteries every other portion of the frontier with a double line of works, linked these barrier. Belfort closes the valley between together by an elaborate system of rail- the southern extremity of the Vosges and ways, and, besides re-fortifying Paris, the Swiss frontier. The place has been they have constructed two other great re-fortified since the war. The space of fortresses in the heart of France to serve about eighteen miles between it and the as bases of operations for her armies, if, nearest Swiss territory is guarded by Fort as in 1870, the barriers nearer the frontier Lomont, close to the frontier, and two were again pressed by invading armies strong forts with a battery between them from beyond the Rhine. which protect the valley of the Doubs Lieutenant-Colonel Kbttschau, a distin- south of Montb6liard. To the north of guished officer of the German artillery, Belfort the line of forts stretches away has recently published, in his striking towards Epinal, a distance of some thirty- work on the prospects of the next war be- seven miles. Going from south to north tween France and Germany,* a number of we have first in the little valley of the interesting details on the new fortifications Savomeuse (which runs down from the of the eastern frontier of France. In de- Vosges to Belfort) the battery of Les ~. scribing the general system of defence, he Blanches, and the fort of Qiromagny. speaks of the first, second, and third line Then, high up on the crest of the hill that of fortresses. It gives a more correct divides the valley of the Savomeuse from impression to speak only of two lines near the sources of the Moselle, we find the the frontier, and three strong points fort of Ballon de Servance. From this * Der n5chste deutsche-franzisische Krieg. Eine point the line of defences follows the upper milit5risch-politische Stuclie von C. Kiittschau, Oberat- valley of the Moselle, the forts of Ch~tean lieutenant a. D. Strasiburg, i886. -. Lambert, RupI, Parmont, Arches, and La THE MILITARY FRONTIER OF FRANCE. 35 Mouche, succeeding each other at inter- vals of four or five miles, so that their heavy guns can actually cross their fire at fairly long ranges. La Mouche is one of the outlying forts of Epinal. Epinal is the second of the strong places on the frontier. Unlike Belfort, which stands on the very border-line, it has some thirty miles of hilly ground between it and the crests of the Vosges, which mark the nearest frontier. It stands at the point where several small lateral valleys unite with the main valley of the Moselle. The city occupies both banks of the river, and the surrounding heights are crowned with forts, five in all, three to the north and east, and two to the south. The city has no inner enceinte, but could be rapidly en- trenched if necessary; but the forts, each in itself a small fortress, afford sufficient protection, and the space of ground they protect is ample enough for a very con- siderable force to find shelter under their guns. From the fort of Dogueville, which forms the northern bulwark of Epinal, to the southern forts of Toul, there is a gap in the line of defence, a gap no less than twenty-seven miles in width. Through this wide opening lies the way, by Neuf- chateau, to a number of good roads lead- ing to Paris or to Lyons. Neufch~teau, though so far left entirely without fortifi- cations, is clearly a place of some impor- tance in the French scheme of defence. It stands in the upper valley of the Meuse, and has about five thousand inhabitants. In 1870, its only means of railway commu- nication with the rest of France was a branch line to Chaumont. Now, although the place has absolutely no commercial importance, it is linked with the rest of the eastern railway system by no less than five lines. Colonel Kdttschau tells us that German military opinion looks on Neufch~teau as the destined headquarters of the French army of the east in the next war with Germany. It is curious to note how Neufch~teau stands just in the rear of the first great gap in the fortified frontier line. This gives some color to Kdttschaus theory. The system of works from Belfort to Epinal, which we have just described, forms the right or southern half of the first line. The left is formed by the line from Toul to Verdun. Toul is to the new fron- tier what Metz was to the oldits chief place of arms. Twenty million of francs, or about ~8oo,ooo, have already been ex- pended on its fortifications. It is sur:. rounded by a double circle of forts, the first line being fully four miles in advance of the body of the place; three forts placed well in front of the general line of defence, the forts of Frouard and St. Vin- cent, near Nancy, and the fort of Mano- villu, near Luneville, protect important railway junctions, and form serious obsta- cles to an advance along the valley which leads from the easiest passes of the Vos~ ges, those above Saverne. This is the line followed by the railway of the old dili- gence road from Strassburg to Paris; it is the great highway for the invasion of France. In the old days it was closed by Strassburg on the frontier, and Phalsburg in the pass of the Vosges. Now it is watched by Toul and its advanced, forts. The choice of Toul instead of Nancy, as the main point of resistance on this line, marks the tendency in the new plan to choose for the frontier fortresses places with a moderately large population, in- stead of great cities where the garrison would be encumbered with huge masses of non-combatants. Between Toul and Verdun there is a continuous line of strong forts. Five of them crown the heights on the right bank of the Meuse, to the north-west of the fortress ; three more, placed at wider inter- vals, bring us to the southern forts of Verdun. This place is important, because it stands almost within striking distance of the great German fortress of Metz. Ver- dun covers the road and railway by Cha- lons to Paris, the line on which Bazaine vainly tried to retreat in the second week of August, 1870. Verdun now forms a great entrenched camp, covered by a cir- cle of nineteen forts, most of them to the east of the place, looking towards Metz. On this side they are almost crowded to- gether. Then, north of Verdun, all forti- fication ceases. For a space of about twenty-three miles, between its outlying forts and the Belgian frontier, there is, so far as we are aware, neither a gun nor an entrenchment. The roads leading from Metz by Sedan and Mezi~res, and turning the left flank of the first French line, are left open to the Germans. This is the second gap in the barrier, and these two such marked intervals have certainly not been left unguarded without a purpose ervunsckte Einbruckstel/e, Colonel K6tt- schau calls themplaces where it is hoped the Germans will break in; or, simpler still, the openings of a trap. We shall see presently what he means. In the rear of this first line are the stra- tegical railways for the concentratiqn of the field army, with their central junction at 36 THE MILITARY FRONTIER OF FRANCE. Neufch~teau. In this same region we find stations obviously prepared for the rapid debarkation of troops, with extensive storehouse accommodation for supplies, and even rooms ready for the use of the ambulance corps. Fifty or sixty. miles behind the first line we find the second, or rather, the two groups of fortresses which form its left and right, the centre of the line of defence being apparently reserved for the main army of operation. On the right the fortresses are: (i) Besan~on, on the Doubs. The city stands in a deep bend of the Doubs. The citadel closes the gap between the two arms of the river, and at the other extremity of the place a strong fort forms a t~te-de-po;n beyond the river. An outlying circle of sixteen forts completes the defences. (2) Langres, at the head of the Maine valley, fortified by an enceinte and a circle of forts, with, to the eastward, a semicircle of forts so far thrown forward as to include within this advanced line seventeen vil- lages, thus affording cantonments for a large army. (3) Dijon, protected by a cir- cle of forts. Auxonne, in the valley of the Saone, is less completely fortified, and serves as a connecting link between Dijon and Besan9on. The left or northern group of fortresses is composed of (I) Rheims, defended by a circle of thirteen forts; (2) the two fort- resses of Laon and La F~re, which are linked together by a line of forts. Fur- ther, the strong fort of Cond6 protects the great junction of roads and railway lines at Soissons, to the rear of these three fort- resses. To the north-east of Laon Fort Hirson guards another important railway junction, close to the Belgian frontier and to the north of Mezi~res the towns of Rocroy and Givet are fortified by an enceinte; Givet is almost surrounded by Belgian territory, standing as it does at the northern extremity of the sharp salient angle in the French frontier, where the Meuse enters Belgium. Th ese two places are hardly capable of a prolonged defence. They are really outposts of the strongly fortified group Rheims-Laon-LaF~re. These works complete the double bar- rier of the frontier. Behind them lie the great p/aces darrnes of Paris, Lyons, and Lille. Since the war Paris has been sur- rounded with a new circle of forts placed so far in advance of the old line, that a bombardment of the city would now be impossible without the previous capture of several of the forts. Moreover, the extent of ground covered by the sixteen forts of the outer circle is so great that a complete investment is now probably im- possible. Versailles, the Prussian head- quarters during the siege of 187o71, is now converted into a huge outwork of Paris, and guarded by a semicircle of forts. Lyons forms the great rallying-point for the south. In the north Lille has been strongly fortified for the same purpose, and surrounded by a group of minor fort- resses Maubeuge, Landrecies, Cambrai, Arras, Bouchain, and Valenciennes. Of these, Maubeuge, on the Belgian frontier, is the most important. All the new fortresses are built on the modern polygonal system. The French engineers have at last definitely aban- doned the complicated bastioned fronts, to which they clung tenaciously long after they had been given up everywhere else. The chief strength of the defence now lies in the heavy batteries of the outlying forts. These and the detached forts which link together the fortresses ~of the first line, are large earthworks, mounting a considerable number of heavy guns, be- sides machine guns for the defence of the ditches, and quick-firing Hotchkiss can- non which are destined to do the work of the old wall-pieces and annoy the enemys working parties. The heavy guns are in many of the forts protected by iron shields; a few are mounted in revolving turrets of the naval type. All the forts have spa- cious bomb-proof quarters for the garri- son, and magazines capable of holding abundant supplies of ammunition. The garrisons are not large, generally from two to four companies of infantry, and enough artillery to work the guns. This elaborate fortification of the new frontier would seem to indicate that the French, taught by the experience of I87o, count upon standing on the defensive at the outset of the next war with Germany. Their army will concentrate in the rear of the first line of fortresses, and Colonel K6ttschau is certainly right in pointing out Neufch~teau as the destined head- quarters of ~he army of the revanche. In that case the Germans at the outset of the campaign will have before them two gateways into France, gates left open on purpose, one between Toul and Epinal, and full in front of Neufchateau, the other north of Verdun, between it and the Bel- gian frontier. To advance directly against the French front, and refuse to enter these open gates would be to run full against a strong line of heavily armed forts. On~ the other hand, to pass bet~veen Epinal and Toul and strike at Neuf chateau, would RICHARD CABLE. 37 be to fight with a line of communications and retreat menaced on either side by a considerable fortress, capable of shelter- ing a ~vhole corps darrnde within the cir- cle of its forts. Moreover, a French army defeated near Neufch~teau could fall back towards Paris until it had the two groups of the fortresses of the second line on its flanks, or even refuse battle until it was ~vell down the Meuse valley towards Paris, when the invaders would have the fort- resses of the second line on the flanks of their communications. If, however, the German commanders avoided the Toul- Epinal opening, and swept round from Metz to the north of Verdun, they would have to fight after forming front to a flank; i.e., as they faced the French field army, their line of communications would not be in their own rear, but would stretch away from their left along the frontier, and this line would f~irther be threatened by the garrison of Verdun. Moreover, their situation would so far resemble that of the French at Sedan that there would be a neutral territory in their rear. Thus, supposing the Germans began the cam- paign by advancing across their own fron- tier, whatever line they chose for their advance, the position of the French would be a strong one. But the condition we have indicated is a very important one If the Germans do not begin by advancing across their own frontier, i.e., the frontier of Alsace-Lor- raine, the position of affairs is very much modified to the disadvantage of the French. If the Germans boldly violate neutral ter- ritory, either in Switzerland or in Belgium, they can turn the flank of the French bar- rier of fortresses and forts. To advance through a mountain country like Switzer- land, and strike at the south of France, would not be a very likely plan for the Germans to adopt; but to enter Belgium and Luxembourg from the Rhine prov- ince would place them in an excellent position for an attack upon France. Metz and Strassburg, with the Vosges and the Rhine, would cover Germany from a French counter-attack, while the German columns issued from the Belgian Ar- dennes; and with their line of communi- cations stretching securely in their rear to Cologne, Coblentz, and the lower Rhine, they could await the attack of the French with confidence, while a special corps, with a strong siege-train, prepared to de- stroy or reduce the northern fortresses of either the first or the second line. Both lines are planned to meet an attack from the eastward; assailed from the north- ward, by an army based on Belgian terri- tory, they could probably be taken one by one. In such a campaign Verdun would, perhaps, be the first point of attack in order to clear the main road from Metz to the westward; the work of the field army would be to beat the French as they came up to the relief of the fortresses. But even on this supposition, the campaign would be a much less rapid one than that of 1870. Whatever happens, the wave of German invasion will not flow in so fast as in that disastrous year. This much, at least, the new fortresses have secured for France. But the weakness of the plan lies in the possibility of a flank attack across Belgian territory. Prince Bismarck has not such a respect for treaties as to hesitate about such an attack, if the mili- tary leaders saw any advantage in it. This much is certain; the Germans will hardly be content to walk quietly into the trap prepared for them, by choosing as their lines of advance the ervunschte Em- brucks/elle pointed out by colonel K6tt- schau. The alternative is a violation of Belgian territory, with or without the con- sent of the Cabinet at Brussels; for, despite the lavish expenditure on the Belgian ari~y, it is not in a condition to offer any serious resistance to a German invasion. A. HILLIARD ATTERIDGE. From Chambers Journal. RICHARD CABLE, THE LIGHT5HIPMAN. BY THE AUTHOR 01 ~ JOHH HEEEIH~,~~ COURT ROYAL. ETC. CHAPTER IX. ON THE TERRACE. JOSEPHINE lived in a condition of feud with her father. In her heart she repented of her rebelliousness; but when present with him, the antagonism broke out again, in spite of good intentions. She had nat- urally a good heart, truthful character, and abhofrence of meanness, but met at every turn with evidences of her fathers insin- cerity and self-seeking. This condition of warfare had imbittered her heart and sharpened her tongue. We begin life as believers, and end it as sceptics. We begin with trustfulness, and go on through every stage of disillu- sion into absolute mistrust. As children, we look up to every one; as old men, we look down on all. We expect this process 38 RICHARD CABLE. to take place within us; to find out one subterfuge after another, to discover hol- lowness wherever we tap, and dust behind every rind; and we are pleased at the in- genuousness of the young, who believe all things to be solid and the rind to cover richness. Josephine was brought up in an atmo- sphere so clear that no illusion was possi- ble in it. Her fathers conversation dis- pelled all faith in what is good and noble and real. His example was level with his opinion. He made no scruple to let his sister and daughter see the strings that controlled his movements, the hollowness of all his profession. Instead, therefore, of beginning life as a child with belief, she began with suspicion and distrust. She was drawn to Richard Cable and his household by the contrast he and it exhibited to her father and her own home. She stepped at once from the scenery of a theatre to natural landscape, from a hot- house to breezy open air. And as that which is true and wholesome always exer- cises attraction on a nature not wholly depraved, Josephine woke to conscious- ness of many fibres in her soul linking her to the Cable family, and to acknowledge a fascination which she could not explain. Her father did not forbid her to go to the cottage; perhaps he so completely disbelieved in her obedience, that he thought it useless to do so. Instead, he sneered and threw about insinuations which offended her, and stirred in her the spirit of opposition, which always slum- bered in her heart, waiting to be aroused. His remarks about Cable were so unjust and ungenerous, that she resented them indignantly; their injustice spurred her sense of fairness into assertion. The perverse tactics of Justin Cornellis re- coiled on himself. Had he forbidden Josephine to go to the cottage, she would have obeyed sullenly, and admitted in the end that he had ordered discreetly; but as he took the other course, she persisted in her visits against her better judgment. Aunt Judith exercised neither authority nor influence on the wayward girl. She was a lazy woman, ~vho believed in her brothers cleverness, and thrust all respon- sibilities upon his shoulders. So long as she was comfortable, all was well. The profitable was always right, and success was the sanction of conduct however tor- tuous. She reflected, in this, the general opinion, took her tone from what prevails. We heap scorn on Mrs. Grundy when she shakes her head over the gentleman who has a good cellar, and his lady who gives splendid balls; she is only listened to when she utters her doubts about the pro- priety of calling on that couple which drives a pony-chaise, and the grass-widow whose garden is too circumscribed for lawn tennis. Those who have difficulty in making both ends meet have every one picking at their frayed edges; but those, whose incomes are double-breasted are panoplied as in armor. When we reckon our income by hundreds, we scarce dare express an opinion; but when by thou- sands, we may calculate on our platitudes being regarded as words to be treasured. We return cold shoulder to him who, when we drop in unexpectedly, gives us a cold leg of mutton at dinner. A surgeon must put his groom in livery and drive a dash- ing turnout before he receives a fee. If he walks to see his patients, no one will give a fig for his opinion. I know a banker who stopped a run and averted ruin by putting his footman into red velvet breeches; no one supposed that the bank was tottering, when Jeames assumed new carnation inexpressibles. I wish, Josephine, said Mr. Cornellis, you would run across to the ilall and learn what has become of Mr. Gotham. I have not seen him these three days. He has not been here; and when I went to inquire, he was not visible; stupefied with opium, I suppose. Tell him that I will come over and have a game of billiards with him, if he be so inclined. Throw in a word about Aunt Judith, he added with a scornful laugh. Yes, and no, papa, answered Jose- phine. I will go, and I will say nothing about my aunt. She took her hat and went to the Hall. Mr. Gotham was in his garden, on the terrace, and the servant guided her to him. I have had the geraniums bedded out, he said. I like to look on. Do you see how my roses are coming out? Shall I tell papa you do not care for billiards to-day? asked Josephine, who was impatient to be gone. I do not know; I will consider. Stay a while, and talk to me. That will be bet- ter than billiards. I am a little easier to- day, and am enjoying the sun. These are very lovely grounds, are they not, dear Josephine? Very lovely. Hardly any one sees them. It will not do for me to allow people the run of them; they would pull off the branches, pluck the flowers, and trample the grass. Yet, I suppose, if I am going to stand for the county, I must do this, allow a free RICHARD CABLE. day for the public, and keep indoors all that day as a prisoner. I do not mind your walking here whenever you like. Thank you, Cousin Gotham. It has occurred to me, he said in a shy manner, twitching his head from side to side, that those children I saw you with the other day might like to see the grounds. Who were they? What were their names? 01), the seven little daughters of Rich- ard Cable the lightshipman. They are ~5~retty children. I peeped through the hedge as I was passing, and saw you surrounded by them. I thought I saw you peeping before I went into the garden. I peeped twice once before, once after. In fact, I heard the chatter of little voices, and saw something shining, under the leaves and thorn-boughs; and could not make out what it was, till I stooped, and then I saw it was the golden hair of little children sitting on the bank. After- wards, I heard you singing to them, and I peeped again. You like them, I pre- sume. What are their names? Cable. I mean their Christian names.~~ Mary, and Effie and Jane, Martha, Let- tice, Susan, and Bessie. I think that is the order, but am not sure. Effie and Jane are twins. Bessie Bessie Cable, murmured the old man, and he rubbed one trembling hand over the other. I wonder why she is called Bessie? After her grandmother. Has she dark hair and dark eyes like like her? No. All the children are fair, very fair. They remind me of a group of cher- ubs faces by Sir Joshua Reynolds. It is strange to find such beauty among persons so low in life, said Gabriel Gotham. Sit down, Josephine, on this garden seat by me sit and talk. I en- joy the sun; it does my neuralgia good, now that the wind is less cold and without east in it. I suppose that these children take after their father? I never saw their mother. You know she is dead. I know I I know nothing whatever about them. Is she dead? Oh, I did hear about it. She was a maid at the rec- tory, I fancy. Richard might have looked higher. He is a handsome man. He is not like his mother. She is a very fine old woman, so stately, with a grand way about her. I think Mr. Cable derives something in ljs 39 manner and his reserved way from her; but she is dark, and he is fair. Did you ever know his father? His father! Mr. Gotham started. There is some mystery about him. Richard Cable says he never saw him he deserted Mrs. Cable when he, Richard, was an infant. Mr. Gotham fidgeted. You see those little children occasionally, he said eva- sively. Perhaps it would please them to come into these grounds. I I will have the wicket on the sea-wall open, and you can bring them in some day, and take them about; and if they like to pick any of the syringa, or laburnum, or rhododen- dron, I shall not mind. It would be pretty would it not to put the laburnum chains about their little gold heads? No doubt it would please them. You will not say anything about this to Mrs. Cable; she might object. Take them out for a stroll on the shore, and you will find the gate unlocked. Give a push, and it will be open; then bring them in. I shall not be in the garden; I shall know nothing about their being here. No pre- cedent will be established. But say noth- ing to Mrs. Cable. XVhy not? She would have no objec- tions. I do not know; she would think it an intrusion. She might fear the chil- dren would do damage, and forbid it. I had rather you said nothino- to her either before or after. b I will do as you wish. When? This afternoon? No; to-morrow. I I think there are some empty nests in the Bankshian rose trailed against the terrace wall. If you look in, or hold up the little ones to peep in, they may perhaps find eggs there pink and white, almond and sugar. That would please them make them laugh, eh? I am sure it would. I shall not be here; I shall be in my room. I shall perhaps hear them laugh, and it will divert me, especially if I am in pain at the time. But I shall not appear. My green ja/ousies will be down. If I appeared, I might seem to sanction the intrusion, and there is no knowing where invasion would stop. I should have all the parish coming here to pull up my bulbs, and pluck my roses, and break the statues and vases. I do not like the pub- lic; it is boisterous, and leaves traces where it romps of sandwich papers and empty ginger-beer bottles. When grounds are thrown open to it, the public is noisy, 40 RICHARD CABLE. and I cannot bear noise. I suffer acutely in my nerves. There is a long nerve ex- tending from the temple to the foot But there; I will not speak of that. It begins to twitch and shoot the moment I allude to it. Richard Cable is a fine man, a handsome man. Look at this standard rose, Josephine. Do you know what it is? General Jacqueminot, a hybrid perennial. It is a superb rose. Do you know on what it grows? On wild-brier stock. It is budded. Below the bud, the root, the stein, are all wild, vulgar, hedge dogrose. I should think Richard Cable was a bud- ded rose; we know the stock is common, but consider! What a man the father must have been, to have such a tall, stal- wart, handsome son! You do not know Greek, Josephine, or you would under- stand what I mean when I say c~nax an- drdn a king of men. I dare say. It is a pity his father does not see him. Cable is a man to be proud of; he is not only a fine man, but he is a true and good man. The children are pretty children, are they not? Like Reynoldss angels, you said. They are very pretty, unusually pretty children. They do not take after their grand- mother; Mrs. Cable is dark. But perhaps their mother was fair. Oh, their mother was nothing, a very common sort of creature. If they do not take after their grandmother, it must be after their grandfather. He must have been possessed of great personal beauty when he was young. To this Josephine made no reply; she was not interested in the question as to the appearance of the unknown grand- father. There is, I hear, a good deal of high quality, self-respect, and sterlincr ooodness in Richard Cable. He is a thorough man. He could not have had that from his mother, who is only a common woman. Why not? She is a superior person. I like her; she is so dignified. He has not her eyes and hair. Rely on it, he draws also his moral and mental qualities from the other side. What a man that father must have been! I do not think it, or he would not have deserted him. Mr. Gotham kicked the gravel about with his toes, first with one foot, then with the other, and worked a hole with his stick among the shingle that covered the terrace. What does your father think of Rich- ard Cable? he asked at length. Papa! Oh, he calls him a lout and a booby. He does not like him? No he has taken a prejudice against him; why, I cannot tell. I suppose he has done something to testify to Richard Cable his gratitude for the services he rendered you? He offered him a ten-pound note, and Richard refused it, I am glad to say. You are glad. Why? Because papa should have given him either a great deal, or nothing at all. Cable deserves something for his goodness to you, his care and his kind- ness. He deserves a great deal; but he is too proud or too much of a gentleman at heart, to accept anything, offered as my father offered it. Mr. Gotham considered a while, still working a hole in the ground with the end of his stick. He looked slyly out of the corners of his eyes at Josephine, and then down at the burrow he was making. It is no concern of mine, said he after a while. But for the sake of something to talk about, we will pursue the subject. I suppose Cable has his ambitions. What is he going to do now? Go on with his duties as lightshipman, or take to some other line of life? Nothino else offers. The ship will be replaced; I suppose a better one than that old cut-down tub. But I fancy Rich- ard would rather take to something which did not withdraw him so much from home. I heard him one day say that if he only had a boat of his own, he would be a fish- erman. Why should he not have a boat? He cannot afford one. Boats are ex- pensive. Why should not you give him one? I ! Josephine almost started to her feet, she was so astonished at the proposi- tion. Yes, you. Why not? He saved your life. You feel indebted to him. Give him what would make him happy. Do not ask him if he will have it and give him an opportunity of declining; make it his. But Mr. Gotham her handsome face was flushed as she turned it to him how can I? I have no money that ~ is to say, of course I shall have my moth- ers money some day; but my father is trustee, and my guardian, and would noV let me have the sum for the purpose. VALENTINE VISCONTI. 4 Nothing would please me better than to give this surprise and gratification to a kind, good man. But it is not of any use proposing it to my father; he would not hear of it; he would cover me with ridi- cule, jeer at the suggestion, and dismiss it. But I suppose that when of age, you can claim your money to do with it what you will? I do not know. I am of age next month; but it does not follow that I shall get my money if I ask for it. I am not going to have a lawsuit for it with my father. I will make a suggestion, Josephine, said the old man, still working his stick, and working it faster. I have money at my disposal which I am ready to lend you for this purpose. You shall borrow it of me, giving me an acknowledgment, and you shall buy Richard a ship. There is a new and beautiful little cutter being built by Messrs. Grimes and Newbold. She is very nearly ready for sea. What do you say to buying her and fitting her up with everything necessary, and pre- senting her to Richard Cable? My father will never allow it. Jo- sephines face was burning, her dark eyes sparkling. Do not say a word about it to him. The arrangement is between you and me. I think with you that some fitting acknowl- edgment should be made to Richard. He was right to refuse ten pounds. The world will cry shame on your father and you unless something be done for your preserver. Do not bring me in. I lend you the money; I do nothing more. I am ignorant of the purpose for which you borrow itit is a business transaction. But Josephine hesitated. She was pleased with the idea, yet something in her cautioned her not to close with the proposal. But, Mr. Gotham she colored deeply will not people con- sider it odd? Will it not give occasion to talk? People will suppose your father has in this way recompensed Cable. They need not know that he has nothing to do with it, any more than they need know that I have helped in the matter. The talk will be that Mr. Justin Cornellis has done the right thing, and done it hand- somely. Do not let it get wind that he offered ten pounds; that would make talk, and talk not pleasant to hear. Folk would say he valued you cheaply. You shall buy the boat of Messrs. Grimes and New- bold, and name her. What shall she be named the Bes- sie? The Bessie! Mr. Gotham shrank back. No on no account the Jo- sephine. From The Fortnightly Review. VALENTINE VIScONTI. IN TWO PARTS. PART I. I. VALENTINE VIscoNTI, the origin of greater wars than Helen, was born in the Abbey of Pavia, in the year 1366. Her grandfather, Galeazzo Visconti, had left Milan rather suddenly in ill health, poi- soned, as he believed, by his brother, who was co-tyrant with him of Lombardy. He had designed a safe and splendid castle for himself in Pavia. While it was still unfinished Valentine was born in the hos- pitable old Certosa there. Galeazzo Visconti had taken with him from Milan his wife, Blanche of Savoy, his little daughter lolanthe, and his mar- ried son Giangaleazzo, with his wife Isa- belle. These last were the parents of Valentine. When she was born her mother was sixteen and her father fifteen years of age.* At her nativity there were, ~ve are told, incredible rejoicings; for the pride of Galeazzo Visconti was gratified by the birth of a grandchild, who was no less the granddaughter of a king of France. The mother of Valentine was that little French princess who, six years ago, had been sold into Lombardy to help to raise the golden millions of her fathers ransom. John the Good had received for his daugh- ter the sum of five hundred thousand golden forms, a sort of inverse marriage portion, the price of a royal alliance. But Galeazzo had not paid for barren honor only; Isabelle had brought her husband the county and the title of Vertus in Champagne. Though the little girl had gone weeping into Italy, her tears were soon dried. She had left a devastated and ruined country; she came into a land of sumptuous tyranny, of riches and mag- nificence. Life was easy at Milan and at Pavia, where Galeazzo was busied with his new university, where Giangaleazzo a timid, intellectual, orderly creature spent day after day in his study full of Corio on different pages puts the date of the birth of Giangaleazzo as 1352 and 1343. The firat date, 1352, agrees with the account of Galeotto del Caretto and the deed of majority in Corio. 42 VALENTINE VISCONTI. enormous parchment ledgers, directing the staff of secretaries who copied into them his accounts, his memoranda, and copies of his correspondence. Priests and friars from the old Certosa, professors of law and learning from t~te new college, learned men like Philippe de M~zi~res, visitors from so far away as England, France, or Cyprus these were the guests of the palac~. Gradually the stately home echoed with childrens voices. Valentine was horn in 1366. One brother grew strong and playful at her side; another died in babyhood. When the third was born, in 1373, Isabelle died, and a few months after her baby followed her. The immense castle of Pavia was very quiet now. Isabelle was dead, and her baby; lolanthe, the girl-widow of the Duke of Clarence, had married, in 1372, the Marquis of Monferrat. There were only the old Visconti and his wife, and the stu- dious young Count of Vertus and his two little children. He, at least, did nothing to make the palace livelier, for he had a constant horror of being murdered. Guards and double guards watched the narrow portals, and let nothing in that was not familiar and secure. It was quieter still when, in 1378, Ga- leazzo Visconti died. He had been a terrible old man; cruel, unscrupulous, scholarly. It was he who obtained from the emperor, Charles IV., in 1361, the privilege to found the University of Pavia, and he who protected it by an edict threat- ening with heavy punishments the Mi- lanese who dared to study in another school. And he it was, also, who threw alive into a fiery furnace two priests who came to him on an unwelcome message; and who, with his brother Bernab6, had poisoned their third brother, co-heir and co-tyrant with them in Lombardy. They had divided his share, Galeazzo taking Piacenza, Pavia, the west to Novara, and as far as Como in the north; while Ber- nab6 possessed the rich province of the east. Both ruled alike in Milan. Both should have been equally powerful. But Galeazzo had left all his share to the sole Count of Vertus, and he, too, had only one son to follow him, whereas the signory of Bernab6 was strengthened and divided by eleven turbulent and violent young sons. Valentines father remembered the fate of his uncle. He kept very quiet, sur- rounded himself with priests and guards, ate of no dish before a score of stewards tasted of it, and dissimulated his ambition. This he did so well that the timid Count of Vertus became a byword and a laugh- ing-stock in the house of Bernabb. Al- though the young man had taken care to obtain from the emperor investitures wtrich conferred upon him absolute au- thority; * although by his judicious pro- tection of the people he made himself the desired deliverer of the unhappy Milanese, still Bernabb and his children could not take their kinsman seriously. And the better to lull their suspicions, in 1380 the young Count of Vertus came a-courting to the noisy Castello di Porta Giovio, where Bernab6 kept house with such of his nine- and-twenty children as still remained in Milan. It was a great riotous house full of voices, full of splendid young men in armor (Palamedes, Lancilotto, Sagramoro), full of beautiful women and fair young girls with lovely names (Achiletta, Verde, Damigella), and not less radiant for their easy familiarity with evil. One of these dangerous maidens, Caterina, the Count of Vertus took to be his second wife. In the next year, in 1381, on~the fourth of October, his boy, Astorre, died. Valentine was now his only heir, for during the first eight years of their mar- riage Caterina Visconti had no children. Valentine was fifteen years old, of an age to be dowered and married. Her father, however, kept her at home with him, teaching her many things too much, some people said, for they thought her as wise as Medea. She could invent posies; she could read not only Italian books, but Latin, French, and German. Into what- ever court she might hereafter marry, she would be not only the daughter of the Duke of Milan, but his diplomatic agent. I do not know if she could speak English, but in those years of warfare the English were often at Milan, and Valentine when a little girl had seen (a brilliant, sudden vision) her English iincle of Clarence, who had died so strangely at Alba, and was buried at Pavia. She was a scholarly maiden, possessing of her own no less than eleven books; more than her grand- father, King John, had ever owned in his royal library at Paris. And she could write as well as read a clear, excellent hand, of which the signature still exists in the Paris archives. Froissart in later days remarked on the frequent letters that ~.- she wrote to her father, Madame Valen- tine wrote him all she knew., Tn, spectabilisque Azo, natus tuns. . . auctori- tate, bayli5, nec non Regi~ Potestatis plenitudine, tam ordinari~ quam absolute, etc., Feb., 1380. Luenig. De Ducatu Mediolanense, in the Codex Italia Diplo.. mat icus, No. xxvii. See also Investiture of Asti, s383 to Giangaleazzo (vos et heredes vestri) in the A rckives Nationales, K. 53, dossier 22. VALENTINE VISCONTI. I do not think she was beautiful, for not a record of the fact remains, but certainly she was beautifully attired. The catalogue of her gala dresses is a thing to wonder on: scarlet, and silver, and cloth of gold, and rich embroidery; cloths of peacock green and mulberry color; tissues of netted pearls. And she had as many pearls, diamonds, sapphires, and balass- rubies as any princess in a fairy story. She wore them sewn all over her caps, round her girdles, encircling her young throat, and showered broadcast across the bro- cades and embroidery of her gowns. With all this, at sixteen, and with the subtle sweetness of the natural Lombard grace, it is not necessary to be beautiful. In 1382 some guests came to Milan, who marvelled at the magnificence of these Viscontis, who talked much with Valen- tines father, and who spread abroad the tale of his daughters wisdom and her splendor. They must also have impressed on the mind of this young girl the strength, the beauty, the wealth of France. And they must no less have spurred the silent and vigilant ambition of her father; for in the late May of 1382, along the straight, vine-bordered roads of Lombardy, four thousand men rode together tobethe guests of Milan. They were all mounted on beautiful chargers caparisoned in silk and precious metals; they were all clad in suits of burnished armor; light aigrettes floated from their helmets. They seemed the army of Xerxes, ~vrote the Monk of St. Denis; their beasts of burden went slowly under loads of gold and treasure. Those that beheld them, astrologers and prophets, read in the future the records of their fabulous glory. In truth they were a host of heroes. Knights like the Count of Savoy and the Count of Potenza went In the ranks. At their head rode a tall, square-shouldered man, with fair locks beginning to grizzle, and a handsome countenance. He was magnificent in his cloak of woven gold and lilies. This was Louis of Anjou, king of Sicily, setting out for Naples to conquer his new king- doin. A kingdom in Italy! It was the dearest vision of the age. The kingdom of Adria, a dream never realized; the kingdom of Naples, a phantom eluding for two hun- dred years the eager grasp of France. In the subtle mind of Giangaleazzo Visconti, a third, a vaster kingdom, was already taking shape a kingdom dead and bur- ied for near five hundred years the kingdom of Italy! But to gain Italy it was first necessary. 43 to be secure in Milan. While his guests rode on triumphantly to famine and disas- ter, the Count of Vertus elaborated his plan. When the king of Sicily, wrapped in a remnant of homespun daubed with painted yellow lilies, lay dead in his un- conquered kingdom, defeated in his grave at Bar Giangaleazzo Visconti ruled su- preme in Lombardy. He had plotted so well that one sole death secured this change. On the 6th of May, 1385, Giangaleazzo had secured the person of his uncle, and had sent him with his dilettissirna amante to the castle of Trezzo. Giangaleazzo, no less skilled in poisons than his father, had him poisoned there, and buried him in Milan in a sep- ulchre of splendid marble. He then caused himself to be proclaimedj sole lord of Lombardy. If any questioned his pro- ceedings, he could produce the investiture of Wenzel, granting him absolute author- ity and final judgment. The children of Bernabb were stupefied and did qot rebel; most of the sons went to fight in the ranks of Sir John Hawkwood; and the people of Milan hailed the Count of Vertus as a deliverer. He taxed them heavily, indeed, but without disorder; and his police were so excellent he used to smile and say, I am the only robber in all my provinces. Giangaleazzo was now master of a great domain, immensely rich, three-and-thirty. He meant to go far. In 1386 he sent to Pope Urban, demanding the title of king of Zialy. Urban refused, and in future the Ghib- elline Count of Vertus confined his re- quests to the emperor, or else to the anti-pope at Avignon, who asked nothing better than to make himself a party in Italy. But first of all, Giangaleazzo began to conquer his kingdom. Verona, Padua, Pisa, Siena, Perugia, Assisi, Bologna, Spoleto, fell like ninepins before his gath- ering force. Florence began to tremble. Foreign countries began to talk of this new conqueror, of his force, his wealth, his one young daughter. Clement, the pope of Avignon, among others, perceived that with Anjou in the south and Visconti in the north, a great Gallic party might be formed in Italy. Clement was at once the creature and the patron of the kings of France. In the end of 1386, while the Milanese messengers stHl were in the sad- dle arranging a marriage between Valen- tine and the emperors brother, suddenly the governor of Vertus arrived at Pavia. He brought a message from the king of France, the young Charles VI. The king .demanded the hand of Valentine for his 44 VALENTINE VISCONTI. only brother, Louis, the Duke of Tou- raine. This was an important step. The two first children of the king of France had died as soon as they were born, and Louis was still the heir to the crown. Valentine, six years after her fathers second mar- riage, was still his only child. It was current in France that the Count of Ver- tus turned to his daughter and said, When I see you again, fair daughter, I trust you will be queen of France. H. VALENTINE was a very wealthy heir- ess; she brought hack to France nearly all her mothers dowry, four hundred and fifty thousand golden forms and the county of Vertus in Champagne. In ad- dition to this she took into the kingdom a freight of golden ornaments and jewels, and the county of Asti in Lombardy, with a yearly income of nearly thirty thousand golden forms. The county of Asti comprised a whole province of towns, villages, and castles. Thirty signories ~vere in its fief; forty- eight villas paid homage to the Count of Asti; Brie and Cherasco, two large towns in Piedmont, belonged directly to him. In the politics of those times few things are more striking than the singular light- mindedness with which a king of France bestows upon a Lombard adventurer a county in the very heart and centre of his own kingdom, or the confidence with which an Italian conqueror hands the key of his position to a wealthy neighbor. The situation of the French at Asti turned out to have the very gravest political con- sequences. It assured them Savona in 1397, Genoa in 1396, and a century of wars about the Milanese. For this se- cure footing in Lombardy gave a point of reality to their vision of an Italian kingdom, and made the subtraction of Italy from the empire appear not only de- sirable but possible. On the other hand, it familiarized Italy with France. Hence- forth the Italian princes, in any dispute among themselves, would call in the pro- tection less of the king of France than of the powerful Count of Asti. But at first the Lombards did not like it. I Lombardi, says Corio, furono di mala voglia. What they really dreaded was the succession of Valentine to Milan. This is too complicated and intricate a question to dispose of here. I will only say that the Italians believed that in some fashion Giangaleazzo had secured Milan to his daughter, in case he sho~d have no sons, or (as actually happened), all his sons should die childless.* In later days the kings of France affected to believe in the existence of an actual deed given to Louis and Valentine t by Clement VII., the anti-pope at Avignon. No trace of such a deed, I believe, exists at present, and yet it is very probable it may have once existed. Certainly in 1387 Clement sent a similar privilege securing the suc- cession to Asti ; ~ and in the summer of 1389, immediately on the arrival of Val- entine in France, her husband went to visit the pope at Avignon. Few things seem more probable than that in such a moment Clement, anxious at all costs to strengthen France in Italy, should have granted the deed. But I have sought for it in vain in Paris, and M. Maurice Faucon, in his two years mission, found nothing in the archives at Milan, nothing at Turin, nothing at Asti, nothing at Venice. It would seem that this often-quoted papal investiture either never gxisted or was destroyed. The careful ledgers of Gian- galeazzo, where the least account was entered, and the archives of the house of Orleans are equally barren of it. But still it seems certain that at some time and in some manner the succession of Val- entine to Milan was clearly established. For when the usurper, Francesco Sfor- za, succeeded to Milan, his first care was to destroy the will of Giangaleazzo.~I This he probably accomplished on the 26th February, 1452; but, unknown to him, a copy of the will was taken. More than fifty years later, in 1496, the juris-consult Jason del Maino wrote to his kinsman, Ludovico ii Moro, I have found a copy of the will of Giangaleazzo Visconti in the house of Messer Dominico Oliari, notary of Pavia. Keep it safe or destroy it. it would be of great importance to the Duke of Orleans against your excellency, for it provides that should the sons of Gian- galeazzo die without male heirs the suc- cession shall pass to one of the sons of Madame Valentine. This chance-found * See Corio. Le Historie Milanese, p. 260. t Archives of Simancas. Calendar of State Papers, Louis XII. to the Duke of Norfolk, Nov. 26, 1514. Corio appears to believe the deed was granted by U~ ban. ~ MSS. Archives Nationales, K. 5~4, dossier 3. ~ Clement was so anxious to establish the French in Italy that in 1382 he pledged all the estates of the Church to raise funds for Louis of Anjou. Arch. Nat. J. 495. II Archivio Storico Lombardo. Anon 9, fasc. 2 (1882). The documents (previously unpublished) are quoted. Maurice Faucon, Le Manage de Valentine Vis- conti. See Archives des Missions Scientifique. et Litt6raires, s& ie iii., vol. 5. Also Osia, Doc. diplom. trattati dagli Archivii di Milano. VALENTINE VISCONTI. 45 evidence of a will destroyed is the most explicit bequest of Milan to the sons of Valentine. But in all the three Imperial investitures to Giangaleazzo their claim is tacitly recognized. Even the unfriendly investiture of 1396, which bestows the state of Milan on any son of any son, legitimate or illegitimate, of Giangaleazzo, includes in the last resort the sons of his daughter (descendentes Iwi, eorumque de- scendentes masculi). III. IN April, 1387, Valentine of Milan was married by proxy and parole to the Duke of Touraine. The bride was twenty-one, the bridegroom just sixteen; but as Juve. nal des lJrsins remarked, Assez caut, subtil et sage de son aage. In a merely political marriage there is no lovers haste. It was not till the 3rd of June, 1389, that the lord of Milan sent his married daugh- ter to her home in France. Valentine took away with her an escort of knights, a burden of gold and gems, the possession of Asti, and the promise of Milan. She had in her caskets three hundred thousand pearls of price, beside the pearls upon her gala dresses. Her plate was valued at more than one hundred thousand marks in Paris. Her jewels, ornaments, and tapestries were estimated at nearly seven hundred thousand golden forms. Giangaleazzo had found nothing too costly or too radiant for his only daughter. When at last he let her go, he rode with her out of the gates of Pavia, saying never a word of farewell, looking not once into her beloved face, lest he should fall a-weeping. In the saddest hour of her tragic and melancholy life, Valentine remembered with tears that silent parting. It was the 17th of August, 1389, accord- ing to the dates of the Monk of St. Denis, when Valentine rode into Melun to meet her bridegroom. The king was there as well as alt the court a court full of kins- men for Valentine. The king and her husband were both her first cousins, and so was the young king of Sicily; the Dukes of Burgundy and Bern were her uncle~. She was also distantly related to the kings young wife, Isabel of Bavaria; for generations the princes of Bavaria had married the daughters of the rich Visconti. The jealousy and suspicion of the queen must have been the earliest greeting of Valentine at Melun. Queen Isabel was the idol of the court. Radiantly beautiful, eighteen years old, she was not satisfie& with the devotion of her husband. Charles VI. was a gentle, kindhearted, stalwart young man, at two-and-twenty already rather bald, clear of eye and cheek, gen- erous, slow-witted, unapt to state and dignity. He was lovable and sweet in temper; he emitted, like an odoriferous flower, the ingenuity of his perfect char- acter, writes the anonymous Monk of St. Denis. But at his side, more brilliant and more eloquent than he, rode the first knight of chivalry, the kings only brother, Louis, Duke of Touraine. This young man was eighteen years old, extremely handsome, so witty and so wise that in the University of Paris there were no doctors ~vho were proof against his bonne rndmoire et belle loquelle. Often at night, in the H6tel de St. Paul at Paris, he and the young Marshal Boucicault would sit into the grey hours of the morning, devising and arguing the nature of the soul, or making rondels, songs, and ballads. Other days and nights were spent in less inn& cent amusements; for the beautiful Duke of Touraine was so irresistible a lover that popular fancy endowed him with a magic wand and an enchanted ring, making him absolute master of all women. None the less though in a knight it were more noble to succor than enslave fair ladies the duke was considered (a woman has pronounced it) the very refuge and re- treat of chivalry. And the charm of his youth and beauty, of his rhetoric and laughter, of his gentle manners and bril- lian4 knightliness, still exhales from the dusty pages of Christine de Pisan and J uvenal des Ursins. These two loved him. But the hostile Monstrelet, the crit- ical Monk of St. Denis, the unenthusiastic Froissarteven these contribute to the testimony of his enchanting presence. I have said that Louis was held to pos- sess an unearthly ring, a magic wand, of desire. For a perfect knight he had put them to strange uses. He had fascinated with his wand; he had bewitched with the circle of his ring, the young wife of his brother, the beautiful Queen Isabel. And he was the bridegroom of Valentine Vis- conti. Queen Isabel was at Melun to greet her new kinswoman. We can im- agine with what critical eyes she ran her over. Valentine, though not beautiful, was a novel and irradiating vision in her veil of gems. She was wise too; she could talk with her husband over the poems he made, the verses of Lord Salis- bury, the romances of Wenzel of Luxem- bourg or of Maitre Jean dArras, all the literature of the court., She could argue 46 VALENTINE VISCONTI. with him, this subtle Lombard, in the tenuous and fanciful dissertations that he loved. Queen Isabel could not endure to see this stranger, by reason of her splen- dor and her novelty, become the centre of attraction. The marriage festival was scarcely over when Isabel persuaded her husband to ordain a greater festivity for herself. She had been married four years, she was known by sight to every clerk in the Rue St. Denis, yet the king, obedient to her behest, proclaimed the royal entry of the queen into Paris. This Paris that Valentine entered as a stranger was a beautiful city. The streets and bridges had been largely rebuilt by. her uncle, Charles the Wise. Between the new Bas- tille and the river he had raised an im- mense royal palace, the H6tel de St. Paul. Close at hand stood the Palais de Tour- nelles, the great hotel of the king of Sicily, the H6tel Clisson, and the H6tel de Boh6me, where the Duke of Touraine sometimes lived. A little farther off (in the Rue de Turbigo) the castle of the Duke of Burgundy still rears its out-dated menace. On the left bank of the Seine another group of palaces surrounded NOtre Dame. At the extremity of the city stood the Louvre. Rebuilt by Charles the Wise, it was endowed by him with a library of nine hundred and ten volumes (chiefly illuminated missals, legends, miracles, and treatises on astrology). There a silver lamp burned always day and night in the service of students, to whom the library was ever open. Paris was a beautiful city; but it seemed a paradise upon the occasion of the royal entry. The Rue St. Denis was draped from top to bottom in green and crimson silk scattered with stars. Under the gate- way angels sang in a starry heaven, and to the sweet sound of instruments little chil- dren played a miracle. There were tow- ers and stages raised along the streets, where the legend of Troy and other pleas- ant matters were enacted. There were fountains also flowing with milk or flow- ing with claret. Maidens stood beside them in rich chaplets of flowers, and out of golden cups they gave the passers-by to drink, and sang melodiously the while; up and down this magic city went the citizens wives and daughters in long robes of gold and purple. The citizens themselves were clad in green, the royal officers in rose- color. But all these splendors paled and dwindled when the royal procession came in sight. In the middle, in an open litter, sat the queen, the beautiful, smiling idol of the feast; she was dressed in a down of silk sewn over with French lilies worked in gold. Behind her, in painted cars, went the great ladies of the court. Only the Duchess of Touraine had no litter; Val- entine rode on a fair palfrey, marvellously caparisoned; she went on one side of the queens litter among the royal dukes. The people of Paris, says Froissart, were as anxious to see the new duchess as the queen, whom indeed they had often seen. For Madame Valentine was immensely rich, the daughter of a great conqueror, and she had only just come out of Lom- bardy, a mysterious country where wonder- ful things came to pass. What impression did Valentine make on the people of Paris, pressing and craving to see the foreign duchess? Which of her gala dresses did she wear? The scarlet one sewn thick with pearls and diamonds, with a cap of pearls and scarlet for her dusky hair? Or the robe of gold brocade with sleeyes ~nd head- dress of woven pearls? Or a flashing crown of balasses and sapphires, and a dress of scarlet sewn with jewels and em- broidered with pale-blue borage flowers? In any of these this splendid Italian stran- ger must have appeared to the burghers of Paris as a vision of southern luxury, of mysterious outlandish enchantment. At least it is certain that never after they looked upon her as a mere mortal woman. Just at that season every one was reading the M~lusine of Maitre Jean dArras. Valentine of Milan with her fairy splen- dors, her subtle wisdom, her Lombard traditions Valentine, with the Visconti snake on her escutcheon, must have seemed to these Parisians much such an- other mysterious serpent-woman, another M~lusine. For the Italian character, never fanatic and yet so prone to spiritual passions; seldom bestial, yet so guilty of unnatural vices Italy has ever been a mystery, a hateful enigma to the practical French; and of all Italians the Lombards, the border people, are most unlike their Gallic neighbors. A century later, whe,n the French poured into Italy, no blazing mountain of Vesuvius, no wonderful Vene- tian city swimming in the seas, no antique and glorious ruins of Rome, so much as- ~ tonished the foreign soldiers as the learned and subtle ladies of Lombardy. Those later chroniclers who have been in Italy relate with wonder their fables of ecstatic virgins, and gifted women ~viser than their sex; they have seen one Anna, a woman forty years of age, who never eats, drinks; or sleeps, and who bears on her body th~ mystical wounds of Christ, breaking out VALENTINE VISCONTI. andbleeding afresh on every Friday. In Milan, a demoiselle Trivulce, de son grant jeune aage, wrote letters in Latin and was eloquent in oratory; elle estoit aussi poeticque (adds the author of La Mer des Chroniques ) et s~avoit moult bien disputer avecques cleres et docteurs. And also she was virtuous, so that her holy life seemed a thing to marvel on. At Venice, Maitre Nicole Gilles encountered a certain virgin Cassandra, the daughter of Angelo Fideli, a maiden expert in the seven liberal arts and in theology, all of which matters she expounded in public lectures. At Quiers, near Asti, a daughter of Maitre Jehan Solier, jeune pucelle, received the king with a public and most eloquent oration. Learned and subtle and virtuous as these Lombard ladies were, enthusiastic and spiritual as were many of their countrymen, yet this strange Italy, where the women taught the men, where Jesus Christ in Florence was the official head of the republic, inspired a strange dread and horror in the French. Like men in an enchanted country they feared what might lurk behind the shows of things. Above all, the French could never rid themselves of a haunting suspi- cion of poison poison and sorcery, un- derhand and terrible weapons, such as these frank and passionate Gauls asso- ciated with the subtlety and wisdom of the people they had conquered. And yet, says Commines, I must here speak some- what in honor of the Italian nation, be- cause we never found in all this voyage that they did seek to do us harm by poison, and yet, if they had chosen, we could hardly have avoided it. This attitude of suspicion towards Italy, of reluctant admiration, characterized the French of i4~4. It is quite as signifi- cant of the French to-day; and in 1387 the same distrust was there, but sharper, more anxious, and the same wonder, but intensified. Valentine, the Italian, seemed to these alert, honest, practical Parisians a marvel of strangeness and wisdom; but these attributes suggested to them chiefly a fatal potency for evil. And in truth there was in Italy a wick- edness such as for another hundred years should not penetrate into France. The Italians were a nation of secret poisoners; and the French bourgeois vaguely guessed that this splendid young lady was ac- quainted with a world terribly different from their ingenuous and turbulent Paris. No need for turbulence in Italy. Valen- tines father poisoned the uncle who in his turn had poisoned his own brothe;1 47, And Giangaleazzo, who, as Corio relates, had been nearly poisoned by Antonio della Scala, disposed of that enemy by the self- same means. The Florentines * said he paid his official poisoner a hundred forms monthly. These were the traditions of the new duchess. Thus, after all, Queen Isabel played but the second part in the pageant of her ,en- try. Soon, however, she learned to spare her jealousy of the Italian a jealousy which on that holiday kept her sick in her chamber, while Valentine danced with Touraine and the king in the royal ball below. But Valentine was no rival of the beautiful, bright little queen; she was a strong, ambitious, and devoted woman, never vain and never timid. From the first she lavished on her boyish husband that passionate devotion of an elder woman which asks no return from the radiant young creature she adores. She did not grmxlge Louis the love of Isabel; but the strangest thing happened; .Valentine united with her rival to push the fortunes of Touraine. These two women were ever together, ever scheming, and plan- ning the welfare of the criminal lover of the one, the unfaithful husband of the other. An unnatural league ; but it served to make Touraine strong. For Valentine and Isabel alike had the ear of the king. Charles VI., a little slow, a little dull, neglected in his court, be- trayed by his wife for his more brilliant brother this gentle, kindly, unimportant creature was irresistibly drawn to his sis- ter-in-law. My dear sister, my beloved sister, the words were ever on his lips. Valentine, like him, was set aside; like him she suffered. She, too, was patient and gentle; but she was strong, she was prudent. A great heavy lad, over-boyish for his years, loving jests and disguises, hating ceremony, and only very dimly feel- ing the wrongs that perplexed him, the king of France sought from the sweet and quiet Italian her protection no less than her compassion. In 1390, at Montpellier, the king could not support his absence from her. I am too far from the queen and Madame Valentine, he said to his brother. Let us ride post haste to Paris. Unaccom- panied, and for a wager, they rode all the way, four nights and nearly five days in the saddle. A little later the physicians said that such violent exercise as this hal unsettled the feeble reason of the king. * Lamansky, Secrets de 1 Etat de Venise, pp. x~ 59. 48 VALENTINE VISCONTI. For some time the king had been ailing with a hot fever. He was, says the Monk of St. Denis, strange, languishing, and bewildered. When, in the summer of 1392, the French invaded Brittany, the dukes, his uncles, conjured him to remain at home. But Charles was not to be per- suaded. He started with them upon the ft~cr journey. lon& ~ a1~u1ng the 5th of August, near the town of Mans, after some hours of riding in ar- mor under a beating sun, the royal party passed the lepers village. A beggar, a leper, dressed in rags, the outcast of the world, the lowest human thing, came out and accosted the young king of France: Go no farther, noble king, they betray you! The king was startled, and though the royal guards interfered they could not at once shake off the loathsome prophet. Clinging to the kings hr idle, the leper cried again, Go no farther, noble king, they betray you! They betray you! Louis and Isabel, his nearest and dearest, what else did they? The king said noth. ing. About an hour afterwards, suddenly, the king set upon his brother, his spear a-tilt, as hunters hunt a stag. The more distant of the royal party thought the king had spied a hare or a hart in the forest. Then, as the truth dawned, there was a dreadful scene. Cries, wounds, men fall- ing from their horses, and a fanatic mad- man, who was still a sacred and irresisti- ble presence! The king of France was furiously and murderously mad. Four men were slain, others saved themselves by simulating death. Orleans (he had just exchanged his duchy of Touraine for Orleans) fortunately was not hurt at all. For four days the kings frenzy lasted, with fits of delirium and lapses into deathlike exhaustion. The most cruel part of his sickness was the evident anguish of his spirit. Will no one pluck out of my heart the dagger that my fair brother of Orleans has planted there? the poor mad youth would cry; and he would mutter to himself, I must kill him! I must kill him! It was useless to in- struct the people that there is no reason in the sick hatred of a distempered mind. Nor would they find sufficient motive in the rumored unfaithfulness of Isabel with Louis. They sought a darker, a more subtle explanation, and their suspicions were fostered, for political ends, by the enemies of Orleans the faction of his uncle, the Duke of Burgundy. For when the king recovered from his frenzy his mind remained weak and. dis abled. It was necessary to hand over to his uncles for a while the direction of affairs. This made the strongest of them, Philip, Duke of Burgundy, more than ever strong; he was in fact, if not in form, the regent. Against his rule one voice was ever raised in protest; the voice of the young, ambitious brother of the king. Louis of Orleans was now twenty-one years of age; through his marriage and the gifts of the king he had become for- midably rich; through the weakness of the king he was formidably powerful. He was the nearest to the throne and he de- sired the regency. But the people sus- pected Orleans; he had too much to gain by the death or the incapacity of his brother. The people, in their passionate pity for the gentle monarch they adored, began to hate and fear the queen and Or- leans. In later days they did not scruple to declare their misgivings, but at first they dared not directly accuse the queen, they would not directly acct~se the young, beautiful Louis, their pride from his child- hood, eloquent, religious, gay, slow to anger. With Juvenal they found him beau prince et gratieux; and like Christine they accounted him, en ces jeunes faiz et en toutes choses tr~s-avenant car il aime les bons . . . nul fellonie ni cruaut~ en luy. But he was young; he had been led away (Juvenal finds the phrase for them) by the means of those who were near to him.... He had strange youthful follies that I will not de- clare. . . - There were those about him, young people, who induced him to do many things he had bettei~ have left un- done. This vague and mysterious excuse is the veil of a terrible accusation. The people began to say that the Duke of Orleans was a sorcerer. The king mad; the kings brother a wizard! There was a contagion of horror in France. Many nobles and poor peo- ple, writes the Monk of St. Denis, be- gan to change and sicken with the same strange malady that had attacked the king. The fanatic terror of supernatural evil spread and deepened. Things, at that critical season, fell out unfortunately for Orleans. On the 29th of January, 1393, there was a wedding fes- ~ tival at the H6tel de St. Paul for one of Queen Isabels German maids of honor. The bride was a widow, and thrice a widow; therefore a subject for the gro- tesque license of the age. At night, in the great hall among the dancers, suddenly there burst in a company of six satyrs~ dressed in tight linen vests, with flakes of PERUGIA, 49 tow fastened with pitch upon their backs. These hideous merry-makers sprang and danced about the bride, with leaps and gestures, in a sort of diabolic frenzy. Five of them were chained together, the sixth disported loose. The sixth was the king. Stung by some unlucky madcap prompting, Orleans took a flaming torch from its bearer, and held it close to the face of one of the maskers to see who he was. A flake of fire from the torch dropped among the tow and pitch. Up and down the hall, dancing a wilder and more terri- ble saraband, the flaming s atyrs ~vent. Two were burned to ashes, two died of their burns in agony, one saved himself by leaping into a water-butt. The king was rescued by the Duchess of Bern, who wrapped him in her mantle. But the dan- ger and the fearful spectacle had upset his tottering reason. The king was mad again. The people were furious against Or- leans. Had Charles been burned, his brothers life must have answered for it; for the people loved the king. The party of Burgundy the popular party did not hesitate to accuse the unfortunate young duke of a fiendish plot to murder his brother. It was in vain that Louis raised a magnificent chapel of marble in the Church of the Celestins, to expiate his involuntary guilt. The people mur- mured that the Duke of Orleans -went too often to the Celestins. It was said he went there every day. So much devotion was uncanny in so wild a liver. Charitable souls like Demoiselle Chris- tine declared in vain, Cest impossible que son ame et ses mceurs nen vaillant mieux. Charitable souls are rare. The mass of the people did not hesitate to say that Louis visited the Celestins the better to conspire with a certain monk there an old counsellor of his fathers one Sire Philippe de M~zier~s. This person was acknowledged to be wise, experienced, able, and a man of science, according to the age. He was a monk, too, but the crowd doubted of his religion, for it was common rumor that he said there was no truth in sorcery. Let him say it! Sire Philippe de M& i~res was none the less no judicious companion for the Duke of Orleans. The sire had lived too long in Lombardy: a country, as Juvenal de- scribes it, where they practise magic and the casting of spells. About the same time a malignant rumor grew in France concerning the father of Valentine. People said the seigneur of Milan had asked the French ambassador LIVING AGE. VOL. LVIII. 2968 - - for news of the king. He is very well, replied the Frenchman. Whereupon the Visconti grew pale, and staggered. He is the devil ! he said, with great admira- tion; or, according to another version, Diabolicum recitas et quod est impossi- bile You tell me a diabolic thing, and one that is impossible! The king cannot be well! Now, it was generally known in Italy that the Duke of Milan, like every other successful prince or State, was a secret poisoner. But in France a more terrible and a yet more hateful accusation was rumored against him. The people began to whisper that the Duke of Milan was a wizard. A. MARY F. ROBINSON. From Macmillans Magazine. PERUGIA. CURSED is he who removeth his neigh- bors landmark. These are words which many of us no longer care to hear in church; to some of us it seems that these words, and others like them, are not suited to the solemnity, the serenity of that sacred place. They are words which, Mr. Jesse Collings and his friends would tell us, are vain and useless, for no land- marks are left; the greater landlords have moved them all long ago. They are words which, perhaps, when Mr. Chamberlain and his friends have had their will, and we are a pastoral people again, may have once more some reason for their public and solemn utterance. But they are also words which all lovers of old towns and old buildings must often have upon their lips, or at least in their minds, as they see the havoc of restoration, or the ruin of modern improvements aiding the work of time and decay. One age is too fond of destroying the work of another, of removing its landmark; and our own age, if it has been the most restoring, has, possibly, been the most destroying as well. Few places, few buildings, indeed, have escaped restoration, or ruin, or de- struction. Perugia has been singularly fortunate in avoiding their worst evils, and it is this good fortune which seems to constitute half its charm. And this most interesting old city is, perhaps, not as well known, as much visited, as it de- serves to be. There are not many places of its size, even in Italy, which are more full of art, of beauty, and of associations, than the capital of Umbria. Nature, too, 50 PERUGIA. aids it as ~vell as history. It stands on a long ridge of hill, at the foot of which the Tiber flows, yellow and poplar-fringed as it sweeps through the Umbrian plain. The town still preserves, on the whole, its medi~val look, with some touch, also, of its classical descent. The mediawal walls surround it, and within them the circuit of the Roman walls can yet be traced. At the entrance of one steep street there is a massive gateway of plain, gigantic masonry (a relic, they say, of Etruscan rule) and on the span of the arch we read Augusta Perusia a legend which speaks to us of the beginning of the empire. One side of this old town gate supports a loggia of the Renaissance; and by the Roman wall, of which it forms a part, there winds a steep, rough, med. keval footway, half stair, half slope, to some desolate, but more modern, palaces. It is this close mingling of the ages which is the charm, the characteristic of Peru~ia. Its neighbor, Assisi, is far more med- i~val; but though it has a Roman portico above ground, and a forum beneath, it has not much of the Renaissance. Gubbio, a little farther off, is most medi~val in its look, and very full of the Renaissance in its decoration and detail; but its classicism is not mingled with these, it gives no character to the appearance of the town. Assisi is always reminding one of St. Francis, or of Dante and Giotto, and the thirteenth century. Gubbio speaks, too, of that flowering-time of the Middle Ages, and of the dukes ,of Urbino. But at Pe- rugia it is impossible to forget Etruscans, Romans, medkeval burghers, Baglioni no- bles, and the art of the Renaissance; they are all confronting us at every turn. The ages here have, no doubt, destroyed a good deal, but they have had some respect for each others landmarks they have left a good deal. An antiquarian seeker will have that formula of commination, Cursed is he who reinoveth his neigh- bors landmark, less often on his lips than he is wont to have in historical towns. The streets of Perugia are narrow, wind- ing, and steep. Little cave-like shops open on to them; the shopman, often a workman too, busy at his trade, may be seen within, and his wares generally over- flow and cover the scanty pavement. Above, on clear days, is the deep blue sky; and the whole effect the dark, shady street, the darker shops, the tall houses, the clear sky overhead is most Italian. The streets, narrowas they are, are crossed by passages yet narrower; and down these picturesque vistas of quaint architecture are visible, vignetted often against a landscape as blue as the back- ground of an early Tuscan painter. All the smaller streets lead, after more or less winding, to the main thoroughfare, the Corso Vannucci, which lies along the ridge of the hill, and in which are the chief buildings, the Duomo and the Mu- nicipio. Passing through the Arch of Augustus, and following a steep, narrow street, such as I have just described, the explorer will cross the little Piazza Ansidei, and take a small vaulted foot-road; this will lead him to the south side of the Duomo, and if he keeps under its wall to the western door, he will find himself by the statue of Julius the Third. The figure is of bronze, and is on a high pedestal. The pontiff, in cope and tiara, is seated on a throne, with his right hand raised in the act of bless- ing. The folds of the drapery, as the cope falls from the outstretched arm, are very fine; and the whole pose of the figure is noble and dignified. The Duomo is on the right.. Outside, like so many Italian cathedrals, it is un- finished; but the west entrance is a good specimen of Italian Gothic; and the north side, with its exterior pulpit (said to have been used by St. Bernardino of Siena) is irregular and picturesque. The whole fabric is raised by several steps above the level of the piazza. Inside, the building wants the grace and lightness of the great northern churches, of Amiens, or Salis- bury, or Westminster; and it has not the severe beauty of the cathedral of Flor- ence; but it leaves an impression of breadth, height, and spaciousness. Some of the pillars are of very beautiful veined marble, and there are two rich Renais- sance chapels at each side of the nave. But all that can be done to lessen its dig- nity and vulgarize its beauty has been done; decorations which should be severe, are tawdry; furniture which should be simple, is gaudy; and the church is spoilt. Perhaps, to English men, the most inter- esting object in it is the tomb of Innocent the Third, the liege lord and protector of King John, the foe and condemner of the Great Charter; the pope who, from the standpoint of matured feudalism, looked ~ at the assertion of an English freedom more venerable than his own system, and thought it new, audacious, and dangerous to religion and order. The north wall of the Duomo forms one side of the great piazza, and opposite to j.t is the Municipio. Between them stands PERUGIA. the fountain of Nicholas and John of Pisa. It is formed by three tiers of basins, two of marble and one of bronze. The marble ones below are polygons, richly sculp- tured; the uppermost is a shell of bronze, from which nymphs and griffins rise and pour water. This fountain is a beautiful specimen of the art of the thirteenth cen- tury. The Municipio is one of those buildings which are common enough in Italy, or France, or Flanders, but which are too uncommon here. If we put London aside, it is very rare in England to find fine municipal buildings of any historical in- terest; Exeter has an old town-hall, and so has Coventry, but these are neither large nor imposing; they do not add much to the character of the towns. In Worces- ter there is a fine guildhall of Queen Annes time; and Windsor, unless I mis- take, has a building of the same period, though inferior to the one at Worcester. But it is, I think, impossible to find in any of our English cathedral towns, municipal buildings which can compare with the ecclesiastical ones. We have but to think of Florence or Siena, of Bruge s, Louvain, or Poictiers, to see how true, unfortu- nately, this is ; if we think of the cathe- drals and town buildings in these places and in Salisbury, we shall realize the dif- ference. However, to return to Perugia. The Municipio, there, is a fine old building of the thirteenth century. the sort of buildino~ we lono- for in Salisbury, quite the worthy of fountains beneath it and of the Duomo opposite. Its chief entrance, arched and beautifully enriched with twisted moulding, is terraced above the piazza on a graceful staircase. Over the arch are two large heraldic monsters with fetters of iron beneath their feet, to com- memorate the triumph of Perugia over a rival city. The general appearance of the building is not very unlike that of some of the Venetian palaces, though it has not quite the lightness of the latter. Inside, on the ground floor, there is a large open ball, from which a severely plain staircase leads to the middle stories, which are still used for town business, and to the upper floor, where the picture gallery is. In this a great deal of interesting work from private galleries, churches, and country places round has been gathered together. There are some frescoes, by Bonfigli, which give a capital idea of Perugia as it was in its best days, and some specimens of early art, which show us how painting advanced by slow degrees to P erugino. -. 5 No doubt there are better Peruginos elsewhere than Perugia now possesses. In Florence there are better ones, and, for color, we have a better one in the Na- tional Gallery; but to understand Perugino it is necessary to studyhim here, with the Umbrian people round, and the Umbrian country and coloring at hand. It is usual to speak of Peruginos work as artificial, mechanical, soulless; but when it is seen in his own country and among his own people the truer epithet for it will be real- istic. His backgrounds give the flat, thinly timbered character of the Umbrian valley, or the receding ridges of the Urn- brian hills, blue or bro~vn as they are sun- lit or in shadow; and the types of his people may still be seen in Perugia or about the country-side. Besides the I~eruginos, there is a set of delicate little l)ictures by Fra Angelico; and near them hangs a painting by Boc- cati, one of those tender medi~val works which are full of devotion and ,of nature. The Madonna and Child are enthroned and attended by a group of saints; in- closing them all is a ring of angels, bright, dainty, young-eyed, who are singing or playing on instruments of music. Their figures lean on a marble terrace, and all of them, Madonna, child, angels, and saints, are embowered in cypress-trees and flow- ers. Near the Municipio is the Cambio, the old chamber of commerce, and in its hall are some frescoes by Perugino and his pupils. Perugia is worth a visit for the sake of this alone. The walls of the Cambio are interesting, not only on ac- count of Perugino, or on account of their workmanship, but because they show us very perfectly that strange mingling of spirits which the Renaissance produced. Sybils and prophets, saints, heroes, and virtues cover its walls, and do honor to two great frescoes of the Nativity and Transfiguration. But on the ceiling the Greek gods reign, as they are represented by the planets we name from them; not, indeed, as we see them in the severe repose of real Greek ~vork. but treated with a medi~val, fantastic touch very for- eign to the Greeks but characteristic of the lightness of early Renaissance. The chapel of the Cambio is also rich with frescoes, but restoration and repainting have hidden much of the masters work. From the Cambio the Corso leads past the new Prefettura to a terrace bright with flowers and planted with aloes. From this a wall goes sheer down to the hillside which slopes away, still downwards, to the broad space on which the cattle-fairs are 52 PERUGIA. held and the soldiers drilled. On the and handkerchiefs, and the beasts making edge of it is a large old church, and from the journey lively with their jingling bells. that the ground falls away to the station The face of the town itself is changed. beneath. Beyond, the hills rise again, All down the Corso are booths and stalls, ridge behind ridge sweeping back into a which spread away into various side far blue distance, where higher, bolder streets. In the market-place, under the mountain-lines are faintly seen. To the shadow of the Duomo and the Municipio left, Assisi gleams white on the flanks of is a noisy crowd of cheap-jacks and quack- Monte Soubasio, a bare, bleak, round- doctors. The fountain of the Pisani is topped hill, and from the foot of this the circled round with pottery and china. valley of the Tiber stretches away to the The statue of Julius looks down on bales horizon. The river winds through a broad, of wool. The theatre is open for the week, flat valley, and flashes here and there as and during my visit a Miss M~ry, as she the sunlight catches it, while it seems as called herself with an attempt at our En- though it could never find an outlet glish Mary, was giving a wondrous enter- through the gates of the hills which pro- tertainment. tect and close the valley. The Corso is thronged with buyers and A few fragments of Roman sculpture onlookers, and noisy with the voices of are built into the wall which supports this competing sellers. At one stall, just un- terrace on the Assisi side. Passing these, der St. Bernardinos pulpit, is a man in a and following a low-lying street by St. large fur robe, with stentorian lungs prais- Dominico and the barracks to the Porta ing scissors and patent needle-threaders. Romana, a road leads to the Church of Near him a rival with a trumpet is selling St. Pietro. This is part of a Benedictine knives, and at each sale he blows a tern- monastery, now suppressed, and in the ble blast of triumph. At d third stall, a sacristy are five very beautiful heads of man, who has improvised a turban, scarf, saints by Perugino. The view from a and waist-belt from his gaudy wares, is small balcony, hung high in air behind selling bright - colored handkerchiefs. the choir, is extremely good. Just oppo- Round a fourth is gathered a knot of keen- site the church are some shady gardens, eyed but rather frightened peasants, who ilex-grown and cool, from which there is are watching some experiments in elec- another pleasant view of Assisi. Past tricity. Above all other noises is the St. Pietro, too, is the road to the Etrus- shrill, perpetual scream of inflated blad- can tomb of the Volumnii, near Ponte St. ders, which blow a whistle as the air Giovanni. This tomb is ~vell worth a visit, escapes froni them. Some plain steps lead down to an entrance But amid all this, the dead are not for- in the solid rock, where maidenhair grows gotten. On the evening of the day before thick; a stern, carved portal guards an their first vespers are sung in church and almost church-like excavation, with nave, cathedral. Then, in the cemetery, which chancel, and side chapels. These vaults is on a hilltop just beyond the city walls, are full of sculptured urns, in which the the graves are visited, and on each is ashes of the Voluninian family were laid. placed a lighted lamp, some tombs being Perugia is in many senses a city of the favored ~vith as many as five or six. Early dead. Its streets are quiet now and still; on the morning of the second of Novem- power has left it, and its trade is small. her a solemn mass of requiem is sung, and Everything in it points to the past. In the cathedral rings ~vith the stern, sweet this, as I said, it is kinder to us than most tones of antiquated music, as eternal rest historical places, it has moved fewer of its and everlasting light are begged for the landmarks. And, oddly enough, to fit in departed. At times the burying-place is with all this, its chief time of rejoicing is as busy as the fair, for everybody during what is called the Feast of the Dead, that the day goes to pay a visit to the grave of is, the great cattle-fair, which is held on some well-loved lost one. All Souls Day. The feast is indeed a Feast of the Dead; This is the peculiar holiday of Perugia and, somehow, the shadow of the dead and its people. All classes share alike in seems to abide always in this Umbrian the rejoicing. From their country villas city. A peculiar sweetmeat is sold here the great Perugini families go to spend a called dead mens bones; a thick, sweet few days in their palaces, which are usu- paste, of the consistency of marrow, en- ally all still and silent. The peasants cased in a sugar covering of the shape flock in from the country-side in a long and color of human leg-bones. Besides procession, with oxen and mules and don- this delicacy there is another eatable keys; the women gay with bright shawls which savors of the grave, a small biscuit A BRUSH WITH CHINESE PIRATES. made of bean-flower, a dim relic possibly of far-off Etruscan funeral rites. This is called the cake of the dead. It is strange that this old human dwel- ling-place should fill with the bustle and turmoil of life only on the Feast of All Souls; that its one time of rejoicing should be the octave of the dead. And yet it is not strange; for above all other places of medi~eval Italy, Perugia has been the home of violence and bloodshed, The Duomo has been flooded with the blood of murdered men; faction fights have strewn its streets and palaces with corpses; its chronicles are filled with lam- entation and mourning and woe. Family feuds were fiercer and more deadly here than in other places. It is fitting, then, that the living should come together here to pray that the dead may rest in peace. On reading the past one may cease to wonder that the great day in Perugia should be the Feast of the Dead. ARTHUR GALTON. From All The Year Round. A BRUSH WITH CHINESE PIRATES. PIRACY on the high seas is now, fortu- nately, a crime long since dead among European nations. We must go back to the early period of Marryat and Cooper, if we desire to know of the atrocities and iniquities committed by the hordes of law- less ruffians who used to infest the sea at the beginning of the present century, and carryon their merciless business of butch- ery ~nd plunder. Our brethren in the Celestial Empire, however, are slow to 1e- move evils, and piracy with them seems to die hard. Reports occasionally reach this country of some European vessel be- ing attacked in Chinese waters by the natives; but, fortunately, owing to the extreme cowardice usually displayed by the attacking party, these attempted dep- redations do not often lead to any serious result. The China Sea is, principally, the happy hunting-ground of these dastardly pirates; and nature seems to have adapted it spe- cially for that particular purpose. The China Sea is, in many places, exceedingly shallow; strong currents sweep along its course; while numerous islands, with wooded creeks, dotted here and there, afford capital shelter and points of ob- servation for piratical junks to lie in ambush, until some unsuspecting mer- chantman shall heave in sight. Vesse~ 53 in traversing these seas, except during the season of the monsoons, have often to contend against dead head-winds or calms that last for days and days. During these periods, sailing-ships have frequently, if in proximity to land, to cast anchor, to prevent being carried ashore by the vari- ous swift and conflicting currents, and at such times present capital opportunities for the marauders of the seas to carry out their nefarious designs. Although the Chinese pirate is, as a rule, a most abject coward where Euro- peans are concerned, he is, at least, capa- ble of striking terror into the hearts of his countrymen; and a couple of pirate junks, mounting but a single two-pounder gun between them, have been known to blockade a port of four thousand inhab- itants, and to plunder every ship that passed. ln another case, a pirate gang of five hundred, who had yielded to a rush of twenty or thirty bluejackets, had pre- viously defied a native force of- one thou- sand five hundred troops and forty ~var junks. Directly, however, a small gun- boat, manned by Europeans, appeared upon the scene, their career was at an end. Chinese piracy is, at times, almost a business. A pirate merchant, in the wholesale way, will infest certain villages on the seaboard or islands. He will keep fifteen or twenty junks, with a correspond- ing retinue of ruffians, and when he has secured his plunder, he stores it in safety. A pirate in a small way of business, hav- ing once made a good haul, will divide the spoil, and then his followers immediately disperse, for fear of an attack from another gang. The old saying of doo- eat doo- applies with striking force to the trans- actions of these plunderers of the China Sea. An old traveller in the East tells the following narrative of a brush he had with Chinese pirates, when on his way, in a na- tive junk, from Foo-choo-foo, by the mouth of the Mm River, to Chusan. The story is a fair sample of the cowardice displayed by these pests, when the slightest amount of defence is shown by the party attacked. We relate it in the travellers o~vn words. About four oclock in the afternoon, and when we were some fifty or sixty miles from the Mm, the captain and pilot came hurriedly down to my cabin, and informed me that they saw a number of ]an-dous right astern angl overhauling us. I ridi- culed the idea, and told them they imag- med every junk they saw to be a pirate; but they still maintained that they were so, and I, therefore, cQnsidered it prudent 54 A BRUSH WITH CHINESE PIRATES. to be prepared for the worst. I got out of my bed, ill and feverish as I was, and care- fully examined my firearms, clearing the nipples of my gun and pistols, and putting on fresh caps. I also rammed down a ball upon the top of each charge of shot in my gun, and put a pistol in side pocket, and patiently waited for. the result. By the aid of a small pocket telescope, I could see, as the nearest of the five junks ap- proached, that her deck was crowded with men. I then had no longer any doubts regarding their intentions. I knew per- fectly well that, if we were taken by the pirates, I had not the slightest chance of escape, for the first thing they would do would be to knock me on the head and throw me overboard, as they would deem it dangerous to themselves ~vere I to get away. At the same time I must confess I had little hope of being able to beat off such a number, and devoutly wished my- self anywhere rather than where I was. The scene around me was a strange one. The captain, pilot, and one or two native passengers, were taking up the boards of the cabin floor, and putting their money and other valuables out of sight amongst the ballast. The common sailors, too, had their copper cash, or Isien, to hide, and the whole place was in a state of bustle and confusion. When all their more valuable property was hidden, they began to make some preparations for de- fence. Baskets of small stones were brought up from the hold and emptied out on the most convenient parts of the deck, and were intended to be used instead of firearms when the pirates came to close quarters. This is a common mode of defence in various parts of China, and is effectual enough when the enemy has only similar weapons to bring against thei~ but on the coast of Fo-kien, where we now were, all the pirate junks carried guns, and, consequently, a whole deck-load of stones could be of very little use against them. During the general bustle I missed my own servant for a short time. When he returned to me, he had made such a change in his appearance that I did not recognize him. He was literally clothed in rags, which he had borrowed from the sailors, all of whom had also put on their worst clothes. When I asked him the reason of this change in the outward man, he told me the pirates only made those prisoners who had money, and were likely to pay handsomely for their ransom, and that they would not think it worth their while to lay hold of a man in rags. -. I was surrounded by several of the crew, ~vho might well be called Jobs comforters, some suggesting one thing and some another, and many proposed that we should bring the junk round, and run back to the Mm. The nearest pirate was now within two hundred or three hundred yards of us, and, putting her helm down, gave us a broadside from her guns. All was now dismay and consternation on board our junk, as every man ran below except two, who were at the helm. I expected every moment that these also would leave their post, and then we should have been an easy prey to the pirates~ My gun is nearer you than those of the jan-dous, said I to the two men; and if you move from the helm, depend upon it I will shoot you. The poor fellows looked very uncomfortable, but, I suppose, thought they had better stand the fire of the pirates than mine, and kept at their post. Large boards, heaps of old clothes, masts, and things of that sort which were at hand, were thrown up to protect us from the shot, an~ as we had every stitch of sail set, and a fair wind, we were going thouoh the water at the rate of seven or eigh~miles an hour. The shot from the pirates fell considerably short of us, and I was therefore enabled to form an opinion of the range and power of their guns, which was of some use to me. Assistance from our cowardly crew was quite out of the question, for there was not a man amongst them brave enough to use the stones which had been brought on deck, and which, perhaps, might have been of some little use when the pirates came nearer. The fair wind and all the press of sail we had crowded on the junk proved of no use; for our pursuers, who had much faster sailing-vessels, ~vere gain- ing rapidly upon us. Again the nearest pirate fired upon us. The shot this time fell under our stern. I still remained quiet, as I had determined not to fire a single shot until I was quite certain my gun would take effect. The third shot which followed this came whizzing over our heads and through the sails, without, however, wounding either the men at the wheel or myself. The pirates now seemed quite sure of ~ their prize, and came down upon us,ihoot- ing and yelling like demons, at the same time loading their guns, and evidently de- termined not to spare their shot. This was a moment of intense anxiety. The plan which I had formed from the first was now about to be put to the proof; and if the pirates were not the cowards AN UNINTENTIONAL TRIP TO NORTH BEMINI. which I believed them to be, nothing could save us from falling into their hands. Their fearful yells seem to be ringing in my ears even now, after this lapse of time, and when I am on the other side of the globe. The nearest junk was now ~vithin thirty yards of ours; their guns were now loaded, and I knew that the next discharge would completely rake our decks. Now, said I to our helmsmen, keep your eyes fixed on me, and the moment you see me fall flat on the deck you must do the same or you will be shot. I knew that the pirate who was now on our stern could not bring his guns to bear upon us without putting his helm down, and bringing his gangway at right angles with our stern, as his guns were fired from the gangway. I therefore kept a sharp eye upon his helmsman, and the moment 1 saw him putting the helm down I ordered our steersmen to fall flat upon their faces, behind some wood, and at the same time did so myself. We had scarcely done so when bang, bang, went their guns,~ and the sl~t came whizzing close over us, splintering the wood about us in all directions. Fortunately none of us were struck. Now, M, now they are quite close enough, cried out my companions, who did not wish to have an- other broadside like the last. I, being of the same opinion, raised myself above the high stern of our junk, and while the pirates were not more than twenty yards from us, hooting and yelling, I raked their decks, fore and aft, with shot and ball from my double-barrelled gun. Had a thunderbolt fallen amongst them they could not have been more surprised doubtless many were wounded and proba- bly some killed. At all events, the whole of the crew, not fewer than forty or fifty men, who a mo- ment before crowded the deck, disap- peared in a marvellous manner. Another was now bearing down upon us as boldly as his companion had done, and com- menced firing in the same manner. Hav- ing been so successful with the first, I determined to follow the same plan with this one, and to pay no attention to his firing until he should come to close quar. ters. The plot now began to thicken, for the first junk had gathered way again and was following in our wake, although keep- ing at a respectful distance, and three others, although still further distant, were making for the scene of action as fast as they could. In the mean time, the second was almost alongside, and continued rak- ing our decks in a steady manner with 55 their guns. XVatching their helm as be- fore, we sheltered ourselves as well as we could; at the same time, my two fellows, who were steering, kept begging and pray ing that I would fire into our pursuers as soon as possible, or we should be all killed. As soon as they came within twenty or thirty yards of us, I gave them the contents of both barrels, raking their decks as before. This time the helmsman fell, and doubtless several others were wounded. In a minute or two, I could see nothing but boards and shields which were held up by the pirates to l)rOtect themselves from my firing; their junk went up into the wind for want of a helms- man, and was soon left some distance behind us. The foregoing does certainly not say much for Chinese native courage, either by the attacking or defending party. To cast the burden and peril of defence en- tirely upon one man, while hi~ comPrades slink below out of harms way, seems strange to Western ideas of honor and courage. It is, however, truly typical of this extraordinary race. Actual fighting and real danger they shun as one would the plague, and it is only when the ma- rauders of the sea can overwhelm their opponents simply by sheer force of num- bers, that they are ever successful in their evil designs. If it were arranged for a few smart European gunboats to be con- stantly plying up and down the China Sea, and their commanders were given powers to deal summarily with all rascals caught in acts of piracy, there is but little doubt that the pirates of Chinese waters would soon be extirpated. From Chambers Journal. AN UNINTENTIONAL TRIP TO NORTH BEM IN I. DOUBTLESS, many persons would find it difficult to make an intentional trip to this island, so the reader may expect that an unintentional one was attended with some grave difficulties. The writer, his wife, their four young children, and their female domestic servant, were desirous of proceeding to Mobile, Alabama, with the idea of betterincr themselves, into which folly they had been seduced by a friend, who, having casually rushed through some of the Southern States, and listened to the highly colored accounts as to the future of that dismal land, had strongly advised 56 AN UNINTENTIONAL TRIP TO NORTH BEMINI. them to go South. Mobile was the place of all others for the emigrant with some capital. So to Mobile we intended going; hut difficulty the first no steam- ers ran to that charming city, notwith- standing its great attractions; and as the same friend knew of a small steamer, largely owned hy another friend, going to New Orleans, only one hundred and forty- nine miles from Mobile, we were advised to go by the Flexible, as we will call her. She was a small, flush-decked, screw steamer, commanded by a genial Yankee, who had once been a ships cook, and had risen; and, like many such, never seemed sure of his position. The crew was a regular scratch one, and ere we left the Mersey on that dreadful November 13, i88i, the captain had threatened to shoot the second mate. We were the only pas- sengers, and, with the crew, numbered thirty-nine persons. When our pilot left us at Queenstown where we stopped from very early on the r~th till the i8th, owing to bad weather his remark was not cheering: Well, good- bye, Mr. B; I wish you had a better ship. The horrors of that winter voyage in that staunch but most ill-found little steamer were very great, and paterfa- milias, though never seasick before, suc- cumbed, after playing stewardess to his wife, four children, and servant, a stew- ardess being unknown on the Flexible. Captain H was very kind to our boys, and gave them the run of the ship, including chartroom, etc. After we had been about fourteen days at sea, the cap- tain suddenly discovered we were short of coals; water we had been very short of for some time, as we lost sic hundred gallons by damage to a deck-tank, during one of our frequent gales, and he at first thought of putting into the Azores, but afterwards thought he could, by economy of fuel, reach Nassau, in the Bahamas. We used all available wood on board; but head-winds, and the main feed-pipe of the boiler being indisposed, delayed us, so that when near Abaco, we had only twenty. four hours coal on board, and the captain spoke of burning the boats. We were shaving all points among the numerous islets in this group very closely, and it was remarked to the captain how rapidly the water was shallowing; and in about ten minutes, with a considerable shock, the poor little Flexible was hard and fast aground on the Moselle Bank, so named on account of her Majestys ship Moselle having been wrecked there. It is needless to describe our feelings wh~ii we were told that the islands we saw three miles off were the Beminis, and inhab- ited by professed wreckers. We were slowly bumping up and down on the hard rocky reef; and after trying all sorts of ways by anchors and hawsers to ge tus off, and all failing, paterfamilias suggested putting on all steam and trying to rush over the point of reef where we were fixed. Captain H consented; and the result was we got fixed more firmly; and we think it greatly to the credit of the captain that he never said 1 told you so or any- thing like it to paterfamilias. In a short time, about sixty small craft came out round the point of the reef that shelters the landing- place of North Be- mini; and two hundred and fifty out of the three hundred male population came out to us, and kindly offered to get the Flexi- ble off, if the captain would agree to pay them the small sum of thirty thousand dol- lars. Then began a very anxious time for poor pater. So far ~re were safe enough. There was no sea running, only a gentle swell, that lifted the stern of our vessel up and down, whilst the bows re- mained firm; but there was not a white man on the island; and two hundred and fifty niggers are not nice companions within a boats length of a disabled vessel, the crew of which were mostly tipsy, grog having been served out pretty freely as an inducement towork harder in trying to float the ship. The captain had asked pater to read his books on ship-law as to whether he might ormight not throw over the cargo; and as boats Were near, pater gave it as his judgment he could not jetson the cargo. By this time the short day of these lati- tudes was over and there was~nonioon. The captain, thinking no gale would spring up during the night, turned in. The chief officer and some of the crew would nomi- nally keep watch, but actually they all went to sleep; and in a short time pater on deck and two stokers below were the only ones awake on the Flexible, and though most of the negroes in the boats appeared to be asleep also, yet it was a time of great anxiety, as Capen Kelley, the chief of the wreckers, had said: Now, capen, dont git cross; all capens git cross when der ships go aground. Much better pay de money, capen, and we not touch one pertater out of the ship. But if you stop where you are, ship soon go to pieces, and den we git the cargoany- how; and we feared a raid from them at any moment. Mater went to lie down and slept; but both she and the servant did AN UNINTENTIONAL TRIP TO NORTH BEMINI. 57 not undress, for fear of the sudden need of leaving the ship. In the morning, another trouble arose the steward, or rather the cook who acted as such, was riled with pater, who had politely resented his drunken intrusions, and, being still far from sober, several times threatened to kill pater, who took his belongings on to the ships bridge and gave notice he would shoot any one who came up. Things mended later on, when the capen of the blacks and our captain agreed on terms for lightening the ship. The contract was drawn up by pater, and was for thirteen thousand instead of the thirty thousand dollars originally asked. Then the niggers swarmed on board, and passing forty-five tons of cargo into their schooners and cat.boats, the Flexible once more floated off, and then moved slowly nearer the island; and a Yankee schooner, the Julia A. Ward, coal-laden, of Phila- delphia, for New Orleans, let us have two hundred tons of anthracite coal, which did not draw in our furnaces, so that four miles an hour was our best record to the end. The colored magistrate, as he was called, wished us to go on shore and give him an account of the wreck, that he might get his fees from Nassau for sending in his account thereof. Captain H was not very sure of his orthography, etc., and asked pater to do it for him, and pater also was invited ashore, and went. As we had been now four weeks at sea and pater had never been on a tropical island, he gladly accepted the invitation. One of the large island boats, rowed by twelve stout blacks, took us the three miles to the landing-place, as, though we were only about two miles from the island then, we had to circumnavigate the reef which projects across the narrow strait dividing North from South Bemini, and which strait, sheltered by the reef, forms a most excellent harbor for the schooners and smaller craft of the island. These black rowers then started a chant, of a more Anglican than Gregorian tone, the music of which was prettier than the words, though this is not high praise, the words being, Oh, I wish I was in Mobile Bay -~ Sally, get round the corner; Loading cotton all the day Sally, get round the corner; and with this cadence we got round the corner of the reef, and ran ashore on the brilliantly white sandy beach; and the captain and pater were hoisted on -to the backs of two stout niggers and car- ried ashore under the cocoanut palms, bananas, etc. North Bemini, in the British West Indies, has a population of about five hun- dred; and South Bemini is not inhabited, but is a sugar-brake, chiefly belonging to one family, who row across to cultivate it. There are a few goats on the islands, but no cows, and only two horses, used to work a sugar-mill. Meat they get about once every fourteen days from Nassau, when a trading-schooner comes; but ad- verse winds affect the food-supply, and when we were-there, the expected schooner was ten days overdue. Captain Kelly, in his delirium of delight at the thirteen-thousand-dollar bargain and potent rum doses, said to pater from the deck of the Flexible ere he went ashore, You see dat cokernut grove? Pater replied in the affirmative. You see dat bananer plantation and dat house and sugar-brake? It is.all yours; I give itall to you! - The captains chief man, Newton, was superior to him in all but stature. When first this man came on board the Flexible, he was very drunk, and said to pater: Im a mighty fine man. Im drunk now; but when Im sober, Im mighty fine man. Then turning to Kelly, he said: Capen Kelly, tell this genlernan what a mighty fine man I am! Kelly grunted something in acquies- cence, and his deputy chief wrecker seemed satisfied. The Flexible was there from Friday till Sunday evening, so that we saw much of the people; and, as this was the first time we had been introduced to the African race in numbers, they greatly interested us. The children were queer little peo- ple, and a source of great amusement to the young folks of the party, save to our baby, who hated the blacks, and showed it, as babies can. It was settled that Kelly and Newton should come with us to New Orleans, so that they might get the thirteen thousand dollars, and not let the Flexible escape them. While lying off the Beminis, our boys much amused Captain H by working out by the fiagbook the signals: We are in want of clean linen can yog recoin- mend us to a laundress? which was ac- curate, as we had been now getting on for five weeks at sea, and our linen had been calculated for three weeks at the outside. What the Beminis want pater was in- formed by Newton was a man with cap- ital, who would set up proper works for AN OLD FRENCH HOUSE. the sugar-boiling; but the attractions of these two small islands are not great, though, after the horrors of Alabama and Mississippi, they seem quite pleasant.. After a voyage of six weeks, we landed at New Orleans, and the same night went on to Mobile, at which most detestable mud-flat we stayed six weeks, meeting with kindness from many people and being fleeced by others; and finally we settled at Pascagoul a, where, what with mosqui- toes, swindlers, and abject ruffians, we had a sad time. From The Spectator. AN OLD FRENCH HOUSE. I. SOMEWHERE down in the west of France, stands the once splendid Chateau de G. To this day, it is twenty miles from a railway; and its park and lands, growing chiefly heather and fir-trees, are hemmed in by one of the great forests of that country, its loneliness and remote- ness would be something terrible if it were not for the presence of the little town which nestles under its protection, or did so once, for those days are over; but there is still a very friendly feeling be- tween the great house and the town. The tall iron gates of the cour dhonneur open into the square. This was not always the case; but the town has crept nearer to its great sad neighbor, and the avenue which parted them has gradually disappeared. The present Chateau de G is not very old, though it has known change and trouble. Like many other great French houses, it was rebuilt by its owner in Louis XV.s reign, on the site of the old feudal castle whose dismal strength had been made quite a useless mockery by Richelieus reformations. In these days, the nobles, rebuilding their houses, had no object in their minds but pleasure and splendor, and G is a specimen of a type that has been common in France ever since that time. The house is a great, oblong mass of building, with a suite of immense rooms on the ground floor, and a long corridor above, with bedrooms open- ing into it. These rooms, as well as those below, were constantly made to open into each other throughout the whole length of the house, an arrangement which, to our modern minds, makes them very uncom- fortable. There is a great hall of white stone, with two high doorways opposite each other, approached by flights ofsteps from the outside. The great staircase and its balustrade are also of white stone; the corridor and bedrooms, and the great open space in the middle of them, are paved with red tiles, polished brilliantly. Outside, there are buildings to lodge a large household of servants, great stables, greenhouses, gardens, and then a stiff walled park laid out in avenues and alleys, charmilles, they call them, with straight, formal walks in all directions. Thea comes the wild open land, hilly and varied without being beautiful, and then the great dreary forest bounding all. No doubt the Comte de G fur- nished his splendid new house with all the taste and beauty of the time; but these glories soon came to an end; aiid the only trace of them is the wood-panelling of the walls, delicately carved, and painted light grey, in the pale, shining, shivery style Louis XV., which was still to be seen a short time ago. For since the one great agony of its youth, the life of the house has been monotonous; after the Revolu- tion, one old lady ruled there for more than sixty years. The Comte de G was swept away in the Revolution; he left no son, and for many years none of his family revisited the place. None, at least, of flesh and blood ; for a Seigneur de G of a former century appears to have been always there. Then, and for long after, he kept the good people of the country awake on stormy nights by his wild chase tearing through the drives of the forest. Some old people of the present day have actually heard the shouts of the huntsmen, the baying of the dogs, but no one seems to know what dark deed it was which would not let this sezg~neur rest in his grave. At the Restoration, the Marquis de C came back with other emigrants to France. He was nephew and heir to the Comte de G, but his heritage was not supposed to be worth much, as most of the G estate had been confiscated and sold as biens nationaux. He was a middle- aged man, grave, dreamy, studious, in bad health, and very eccentric, an old bachelor in fact and in all his ways; but I suppose, like the other d;nz ris, the return to France was a fresh beginning of life for him; at .~ any rate, his was one of the marriages that were at once joy fully arranged on all sides. He married a beautiful girl of eighteen, who, like himself, had just re- turned to France with her family. They had lost most of their fortune, like every- body else, or perhaps, being people of great distinction, they would hardly have AN OLD FRENCH HOUSE. 59 thought Monsieur de C a desirable husband for their eldest daughter. How- ever, the marriage took place, without a question of love on either side, but seem- ingly without the risks that usually attend such an arrangement. For the Marquise de C was a remarkable woman. Her mother, a pattern of goodness, had brought her up to be like hersdf. A faithful and devoted wife to the eccentric marquis, she passed through a long life with only one fault, if it can be called so, a sternness and severity, a passion for duty for dutys sake, which, though it may have added greatness to her own character, made life a dismal and anxious business to all those round about her. If she had not been a devoted Catholic, one would have callod Madame de C a stern Calvinist; but, no doubt, extremes meet. The type of woman must always be rare in France, though one knows examples of it at the present day; this hinders one from at once referring to her sad and stormy childhood as the explanation of Madame de Cs character. Not long after his marriage, the mar- quis bethought himself of the Chateau de G, which he had inherited from his uncle, and he and his wife made an expe- dition to see it. They found it inhabited by a colony of poor people. Nobody pre- tended that they had any right there; but they had drifted in by degrees from the town and the country round, and had taken possession, one by one, of the great deserted rooms. Perhaps the Revolution may have left a little furniture there, which helped them to establish themselves per- haps they had only the stately ceilings above, and the cold, shining floors below. Anyhow, they had behaved very well, and had treated the place, inside and out, with marvellous respect; even the carved pan- elling of the walls was uninjured, and the trees in the park had not been cut down for firewood. Still, one does not wonder much that the marquis turned away in dis- gust, determined to sell the place; it seemed impossible that he should ever live there. rhe scene is dramatic and picturesque in its way; a crowd of brown faces and rags peering through the stately doors, crouched about the great stone staircase; the owner, a fanciful man at all times, walking out in a sort of sick horror on the broad steps in front, turning his back upon it all; and his beautiful young wife, well, she does not turn away like him, but looks up and down and round with the quick imagination of a girl, and sees what a noble house it is, though vilely used, and says, perhaps only to herself at first, Mais non / it shall not be sold. We will restore it and live here. And she lived there for sixty years. A strangely colorless, formal existence it seems to have been, especially after the death of the marquis, whose deep interest in new books and new diseases must at least have supplied something to talk about. He left one son, who grew up, in spite of his surroundings, an accomplished and charming man. He might have been everything to his mother, who adored him; but, unfortunately, she found it her .duty to make his life with her unbearable. She tried to arrange it with almost mo- nastic severity, forbidding all amusements, making rules for the employment of every hour. This, in such a house and neigh- hood as G, would have been too much for the most resigned disposition, and it ended by making the young Marquis de C a wanderer on the race of the earth. Knowing what the chateau was in later years, we can guess what it was then, shut up within its great walls and gates, ruled by old servants more formidable than their mistress, in whose life one day was like another, all parcelled out by peremptory clocks and bells. It was al- most an unpardonable sin to leave a mark on any of those floors, parquet, red tiles, or fine slabs of white stone, all pol- ished till they were as slippery as ice, and dangerous to walk upon. The furniture, in the style of the first empire, gave no comfort or homelike feeling to the im- mense, high rooms; tables and chairs, ugly and tasteless, stood stiffly against the walls, and the narrow, chintz curtains of those tall windows were a ghastly mockery. It was not much wonder that the son of such a house developed a passion for travelling. He wandered all over the world, coming home every two or three years to visit his mother, who spent his long absences totally alone. One cannot imagine that, the gloom of the chateau was much deep- ened when at last he came home only to die; and then his short story was told, and there was nothing left of him but his books, his drawings, his piano, the curios- ities he had brought from abroad, and his tomb in the cemetery on the hill behind the town. One of the allies in the park led to a solitary bench, from which there was a view of the cemetery and of his grave; every day, at a certain hour, for 6o SNOWSTORMS ON THE HILLS. all the rest of her long life, the poor mar- quise used to go and sit there. The his- tory of that life, with its companions and occupations, cruelly broken in upon as it was by the war of 1870, seems to me too curious to be forgotten. E. From St. Jamess Gazeite. SNOWSTORMS ON THE HILLS. NONE but those who have been caught in them can form any idea of how terrible are mountain snowstorms. Blinding, be- wildering, both men and animals quickly succumb to them. Clouds and banks of snow rush hither and thither in opaque masses; the bitter hail and sleet seem to drive through you. A few moments after the storm breaks, every wrap you may have at command is soaked through; the cold is intense; and a sense of numbness soon takes possession of the whole body. Twice have I narrowly escaped death when out on the northern mountains in winter, suddenly finding myself at the close of a short afternoon enveloped in a blinding storm. Once, after long expos- ure, I owed my deliverance to a search- party of shepherds; on the second occa- sion I was saved by the intelligent fidelity of a brace of fox-hounds. Those who have been overtaken in this manner have not always been so fortunate; and some terrible deaths have occurred among the higher hills in winter, as the follo~ving stories will show. Half-way down this grey stone wall, on its near side, is a sad green spot; and besides it ~ve have thrown up a loose cairn. The snows had fallen thickly for many days; all the deep holes ~vere filled up, and the mountain road was no longer to be seen. The wall-tops stood out as white ridges on the otherwise smooth surface. Only the crags hung in shaggy snowy masses, black seams and scaurs picking out the ravines. Nature was sombre and still; it seemed as though her pulse had ceased to beat. The softly winnowed snowflakes still fell, and not even the wing of a bird of prey moved in the cold, thin air. it had gone hard with the sheep. Hundreds were buried in the snow, and would have to be dug out. They sought the site of the old wall and fell into deep drifts; but the hardy, goat-like Herdwicks instinctively climbed to the bleak and ex- posed fell-tops, and in this was their safety. To relieve the sheep that had as yet es- caped, hay was carried to the fells; each shepherd having a loose bundle upon his back. It was thus, with three dogs, that we toiled up the gorge by an undefined trail parallel to the buried fence. Soon it began to snow heavily, and the sky sud- denly darkened. The dogs that were in front stopped before some object. They whined, ran towards us, and gave out short, sharp barks. With a kind of in- stinctive dread we followed them as they led us towards a granite boulder; and on its lee side lay something starkly outlined against the snow. Dead!,~ we whis- pered to each other. There was no trace of pain over the features nothing but~ rigid quiet. The icy fingers grasped a pencil, and on the snow lay a scrap of paper. It contained only two words This day ~ then stopped. We buried the body next morning in the little moun- tain cemetery. Whence he caine or whither he went none ever knew. A few of the dead mans belongings; trifling enough, are thrust in a hole in the old barn, for her whom we still expect to come for them one of these days. In our summer fishings, one of the spots to which we used to resort was a quaint cottage in the beautiful vale of Duddon the same that Mr. Wordsworth has im- mortalized in his series of sonnets. The cottage stood hard by the stream, and in it lived a widow woman, the daughter of a hill statesman. During trout time the house was embowered in greenery. De- liciously cool was its whitewashed porch and clean sanded floor, a great tree stand- ing over all. In the grate of her parlor in summer, ~vhere Mr. Wordsworth often used to sit, she invariably had a thick sod of purple heather in full bloom. Here many anglers came and drew from their holds the pink-spotted trout. The dipper and the kingfisher darted by the door, and those who drank in the quiet and pastoral peace of Duddon never forgot it. The woman of the cottage, by great industry and exertion, had reared and settled com- fortably in life a large family. She was respected by all about her. Out of her small means she gave away almost as much food and home-brewed ale as was sold by any country inn of the district. For one in so limited a sphere her life was almost an ideal one; and yet her end was terribly sad. She left home one wintry afternoon to visit a sick relation in Eskdale. At this time pedlars of whom the wanderer of The Excursion~~ 4 THE BURIAL OF THE JEWS OF SPITALFIELDS. 6r is a type were common in remote coun- try districts; and one of these offered to convey her in his gig to Eskdale over the Birk Moor road. At the end of this he was to take her up at a stated time. It happened that she was too late for the traveller, but walked onwards, supposing that he was behind and would overtake her. On the sixth day after this, the clergymans daughter from Eskdale cas- ually called at the poor womans cottage. It then became known that she had not been seen at Eskdale, and a band of dales- folk at once set out to search the fells. The body of the poor creature was found only forty yards from the road, her hands and knees terribly lacerated and her dress torn. These showed that after losing the power of walking she had struggled on- wards, no one knows how far, upon her hands and knees. She had taken out her spectacles, as was thought, to assist her in seeing her way through the blinding mists. These had prevailed for a week, and to them must be attributed the fact that her body lay so long, undiscovered by the mountain road. Some sweetmeats tied in a handkerchief, which she had carried for her grandchildren, were found near the spot where she died. Easdale is one of the most picturesque glens among the Cumbrian mountains a spot made by nature for herself, as some of the Lake poets have it. With its tarn, its ghyll-contained waterfall, and the fact of its being placed among the splin- tery peaks of the Borrowdale series, it constitutes a wildly charming spot at every season. Here upon the snow, many years ago, was played out a cruel tragedy indeed. A poor, hard-working peasant and his wife, named Green, were returning from Langdale late on a wintry evening to their home in Easdale. A terrible storm overtook them on the way, and, be- coming exhausted, both died in it. Mean- while six children were snowed up in their cottage, where, without help, they re- mained several days. Fully appreciating their situation, but as yet ignorant of the fate which had befallen her parents, a little lass of nine assumed command at home and exhibited unusual forethought and care in meeting the home wants of her brothers and sisters. After a time she made her escape from the snowbound cottage, and told the hill farmers and shepherds how her father and mother had not yet returned. A search-party was or- ganized; and after three days the bodies were discovered upon the hills, at a short distance from each other. From The Pall Mall Gazette. THE BURIAL OF THE JEWS OF SPITALFIELDS. [FROM A CORRESPONDENT.] January 22. YESTERDAY the curtain fell upon the last act of the mournful tragedy at Spital- fields. In the bleak and dreary enclosure known as the West I-lam Cemetery lie the seventeen Jews and Jewesses whose life was crushed out of them on Tuesday, done to death by the fatuous cry of some panic.stricken fool. Captain Shaw can put out a fire, but not all the hose-pipes in the metropolis can control a panic when it has once set in. It was almost amusing to see the strange mixture of grief and greed in the Lane ~yesterday as the little burial parties wound out of the greasy labyrinth of Whitechapel into the main road on their way to West Ham. While the eag was conscious of the noisy chaffer- ing of the barrowmen, the eye could not fail to notice the haggard fa& es of the mourners, who were gathered in groups, discussing in strident tones the circum- stances of the disaster. The Jews were out in strong force in the Whitechapel Road, and took a keen and sympathetic interest in the funeral; red-eyed women encased in tawdry finery, women with flabby jowls, faces rouged and powdered, hair towzled and unkempt, their shapeless figures encased in shabby furs and thread- bare velveteens, every hat carrying a nod- ding plume, of which an undertaker would be proud. The men were even stranger- looking, clad in indescribable garments, from the tattered overcoat of a modern Fagin to the reach-me-down finery of the East-end exquisite. But as one left the Whitechapel Road, and reached Stratford the trail soon lost itself, and it was only after some trouble that one was able to find the approach to the largest of the six Jewish burial-grounds of the metropolis. As one approached the simple gates the sounds of wailing and mourning caught the ear, and the little burial hall of gal- vanized iron was surrounded by a sorrow- ing community of Jews and Christians. The cemetery covers an area of eleven acres, about a third of which seems to be already occupied. Row after row of carved slabs stand up erect, like so manylines of soldiers, representing a generation of dead Solomons and Jsaacs, the Hebraic inscrip- tions looking strange to the English eye. Now and then a sunbeam caught the golden circlets at the head of the tombs, affording a melancholy and momentary re 62 THE BURIAL OF THE JEWS OF SPITALFIELDS. lief to this terribly desolate resting-place. IViuch has been written of the last rites paid by the Jews to their dead. Did not the watchers wash the dead women and clothe them in ceremental robes? Were not the males enshrouded in robes of atonement, invested with those bands of leather called phylacteries, and clad in fringed praying-robes? Then the under- takers screwdriver hid away the tawdry frippery of the tomb, and the red soil now hides them from the world forever. Each of the ten ceremonies that were performed yesterday was painful even for the mere sightseer to witness, and the demonstra- tive chorus of grief with which each body was accompanied to the graveside, con- trasted strangely with the pathetic reserve to which Christians are accustomed. The coffin is brought into the tiny synagogue and laid down on the floor. It is crowded with mourners, who, if they have a~sumed no outward sign of their sorrow, replace it by the loudness of their uplifted voices. Admission is free. A bright fire is burn- ing in the stove; on the two forms ranged along the sides of the room, for it is noth- ing more, lie the black-covered books con- taining the forms of the Jewish burial. The officiating priest stands by the coffin and chants in a wild sobbing incantation The psalm in Hebrew, his voice rising and falling in minor cadences ~vhich make the ceremony very striking. The crowd which fills the little wooden buildino~ chants a sort of response, until the halT is full of wailing, which gives a semi-barbaric air to the ceremonial. But the scene is rendered doubly impressive when the stout-built, thick-lipped young Jew who is standing by the coffin gives way, and wails aloud with griefeyes half closed, mouth open, hair dishevelled, clothes disarranged, intoxi- cated with sorrow and passion. It is his sweetheart of seventeen who is contained in the black-covered coffin. Next week she was to be his wife. Then there is a sudden move, the coffin is put on the bier, and carried through the narrow doorway. Thence it is accompanied to the grave by the crowd, disorderly it is true, but loud in their wailing and the gnashing of their teeth. The poor fellow is supported by his friends, shouting and foaming like one in an epilepsy. And so at the side of the rude grave. The crowd keeps time to the chant, which is repeated at the grave. The seventeen victims sleep side by side, with but a narrow partition of soil be- tween them, and as one coffin is put down another is ready to take its place. In three minutes the young Jew hears the sound of half-a-dozen ~vi1ling shovels, and is led off fainting by his friends. The priest, a man, of middle age, with small eyes and black beard, wearing a tall hat and a black gown, then returns to repeat the offices for the dead, and so on. The function contrasts strangely with our own service, and jars on the unaccustomed ear. The burial service reads backward, or, to put it in another way, you begin on the last page and read forward. The Hebrew version is on the right hand page, the English translation on the other. There are, it was explained to me, two forms, one for Fridays, one for the other days. As the coffin is lowered into the grave the priest cries, May he come to his ap- pointed place in peace. On returning to the hall the priest again prays. Then it is customary on quitting the ground to pluck some grass and say, And they shall blossom forth from the ruins like the grass of the earth. Others say, God remembereth that we are bUt dust. Then those who have taken part in the inter- ment wash their hands in receptacles made for the purpose. A curious Jewish funeral custom was mentioned the other day which may be worth mentioning; though I did not see it put into practice yesterday. When a funeral procession arrives at the cemetery gate the ground- keeper announces: Enter and bury your dead; but there is no room for any one else; the deceased is the last ~vho can be buried here. This would be palpably ridiculous in the case of West Ham, where there must be five or six acres to spare. The same writer (in the 7ewish Chronicle) gives yet another, which is even more curious: I recollect (he says) a burial custom of exactly similar import that used to be practised when I was a boy in one of our provincial congregations, and may, for aught I know to the contrary, flourish still. It was, I believe, introduced from Poland. Whenever a funeral took place in the Jewish cemetery, a small locked padlock was thrown into the grave and the key cast as far off as possible. On one occasion that I remember the grave was not filled up until some one was de- spatched for and brought the forgotten ~ padlock. The meaning was that the in- satiable maw of the grave was now locked, and the key lost, never to be found. Alas! alas! how often since then have I seen the all-devouring tomb reopen; when, oh when, will Death be swallowed up for ever? THE FAWCETT MEMORIAL. 63 From The Medical Press. SUDDEN CHANGES OF TEMPERATURE. EXPERIENCE leads us to anticipate cer- tain definite results in the production of disease from marked and sudden varia- tions in temperature. If a north wind sends down the thermometer from seventy degrees to forty deorees in the course of a day it would not ~e unreasonable to an- ticipate an increase in the number of cases of disease of the respiratory organs, rheu- matism, etc. The more abrupt the fall the greater will be the effect. Yet with a knowledge of these facts our civilized existence is one continual series of expos- ure to such changeschanges greater in extent and more sudden than any which occur from natural causes. Instead of a day, the result of leaving a warm room for the streets may be to affront a difference in temperature of forty degrees or more, and even within the limits of the same house it is possible to pass, metaphorically speaking, from Greenlands icy mountains to Indias coral strand. Of course it will be urged that certain precautions are taken with the view of obviating the risks attending such abrupt changes of temper- ature, but it will be found on inquiry that they are as a rule quite illusory. Who dreams of putting on an overcoat on going to the closet or fetching any object from another and unwarmed room? On leav- ing the house, it is true, persons possessed of average prudence take the trouble to put on an extra coat or shawl. By so doing they do protect the outside of the body, but they leave unprotected the naked sur- face of the lungs, a delicate and easily irritated organ, very inadequately provided with means of self-defence. Even natures resources, whereby the equilibrium of heat is maintained, are apt to break down when one inspiration is at seventy degrees and the next at thirty degrees. Nature, as a rule, does not allow of an abrupt reversing of the gear; her movements are pendu- lum-like, and adjust themselves, accurately it may be, but slowly, to the vicissitudes of life. In a natural state of existence, which may be assumed to be a savage one, such changes are impossible, or at least improbable, and hence, as we advance in civilization, so the bad results of an arti- ficial condition of existence become ap- parent. of Another danger to which our habits living expose us is that which accrues from local disparity of tempera- ture, when, for instance, to use the same simile, our bodies are in India and our feet and legs in Greenland. Here the mechanism is somewhat different, but the result is at least as detrimental. Begin- ning at the inflamed eye which is caught by looking through keyholes, we get to the neuraloic affections which may attack any part o~ the body exposed to the action of a draught. Although the cause may be local, the effect is by no means necessa- rily so; indeed, in a large proportion of cases the result of such localized exposure is to give rise to constitutional ailments, it may be, of the most serious character. The bad effects of rapid changes of tem- perature are by no means confined to transition from heat to cold. Very often, indeed, the converse change, from cold to heat, is the starting-point of a series of complaints which cold alone had failed to induce. This is a matter of common ex- perience in armies on the march in winter. Entrance into a warm room from an out- side temperature below freezing-point is not uncommonly followed by a sensation of suffocation and malaise, which takes some little time to wear off. Much can be done by care and attention to ward off part of the harm which might otherwise accrue from the causes alluded to. Inside the house the warmth should be more equally distributed, so as to avoid undue change of temperature on traversing cor- ridors or passages; this involves struc- tural arrangements which are not within the reach of everybody, but excellent re- sults follow even the employment of a stove in the hall. Outside, not only should additional clothing be resorted to, but no air should bepermitted to reach the lungs except after having been warmed by pass- ing through the nose ~. little contrivance by which nature remedies, within certain limits, alterations in the temperature of the respired air. For this reason singing in the streets on cold nights, and even talking, is undesirable. The most robust are amenable to these influences, to some, if not to the same, extent as the more delicate, and cannot brave them with im- punity. In cities, especially where fog and cold go together, the maxim should be to keep the mouth shut and the ears open. From The Saturday Review. THE FAWCETT MEMORIAL. IT is almost as difficult to find the Faw- cett Memorial in Westminster Abbey as, according to Theodore Hooks ballad, It used to be to find the London University. 64 THE FAWCETT MEMORIAL. It stands under a little window in the most expended on the most minute portions of remote corner of the baptistery, so high this work, its extraordinary beauty of de- that even on a bright day it is needful to tail, and its reverent sympathy with the get up on a chair to make out the details character and history of the noble Gothic properly. But it is well worth the diffi- fane which it adorns, are worthy of the culty of search. It is a new departure in highest praise. public sculpture, and Mr. Alfred Gilbert, As we turn from examining this exqui A. R. A., deserves no small praise for so site little monument, the grandeur of the bold and so successful a revolt acrainst proportions of the Abbey is felt with b monumental conventionality. The posi- peculiar vividness. This is not the usual tion which, as ~ve have said, is a little effect of gazing at the sculpture which is too high is due to the exigencies of the placed there, and as we pass between the architecture. The monument fills one of huge white statues of our recent states- the original arches; and, if the sculptor men, we cannot help asking ourselves how had not been hampered with some Eliza- soon these pompous works will be removed bethan woodwork below, his work would to the green outside, which is their fit and seem in all respects like a natural gro~vth proper l)lace. We believe that it was in of the building, as sculpture combined Chantreys days that the vicious custom with architecture always should look, of making statues for the Abbey over life- The monument consists of three por- size first came into fashion. The ambi- tions, one above the other. The topmost tion of sculptors now seems to be to make contains a dark bronze bust of Fawcett, in each figure a little larger than any before, high relief, against a gold ground. The and as we glance into Poets Corner we second consists of a frieze of seven small see the new Longfellow bust, enormous, figures, in the round; and the.third is an like the head of a river-god. The answer inscription, on a vermilion surface, sup- made to an objector always is, that unless ported by corbels with winged figures. the size of the figure is exaggerated, the On one of these corbels is a profile of statue does not tell, as though the pri- Fawcett, and on the other his coat of arms. mary object in all such cases were to gratify The whole work glows with color. The the ostentation of the sculptor. The fan- figures, which are in bronze, are some of tastic and grotesque groups of the last them left in their natural tone, while others century have their obvious faults, but they have a patina of gold, sometimes dim and do not err by the preposterous immodesty pale, sometimes darker or brighter. In of the Victorian statues. Perhaps the certain cases the figure is gilded, and the lowest mark of contempt for the Abbey drapery or attributes bronze. Sympathy, itself is to be found in connection with a for instance, is represented as a light gold work of Gibsons, where the observer may figure of a nude woman, encompassed by note that part of the architectural decora- a network of dark-bronze vines. The tion has been knocked away, simply be- figures of the frieze are Brotherhood, an cause it presumed to throw a shadow over old man seated, with sheaves of corn and the modern sculptors precious figure. It a reaping-hook; Zeal, a female saint; Jus- is satisfactory to think that such sacrilege tice, a most picturesque and Diireresque as this could hardly take place to-day, and figure, with scales and ample drapery; we draw attention to Mr. Gilberts modest Fortitude, in the centre, a young knight and beautiful monument as being, we hope, in full armor; Sympathy; Industry with the herald of much sculpture of a kind her beehive; and another conception of appropriate to the Gothic splendors of the Brotherhood. The amount of invention Abbey. THE FORTIFICATIONS OF PARIs. In view all below the ground, and they form such a ~ of a possible, not to say probable, war between wide circle about the city that it will hardly be Germany and France, it will be interesting to possible to besiege it in future~ If it took consider the extent of the fortifications in and three hundred thousand Germans to encircle around Paris since 1871. A new line of forts the old line, it ought to require an almost in- far outside of the old ones has been erected. calculable force to invest the new. The walls In all twenty-four forts have been built, and of Paris have been demonstrated to be useless, these contain all the improvements of modern and the French do not rely on them in any way warfare. Their barracks and magazines are as a means of defence. United Service Gazette.

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The Living age ... / Volume 173, Issue 2233 Littell's living age Every Saturday; a journal of choice reading Eclectic magazine The Living age co. inc. etc. New York etc. April 9, 1887 0173 2233
The Living age ... / Volume 173, Issue 2233 65-128

LITTELLS LIVING AGE. Fifth Series, No. 2233. April 9, 1887. 5 From Beginning, Volume LVIII. 4 Vol. CLXXIII. CONTENTS. THE PRESENT POSITION OF EUROPEAN POLITICS. Part III. RICHARD CABLE, THE LIGHTSHIPMAN. Part VII. THE TRIALS OF A COUNTRY PARSON, A TERRIBLE NIGHT AN OLD FRENCH HOUSE. Part II., INCIDENTS OF THE EARTHQUAKE, JUBILEE YEARS THE SUFFERINGS OF THE CLERGY, . . Spectator, JACK FROST, . To PHILIP BOURKE MARSTON, A NOCTURNE For na~irhtty Review, Chambers ~ourna4 Nineteenth Century, Murrays Magazine, Spectator, Saturday Review, Chambers 7ournal, P 0 E T R Y. .6~ MARCH MEADOWS, ONLY A WEEK, 128 MISCELLANY PUBLISHED EVERY SATURDAY BY LITTELL & CO., BOSTON. TERMS OF SUBSCRIPTION. For EIGHT DoLiAss, remitted directly to the PuMishers, the LIVING AGE will be ptsnctoally forwarded for a year,jree ofjlostage. Remittances should be madehy hank draft or check, or by post-office money-order, if possible. If neither of these can be procured, the money 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 & Co. -. Single Numbers of THE LIVING AGE, s8 cents. I. 11. III. IV. V. VI. VII. VIII. 67 87 95 107 119 121 123 126 66 66 JACK FROST, ETC. JACK FROST. HA! ha! Jack Frost, Is Ihe frontier crossed That divides us from Autumns domain? Are we far on the road To your icy abode Oer the track of your wintry plain? Whose leafless trees All elbows and knees, All crooked, and crank, and cropt, Seem struck of a heap in the act of a leap, Surprised by your breath in a dance of death, And all fast glued in the gaunt attitude They last had chanced to adopt! Ho! ho! Jack Frost, Have you rudely tossed To the winds our sylvan fleece? Bold thief of the wood You shall make it good With the folds of your snow pelisse. For the gold and bronze Of the Autumn fronds, Whose tints you would not spare, You shall pay full score of snowflakes hoar, Compound for the crime with glistning rime, You shall trim the meads with crystal beads, And crisp the morning air. Our gable-heights Your stalactites In fringes shall festoon, You shall lay the lake Or I much mistake With a polished floor full soon; Each bough you stripped Shall be bravely quipped In a coat of sparkling cold Each hedge you scour a fairy bowr, Your morning breath a silver wreath, Your starlit night a crown of light You shall pay us back fourfold! Temple Bar. WALTON HOOK. TO PHILIP BOURKE MARSTON. SWEET poet, thou of whom these years that roll Must one day yet the burdened birthright learn, And by the darkness of thine eyes discern How piercing was the sight within thy soul; Gifted apart, thou goest to the great goal, A cloud-bound radiant spirit, strong to earn Light-reft, that prize for which loud myriads yearn Vainly light-blest the seers aureole; And doth thine ear, divinely dowered to catch All spheral sounds in thy song blest so well, Still hearken for my voices slumbering spell With wistful love? Ah! let the Muse now snatch My wreath for thy young brows, and bend to watch Thy veiled transfiguring senses miracle. D. G. RoSS~TTI. A NOCTURNE. FROM THE GERMAN OF REINICK. EARTH in heavenly rest is sleeping, Moon and stars their watch are keeping Where a garden, bright with flowers, Slumbers through the midnight hours. Good-night! There, wiTh moonbeams shining oer it, Stands a cottage, and before it, On a leafy linden spray, Sings a bird its tender lay. Good-night! Good night! In her bower the maid lies dreaming Of the flowers around her gleaming, Heavens own peace within her breast, Angels, watching, guard her rest! Good-night! Good-night! Cassells Magazine. A. L. MACKEcHNIE. * MARCH MEADOWS. A THICK white mist lies heavy on the vale heavy, and soft, and cold; on either hand, Ghosts of themselves, the trees and hedges stand, Nor black nor green, but vaguely dull and pale; And in the clotted air, our lambs weak wail Is stifled; and a silent spectral band Of cattle moves across the shadowless land, Wherein all forms are blurrd, all voices fail. Ah me, how like is this our stern sad spring To lifes yet sterner autumn! Such a mist, So cold, so formless, from the Lethe- stream Rises and spreads, and blots out everything That we have keenly loved and warmly kissd; Till we too are but figures in a dream. Academy. M. ONLY A WEEK! ONLY a week, since you and I Just kept each other company; Ah! sweet old phrase of every day, Such as we use in earnest play, Touching the heart-chords tenderly. Now, sullen looks the stranger sky On the slow hours that weary by~ How long since we two wooed delay? Only a week! Could any graceful subtlety The pasts sweet careless magic try To teach the present to essay The joy that ~vent with you away? That asked to be, to live, to die Only a week! All The Year Round. 66 THE PRESENT POSITION OF EUROPEAN POLITICS. 67 From The Fortnightly Review. THE PRESENT POSITION OF EUROPEAN POLITICS. PART III. RUSSIA. IN two previous articles it has been shown how Germany and Austria from the fear of a Franco-Russian alliance, how England from preference for peace and want of sufficient motive, and how France from the real peacefulness of the majority of its electors, are unlikely to begin a war. There remains Russia, the country which, intensely patriotic but not yet very sure of its position in the world, ridiculed as bar- barous, and therefore very sensitive, and ruled by an autocrat of uncertain temper, is alone in a position to provoke a conflict. Willitdoso? There appeared lately in a number of Russian newspapers some remarkable ar- ticles on the same question on which I am writing herethe present position of the great powers. These articles, indeed, teach us nothing except the arrogance, or the consciousness of strength, of Russia, which scarcely seems to care what other powers may or may not do, and the ex- traordinary ignorance which prevails among even the best-informed real Rus- sians in the empire. I say real Russians, because there are at St. Petersburg a num- ber of able and highly cultured persons who are in the Russian service, and have no illusions upon the subject, but are either not of Russian race or are so much in touch with foreigners through constant travel or long residence abroad that they have ceased to share the more dangerous among the illusions of their countrymen. Unfortunately, however, it is the Russian emperor who governs Russia, and not these gentlemen. Some of them, as for example MM. de Giers, Jomini, and Vlan- galy, are occasionally consulted by way of form, but their private opinions do not receive official sanction or become that policy of the Russian Empire which in public (and most conversations at St. Petersburg may be looked upon as public) they defend. To justify what I have said about articles in the Russian journals, let me quote the doctrines of one from the Novoe Vrernya upon The Western Pow- ers and Russia. The phrase the west- ern powers does not apply only to Great Britain and France, the meaning which it used to bear, but it includes live powers, or what we style the two central and the two western powers, with the addition of Italy. The writer states that if Prussia has managed to make an apparent German unity towards the exterior, it must be re- membered both that German Austria is not yet included within Germany, and that there is no internal unity even among the kingdoms that are included. South and Catholic Germany, he declares, detests Prussian and Protestant Germany more than ever, and the southern States will seize the first opportunity to throw off the hegemony of Prussia, and once more make Austria supreme in the German Empire. Schleswig-Holstein too is a serious weak- ness to the empire. Germany.is hated by Austria as well as by France, she suffers internally from socialism, she has alien- ated Great Britain by her colonial policy, and she could not even depend on Italian friendship unless she were williAg to help Italy to take away from Au~tria the Tyrol, the Trentino, and Trieste itself, and this she will not do. Germany therefore is absolutely isolated. The emperor and Prince Bismarck himself will die before German unity has made a step, and the only chance they have of maintaining themselves lies in a Russian alliance. A somewhat flattering picture this, indeed, of what Prince Bismarck has done for Germany! The ~vriter passes on to Aus- tria. Austria desires to regain leadership in Germany, she refuses to become a Slav power and insists on remaining German, she is waiting only for the death of Prince Bismarck, but is too wretchedly weak to harm Russia. Turning to France, the writer points out that she has quarrelled with England and stands alone, whilst his glance at England, as might be expected, reveals to him the impossibility of her defending either her colonies or her trade, the danger that she incurs from Ireland, and the certainty that she will put up with anything rather than fight. The conclu- sion of the article, of course, is that Rus- sia alone among the powers is quiet, strong, and really great, that if she gave 68 THE PRESENT POSITION OF EUROPEAN POLITICS. to Germany her alliance she could wipe out Austria from the face of Europe, and force France to remain at peace. If, on the other hand, she chooses a French alliance she can destroy Germany, whilst the destinies of England are in her hands, inasmuch as she could easily deliver India from the British yoke. The writer thinks it laughable to suppose that Russia will ask the consent of any power to settle the Bulgarian question in tfie sense which she may prefer. it is hardly necessary to indicate the weak points of this article, and I shall have occasion to deal with the strong points, and to reveal the grain of truth that it may contain, in demonstrating the immense power of the Russian Empire. That with which I am here concerned is only to show in what a fools paradise those Russians live who really direct the external policy of their country the emperor himself and the leading journal- ists, who, however, it must be observed, are themselves powerless, except through the immense influence of one of them, the autocrat of the Moscow Gazette. I am aware that much that I say in the course of this article will produce protest, for while I shall offend those who believe in the moderation or truth of Russia, I shall, on the other hand, displease those too patriotic persons, if there be such a thing as an overdose of patriotism, who dislike Russia so much that they cannot recognize either her power or the patriot- ism of her people. All that I shall try to do in this, as in the other articles of this series, is to ascertain facts, and the exact bearing of the facts with which we have to deal. I address myself to those, if there be such in these days, who are free from party prejudice, from prejudice personal and national to those, in short, who try to see things as they really are. The fact upon which it is necessary to insist in considering the position of Rus- sia is that she has of all the European powers by far the largest homogeneous population. There are about as many Great Russians, speaking the same lan- guage, without any dialects, as there are real Germans in all Germany. In ad- dition to these there are millions upon millions of closely connected Russians of other Russian tribes, of which the fourteen millions of Little Russians are the most numerous and the best known, furnishing as they do the picked men of the Russian Guards. Some care- less observers are apt to make seriously an exactly opposite statement, namely, that there is such a diversity of races under the Russian flag that Russia must be bound but loosely together, and be always at the point of tumbling to pieces. No doubt there are great numbers of pic- turesque peoples of various races, tongues, customs, and religions who are under the Russian rule. Travellers affect their prov- inces, and are rather repelled by the uni- form black dulness of Russia proper; but all those peoples bear to the mass of the Russians only about the same numerical and political importance as the sotnias of Persian, Armenian, Georgk~n, Mingrelian, Circassian, Bashkir, and LTralian Cos. sacks, who figure in the emperors body guard at a great review at St. Petersburg, bear numerical and military importance to the fifty or sixty thousand men of the guards who are upon the field, No doubt the Fins of Great Finland and the Samo- yeds of northern Siberia, and the Sarts of central Asia, and the yellow-faced and slit-eyed Kalniucks of Astrakhan, the Golden-Horde Tatars of Kazan, the Tur- comen of the Caspian steppes, the Indians of Baku, the Tchuvassi, Vatiki, Mordwa, and other Asiatic Fins upon the Volga, and countless other tribes and peoples who might be named, differ very greatly the one from the other, and all of them from the Russians; but on the whole they do not form a weakness to the Russian Empire, and their existence within its con- fines does not detract from the essential fact that there are some sixty millions of Russians who speak virtually one tongue. This nation, numerically the superior of any nation except the Chinese, and China is not yet organized for modern war, is ( also more religious and more patriotic as a body than is any of the other great powr ers of Europe. The accuracy of this remark will be contested, but hardly I think by those who know Russia well. The Russians are as religious at the least as are the people of the English colonies RUSSIA. 69 or of the United States, and they are as patriotic as the citizens of the latter coun- try. In the union of patriotism and of religion they present, I know no country in Europe which can approach them, al- though they may be rivalled by the people of the United States. We have here ob- viously, from the facts which I take to be admitted by careful observers, in Russia a power which, by the very nature of things and apart from any movement which she may make, is formidable in the highest degree. There are some fossil politicians in England who still think that Russia is weakened by the existence of a Poland. Poland died in 1863, and died forever. The men who, either in their own persons or in the persons of their ancestors, have illustrated literature by their genius, and countless battle-fields by their splendid courage, may refuse to rec- ognize the extinction of their country; but the Poles, considered as an anti-Russian force, were an aristocracy, in the best as well as in the common sense of the word. The Polish peasantry, though often led by them against Russia, were never anti- Russian to an t~npurchasable degree, and a large portion of the Polish peasantry have now become as attached, through agrarian legislation, to the Russian Em- pire as the German peasantry of Alsace were to France by the agrarian legislation of the Revolution. At the time of the Crimean War Poland did not rise; but looking to what afterwards happened in 1863, it is impossible to say that it might not have been roused. Poland could now no longer be raised against the Russians; and in spite of the fairly successful at- tempts which have been made by Austria to conciliate the Galician Poles, there are Slavonic subjects of Austria who could far more easily be raised against the dual monarchy than any Polish or other Sla- vonic subjects of Russia could be raised against the tsar. It is difficult for us to realize the attraction of Russia for some of the weaker members of the Slavonic races. Where, as once in Servia and lately in Bulgaria, Russia has had a com- paratively free hand, she has often alien- ated Slavonic feeling; but where Slays have been the subjects of another grea.t power, and especially where they are sub- jects of Hungary and Austria, Russia is to them a friend on whose power they build their hopes. The Ruthenians of the dual monarchy are so many Russians lost within its boundaries. There is no similar German or other colony lost in Russia, for what aliens there are are too few and too much dispersed. Some think that Russia is weakened by the German element in the Baltic provinces. Here, again, those who think so are behind the times. The Baltic provinces were never German, so far as the peasantry are concerned. A German aristocracy, with German traders in the towns, ruled over a peasantry of the Esthonian, Lettish, and Lithuanian races. To this l)easantry the Russians, with all their despotic measures against the landowners and against the German tongue, have come as deliverers: Because Russia is very violent in her language and in her acts, we too often fail to see how a peasantry which an aristocratic govern- ment or a government of political econo- mists could never win, is won overby her to her rule. The Moscow men failed in Bulgaria, but in Poland they ~ucceeded, and in the Baltic provinces, too, their methods and their policy have not been found wanting, and it is probable that the problems that have so long perplexed this country in her relations with Ireland would have been solved in a week by Samarin, or Miliutin, or Prince Tcher- kassky. Some are disposed to think that Nihil- ism constitntes a great danger to the Rus- sian Empire, weakening not only her offensive but even her defensive force. There can be no doubt that in Russia, in spite of the recent sO-called cadet and staff conspiracy, the general belief of the best informed is that at this moment Aus- tria and Germany have more to fear from socialism than Russia has from Nihilistic conspiracies. I shall have to return to the subject generally when I come to my Austrian paper; but as regards Russia I may say that my latest information leads me to agree with Russian writers upon this point. There can be no doubt, I think, in the mind of any reasonable observer, as to the 70 THE PRESENT POSITION OF EUROPEAN POLITICS. real and lasting strength of Russia; and the question which it is more interesting to consider is in what manner that strength is likely to be used. Russia is, though old in some senses, politically as young a country as the United States, andhas not yet by any means passed the growing period. She is strong even while growing fast, but will be still stronger in her prime. In considering her power let me, in the first place, protest against the action of those Englishmen who allow themselves to be scared out of a policy which a short time ago they thought right and wise. The fact that a number of gentlemen have come to realize the strength of Russia has led them to begin to declare that they were quite wrong a few years ago in say- ing that this country ought to keep Russia out of the Balkan Peninsula and away from Constantinople, and out of Herat and away from the Persian Gulf ; and that on the contrary England should em- brace her with open arms and enter upon an alliance with the power which a short time ago they were declaring to be their countrys mortal foe. No doubt it is im- possible to maintain the principles of Lord Beaconsfields speeches of i8~8; and it is really a useless waste of time to examine how completely the so-called settlement of that year has broken down. All that has happened was prophesied by clear- sighted observers at the time. Sir Samuel Baker then stated that our policy might terminate in a friendship between ihe Russians and the Turks to the detriment of British interests and to the confusion of the assumed protectorate. He was alluding to the Asia Minor Convention and the appointment of military consuls throughout the Turkish Asiatic provinces, and his prophecy has come true to the letter. In 1878 we were told that England had restored to Turkey the greater por- tion of her provinces, but eastern Rou- melia was counted into what was restored and Bosnia and Herzegovina were not counted into what was taken away, so that the inquiry need hardly be pursued. We were told that our action had not only re- stored her provinces to Turkey, but had insured the reform of their administration. No one I suppose can imacr progress has been made bine that much in that direction. We were told that Turkey bad been given in the Balkans an impregnable frontier; that the power, military and civil, of the sultan in eastern Roumelia was complete, and that it was absolutely necessary for securing the safety of Constantinople. All these considerations, however, ~w-ere thoroughly examined at the time, and the only extraordinary thing is that, even by a portion of the public, and even for a few months, they should have been be- lieved. The whole fabric of our policy in 1878 having sunk in collapse, we are now~ told by some of the same persons who were instrumental in misleading us on that occasion that Bulgaria is not a British interest, that Constantinople is not a Brit- ish interest, that the continued existence of the Turkish Empire is not a British interest, and generally, that nothing is a British interest which our own military unreadiness would make it difficult for us to protect by force of arms. Just as a large portion of the public refused to ac- cept the guidance of these gentlemen in 1878, SO it is possible that a portion of the public will refuse to accept their guid- ance now, and will insist on examining the question for themselves. XVhen we all but went to war in 1878 for the sultans supremacy in eastern Roumdia, ~nd were told that we had secured it, we soon found that we had only secured it upon paper, and we were then assured that the idea must be replaced by another. British pol- icy, we were asked to believe, had shifted, because circumstances had shifted, and the spirit of freedom found to exist in the Bulgarian race, and especially in eastern Roumelia, was to form the new bulwark against Russia a bulwark better than the Balkan line. But as soon as Austria declined our alliance, and Russia refused to make terms with the Bulgarians, then our instructors began to tell us that even Bulgarian independence was not a British interest, and it seems now to be generally understood that Constantinople itself is not to be defended by this country, unless Hungarian feeling should make Austria fight, and unless a scratch pack of other allies can also he obtained. Just as in the Belgian question, which I discussed in the first article of this series, and to which I shall return in the last, it is desirable that England at all events should know what she means and make up her mind, so toO in this question of the Balkans and of Constantinople. Not that the question is likely to be raised at present in an aggra- ~C vated form. The sultan, knowing that he is now deserted by the most influential men in both the English parties, and that Austria will not fight for him if she can help it, because she knows that she is not a match for Russia in a military sense, expecting also, at he does, a rising in Crete, a Greek advance upon Janina, and a rising in southern Macedonia whenever RUSSIA. 7 he is attacked, is forced to make terms triots, from M. Gravy down to M. Dru- with Russia, which practically means that mont; but probably neither M. Gr~vy nor his empire is to last his time. This habit even M. Drumont possesses that kind of of trying to make things last their time patriotic courage which would lead him to is common with the pashas. A Turkish get himself quietly killed for his countrys plenipotentiary once said to a represen- sake if he could well help it. The Rus- tative of one of the great powers, Why sians have a different sort of patriotism cannot the Greeks and Bulgarians keep from the patriotism of other European quiet a little? They will get all the tern- peoples there are few Russians who tory they want some day. Practically, would hesitate to die if their death could the sultan is forced to sit still whilst his help their countrys cause. Possibly this empire crumbles. He is only at this mo- may be a mark of barbarism; some pale- ment asked to let and he cannot pre- faced philosophers, I have no doubt, may vent it Russian influence come a little think it so; but it is a factor in the pres- nearer; nothing really under his rule is ent position of the European world. for the moment to be taken from him; Poland and the Baltic provinces and and he can persuade himself that after Nihilism may not be sources of weakness all he will be no worse off in any point worth counting; Russias real weakness than he was as early as 1879, when the is the absence, inevitable under an autoc- eastern Roumelian part of the Treaty of racy such as hers, of a trained upper and Berlin was seen to be a dead letter. middle class. The sharp contrast between There is nothing new in the friendship of the simple piety of the Russian peasant, Russia and Turkey. Russian troops held which makes of every meal a celebration garrison in Constantinople when it was of a sacrament, and his occa.sional out- menaced by the Egyptians under Me- bursts of drunkenness and violence, is hemet Au, and the two countries worked excelled by one still sharper between the cordially together under the auspices of piety of the peasants and the profound lvlahmoudoff in the winter of 187980. scepticism of th~e upper classes. I do not The Russians have been slow upon their speak of religious scepticism alone, but of way. Baron Blumberg, as long ago as that practical scepticism which thinks 1684, called Turkey that body con- nothing worth doing well for any cause, demned to death, which must very speed- and which while in Russia it is consistent ily turn to a corpse; but the corpse is with the use of patriotic language, and not yet laid out. The Russian advance, perhaps with the existence of certain pa- however, though slow, is sure. From time triotic sentiments, makes of the class to time she makes one long step further which is undermined by it a feeble instru towards her goal. ment for the purposes of the Russian At the time of peace with honor, fatherland. Lord Beaconsfield, speaking of the danger I said in the first article of this series of Russia gaining such a prize as Con- that in Russia there are only two men who stantinople such was the language of count but the second whom I named the instructions which he received, curi- counts in a double way, both as an mdi- ously enough, from Mr., now Lord, Cross, vidual of ability and as the editor of a puzzled the protocolists by alliteratively newspaper, which, in a sense, may be de- styling it the capture of Constantinople. scribed as the most powerful in the world, We shall have presently to consider the because it is all-powerful or nearly all- chances and the probable results of a l)owerful in one great empire. struggle between Austria and Russia, and The Russian press is only powerful also of a struggle between England and through Katkoffs power. The official and Russia; but it must, I think, be recog- semi-official papers say only what might nized that neither France nor Germany be expected of them, and, as a rule, do shares the view that the capture of Con- but mark time. The Moscow Gazette, stantinople by Russia is any danger to which asserts that there is no free press the world. In order to estimate the prob- in the world except the Russian, enjoys a abilities of a contest we shall have briefly freedom which is, however, personal to to consider the internal condition of Rus- itself or to its great editor. In constitu- sia, and to compare it in some degree with tional countries, it declares, the whole that of Austria, which will be further in- press is enslaved by party. The Moscow vestigated in the next article of the series. Gazette knows no party, for Russia knows I spoke just now of Russia as being, none that are worthy (or unworthy) of the above all, a patriotic country. France is name. It succeeds in doing what it pleases a patriotic country. Frenchmen are pa- in Russian home affairs; but although in 72 THE PRESENT POSITION OF EUROPEAN POLITICS. foreign affairs its anti-German sentiments Pobedonostchieff, Count Tolstoi, and Kat- are contradicted by Le Nord and do not koff are men who are accused by the prevail, at all events it is allowed to utter reformers of being the somewhat preten them. tious exponents of an ignorant old Tory Katkoff counts as Katkoff, and counts obscurantism, but to a foreign observer also as the mouthpiece of the Moscow, or there is not much difference between a national party, which may better be styled Russian Liberal and a Russian Conserva- the Moscow group. This party is com- tive. In the English sense of the word, posed of a knot of men, who may have Liberalism is somewhat out of place in their differences, but who to the outside Russia. Parliamentarianism, so dear to us, world appear to hold opinions which are will probably never be fully adopted there, identical, because they are identical as and it mi~st be admitted that Russian pa- against the outside world. Those whom triotism holds it not so much in aversion 1 have named before Aksakoff, Sama- as in contempt. rin, Miliutin, and Tcherkassky, belong The one great weakness of Russia, the to a past generation, and now represent absence of a really trained middle or upper Moscow in the Elysian fields. Prince class, is intensified by a kind of proscrip- Vassiltchikoff, and others who could be tion, which is a result of autocracy. Half named, have continued their traditions, those men of ability that the country does but whether in the Conservative shade of possess are shut out of office because they, the Moscow Gaze/fe or in more Liberal not being in the least able to help them- journals, the expression of Moscow or selves, used to bow somewhat low before national opinion has always been substan- the lady who since the death of Alexander tially the same in questions which concern II. has been in foreign countr)es styled his the outer world. We talk of the Moscow widow; to whom, indeed, the imperial fain- party, but one great strength of Russia ily themselves, also because they could not lies in the fact, which I repeat, that it has help it, used to bow rather low in the late no parties. Russians nearly all agree, emperors lifetime. This proscription is with the exception of thos6 whose hand is in itself a consequence of the obstinacy of against everythingagree, that is, in a the tsar, who likes to be served by sub- large number of general views which are missive or by pliant men, but who in spite almost peculiar to Russia. Even the of his liking for pliancy does not himself Nihilists and all other Russians are at know how to forgive. M. de Giers, as one one upon some points, as, for example, of his colleagues once told an Englishman, in ridiculing Parliamentary government, who knew him well, stands at Atten- The dominant note with all is confidence tion, one thumb on the seam of his trou- in the future of Russia, and a pure pro- sers and the other at his cap, and says (the tective affection for the Slav races outside minister was speaking in French), Oui, the empire, provided they will look up to sire oui, sire. Russia, take their policy from Russia, and When we talk of spread-eagleism we profess the orthodox religion. The late are generally thinking of the United emperor was affected and controlled by States, but the real spread-eagleism is Moscow opinion, but the present emperor that, not of the American republic, but of shares it, which is a very different thing. the Russian Empire. The Russians habit- The present emperor is as national as was ually talk of the time when they will be Peter the Great; but, unfortunately, he masters of the whole world, and if, instead hardly shows Peter the Greats ability, of writing of the facts of our time, I were In a family where all the members have tempted to prophecy concerning the next been made by absolute power unlike other century I should have to admit that, if we men, he resembles rather, in the type of exclude America and Australia and con- mind, Paul and Nicholas than Alexander fine our thoughts to the Old World alone, the First or Alexander the Second. Both it is at least conceivable that their dreams the Alexanders were melancholy Germans should one day come true. The only for- as contrasted with the present obstinate eigner who is known to the Russian peas- and thoroughly Russian tsar. In spite of antry is the German, and the name for the fact that he was trained by men who German and for foreigner with the peas- knew Russia well, I fear that, like the antry is the same, and the hatred of the traditional Irishman, he might remark with dumb men, as they call their German truth that he himself knows nothing of his neighbors, is intense. The peasantry own country and still less of any other. know little of the English, and ifyou Those who surround, and mainly advise listen to their sentiments you discover him, are strongly conservative in tone. that it is their belief that one day there RUSSIA. 73 will be between them and Germany a war compared with which, their soldiers say, that of 1870 will be childs play, and that if Germany wins this will not be the end, but that war after war will follow until Germany is destroyed. This feeling is to some extent held in check by the Russian court, although one day they may take it up and use it; but court dislikes are turned for the present less towards Ger- many than towards Austria. We will con- sider presently the military strength of Russia as compared with that of her great neighbors. Russia, in spite of her enor- mous debt and its tremendous annual charge, is growing in power, and that power, great in itself, gains by being sur- rounded by the terrors that encompass the unknown. She has by far the largest army in the world, and, with a complete mobilization of her forces, has upon paper a force at once of four and ultimately of six millions of men. Some are inclined to think that the men will not be found when wanted, but great progress has been made. by Russia since 1878. Her artillery has as many guns as that of Germany or of France, her cavalry is perhaps more numerous than that of France and Ger- many together, certainly more numerous than that of Germany and Austria com- bined. This cavalry force is admittedly the best there is for that service to which cavalry in modern war is limited, if it is not to be destroyed on use. With mod- erate prudence the resources of Russia cannot but grow and grow, for Russia from many points of view is a young country, and Siberia, territorially consid- ered, is almost another United States. With her magnificent natural position, and with her unrivalled chain of fortresses upon the German frontier, Russia can always wear out German patience. It may be true, as Count Moltke says, that two hundred thousand men upon the Vis- tula, along with the German fortresses, might prevent Russia from invading Ger- many; but even in that case there would be two hundred thousand men withdrawn from the French frontier in face of a French army more numerous than the German, and they would not suffice to prevent Russia from crushing Austria. or holding Austria in check. It is a curious commentary upon the repeated protesta- tions of affection which have passed be- tween the emperors of Germany and of Russia during the last few years, that since 1870 K6nigsberg has been converted into an entrenched camp upon an enor- mous scale, that the forts of Thorn have been iron-plated and topped with. iron turrets, that Dantzic has been greatly strengthened, that Posen has been greatly strengthened, and that Ciistnin is being strengthened now, as is also Glogau - Russia, growing daily in military strength, sets in the scale against the Germans more than Austria can brincr to restore their equilibrium. It may be confidently asserted that it is now far too late for Germany to strike her possible enemies one at a time. For Germany to attack either France or Russia now would be madness if not suicide, and Germany will go on with her declarations of friendliness towards Russia although with a perfect willingness to see coalitions formed against the northern power. Prince Bismarck has one immense advantage in dealing with the Russians, this, namely, that he is face to face with the worst-informed of Euro- pean powers. The Russian emperor has some of the best-trained men in Europe at his back if he would use them, but they are retiring from business or growing old. One of them is not what he was when minister in China; another is not what he was when he settled certain private difficul- ties in the imperial family, which needed more tact and even ~visdom for their set- tlement than do the affairs of nationsl In the concerns of the po~vers blunders are repaired by the simple process of casting swords into the scale, and the most solid of arguments after all is based upon the adding together the troops and fortresses of allies, and deducting the troops and fortresses of the enemy. This simple plan of dealing with affairs of state is inapplicable to the affairs of courts, but Baron Jomini has an hereditary under- standing of the one class of considerations, and an inborn power over the other, which make of this Vaudois-Swiss bourgeois of Valangin the best ~foreign servant that wears the livemy of the Slav, whose very tongue he cannot speak. But he is old, and set aside for clerks and sergeants. Prince Lobanoff, who is a really great diplomatist, is allowed no power. Were I to say how great, I should fear to be read by M. Katkoff, or by M. de Giers, and to do the ambassador hurt by causing his patriotism to be suspected. M. Zinovieff, of the Foreign Office, is also a good man and also has no real power. Prince Bismarck, I repeat, is to be con- gratulated upon having to hold his own against the worst-informed of the powers. Austria could not exist at all, if she were not well-informed; with all her mixed na- tionalities, and with her servants of many 74 THE PRESENT POSITION OF EUROPEAN POLITICS. tongues ,she is well-informed, as if by the law of her being; and Germany is well- informed, because it is her business to be well-informed, and she does all her busi- ness well; but Russia and France are by far the worst-informed of all the powers. The Russian emperor now reads nothing, whatever he may have read when only tsarevitch, and rejecting the advice of the men of ideas, who are suspected of the deadly sin of Europeanisin or Westernism, is advised by those who are mere sergeants by obedience and by discipline, and by the old Tory bureau- crats and pedants. Russia need only be pointed out as a country in which every foreign newspaper is tabooed. France, I am sorry to say, though she allows for- eign newspapers to enter freely enough in all conscience, is, for practical purposes, almost as ignorant. M. John Lemoinne may know, the Tern~s may know, M. Spuller may know, M. de Freycinet may know, but France as a country does not know, and the electors and the assembly are vain enough to suppose that they know better for themselves by natural lights than they could be taught by those who have been trained to teach or govern. So .greatly is the instability of govern- ments in France displeasing to Russia, that there have been dreams of late of bringing about an arrangement for a last- ing peace by a revival of the Three Em- perors League and the complete isolation of the French. This is possible rather than probable. In order that Russia should cease to menace Germany and Austria with France, it is necessary that Russia should be completely contented in all parts of the world, and it is difficult to see how Austria can willingly be a party to contenting her. There is no great love lost between the English Conservative Cabinet and the Bulgarian government. The most prominent member of the En- glish Tory party would count it a cheap way of pacifying Europe, if peace could be aided by the isolation of France, through letting Russia work her will in the Balkan neighborhood. Lord Randolph Churchill was one of the steadiest foes of Lord Beaconsfields foreign policy in 18778. On the other hand Lord Salisbury is not a man to throw away the possibility of a good alliance, or to leave Austria in the lurch, and he keenly sees the possibility of making an anti-Russian policy in the Balkans popular by using the popularity of the Roumanians and the Bulgarians. Moreover, there is an argument by which an anti-Russian policy in the Balkait~ can be recommended and which appeals to John Bull with peculiar strength. It is the breeches pocket argument. Every country annexed or virtually annexed by Russia is closed forever to our trade by means of heavily protective duties, al~ though, as I have shown in the case of Bosnia, I fear that I must admit that the same is very nearly true of our Austrian allies. Russia is really, it may be seen by what has been said, working her will on Bulga- ria by Prince Bismarcks help. Austria is hardly strong enough to resist. She is terrified at the prospect of a war with only an English alliance. She expects Prince Bismarck to back her policy at St. Peters. burg, and he himself is not strong enough to do so. From time to time the Russian emperor pretends friendship with France, or at all events shows France in the back- ground, in the way in which a fowler shows a dog to drive wild fowl here and there. There is not and there will not be a Russo-French alliance in advance of war, if then, but France is necessarily always ready. The less decided of the opponents in England of Russias Bulgarian policy (for it has in England not one single friend), extenuate it by a comparison with British action against Arabi in Egypt. Now, granting that Arabi represented Egyptian feeling as much as the Sobranje repre- sents Bulgarian, an assumption which the British government would deny, and put- ti~g out of sight the fact that the organ- ized government of Egypt was in part destroyed by Arabi, whereas in Bulgaria the regents have taken charge, by consent of the last prince, of the organized govern- ment of the country, yet, even so, no fair coml)arison is possible. An English Kaul- bars has yet to be discovered. In going to Egypt England did not act alone. The ultimate action taken was the consequence of the joint note, and the joint note was proposed to the English Cabinet in i88i by France; France moreover agreed to take part in the expedition, and would have done so had her Chamber been will- ing to vote the funds. When France re- fused to go, England applied to Italy, and ~ ltaly all but consented. England, in fact, moved with the unofficial approval of most of the powers, whilst all the powers, with- out exception, officially congratulated her on her success in restoring order in the country. From the moment when Great Britain, through Lord Salisbury, saved the prince of Bulgaria at the Constanti- nople Conference. it became certain that RUSSIA. 75 Russia would ultimately dethrone him. He was dethroned accordingly, but merely to dethrone was not sufficient to restore the Russian prestige-in Bulgaria, and fur- ther steps ~vere necessary. Prince Alex- ander had done nothing against the tsar of late, and nothing at all that has been proved, though I am aware of much that has been asserted. He had even been, perhaps, unduly submissive. But he had been independent, and Bulgarian indepen- dence, whether in tongue, in religion, or in the sphere of foreign affairs, is intoler- able to Russian patriots. I am one of those who are unwillingly driven into a position of hostility to Russia, for I have much sympathy with the aspirations of the Slav race in general, and even with those of the Russian people in particular. Strongly anti-Russian as I am, there are, as has already been seen in this article, many points upon which I have the high- est possible opinion of the Russians; but I must admit that the outrage to Europe of the Kaulbars mission, after the circum- stances of Prince Alexanders deposition, is tremendous, and I fear irretrievable. It is a death-blow to the smaller States, and the proclamation or consecration of the doctrine that might in the affairs of na- tions makes right. The Russian press is now openly claiming Bulgaria as virtually a province of Russia; its concerns are a matter of internal policy with which the powers have nothing to do; and resistance to orders from St. Petersburg is the same thing in Bulgaria as in Poland. Whether or no the Russian policy has been wicked, it certainly seems to have been foolish from the Russian point of view. There can be no doubt that the Bulgarians are alienated from Russia by that policy. They adored Russia, or rather the figure of the late emperor, before the Russians came, but they were alienated very soon. The governor of Bulgaria during the Rus- sian advance, the leader of the Moscow party himself, wrote during the war to one who was once the friend of himself and Samarin, and of both the Miliutins and both the Vassiltchikoffs, that the Bulga- rians would not commit what he called the folly of the Poles, but would resemble the Ruthenians of Galicia in welcoming the Slavonic headship of Russia. Now the Russians had this advantage in Bul- garia, that there was practically no reli- gious difficulty. No doubt there was a good deal of Protestant conversion; the English Quakers are loved by the Bulga- rians for the quiet good that they have done within that country, and there t~ much American Protestant influence, which has spread, through Dr. Wash- burns people, from Robert College; but, generally speaking, all Bulgaria is ortho- dox. At the same time it is democratic, and those who welcomed the Russian lib- ~rator did so with a strong belief that their local independence would be preserved to them. The Bulgarians, according to the majority of ethnographic writers, are not of Slavonic race, but I will at once admit that this matters little. They are as com- pletely Slavized as the Slays of old Prus- sia have become Germanized. If Prince Bismarck himself, like Justinian and Beli- sarius, is a Slav by race, he is as German in fact as Justinian and Belisarius were Roman. The Bulgarians undoubtedly came from what is now the heart of Rus- sia, and had their empire upon the Volga, from which they take their name ; but although when they came in the fifth cen- tury they were not Slays, by the eighth or ninth century they were almost as com- pletely Slavized as they are now. On the other hand the Russian governor of Bul- garia, and his young men from Moscow, who came with him failed to understand that the Bulgarians had not risen against the Turkish rule for the purpose of sub- stituting one sort of pashas for another. They gloried in the marvellous strength of Russian patriotism and the Russian desire for extension and for increase of strength, but they did not want them ex- erted at their own expense. The Rus- sians, on the other side, feel that Bulgaria is now, from some points of vie~v, so close to Moscow that absolutism in Russia is at stake if Liberalism is to prevail within Bulgaria. Russia is a country without a Liberal party. The old-fashioned Tories there are weak, and the empire ought to please Lord Randolph Churchill, for, be- ing without Liberals and almost without old.fashioned Tories, it is a sort of para- dise for a Tory-Democrat. The descend- ants of the Dekabrists are dead; the old Anglomaniacs and aristocratic Liberals are dead; and all the Russian politicians of the day belong to the Moscow national school, although some of them affect a Tory and some of them a pseudo-Liberal strain. I call it pseudo-Liberal when I remember their policy in the occupied provinces during the Turkish xvar, when they insisted that all opinion should be orthodox, and that all opinion should be subject to the emperors will. it was always certain that Russia could not easily absorb a Catholic population, and it was always doubtful if she could ever hope to 76 THE PRESENT POSITION OF EUROPEAN POLITICS. absorb an orthodox population belonging seems as though there were a still greater to the Hellenic branch of the Eastern difficulty in Russias way in the uncon- Church, but the Bulgarians were not sup- querable spirit of independence of the posed to be endowed with so much love Roumanians, the Bulgarians, and the of independence and power of resistance southern Slays. Every attempt at coer- that they were likely to stand out against cion only makes them more permanently Russia. By doing so they have embarked, hostile to autocratic rule, and when the however, in a hopeless struggle in which opposite policy is pursued and they are the sympathy that is bestowed upon them left to themselves, they do not appear to is hardly likely to find expression in ac- repent at all. The possession of such tion. remarkable qualities of self-government There are some persons in England, b~ these small peoples has led many to haters of Russia, who believe that the try of late to force to the front in practical Bulgarians have nothing to do but to hold politics that which has long been one of out some time, atid that Russia will fall to the favorite dreams of political specula- pieces of herself or undergo some remark- tion. It may be considered to be the policy. able change. But even a great disaster of the more liberal elements in Enodish in foreign war, which alone would upset Conservatism and of the more prudent the established order there, would not in amongst English Liberals, to set up, if overturning it make much difference in there is a possibility of doing so, some external questions of this kind. Men kind of Balkan confederation. If, indeed, point to the assassination of the late em- a Balkan confederation, even with the sup- peror, or the acquittal by a St. Peters- port of Austria and of England, would not burg jury of officials and nobles of the in a military sense be strong enough to asssass~ns of the grand police master, hold its own against Russia, nevertheless, Count Trepoff, but the stone-throwing in any time that may be left to us, before spirit, the self-depreciation of the capital, Russia once again presses on, it may be and the occasional outbursts of violent possible to bring about, if not confeder- Nihilism are only the natural results of ation, at all events a cordial understand- the autocratic system. Like Malets con- ing. Certainly the Greeks, the Rouma- spiracy before the campaign of France, nians, the Bulgarians, and the Serbs are they reveal weakness, but their existence young peoples, worth helping to defend. is not inconsistent with that of a wide- One of the difficulties in the way of pro- spread patriotic feeling, or of the power to ducing anything like settlement in the make patriotic sacrifice. Balkan question, or, let us say, in the Cold comfort, I fear, all this for the Bul- European branch of the Eastern question, garians and for the weaker generally in ha~ been the existence of mutual jealousies the Balkan States and in the world out- or even hatreds. The Greeks dislike the side; and yet the Bulgarians have de- Austrians, partly because the Austrians served better things of us. By their wise were supposed to intend some day to go and prudent policy, and by the self-re- to Salonica, and so to cut greater Greece straint which has been exercised by the in half, partly because the Austrians were ~vhole people, they have on the one hand the protectors of Servia, and the Servians held their own, and on the other, made an claim some part of Macedonia and Albania, armed occupation difficult. Their spirit which the Greeks expected rather to come of independence was well known, but the to their share. On the other hand, al- ability which they have displayed in war though both the Greeks and the Bulgarians and in finance was somewhat of a surprise, were at various times somewhat pro-Rus- Russia believed that the withdrawal of sian and anti-Austrian, there was the most the Russian officers would disorganize violent hatred between these two races, them, and immediately afterwards they because Bulgaria had been promised in were successful in a very serious war. the Treaty of San Stefano many districts Through all the provocations of the Kaul- which are claimed as Hellenic by Greece; bars mission, and in the total absence of and because, in short, both peoples had, a supreme direction of their affairs, al- as indeed they still have, a longing for the though under a monarchic system, perfect same parts of Macedonia. order has never ceased to reign, nor the A confederation in the Balkan provinces taxes to come in with regularity. Verily, must mean the confederation of Greece, the Bulgarians deserve the thanks of all Bulgaria, Servia, and Roumania, of which free men in Europe. It used to be said Roumania, Greece, and Servia almost. by Russian officers that the road to Con- equally dislike Bulgaria. Such an arrange- stantinople lay through Vienna, but itnow ment seemed at first sight to resemble a RUSSIA. confederation between three not very friendly cats and an altogether hostile dog. The difficulties are still very great, but they are not so great as they were, for the dislikes are now distinctly less accent- uated. King Milan has even privately suggested a personal union between Servia and Bulgaria, thus raising questions which I will discuss in the next article of this series. Bulgaria, too, has appointed a diplomatic agent at Athens. Unless Hungary, with her anti-Russian policy, should prevent it, Austria would still look with disfavor upon a Balkan confedera- tion of the smaller powers, and would be inclined to join with Russia to prevent her own permanent exclusion from the Mediterranean coast, to which she does not at present desire to go, but from which she does not wish to be entirely shut off. By our action at Berlin ~ve cut the south- ern Slays in half by planting Austria be- tween Servia and Montenegro, an arrange- ment which does not seem likely to be permanent. The Austrian difficulty is, perhaps, the greatest difficulty which now remains in the way of confederation, and it is no difficulty in the way of the formation of a Balkan confederacy under Austrian headship. There is another incident, be- side the one just named, which shows that the relations of Greece to Bulgaria are better than they were. An arrangement had been concluded between M. Tricoupis and the Bulgarian government, before the deposition of Prince Alexander, for the delimitation on a map of the respectiye spheres of influence of Greece and Bul- garia in Macedonia. This dividing the skin of the beast before he is dead, which is as a rule imprudent, is perhaps neces- sary in the case of Turkey, to prevent those conflicts of interest, occasionally threatening even armed struggle in the field, which break out from time to time between the Greeks, the Servians, and the Bulgarians. Unredeemed Roumania is chiefly Austrian, and therefore we hear little about the completion of the unity of the Roumanian people, although, curiously enough, the majority of the Roumanian people live outside Roumania, but the other three principal States of the Balkan peninsula are bitterly at enmity among themselves about Macedonia Servians arrayed against Bulgarians, and Greeks against both. The troubles in Macedonia which were expected by Lord Salisbury in January last came, however, from none of these, but from Russia as he believed. The delimitation of the sphere of influence which had been arranged of course meant 77 an agreement in advance whether Bulgaria or Greece should conduct insurrections in particular villages whenever Turkey was in extrernis, and which should annex them whenever Turkey was extinct. There would not be much desire, it ap- pears, on the part of Greece to hurry mat- ters if once she had a clear agreement upon this point. The present Greek prime minister, at all events, would be content that Greece should wait for any number of years, provided that this ques- tion were not to be settled against her in the interval. Greece asks, of course, for that Janina which was promised hey by the p& wers and which is one of the chief cities of her people. She believes that Albania will gravitate towards her, al- though she is apprehensive both of Aus- trian and of Italian ambition in that quar- ter; but the point to which she attaches the most importance is delimitation in Macedonia, and then she will be content to wait a century if need be, for, as one of her chief statesmen lately said, ~A hun- dred years is nothing in the life of the Greek nation. Apparently the Greek dream of Constantinople is dead; at all events it is no longer put into words. As Balkan confederation is not likely for many years to come, or is not likely soon enough to be of effective value to stay the approach of Russia to Constan- tinople, we have to admit that if Russia is to be kept out of the Macedonian plain, Austria, with or without alliances, must bar her advance. Unfortunately Austria is not strong enough. As Austrians and Russians have not been tried the one against the other, it is impossible accu- rately to gauge quality, but roughly speak- ing it may be said that putting quality on one side the Russian army ought to be equal to the armies of Germany and Aus- tria combined. The Russian annual con- tingent of the regular peace army has risen to two hundred and twenty-seven thousand men, which is only slightly under those of Austria and Germany together. The Russian peace army is nominally in the present year eight hundred and forty thousand men, but, really, if we take into account the Cossacks permanently em- bodied, it amounts to eight hundred and ninety thousand men, whilst even the smaller figure exceeds the peace armies of Austria and Germany combined. The total force of trained men which ought to be easily and rapidly mobilized by Russia, considering the figures of her contingents and the character of her military system, is about four million as against two mil 78 THE PRESENT POSITION OF EUROPEAN POLITICS. lion for Germany, and twelve hundred and fifty thousand for Austria. More slowly, if she has guns for them and guns if not in stock could probably be pretty easily obtained Russia could place six millions of men in the field. The power of Russia to realize in fact the promise of her paper figures has recently been de- nied, but the necessity of taking into account the Russian military movement which began after the failures of 1878 has not been sufficiently kept in mind. If we were to credit the figures given by the German government to the German Parliament in January last, we should be- lieve that these results were secured by Russia at a cost exceeding the annual charge of the united army budgets of Ger- many and of Austria, for the official Ger- man figures give 785,906,259 marks for Russia. But Prince Bismarck deceives the German Parliament by estimating the rouble at three shillings ~vhen it is worth less than two. It is the Russian gold or metallic rouble that is ~vorth a little over three shillings of our money. The silver rouble is the paper rouble, now worth but twenty-one pence three far- things. Colonel Rau, Marga, and most, if not all, of the authorities, except the Intelligence Department book, have made the same mistake, and reckon the rouble at from 3.75 francs to 3.50 francs. On the other hand, there is a large extraordinary military expenditure in Russia which it is not easy to find in the Russian budget, as, for example, a large part of the expendi- ture upon the Transcaspian Railway now being rapidly constructed by General An- nenkoff, and calls are made upon both the village communities and the provincial Zemstvoes for matters which in other countries would be at the charge of the State. In any case, however, the figure given by the German government as 785,- 906,259 marks, is the figure of the Rus- sian budget which should have been stated at 495,428,078 marks only (at the rate at which the rouble then stood; now less) a pretty considerable deception practised towards the German people. Men are cheap in Russia. By whatever test we take, excepting quality, which has not yet been employed, Russia ought to be from two and a half to three times as strong as Austria. The Russian trained cavalry is even stronger in proportion than are her numbers gener- ally. It outnumbers the trained cavalry of Germany and of Austria together, and is sometimes even said to be more than three times as numerous as that .Qf the dual monarchy, although Austria-Hungary is strong in cavalry, and has almost as large a cavalry force as France. It may be assumed that Germany will not only give no cause of offence to her tremendous neighbor, but will try to avoid being compromised by Austria or by En- gland. lf she had ever to intervene as against Russia she would try to do so when Russia was already weakened by a long struggle. There are no very proba- ble causes of war between Russia and Germany, except indeed the intensely bit- ter feeling between the two peoples, for Germany has ceased to concern herself with the Russification of the so-called German provinces of Russia, and is her- self engaged in the similar policy of Ger- manizing Prussian Poland. Russia is well protected by fortresses against a possible German advance whilst she might be en- gaged elsewhere, especially by the Polish quadrilateral, in which, of M6dlin, Dem- blin, and Terespol, the last-named is fa- miliar to us now as Brest-Litovsk, but the others are hardly recognizable at all under their new names. Russia has lately taken to the Japanese system of frequently changing the names of cities, just as the town council of Paris changes those of streets. Towards Austria Russia has till lately had virtually no fortresses, and the difference is instructive, for Austria is far more likely to be her enemy than Ger- many. Lutzk, now to be called Micha~lo- grad, and Dubno, old places of arms, are to be re-fortified, and there is a talk of an entrenched camp, but substantially the Russian frontier towards Austria is an open one, where, instead of fortresses, Russia has troops, especially a numerous cavalry. And yet it is on this frontier that she expects to have to fight. The meaning of this absence of fortresses upon one frontier and of their presence upon the other is, that in a war with Austria Russia expects to act on the offensive, assisted by a Ruthenian insurrection in Galicia; and so she no more fortifies her frontiers against Austria than she fortifies them against Turkey. On the other hand, it may be noted that she fortifies her fron- tier towards Germany, so as to be able quietly to attack Austria at her will. Rus-.~- sia proudly refuses to fortify her capital, a fact which would be significant of her consciousness of strength, were it not that Vienna also is virtually an open town, for the fortifications were stopped owing to the objections of the town council in 1867. The probabilities are that, in the event bf a war with Austria, Russia would be able RUSSIA. 79 to enter Galicia, along an open frontier of more than six hundred miles, and take Przemysl, and Lemberg, and Cracow, in spite of the fortifications now being pressed forward with feverish haste. Looking to the nature of the Polish cli- mate it is to be hoped that it will not be discovered when spring comes that snow- works form the bulk of the new fortifica- tions. The disposition of the Russian railways alone is sufficient to show plainly that she means to take the offensive. She has special reasons for occupying Galicia. She would be glad enough to keep it, because it is at the present time a gath- ering-place for disaffected Poles. She would easily gain popularity there, by giv- ing to the peasantry the lands of the Polish nobles, and thus could raise the Ruthenians. Galicia forms the road to- wards Vienna, where the Eastern question is to be settled. In the vast plains of Galicia two hundred thousand Russian cavalry would find a splendid field for war, and there they would be able to carry out against Austria those wonderful maneu- vres of the new dragoons with horse artil- lery, which the foreign officers, in m886, were not allowed to see. The Russian manceuvres of m886 were conducted by forces of forty thousand men at Krasnoe Selo (for the edification of the foreign offi- cers), and of one hundred and sixty-two thousand men, of whom nearly twenty thousand were cavalry, with five hundred and twenty-eight guns, between Wilna and Warsaw. Germany does not put two hundred and two thousand men with six hundred and fifty guns in the field at the annual autumn manceuvres. Austria is miserably equipped with fortresses and is trying in haste to repair her deficiencies in this respect. Austria in a Galicia war with Russia would have no special advantage that I can see, save one, that, namely, of being able to raise a splendid but not very large fighting body of aristocratic Poles from other lands to serve against the hereditary enemy of their race on behalf of the least unpopular of the three partitioning pow- ers. No doubt Germany, without actually appearing to move, would quietly collect troops on the Polish frontier and watch Russia, but it is doubtful whether she would be able to detain a very large force of Russian troops in Poland proper, except militia and garrison battalions. She could not prevent the loss of Galicia to Austria, though she might interfere to prevent the ultimate destruction of Austria as a power. A partial dismemberment of Austria,-by a Russian annexation of Galicia, Germany might not very much regret, because Aus- tria in Galicia protects the Poles, a course which is a permanent slur upon the action of Germany in this matter. But a further or really considerable dismemberment of Austria Germany could not permit, unless under downright fear of France. I have assumed that Italy would possibly not have the will, and that England and the small Balkan States, even if not divided amongst themselves or partly neutral, would not have the power to give effective assistance to Austria in the field. Italy would be to her a more useful friend than England or the Balkan States. I have already said, in a previous article, that Italy would not save Austria gratis; but it is not improbable that she might save or try to save her for a price, and although a curious fact, it is a fact, that Vienna is more likely to be saved from a temporary Russian occupation by Italy than by Ger- many. Russia is anxious to w~aken, and if she cannot really weaken, then, to ham- per Italy, and is not unacquainted with the prigin of the recent attacks upon Mas- sowah, a fact which the French press de- nies, but of which the Russian newspapers boast. It is certain that Italy regards the Russian policy in the Balkan peninsula as iniquitous, as harmful to European inter- ests generally, and as hurtful to Italian interests in particular, and that Italy would join a group of powers to oppose it by force. If opposition by force is im- possible, owing to the weakness or the fears of Austria, or even to the buying off of Austria by Russia, then Italy would join England in putting on the drag as much as possible. Whatever may be the feeling in Hungary, it must be admitted that Austria will put up with a good deal from Russia rather than fight. She has done so in the past; and to give a single example of humiliation out of many, I need only mention how at various times and on various questions she had to re- monstrate with the Bulgarian government in the days of the Russian ministers in Bulgaria, and received from the latter replies couched in terms of gross and intentional discourtesy. I have assumed that England would be unable rapidly to assist Austria in the field. In such a war our part, if we were drawn in, would probably be the same as in a single.handed war against the Rus- sians, namely, to defend India in central Asia, to try to raise China against Russia, and to adopt the policy of exhausting Russia by a very strong attack on Vladi 8o THE PRESENT POSITION OF EUROPEAN POLITICS. vostock; but if Italy were with us, it is probable that we should be tempted by the possession of a formidable allied fleet to attack Russia in the Black Sea an enterprise in which we should undoubt- edly fail. The Russians expect to be attacked in the Black Sea, but a careful examination of the character of that sea, as well as of the Baltic, shows that not by the strength of her fleets, but by the nat- ural strength of her position Russia is in those directions virtually impregnable. There are some who think that the Ma- hometan population of the Caucasus might still be made use of against Russia, but this view is as obsolete a superstition as the belief in Poland. The Russian colo- nists of the Caucasus have now become Cossacks for military purposes, and Rus- sia has no more patriotic people than the Black Sea and the Caucasian Cossacks. Those who think that while India could defend itself upon the Helmund the troops from England, with a Turkish armyif the Turkish alliance were obtained should be thrown into the Caucasus in order to prevent the despatch of troops by the Caspian towards Herat, are proposing a course which the highest authorities reject. Colonel Malleson is the chief exponent of the view which I wish to combat. I know not which, indeed, it is that he pro- poses a landing at Anapa and march on Stavropol, or a landing at Poti and march on Tiflis. In the latter case we should be destroyed by fever, and in the former crushed by Russian numbers. Colonel Malleson seems to think that the Caucasus has not long been Russian. Stavropol and its district have been Russian since the seventeenth century, and Tiflis since i8oi. It is the Circassian highlands which alone held out against the Russians, and into them we cannot penetrate. Or does he wish us to repeat Hobarts 1877 experiment of a Soukhoum Kali landing? This is mere map-makers warfare. From Soukhoum Kali we could go nowhere, and our spies when sent into the mountain valleys would discover that the Circas- sians are gone and replaced by Kouban Cossacks. But even during the Crimean war the Caucasus did not rise, though Schamyl was in his home. The Jingo plan appears to be to march on Tiflis in winter, but the Vladikavkas military road, which I know well myself, is perfectly passible in winter for Russian troops, and even the G~ographie Militaire, which asserts that it is sometimes blocked by ice, admits that the interruption oicom munications does not average more than seventeen days a year. I cannot agree in the Yate or Malleson proposals, and feel that there is indeed no arguing with gen- tlemen who believe that we can make use of Persians against Russian troops. Whilst the Austrian military position, in spite of the desire of the emperor for military reform, is still weak, I cannot find words too strong to praise the politi- cal ability with which the Austrian Empire is being kept at peace and kept together. The Austrian Empire is a marvel of equilibrium. The old simile of a house of cards is exactly applicable to its situation, and just as in the exercises of acrobats, when seven or nine men are borne by one upon his shoulders, it ig rather skill than strength which sustains them; so if we look to the Austrian constitution, which we shall have to consider in the next paper in this series, it is a miracle how the fabric stands at all. At the same time it is impossible for Austria, although she can maintain her stability in times of peace, to impose upon either her Russian or her German neighbors as to her strength for war. Prince Bismarck is obliged, with whatever words of public and private praise for the speeches of the Austrian and Hungarian statesmen, to add the French and Russian forces together upon his fingers, and to deduct from them the Austrian and the German, with doubts as to the attitude of Italy, doubts as to the attitude of England, and contemptuous certainty as to the attitude of Turkey. If Austria could have presented Prince Bis- marck not only with an English alliance, but with an English, Turkish, and Italian alliance, he might possibly have allowed her to provoke a general war ; but with the difficulties attendant upon a concession of territory to Italy, except in the ktst resort, and with Turkey at the feet of Russia, it was difficult for Prince Bismarck to go further than to say for Austria, Fight by all means, if you feel yourself strong enough to beat Russia single-handed. France and Germany will see all fair, and you can hardl expect anybody effect- ually to help you.~ Prince Bismarck deals with foreign affairs on the principles upon ~ which they were dealt with by King Henry VIII. of England, when that king was pitted against the acutest intellects of the Empire and of France. His policy is a plain and simple policy, and not a policy of astuteness and cunning, and almost necessarily at the present time consists in counting heads. A good deal of indignation has been RUSSIA. 8i lately wasted in England upon the Turk. own in reversion. As I pointed out in the The Turk may be frightened by Russian second article of this series, the sultan pressure from the Caucasus, a territory may become a dependent, like the emir which, instead of being a military weak- of Bokhara. The Russians at this mo- ness to Russia, as the ill-informed sup- ment desire most a friendly Turkey, which pose, is in fact a splendid base for offen- will keep England out of the Black Sea sive operations; or the Turk may be in time of war. I grant to Colonel Malle- bribed by the promise of getting Bosnia son that the Russians themselves think back; but in reality his position is a very that we could harm them in the Caucasus painful one, for he is weak, and he would and keep them out of Asia Minor by cut- be between the hammer and the anvil4 ting their maritime suppJy-line across the whichever side he took, and would suffer Black Sea. The day to which they look about equally either way. No one who forward, in which they could prevent our knows the present state of the Turkish sending our troops to Kurachee by the Empire can suppose that Turkey could Suez Canal, in a war in which France was effectively deal with a Russian attack by not with them, and by their advances in Erzeroum and an insurrection in Mace- Asia could prevent our making the Eu- donia, not to speak of a rising in Crete phrates road, lies further in the future. and a permanent revolution in Arabia. We have now to consider the direct The efforts of the last war have left Tur- bearing upon English policy of the sub- key terribly weak;. and although in the jects which have come before us in this course of a few months, if they were article. England is free from engage- given to us, we could collect and ourselves ments; for that to Turkey as regards the arm and equip a Turkish army which Armenian frontier, is conditional, and the would prove a formidable force, the time condition has never been fulfilled. We would not be given to us, and long be- are free to select our alliances as we fore anything could be done Macedonia please. But we are so little prepared for would be in flames and Asia Minor would war that no power thinks our alliance be overrun, worth having for a short war, and it is the Bosnia attracts the sultan most. It is first days of a war that count at the pres- usual to say that his first consideration ent time. Making a virtue of necessity, is for his fears, but his Majesty has a there are many in England who begin no temper, too, and the loss of Bosnia is laid longer to regard Constantinople as a Brit- to Lord Salisburys account, and Lord ish interest of the first magnitude, al- Salisbury has never been forgiven. The though they still talk of joining Austria sultan has always maintained, to his inti- for the purpose of defending the indepen- mates, that he was led to assent to the Asia dence of the Balkan States. The Turks Minor convention under false pretences, disappearance, they say, should be as because he had not been told that England gradual as possible, in order to give time was going to propose at Berlin that Bos- to the Christian States to consolidate their nia should go to Austria, an alienation of interests and form a confederacy. Bul- his territory which the Russians had not garia would have gone to Russia of her- suggested in the Treaty of San Stefano. self, they think, as Servia has gone a long He says h~ had not been told that the ter- way towards Austria, if the Russians had ritory was to be taken, and that still less not foolishly alienated, by their autocratic would it have occurred to him that the fashions, the affections of the Bulgarian proposition was to be made by England people; but as they have done so we to the powers. It is a curious fact that should take advantage ot the sentiment, by giving Bosnia to Austria England and while we should allow Russia to work offended equally the Slavsand the Turks. her will upon Asiatic Turkey, we should Russia reassures the sultan as to the protect the young States of the Balkans. probability of war, and for the present Now Russia could reach Constantinople reassures him with some truth. In spite through Asia, not so directly, but more of the stories which have lately gone the surely and more safely than through round of the European press as to Rus- Europe. There is this additional danger sian mobilization on the frontier of Rou- to England in her going by way of Asia, mania, it is probable that Russia will no that she does not interfere with Austria, longer pursue the policy of tearing off and that, on the other hand, she does in- bits of Turkey, in order to set up small terfere with the canal route through Egypt. States which forthwith turn against her, If Russia were once to establish herself but will support Turkeys life-interest in in Palestine she could easily reach the that property which she regards as her. Suez Canal by land, and although the dis- LIVING AGE. VOL LVIIL 2970 82 THE PRESENT POSITION OF EUROPEAN POLITICS. tances are great, if we look to what has dominance on the Conservative side of been accomplished by Russia in the Cau- the doctrine of the integrity and indepen- casus, towards Persia, in central Asia, dence of the Turkish Empire; and, in and towards China, in the last hundred short, he thought that in the days of Jin- years, we shall not feel that in the days of goism the English Conservative party had telegraphy and railroads such an advance gone mad. There can be no doubt that is in the least impossible. By whatever the old-fashioned ideas of English Polic{ route the Russians go, there are certain in the East are at a discount; and e - obvious drawbacks to this country at- though I do not myself agree in the novel tendant upon their possession of Constan- views which have lately been put forward tinople. The military value of the Suez with regard to the possession by Russia Canal, as I have shown before, may easily of Constantinople, it is impossible to deny be exaggerated, and so may the impor- that they have been stated with much tance, therefore, to us of our power of ability and by journals of great influence, passage in time of general war through and that they have weight with an increas- the Mediterranean. But there is one loss ing section of the public. Moreover, .the by a Russian occupation of the remainder English electors have a natural and a of the Turkish dominions which no British growing dislike to war. On the other government would willingly face. It is hand, I am inclined to think that a policy the loss of trade. In the Asiatic provinces which would risk the loss of a trade which acquired by Russia at the end of the last is almost exclusively English, namely, the Turkish ~var, where there used to be a foreign trade of Asia Minor, is not likely considerable British trade, there is now to be popular in the manufacturing centres none, for it has been killed by protective of the north of England. There are other duties. Russia at Constantinople would points which should be considered. If mean our exclusion from the Black Sea the Black Sea can be forced by our fleet, trade, except the wheat trade out of Rus- or entered through the permission of Tur- sia. Our commercial interests in Asia key acting as our ally, the Russians in Minor are very large, and they are abso- any future war with England will have to lutely jeopardized by a further Russian keep in the Caucasus a vast force which advance. There are many who declare would otherwise be available for service that they would be willing to bring about in Afghanistan and Persia. This would an Anglo-Russian alliance upon the terms be the case even though I should be right of giving Russia her head in the direction in my belief that we could not succeed in of Constantinople, on the understanding harming Russia in the Caucasus; she that our north-western Indian frontier certainly must and would guard against should be secured and our temporary hold the danger. The possession by Russia on Egypt regularized and made perma- of a magnificent military and naval base nent. lt is pointed out that the emperor within the Dardanelles would destroy our can have no great love for an alliance present power of using the Suez Canal, with French republicans and ex-friends even in a war with Russia in which France of Poland against his great-uncle and the was neutral, and would also make of the military monarchies of central Europe; pick of the maritime Greeks, who are now and that what this new policy on our part our friends, her servants. Russia once at would mean would be the adoption by us, Constantinople, our future hold on India under stress of circumstances, of the Rus- must be by the Cape route alone, and it is sian policy advocated by the emperor a long way round by the Cape to the Nicholas to Sir Hamilton Seymour. In points where we shall have to fight for the present state of parties in England, India the Helmund and the Persian where the pure Conservatives are unable Gulf. to obtain a clear majority, and where the The causes of difficulty between this Liberals are supposed to have more or country and Russia are worth examination, less pro-Russian sympathies, the opinions and those which have nothing to do witl~ of Lord Randolph Churchill become of the continued existence of the Turkis$i special interest, and he is supposed to in- Empire or with the possession of Con- dine in the direction which has just been stantinople are very numerous. One indicated. He used to hold that Lord standing difficulty between Russia and all Beaconsfields policy of 1878 was a mis- Liberal countries concerns the extradition chievous and foolish policy. He was op- of political offenders. The question has posed at the time of the Berlin Treaty to been very useful to Prince Bismarck in any attempt to reconstruct the Turkish the past, because he has always tried to Empire. He always ridiculed The pre- give full satisfaction to the Russian feel- RUSSIA. 83 ings upon this point, a satisfaction which never could be fully given by any other country. For many years this question prevented all chance of a Russo-French alliance, and maintained a close friendship between Germany and Russia; and were Nihilistic outrages to revive, the question once more would become acute, although it is slumbering at the present time. As regards ourselves, our laws have always been an enigma to Russian emperors since the days of Matveiefs creditors and Whit- worths special embassy. After 1848 the whole of the European powers united in making representations to us with regard to the proceedings of the foreign refugees, and from i8~i up to Mazzinis death, re- peated representations, often menacing, were addressed to us with regard to sup- posed incitements to assassination. The fall of Palmerston on the Conspiracy to Murder Bill was not encouraging to future ministers with regard to interfering with the right of asylum, and no more was the verdict of not guilty~ returned by the jury in the case of Dr. Bernard and the Orsini attempt to assassinate the em- peror of the French. The Russian gov- ernment in the last few years has made repeated applications to the governments of France and England for protection against Nihilist conspirators who made Paris or London their residence, but the English government has turned a deaf ear to the requests made for legislation. A subject which has done more to sep- arate the countries than the refusal to modify our law upon the subject of the extradition of political offenders has been the recent Russian action with regard to Batoum, and the confirmation given by that action to the English belief that Rus- sia will never be bound by promises, how- ever solemn. Those who pretend that Russias declaration with regard to Ba- toum was really a spontaneous act can never have read the orotocols of the Berlin Congress. The latter portion of Lord Beaconsfields speech upon p. 208 of the English blue-book, and the speeches upon the same and next page of the repre- sentati yes of Germany, Austro-Hungary, France, Italy, and Turkey, show that the whole of Europe took the view that Rus- sia had promised, rather than break up the Congress, to maintain Batoum as what Lord Beaconsfield called a commercial port for all nations~~ by the transforma- tion . . . of a disputed fortress into a free port. It is really idle for any friends of Russia to argue that a formal engagement has not been broken, indeed it is almost an insult to our intelligence that they should do so, and in the interest of Russia herself it would be wiser for them to ad- mit that Russia has violated a binding declaration, only the more binding in honor because it professed to be volun- tary in its nature. Similar bad faith has been shown from time to time by the Russians in central Asia, and has exasperated English feeling. The first of the marked instances of the disregard by Russia of her own assur- ances to us concerned, oddly enough, the occupation of Herat by Persia, an occupa- tion which forty years later an English Conservative government themselves pro- posed. The deceitful conduct of Count Simonich was imitated in the disregard of Prince Gortschakoffs assurances to Lord Clarendon in 1869 as to the evacuation of Samarkand, in the violation of the prom- ises made to Lord Granville as to the Khivan expedition, in the disregard of the memorandum communicated to Lord Derby in 1875 as to advance beyond the then frontier of the Attrek, and in the dis- regard of the repeated assurances with regard to Merv. The story of the succes- sive steps by which Persia has been made to quit the Turkoman desert and has come more and more under Russian influence will never be fully known, but we have learned at least one fact, that it is not prudent for England to enter upon a game of secret treaties. In 1878 the proposals made to Persia to occupy Herat were at once made known to Russia, whereas the secret articles by which the territory down to Sarakhs was ceded by Persia to Russia were never made known to us. The fact is that Persia does not believe that we both can and will support her against Russia, and Turkey has now only become another Persia in this respect. Afghanis- tan, which was going the same way, has been secured by a direct guarantee of her frontiers, a fact which is not encouraging to those politicians who object to entan- glements of the kind. Another cause of difference between Russia and Great Britain lies in the un- settled condition of the Afghan frontier question, which has for a long time made little progress. The boundary between the Heri-Rud and the Oxus has not yet been settled, and that on the upper Oxus is altogether in dispute, while Russia is giving trouble to the ameer by intrigue at Balkh and throughout Badakshan. The feeling in Russia against England is 84 THE PRESENT POSITION OF EUROPEAN POLITICS. strong, but not of extreme strength. It is nothing like so strong as the popular feel- ing in Russia against the Germans. It is not so strong as the permanent aversion entertained in France towards the En- glish. Still as regards the armies and the upper classes of both countries, there can be no doubt about the mutual feeling. The national badge of Russia and of En- gland is the George and dragon, for St. George is a national saint of both the countries, but in Russia for the last fifty years the dragon has meant England, and in England for the last fifty years the dragon has meant Russia. As regards the military situation between the countries, its dangers are 1)0th exaggerated and im- perfectly appreciated here. The very same people will often be found to think that we could easily, if we would, act upon the terms of the Anglo-Turkish conven- tion and keep the Russians out of Turkish Asia Minor, that we could defend Con- stantinople, harry the Russ~ans in the Baltic and the Black Sea and the White Sea, and yet that Russia could invade India without much difficulty. It may be confidently asserted that they are wrong upon both these heads. England unas- sisted cannot keep Russia out of Turkey, she cannot get at her in Europe, but on the other hand she may feel assured that Russia is equally unable effectively to attack her in her Asiatic empire at the present time. It must be admitted that in the race for Herat Russia has undoubt- edly beaten us, and that therefore we must contemplate the possibility of the ultimate occupation of Herat by Russia. But as she came on towards India from Herat the tables would be turned. She would be further and further away from the country where her government was estab- lished or where the people were friendly to her rule, and she would plunge into de- files inhabited by hostile populations. It is a serious responsibility for a writer who is not a soldier to undertake to pro- nounce a confident opinion of this kind, for it is a point upon which the ablest and best-instructed soldiers differ. English officers as a rule maintain the possibility of a formidable Russian invasion of India, and on the other hand Russian officers as a rule deny that it is practically possi- ble; but it must be confessed that, whilst military writers generally take a pessimis- tic view of the prospects of their own country, the indications afforded by the writings of officers belonging to neither of the two countries make against my per- sonal view as set forth above. Foreign military writers, as a rule, do not so highly estimate the difficulties of a Rus- sian advance upon India as do the Rus- sians themselves. They maintain that forces advancing from the Oxus and from the Caucasus would meet at Sarakhs, and would easily -occupy Herat, and then bring the railway almost to Herat, before the English could have put forty thousand men at Quetta. Another Russian army would take the more difficult line of advance southward from Siberia through Balkh. They calculate that England, did she give up all idea of fighting in Europe and on the Pacific, and did she confine her atten- tion to the advance on India, would only be able to place another forty thousand men in the field at the end of three months from the declaration of war. These would be troops sent from England, and the cal- culations of foreign writers may from next month be affected by the promised reform in our arrangements~for the prompt mobilization of two army corps. The Continental writers assume that by the use of Goorkhas and other special native troops the native army could be kept quiet, that is, kept from turning aganst us in the field, and even used for keeping up com- munications, but that its quality is not good enough to allow of its being used against Russian troops. They assume that the English position in India being perfectly known to the Russians, while the Russian position in central Asia is not well known to the English, the Russians might be able by the use of money to pro- duce some troubles which might lead to railway and other difficulties upon the lines of communication. It is assumed also that the English concentration would take place on the Helmund or at Kandahar, and that the Russians could advance, with- out serious molestation either from the English or the Afghans, up to near that point. The Russian numbers in the Cau- casus being practically without limit, it is assumed that by the use of the steam tram- way which they are rapidly making to- wards their frontier over a very easy country the Russians could place any con- ceivable number of men upon the upper. Murghab, where they would be faced by-~- an English force of eighty thousand men with two hundred guns at Kandahar, if in- deed England can share two hundred guns from India and from England after the re- cent foolish reduction of artillery. Assum- ing that we were at war with Russia only, the troops would come through the Medi RUSSIA. terranean, but if we were at war as one of a coalition with a coalition in which either France or Italy was against us, this route could not be used, and they must come round the Cape. If we were trying to hold Egypt against France the whole of these calculations fall to the ground, inasmuch as the force which could otherwise be sent from England to India would have to be kept in the Mediterranean or in Egypt. The foreign observers assume that the na- tive army is not sufficiently trustworthy to allow those few regiments which are capa- ble of fighting against Russians to be sent out of India, but if the Goorkhas and the best of the Punjaub cavalry were to be sent to Kandahar the number of the army there must be diminished by an equal number of British troops left in India to take care of the communications and of the ordinary Sepoys. The Russian army ad- vancing from Balkh, which would bring with it light guns only, would occupy Cashmere and threaten the Punjaub suffi- ciently to require an increase in the Pun- jaub frontier force and in the garrison of Peshawur, but the main struggle would take place in the neighborhood of Kan- dahar. Foreign writers think that Russia, having in the eyes of the Indian people the advantage of the advance and of the attack against a power remaining on the defensive only, would have the sympathies of the Oriental population on her side. They assume that the Turcoman cavalry, which are excellent, and which, while ani- mated by strong Mahometan feelings, are now enthusiastically Russian, would mask the Russian advance with a force which would conciliate the native population. They believe that the Russian organiza- tion in central Asia has been a marvellous success, and that the native princes of India think that the Russians would re- spect the usages of the people more thor- oughly than we do. They assert that the late maharajah of Cashmere was, as might be expected, in Russian pay, a fact con- firmed by my own knowledge of recent Russian intrigue with deposed and exiled princes from the Punjaub. The whole of these views, though they are taken by many foreign writers, appear to me exaggerated. I believe in the su- perior popularity of England among the native princes to any which may be thought to be enjoyed by Russia. I doubt whether the Russians have more than a few hun- dred Turcoman cavalry ready for a long march; but, above all, I think that Russia would have, for a great number of years to come, far more difficulty in finding the enormous train which would be necessary for marching one hundred thousand men across from Herat to Kandahar than we should find difficulty in supplying an army of eighty thousand men at Kandahar, which would be sufficient to hold in check the advance of one hundred thousand Russians from the Caucasus and twenty thousand from Turkestan. The difficul- ties of obtaining camels and mules enough to move large armies in such deserts are largely, no doubt, money difficulties, but they are partly difficulties which even money will not meet, unless the money is spent for many years in advance in the formation of a permanent train upon an enormous scale. Real danger to India can only come after some revolution in Herat, or a dexterous use of Ayoub Khan, has brought Russia there as peacemaker, after years of possession of the Herat valley have restored it to its former fer- tility under irrigation, and Herat has been made a secure base for an advance, con- nected by railway both with the Caspian and with Turkestan. Herat will doubt- less be taken one day by a sudden rush, for though something in the way of fortifi- cation has been .done there of late, it is not properly protected by a sufficient num- ber of detached forts, and cannot stand. But the end will not be yet. The present ruler of Afghanistan, in spite of his long residence in Russia, never was pro-Rus- sian, and may be trusted in the event of a Russian invasion. He, if still on the throne, would ask us to supply his army with the newest arms, and would place a large force in line with us at Giriskh or Kandahar, as well as do something to defend Herat. He is a powerful and able king. But he has an internal disease; his end may be hastened by poison, and in any case he is not likely to live long. Herat lies out of the Afghan country, and is an Afghan post, a little in the air, which, with a mobilization, accom- plished on foot, which takes six months, the Afghan cannot efficiently defend. Our troops would reach Giriskh from England before the ameer would reach Herat from Kandahar or from Cabul. I shall, however, consider in the final paper of this series whether it has not become necessary for England to adopt a more modern military organization, which, without imposing upon her heavier mone- tary sacrifices, would enable her better to perform her obligations such as that defence of the Afghan frontier to which 86 THE PRESENT POSITION OF EUROPEAN POLITICS. she is now resolutely bound. In the great efforts which England would put forth in the event of war with Russia, an attack upon Vladivostock could only be a matter of time. Even if we had to pour the whole of our available forces into India to be sent up to Kandahar, the em- bodied militia and the new forces raised in England would within a few months give us troops for an expedition of the kind. Those foreign observers who doubt the possibility of our holding our own upon the Afghan frontier admitted the significance of our occupation of Port Hamilton, and have been amazed at its abandonment. The Russians, creeping down the coast after the annexation of the district round Vladivostock, and of the island of Saghalien and the archipel- ago between Saghalien and Kamschatka, were casting eyes towards the Corea. Port Hamilton was wisely occupied as a base from which, with or without a Chi- nese alliance, Russia could be attacked on the Pacific. No doubt the occupation of windy and desolate stations is a nui- sance to the navy in a time of peace; but to let Port Hamilton go, upon any prom- ises, unless with the clearest possible treaty understanding that it would at once be strongly fortified by China, and that China would continue to be friendly to ourselves, was, in face of the difficultly of successfully attacking Russia in other portions of the globe, simple madness. It is vital to us that we should have a coaling station and a base of operations within reach of Vladivostock and the Amoor at the beginning of a war, as a guard-house for the protection of our China trade and for the prevention of a sudden descent upon our colonies; ulti- mately as the head station for our Cana- dian Pacific railroad trade; and at all times, and especially in the later stages of the war, as an offensive station for our main attack on Russia. But it must be, of course, a defended station, and not one to which our fleet would be tied for the purpose of its defence. It is possible that Japan might be tempted, by the offer of Saghalien, which we could easily de- tach from Russia, to join us in the war, and her alliance would be useful. But that of China would be essential, and whether she required to be guaranteed in the possession of our conquests in the Pacific and on the Amoor, or whether she asked for upper Burmah, her alliance ought at all hazards to be secured. China and England have identical interests in Asia, and they are menaced by Russia in an equal degree. They trade together to an extraordinary extent, and are more closely allied by trade than are any other two countries in the world. Surely these considerations point to a permanent alli- ance between the countries. England could have no objection to the increase of German influence in China; but the test of the success of English influence at Pekin will be found from time to time in the choice of Sir Robert Harts suc- cessors. The conclusion, then, to which we come is, that such is the patriotism of the Rus- sian people, such the certainty that in the event of war Nihilism would disappear, and every Russian support the policy of his tsar, such the defensive strength of Russia in Europe, such her offensive power from the Caucasus towards India, that not only is xvar with Russia to be deprecated as a terrible calamity, but that it would strain the powers of the British Empire to the utmost. At the same time I hold, as will have been seen, that even in a single-handed struggle we should ultimately win; that we should be able, although only by a tremendous effort, to hold our own in the neighborhood of Kan- dahar, to prevent insurrection in India, and to check invasion; that we could not unassisted save Turkey, if Turkey were menaced in the war; that as against other powers we could not hold Egypt or save the Mediterranean route; but that, hold- ing India and the Mauritius and the Cape, we could carry the war into the enemys country on the Pacific and destroy, at all events at any time during the life of those now living, Russias power on the Pacific, and, indeed, probably tear away the Pacific provinces from her empire. With all respect to Lord Randolph Churchill, this hardly seems the time for reducing the defensive power of the em- pire. It was with Lord George Hamilton that at Christmas last he had his sharpest struggle. Now Lord George Hamilton was unduly optimistic in his recent speeches. The defences of the empire have for some time past been played with a little by the two great parties in the State. Taking the navy for example, when the ~( Liberals are in, the Tories declare that the fleet is non-existent, but the moment their turn comes the Tory first lord in- forms us that the British navy is equal to any three navies in the world. So too with the occupation of Port Hamilton and the fortification of our coaling stations RICHARD CABLE. 87 generally. But the navy is not the only part of our warlike services which even Liberals should have in view. We may dislike the fact as much as we choose, but we are not now an island power. By the, in my opinion, unfortunate prolongation of our Egyptian occupation we have in- creased our military responsibilities, and even without that occupation they were none too light. Even disregarding the Anglo-Turkish Convention, as it is gen- erally admitted we must, our responsibili- ties are still very great. The defence of India we cannot disre- gard; and the defence of India of itself will, as I have shown, in the opinion of foreign observers, prove too much for us; and in the opinion of qualified English military judges at all events tax our powers to the utmost. There is cause for anxiety in the still unsettled condition of the central Asian frontier question, on which Parliament has been kept in the dark since the appearance of Central Asia, No. 5, of 1885. No. 6 was laid on the table and was ordered to be printed, but it was, I believe, afterwards withdrawn, and Parliamentary curiosity seems to have been confined to quarters nearer home. The Russians are at this moment strongly entrenched at Zulfikar and at Akrobat, and the boundary is still unsettled. War, however, not between England and Russia only, but war generally it may be hoped is likely to be avoided. No sufficient cause has been shown for the coming upon Europe of so terrible a calamity; but war will not be made less likely by our weakly yielding to the other powers upon such questions as those of the violation of en- gagements to us in the case of the New Hebrides; and the interests of the empire will not be best promoted by attempting to save sixpences upon the artillery or upon the navy. With regard to the army, we should be led too far in the present article if we attempted at this point to discuss the principle which ought to pre- side over its reorganization. This may be left by me for treatment in the last article of the present series, that on the position of England. It is enough for the present to say that the reduction at the beginning of February of the British horse artillery is not only the death-knell of British intervention for the preservation of Belgian neutrality, but constitutes in itself an increase of the standing tempta- tion to Russia to attack us in Hindostan. Horse, or any form of field artillery is the most difficult of all arms to improvise un- der pressure. From Chambers Journal. RICHARD CABLE, THE LIGHT5HIPMAN. BY THE AUTHOR OF MEHALAH, JOHN HERRING, COURT ROYAL, RTC. CHAPTER X. JACOBS LADDER. You have been a long time at the Hall, said Mr. Cornellis, when his daugh- ter returned with a heightened color. Have I? I did not know I had been absent any considerable time. The hour and a half must have passed very agreeably. You do not usually find the society of that old imbecile entertain- ing; nor he yours sufficiently pleasant to make him care to detain you. Perhaps, he added with a sneer, you have been elsewhere. I have not been elsewhere, papa. And pray, what has kept you all this while? We have been talkino Does he want me to play billiards with him? Josephine considered a moment, then laughed, and said: Really, papa, I do not know. I forget. If he told me, I do not remember. Your conversation must have been mightily engrossing, if you cannot recall an answer to a message. What was it about? You desire me to tell you? 0 no, answered Mr. Cornellis in his cold, contemptuous tone. If I were to insist, and you were indisposed to comply, you would tell me lies. Josephines cheeks flushed. She had some difficulty in controlling herself suffi- ciently to say in a subdued tone: Do I generally tell you lies, papa? I do not know. I do not care to in- quire. I dare say you do, when asked inconvenient questions. Josephine walked up and down the room. Why, papa, do you always im- agine evil of me, and of every one? It is enough to make one bad. Is the world full of nothing but swindlers and liars and hypocrites? Angels do not tenant earth here. Nor devils either. Perhaps not a generation which is a mixture of both; but the gravitation is downwards. Did you ever hear of any one flying off into angel-tenanted space? No, my dear; we keep our feet planted on the earth, and are insensible to cen- trifugal action, but alive to that which is centripetal. 88 RICHARD CABLE. Papa, do you remember that man on the pier at Walton with an apparatus by means of which he pretended he could see through a brick? What of that? He did nothing of the sort. You ex- plained it as an optical deception, con- trived by a series of mirrors hid in the apparatus. Those who peeped through the spyglass thought they saw through a brick, but they did nothing of the kind. Right; it was a deception. Well, I believe you are equally de- ceived when you assert that you see through every one you come across. Mr. Cornellis bit his lip. He turned testily to his daughter and said: You need not pace the room as if you were still striding the deck of the lightship. She d& sisted at once, and left the room. She went out of the house, through the garden gate, upon the sea-wall, and walked there. The tide was out; a wide expanse of mud showed, and the mud exhaled its usual unsavory steam. Gulls made a clat- ter over it, collecting food; a heron sailed up and flew away as Josephine approached where it fed. The tears were in her eyes. She was hurt by her fathers remark that she would answer him with lies. She knew his ways of thinking and speaking; she had rebelled occasionally heretofore; her conscience had acquired fresh sensi- tiveness of late, and she shook off his ugly scepticism, as false to human nature. She had seen a true man, had met with genuine, unselfish love, and had felt the charm it exercised. She began to suspect that there was a poetry and picturesque- ness and music in the moral sphere as well as in mere external nature. She had been taught by her father, or had gathered from his conversation, scorn for the weaknesses of humanity, and now, with genuine sur- prise, perceived that there was infinite pathos and beauty in those very weak- nesses. The willows were quivering in the light wind, the leaves slenderly attached to the stem fluttered and flickered with a breath their vibration exposed their silver lin- ing. At one moment the trees stood dark against the sky, then a feeble puff sweep- ing over the mud-flat, brushed up the leaves, and converted the whole tree into a tree of snow exquisitely beautiful, a very tree for fairyland. Josephine did not walk up and down the sea-wall, lest she should seem to be pacing a deck; she felt in her heart her fathers sneer. Accordingly, in- stead of pacing to and fro, she walked along it, and came, unintentionally, to the willows and the dike, and looked into Cables garden. Thence she heard chil- drens voices. She went to the bridge, crossed the water, and entered the garden. She was drawn on by an invincible attrac- tion. She saw a ladder set against the side of the house, a short ladder, for the cottage was but one story high, and Rich- ard Cable was above the ladder on the roof, pruning the vine. He had his foot on the topmost rung, but rested his body on the trellis; and as he lopped off a young shoot with leaves and tendrils, he stooped with it to his little Mary, who sat just below her fathers foot on a lower bar; and she stooped and handed the cluster of leaves to Eflie, who sat a stage lower; Effie handed it to her twin sister, and Jane to Martha, and she to Lettice, and Lettice to Susie, and at the bottom sat Mrs. Cable with the baby, and insisted on the tiny hands receiving the cool, beau- tiful leaves from the little sister. The pretty children were thus on steps of the ladder one above the other,with the even- ing sun ~n their shining golden heads and white pinafores, and their smiling faces and dancing blue eyes. Presently, Cable called for some tying- bast, and the baby was made to hold it to Susie, who received it and raised her arms over her head, when Lettice bowed and took the bast and passed it in like manner above her head to Martha, ~vho in similar style delivered the bast to Jane, and so to Effie, and Effie likewise to Mary, and Mary to her father. The children were seated as masons on a ladder, when load- ing a scaffold. Josephine stood where she had crossed, looking at the picture. It strangely moved her, it was so beautiful a picture of peace- ful happiness. She did not know whether she had been observed. She hoped that she had been unobserved, and drew back. She would not break the happy chain, dis- turb the simple pleasure, by her appear- ance. She went back over the plank to the farther side of the moat, where were the willows, and walked on. She felt very lonely, more so, after hav- ing witnessed this simple domestic inter- lude, than before. She thought of her father. What would have been his re- mark on what she had witnessed? The thought of him took the poetry out of the scene. She seated herself on the wall, built of chalk blocks brought from Kent by sea. Southernwood sprouted from the chinks, and fescue-grass; and sea-lettuce, now vividly green, pushed up its juicy fronds. She pulled some blades of grass RICHARD CABLE. 89 and bit the wiry stems. She contrasted her life with that of Cable. His was direct, real, and transparent. Hers was twisted, artificial, and clouded. There was not a spark of sincerity in it. Her whole course of education had been di- rected towards making her false. She had been taught accomplishments, not because, in music, in history, in knowledge gener- ally, there was anything worth pursuit, but because it was necessary for her to be acquainted with sufficient to fill her place in conversation without exposing igno- rance. She took a sprig of white southern- wood between her hands and rubbed it, and was suffused with the strong odor from the bruised leaves. The tide was running in along a chan- nel between the sea-wall and the mud- banks, sweeping along with it fragments of sea-tangle, little green crabs, and vari- ous small shells. She pulled off her stock- ings and shoes and put her foot down into the running fresh water. She still bit the fescue-grass, musingly, looking into the tide as it curled about her delicate foot. It was a pleasure to be alone, and free to do as she liked; to sit, if she chose, with one foot in the water instead of two. She was startled to hear a step behind her. She looked round, and drew up her foot. Richard Cable was there. Miss Cor- nellis, I saw you pass our gate. As you did not come to us, I have come to you. 0 Mr. Cable ! she always called him Mr. to his face, only Dickv when speaking of him to her father I did not like to interrupt~you whilst you were prun- ing your vine. I was giving my pets a lesson, he said. A lesson! Of what sort? A double lesson to take their sev- eral seats and sit there content; and to form a part of the great chain of life, each assisting and assisted by the other. What! exclaimed Josephine, with a tinge of her fathers sarcasm in her tone. Delivering a moral lecture to the in- fants! No, he answered. May I stay here a moment by you, miss? I said nothing to them. They take in these ideas natu- rally. Did you see how they were all of them, dear mites! on the ladder, and me at top, passing things up and down? It is not necessary for me to give a lecture on it. They couldnt understand it now if I did; but afterwards, when each takes her place in the social scale, shell maybe remember how she sat on the ladder, and will pass good things down to those be- low, and will also hand up what is due to those above. It is a picture of life, miss. You are a moralist, Mr. Cable. I dont know that, Miss Cornellis ; but I have time to think aboard my ship, and turn things about in my head, and so I see much that escapes others who are ia active work and have no leisure for con- sidering. In autumn, when the grapes are ripe, I shall be on the trellis again, and all the children on the ladder. Then I shall pass down the bunches; and the first bunch Mary will deliver to Effie, and Effie to Jane, and so down to baby, and not one of them will touch a grape. Then the next will go down like to Susie, untasted by allthose above, and the third to Lettice, and the fourth to Martha, and the seventh and last to Mary. I need not give a word of teaching about it; they learn of them- selves that the strong and the older, and those high up, must stoop to help the weak and the young and the lowly. It comes of itself, without words. I do not know that your picture is a true parable, said Josephine rather bit- terly. I think that on the ladder of life we are all plundering the grapes and up. setting each other, to secure our seats, and the first touch of the clusters. The children will not do that; they see their father above them. Then Richard Cable said in a lower tone, with great gen- tleness in his voice: Excuse me, Miss Cornellis; I came to you now because, whilst I was up the ladder about the vine, I saw at one moment all the seven pairs of blue eyes looking up to me and then I thought of something you had said aboard the stranded boat, and I came down after you to tell you about it, for what you said troubled me. What was that? asked Josephine. Do you remember saying that you had no trust, no faith; nothing and no one to look up to? I may have said it. I do not remem~ her. I do. It hurt me to think it was pos- sible; and when I saw all the little eyes on the ladder looking up to their father I thought of a pair of brown eyes that were not uplifted. Excuse me, miss. He stood up, and without another word walked away along the sea-wall. Then Josephine let down her foot again into the water and stirred it in the trans- parent stream, and thought. Her face was grave, and the muscles about her mouth worked, and every now and then twitched convulsively. She sat on till the tide, ris 90 ing higher, drove her from where she sat; then she put on her stockings and shoes again, and walked slowly along the sea-wall homewards. As she passed the garden of the Cables she looked into it without stopping. The children, Richard, were no longer there. The shadows of the great willows fell athwart the garden, cool and gray. She went on to her own home, and in and to her own room. There she saw her jacket thrown on the bed; her soap, which after she had last washed her hands, had slipped off the marble top of her stand, lay on the floor where it had fallen. Her comb was on the pincushion, her brush in the window, one of her walk- ing-boots on the hearthrug, the other on a chair. She was angry, and went to the bell to summon the maid and scold her for neglect. But it occurred to her, as she had her hand on the rope, that her father was expecting company to dinner. The household was not large, and the few servants were required to bestir them- selves and make a show. Anne was cleaning the plate; she was parlor-maid, ladys maid, and butler all in one. Anne must lay the cloth, have the silver and glass inexcellent order, answer the door, dress the table with flowers, and bring in dinner. How could she also attend to Josephines room? On the ladder, on occasion, we must stoop and help each other, said Jose- phine, letting go the bell-pull, half pout- ing, half smiling, and bending to gather up the fallen piece of almond curd soap. I know what I will do I will do more on the ladder. I will go down and ar- range the flowers in the glasses for the table. Whilst she was thus engaged, her father came into the dining-room. Papa, she said, ~vill you, or shall I, decant the wine? I will do it. We must not have the cheapest. The rector pretends to know good from bad; but he is an impostor. His son, who is in the army, may have a more cultivated taste, and detect rubbish, so we must have some decent wine for him. Is anyone else coming? The rectors wife that is all. I do not want a large party to-night. Dress becomingly, and show your best manners. When I bring out my inferior xvines, you may wear what you like, and be rude. Behave yourself to-night; lay yourself out to please. To please whom? The rector? No; his son, Captain Sellwood.~ And pray, papa, why should I make an effort to please him? Because I always thought he admired you. He is heir to a good fortune; and it is important that you should not let him slip through your fingers. Josephines brow reddened, and her eyes sparkled with an angry light. Mr. Cornellis looked coldly at her, and said: Do not put on stage attitudes and attempt heroics. I have invited the fain- ily here solely on your account. If you do not provide for yourself, I will not pro- vide for you. I have no particular eagerness to fish for husbands; I have no taste for that sport. It is high time, Josephine, that you should understand your position. I am nearly at the end of my means. There is my mothers fortune, said the girl, with a shrug of the shoulder and a toss of her head. Dissipated, my dear. How dissipated? It is mine. I was left trustee with full power to expend what was necessary on your main- tenance and education. That has not exhausted it. It matters not how it is gone gone it is. Then, said Josephine bitterly, you misstated the situation, papa, by the use of a wrong possessive pronoun, when you said that you were nearly at the end of your means; you should have said you had come to the end of my means. I am not going to excuse myself to you, Mr6 Cornellis said. Your educa- tion, dress, and caprices have cost much money. The little fortune your mother left Papa, exclaimed Josephine, I al- ways heard that my mother was well off. Then you heard wrong. Her relations were displeased with her for marrying me, and she got nothing but what could not be kept from her. A good deal of that went before she died. Not all there is surely the princi- pal. The principal has been going like old Stilton. There is not much left; and be- fore it is known that you are portionless, ~ you must secure a husband. Under false pretences? You would not blurt out to every one that we are on the eve of a financial col- lapse? I am not going to argue with you. A woman is usually keen-witted in such matters. He left the room with quick steps to get the wine. RICHARD CABLE. RICHARD CABLE. 9 Josephine had been arranging white gardener had been detected selling his lilacs and forget-me-nots in a little opal pears and grapes to a fruiterer at Walton, glass vase. Her hand trembled so that he shrugged his shoulders and said it was she shook out the flowers and they fell on human nature, lectured him, hut did not the white cloth. She tried to pick them dismiss him. When he heard that some up and put them in, but could not do so; of his Sunday-school teachers had got into and as Anne then entered, she held out moral scrapes, he said: It is human na- the flowers and vessel to the girl, and, with ture; we must find substitutes; ~ and averted face, said, Finish doing this for when Mrs. Sellwood showed him lumps me, Anne. Then she ran up-stairs. of alum in the bread, he laughed, and Her cheeks were burning, her eyes hot, said: Millers and bakers are human her temples throbbing. She was angry beings! and would not take away his as well as distressed. Her father had custom. On Christmas day, his clerk robbed her, and had acknowledged it with was tipsy, and put in his amens wrong. effrontery. Not only so, but he told her After all, said the rector, it is human this coolly just as company were expected nature to rejoice on this day; we will pass to dinner. She must bury her wrath and it over. humiliation in her heart, and appear with His son, Captain Sellwood, was home a smiling face, affect a careless spirit, and from India, a handsome, ox-eyed man, use her efforts to entrap a man into an with light hair, but dark eyelashes, a man engagement, letting him believe her to be with an inexpressive face, and solemn, the mistress of a handsome fortune. inscrutable eyes. He was not a man of She leaned her elbows on the window- words. He sat listening to conversation, sill and looked over the garden out to sea. twiddling his moustache and ~sharpening The tide was in, the bay was full of blue it to needle-points, with his great, gloomy water. The sun had set; a still, sweet eyes on the speakers, moving them from evening closed in the day. She saw a one to the other, as they interchanged flight of white and brown winged fish- talk, but saying nothing himself. Some mg-boats coming in with the wind and considered him stupid. This was not the tide. The sailors were returning to their case; he had plenty of intelligence, but homes with their spoils, to spend a quiet he was not a talker. Ladies condescended Sunday with their wives and children and to him, and tried to draw him out on the parents; they were returning with light subject of India; but though he could consciences; they had earned the bread speak on Indian topics, he felt that he for all the mouths that depended on them. was condescended to when India was It was otherwise in Rose Cottage. There, brought on the carpet, and he left India thought Josephine, the father, instead of lying there. laying by for his child, has wasted her He felt keenly his inability to sparkle fortune, and then bids her go forth and in society; the consciousness came on fish for herself with the net of fraud. him in spasms. When such a spasm of Her chin rested in her hands; her brows consciousness came on, he uncrossed his were knit; her lips quivered. No tears legs and put the right leg over the left; at came into her eyes. Was there ever, the next spasm, he put the left leg over she said, a more miserable, forlorn girl the right. Some people, as already said, than I? What I said to Richard Cable is declared that Captain Sellwoods silence true. I have no one to whom I can look arose from stupidity; others said, from up. My ladder is lost in cloud. liver; others, again and these were in the right that his father had talked him CHAPTER xi. down. The rector was a ready man in conversation, and fond of hearing his own voice. At his own table he monopolized MR. CORNELLIS could make himself an the conversation, and this had affected agreeable host, and he took pains that the captain when he was a boy, and had evening to make it pass pleasantly to his made of him a listener, not a speaker. guests. The rector was a florid man, a He had a ~vondering admiration for light gentleman of good family, easy-going, gen- badinage and small joking, for he was erous, never harsh in judging any one, wholly incompetent to attain to sportive- perhaps too ready to make allowances for ness. the shortcomings of his parishioners. Mr. Cornellis took in Mrs. Sellwood; He, like Mr. Cornellis, knew the weak- and the rector gave his arm to Aunt nesses of human nature, but made a dif- Judith; therefore, Josephine fell to the ferent use of his knowledge. When l~js captain. She screwed up her mouth. She THE SELLWOODS. 92 RICHARD CABLE. was not pleased, both because he was a Josephines aunt had been well during the dull partner and she was not in a humor preceding winter. to talk; but also, and chiefly, because she The jovial rector was in full flow of talk knew her fathers intentions, and her about parish matters. Iv& no right to spirit rose in rebellion against him and be here, he said; I ought to be in prison his schemes. with hard labor for a month. Instead of It is with dining as with virtue, said improving my parishioners, I demoralize Mr. Cornellis. We should love eating them. What do you think is my last ex- as we love virtue, for its own sake, not for perience? I parcelled out my glebe so what it may advantage us. You will have that some of the laborers might have fields Sauterne with your fish, captain tell me and keep cows. I thought it hard that your opinion of it. I flatter myself it is they should not have something to supple- good. Captain Sellwood bowed and said, ment their earnings on the farm. I even Very nice, but in such a toneless way lent a couple of them money to buy cows. that Cornellis was unable to discover what John Harvey was one, and he has got a his real opinion was. Cornellis always month for it now. made much of his wines, talked of their How so, rector? age, bouquet, and brand, as if he had a Because he has been stealing mangold first-rate cellar; whereas he had no cellar and turnips through the winter to feed his at all, only a cupboard in the coal-hole cow with, from Farmer Barons, with whom where he kept a few dozen, and got his he worked. Barons thought his mangold wine in as he wanted it. But by talking was going, and so set a policeman to about his wine, and telling stories con- watch; then Harvey was caught. He cerning the way in which he picked up argued that his cow must nQt stgrve, and this lot and that lot at sales or from old that he had not the land or capital to till friends, he had acquired the credit of being root-crops for her, and that I was to blame not only a connoisseur, but of giving first- for letting him have the cow. He was rate vintages at his table. once an honest man; I had converted The Sauterne on this occasion was him, with the best intentions, into a thief. good. It was not always so; but this He is let off pretty easy, said Aunt evening Cornellis did his utmost to catch Judith. the captain for his daughter, and did not That is not all. The farmers who withhold his best either in eating or in employed the other men that have cows drinking. He used to say that Zriny, ban have given them notice to leave their ser- of Croatia, when he went against the vice, so they will be thrown out of situa- Turks, put purses full of gold under his tions and lay the blame on me. belt, so that if he fell, the enemy might Is it not usually the case, said Jose- hold his body in esteem; thus would all phine, that when we seek to do good we the world esteem the man who put good blunder into mischief? Therefore, it is dinners under his waistcoat. The rector best to let men go their own wretched way and his son would hardly suspect their for themselves. host to be on the verge of bankruptcy Captain Sellwood turned and looked at when he gave them so excellent a repast. the girl fixedly; his great eyes said noth- But the captain, though he liked a good ing, but he wondered in his heart that one dinner, was not a man to lay store by it, so young should speak with such want of and, perhaps, after the spiced dishes of feeling. India, he preferred plain English roast and I dbnt agree with you, Miss Jose- boiled joints to any entremets, however phine, said the rector. It is human to delicate. He would have preferred a seat err. We do not see things from all sides opposite Josephine, where he could have at once, and so we make mistakes. Some looked at her, instead of a place at her suffer; but we learn lessons, and correct side, ~vhere he was obliged to talk to her. our mistakes. His observations came at intervals, and We should try our experiments on had no connection with each other. He ourselves, not on others, said Josephine. said something about the weather, then You have been practising on the peasant, was silent; and after ten minutes asked and the result is that the peasant has to Josephine if she painted now; when she suffer, not you. said that she did not, he fidgeted with his I beg your pardon; I suffer also. I napkin, wiped his moustache, listened to shall not see back the twenty pounds I what his father and Miss Judith were lent for the cow. talking about, and then inquired whether It seems to me that you good people are always making plans for the bettering of others, and all your plans when carried out aggravate the evil. Leave the poor and suffering alone, to work out their problems for themselves. The great ox eyes of the captain were again on Josephine, and they annoyed her. She was determined, if possible, to to bring some life into them, so she said: I believe in living only for self. Every animal does it. Why not we? We in- volve ourselves in a tangle when we begin to consider others, and get no thanks for our pains. Let us all fight our own way, and slap each other in the face if he per. sists in encumbering our path. I want help from no one, and will give no help to any one.~~ My dear Josephine, said her father in a tone of sad reproach, but with eyes that expressed anger, you are talkino at random. Not a bit. I have well considered the law of existence. That is my law, simple, straightforward, and successful like, yes, like the way of the sea-nettle in the tide. I do not think, my dear, said the rector, that it is a way that will draw after it a wake of love and light. I speak what I think and feel, said Josephine, disregarding her fathers warn- ing glances, encouraged by perceiving some expression in the ox eyes of the captain, like a cats-paw of wind in a quarry pool. No, my dear, said the rector, with a cheery smile on his red face; I wont allow that you feel and think this, though you say it. Neither will I admit for a moment your likening yourself to a sea- nettle. To a cactus, if you choose that has on it needles. A girl sometimes puts forth a bristle of sharp and piquant speeches; but it is not human nature, any more than it is cactus nature to produce only stings the flower bursts out in the end, large, glorious, beautiful, and we for- get all about the bristles as we stand over and admire the flower. Josephine went on maliciously: Mrs. Sellwood has been most kind to that boy Joe Cudmore. Yes; he is crippled with rheumatism, and bedridden. She has spent hours in the dirty cot- tage and the insufferable stuffiness of the sick-room teaching the boy to read. Well yes, said the rector. It was so sad to see the poor fellow confined to his bed with nothing to relieve the te dium. -. 93 And with what result? He can read. Exactly. I was in the cottage the other day. We wanted the mother to come and char for us, and I found him devouring the police intelligence. You have roused in him a hunger for criminal biography. He reads his Bible too. I saw his Bible; you gave him one, with red edges, and the edges stuck to- gether. It had not been read. What chance has the story of Abraham against that of Rush who murdered a household? That boy longs to recover the use of his limbs that he may emulate the glorious deeds of burglars, or at least of pick-pock- ets. You paint things in extreme colors, said the rector, a little discouraged. And the schools, continued Josephine I know how enthusiastic you are about them. The education given there has unfitted all the young peo4Ae for the work required of them, or has given them a distaste for it. The farmers complain that of the rising generation, not one lad understands hedging; and their wives that the girls will have nothing to do with milking cows and making butter. I remember, said the rector in an apologetic tone he was unable to deny that there was truth in Josephines words I remember some years ago there was not a man or woman in my congrega- tion who could use the Prayer-book and Hymnal. And now, said Josephine, that they can use them, they value them st little that the fires in the stove are lighted with the torn pages out of them; and the road between the school and church is scat- tered with dishevelled sacred literature. Then the captain said: Am I to un- derstand that you think no attempt should be made to do any good to any one? To any one except ourselves yes,~~ answered Josephine. You would in India allow suttees to continue, and Juggernauts car to roll on and crush bones forever unobstructed? Why not? Is not India becoming over-peopled, and the problem springing up, what is to be done with the overflow of population? I think, said Mr. Cornellis with sup- pressed wrath, I will ask you, rector, to return thanks. No, said ~he rector; I am not going to say grace on such a sentiment. My dear Miss Josephine, we must not shirk a duty because it opens the floor to a prob RICHARD CABLE. .94 RICHARD CABLE. lem. It is the very fact that we are meet- ing problems which duty insists on our solving, that gives a zest and purpose to life. We make our blunders well, that is inevitable; it is human to err; and our sons profit by our experience and avoid our mistakes. A child makes pothooks before it draws straight lines, and strums discords before it finds the way to harmo- nies. We must set an ideal before us, and aim for that; we may go wrong ways to work, but with a right heart; that will excuse our errors. When the ladies were in the drawing- room, Mrs. Sellwood took a 16w chair before the fire, and in two minutes was asleep. The rectors wife was an excel- lent woman, who rose every morning at five, made her own fire, did her accounts, read the lessons for the, day, and gardened, before the maidservants appeared. But it is not possible for the most energetic person to burn the candle at both ends with impunity, and she made up for her wakefulness in the morning by sleepiness at night, and invariably dozed off after dinner, wherever she was. This was so well known by her hosts, that she was generally allowed to go off quietly to sleep and have her nap before the gentle- men came from their ~vine. Aunt Judith made no attempt to keep her guest awake; when she saw her nod- ding, she drew Josephine into the conserv- atory, and said: My dear, how cameyou to speak as you did at table? You fright- ened the captain, and shocked his father. I am glad I produced some effect on the former, who seems to me to have inherited his mothers somnolence. But, Josephine, you know that Cap- tain Algernon Sellwood has long been your admirer, and you are doing your best to drive him away. Let him go. I shall breathe freely when he withdraws his great dreamy eyes from me. My dear niece, I must be serious with you. He is a man worth having; he will have about fifteen thousand a year on the death of his aunt, Miss Otterhourne. He is a fine man, and belongs to a family of position. You could not expect to do bet ter than take him. I speak now as your aunt, full of interest in your welfare. I must remark that your extraordinary and repellent manner this evening is not one to attract him to your feet. You are tri- fling with your opportunites, and before you are aware, you will be left an old maid. I do not care. An old maid can go her own way, and a married woman can- not. No, my dear; an old maid cannot go her own way, unless she has a fortune at her disposal. Can I? I am helpless, bound to helplessness. I do not follow a husband; I have to follow your father. Remember, you have not a fortune. Your father has told you that misfoi~tunes have fallen on us, and your money is gone. Have you made up your mind not to take Algernon Sellwood, if he offers? I dont know; I have not thought about it. Do not take the matter so lightly. I am seriously alarmed about you so is your father. Sooner or later, we shall have to give up our establishment, and disappear into some smaller place, and cut our expenses down to a low figure. It is not pleasant to have to pinch and clip. What stands in your way? You have never shown yourself so perverse before. Upon my word, I- believe your head has been turned ever since that un- fortunate affair of the lightship and Cable. Do not mention him, said Josephine abruptly. Who? Algernon Sellwood? No; the other Richard Cable. Why not? Because when you do, I see what a man ought to be, and the captain pales into nothing before him. Whether Al- gernon Sellwood has brains and heart, I do not know; he is to me a doll that rolls its eyes, not a man with a soul. What do you mean, Josephine? gasped poor Aunt Judith. Gracious powers! you do not hint at such a pre- posterous folly as that As that, what? Speak out! As that I really cannot speak it. As that I have lost my heart to Rich- ard Cable, the lightshipman, the widower, father of seven little children? No; I have not. Now, are you satisfied? I am not such a fool as you take me for. Aunt Judith drew a long breath. it would be impossible for you to marry be- neath you and to such a man! Beneath me! Above me. We are all being dragged down. It is my fate ~ never to have one to whom I can look up, whom I can call my own. There come the gentlemen.~~ As she and Aunt Judith entered the drawing-room through the French window, Mrs. Sellwood woke up, was wide awake,,, and said: Yes buttered eggs! I said so, Miss Cornellis, buttered eggs! THE TRIALS OF A COUNTRY PARSON. 95 Been asleep, dear? asked the rector, tapping his wife on the shoulder. No, Robert. I have been talking to Miss Cornellis about buttered eggs. Not even closed your eyes? I may have closed them to consider better, but I have not been asleep. I have been giving a receipt for buttered eggs.~~ From The Nineteenth Century. THE TRIALS OF A COUNTRY PARSON. Mv friends from Babylon the great are very good to me in the summer-time. They come in a delightful stream from their thousand luxuries, their great social gatherings, their brilliant talk, and their cheering and stimulating surroundings; they come from all the excitement and the whirl of London or some other huge city where men live, and they make their friendly sojourn with us here in the wil- derness even for a week at a time. They come in a generous and self-denying spirit to console and condole with the man whom they pity so gracefully the poor country parson relegated, as Bishop Stubbs is pleased to express it, to the comparative uselessness of literary (and clerical) retire- ment. I observe that the first question my good friends ask is invariably this: What shall we do and where shall we go to-morrow? It would be absurd to suppose that any man in his senses comes to the wilderness to stay there, or that there can be anything to do there. A man goes to a place to see, not the place itself, but some other place. When you find yourself in the ~vilderness you may use any spot in it as a point of departure, but as a dwelling-place, a resting-place, never! Moreover I observe that, by the help of such means of locomotion as we have at command, the days pass merrily enough with my visitors in fine weather. But as sure as ever the rain comes, so surely do my friends receive important letters call- ing them back, much to their distress and disappointment. If the weather be very bad obstinately bad or if a horse falls lame and cannot be replaced, or some equally crushing disaster keeps us all con- fined to the house and garden, my visitors invariably receive a telegram which sum- mons them home instantly even at the cost of having to send for a fly to the near- est market town. Sometimes, by a rare coincidence, a kindly being drops in upon us even in the winter. He is alweys genial, cordial, and a great refreshment, but he never stays a second night. We keep him warm, we allow a liberal use of the shameful, we give him meat and drink of the best, we flatter him, we cod- dle him, we talk and draw him out, we show him things, but he never stays over that single night; and when he goes, as he shakes our hands and wraps himself up in his rugs and furs, I notice that he has a sort of conflate expression upon his countenance; his face is as a hydrid flower where two beauties blend. One eye says plainly, I am a lucky dog, for Jam going away at last, and the other eye, beaming with kindliness, sometimes with affection, says just as plainly, PoLr old boy, how I do pity you! Well! this is a pitiful age; that is,itis an age very full of pity. The ingenuity shown by some good people in finding out new objects of commiseration is truly admirable. It is hardly to be expected that the country parson should escape the general appetite for shedding tears over real or supposed sufferers. But it strikes some of us poor forlorn ones as not a little curious that our grand town friends never by any chance seem to see what there is in our lot that is really pathetic or trying. How often do you ,give it meat? said a blushing, i~ild-eyed, lank-haired young worthy in my hearing the other day. Lawk! sir, that dont have no meat, answered the laughing mother, as she hugged her tiny baby closer to her bosom. Never have meat? How dreadful 1 Just so! But it is not only ludicrous, it is annoying to be pitied for the wrong thing; and though I am not inclined to maintain the thesis that we, the soldiers of Gods army of occupa- tion, who are doing outpost duty, pass our lives in a whirl of tumultuous and deli- cious joy, yet, if I am to be pitied, do let me be pitied intelligently. I cannot expect to be envied, but surely it is not such a very heavy calamity for a man never to catch a sight of Truth or the World, or to find that there is not such a thing as an oyster-knife in his parish. Moreover, side by side with the pity, there is a large amount of much more irritating and ignorant exaggeration of the good things we are supposed to enjoy. We do not, I admit, hear quite so often as formerly about fat livings and valu- able preferment, nor about the rectorial mansion with a thousand a year; but we hear a great deal more about such abulous lands of Goshen than we ought to hear. There is always a disposition to represent 96 THE TRIALS OF A COUNTRY PARSON. our neighbors as better off than ourselves, and whereas the salaried townsman knows that his income, whatever it may be, is his net income which he may count upon as his spending-fund to use as he pleases, when he hears of others as receiving or entitled to receive so many pounds a year, he assumes that they do receive it and that they may spend it as they please. The townsman, again, who moves among the multitude and every hour is reminded of that multitude pressing, as all fluids do equally in all directions, hears, and sometimes he knows, that the clergy in the towns have immense claims upon their time and are always on the move in the streets and courts. They are always about, always en ividence. If a man has only to minister to a paltry seven hundred, what can he have to do? He must be a drone. Moreover the aforesaid townsman has .read all about those country parsons. You can hardly take up a novel without finding a sleek rector figuring in the volumes. These idealized rural clerics always re- mind me of Mr. Whistlers nocturnes. The figures roll at you through the mists that are gathering round them. The good people who try to introduce us to these rev- erend characters very rarely venture upon a firm and distinct outline. The truth is that for the most part the novelists never slept in a country parsonage in their lives, never knew a country parson out of a book. A year or two ago my friend X. was dining in a London mansion. Whos that? said a lady opposite, as she ducked her head in his direction and looked at her partner. X. turned to speak to his partner, but could not help hearing the scarcely whispered dialogue: A country parson, did you say? Why, hes tall 1 And their voices low with fashion, not with feeling, softly freighted All the air about the windows with elastic laughter sweet. It was quite a surprise to that lady nov- elist that a country parson could be tall! Many men are tall policemen, for in- stance. But only short men ought to be country parsons. Why! we shall hear of one of them being good-looking next! When any class of men feel themselves to be the butt of others, they are apt to be a little cowed. They hold their peace and fret, and if they resent their hard treat- ment and speak out, they rarely do them- selves justice. Very few men can come well out of a snub, and the countryman who is not used to it never knows what to reply to offensive language. Yet worms have been known to turn, not that I ever heard they got any good by it; they cant bite, and they cant sting, but I suppose it comforts them to deliver their own souls. Poor worms! Yes! you may pity them. But if the country parson has his trials, how may he hope to be listened to when he desires to make it clear what they are? Where shall he begin? Where should he begin if not by pointing to that delicate nerve-centre of draped humanity, exquisite in its sensitiveness, knowing no rest in its perpetual giving out of force, forever hun- gering for renewal of its exhausted re- sources, feeling no pain in its plethora and dreading no death save from inanition to wit, the pocket? Touch a mans pocket, and a shudder thrills through every fibre. The country parson has a great deal to complain of at the hands of t1~ose who will persist in talking of him as an exception- ally thriving stipendiary. It is one thing to say that in all cases he gets more than he deserves; it is quite another to p~t forth unblushingly that his income is half as much again as in fact it is, and his out- goings only what the outgoings of other men are. Logicians class the su~pressio yen among sophisms; but would it not be better to call that artful proceeding a fraud? Drink fair, Betsy, whatever you do! said Mrs. Gamp on a memorable occasion. Yes, if it is only out of the teapot. I. With regard to the income of the country parson, it may be laid down as a fact not to be disputed, that hardly one per cent. of the country clergy ever touch the full amount which theoretically they are entitled to receive. In the case of parishes where the land is much subdi- vided, and where there are a number of small tithepayers, it would be almost im- possible for the clergyman personally to collect his dues; he almost invariably em- ploys an agent, who is not a likely man t~ do his work for love. Even the agent can rarely get in all the small sums that the small folk ought to pay. Even he has to submit to occasional defalcations, and to ~ consider whether it is worth whije to press the legal rights of his employer too far. Moreover, the small folk from time imme- morial have expected something in the shape of a tithe dinner or a tithe tea, for which the diners or the tea-drinkers do not pay, you may be sure; this constituted a not inconsiderable abatement on the sum THE TRIALS OF A COUNTRY PARSON. 97 total of receipts which ought to come to hand at the tithe audit. Taking one year with another, it may be accepted as a moderate estimate that the cost of collecting his tithe plus bad debts in some shape or other amounts to six per cent., and he who gets within seven per cent. of his clerical income gets more than most of us do. But the law allows of no abatement in respect of this initial charge; and because the law takes up this ground, the world at large assumes that the nomi- nal gross income of the benefice does come into the pockets of the incumbent. The world at large is quite certain that nobody in his senses makes a return of a larger income than he enjoys, and if the parson pays on 5001., people assume that he does not get less from his living than that. The world at large does not know that the parson is not asked to make a return. The surveyor makes up his books on the tithe commutation table for the parish, and on that the parson is assessed, whatever he may say. II. For be it known it is ~vith the sur- veyor or rate-collector that the parsons first and most important concern lies. Whatever he may receive from his cure, however numerous may be the defaulters among the tithe-payers, however large the expense of collecting his dues, the parson has to ~ay rates on his gross in- come. The barrister and the physician, the artist or the head of a government department, knows or need know nothing about rates. He may live in a garret if he likes; he may live in a boarding-house at so much a week; he may live in a flat at a rent which covers all extraneous charges. I suppose we most of us have known men of considerable fortune, men who live in chambers, men who live in lodgings, men who live in college rooms, who never directly paid a rate in their lives. Our lamented~ H., who dropped out recently, leaving 97,0001. behind him, invested in first-class securities, was one of these languidly prosperous men. I do detetht violent language on any thubject what- ever, he lisped out to me once. I hope I thall never thee that man again who thtormed at rate-collectorth tho. What ith a rate-collector? Doth he wear a uni- form?~ But a country parson and all that he has in the world, q~a country parson, is rata- ble to his very last farthing, and beyond it; the fiction being that he is a landed proprietor, and as such in the enjoyment of an income from real property. It is in vain that he pleads that his nominal i-n- LIVING AGE. VOL. LVIII. 2971 come is of all property the most unreal; he is told that he has a claim upon the land, and the land cannot run away. It is in vain that he plaintively protests that he would gladly live in a smaller house if he were allowed he does live in it, chained to it like a dangerous dog to his kennel. It is in vain that he urges that he cannot let his glebe, and may not cut down the trees upon it that he is com- pelled to keep his house in tenantable re- pair, and maintain the fences as he found them. The impassive functionary ex- presses a well-feigned regret and some guarded commiseration; but he has his duty to perform, and the rates have to be paid poor rates, county rates, school- board rates, and all the rest of them; and paid upon that parsons gross income such an income as never comes, and which everybody knows never could be collected. You may say in your graceful way that a parson does not pay a bit more than he ought to pay, and that he may be thankful if he be allowed to live at all. That may be quite true I dont think it is, but it may bebut there are some things that are not true, and one of them is, that the gross income awarded to the country par- son on paper gives anything approaching to a fair notion of the amount of income that comes to his hands. And if you are going to pity the country parson, do begin at the right end, and consider how you would like to pay such rates as he pays onyour gross income. III. But when the country parsons rates have been duly paid, the next thing that he is answerable for is the land-tax. The mysteries of the land-tax are quite beyond me. If I could afford to give up three years of my life to the uninterrupted study of the history and incidence of the land- tax, I think, by what people tell me, I might get to know something about it, and be in a position to enlighten mankind upon this abstruse subject; but as I really have not three years of my life to spare, I must needs acquiesce in my hopeless ignorance even to the end. Only this I do know, that, whereas t~e country pArson is called upon to pay eightpence in the pound for income tax, he is called upon to pay nearly ninepence in the pound for land tax; at any rate, I know one country parson who has to do so. Let the land-tax pass it is beyond me. But how about the income tax? As I have said above, in the case of all other professions except the clerical, a man makes his return of income upon the available income which comes to him after 98 THE TRIALS OF A COUNTRY PARSON. deducting all fair and reasonable office ex- f~enses. But for the crime of clericalism, the country parson is debarred from mak- ing any such deductions as are permitted to other human beings. Many of the good livings in East Anglia have two churches, each of which must be served. A man cannot be in two places at once; and the laws of nature and of the Church being in conflict, the laws of the Church carry it over the laws of nature, and the rector has to put in an appearance at his second church by deputy in other words, the poor man has to keep a curate. If he were a country solicitor who was compelled to keep a clerk, he would de- duct the salary of the clerk from the prof- its of his business; but being only a country parson, he can do nothing of the sort; he has to pay income tax all the same on his gross returns. A curate is a luxury, as a riding-horse is a luxury; and the only wonder is that curates have not long ago been included among those super- fluous animals chargeable to the assessed taxes. IV. Perhaps the most irritating of all imposts that press upon the country par- son is that to which he has to submit be- cause the churchyard is technically part of his freehold. in many parts of the country a fee is charged for burying the dead. In the diocese of Norwich there are no burial fees. The right of burying his dead in the churchyard is a right which may be claimed by any inhabitant of the parish; the soil of the churchyard is said to belong to the parishioners; the surface of the soil belongs to the parson. This being so, the parson is assessed in the books of the parish for the assumed value of the herbage growing upon the soil, and on this assumed value he is accordingly compelled to pay rates, income tax, and land tax. Of course the parson could legally turn cattle or donkeys into the churchyard to disport themselves among the graves; but happily that man who should venture to do this nowadays would be thought guilty of an outrage upon all decency. Who of us is there who does not rejoice that this state of feeling has grown up among us? But the result is that the churchyard, so far from being a source of income to the parson, has be- come a source of expense to him in almost all cases. Somebody has to keep the grass mown, and see that Gods acre is not dese- crated. Few of us grumble at that; and some who have large resources pride themselves on keeping their churchyards as a lawn is kept or a garden. - ~ut it surely is monstrous when everybody knows that the churchyard, so far from bringing the parson any pecuniary bene- fit, entails an annual expense upon him which is practically unavoidable it is monstrous, I say, that the parson should be assessed upon the value of the crop which might be raised off dead mens graves, and that he should be taxed for showing an example of decency and right feeling to those around him. Well! But why dont you appeal ? My excellent sir, do you suppose that nobody ever has appealed? Do you sup- pose that very original idea of yours has never occurred to any one else before? Or do you suppose that we the shepherds of Arcady find appealing against an as- sessment, made by our neighbors to relieve themselves, before the magistrates at quarter sessions is a process peculiarly pleasurable and particularly profitable when the costs are defrayed? We grum- ble or fret, we count it among our trials, but we say, After all, if is only about five shillings a year. Anything for a quiet life. Let it go! So the wrong gets to be established as a right. But it is none the less a wrong because it continues to exist, or because in coin of the realm it amounts to a trifle. Was it Mr. Midship- man Easys nurse who urged in excuse of her moral turpitude in having an infant of her very own, Please, maam, it was suck a little one? The grievance of having to pay rates on the churchyard may be in one sense a little one. But when it comes to being charged rates upon the premiums you pay upon your insurance policies, some of them the fire insurances being com- pulsory payments, and upon the mortgage of your benefice effected in your prede- cessors time even the sneerer at a sen- timental grievance could hardly call such charges as these not worth making a fuss about. In many a needy country parsons household the rates make all the differ- ence whether his children can have butter to their bread or not. It must be obvious to most people from what has been already said and much more might be said that unless a country( parson have some resources outside or any income derivable from his benefice, he must needs be a very poor man. Our people know this better than any one else,~ and it is often a very anxious question on the appointment of a new incumbent whether he will live in the same style as that which his predecessor maintained. 2~HE TRIALS OF A COUNTRY PARSON. 99 Will he keep a carriage, or only a pony chaise? Will he employ two men in the garden? Will he put out his wash- ing ?* Will his house be a small local market for poultry and butter and eggs? Will he farm the glebe or let it? How many servants will he keep, and will the lady want a girl to train in the kitchen or the nursery from time to. time? Such questions as these are sometimes very anxious ones in a remote country village where every pound spent among the in- habitants serves to build up that margin outside the ordinary income of the wage- earners, and which helps the small occu- piers to tide over many a temporary em- barrassment when money is scarce, and small payments have to be met and cannot any longer be deferred. Let me, before going any further, deal with a question which I have had sug- gested to me again and again by certain peculiar people with dearly beloved theo- ries of their own. It is often asked, Ought clergymen ever to be rich men? Is not a rich clergyman out of place in a country parsonage? Does not his wealth raise him too far above the level of his people? Does it not make him sit loosely to his duties? Does not the fact of a country parson being known to be a rich man tend to demoralize a parish? Lest it should be supposed that the present writer is one of the fortunate ones rolling in riches, and therefore in a man- ner bound to stand up for his own class let it be at once understood that the pres- ent writer is a man of straw, one of those men to whom the month of January is a month of deep anxiety, perplexity, and depression of soul. Yet he would disdain to join the band of whining grumblers only because one year after another he finds that he must content himself with the corned beef and carrots, and cannot by hook or by crook afford to indulge in some very desirable recreation or expense which the majority of his acquaintance habitually regard as absolutely necessary if existence is to be endured at all. No! I am very far indeed from being a rich man; but this I am bound to testify in common fair- ness to my wealthier br& thren in the min- istry of the Church of England, that if any impartial person, with adequate knowl- edge of the facts, were asked to point out the most devoted, zealous, unworldly, and practically efficient country parsons in the diocese of Norwich for let me speak as * This is s matter of very great importance in hun- dreds of country parishes, where the washing of the rectory frequently suffices to maintain a whole family. I do know he would without hesitation name first and foremost some of the rich- est of the clergy in the eastern counties. Do you desire that your son should begin his ministerial life under a man of great ability, sound sense, courage, and religious earnestness, a man who never spares himself and will not suffer his sub- ordinates to sink into slovenly frivolity and idleness, then make your approaches to Lucullus, and you will have cause to thank God if the young fellow serves his apprenticeship under a guide and teacher such as this. He will learn no nonsense there, and see no masquerading, only an undemonstrative but unflinching adher- ence to the path believed to be the path of duty, and a manliness of self-surrender such as can only arouse an enthusiasm of respect and esteem. I)oes our own correspondent wish to see how a score of infamous hovels can be changed into a score of model cottages which pay interest on the cost of their erection, and which in half-a-dozen years have helped perceptibly to raise the tone and tastes and habits of the population till it really looks as if some barbarians could be civilized by a coup de main Ylet him pay a visit to the parish of our Rev- erend Hercules, only one of whose many labors it has been to cleanse an Augean stable. It will do him good to see the mighty shoulders of that rugged philan- thropist, him of the broad brow and the great heart and the deep purse, always at work and always at home, about the very last man in England to be suspected of belonging to the sickly sort of puling vis- ionaries. Do you want to meet with a type of the saintly parish priest, one after holy George Herberts heart, one with hardly a thought that does not turn upon the service of the sanctitary or the duties that he owes to his scattered flock? Come ~vith me, and we will go together and look at one of the most beautiful village churches in the land, on which our devout Ambrose has spent his thousands only with deep grati- tude that he has been permitted to spend them so and with never a word of brag or publicity, never a paragraph foisted into the newspapers. And as we pass out of that quiet churchyard, trim as a queens parterre, 1 will show you the witidow of that little study which Ambrose has not thought it right to enlarge, and if he be not there, be sure we shall find him at his school or by the sick-bed of the poor, or inquiring into some case of sorrow or sin where a kindly band or a wise word may 100 THE TRIALS OF A COUNTRY PARSON. peradventure solace the sad or go some way to raise the fallen. What country parson among all the nine hundred and odd within this Un- wieldlv diocese has lived a simpler or more devoted life than our Nestor ytpcov t7riryttra N~om~p he who for more than threescore years and ten has gone in. and out among his people, and doing his pastoral work so naturally, so much as a matter of course, that no one thinks of his being a rich man, except when those tow- ering horses of his stop at our lowly por- tals and have to he corkscrewed into our diminutive stables? And who knows not of thee, Euerges, treasurer and secretary and general main- stay of every good work, the idol of thy people and their healer, the terror of the impostor, and the true friend of all that deserve thy helping hand and purse? or thee, too, Amomos, who after thirty years of work as an evangelist in the city, spend- ing there thyself and thy substance all the while, hast now betaken thee to the poor villagers, if haply some little good may yet be done among the lowly ones before the night cometh when no man can work? But do not such well-meaning gentle- men as these demoralize the poor?~ Oh dear yes ! of course they do. It is so very demoralizing to help a lame dog over a stile. It does so pauperize a broken- down couple to whom the poor-law guar- dians allow three shillings a week and half a stone of flour, if you give th~in a sack of potatoes about Christmas time. It corrupts and degrades Biddy Bundle to bestow an old petticoat upon herwhen she is shivering with the cold, and it takes all self-resriect and independence from the unruly bosom of Dick the fiddler to offer him your old hat or a shabby pair of trow- sers. The truest, wisest, most far-sighted and most magnanimous charity is ~to let Harry Dobbs have an order for the house~~ when he is out of work and short of coals Harry Dobbs, who set himself against all the laws of political economy, and married at eighteen, when he had not the wherewithal to buy the chairs and tables. So we country parsons are a de- moralizing force in the body politic for- sooth, because we cannot bear to see poor people starve at our gates. We have been known actually to give soup to a reckless couple guilty of twelve children; actually soup! And we have dropped corrupting shillings into trembling bands only be- cause they were trembling, and distrib- uted ounces of tobacco to the inmates of the Union, and poisoned the souls of old beldames with gratuitous half-pounds of tea. And we counsel people to come to church, when they would much rather go to the public house, and we coddle them and warm them now and then, and instead of leaving them to learn manliness and independence and self-reliance on twelve shillings a week, we step between them and the consequences of their own im- providence, and we disturb the action of the beautiful laws of the universe, and where we see the ponderous wheels of Juggernaut just going to roll over a help- less imbecile who has tripped and dropped, we must needs make a clutch at him and pull him out by the scruff of the neck, and tell him to get up and not do it again. And all this is demoralizing and pauper- izing, is it? Out up on you! you miserable prigs with your chatter and babble! You to talk of the parsons narrowness and his bigotry and his cant? You to sneer at him for being the slave of a super.stition? You to pose as the only thinkers with all the logic of all the philosophers on your side, all the logic and never a crumb of com- mon sense to back it? Bigotry and intol- erance and cant and class jealousy and scorn that refuge for the intellectually destitute and the blustering coward where will you find them in all their most bitter and sour and hateful intensity, if not among the new lights, the self-styled economists? And we have to sit mum and let brainless pretenders superciliously put us out of court with a self-complacent wave of the hand, as they give utterance to perky platitudes about the clergy pau- perizing the working-man. No, Mr. Dandy Dryskull. No! this gospel of yours, a little trying to listen to, is being found out; ours will see the end of it. You preach Sir Andrew and his love of law, And we the Saviour and his law of love I I, for one, hereby proclaim and declare that I intend to help the sick and aged and struggling poor ~vhenever I have the chance, and as far as I have the means, and I hope the day will never come when I shall cease to think without shame of that eminent prelate who is said to have made it his boast that he had never given ~ a beggar a penny in his life. I am free to confess that I draw the line somewhere. I do draw the line at the tramp I do find it necessary to be uncompromising there. Indeed I keep a big dog for the tramp, and that dog, inasmuch as he passes his happy life in a country parsonage that dog, I say, is not muzzled. THE 2~RIALS OF A COUNTRY PARSON. I0I But dont you get imposed upon? Dont you get asked to replace dead horses and cows and pigs and donkeys, that never ~valked on four legs and no mortal eye ever saw in the land of the living? Of course we do! Is it a prerogative of the country parson to be duped by a swindler? Oh, Mr. Worldly Wiseman, were you never taken in? Never I Then, sir, I could not have you for a son-in-law! As for us we country parsons we do occasionally get imposed upon in very absurd and contemptible fashion. Some- times we submit to be bled with our eyes open. A bungling bumpkin has managed to get his horses leg broken by his own stupidity. We know that the fellow was jiggling the poor brutes teeth out of his mouth at the time, or the animal would never have shown himself as great an idiot as his master. But there stands the master horseless, with the tears in his eyes, and we know all about him and the hard struggle he has had to keep things going, and we say to ourselves, I won- der what would happen to me if my horse dropped down dead some fine morning. Who would help me to another? and what then? So we pull out the sovereign, and give the fellow a note to somebody else, and that is how we demoralize him. Or another comes at night time and wants to speak to us on very particular business, and implores us to tide him over a real difficulty and What! do you mean to say you lend fellows money? Yes. I mean to say I have even done that, and very, very rarely repented of it, and I mean to say there are men, and women too, to whom I would lend money again if I had it; but it does not follow that I could lend it to everybody, least of all that I could lend it to you, Mr. Worldly Wiseman. Try it on, sir! Try it on! and see whether you would depart trium- phant from the interview! Moreover, the country parson has al- ways to pay a little just a very little more than any one else for most things that come to his door. The market has always risen when he wants to buy, and has always suddenly fallen when he wants to sell. The small mans oats are invari- ably superior to any ones when he has a small parcel to dispose of to the parson. As to the price of hay, when the parson has to buy it, that is truly startling. I never see half a rood of carrots growing in a laborers allotment, but I feel sure I shall have to buy those carrots before Christmas, and sorry as I am to obsetve how rarely any fruit trees are ever planted in a poor mans garden, I reflect that per- haps it is just as well, for already the damsons and the apples that besiege the rectory are almost overwhelming. I never ask what becomes of them, but it is mor- ally and physically impossible that they should be eaten under this roof. But, my. dear, you must buy Widow Coe s damsons; nobody else will, you know! This is what I am told is considering the poor people. That is our way of putting it. You, Mr. Worldly Wiseman, you call it demoralizing them. Then, too, the country parson is ex- pected to encourage the local indus- tries. I wonder whether they make pillow-lace in Bedfordshire as they used. If they do, and especially if the demand for it in the outer world has waned, the. country parsons~ wives in that part of England must have a very trying time of it. Once, when I was in the merry twen- ties, a dirty old hag with an 9vil report, but no worse than other people except that she was an old slut, knocked at my back door and asked to see the lady shepherd. Mrs. Triplet was a Mormon- ite, at any rate her husband was; and it was credibly believed that Mrs. Triplet herself had been baptized by immersion in a horsepond in the dead of night, dressed as Godiva was during her famous ride, and seated, not upon a palfrey, but upon a jackass. How Triplet could ever have been converted to a belief in polygamy with his experience of the married state, I am entirely unable to explain. But Mrs. Triplet came to our door and asked for the Lady Shepherd. It was a delicate piece of flattery. She must have thought over it a long time. Was not the parson the shepherd? a bad one it might be, a hireling, a blind leader of the blind, but still a shepherd. Then his wife must needs be a shepherdessand she did not look like itor a sheepno! that wouldnt do at all or the shepherds lady and shepherds dont have ladies; or happy thought ! the lady shepherd. Accordingly Mrs. Triplet asked for the Lady Shepherd. Mrs. Triplet in former times had been a tailors hand, and in that capacity had made a few shillings a week by odd jobs for the Cambridge tailors in term time; but she had married, and now she lived too far away in the wilds to be able to continue at her old employment, and being a bad manager she soon had to cast about for some new source of income. In the more comfortable cottages in the eastern counties you may often see laid 102 THE TRIALS OF A COUNTRY PARSON. out before the fire a mat of peculiar con- struction which sometimes looks like a small mattress in difficulties. It is made from selvage s and clippings, the refuse of the tailors workshop; these strips of cloth are cut into lengths of two or three inches long by half an inch wide, and are knitted or tightly tied together with string, the variously colored scraps being ar- ranged in patterns according to the genius and taste of the artist. The complex struc- ture when completed is stuffed with the clippings too small to be worked up on the outside, and the mass is then subjected to a process of thumping and stamping and pulling and hammering till at last there exudes yes! that is the correct term, whatever you may say a lumpy bundle, which in its pillowy and billowy entirety is called a hearthrug. The thing will last for generations, it never wears out, and it takes years of continuous stamping upon it before you can anyhow get it flat. It was one of these triumphs of industry that Mrs. Triplet desired to turn an honest penny by. Would her ladyship come and look at it in situ? Now the lady shep- herd is a woman of business, which the shepherd, notoriously, is not, and if she had gone alone no great harm would have come of the interview; but on that un- lucky day the shepherd and his lady re- solved to go together. That is a course which no shepherd and shepherdess should ever be persuaded to follow. Two men will often help one another when associated in a difficult enterprise; two women will almost always do better to- gether than single-handed, but a man and a woman working together will always get in one anothers way. On the occasion referred to the quick-witted old crone saw her chance in a moment, and commenced to play off one of her visitors against the other with consummate skill. From a hole beneath the narrow stairs she dragged the massive structure, and slowly unfold- ing it before our eyes commenced to stamp upon it in a kind of hideous demon dance, gazing at it fondly from time to time as if she could hardly bear to part with it. In those days the fashion of wearing gay clothing had only just gone out among the male sex. For, less than forty years ago, we used to appear on state occasions in blue dress coats and brass buttons, and at great gatherings you might see green coats and brown ones, mulberry coats and chocolate ones, and there was a certain iridescence th~Lt gave a peculiarly sprightly look to an assembly even of males in those days, which has all passed away~now. Hence when Mrs. Triplet displayed her exhibit we found ourselves gazing at a very gaudy spectacle. IFhere, lady! And I made the pattern a~ myself, I did. Manys the night Ive laid awake thinking of it. Ah! them bottle-greens was hard to get, they was; gentlefolks has give up wearing greens. But that yaller rose, lady. Aint that a yaller rose?~~ For once in her life the lady shepherd lost her nerve. Spasms of hysterical laughter wrestled within her, and her flushed face and contorted frame betrayed the conflict that was raging. How would it end, in the rupture of a vein or in shrieks of un- controllable merriment? The shepherd was in terror; he stooped to the foolishest flattery; he went as near lying as a shep- herd could without literally lying; but comedy changed to tragedy when from his lean purse he desperately plucked his very last sovereign, and giving it to that guileful old sorceress, ordered her to bring that hearthrug to the parsonage without delay. Next week the very next week came a pressing offer from another parish- ioner of another of these articles of home manufacture; next month came a third, though the price had dropped fifty per cent. which was accepted with exultant thankfulness. There was positively no stopping the activity of the new industry; until, before three months were over, six of these fearful contrivances had been all but forced upon us, one of them travelling to our door in a donkey-cart and one in a wheelbarrow the lady shepherd being told she might have them at her own price, and pay for them at her own convenience only have them she must; the makers could by no means take them away. Well, but you had nobody but your- selves to thank. How could you be so weak and silly? That may be very true. But do not our trials our smaller trials become so just because we have only ourselves to thank for them? We in the wilderness are exposed to temptations which go some way to make us silly and soft-hearted. Somehow, few of us are certain to keep our hearts as hard as the nether millstone. r I do not pretend to be one of the seven sages; what I do say is that we country parsons have our trials. It is, however, when the country parson has to buy a horse that he finds himself tried to the uttermost. Day after day, from all points of ~the compass, there ap~ pear at his gate the cunningest of the cunning and the sharpest of the sharp; THE TRIALS OF A COUNTRY PARSON. 103 and if at the end of a week the parson has not arrived at the settled conviction that he is three parts of a fool, it is im- possible for him to dispute that the whole fraternity of horsey men feel no manner of doubt that he is so. Now, I dont like to be thought a fool; not many men do, unless they hope to gain something by it. The instinct of self-preservation or the hope of a kingdom might induce me to play the part of Brutus; but in my secret heart I should be buoyed up by the proud consciousness of superior wisdom. When, however, it comes to a long line of rogues one after another for days and days without any collusion continuing to tell you to your face, almost in so many words, that you certainly are a fool it really ceases to be monotonous and becomes, after a while, vexatious. The fellows are so clever, too; they have such an envia- ble fluency of speech; they are possessed of such a rich fund of anecdote, such an easy play of fancy, such a readiness of apt illustration, and such a magnificent com- mand of facial contortion, expressive of the subtlest movements of the heart and brain, that you cannot but feel how im- measurably inferior you are to the dullest of them in dialectic. But why should a man, when he asks you to try his charger, bring it round to the doorstep, tempting you to get up on the off-side? what does he gain by it? Why should he tell you that this hoss was a twin with that as Captain Dixie drives in his dog-cart? Why should he assure you, upon his sacred honor, that that Roman nose will come square when the horse gets to be six years old they always do? or that you always find bay horses turn chestnut if theyre clipped badly? These men would not try these fictions upon any one else; why should I suffer for being a country parson by being told a long storywith the most religious seriousness of that there horse as Mr. Abel had, that stopped growing in his fore-quarters when he was two and went on growing with his hind-quarters till he was seven that hoss that they called Kangaroo, cause hed jump anything anything under a church tower, only you had to give him his head? I used to get much more irritated by this kind of thing when I was less mellowed by age than I am; and I have learned to be more tolerant even of a horse-dealer than I once was. In an outburst of indignation one day, I turned angrily upon one of the fra- ternity, and said to him, Man! how can you go on lying in this way; why wont you deal fairly, instead of always trying to take people in? The man was not a bit offended indeed he smiled quite kindly upon me. Lor, sir, do you suppose we never get took in? I am fully per- suaded that horse-dealer thought I was going to try the confidence trick with him. I am often assured by my town friends that the loneliness of my country life must be very trying. I reply with perfect truth that I have never known ~vhat it is to feel lonely except in London. Some years ago one Sunday afternoon I was compelled to consult an eminent oculist. When the cab drove up to the great mans door in Cardross Square, his eminence was at the window in a brown study, with his elbows leaning on the wire blind, the tip of his nose flattened against the pane, his eyes vacantly staring at nothing. When we were shown into his presence, the forlorn and desolate expression on that forsaken mans face was quite shoclZing to the nerves. A painter who could have re- produced the look of aimless and despair- ing woe might have made a name forever. When people talk to me of loneliness I always instinctively recall the image of that famous oculist in the heart of Lon- don on a Sunday afternoon. Ever since that day I have never been able to get over a horror of wire blinds. Happily, they are articles of furniture which have almost gone out now, but they used to be fearfully common. Even now the Lon- doner thinks it de rz~ueur to darken the windows of his sitting-room on the ground- floor; and in furnished lodgings you must have wire blinds. Why is this? When I ask the question I am told that you must have wire blinds; if you didnt, peo- ple would look in. In the country we never have wire blinds, and yet nobody looks in; therefore you call our flfe lonely. But loneliness is not the simple product of external circumstances it is the out- come of a morbid temperament, creating for itself a sense of vacuity, whatever may be a mans surroundings. To sit on rocks, to muse on flood and fell, To climb the trackless mountain, etc. I suppose we all know that wishy- washy stuff, so there is no need to go on with the quotation. What is trying in the country parsons life is its isolation. That is a very differ- ent think from saying that he lives a lonely life. The parson who is conscientiously trying to do his duty in a country parish 104 THE TRIALS OF A COUNTRY PARSON. occupies a unique position. He is a man, But the wine was Gilbys, and not his and yet he must be something more than best. These are the people who demor- man, and something less too. He must alize our country villages. They intro- be more than man in that he must b~ free duce a vulgarity of tone quite indescrib- from human passions and human weak- able, and the rapidity of the change nesses, or the whole neighborhood is wrought in the sentiments and language of shocked by his frailty; he must be some- the rustics is sometimes quite wonderful. thing less than man in his tastes and The people dont like these come-and- amusements and way of life, or there will go folk, but they get dazzled by them not- be those who will be sure to denounce withstanding; they resent the airs which him as a worldling who ought never to have the footmen and ladies maids give them-. taken orders. If he be a man of birth and selves, buf nevertheless they envy them refinement, he is sure to be reported of and-think, Theres my gal Polly shed as proud and haughty; if he be not quite be a lady if she was to get into sich a a gentleman, he will be snubbed and house as that! When they hear that the flouted outrageously. The average coun- ladies up at the hall play tennis on Sunday try parson and his family has often to bear afternoons, the old people are perplexed, an amount of patronizing impertinence and wonder what the world is coming to; which is sometimes very trying. Even the boys and girls begin to think that their the squire and the parson do not always jolly time is near, when they too shall get on well together, and when they do submit to no restraint, and join the revel not, the parson is very much at the others rout of scoffers. The sour Puritan snarls mercy, and may be thwarted and worried out, Ah! theres your gentlefolks, they and humiliated almost to any extent by a dont want no religion, they dont and powerful, ill-conditioned, and unscrupu- we dont want no gentLefolks! For your bus landed proprietor. But it is from the sour Puritan somehow has always a lurk- come-and-go people who hire the country ing sympathy with the socialist pro- houses which their owners are compelled gramme, and its honey and nuts to him to to let that we suffer most. Not that this find out some new occasion for venting is always the case, for it not unfrequently his spleen at things that are. But one and happens that the change in the occupancy all look askance at the parson, and in- of a country mansion is a clear gain so- wardly chuckle that he is not having a cially, morally, and intellectually to a pleasant time of it. Our reverends been whole neighborhood when, in the place took down a bit, since that young gent at of a necessitous Squire Western, and his the hall lit his pipe in the church porch. cubs of sons and his half-educated daugh- That aint seemly, says parson. Dunno ters, drearily impecunious, but not the about that, says the tother, but it seems less self-asserting and supercilious, ~ve nice. Chorus, half-giggle, half-sniggle. get a family of gentle manners and culture Do not the scientists teach that no two and accomplishments, and lo! it is as sun- atoms are in absolute contact with each shine after rain. But sometimes the new- other; that some interval separates every comers are a grievous infliction. Town- molecule from its next of kin? Certainly bred folk who emerged from the back this is inherent in the office and function streets and have amassed money by a new of the country parson, that he is not quite hair-wash or an improvement in sticking- in touch with any one in his parish if he plaster. Such as these are out of harmony be a really earnest and conscientious par- with their temporary surroundings; they son. He is too good for the average hap- giggle in the faces of the farmers daugh- p --go-lucky fellow who wants to be let ters, ridicule the speech and manners of a I one. There is nothing to gain by insult- the laborers and their wives, and grumble ing him. Hes that pig-headed he dont. at everything. They cannot think of walk- seem to mind nothing only swearing at ing in the cfirty lanes, they are afraid of him! You cannot get him to take a side cows, and call children nasty little things, in a quarrel. He speaks out very unpleas- and their hospitalities are very trying. ant truths In public and private. He Come, my boy. Have a cut at the occupies a social position that is some- venison. Dont be afraid. You shall have times anomalous. He has a provoking a good dinner for once; shant he, my knack of taking things by the right handle. dear? and as much champagne as you like He does not believe in the almighty dollar, to put inside lou! It was a bottle- as men of sense ought to believe; and he nosed Sir Gorgious Midas who spoke, and is usually in the right when it comes to a his lady at the other end of the table gave dispute in a vestry meeting because he is me a kindly wink as she caught my eye. the only man in the parish that thinks of THE TRIALS OF A COUNTRY PARSON. 105 preparing himself for the discussion be- forehand. This isolation extends not merely to matters social and intellectual it is much more observable in the domain of sentiment. A rustic cannot at all un- derstand what motive a man can possibly have for being a bookworm; he suspects a student of being engaged in some im- pious researches. To hear that there reverend of ours in the pulpit you might think we was all right. But, bless you! he aint same as other folk. He do keep a horoscope top o his house to look at the stares and sich. Not one man in a hundred of the labor- ers reads a book, and only when a book is new with a gaudy outside does he seem to value it even as a chattel. That any one should ever have any conceivable use for a big book is to him incomprehensible. If I might be so bold, sir, said Jabez, an intelligent father of a family with some very bright children who are wonerful forard in their laming, If I might be so bold,might Lask if youve really read all these grit books? No, Jabez; and I should be a bigger dunce than I am if I ever tried to. I keep them to use ; theyre my tools, like your spade and hoe. Whats that thing called that I saw in your hand the other day when you were working at the draining job? You dont often use that tool, I think, do you? XVelI, no. But then we dont get a job o draining now same as we used. I mean to say as a man may go ten y ears at a stretch and never lay a drain-tile. Well, then, how about the use of his tools all this time? Jabez smiled, slowly put his hand to his head, saw the point, and yet didnt see it. But, lawk sir! thats somehow different. I cant see what yow can dz~ wi a grit book like this here. It was a massive volume of Littr~s great dictionary, which I had just taken down to consult; it cer- tainly did look portentous. Why, Jabez, thats a dictionary a French dictionary. If I want to know all about a French word, you know, I look it up here. Some- times I dont find exactly what I want; then I go to that book, which is another French dictionary; and if . I saw by the blank look in honest Jabezs face that it was all in vain. Want to know all about French words? Why you aint a-going to fix no drain-tiles with them sort o things. Now that du wholly pet me aywt, that du. I think no one who has not tried pain- fully to lift and lead others can have the least notion of the difficulty which the country parson has to contend with in tl~ extreme thinness of the stratum in which the rural intellect moves. Since the schools have given more attention to geog- raphy, and since emigration has brought us now and then some entertaining letters from those who have emigrated to furren parts, the people have slowly learnt to think of a wider area of space than here- tofore they could imagine. Though even now their notions of geography are almost as vague as their notibns of astronomy; I have never seen a map in an agricultural laborers cottage. But their absolute ig- norance of history amounts to an incapac- ity of conceiving the reality of anything that may have happened in past time. What their grandfathers have told them, that is to them historyeverything be- fore that is not so much as fable ; it is not romance, it is a formless void, it is chaos. The worst of it is that they have no curi- osity about the past. The same is true of their knowledge of anything approaching to the rudiments of physical science; it simpl9 does not exist. A belief in the Ptolemaic system is universal in Arcady. I suspect that they think less about these things than they did. That there old Gladstone, lawk! hes a deep un he is! Hes as deep as the pole-star, he is! said Solomon Bunch to me one day. Pole-star? I asked in surprise, Where is the pole-star, Sol ? Lawks! I dun- no; Ive heerd tell o the pole star as the deep un ever sin I was a boy! it is this narrowness in their range of ideas that makes it so hard for the towns- man to become an effective speaker to the laborers. You could not make a greater mistake than by assuming you have only to use plain language to our rustics. So far from it, they love nothing better than sonorous words, the longer the better. It is when he attempts to make his audience follow a chain of reasoning that the orator fails most hopelessly, or when he comes to his illustrations. The poor people know so little, they read nothing, their experience is so confined, that one is very hard put to it to find a simile that is intel- ligible. Young David stood before the mon- archs throne. With harp in hand he touched the chords, like some later scald he sang his saga to King Saul ! It really was rather fine plain and simple too, monosyllabic, terse, and with a musical sibillation. Unfortunately one of the worthy preachers hearers told me after- wards with some displeasure that he didnt hold wi David being all sing-song- ing and scolding, hed no opinion o that. ro6 THE TRIALS OF A COUNTRY PARSON. The stories of the queer mistakes which our hearers make in interpreting our sermons are simply endless, sometimes almost incredible. Nevertheless, no in- vention of the most inveterate story-teller could equal the facts which are matters of weekly experience. As yow was a saying in your sarment, tarnal mowing wont du wirout tarnal making you mind, that! yer ses, an I did mind it tu, an we got up that hay sur- prising! Mr. Perry had just a little mis- conceived my words. I had quoted from Philip van Arteveldt. He that lacks time to mourn, lacks time to mend. Eter- nity mourns that. Not many months ago I was visiting a good, simple old man who was death- stricken, and had been long lingering on the verge of the dark river. Ive been a-thinking sir, of that little hymn as you said about the old devil when he was took bad. I should like to hear that again. I was equal to the occasion. The devil was sick the devil a saint would be; The devil got well not a bit of a saint was he! [It was necessary to soften down the lan- guage of the original!] Is that what you mean? Yes! it was that. Well Ive been a-thinking as if the old devil had laid a bit longer and been afflicted same as some on em, hed a been the better for it. Aint there no more o that there little hymn, sir? The religious talk of our Arcadians is sometimes very trying trying I mean to any man with only too keen a sense of the ludicrous, and who would not for the world betray himself if he could help it. It is always better to let people welcome you as a friend and neighbor, rather than as a clergyman, even at the risk of being considered by the unco guid as an irreverent heathen. But you are often pulled up short by a reminder more or less reproachful, that if you have forgotten your vocation your host has not; as thus: Ever been to Tombland fair, Mrs. Cawl ? Mrs. Cawl has a perennial flow of words, which come from her lips in a steady, unceasing, and deliberate mono- tone, a slow trickle of verbiage with never the semblance of a stop. Never been to no fairs sin I was a girl bless the Lord nor mean to xcept once when my Betsy went to place and father told me to take her to a show and there was a giant and a dwarf dressed in a green petticoat like a monkey on -an or- gan an I ses to Betsy my dear theys the works of the Lord but they hadnt ought to be shewed but as the works of the Lord to be had in remembrance and dont you think sir as when they shows the works of the Lord theyd ought to begin with a little prayer? There is one salient defect in the East Anglian character which presents an al- most insuperable obstacle to the country parson who is anxious to raise the tone of his people, and to awaken a response when he appeals to their consciences and affections. The East Anglian is, of all the inhabitants of these islands, most wanting in native courtesy, in delicacy of feeling, and in anything remotely resem- bling romantic sentiment. The result is that it is extremely difficult, almost im- possible, to deal with a genuine Norfolk man when he is out of temper. How much of this coarseness of mental fibre is to be credited to their Danish ancestry I know not, but whenever I have noticed a gleam of enthusiasm, I think I have invariably found it among those who had French Huguenot blood in their veins. Always shrewd, the Norfolk peasant is never ten- der; a wrong, real or imagined, rankles within him through a lifetime. He stub- bornly refuses to believe that hatred in his case is blameworthy. Refinement of feeling he is quite incapable of, and with- out in the least wishing to be rude, gross, or profane, he is often all three at once quite innocently during five minutes talk. I have had things said to me by really good and well-meaning men and women in Arcady that would make susceptible people swoon. It would have been quite idle to remonstrate. You might as well preach of duty to an antelope. If you want to make any impression or exercise any influence for good upon your neigh- bors, you must take them as you find them, and not expect too much of them. You must work in faith, and you must work upon the material that presents it- self. The sower soweth the word. The mistake we commit so often is in as- suming that because we sow which is our duty therefore we have a right to reap the crop and garner it. It grows ~ to guerdon after days. Meanwhile we have such home truths as the following thrown at us in the most innocent manner. Tree score? Is that all you be? Why theres some folks as ud tak~ ,you for a hundred wi that hair o you - Mr. Snape spoke with an amount of irri- tation which would have made an outsider A TERRIBLE NIGHT. 107 believe I was his deadliest foe; yet we are really very good friends, and the old man scolds me roundly if I am long with- out going to look at him. But he has quite a fierce repugnance to grey hair. You must take me as I am, Snape, I replied; I began to get grey at thirty. Would you have me dye my hair? Doy! Why that hey doyd, an wuss than that its right rotten, thet is! Or we get taken into confidence now and then, and get an insight into our Ar- cadians practical turn of mind. I was talking pleasantly to a good woman about her children. Yes, she said, theyre all off my hands now, but I reckon Ive had a expense-hive family. I dont mean to say as it might not have been worse if theyd all lived, and wed had to bring em all up, but my meaning is as they never seemed to die convenient. I had twins once, and they both died, you see, and we had the club money for both of em, but then one lived a fortnight after the other, and so that took two funerals, and that come expense-hive! It is very shocking to a sensitive per. son to hear the way in which the old peo- pie speak of their dead wives or husbands exactly as if theyd been horses or dogs. They are always proud of having been married more than once. You didnt think, miss, as Id had five wives, now ~lid you? Ah! but I have though leastways I buried five on em in the churchyard, that I did and tree on em beew/les I * On another occasion I play- fully suggested. Dont you mix up your husbands now and then, Mrs. Page, when you talk about them? Well, to tell you the truth, sir, I really du! But my third husband, he was a man. I don t mix him up. He got killed, fighting youve heerd tell o that I make no doubt. The others warnt nothing to him. Hed ha mixed them up quick enough if theyd interfered wi him. Lawk ah I Hed a made nothing of em! Instances of this obtuseness to anything in the nature of poetic sentiment among our rustics might be multiplied indefi- nitely. Norfolk has never produced a sin- gle poet or romancer.t We have no local * A genuine Norfolk man never aspirates a t when followed by an 7. It is always trew for through, h-oat for throat, tree for three, etc. t I do not forget Crabbe that sweet and gentle versi- fier. But the romantic element is wholly wanting in him. very probably Sir Wili rid Lawson would vehe- mently protest that Crabbe deserves to be reckoned among the greatest of the ereat.. was not his first poem entitled Inebriety? When a child I used to be told that Bloomfields Farmers Boy was equal to Spen 8cr, but I concluded that Spenser must be very dull, songs or ballads, no traditions of valor or nobleness, no legends of heroism or chiv- alry. In their place we have a fright fully long list of ferecious murderers: Thur. tell, and Tawell, and Manning, and Green- acre, and Rush, and a dozen more whose names stand out pre-eminent in the horri- ble annals of crime. The temperament of the sons of Arcady is strangely callous to all the softer and gentler emotions. There still remains something to say. In the minor difficulties with which the country parson has to deal, there is usu- ally much that is grotesque, and this for the most part forces itself into prominence. When this is so, a wise man will not dwell too much upon the sad and depressing view of the situation; he will try to make the best of things as they are. There are trials that are, after all, bearable with a light heart. Unhappily there are others that make a mans heart very heavy in- deed, partly because he thinks- they need not be, partly because he can see no hope of remedy. It is of these I hope to speak hereafter. AUGUSTUS JESSOPP. From Murrays Magatine. A TERRIBLE NIGHT. RUSSIA, gigantic Russia, superb and powerful though she be, nevertheless con- ceals bene,ath her gorgeous robes and imperial grandeur an awful cancer that poisons the happiness, nay even threatens the very existence of the mighty empire. In this vast and magnificent country heroic self-devotion is closely allied to cowardly assassination. The friend we trust, may to-morrow be the murderer des- tined to slay. The hand that clasps yours in kindly pressure, may ere long place the cruel dynamite that will not only destroy the enemies of the nation, but that may inflict infinite suffering, if not death, on hundreds of innocent human beings. To-day the savage cry for blood heeds not that multitudes must be sacrificed to ensure the destruction of one, doomed to die by the decree of a secret and irrespon- sible tribunal. No man now dares trust his fellow. And alas! for the country where such things can be, women as well as men are but too often the perpetrators of cold-blooded and dastardly murders. Therefore it is and conceived a horror of the Facry Queen in con- sequence. io8 A TERRIBLE NIGHT. that in this gigantic, refined, yet barbarous country, events are occurring day by day that offer the most startling contrasts. In the following narratjve the names of persons and places have been changed and the minor circumstances are fictitious, but the principal incidents are, I believe, true. The terrible details were related to me in Russia by a relative of the unhappy woman I call Countess Nariscka. Long residence with an uncle, who for many years was British minister at one of the small European courts, that of C (I purposely avoid giving the name), led to my acquaintance with numerous members of the principal families of Europe. One of my most intimate friends was a count- ess Nadine Fedorovna Nariscka, a young Russian widow, rich, handsome, brilliant in conversation and accomplishments, but as peculiar and eccentric as she was hand- some and accomplished. I suppose the sympathy we mutually felt was produced by the complete con- trast between us; I was fair, quiet, and, as Nadine said, wofully English in all my ways and ideas. My friend, on the con- trary, was fiery, impetuous in speech and action, and changeable as the wind. Her moods were as various as her toilettes. Her very beauty was eccentric. Not a feature was regular nor indeed good, but the too great pallor of the creamy skin seemed to enhance the dusky magnifi- cence of the masses of dark hair coiled around her head, and when some eager thought, some eager word, sent the im- petuous blood coursing through her veins, the deep-set eyes glowed with a light that was electric in its effect on those gazing into their sombre depths. But when an- noyed or bored a not unfrequent occur- rence then the mobile face expressed such scornful and mocking contempt, that all beauty in it seemed marred, and a slight cast outward of one of the eyes became distinctly visible, producing a most unpleasant, even sinister effect. But I loved her well, and even pitied her, for during her dark moods, religion became to her a very torture. At such times her mind seemed agonized by belief in every miserable superstition. She would inflict upon herself the severest penances, the longest and most distressing fasts pre- scribed by the Greek Church. A week later, and she would profess absolute scepticism. Then, intense as was her de- votion to the Russian imperial family, almost slavish indeed, she was almost a Nihilist in the political opinions she ex pressed. The violence of her language on many subjects frequently caused me cruel alarm on her account. I expostulated, but in vain. She laughed at my fears, and only sought occasion to frighten me still more. In truth she was a contradiction both in thought and action. However, her wild, almost savage beau- ty, her tender, even caressing words, won all hearts. She reigned in our little world a queen. Even the women liked her. As for the men, they were her veriest slaves. The brightness of her words, the softness or the anger expressed in her eyes, were lures no man could resist; but apparently she laughed at all, and professed to de- spise them all. A few weeks before the close of her stay at C, a man arrived who, though showing her almost exaggerated devotion, was I am convinced absolutely unin- fluenced by her; while she, on het side, though she treated him wit~ even greater rudeness and brusquerie than others, was in some strange fashion subservient to him, and showed a certain deference to his wishes. He was a countryman of hers a Rus- sian, a Count Xavier Per~tekoff tall, handsome, smooth-faced, smooth-tongued, and singularly accomplished. Though eminently courtly in manner, there was ever something in his flattering speeches and whispered words that inspired me with deep mistrust. I was nearly alone in this opinion, however, for he had ~von- derful success in our little society; nearly every one, from the court downward, pro- nouncing him to be one of the most de- lightful visitors that had ever arrived at C. His stay, however, was not long. He came, he saw, and, I suppose, con- quered. Then he ~vent, and a few days after his departure Countess Nariscka left also. Nadine was very tearful and sor- rowful when wishing me good-bye. You will forget me, my Lina, she said with real feeling in her voice; your life is a happy one. You belong to a good country, to good people. You have a good heart, a good head; whilst I ~ Here she sighed deeply, but would tell me no more. No, no, I cried; yours is the happy life. Young, handsome, rich, with all the world at your feet, you can make of your life what you choose. Your future is in your own hands; you are free to do as you like. Free! she exclaimed, with sombte bitterness; free! How little you know A TERRIBLE NIGHT. 109 the realities of Russian life! Who amongst us is free? The veriest slave is not more bound Here she paused, cast a furtive glance around, and for some seconds was silent. But Lina, she continued, should you ever come to Russia, here are my di- rections both in Moscow and in the coun- try. I give you both, though it is barely possible you should ever find yourself near so remote, so forlorn a spot, in the poorest and ~most thinly inhabited part of our wild country. But my lands are there, my people are there, and I must be there myself soon. Farewell, dear, sweet Lina. Do not forget your Nadine. So my friend and I parted, and, as years rolled on, our severance became complete, and our friendship was but a name, a re- membrance only of the past. These passing years brought many sad changes to me. My dear uncle died, and with him ended my happy life at C. Then sorrows came fast and heavily, bringing bad health in their train. Thus it is that now in my declining years I am a constant wanderer, ever seeking health in change of place and scene. It so hap- pened that having passed several months at Athens, and on the Bosphorus, I accom- panied some Russian friends to Yalta, a charming little town on the Black Sea. I had intended going on with them to Moscow and St. Petersburg, but a few days before their departure I was seized with an attack of fever, so severe that it not only prevented my travelling with them, but would make it imprudent to move for at least ten days or a fortnight. This delay was vexatious, as I had hoped to arrive in Moscow in time for certain grand ceremonies; I had bethought me also of my old friend Countess Nariscka. It was now quite fifteen years since we had been together at C, and nearly ten since we had corresponded. I had learnt that she was still living, very rich and powerful by all accounts. My friends, ~vho were court people, and belonged to St. Petersburg, knew her only by name, as she never appeared at court, and of late years had but rarely inhabited her magnificent palace in Moscow, resid- ing almost entirely on her vast but remote country estate. However, I wrote to her, and hoped soon to hear from her. Troubles never come alone. I was only beginning to recover from the attack of fever when my excellent servant, Giuseppe Moroni, my factorum and courier, received news compelling his instant departure for Italy. Be assured, Excellency, he said, I will return as speedily as possible. In the mean time the proprietor of the hotel here tells me he knows an excellent Rus- sian servant, who well understands travel- ling, and is acquainted with this country. He will take admirable care of the dear lady until I can rejoin her at Moscow. He is, in fact, waiting without, should her Excellency desire to see him. I could but signify my assent. I must erelong move somewhere, for after a cer- tain stage of the malady change of air became essential. In that case equally essential would be the services of a man- servant. Long residence on the Continent had made the acquisition of languages com- paratively easy, and I had mastered suffi- cient Russian for the purpose of travel- ling; but my good old Scotch maid, Sarah Mackay, once my nurse, but for many years my maid, remained angrily faithful to her own tongue. She was usually so indignant at any new foreigner entering our little establishment, that I much dreaded her resentment on this occasion; but affectionate anxiety for me qualified her disapprobation, so instead of being cross and sulky, she was gracious and condescending, smoothing away difficul- ties, making, as she said, the best of things. She emphasized Giuseppes good char- acter of the Russian by declaring he was a weel-faured mon, with a vera smooth tongue in his head. I felt such recommendations from both my servants must be sufficient. The new- comer must be engaged. He was speedily brought into my pres- ence. Serge Kounoff by name, a Russian Tartar by birth. I asked him in Russian a few questions, to which he answered promptly and pleasantly. He knew the country well. Was accustomed to travel. Was convinced he could make her Excel- lency comfortable. His master, a general of division, had a command in the Cau- casus. He, Serge, had to go to Moscow, and was glad of employment, but was in no hurry if the gracious lady wished to travel slowly. He was a good-natured looking fellow. I should have thought his face vacant and rather silly, but for a remarkable pair of little Tartar eyes, so wonderfully sharp and piercing, that they seemed in an in- stant to have noted everything in the room. Every object, before, on either side, even behind him, had been embraced in a series of rapid and intelligent glances. hO A TERRIBLE NIGHT. It was fortunate I could speak a little Russian, for his English was of the weak- est description, and of French and German he professed to be absolutely ignorant. He was not, he said, a courier, only a pri- vate servant. So ~the matter was arranged, and he entered my service at once. To my great relief Sarah really seemed to like him. Never before had she displayed such goodwill towards any foreigner. She un- derstood his broken Encrlish while he divined her queer Scottis~ phrases with equal readiness. So my good Giuseppe departed, and, thanks to his care, though I regretted him much, still as far as com- fort was concerned I was as well attended to as when he was with me. Days past and I got better; but as my health improved, my anxiety to be gone also gained strength. All my friends had now left Yalta, and weakness and loneli- ness caused time to hang heavy on my hands. The fever I had had, is also apt to produce depression, and a tendency to indulge in morbid fears and fancies. Another reason, though one I scarcely acknowledged even to myself, was that I did not like my new servant (notwith- standing his many good qualities) as much as I had hoped to do. It seems a contra- diction, but he was really too clever, too obliging. He seemed ever on the watch to obey my slightest behest. He was ubiquitous. He divined my wishes al- most before they were uttered. He always saw everything. He always heard every- thing. He always knew everything; and I began to feel worried, almost irritated, at such constant surveillance. Yet what could I do? How could I resent service that came from zeal, and from such eager desire to be useful and obliging? At length, understanding my impa- tience, the doctor agreed that if I could get a comfortable carriage, and would make but short journeys, I might leave as soon as I pleased. The energetic Serge speedily found such a carriage, and I set- tled to go first to 5, and there make a halt of some days. The evening before my departure I went for the last time to a favorite spot commanding a superb view of sea and mountains. For some time I sat there motionless, revelling in the perfect beauty and charm of the scene, then leaving my little car- riage, I entered the garden of a villa, with whose owners I was acquainted. The family had returned to St. Petersburg, so the house was closed, and I believed empty. What was therefore my surprise to see Serge, whom I had left at home packing, descend the steps of the verandah in company with a. gentleman whose face was familiar to me, although I could not recall the name. The two were speaking together earnestly, so intently indeed, that though they passed tolerably near, neither saw me. All the way home I puzzled myself over the familiar face. I made a careful mental revision of all the acquaintances I had had at Yalta, but no, this somewhat pecul- iar countenance did not belong to any one I had known here. When I re-entered my rooms, Serge was diligently at work, as if he had never been away, and when I questioned him as to whom he had been talking with at Villa P, it struck me that he was in- clined to deny the fact of having been there. At any rate he hesitated a mo- ment, and then said he had been asking the owner of the carriage about some alterations that were nee~ded. As he spoke, however, full recognition of the face flashed upon me. The stranger was Count Xavier Per& ekoff, somewhat aged, of course, and therefore to a certain ex- tent altered, but the countenance was too remarkable to be ever completely changed. No, no! I exclaimed, the gentle- man I saw is Count Per~tekoff, an old acquaintance whom I have not met for years. Should he be in Yalta, I should like much to see him. Take my card at once, and ask him to do me the favor of calling upon me this evening. The gracious lady shall be obeyed, but there is no one of that name now in Yalta. The person to whom your servant was speaking is Alexis Petewitch Stro- goff, and he by this time is already on his way to Sevastople. I said no more, but I was nevertheless convinced the stranger whom I had seen was my former acquaintance Count Per& tekoff. I could not be mistaken. Not only were the features similar, but the figure, movements, and the peculiar turn of the head were identical. I hardly know why I wished to see Count Per~tekoff again. I had never known him well, nor had I much liked~C him. The wish probably arose from his being associated with days long past, and also I thought he might have told me a out my old friend Nadine. I hoped, however, to see her ere long, and in the bustle and business of prepar- ing for a long journey I speedily forgot this little incident. A TERRIBLE NIGHT. III Serge proved himself an invaluable courier. But notwithstanding all his care my health suffered from the journey. Far from the change, being of use, the attacks of fever were more frequent and more severe, and rendered me day by day weaker and more depressed. On the evening of the fourth day I felt so ill, that continued travelling seemed almost insupportable, and yet, where to stop? The post-house at which we had arrived was the most miserable place I had yet seen. The house belonged to the staroste or chief man of the village. His wife had died but a few hours previous to our arrival, and her corpse was lying in an adjoining chamber. The women as- sembled were crying and howling in a frightful manner; of the men, including the bereaved husband, not one seemed even partially sober. The brandy bottles were handed about, drink being offered liberally to all new coiners. I never saw so revolting, so degrading a scene. To remain there was impossible. I groaned forth my desire to continue our journey, though I knew the next post was a distant one, the roads were terrible, and every jolt caused me exquisite pain. The horses were being harnessed, when Sarah jumped out to see if the carriage could not be drawn into some yard, a little removed from the noisy crowd, so that I might rest quiet, at any rate, for the night; but even that comfort was unattainable; the village was squalid even beyond the generality of small Russian villages. It was a mass of mud and dirt, and reeked with evil smells. It would not be safe to remain in the forest, for the wolves were about, and great packs of them had already been seen in the neighborhood. Whilst Sarah was thus occupied, Serge came to the carriage, and said in a low voice, as if anxious not to be heard by the people about, If the gracious lady would not object, only a few versts from here is the great property of Vlovna, where her Excellency would find herself admirably placed. It belongs to the family Nariscki, and doubt- less Nadine Fedorovna would be glad to receive so distinguished a guest. What! I cried in astonished delight, and feeling better in a moment from hav- ing such good news, the Countess Na- riscka lives near here! she is the friend whom I hope to see in Moscow. Let us go there at once. Serge gave some orders to the coach- man, who was already in his place, and said he would drive on before us to choose the best road, and also to inform the Countess Nariscka of my coming. In another minute he had jumped into a little telega that was standino~ near and had driven off. I sank back in the carriage, inexpressi- bly relieved at the prospect of having some comfortable rest under the roof of a kind friend, instead of having to pass the night in a wretched post-house, or else being obliged to endure for many hours the jolts and jerks of an ill-built carriage. Even this little excitement, however, had made me feel weak and faint, and Sarah returning at this moment, shaking her head, and pulling a long face at the ill-success of her search, devoted herself for the next quarter of an hour to admin- istering sal-volatile, and rubbing my cold hands. At last I fell asleep, and slept until rudely awakened by the violent movements of the carriage. I roused my- self, and called to the driver to go more carefully, and also slower, for we were being dragged at headlong speed over a track that did not deserve the name of road, being but a series of boles and sloughs of mud. The man answered in a patois I did not understand, and only whipped his horses into a more furious pace. I looked out for Serge, but he and his telega had dis- appeared. By the fading light I saw that we ~vere surrounded by forest. As far as eye could reach were interminable vistas of stunted fir-trees. We were evidently traversing one of those desolate tracts that in some parts of Russia extend over thou- sands of versts, and through which one may travel for hours without findino~ hu man habitation. b A sudden terror seized me. Two women in such a lonesome place, absolutely in the power of such a wild creature as the driver, who now, by loud cries and fierce gestures, was urging his horses to in- creased exertion. Again I called to him, and now to entreat to be taken back to the village we had left. It would be better to endure miseries we knew, rather than con- tinue this journey through so dark and ugly a forest. But my entreaties were useless. The man either could not or would not understand. Why had I allowed Serge to go? Why, indeed, had he left us in such a pOsition? Alas! we were helpless. We could but be patient, and hope the best. A drizzling rain was now falling, ad ding to the gloom of approaching night. To give myself courage, and also to comfort Sarah, I told her of our unexpected good 112 A TERRIBLE NIGHT. luck in finding ourselves so near an old friend, for we were going to Countess Nariscka. Sarah expressed herself greatly pleased, and for some time we talked about the comforts we should have later, and so consoled ourselves for present pains. Countess Nariscka is such a true friend, said I, and she is so accustomed to our English ways, that I dare say we shall find ourselves quite at home at Vlovna, and so I was going on, when Sarah with a stifled shriek caught my arm. Oh! dear Miss Selina, my dear, dear child, dont go there! Whatever we do, dont go there! You think I cant understand, but I do. I pick up many things. That is a wicked place. A horrible place. People shudder when it is spoken of. For Gods sake, dont go there! and Sarah, trembling violently, held me tight in an agony of ner- vous terror. Such words were not only an unex- pected shock, but a dreadful one. Still, remembering my dear old friend, I could not believe they could relate to her. Tell me all you know at once, said I decid- edly. What have you heard? What do you know? Closely did I cross-question Sarah, but her answers were both incoher- ent and incredible. I gathered, however, that her alarm was principally caused by fear of ghosts, vampires, and such other evil creatures, so, knowing that like many Highlanders she was a profound believer in witchcraft, evil omens, and sinister por- tents, my mind was somewhat relieved. In little more than another hour we were evidently approaching the confines of the forest. Large, irregular patches of ill-cultivated ground were now visible in the moonlight. Here and there was a miserable hovel, but at this hour of the night neither man nor beast was seen. As we passed through the collection of cabins that might be called the village, we could hear in the sheds an occasional stamping of horses feet, and from the dwellings alongside, larger, though scarce- ly perhaps more cleanly than the stables, we could also hear the heavy snores of their probably intoxicated owners. The place we had left was squalid and wretch- ed, but how much better than that where we now were! But a short distance from the village appeared a great mass of build- ings, and the carriage passing through some lofty wooden doors and entering a courtyard, drew up before the portico of an immense house, a palace apparently in extent. The white fa~ade glittered in the moon- light, great pillars encircled the court, but the same light showed how ruined and dilapidated were the buildings, and all the many ornaments belonging to them. The plaster was peeling off the walls; of the pillars, many were broken; some, in- deed, had fallen, and were lying unheeded on the ground. The wooden roof was partly bleached from age, and was partly green from the mass of weeds and moss with which it was in many places covered. Several of the windows were boarded. In short, this grand house was but a fitting adjunct to the wretched village that belonged to it. Everything testified to hopeless neglect. The very air seemed tainted by the mould and decay around. Alas! poor Nadine, can this be your home? I thought. It was piteous to think one so brilliant, so gifted, so calculated to shine in the world, should be compelled to pass even a portion of~ her life in so deplorable a dwelling, and I gave a sigh for her and another for myself, that we should be obliged to remain, even one night, in a place that seemed little better than a ruin. Several servants in shabby liveries soon appeared. and I was conducted into the house, of which the interior was, more comfortable, and better kept than the ex- terior led one to expect. The vast salon into which I was ushered looked however very bare and cheerless, but then the five large windows without curtains or blinds allowed the dismal landscape without to be seen in all its dreariness. Immediately beneath these windows was a sort of gar- den, if ragged patches of grass, a few half- empty flower-beds, and some groups of stunted bushes, can deserve to be so called Between this and the dark line of forest the moons rays glittered upon sundry patches of water, stagnant pools oozing from the boggy ground, and the moonlight, mingling with the light of the lamps in the salon, gave a curiously weird character to the desolate scene. Nadine Fedorovna will speedily wait upon her Excellency, said a servant. I murmured the necessary civilities in r reply, though feeling somewhat pained at~ so ceremonious and chilling a reception from a friend, once so much attached to me. For some minutes after the servant left I waited patiently; but as time w~ent on, and the mistress of the mansion did not appear, I became nervous and uneas~r. So, rising from my chair, I began pacing up and down the immense apartment. A TERRIBLE NIGHT. I 13 The floor and walls were of yellow marble. Dearest Nadine, say at any rate you Huge chairs, sofas, and tables were ar- are glad to see your old, old Lina once ranged along these walls. Of other signs again; but have you not seen my mes- of habitation there were none, but the air senger, have you not received my letters was warm and agreeable from the gilded to Moscow? stove t~hat stood in one corner. What messenger? What letters? I had made a few turns, and was at the No, no; ye~ no. Oh, Lina! why did extreme end of the room, when I heard you come here? What miserable chance approaching footsteps. I turned quickly, brought you to this~~ as the doors were thrown open somewhat She fell upon my neck in a passion of ceremoniously by a chamberlain or groom tears, and kissed me with an affection that of the chambers, with other servants, and her words belied. a lady entered. I knew not what to feel, what to think. I stood petrified. Could this be Na- Such a reception was as distressing as it dine? This aged, yellow, faded woman? was unexpected. She was wrapped in a dressing.gown of Fortunately at this moment the usual magnificent silk. Costly lace hung about tea was brought in, and there entered at her arms and throat; but gown and lace the same time a harsh-visaged young lady, had been carelessly thrown on, and her whom Nadine shortly introduced as her hair had been negligently twisted beneath da;ne de corn~agnie, Mademoiselle Tat- a chenille net. Round her waist was jana Durscka. knotted a common rope, and to this was The young lady bowed silently, looked attached a multitude of crosses, and little askance at me, and proceeded, to make images of saints, some adorned with jewels the tea. of considerable value, others coarsely Nadine also relapsed into moody si- fashioned in lead or tin. Her whole ap- lence. Occasionally she clenched her pearance was untidy and ill-cared for; but hand, and muttered something to herself; it was the changed face that struck me but she did not speak again to me, and with such infinite pain and amazement, seemed preoccupied with anxious thought. The brilliant, ~vild, bright beauty had ab- I, feeling singularly uncomfortable and solutely gone. Not a trace was left. Sal. distressed, also remained silent. Even low and sunken, the once lovely counte- the hot and refreshing tea failed to have nance had lost all its fresh and beautiful its usual restorative effect, and I only felt outlines. The features were exaocrerated. anxious to go to bed, in order that as early the nose pinched, the mouth swollen; the as possible on the morrow I might quit cast in the eye, once quite bewitching in this inhospitable dwelling. its strange peculiarity, was now simply a As soon as the opportunity occurred, defect and a deformity. The figure had therefore, I shortly and ceremoniously lost all youthfulness of shape, and the asked Nadine if she would give me hospi. hair was streaked with many lines of tality for that night, as I feared the next white. station was too far to permit of my journey But even worse than the loss of mere being continued at so late an hour. beauty was the haggard expression, the Hospitality! cried Nadine, suddenly hopeless misery denoted by that care~vorn rousing herself, bow can you speak so face. It told alike of severe physical cruelly, Lina, as if you did not very well pain, and even greater mental suffering. know that I would gladly give you every- I was stricken dumb. I was motionless thing I possess; ab! everything, every- with amazed distress. But great as was thing, not to have you here, she muttered my surprise, my pain, it seemed nothing to herself in a low voice. as compared with that of Nadine. But, Lina, she continued aloud, why She stared at me for a moment in bewil- did you not come to Moscow, there we dered astonishment, then throwing her might have been so happy together, while arms wildly in the air, she uttered a sharp now I doubt whether you cry. Mademoiselle Durscka, who was. ]eav- Merciful Heaven! is it possible, can ing the table, pushed the tray hastily aside, it really be Selina Browniow! and one of the beautiful teacups falling In spite of the cry, the amazement, the to the ground was broken to pieces. The chnnge d person, I recognized the loving dame de compagnie exhausted herself in feeling of my old friend. the most humble excuses and apologies, I hastened towards her. I seized her to which Nadine paid no sort of attention, outstretched hands. I kissed her witl-~ but darting an angry glance at her, she the hearty enthusiasm of old days. took my arm, and begged me to accom- LIVING AGE. VOL. LVIII. 2972 A TERKIBLE NIGHT. 4 pany her to the bedchamber prepared for me. I was convinced the accident was in- tentional, either to attract Nadines at- tention, or to recall something to her mem- ory. We passed through several salons and ante-chambers, until we arrived at that where I was to sleep. Comfortable for- ti~res hung over the doors and windows. The bed, in German fashion, stood at a considerable distance from the wall, and was quite shrouded by the curtains that were drawn closely around it. The air was warm an corn ortable from the well- managed stove. In an opposite corner, partly hidden by a screen, was a small bed for Sarah. To my surprise, however, Sarah was not there, neither had Serge appeared. I enquired for both, but was told Sarah was having tea. Serge is no doubt drunk by this time, said Nadine quietly, but, my dear, she continued, you and I will have some supper here, away from Tat- jana Andreovnas tiresome company.~~ Several servants now appeared, bring- ing all the materials for supper, and hav- ing arranged a table for two, and placed on it dishes that sent forth a most appe- tizing odor, they withdre~v. To my extreme surprise, before giving any of the meat to me, Nadine examined it most critically; then, with a sudden exclamation, she hurried to the window, opened it, and threw out the whole con- tents of the dish. By the splash that en- sued there was water, a moat probably, on this side of the house. Can she be mad? I thought, and a sud- den fear came over me, as I looked at the wild, haggard face, the untidy costume, the changed appearance of my old friend. But she again took her place at the ta- ble quietly, saying something about the cooks insisting upon putting spices or condiments into some dishes that would be sure to be disliked by, and would prob- ably disagree with, a foreigner. One of our horrid national dishes, she said with a forced laugh. But, I thought, why throw it out of the window? Still I remembered that Nadine had al- ways been eccentric, she had never done anything like other people, and probably our separation for so many years made her actions appear to me even more ex- traordinary than before. Many dishes had been prepared, excel- lent in material, and well cooked, one more of which Nadine threw away; an~l. until all had been examined she was uneasy and restless, but at last we fell back into our old intimacy and talk. As of old, I told Nadine every circumstance connected with my life; and also, as before, while apparently talking most openly about everything, and seeming to give me every confidence, she in reality told me little or nothing. At length she rose to leave. Embracing me most affectionately, even passionately, she whispered in my ear, Mind, Lina, and attend carefully to what I say; do not eat or drink anything, excepting what I give you. Remember what I say, only that which I give you; take nothing from any other person. Our people are not to be trusted. Then promising to send Sarah immedi- ately, she went. I was literally thunderstruck at such a warning. What could she mean? Were there poisoners around my friend, in her own house? Again the idea of insaility occurred to me, and gained ground in my mind, as I remembered all the more than strange peculiarities my old friend had exhibited ever since I had been here. Then how singular it was that I had never seen my servants since my arrival! Sarahs absence, especially, was extraor- dinary. Sarah, who watched over me with such care, and who never before had left me for many hours alone! I was thoroughly perplexed and un- comfortable, and until my faithful attend- ant came, could not resolve to go to bed, although I felt the agueish fever was re- turning, and I was now thoroughly ex- hausted with so much fatigue and emotion. At length I heard somebody coming heavy, vague footsteps that moved awk- wardly over the marble floors. The door opened, and Sarah appeared, bearing in her hand a large silver goblet. But could this be Sarah? My horror was unspeakable. My good, my faithful friend and servant, was absolutely over- powered by drink. She stumbled into the room, and stared wildly and stupidly at me, while the very atmosphere around her seemed infected by the horrid stuff she had been drinkin~ I rushed to her. Oh my dear, dear Sarah! I cried, what have you been doing? You must be ill. You cannot knowingly have done this; and I burst into tears at the sight of such degradation in my dear old friend. I seated her in a chair, and dashed cold water in her face. This seemed to rouse her a little, though not effectually. She A TERRIBLE NIGHT. 5 still grasped tightly the goblet, which con- I but on I must go, as help was absolutely tamed a quantity of sweet ~vine, and mut- necessary, and of course with a servant tered something in an incoherent and there would be no difficulty in returning unconnected manner about its being a to my apartment. sleeping-cup prepared by the hands of, Entering one small room very quickly, and sent me by, Countess Nariscka. a sudden gust of wind extinguished the I tried to take it from her, but she re- candle I carried with me. The moon, sisted my attempt, and before I could however, was shining through the un cur- prevent her, had lifted it to her lips, and tamed windows, and I could see a door taken a long draught. Scarcely had she nearly opposite, towards which I hastened, done so, than she fell back in the heavy all the more comforted as I fancied I sleep, or rather stupor of intoxication, could hear subdued voices. Some per- Seldom had I shed more bitter tears sons, therefore, were awake in this huge than I did over the miserable and shame- wilderness of a house, and I should now ful figure of my dear old friend. She was soon have help. I hurried towards it, hanging partly over the chair. I could and pushing it open, found myself in a not bear to see her thus, so pushing and small gallery overlooking a vast and lofty dragging it along the smooth floor, I man- hall. But I with difficulty restrained the aged to get to the side of my bed, which shriek that nearly burst from my lips, and was the nearest, and placing my poor Sa- I almost fell to the ground with horror at rah upon it as well as I could, I hoped in the appalling scene before me. a few hours she might sleep off the results Was I in Pandemonium? Was I wit- of her terrible condition. nessing a Sabbat of evil spirits~? Could I could not rest myself I was far too the beings before me be really men and disturbed, too pained, tdo unhappy. I women? got out my little book of prayers, and A dense mist partially filled the vast endeavored to soothe and tranquillize my space below, and the air was heavy with mind by reading, and praying over the sulphureous and other evil vapors.. A few beautiful words and meditations it con- smoky lamps ~vere suspended at rare in- tamed. Then I dozed from time to time. tervals against the walls ; but the principal At last I suppose I must have fallen really light came from the lurid flames that burst asleep; but I was awakened suddenly by forth at intervals from a species of furnace hearing deep, half-stifled, but terrible standing upon a table or altar placed at groans from the bed. I hastened to the the far end. side of my poor unhappy Sarah, and found From time to time a hand appeared that though still insensible, she was evi- from the gloom, and threw powder or dently suffering severely, other fuel into this furnace, and then the That she was in a most dangerous con- flames flared upwards with a blue and dition I could not doubt; both her ap. ghastly light, showing distinctly the awful pearance and her convulsive breathing figures that moved around. convinced me of that. I never travelled It was difficult to believe they were hu- without medicines, but in such a case I man beings, so weird and terrific was their knew not what were the necessary reme- aspect. Most were nude to the waist, the dies. few clothes that covered them being little Severe as were the pains, the pressure else than filthy rags. Blackened with dirt, on the brain seemed the most alarming bleeding from recently inflicted wounds, symptom. I dragged aside all the cur- many staggering under the weight of tains, threw open, though with some diffi- heavy chains, they moved slowly about culty, the windows, and then rubbed the their ghostly fire. poor sufferer until she became a little Occasionally a few words were said, easier; but help and medical advice she then the frightful crash of a whip falling must have, upon human flesh was heard, and suc- I searched vainly for a bell; none could ceeded by deep, heart-rending groans from I find, neither was there one in the ante- the unseen sufferer. chamber. At first between terror and astonish- Heedless of the danger of losing my ment, I could hardly distinguish objects; way, and becoming confused in a large, then, to my horror, I perceived that many strange house, I hurried on, leaving the of these wretched beings were women! doors open as I passed. Of what horrible ceremony was I an Some of them, however, were bucked; unwilling witness.? I dared not cry aloud, occasionally, therefore, I had to retrace ~I was far too overwhelmed with terror; I my steps, so I did become very puzzled; moved gently back, hoping to refind the A TERRIBLE NIGHT. door by which I had entered. Carefully I passed my hand along the wall, but neither opening nor lock could I discover. Again and again I tried. The gallery was small, and not an inch had I left unfelt. My poor Sarah! at all risks, however, I must get help for her, and I was about to cry aloud for aid, when my own name spoken distinctly, and by a voice I knew, caught my ear. Your prayer could not be received, Nadine Fedorovna; the Englishwoman, Selina Brownlow, is already dead. Her money was necessary to the cause. Had her life been spared, secrecy could not have been secured. There would have been scandal, and enquiry. It was im- possible, therefore, to accede to your peti- tion. In deference, however, to your wishes her death was ensured by kind and gentle means. Be content, and be silent. The moment of our devotion approaches. The heroism of our nature is about again to be put to the test. We must show by courageous endurance of bodily suffering that our hearts are steadfast to the great cause, and that no tortures that can be inflicted upon us by our enemies the ty- rants, to destroy whom we readily dedi- cate our lives, can suffice to weaken our courage, or force us to betray those who have engaged with us to conquer or to die. Approach those who are prepared. More fuel was cast on the furnace, from which was now shot forth lurid and fitful flames, making visible many long, thin rods of iron that were projecting from it. The speaker seized one with his naked hand, and brandishing it aloft, endured without cry or groan the exquisite suffer- ing it must have caused him. A frenzy now seized the wretched crowd; they threw themselves upon the red-hot bars, burning themselves, burning others, as if they were incapable of feeling, or of un- derstanding what torture meant. Then there was a sullen lull, and low suppressed groans and cries came from the miserable wretches. Through the mist and smoke I could at intervals distinguish the writhing figures beneath. Then the horror of the hideous sight, the axvful sounds, the madness of the scene came upon me also in deepest in- tensity, and in my lofty, gallery I fell crouching in the remotest corner, groaning heavily with those beneath in the agony of their sufferings, and from my own ter- ror-stricken sympathy. But far away, hidden in the dimness of the great height, and by the wreathing smoke, none saw, none heeded me. Again was the voice of the unseen speaker heard. These are the torments we testify can be endured for the cause, he- said in deep, hollow tones, that showed how strongly mental resolve ~vas struggling to subdue bodily anguish. None have fal- tered, none have shrunk affrighted from the stern ordeal. But woe to that man or woman who does retract, who hesitates when the su- preme moment arrives! We swear, and let each man and each woman approach and swear, that whatever be imposed upon them, that duty they will fulfil, be it the sacrifice of husband, wife, child, parent, or of all that life holds dear. Woe to the degraded wretch ~vho fails to obey! We swear that not one torture that can be inflicted on humart frame shall he or she be spared. Then all drew near, and each resolutely took an oath, so awful in its words and character, that I dare not repeat it here. Amidst all my terror, amidst all the ago- nies of my mind, a murmured prayer rose to my lips that Almighty Mercy might not record, might blot out the impious threats, the impious desires. Again there was silence for a few mo- ments; and then the same voice spoke. It were best that the bodies of the two women should be disposed of as se- cretly as possible. As he spoke, there was a sound of steps as of persons moving, then a do or closed, and once more silence fell upon the as- sembly. I know not how long it lasted; it seemed an age, it was probably minutes, when those who had departed reappeared, bear- ing between them a lifeless figure. Oh, my Sarah, my dear, dear, faithful servant! can it indeed be you so cruelly done to death? Oh, my friend, my old once loving friend! is it possible that you have thus violated every law of hospitality, that you have thus requited years of lov- ing friendship? But now many persons, I could not di~ tinguish how many, rushed into the hall in headlong haste. The other, the lady, was said by deep and angry voices, she has gone, she has escaped. The windows were open, she must have fled by the moat. There must be traitors amongst us. And a mutte?ed roar of suppressed fury rolled through the vast ball. A TERRIBLE NIGHT. 7 A seconds pause, a seconds indecision, then the stern and cruel voice of the pres- ident again was heard. We need have no fear. The wolves are about. They are all around. They must already have found their prey. But, and here the cruel voice gave forth its harsh and guttural tones more slowly and more savagely than before, he who quails at the sacrifice of wife, or child, or of all he holds most dear, is unworthy to be the leader of noble and devoted hearts. Bring hither Nadine Fedorovna Pe- r~tekoff. I, her husband, devote my wife to the torture that her weakness and her cowardice have merited. A miserable, trembling woman was pushed, or dragged, before the hideous altar. By the light that came from its quivering flames I could see the con- vulsed; agonized features, the deathly pallor of my most unhappy friend. She fell on her knees. Oh! Xavier, Xavier! pardon par- don! I could not kill her I loved her so. She has been so good to me. She loved me. Ah! none have ever loved me as she has done. She asked of me food and shelter. No, I could not kill her. Oh! Xavier, Xavier! have mercy! I have given you all all. For the love of the Blessed Virgin, spare me this once! By the memory of our dead children, spare me! Kill me if you will, but torture me no more! See how I have suffered, see how I have suffered! No, no, she cried, as she writhed in abject terror on the ground, I can hear no more. Kill me, kill me, for the love of our Merciful Lady! The wretched creature burst into bitter tears, and tossed her arms wildly in the air. Then I saw the scarred and tortured flesh, the twisted and distorted limbs, the hide- ous tokens of mans sinful lust for power, of his wicked crushing of wretched instru- ments in order to carry out his own ends. Without replying, he who stood before the altar, the man who in the world was the fascinating, accomplished Count Xa- vier Per~tekoff, the husband of the beau- tiful and wealthy Countess Nariscka, now the avowed leader of a band of traitorous assassins and self-torturers, seized a large and heavy whip. I heard the rush the thongs made as they were whirled through the air. I heard the horrid thud as they fell upon the bared shoulders of the victim. A shrill scream broke the silence, and again the awful weapon descended. I could endure no more I could for bear no longer. - Nadine! Nadine! I shrieked. I am here, I am here! You shall not suffer for me. Let them kill me if they ~vill. God will avenge me. God will punish their ~vicked cruelty; but you shall not be tortured for me Again I shrieked loudly in the exquisite agony of my mind. Then a mist came over me, and I fell to the ground; but hardly had the words left, my lips when there was a sudden rush from below. I was surrounded by a horde of blackened and half-naked savages. They seized me, they dragged me down. They pulled me to the spot where my unhappy friend, dabbled with blood, lay before the glow- ing furnace. A cruel smile curled round the lips of one who in days gone by had never opened them to me, save to utter flattering speeches or honeyed words. You dare be present at a meeting of the Secret Society! You dare pretend to save one justly condemned! Know that you are yourself doomed, and quick as lightning a long, sharp knife ~litte~ed in his upraised hand. The steel just grazed my forehead, as I was dashed to the ground, dragging an- other victim upon me in my fall. A deep, hollow groan; a hideous stream of blood, and then, as if the demons of this awful Pandemonium had been let loose upon us, yells and curses rent the air. The doors were dashed inwards, a sudden rush of men poured into the hall. Blows and shrieks resounded on every side; strong men were hurled backwarcts, and cast to the ground by the powerful force brought against them. Women fought like de- mons, but were remorselessly shot, or cut down by the sword. But few minutes elapsed ere the whole hand was overpow- ered. Not a man escaped, and then Serge yes, Serge came to me, no longer my servant, but now arrayed in gorgeous uniform, the officer in command of the attacking party. The keen, searching eyes seemed yet more keen, as they looked resolutely and fiercely around. The firmly closed mouth, the square, strong jaw, now seen, made the features I had once thought vacant, appear stern, severe, and implaca- ble. A carriage awaits you, madame, he said, as he raised me from the ground, and an escort through the forest will ensure your safety. You will pardon the deception I was forced to practise in or- der to unearth this nest of assassins and traitors. Without your unconscious aid we could not have made the necessary arrests. This great duty compelled me, xiS A TERRIBLE NIGHT. though most reluctantly, to deceive you. It needed not much skill to see that By taking the place of your servant, and life was now ebbing fast. Her sorrows so selling you into the power of my friend and her pains were now fast drawing to a Count Per& tekoff, and here he laughed close. a low, cruel laugh, I was enabled to Each breath sent the life-blood rushing take these wretches red-handed, and so from the gaping wound she had received ensure the fate they have so long richly in saving my life. The convulsive sob deserved. with which she drew this breath, the While he spoke, the prisoners were slowly glazing eyes, said that death was being removed, and at this moment very near. Count Xavier Per~tekoff, heavily mana- I raised her poor head. I pressed her cled, blackened with smoke, and still against my heart. I kissed the suffering bleeding from the many wounds he had face, over which the grey shadow of the received during the desperate struggle, last moment was now fast descending. was being forced from the room. The fading eyes sought mine. The pal- He turned, ere his captors could drag lid lips quivered, and she struggled to him through the doorway, and raising his speak. shackled hands, shook them at his wife My Lina, she faintly murmured, and myself with an expression of savage God be praised! I die in loving arms. hate, that will remain with me to my dying This this is rest. day. But even as she spoke a sudden terror Fool and coward, he said, may you came upon her. She started in wild alarm. die the death you so well merit and I For Gods dear sake, a priest!~ she I curse myself for having been such a cried, a priest to hear my confession. miserable fool as to trust a woman. To absolve me from my great sins! Even as he spoke, another prisoner, a The crimson stream poured fast from yet more hideous object than himself, her lips she sank back gasping and from bleeding wounds and from impotent suffocated by the strangling blood. fury, in whom nought told of woman save Again I raised her, signing to Serge to the long hair streaming down her back, hold before her, so that her dying eyes pressed a little forward, and whispered in might rest upon them, the little image and his ear. It was the dame de com~agnie, crucifix that every Russian soldier carries Tatjana Andreovna Durska. over his heart. Yes, yes, he muttered, you perhaps The lips quivered yet more weakly, are faithful. Faithful, he added with a slowly and faintly came the word, grim laugh, for we shall share the~ gal- Forgive lows and the hangman, or, still worse, the A quick convulsion passed over the mine. livid features. A sharp spasm shook the I turned to Serge. hitherto motionless limbs. Again the I cannot go, I said resolutely, with- blood rushed in a purple torrent trom her out my dear companion and servant; nor mouth. A momentary but desperate can I at present leave my poor friend, who struggle for breath, and then one of the is, I fear, severely wounded. most beautiful and gifted women I have I was kneeling upon the ground, and ever known lay dead upon the floor of her supporting the head of my unhappy and own hall, a victim to the cruel and selfish unconscious Nadine. ambition of the man to whom she had Poor wretch! Serge replied, looking given everything. carelessly at the miserable object before Serge would not permit longer delay. him. She has been only a tool, and a He hurried me from the ghastly scene, victim. These traitors have long suspect- where the body of my unhappy friend was ed her, and but for her wealth, which they only one amongst the many dreadful oh- could not get at without her aid, would jects that lay around. ere this have accomplished her death. A carriage was in waiting, in which had But they have tortured her into silence already been placed my poor Sarah, still and submission. Her heart was good, insensible from the effects of the poison- and she was faithful to our father, the ous narcotics that had been administered czar. Still it is better as it is. Justice to her. could not now have spared her. Scarcely had I taken my seat, than the Oh, merciful Heaven! how that grace- horses started at a hand-gallop. A de- ful, beautiful creature had been tortured! tachment of dragoons closed around, and How maimed and lacerated was that once by the faint light of the dawn that was nov~ exquisite form! gleaming palely between the stunted trees AN OLD FRENCH HOUSE. 9 of the forest, we were rapidly borne away from the spot where I had passed hours of such infinite agony a night so infinitely terrible. ANDREE HOPE. From The Spectator. AN OLD FRENCH HOUSE. IL AFTER the death of the young Marquis de C, his mothers existence became less solitary, though not less formal, than it had been in his lifetime. Her aunt, the old Marquise de B, came to live with her; her cousin, the Comtesse dO, paid her long visits; a few old friends, models of propriety, came often to stay with her. Sometimes younger friends and relations ventured for a few days into the stately precincts of G, brought by that strong family affection and dutifulness which is so large a part of French charac- ter. And these young people must have needed all their principle to support life at all in such a freezing atmosphere. The rigid punctuality of the house, for in- stance, directed by old servants with whom no one dared to find fault, must have been almost beyond the attainment of ordinary mortals. You might be out walking in the woods on an enchanting day in spring; the free country outside those walls, the distractions of wild flow- ers, might have made you linger a little longer than was prudent. Then, as you were turning in at one of the park gates, still a long way from the chateau, the din- ner-bell would begin to ring at half past five, and you would know that you had committed one of the unpardonable sins, you were late for dinner. You might hurry back and rush into the chateau by a back door; but nothing could save you now. When you came down the great white staircase, you could see through an open door the party sitting at dinner un- conscious of you. You went in and took your place; no one looked up or seemed to perceive your entrance; there was a dead silence, which made the bravest cul- prit tremble with nervousness. In a few minutes, probably, the talk was resumed; but nobody addressed the late comer. You were in disgrace for the whole even- ing, though you might be thirty or forty years old. Madame de C was not rich, and she was extremely charitable, so that the state kept up at G was a very differ- ent thing from what it had been in the days before the Revolution. She had, in fact, only about I,Soo a year; but such an income, to this day, goes very much farther in France than in England. She had a first-rate man cook, two vale/s de cha,nbre, each of these, one must re- member, housemaid, butler, and footman rolled into one, and doing three times the work of an Englishman. There were also two or three maids in the house, a dairy- maid, a coachman, a gardener, a game- keeper, and five or six men under them. The daily life of the mistress of the house began at six every morning, when she got up and went to mass at the church in the town. After that, she visited the poor, and the little hospital she had built, which was entirely supported by her. She was back at the chateau before the church clock struck ten ; its last stroke was immediately followed by the breakfast bell, and then, for what reason I do not know, the church clock struck the hour a second time. Af- ter breakfast, the marquise and her guests went into the salon, cold and bare as it has been described, its only relics of splendor being the very fine family portraits, and the beautiful carving of the panelled walls. Here the ladies were all obliged to sit at needlework till two oclock; and the men staying in the chateau, if they were well behaved, sat there too, and entertained the ladies; but, not unnaturally, they very often found this too much for them, and escaped to the outer world. At two the mornings bondage ended; people scattered and did what they pleased. Ma- name de C went to her own affairs; sometimes she took a drive with one or two congenial spirits. After dinner, which was at half past five, the poor ladies sat down again to their needlework, the rebel- lious men escaping to smoke, if they could manage it without being found out, for one can easily understand that smoking was not a practice encouraged at G. At nine oclock, the whole party played a round game, and this lasted till the clock struck ten, when the marquise wished her friends good-night. Then they all lighted the candles in their flat candlesticks, and set off to bed. All this sounds dismal enough, but the place and the life had their redeeming fea- tures too. The house had a kind of his- toric grandeur and beauty mingled with its sadness, for certainly it was sad; the shadow of its mistresss sorrow hanging over it like a cloud. Yet the talk was often most cheerful and agreeable, as it could not fail to be among well-bred French people, and the warm sun shone on 120 AN OLD FRENCH HOUSE. the great white walls, and streamed into the high rooms, and along the broad red corridors hung with pictures of the past. Outside, too, the place had its beauty; on the south terrace were two rows o fine, bushy orange-trees, tall and stately like the house; and in the park below, green and bright and shady, the long avenues of trees seemed to lead to unknown dis- tances; they, and the beautiful mysteri- ous charmi//es in full foliage, seemed like the approaches to some hidden fairy pal- ace. Then, not all Madame de C--s friends and companions were of the same ascetic spirit as herself. The younger guests at the chateau used to fly for sym- pathy and amusement to the oldest person in the house, who yet was the youngest and merriest, the Marquise de B. In her little apartment at one end of the ch~- teau, she used to sit and tell her stories, recollections of her long life, which would have been quite impossible in the draw- ing-room, in the hearing of Madame de C. Her father was an Austrian noble, and she had royal blood in her veins. About the year ~ he enraged his family by falling in love with France and a French lady, gave up a brilliant marriage they had arranged for him, bought large estates in France, and wished to spend the rest of his life there. But the Revolution interfered with that. He and his wife were living in Paris with their little girl, who was about four years old. One day she was sent out driving in her mothers berline, with servants to take care of her, when the carriage was stopped by a mob, who seized the little girl, perched her on the car of the God- dess of Reason, and drove her about all day in triumph. The little lady herself enjoyed this adventure immensely; but it was too much for her father and mother. Having got their child back, which they did not succeed in doing till the next day, they immediately left Paris, and took ref- uge at the court of Hungary, where their child was brought up; and many stories, more amusing than edifying, she had to tell of her young days. In the end, she married a French 6;nzgr/, the Marquis de B, and so came back to France. They succeeded in getting back some part of their property, but had very little money. Madame de B used to tell that, after her arrival in her husbands half-ruined chateau, she had been trying to find a woman as cook, at very low wages, when one day an oldish man came to offer him- self. She answered: Impossible; nous sommes ruin~s, et je ne cherche quune tr~s modeste cuisini?re. Je ne pourrais pas payer un cuisinier. Oh, madame la Marquise, said the man, jai 6t~ le cixisinier de Madame Dubarry, et je ne pense pas me r~signer ~ entrer dans une maison ordinaire. Si vous voulez me prendre, jaime mieux vous servir sans gages! Madame de B had lost her husband and two sons, and was left alone in the world, before she came to live with her niece; but she had not lost her wit and fun, or her love of the world and its ways, and she certainly was a foreign element in the Chateau de G. While she lived there, it was at least possible to laugh; and the young relations perhaps found the old aunts stories not less de- lightful because they were stolen pleas- ures, like smoking, quite shut out from the great rooms down-stairs. But I must not linger on these recollec- tions of days which look actually bright in contrast with the deeper twilight that fol- lowed them. Madame de B died a very old~ woman, lively and charming to the last. The old friends passed away one by one, leaving the marquise much more lonely, and then, the last great trouble of her life, came the war of 1870. A bat- tle was fought close by, the little town was occupied, and the Prussian general quartered himself and his officers in the chateau, with his artillery in the park. The poor marquise, though treated after- wards ~vith great respect, received a shock on the first day which she never recovered. The first soldier who entered the ch~.teau took her roughly by the shoulders and pushed her aside. She was able and ready, however, to devote herself to the care of the wounded, and when the Ger- mans had left, taking her horses with them, she turned the house into a hospital. She also nursed the many victims of the small-pox, which broke out with great violence towards the end of the war. A faithful friend who came to her as soon as the state of the country would allow, found her strangely changed from her former self. Her spirit was broken, the old stern- ness and stiffness were gone, and she had become quite gentle and affectionate. But all the old life was over; each year as it ~C went by, as the marquise gradually failed in body and mind, seemed sadder to those who went there to visit and watch over her. A visit to G in winter, it was something formidable of its kind. As I have said, the place was remote from rail- roads; and this visit began with a drive INCIDENTS OF THE EARTHQUAKE. 121 of more than thirty miles, twelve miles of and San Jose de Cucuta, with all the which went straight through one of the neighboring towns, was destroyed on May forests of that country. And a drive i6i8, 1875. Still, these are exceptions through such a forest in summer is beau- to a very general rule, and there was no tiful and charming enough; but in the real reason to expect that the severe dark, grey winter, it is a Very dreary ex- shocks of February 23rd would be re- perience. The carriage hardly ever met peated on the following day, or after. Of a single living thing; a stray huntsman, course, where houses and hotels were ren- perhaps, or a party of woodcutters, or a dered actually uninhabitable the inmates frightened deer rushing into a thicket. had no choice but to decamp; but this And then G itself, the old servants was not invariably, or even usually, the dead or in second childhood, their mis- case. It must be owned that life on the tress failing fast, the doors in the corridor Riviera is not bracing to the nerves. The all shut, the damp alleys of the park de- pure pursuit of health or of pleasure was serted. Cold winds blew straight through never supposed to make heroes ; and then the house, which stands on a hill, and it there is all the rest the sun, the orange- required some courage to come out of trees, the blue, tideless sea, the/ar niente, one s room, ~vrapped in shawls, and walk the small talk of the table d/zdle, the sus- along the freezing, silent passages, and pension of all active duties, of all habitual down to the great empty halls below, where obligations what wonder if the sum total immense wood fires blazing up the chim- produce enervation? Then, too, there neys only seemed, in some mysterious was the sense of absolute security. As a way, to make the house more lonely still. matter of fact, the Genoese coast expe- It is all over now. G has passed rienc~d a sharp earthquake iii 1819, and into other and younger hands; the mar- from very ancient times the peasants have quise is at rest. Perhaps, when another believed that the so.called Monte Nero, century has gone by, another chapter in which rises behind Ospedaletti, is an un the history of the old house more or developed volcano. But confidence was less eventful, who knows ? may be told the order of the day, and any one who in from another memory. E. the last hours of the carnival had hinted at a Ligurian Casamicciola would have been laughed to scorn. So everything combined to heighten the effect of the awakening, and, obedient to the first un- From The Saturday Review, controllable impulse of fear, the tens of INCIDENTS OF THE EARTHQUAKE. - thousands fled. THE earthquake on the western Riviera Meanwhile, in the little mountain vil- will be always memorable for the oppor- lages ~vhere for the most part not one tunities it gave of studying the contagion tourist has ever set foot, the real sufferers of fear among educated people. Most were beginning to count up their dead, and persons are as unwilling to acknowledge bring aid, if haply aid might be brought, that they are without presence of mind as to their wounded or dying. The earth- that they are without a sense of humor; quake had left erring Monte Carlo with and, when all is going on well and smooth- hardly a stone displaced, to wreck ruin ly, we are apt to think that there is some- on these humble homes, on these pious thing savage in panic, something, at any folk, the majority of whom were engaged rate, only partly civilized, and more proper ia saying their prayers. Some very sen- to the unwashed stratum of society than ous 4amage was done in several of the to our superior selves. But, alas! that less frequented of the coast towns, notably shaking on Ash Wednesday morning at Porto Maurizio; but the great calamities threw the thousands and tens of thousands were reserved for the adjacent village of of winter visitors to the sunny south into a Diano Marina, and the small mountain state of utter terror which sent them flying hamlets of Bussana, Baiardo, Castellaro, in all directions, when a moments calm Ceriana, San Romolo, Taggia Alta thought would have enabled them to see names unknown to English travellers, that, for their own comfort and con- with the exception of Taggia, where many venience, they would in most instances English pilgrims have gone to see the have done much better to stay where they house of the Signora Eleanora in Dr. were. Serious earthquakes do sometimes Antonio ~ the house where Ruffinis come in pairs; Canton was convulsed on mother, the original of that beautiful char- the 26th and 27th of May, 1830; Peru and acter, lived, and where Ruffini himself died Ecuador suffered on August 1315, i86~, two or three years ago. It is now a heap 122 INCIDENTS OF THE EARTHQUAKE. of ruins. It was strange to see at Taggia on the crumbling walls scraps of the hand- bills which the previous day had invited the belle ragazze to the rustic carnival dance. At Diano Marina the dead amounted to two hundred and fifty. The unfortunate fishing village lies now amongst its cac- tuses and rich southern vegetation with the quiet sea washing its shore a picture of desolation. Most of the men were away in their boats, so that the victims were chiefly women and children. The survivors, who have lost their all, are calm and do not beg; they hide even their tears from the gaze of the curious. Here and elsewhere the behavior of the Ligu- nan population in the midst of this sore trial has been admirable. The cases of theft and pillage which often disgrace humanity on such occasions have been almost absent, and almost everywhere the people have worked nobly at the perilous task of searching for the wounded and discovering the dead. Many lives have been lost in attempts at rescue. At Diano an old Garibaldian named Bono was killed in this way; in another place six members of a rescue party were crushed to death. Needless to say that the conduct of the military despatched from Genoa to assist in the work of mercy was beyond all praise. Once or twice there was some difficulty in persuading the peasants to help in burying their poor dead in the rough and ready fashion which alone was possible. At Baiardo, a village cradled among snow - capped mountains nearly three thousand feet above the sea, where the victims numbered two hundred and twenty-six, it was necessary to threaten a general cremation to induce the people to place the bodies in the two monster graves dug for their reception. One poor woman, who had dragged what was left of her husband to her house, absolutely refused to part with it until a rude coffin had been knocked together so as to give it the honors of a separate burial. At Castel- laro, a hamlet of eight hundred souls, sit- uated on a mule-track above Taggia, high mass was being said, and the old priest was reciting the last prayers at the altar, when he heard a tremendous noise, and instinctively he rushed out by the door leading to the presbytery. Afterwards, signore, he said, when relating his expe- rience, oh! afterwards ~ a burst of sobbing stopped his utterance; presently he added, I had baptised them all; I looked upon them as my children, and they were dead, all at once!, A.few of the men had escaped by taking refuge under the arches of the side altars, the rest were crushed by the roof falling in, which happened instantaneously. The priest scrambled on to the ruined stones, and cried in a loud voice, My children, trust in Gods mercy. I absolve you all in arliculo inortis. At Baiardo the church fell at the moment when the priest was distributing the ashes, according to custom on Ash Wednesday. Three hun- dred were buried. Some days after some women were seen kneeling on the road which overlooks the cemetery of Baiardo; when asked what they were about, one old dame replied simply, Preguoma pei morti nostri; me figgieu ~ la. (We pray for our dead; my son is there.) At Pom- peiana the safety of the inhabitants was due to their being in church; for the three aisles were solidly constructed, and re- sisted, while the hamlet was reduced to ruins. At Apricale and at Ceriana the churches fell in; but no pne was hurt, because, in the one case, the priest had been suddenly sent for to take the viaticuin to a dying person, and all his congregation had followed him to form part of the pro- cession, and, in the other, mass had been deferred, the parroco having to perform a funeral. At Bussana, where, unlike most of the places, the people were too terror- stricken to help in the rescue, which was effected solely by soldiers, several people were got out alive after a confinement of two or three days. A mother and daugh- ter thus rescued thought that they had been immured for only half a day. A young man, who had lain quite naked for two days and a half in a narrow but secure crevice, was hardly freed when he sprang to his feet, and when offered a bottle of ~vine exclaimed eagerly, Is it for me? On receiving an answer in the affirmative, he swallowed most of the contents. In a house in the same village were found be- neath the ruins two brothers clasped in a last embrace. Only the hand of one of them had been left uncovered. These brothers had a little tame sparrow; the shock of the earthquake opened its cage, so that the bird, flying forth, escaped in safety. There it was, perched on the out- stretched hand of its dead master. At Ceriana a poor man, who earned his living as a milk-carrier, was supposed to have gone on his ordinary rounds, on which he started at four oclock in the morning. No one, therefore, thought of ,inquiring about him; but the fact was that having taken a glass or two of wifle in honor of the carnival, he had overslept JUBILEE YEARS. 123 himself, and was still asleep when his cottage fell down upon him. He had a large dog, which drew the little cart bear- ing the milk up the mountain paths, and the dog by chance was outside and safe. He found out where his master lay, and succeeded in clearing the masonry so as to uncover his head, which was bleeding. He then set to work to lick the wounds; but, seeing that they went on bleeding, and also that he could not liberate the rest of the body, he started in search of help, running up and down among the surround- ing ruins till he met some one whom he caught hold of by the clothes. The man, however, thought the dog was mad, and lied for his life. Luckily another man guessed the truth, and allowed himself to be guided to the spot. Thus the poor milk-carrier was saved, and the ex-minis- ter of public works, Signor Genala, paid a visit to him where he lay, under a tent, with his head bound up and his dog stretched by his side. Signor Genala, it may be added, won the hearts of these unhappy people by his prompt arrival on the scene, and by the obstinacy with which he insisted on visit- ing all the most dangerous places, where the walls were still falling. He is a young man, a native of Cremona; it is not many years since we heard him make his maiden speech at Monte Citorio. His gallant conduct has been much appreciated by the country and by the king, who, daunt- less himself, is a keen admirer of personal courage in others. From chambers Journal. JUBILEE YEARS. EIGHTEEN hundred and eighty-seven will be a year of jubilees. Among the things which will see their fifty years life between now and Christmas, and which have proved of immense advantage to the community, will be the practical applica- tion of electricity as a means of communi- cation, the introduction of phonography by Isaac Pitman, and the establishing of building societies. Concerning the utility of these to the nation, or in the case of the two first-named it might be said, re- specting their usefulness to the entire world, that it is scarcely necessary to write a single word, their advantages to the human race being so well known. By means of the electric telegraph, the antip- odes is practically brought within speaking distance of our shores; Pitmans phonog~ raphy has revolutionized the newspaper press; and building societies have proved of immense benefit to the thrifty among the working classes. The jubilee of these will no doubt be fittingly celebrated dur- ing the present year; but the jubilee for which 1887 will be remembered in English history will be the completion of the fifty years reign of Queen Victoria. A royal jubilee is riot an every-daly oc: currence, and hitherto only three o glands monarchs have lived to rule for fifty years over the nation namely, Henry III., who sat on the throne for fifty- six years; Edward III., who lived for six months after completing his jubilee; and George III., who reigned for sixty years. Because, therefore, of its rarity, a sov- ereigns jubilee is always made the occa- sion of general rejoicing. Respecting the celebration of Henrys fifty years rule, very little is recorded; but concerning that of Edward we learn that he laid hold of that era as the occasion of hjs perform- ing many popular acts of government; that he had given orders to issue out gen- eral and special pardons without paying any fees, for recalling all exiles, and set- ting at liberty all debtors to the crown and all prisoners for political matters. The Parliament, on their parts, not to be want- ing ingratitude, having obtained their peti- tions, on the day of their rising presented the king with a duty of twenty-six shil- lings and eightpence upon every sack of wool for three years, besides continuing the former duties upon wools, fells, and skins. This year (1377), being a year of jubilee, was spent in hunting throughout the great forests of En~land and other magnificent diversions, in which the king laid out an immense sum.~~ By reason of the progress of civilization, and the consequent facilities for chron- icling important events slow though they were particulars as to how the jubilee of George III. was celebrated are more plentiful than in the case of either of the sovereigns to which we have referred. How best to celebrate King Georges fifty years reign caused no little concern to his Majestys subjects. The occasion was indeed an auspicious one, for a like occur- rence had not taken place in England for nearly four and a half centuries. As may be imagined, suggestions almost without number were made as to what would be the most fitting manner in which to cele- brate so interesting and rare an event. Among the proposals made was one which sounds somewhat droll to our minds - it was that each loyal citizen of London 124 JUBILEE YEARS. should attire himself in Windsor uniform on the day of jubilee; and that the ladies should array themselves in dresses of royal-blue velvet or satin, and should be- deck their headdresses with devices em- bleinatical of the occasion. When we consider the grotesque appearance which the streets would have presented had the suggestion been carried out, we can hardly suppress a smile at the absurd idea, though the proposal appears to have been brought forward in all earnestness, and to have been received with the utmost sober- ness. Among the suggestions which were car- ried into l)ractice was one as is custom- ary on the occasion of incidents of national interest that a medal should be struck to commemorate the event. This bears on the obverse a bust of the king, together with his title and the dates of his acces- sion and jubileeOctober 25, 1760, and October 25, 1809, respectively. On the reverse is a representation of England as fame seated on clouds and triumphing over mortality. There is likewise a throne, illuminated by rays from heaven, and a centenary circle, one half of which shows the duration of his Majestys reign up to that period. The imprisonment of debtors for small liabilities was at that time a pressing so- cial evil. The Morning Post drew atten- tion to the matter, and suggested that the best way of celebrating the kings jubilee would be for the residents in London to subscribe a sufficient sum of money to release the persons confined for debt in the City. The debtors were some seventy-t~vo in number, and their liabilities amounted to a little more than two thousand pounds. The proposal met with hearty approval; and the nccessary amount was speedily subscribed. In other parts of the country the same suggestion was acted upon; and his Majesty was so much in favor of the scheme, that he gave two thousand pounds out of his privy purse for the release of poor debtors in England and Wales, the distribution of the money being intrusted to the Society for the Relief of Persons confined for Small Debts. He likewise appropriated one thousand pounds for a similar purpose in Scotland, and one thou- sand pounds in Ireland, out of funds re- maining at his disposal. His Majesty further signalized his fifty years rule by other gracious acts; for instance, he granted a free pardon to all deserters from the army and navy, without the severe condition usually attendant thereon of serving upon the most odious stations; and all persons confined for mil- itary offences were released. He likewise granted the officers of the army and navy a general brevet promotion; that of the navy consisting of five admirals, ten vice- admirals, ten rear-admirals, t~venty post- captains, and twenty commanders, all being taken in regular succession from. the top of their respective lists. Persons imprisoned for debts due to the crown were also released, except those whose cases were distinguished by peculiar cir- cumstances of violence or fraud, as well as all instances of official delinquency; the latter exception being made on ac- count of a determination arrived atby his Majesty never to screen from punishment those who had abused the power derived from him to the injury of his subjects. All prisoners of war hitherto on parole were permitted to return to their own countries, except the French, who were debarred the privilege because of the un- paralleled severity of their r~uler in detain- ing all British subjects in France. The nation generally gave vent to its loyalty on the occasion of the kings jubi- lee, and high festival was held throughout the country, the Englishmans character- istic of celebrating important or interest- ing events by feasting being extremely prominent. In the metropolis there were municipal pageants, splendid illumina- tions, and abundant feasting. The lord mayor (Sir Charles Flower) proceeded in state to a thanksgiving service at St. Pauls; and salutes of artillery, fired by regular troops and by corps of volunteers, went on for a great part of the day. Treats were given to the inmates of the various charitable institutions, and innumerable private hospitalities took place. Services~ were held at the Protestant, Roman Cath- olic, and Jewish places of worship; and perhaps the most touching incident con- nected with these was that witnessed in the Jewish synagogue, where a sermon ~vas preached from Leviticus xxv. m~: In the year of this jubilee ye shall return every man into his possession. The whole of the twenty-first Psalm was after- wards sung to the tune of God Save the King. Windsor, the royal borough, was the ~C scene of great rejoicings. As early as six oclock in the morning the sound of trum- pets was heard; and later in the day the bells of the various churches rang merry peals, and a parade of household troops, militia, and volunteers took place. Be- tween eight and nine oclock, the king, queen, and members of the royal family JUBILEE YEARS. attended service in the private chapel; and subsequently, the queen, Princess Elizabeth, and others, drove to Frogmore to inspect the preparations for a f& e, on their way passing under triumphal arches and between lines of soldiers. The fete, which was held in the evening, was given by the queen, and was attended by a select circle of guests. At one oclock the queen, with a brilliant retinue, and the mayor and corporation of Windsor, walked to the Bachelors Acre a large piece of vacant ground near the centre of the town where an ox and some sheep were roast- ing whole, the former having been put on the spit at two oclock in the morning, so that it might be cooked by one in the after- noon. The royal party were received by fifty bachelors, ~vho conducted them to the fire at which the ox was roasting, after which they inspected the culinary arrange- ments. The butchers who had charge of the cooking of the ox and sheep, the latter of which were put on the fire at nine oclock, and were stuffed with potatoes, were (shade of Beau Brummell!) dressed in blue frocks and silk stockings. When the animals were ready, they were distrib- uted among the crowd in the presence of the royal party, who were offered and graciously accepted the first slices, the same being served up to them on silver plates by the butchers and bachelors. Afterwards, the distinguish ed company were entertained to a private banquet; and subsequently they returned to the castle. Of course, rejoicings of this character would at that time have been incomplete without the old English sport of bull-bait- ing being indulged in, and accordingly we find that this barbarous diversion was provided for the afternoons entertainment. In the course of the day, fifty pieces of cannon were discharged in Windsor Park, and there ~vas a royal inspection of troops and great feu de joie in the Long Walk. At night the town was brilliantly illumi- nated. The fete at Frogmore ~vas a grand affair, and the pyrotechnic display on the banks of the lake at the conclusion of the rejoicings was very fine. Among the illuminated structures ~vas an elegant Gre- cian temple, which, we are told, was erected on a mount surrounded by eight beautiful marble pillars. The interior of the temple was lined with purple, and in the centre was a large transparency of the Eve of Providence, fixed as it were upon a portrait of his Majesty, surmounted by stars of lamps. Tea and ceffee were served in marquees, and supper was pro- vided in the dining-rooms at miclnr~ht. 125 We also learn that at the close of the fire- works display two cars or chariots drawn l)y seahorses, in one of which was a figure representing Britannia, in the other a rep- resentative of Neptune, appeared majesti- cally moving on the bosom of the lake, followed by four boats filled with persons dressed to represent Ti-itons, etc. These last were to have been composed of chor- isters, who were to have sung God Save the Kino on the ~vater, but, unfortu- nately, the crowd assembled was so im- mense, that those who were to have sung could not gain entrance. Like celebrations took place in the vari- ous towns throughout the country, the proceedings in each instance to a great extent necessarily resembling each other. The day was generally observed as a na- tional holiday; and in almost all corporate towns a civic procession to the church or cathedral was one of the chief features of the occasion; whilst in those places in which military were stationed, numerous volleys were fired by the soldiers in honor of the event. Feasting was indulged in to an enormous extent by all classes, the poor being entertained by their more wealthy neighbors; and the inauguration of charitable institutions and benevolent societies was a characteristic of the jubi- lee. In keeping ~vith the custom of the times, ox-roastings took place all over the country; and good old ale was distrib- uted with the greatest lavishness. In rural districts, most of the nobility and gentry kept open house, and provided entertainments for their poorer neighbors; employers feasted their servants, and the -ing, and long life to him, was toasted with the utmost enthusiasm throughout the land. Dancing was car- ried on upon the village green; and balls, bonfires, and pyrotechn~c displays con- cluded the rejoicings of a day on ~vhich high and low, rich and poor, had vied with each other in showing loyalty to their sovereign. This was the last royal jubilee witnessed in England. But on the 20th June next, fifty years will have elapsed since our present ruler, then a girl of eighteen, as- cended the throne; and how most fitly to celebrate the event is a problem which is at present perturbing the minds of various classes of her Majestys subjects both at home and abroad. Within living memory, the days of fifty years ago, when George the Third was king, were thought of and sung about as the best in our annals. But to-day a different opinion prevails; for it is acknowledged by all that the glo 126 THE SUFFERINGS OF THE CLERGY. ries of the Georgian era are surpassed by those of the Victorian, in which the de- velopment and practical application of science to our arts and industries, the extension of popular liberties, and the spread of education, have revolutionized the nations commerce, and wrought a vast improvement in the social condition of her Majestys subjects. There can there- fore be no doubt that the people. over whom Queen Victoria has reigned so glo- riously will celebrate her jubilee in a man- ner worthy of the occasion, and will be equally as ready to show their loyalty to the sovereign under whose sway England has attained a pre-eminent position among the nations of the world, as were the sub- jects of George III., the father of his people. From The Spectator. THE SUFFERINGS OF THE CLERGY. Iv will not be a matter of surprise to those who know the present position of the country clergy, that their manifold troubles in consequence of the agricul- tural depression have at last found a voice.* The squires are estimated to have lost thirty per cent. of their income in the last ten years, the farmers sixty per cent., and the laborers ten per cent. The clergy stand in a different position from any of them, and must rank next the farmer in the extent of their loss. The position of the clergy differs from the position of the other sufferers in this,that there are very heavy calls upon their incomes which, though they do not amount to charges, must be paid, and, in fact, have been paid, except in the most exceptional cases, dur- ing the whole period. Such outgoings as the stipends of curates, the conduct of the services of the Church, the repair of chan- cels, the support of schools, the mainte- nance of local clubs and societies, and the administration of charities, have been loy- ally paid by the clergy, even when they hardly knew where to turn for the neces- saries of life. The clergymans is the only income which is and must be spent in and for the parish. It is infinitely to the credit of the clergy that they have often preferred to starve themselves rather than to starve the spiritual agencies which had been started in better times for the benefit of the people. The clergy have The Agricultural Depression, and the Sufferings of the Clergy. By R. E. Prothero, Fellow of All ~pu1s College, Oxford. London: Guardian Office. endured we wish we could say passed through the ordeal with a dignified, and very often, if truth were known, courage- ous and pathetic, silence. And because they have been silent, it is naturally as- sumed in an agitating and agitated world that things were not very bad with them after all. Indeed, it would not take long to find politicians who would tell one that the clergy were the fattest of middlemen and the worst of landlords. But it is time that the state of the clergy whose income depends upon agriculture should be thor- oughly considered by the country, and especially by those who, from whatever point of view, are desirous of maintaining an Established Church. The spokesman of the clergy is not one of themselves. Mr. R. E. Prothero, who undertook to make an inquiry into the subject for the editor of the Guardian, and whose letters to that paper are now reprinted in pamphlet form is a fellow of All Souls college, Oxford, and a lay- man; but by reason of his connection with many of the clergy, by going to the best sources of information, and by the per- sonal investigation he has made, he has produced a most valuable authority upon the present condition of things with re- gard to tithes and glebe. His inquiry. was, indeed, mainly confined to the dis- tricts in which the prolonged depression was known to have produced its most dis- astrous results. So that the readers of this pamphlet may feel safe in saying that they know the worst, though the evidence is not so reliable as to the extent of the area of the evil. We are glad to say that Mr. Prothero has not yielded to the temp- tation of highly spiced literature, and does ~ot pose either as his own or any one elses special commissioner. His statements are probably not the less accu- rate on that account. Abstract state- ments possess at least one advantage, they preserve the incognito of those who have only given information on the dis- tinct understanding that names shall not be directly or indirectly divulged. Iden- tification would mean loss of credit, the last straw in many cases. Clerical incomes from agricultural prop- erty are derived from tithes and glebe. Mr. Prothero treats them separately; but in the present case the result to the clergy is the same. In the case of tithes, the question is complicated by political agita- tion and sectarian hatred. It is as hard to convince the Welsh Calvinist of the fact that tithe rests on the same title as any other property, as it is to convince THE SUFFERINGS OF THE CLERGY. 127 the English farmer that, though he hands the money to the parson, he does not in reality pay the tithe. The question of tithe is really a question between the land- owner and the tithe-o~vner, not between the tithe-owner and the farmer. If tithe were abolished to-morrow, within ten years it would all go into the landlords pocket in the shape of increased rent; and hard as it is to convince the English farmer of this, it lies at the basis of the whole ques- tion. We heartily concur with Mr. Pro- thero in thinking that the alliance between landowners and tenants in the agitation against tithe would be short-sighted, if not actually dishonest. It would be fool- ish, because the same sort of agitation is equally capable of being used against the landlords themselves. It would be dis- honest, because, whatever may be the ignorance of the tenant farmers, the land- owners know perfectly well that they bought their land at a less price because it was subject to tithe; they never pur- chased or acquired the rent-charge; it can be no grievance for them to pay what never belonged to them; it is no hardship not to receive interest on capital which they have not invested. Their successors inherit what their predecessors bought, neither more nor less; they are in exactly the same position with respect to the charge, neither better nor worse. As to the present position of clerical tithe-own- ers, it is painful to the extreme. They are dependent upon bankrupts for their bread. Their position as spiritual advis- ers is seriously compromised when they at the same time appear as creditors press- ing struggling tenants for the payment of tithe. The glebe-owner is still worse off than the tithe-owner. He suffers more than the corresponding losses of landowners. He is accused of being a bad landlord; but the reason is not so much in himself as in the law, which practically forbids him to give his tenant any security of occupation, which weights him with dilap- idations, but does not compel him to work the land in a husbandlike manner, and which finally renders it absolutely impos- sible that at death or resignation, either he or his representatives should be able to get back a penny of any capital he may have spent on the land. Thus, the prac- tical summary of the glebe-owners posi- tion is that he gets the worst tenants, and that his interest is to spend as little as he can on the land. In recent years, many landholders have saved their estates to themselves and their children by bold but judicious expenditure of capital during the period of depression. But an incum- bent cannot benefit his family, and rarely benefits himself, by expending capital on the land. Only one instance has Mr. Pro- thero found of a clergyman who has suc- cessfully farmed his own land so as to make it pay for the time being, and even in this case he can never get back the capital he has expended. It will surprise, and ~e think it should command the re- spect of the public to learn, that in spite of this, in the diocese of Peterborough alone, 75,000 was spent between 187o8o on the improvement of farms and build- ings, of which 37,000 was ~rzvate capi- tal sunk in the land without any prospect of seeing the capital again, and, as things have turned out, without even getting the interest. The private capital sunk for the same purpose since 1870 in the Peterbor- ough diocese alone now amounts to s0,- ooo, and it is probable that as much as 150,000 has been expended in the whole country. This large expenditure, though at the most it has been of only temporary benefit to the clergy, and a loss fearful to contemplate to their families, has in~i- mensely benefited the property of the Church, and the clergy deserve to get the credit of it. To understand the position the clergy are actually in, take the follow- ing, which we know, from other sources than Mr. Prothero, accurately to describe the state of things in many cases All the temporal advantages of the clerical profession are, at least in the midland coun- ties, entirely removed. The clergy feel the pinch of poverty, not, perhaps, in its acutest form of actual hunger, but in the loss of all those so-called luxuries which in their position and surroundings are really necessaries- First came inconvenience from delay and uncer- tainty in the receipt of income; then the hu- miliating necessity of asking for credit; then the certainty that rents would not be paid; then the pressure of creditors and the refusal to give further credit; then the expenditure of private capital and the mortgage of life insur- ances; then the application to friends. The house and its surroundings are ill-adapted to a constantly narrowing income. The outdoor establishment is reduced, the garden cannot be maintained, the horse and carriage are sold. The same process is followed indoors. Ser- vant after servant is discharged till not one is left; then follows the careful husbanding of fuel, the severest practice of domestic econ- omy, even the disposal of books, furniture, and apparel. - - - The Church services must be maintained, and the curates salary is paid by an incumbent who envies his subordinate his salary. - - - No one will give more than the parson, and the clergy are still obliged to 1~ 128 THE SUFFERINGS OF THE CLERGY. head subscriptions. . . The parson is often the only man of education in the parish; he cannot seek the society of his friends, for he has no means of locomotion; he cannot solace himself with books, for he can no longer afford to buy them, or even to subscribe to a library; he cannot, like the squire, shut up his house and leave the neighborhood. He has no fel- low-sufferer with whom he can compare notes; the farmers may understand his loss, but their well-meant sympathy is often expressed with excruciating frankness; the laborers grumble that he cannot employ them as he used, and is less able to minister to their wants. This is a sad picture enough, and is far away removed from the ideal picture of the country parsonage. Mr. Prothero pro- poses remedies which we are not going to discuss at present. The redemption of the tithe rent-charge seems feasible. The alteration of the law in order to put the clergy in a better position with regard to the tenant might easily be effected, and we believe that a bill is about to be intro- duced in the House of Commons for that purpose, backed by Mr. Childers and Mr. J. G. Talbot. The sale of glebe lands is a more difficult and complex question, and we are by no means favorably impressed with Lord Crosss bill on the subject. The redemption of the mortgages of the land improvement companies by public sub- scription in order to prevent the disen- dowment by foreclosure, a fate which has already overtaken one living, and hangs by a thread over others, would be an excellent object, if the public were not already sick of jubilee subscriptions. What we wish to point out is the great necessity and the great suffering which have come upon the clergy. What we wish to impress upon the public is that the turn is still out of sight, that there is every reason to believe that the year i886 will prove the most disastrous of a series of ruinous seasons. In fine, that the clergy have not only clung to their posts, but borne their heavy trust with an uncom- plaining dignity which is worthy of their noble calling. Every temporal advantage of their position is disappearing; little remains to en- courage the parson in a life which has always had more than its usual share of disappoint- ment, except his faith and his sense of sacred duties conscientiously performed. It may be that the result will be to purify and elevate the character of the country clergy. If so, the refining process will ultimately raise their position and extend their influence; but, mean- while, the furnace is exceeding hot. A JAPANESE VOLCANO. The active vol- cano, Asamayama, appears to be attracting particular attention just now in Japan, proW ably because it is the loftiest mountain iW the country which is in a constant state of activity, and also because it is the nearest to the capi- tal, and is situated in a district long famous for its health resorts. A few weeks since we referred to an anonymous account of the cra- ter, published in the 7apan Weekly Mail, but a much more careful sketch of it is given by the Japan correspondent of the Times in a letter published recently in that journal. The roar of the volcano, on approaching the edge of the crater, he describes as not unlike the noise produced by the passage of a train across a bridge under which one is standing. There was no shaking, however, but loud hissing and bubbling constantly proceeded from number- less vapor-jets in the inner face of the crater- walf, from its rim downwards. The crater is a rough oval in shape, but the estimates of its size are most conflicting. The Japanese give the circumference as four miles, but this is simply a wild guess. A German explorer set down the diameter at eleven hundred yards, and an English mathematical professor put it at only two hundred yards, divergencies that will illustrate the mental confusion to which some men are liable when in the presence of dread natural phenomena. The writer him- self estimated the circumference at one thou- sand and fifty-six yards, by walking round the windward half of it it was impossible to pass through the vapors on the lee side which was accomplished in six minutes, at the rate of about three miles an hour. On the very interesting question of the depth of the crater that is, the depth from the mouth to the surface of the molten matter opinions vary almost as hopelessly as on the size. No doubt the vast clouds of the most pungent sub phurous steam, which are described as rising swiftly out of the caldron, render exact obser- vation difficult. The Times correspondent speaks of catching glimpses of the crater-wall at depths which a very moderate estimate would place at three hundred feet. But the gradual convergence of the cavity apparent at this depth forbids the acceptance of the enor- mous profundity for which some visitors have contended, and suggests that the depth can hardly much exceed five hundred feet. After a weird description of the appearance pre- sented to the spectator by the volcano at work, the writer concludes by remarking that the present crater is apparently the youngest and ~ innermost of three. Further down on the south-west side are to be seen, along with numerous fissures of unfathomable depth, re- mains which point to the existence of two former craters, concentric and of large dimen- sions, and separated from one another by a considerable interval. Possibly the existing. cone was formed by the great eruption of 1783. Nature.

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The Living age ... / Volume 173, Issue 2234 Littell's living age Every Saturday; a journal of choice reading Eclectic magazine The Living age co. inc. etc. New York etc. April 16, 1887 0173 2234
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LITTELLS LIYING AGE. Fifth Series, No. 2234. April 16, 1887. 4 From Beginning, Volume LVIII. e. Vol. CLXXIII. CONTENTS. I. II. III. IV. V. VI. VII. VIII. TRANSYLVANIAN PEOPLES, THE SHEPHERD OF THE SALT LAKE, LORD GEORGE GORDON AND THE RIOTS OF 1780 MR. GLADSTONE ON ~ THE IRISH DE- MAND, RICHARD CABLE, THE LIGHTSHIPMAN. Part VIII THE OVEN ISLANDS THE FIGHT AT TRINRATAT, NOVEL ANNOuNCEMENTS A PSALM OF LIFE, WE Two, MISCELLANY, Contemporary Review, All The Year Round,. Temple Bar, Nineteenth Century, Chambers 7ournal, Lon~ans Magazine,. Chambers 7ournal, Chambers Journal, POETRY. . . . I3OjIN THE SPRING, . . . 130 PUBLISHED EVERY SATURDAY BY LITTELL & CO., BOSTON. TERMS OF SUBSCRIPTION. For EIGHT DOLLARS, remitted directly to tize Pu~iiskers, the LIVING AGa will be punctoally forwarded for a vear,free ojpostage. 1~emittances should be made by bank draft or check, or by post-office money-order, if possible. If neither of these can be procured, the money 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 & Co. Single Numbers of THE LIViNG AGE, s8 cents. - . 131 - - 142 - - 153 - - 167 - 178 - - 181 - 187 - 190 130 192 130 A PSAjM OF LIFE, ETC. A PSALM OF LIFE. Friendship, affection, fondness, THROUGH the wild Babel of our fevered time pretty phrases! The song of Homer cometh, grave and stern, Well symbolling the fragile things they With tidings from the worlds fresh, healthy mean; prime, - Like rosy creepers that, mid grass and daisies, Tidings which our worn, wearied age concern. Twine over meadow paths a graceful screen; Till some strong foot comes crashing from the hill, Treads down the tendrils, flings the flowers apart, And the full moonlight, pitiless and chill, Glares on the bare, cold path the barren heart. But Love his strong vitality asserts, His quenchless power, crush it as you may! The slow rains rot, the cruel east wind hurts, But the rich blooms press upward to the day. Darling, the holy bond twixt you and me Is pure, and strong, and prompt to do and dare, As when we knelt beside our mothers knee, And learnt from her sweet lips our baby prayer. Then, in the golden memories of our youth, Sun out the dreary presents gathering storm; Or face it in our deep loves loyal truth, And a fresh link from troubled hours form; Let the world frown or shrink, we two together Can surely ride oer wilder waves than these; Knowing the cyclone brings the cloudless weather, And to some haven roll the roughest seas. All The Year Round. Unchanged, through all the long unnumbered years, The voice of Homer sings the song divine, Which tells of godlike toils, of heroes tears, And of the punishment of Priams line. The battle in the plain is raging yet; The watchfires blaze, the beakd ships line the shore; For us .the foe in grim array is set; Ah! but do we fight as they fought of yore? For we, too, like the heroes long ago, Must wage slow wars and sail the bitter sea; Fierce is the conflict, loud the tempests blow, And the waves roar and rage unceasingly. Still must we wander oer the stormy main; Twixt rocks and whirlpools a dread passage make; Still must the Sirens sing to us in vain; Still from the toils of Circe must we break. Turn, then, to Homers Psalm of Life, and see How they endured, whose pilgrimage is done; And hear the message they have left for thee: Only by patience is the victory won. Macmillans Magazine. WE TWO. BUT then, you see, I love him. Just that love. I wonder if you know one little bit What the word means? you favored ones, who rove Down beaten paths with all things smooth and fit; With no false note to jar amid your airs; With no black cloud to blot your sunshine out; No yearning want to madden in your prayers; No Why? to deepen every bitter doubt. Easy when noonday floods the clustered flowers, When wealth and worlds approval gird you round, To learn the fairy tasks of smiling hours, And do the duty fashioned fair when found; Passing decorous through the guarded life, Giving from heaped-up coffers, smiling sweet; Wondering that others fret so in the strife; Terming each woe untasted, judgment meet. IN THE SPRING. HAVE all the songs l)een said? Are all the singers dead? Is all the music fled? The sum and aim of life One dreary struggle, rife With greed and sordid strife? Man but a dull machine, Living a vast routine Of narrow purpose mean? Oh! while one leaf swings high Against an azure sky In springtimes ecstasy, There breathes yet the sublime, There beats yet living rhyme, Tis still the young worlds prime. Nature has high commands, Bears gifts with lavish hands To him who understands! Coruhill Magazine. TRANSYLVANIAN PEOPLES. 3 From The Contemporary Review, far in advance of his time, as was proved TRANSYLVANIAN PEOPLES. TRANSYLVANIA has not inaptly been described as a storehouse of different na- tionalities, and it would probably be hard to find, either in the old world or the new, another country containing such hetero- geneous racial elements within the limited space of fifty-four thousand square kilo- n~tres. Here we find the fiery Magyar, the melancholy Roumanian, the stolid Saxon, the merry, thieving Tzigane, the wily Jew, and the solemn Armenian, all living together cheek by jowl in about the following proportions Roumanians - - . 1,200,400 Hungarians - - . 65~~zoo Saxons - - . - 211,400 Tziganes . - - 80,000 Jews - - . - 24,000 Armenians - - - 8,ooo Though each of these half-dozen races is as virtually different from the other five as an Englishman is unlike a Frenchman, or a Pole differs from a Spaniard, though each, in possessing its own religion, cus- toms, and superstitions, its individual in- terests and aspirations, well deserves the attention of any ethnologist, there are two which seem to me of peculiar and para- mount interest, as embodying the spirit of the past and of the future in sharp and effective contrast. In the one we have the memory, in the other the promise of a noble manhood, for if the Saxons were men but yesterday, so the Roumanians will be men to-morrow; and while the former are rapidly degenerating into mere fossil antiquities, physically deteriorated from constant intermarriage, and morally opposed to any sort of progress involving amalgamation with the surrounding races, so the latter will be at their prime a few generations hence, when they have had time to shake off the habits of slavery and have learned to recognize their own value. These Saxons, whom we find to-day living in isolated colonies all over Tran- sylvania, appear to have come hither about seven centuries ago at the invitation of the Hungarian king, Geysa II. In thus summoning German colonists to replenish the scantily peopled land, the Hungarian king displayed wisdom and forethought by the result. It was a bargain by which both sides were equally benefited, and consequently induced to keep the contract, for while the Germans obtained freedom which they could not have in their own country, their presence was a guarantee to the monarch that this province would not be torn from his crown. The question of what precise part of the German fatherland was the home of these outwanderers is enveloped in some obscurity. They have retained no certain records to guide us to a conclusion, and German chroniclers of that time make no mention of their departure. Doubtless the Crusades, which were then engrossing every mind, caused thes,e emigrations to pass comparatively unnoticed. Only a sort of vague floating tradition is pre- served to this day in many of tj~e Transyl- vanian villages, where, on winter evenings, some old grandam, shrivelled and bent, sitting ensconced behind the blue-tiled stove, will relate to the listening grand- children crowding around her knees, how many, many hundred years ago their an- cestors once d~velt on the seashore, next to the mouth of four rivers, which all flowed out of a larger and mightier river. In this shadowy description, probably the river Rhine is to be recognized, the more so that in the year 1195, these German colonists are, in a yet existing document, referred to as Flanderers. The name of Sachsen (Saxons), as they now call them- selves, was only much later used as their general designation. Although the Hungarian kings kept their given word to the emigrants right nobly, yet these latter had much to suffer, both from Hungarian nobles jealous of their privileges, and from the more ancient inhabitants of the soil, the Wallachians, who, living in the mountains in a thor- oughly barbaric state, used to make fre- quent raids down into the plains and valleys, there to pillage, burn, and murder whatever came in their way. If ~ve add to this the frequent invasions of Turks and Tartars, it is a positive marvel how this handful of Germans, brought into a strange land and surrounded by enemies on all sides, should have maintained their 132 TRANSYLVANIAN PEOPLES. independence and preserved their indi- viduality under such combination of cir- cumstances. They built churches and fortresses, they founded schools and guilds, they made their own laws and elected their own judges; and, in an age when Hungarian nobles could scarcely read or write, these little German colo- nies were so many havens of civilization midst a howling wilderness of ignorance and barbarism. Whoever has lived among these Tran- sylvanian Saxons, and has taken the trouble to study them, must have re- marked that not only seven centuries resi- dence in a foreign land has made them lose none of their identity, but that they are in fact plus catholiques que le tape that is to say, more thoroughly Teutonic than the Germans living to-day in the original fatherland; and it is just because of the adverse circumstances in which they were placed, and of the opposition which met them on all sides, that these people have kept themselves so conser- vatively unchanged. Feeling that every step in another diiection would be a step towards an enemy, finding that every concession they made was in danger of becoming the link of a captives chain, no wonder they clung stubbornly, tenaciously, blindly, to every ancient custom and su- perstition, to each peculiarity of language and costume, in a manner which probably has not its parallel in history. Left on their native soil, and surrounded by friends and countrymen, these people would undoubtedly have followed the cur- rent of time, and have changed as other nations have changed. Their isolated position, and the peculiar circumstances of their surroundings have kept them what they were. Like a faithful portrait taken in the prime of life, the copy still goes on showing the bloom of the cheek and the light of the eye long after Times destroying hand, withering the original, has caused it to lose all.resemblance to its former self; and it is with something of the feeling of gazing at such an old por- trait that we contemplate these German people, who dress themselves to-day like old has-reliefs of the thirteenth and four- teenth centuries, and continue to hoard up provisions within the fortified church walls as in the days when besieged by Turk or Tartar. From an artistic point of view, these Saxons are decidedly an unlovely race, having something unfinished and wooden in their general appearance. Looking at them, I always felt myself irresistibly reminded of the figures of Noah and his family out of a cheap a very cheap toy Noahs ark. Nor is their expression an agreeable one, something hard and grasping, avaricious and mistrustful, char- acterizing them as a rule. But this is scarcely their fault, their expression, like their character, being but the natural re- sult of circumstances, the result of seven centuries stubborn resistance and war- fare. The habit of mistrust developed almost to an instinct, cannot so quickly be got rid of, even if there be no longer cause to justify it. This defensive attitude to- wards strangers manifested by the Saxons, makes it, however, difficult to feel prepos- sessed in their favor. Taken in the sense of antiquities, they are, no doubt, ex- tremely interesting, but viewed as living men and women they are not attractive, and though one cannot help admiring the solid virtues and independent spirit which have kept them what they are, yet some- how they contrive to make these very virtues disagreeable, and to appear to disadvantage beside their less civilized, less educated, and less scrupulous neigh- bors the Roumanians. It is interesting to trace by what means these Saxons have contrived to keep them- selves intact from all outward influences. Not without difficulty, as we see by an- cient chronicles, has their costume been kept thus rigidly unchanged, for here, like elsewhere, even among these quiet, prac- tical, prosaic, and unlovely people, the demon of vanity has been at work, and much eloquence was expended from the pulpit, and many severe punishments had to be prescribed, in order to subdue the evil spirit of fashion threatening to spread over the land at various times. So in i6~i we find a whole set of dress regula- tions issued by the bishop of one of the Transylvanian districts, of which here ar~ a few samples TRANSYLVANIAN PEOPLES. 33 r. The men shall wear neither blue nor yellow boots, nor shall the women venture to approach the holy sacrament or the baptismal font in red shoes; and whoso- ever conforms not to this regulation shall be refused admittance to church. 2. All imitations of the Hungarian dress in the matter of waistcoats, braids, gal- loons, etc., are proscribed to the men. 3. It is likewise forbidden for men and for serving-men to wear their hair in a long foreign fashion, hanging down be- hind, for that is dishonor. If a man have long hair it is a shame unto him (I Cor. xi. 14). 4. The peasant folk shall wear no high boots, and no wide woollen hats, nor an embroidered belt, for he is a peasant. Who is seen wearing such will expose himself to ridicule, and the boots shall be drawn off his legs that he shall go bare- foot. 5. The women shall avoid all that is superfluous in dress, nor shall they make horns upon their heads.* Rich veils shall only be worn by such as are entitled to them. Neither shall any ~voman wear gold cords beneath her veil, not even if she be the wife of a gentleman. Silk caps with gold stars are not suitable for every wom- an. More than two handsome jewelled pins shall no woman wear; and if she require more than two for fastening her veil, let her take small pins. Not every ones child is entitled to wear corals round its neck. Let no woman copy the dress of noble dames, for it is not suitable for us Saxons. 6. Let the Herren Tuck/er (gentlemens daughters) not make the use of gold braids over common, but let them content them- selves with honorable fringes. The serv- ing-girls shall go without broad fringes, nor may they purchase silk cords of three yards length, else they will be stripped off their heads and nailed against the church wall. Nor is it allowed for. peas- ant maids to wear crooked [probably puffed] sleeves. - Apparently these stringent injunctions had the desired effect of keeping female * This would seem to be an silusion to the Rouma- nian fashion in certain districts of twisting up the veil in the shape of two horns. (and male) vanity in check for a time; but scarcely a hundred years later we find a new set of dress rules delivered from another pulpit, and up to this day the undue length of a ribbon, or an excessive number of head-pins, is matter for reproof in every Saxon community. Another characteristic feature of Saxon peasant life which has much contributed to their rigid conservatism, are the differ- ent associations or confraternities existing in each village. These consist of the Bruderschafl (brotherhood), the Nachbar- schaft (neighborhood), and the Schwes/er- schaff (sisterhood). To the first-named institution, the Bru- derschaft, belong all young men of the parish from the date of their confirmation up to that of their marriage. This com- munity is governed by laws in which the respective duties of its members as citi- zens, sons, brothers, and suitors are dis- tinctly traced out. In their outward form these brotherhoods have some resem- blance to the religious confraternities in Catholic countries, and most probably they originated in the same manner; but while these latter have degenerated into mere outward forms, the Saxon Bruder- schaften have retained the original spirit of these institutions, which principally consisted in the reciprocal guard their members kept over each others morality. The head of the Bruderschaft is called the Altknecht. He is chosen every year, but can be deposed in the interval if he prove unworthy of his post. It is his mission to watch over the other members, keep order, and dictate punishments, but when he is caught erring himself the Alt- knecht incurs a double forfeit. The finable offences are numerous, and are taxed at ten, fifteen, twenty kreutzers and upwards, according to the heinousness of the of-. fence. Here are a few of the delinquen- cies which are subject to penalty: i. Carelessness and slovenliness in at- tire, every missing button having a fine attached to it. 2. Bad manners at table, putting the elbows on the board or striking it with the fist. 3. Irregularity in church attendance. 4. Misbehavior in church, such as yawn- 34 TRANSYLVANIAN PEOPLES. ing, stretching, etc. Also failling asleep during the sermon, a very heavy fine being put upon snoring. 5. Having worn colored hat ribbons, or whistled loudly in the street on a fast- day.* Also the relations of the young men to the fair sex, and the etiquette of danc- ing and spinning meetings is accurately chalked outfor nowhere is village eti- quette more strenuously observed than among these Saxon colonists and there are countless little forms and observances which to neglect or transgress would be as grave as to reverse the respective orders of claret and champagne at a fashionable dinner-party, or for a lady to go to court without plumes. The laws of precedence are here every whit as clearly defined as among our upper ten thousand, and the punctilio of a spinning-room quite as for- mal as the ordering of her Majestys draw- ng-room. No youth is permitted to enter the spin- ning-room in his week-day clothes, and the exact distance the men, are allowed to approach the spinning-wheel of any girl is in some villages precisely defined by inches. A fine of ten kreutzers (twopence) is attached to the touching of a maidens breastpin, while stealing a kiss always proves a still more expensive amusement. Dancing usually takes place on Sunday afternoon, either in the village inn, or in the open air in summer at some conven- ient spot, under a group of old trees, or a rustic shed erected for the purpose; the permission to dance having each time been formally requested of the pastor by the head of the brotherhood. The couples are often settled beforehand by the Alt- knecht, and it is not allowed for any youth to refuse the hand of the partner assigned to him. However hot be the weather the men must retain their heavy cloth coats during the first round dance, and only when the music strikes up for the second time does the Altknecht give the signal for lightening the costume by laying aside his own coat and permitting the girls to divest themselves of their uncomfortable high stiff caps On his mar~iage each youth ceases to be a member of the Bruderschaft, on leav * After concluding this article I learn from a current newspaper that the late king of Bavaria, whose tragical death was lately in every mouth, attempted to revive in Muntch these German hrotherhoods, such as they used to he in the Middle Ages. He constituted himself the head of the confraternity, and chose the costume to be worn by the members on grand occasions. These mediatval figures, with their wide flapping hats, their pilgrim staffs, and cockle shells, were among the most noteworthy figures at the royal funeral. ing which both he and his bride must pay certain taxes in meat, bread, and wine to the confraternity. I n some districts it is usual for the young couple to attend the village dances for a period of six months after their marriage, but more usually dancing ceases altogether with matrimony. In one or two villages there prevails a custom of the married women dancing every fourth year only. After his marriage a man becomes a member of the Nachbarschaft, or neigh. borhood. Every village is divided into four neighborhoods, each one governed by a head called the Naclzbarva/er. This sec- ond confraternity is regulated much in the same manner as the Bruderschaft, with the difference that the regulations thereof apply more to the reciprocal assistance which neighbors are bound to render each other in various household and domestic contingencies. Thus a man is only obliged to assist those that belong to his Nach- barschaft in building a hQuse,. cleaning out wells, and extinguishing fires. He must also contribute provisions on chris- tening, wedding, or funeral occasions, and lend plates and jugs for the same. The Nachbarvater must watch over the order and discipline of his quarter, and enforce the regulations issued by the pas- tor or by the village maire, or Hann, as he is here called. This authority extends even to the interior of each household, and he is bound to report to the pastor the names of those who absent themselves from church. He must fine the men who have neglected to al)proach the sacrament, as well as the women who have lingered in the churchyard wasting their time in senseless gossip. Children who have been overheard speaking disrespectfully of their parents, couples whose connubial quarrels are audible in the village street, dogs wantonly beateti by their masters, vain young matrons who have exceeded the prescribed number of glittering pins in their headdress, or girls surpassing their proper allowance of ribbon, all come under his jurisdiction, and the Nachbarva- ter is himself subject to punishment if he neglect to report a culprit, or show himself too lenient in the dictation of punishment. It is by the rigid observance of many ~ such rules that the Transylvanian Saxons have now become a curious remnant of the Middle Ages a living anachronism in the nineteenth century; for such as these people wandered forth from the far west to seek a home in a strange land, seven centuries ago, such we find them again to-day, like a corpse frozen in a TRANSYLVANIAN PEOPLES. 35 glacier, which comes to light unchanged after a long lapse of years. There has been of late years so much learned discussion about the origin of the Roumanians that it were presumption to advance any independent opinion on the subject. German writers more espe- cially Saxon ones have been strenuous in deriding all claim to Roman extraction, contending that whatever Roman elements remained over after the evacuation of this territory, must long since have been swal- lowed up in the great rush of successive nations which passed over the land in the early part of the Middle Ages. Rouma- nian writers, on the contrary, are fond of laying great stress on the direct Roman lineage which it is their pride to believe in, sometimes, however, injuring their own cause by over-anxiety to claim too much, and laying too little stress on the admixture of Slav blood which is as surely a fundamental ingredient of the race. One of the more impartial Roumanian writers, Joan Slavici, states the case with greater fairness when he writes as fol- I6ws If we simply were to deny the crossing of Roman with Slav blood, then the whole ques- tion of Roumanian origin loses its significance; if, however, we admit the Roumanians, though undoubtedly descended from the Romans, to be a people more nearly related to the Slav than to the Teutonic race, it must be conceded that such fusion could only have taken place where a Slav race already existed previous to the advent of the Roman conquerors. That people, therefore, whose progressive develop- ment has produced the present Roumanian race, did not exist before this fusion took place, and thereto its origin is distinctly to be traced. The ethnographical importance of the Roumanians, therefore, does not lie in the fact of their being descendants of the ancient Ro- mans, nor in that of their connection to the long-vanished Dacians, but simply and entirely therein that this people, placed between two sharply contrasting races, form an important connecting link in the chain of European tribes. The classical type of feature, so often met with among Roumanian peasants, pleads strongly for the theory of Roman extraction, and if just now I compared the Saxon peasants to Noahs ark figures rudely carved out of the coarsest wood, the Roumanians as often remind me of a type of face chiefly to be seen on cameo ornaments, or ancient signet rings. Take at random a score of individuals from any Roumanian village, and, like a handful of antique gems which have been strewn broadcast over the land, you will there surely find a goodly choice of classical profiles worthy to be immortalized on agate, onyx, or jasper. An air of plaintive melancholy generally characterizes the Roumanian peasant; it is the melancholy of a long-subjected and oppressed race; but spite of his degrada- tion the Roumanian not unfrequently p05- sesses a grace and inherent dignity of deportment totally wanting in his Saxon neighbor. There is a wealth of unraised treasure, of ability in the raw block, and of uncultured talent lying dormant in this ignorant peasantry, who seem only lately to have begun to understand that they need not always bend their neck beneath the yoke of other nations, and that slavery and humiliation are not inevitable condi- tions of their existence. Devoid of all artistic training, and until quite lately possessing no sort of national literature of their own, there are here to be found the elements of both poet and painter. The Roumanian folk-songs betray alike pathos and imagination; the pictures adorning each village church are wanting neither in harmony of color nor of design. Enc?ur- agement and training alone are required to mature these gifts to the highest pitch demanded by culture. In order to understand the Roumanian we must first of all begin by understand- ing his religion, which alone gives us the clue to the curiously contrasting shades of his complicated character. A French writer, speaking of the Wallachians (as they were then called) some forty years ago, says Aujourdhui leur seul mobile est la religion, si on peut donner ce nom l~ len- semble de leurs pratiques supersti- tieuses; and another author remarks, with equal justice, that the whole life of a Wallachian is taken up in devising talis- mans against the deviL It is supposed that the Rournanians were very early converted to Christianity probably in the third century. Old chronicles of the thirteenth century, how- ever, make mention of them as a people, which, though professing the Christian faith, is yet nevertheless given to the prac- tice of manifold pagan rites and customs, wholly at variance with Christianity, and even to-day the Roumanians are best de- scribed by the paradoxical definition of Christian-pagans, or pagan-Christians. True, the Roumanian peasant will never fail to uncover his head when he passes by a wayside cross, but his salutation to the rising sun will be at least equally pro- 136 TRANSYLVANIAN PEOPLES. found; and though he goes to church and abstains from work on the Lords Day, it is by no means certain whether he does not regard the Friday (Vinere) dedicated to Paraschiva (Venus) as the holier day of the two. The list of the other un- Christian festivals is lengthy, and still lengthier that of Christian festivals, in whose celebration pagan rites and customs may still be traced. Whoever buries his dead without plac- ing a coin in the hand of the corpse is regarded as a pagan by the orthodox Rou- manian. ATU i de legea noastra ( He is not of our law ), he says of such a one, meaning, He is not of our religion, and whosoever lives outside the Roumanian religion, be he Christian, pagan, Jew, or Mahommedan, is regarded as unclean, and, consequently, whatever comes in con- tact with any such individual is unclean likewise. The Roumanian language has a special word to define this uncleanness spur- ca, which somewhat corresponds to the koscher and unkoscher of the Jews. If, for instance, any animal fall into a well of drinking-water, then the well forthwith becomes spurcat, and spurcat likewise whosoever drinks of this water. If it is a large animal, such as a calf or goat, which has fallen in, then the whole water must be baled out, and should this fail to satisfy the conscience of any ultra-orthodox pro- prietor, then the popa must be called in to read a mass over the spot where per- chance a donkey has found a watery grave ; but when it is a man who has been drowned there, no further rehabilitation is possible for the unlucky well, which must therefore be filled up and discarded as quite too hopelessly spurcat. Every orthodox Roumanian household possesses three different classes of cook- ing and eating utensils: unclean, clean for the meat-days, and the cleanest of all for fast-days. The cleansing of a vessel, which through some accident has become spurcat, is only conceded in the case of very large and expensive articles, such as barrels and tubs, copious ablutions of holy water, besides much scouring, scraping, and rubbing, being resorted to in such cases. All other utensils which do not come under this denomination must be simply thrown away, or at best employed for feeding the domestic animals. The Roumanian who does not strictly observe all these regulations, is himself spurcat, this same measure being applied to all individuals, who are therefore considered to be clean or unclean, according to their observance of these rules. The unclean- ness, however, is not supposed to be in the individual but in his laws, which fail to enforce cleanliness; therefore it is the law which is unclean, legi spurcat, which for the Roumanian is synonymous with un-Christian. For instance, a man who eats horse-flesh, is necessarily a pagan in his eyes. This recognition of the uncleanness of most of his fellow-creatures is, however, wholly free from either hatred or contempt on the part of the Roumanian. On the contrary, he shows much interest in for- eign countries and habits, and when desir- ous of affirming the high character of any stranger, he says of him that he is a man who keeps his own law, tine la legea 1u4 spite of which eulogium the Roumanian will refuse to wear the coat, or eat off the plate of this honorable stranger. The idea so strongly inrooted in the Roumanian mind that they alone are Christians, and that consequently no man can be a Christian without also being a Roumanian, seems to imply that there was a time when the two words were ab- solutely identical, and that surrounded for long by pagan nations, with whom they could hold no sort of community, they lacked all knowledge of other existing Christian races. On the other hand, these people are curiously liberal towards strangers in the matter of religion, allowing each one, whatever be his confession, to enter their churches and receive their sacraments; nor is it allowed for a popa to refuse the administration of a sacrament to whoso- ever apply to him, be he Catholic, Prot- estant, Turk, or Jew, provided the appli- cant submit to receive it in the manner prescribed by the Oriental church. The position occupied by the Rouma- nian clergyman towards his flock is such a peculiar one that it deserves a few words of notice. Though his influence over the people is unlimited, it is nowise dependent on his personal character. It is quite superfluous for the popa to present in his person a model of the virtues he is in the habit of describing from the altar, and he may for his part be drunken, dishonest, ignorant, and profligate to his hearts con- tent, without losing one whit of his pres- tige or spiritual head. His official charac- ter is absolutely intangible, and not to be shaken by any private misdemeanor, and the Roumanian proverb which says, Face sice ~o~a dar unce face el, that is, Do as the popa tells you, but do not act as he does, defines his attitude with perfect TRANSYLVANIAN PEOPLES. 37 accuracy. Only the popa has the privilege of wearing a beard, as he alone is privi- leged to indulge in certain pet vices which it is his mission officially to condemn, and, like the goodly virtue of charity, this beard must often be said to cover a very great multitude of sins. Of recent years no doubt thanks chiefly to the enlightened efforts of the late Archbishop Schaguna much has been done to raise the moral standard of the Roumanian clergy in Transylvania, but there remains still much to do before the prevailing coarseness, ignorance, and hypocrisy too often characterizing this class can be removed. At present the average village popa is simply a peasant with a beard, who on week-days goes about his agricultural duties like any other vil- lager, digging his potatoes or going be- hind the plough; his wife is a simple peasant woman, and his children run about as dirty and dishevelled as any other brats in the village. A distinguishing quality of the Rouma- nian race is the touching family affection which mostly unites all relations. Unlike the Saxon, who seeks to limit the number of his offspring, the poor Roumanian, even when plunged in the direst poverty, welcomes each new-born child as another gift of God, while to be a childless wife is regarded as the greatest of misfortunes. Perhaps it is because the Roumanian has himself so few wants, that he feels no anxiety about the future of his children and therefore the rapid increase of his family occasions him no sort of uneasi- ness. Having next to no personal prop- erty, he is a stranger to the cares which accompany their possession, and the whole programme of his life of admirable sim- plicity may be thus summed up In early infancy the Roumanian babe is more or less treated as a bundle, often slung on its mothers back, packed in a little oval wooden box, and thus carried about wherever she goes; if to work in the field she attaches the box to the branch of a tree, and when sitting at market it may be stowed away on the ground be- tween a basket of eggs and a pair of cack- ling fowls, or a squeaking sucking-pig. When, after a very few months, the baby outgrows the box and crawls out of its cocoon, it begins to share its parents food (mostly consisting in maize flour boiled in water or in milk), and soon learns to man- age for itself. When it has reached a reasonable age, which in this case means five or six, it is old enough to assist its parents in gaining an honest livelihc~od, which, as generally understood by the Roumanians, means helping them to steal wood in the forest. Later on the boy is bound over as swine or cowherd to some Saxon landowner for a period of several years, on quitting whose service after the appointed term, he is entitled to the gift of a calf or pig. Once in possession of a calf the Roumanian lad considers himself a made man for life. He has no ground of his own, but such petty considerations not affecting him, he proceeds to build wherever best suits his purpose. Stone or brick hardly ever enters into the fabri- cation of his building; the framework is roughly put together of wooden beams, and the walls composed of wattled willow twigs plastered with clay, while the roof is covered with thatch of reeds, or wooden shingles, according as he happens to live nearest to a marsh or a forest. The inside of a Roumanians hut is, however, far less miserable-looking than its outward appearance would lead us to suppose. The walls are all f~ung with a profusion of holy pictures, mostly painted on glass, and the furniture brightly adorned in rough but not inartistic designs the Roumanians passion for thus ornamenting all his woodwork leading him to paint even the yoke of his oxen and the handles of his tools. There is usually a new-born baby swincY. ing in a basket suspended from the rat~t- ers, and always a weaving-loom set up at one end of the room. The produce of this loom gay-looking stuff striped in effective Oriental patterns of blue, scarlet, and white, often with gold or silver threads introduced in the weaving are sus- pended from ropes, or displayed along the walls. Each village has its own set of colors and patterns, according to its par- ticular costume, and every Roumanian woman spins, dyes, and weaves as a mat- ter of course. In some places you never see a Roumanian woman without her dis- taff; she even takes it with her on the way to market, and may frequently be seen trudging along the road a distance of several miles twirling the spindle as she goes. The men do not seem to share this love of labor, but have, on the contrary, much of the Italian lazzarone in their composi- tion, not taking to any sort of manual labor unless driven to it by necessity. The life of a shepherd is the only calling which the Roumanian really embraces con amore, and his love for his sheep may truly be likened to the Arabs love of his horse. A real Roumanian shepherd, bred 138 TRANSYLVANIAN PEOPLES. and brought up to the life, has so com- pletely identified himself with his calling, that everything about him, food and dress, mind and matter, has, so to say, become completely sheepified. Sheeps milk and cheese form the staple of his nourish- ment, his dress principally consists of sheepskin, four sheep furnishing him with a coat which lasts through life, one new- born lamb giving him the cap he wears, and when he dies a tuft of snowy wool is attached to the wooden cross which marks his last resting-place. His mental facul- ties are entirely concentrated on the study of his sheep; and so sharpened have be- come his perceptions on this one point, that the shepherd is able to divine and foretell to a nicety every change of the weather merely from observing the de- meanor of his flock. The idyllic bond between shepherd and sheep has formed the subject of many quaintly graceful Rou- manian folk-songs, which want of space forbids me here from quoting. Forests have no charm for the Rouma- nian shepherd, who regards each tree as an enemy depriving his sheep of their rightful nourishment, and he covertly seeks to increase his pastures by setting fire to the woods whenever he can hope to do so with impunity. Whole tracts of noble forests in Transylvania have thus been laid waste, and it is much to be feared that fifty years hence the country will present a bleak and desolate appear- ance, unless energetic measures are taken to do away with this abuse. The Roumanian is very obstinate in character, and is hard to convince. He does nothing without reflection, and often he reflects so long that the time for action has passed. This slowness has become proverbial, the Saxon saying, God give me the light which the Roumanian always gets too late. In the same proportion as the Roumanian is slow to make up his mind, he is also slow to change it. Frank- ness is not regarded as a virtue, and the Roumanian language has no word which directly expresses this quality. Hungari- ans, on the contrary, regard frankness and truth-speaking as a duty, and are, there- fore, laughed at by the Roumanians, who consider as a fool any man who injures himself by speaking the truth. Of pride, also, the Roumanian has little notion; he has been too long treated as a degraded and serf-like being; and what he under- stands by that word would rather seem to express the childlike vanity of a hand- some man who sees himself admired. Re- venge is cultivated as a virtue, ancLwho ever would be considered a respectable man must keep in mind the injuries done to him, and show resentment thereof on fitting occasions. Reconciliation is re- garded as opprobrious, and forgiveness of wrongs degrading. But the Roumani- ans rage is stealthy and disguised, and while the Hungarian lets his anger openly explode, the Roumanian will dissemble, and mutter between his teeth, Tine mente (Thou shalt remember ), and his mem- ory is good, for he does not suffer himself to forget. When an injury has been done to him, henceforward it becomes his sa- cred duty to brood over his vengeance. He may not say a good word more to his enemy, nor do him a service, but must strive to injure him to the best of his abil- ity, with, however, this nice distinction, that he himself do not profit by the injury done. Thus it would not be consistent with the Roumanians code of honor were he to steal the horse or ox of his enemy, but there can be no objection to his in- ducing another man to do so. Such be- havior is considered only right and just, and by acting in this manner he will only be fulfilling his duty as an honest and honorable man. Much of the spirit of the ancient Spar- tans lies in the Roumanian conception of virtue and vice. Stealing and drunken- ness are not considered to be intrinsically wrong, only the publicity which may at- tend these proceedings conveying any sense of shame to the offender. Thus, a man is not yet a thief because he has stolen, and whoever becomes accidentally aware of the theft should, if he have no personal interest in the matter, hold his peace. Even the injured party whose property has been abstracted is advised, if possible, to reckon alone with the thief, without drawing general attention to his fault. Neither is drunkenness necessarily de- grading; on the contrary, every decent man should get drunk on fittino oc such as weddings, ch casions, ristenings, etc., and then go quietly to a barn or loft and sleep off his tipsiness. Beacat vrei apoi te cu/cu si dormi ( Drink thy fill and then lie down and sleep ) says their proverb; but any man who has been seen reeling ~ drunk in the open street, hooted by chil- dren and barked at by dogs, and were it only once, is henceforward branded as a drunkard. It is therefore the duty of each Roumanian who sees a drunken man, to conduct him quietly to the nearest barn. Another curious side of the Roumani~ ans morality is the point of view from TRANSYLVANIAN PEOPLES. 39 which he regards personal property, such as grain and fruit. In general whatever grows plentifully in the fields, or as he terms it, whatever God has given, may be taken with impunity by whoever passes that way, but with the restriction that he may only take so much as he can con- sume at the moment. The proprietor who makes complaint at having his vineyard or his plum-trees rifled in this manner only exposes himself to ridicule. Whoever carries away of the grain or fruits ~vith him is a thief, but strictly speak- ing only then when he sells the stolen goods, not when he quietly shares it with his own family. The Roumanian looks only at deeds and results, motives being absolutely indiffer- ent to him. So the word passion he translates as pdeima, which really ex- presses weakness. Whatever is bad is weak. Thus an om ~itiina, a weak man, may either mean a consumptive invalid, a love-sick youth, or a furious ruffian. Pas- sion of all kinds is a misfortune which should excite compassion but not resent- ment, and whoever commits a bad action is above all foolish because it is sure to be found out sooner or later. Mr. Patterson in his very interesting work on Hungary and Transylvania, gives an anecdote which aptly characterizes the nature of the Roumanians morality: Three Rournanian peasants waylaid and murdered a traveller, dividing his posses- sions between them. Among these they discovered a cold roast fo~vl, which they did not eat, however, but gave to the dog, as being a fast-day they feared to commit sin by tasting flesh. This was related by the murderers themselves when captured and driven to confess their crime before justice. While on the subject of fasts I may as well mention that those prescribed by the Greek Church are numerous and severe, and it is a well-ascertained fact that the largest average of crimes committed by Roumanians occur during the season of Lent, when the people are in a feverish and over-excited state from the unnatural deprivation of food. In the same way the Saxon peasants are most quarrelsome and vindictive immediately after the vintage, when the cellars are full of new wine and cider, and most connubial quarrels termi- nating in divorce originate at that time. The inhabitants of each Roumanian village are divided into three classes : First the distinguished villagers front men, called fruntasi or oameni defrunta. Secondly, the middle men, inylocasi or oameni de mana adona men of second hand. Third, the hind men, or codas. Each villager according to his personal gifts, family, and fortune, is ranged into one or other of these three classes, each having their respective customs, rights, and privileges, which no member of an- other class dares infringe upon. Thus the codas may do much which would not be proper for the other two classes. The mylocasi have, on the whole, the most difficult position of the three, and are judged most severely, being alternately accused of presumption in imitating the manners of the fruntas, and blamed for demeaning themselves by copying the irregular habits of the codas. Nor is the position of the front men en- tirely an easy one. Each of these has his party of hangers-on, friends, and admirers, who profess a blind faith and admiration for him, endorsing his opinion on all occa- sions, and recognizing his authority in matters of dispute. His dress,~his w6rds, his actions, must all be strictly regulated on the axiom Noblesse oblige, but woe to him if he be caught erring, for only in the case of the popa is it allowable for prac- tice to differ from preaching. Each village has its own costume as regards colors and details, though all par- take of the same general character, which, in the case of the women, is chiefly repre- sented by a long alb-like under-garment reaching to the feet, and above it two straight-cut Roman aprons front and back. The subject of Roumanian female cos- tume offers a most bewildering field for description, as the nuances and varieties to be found would lead us on ad infinitum were we to attempt to enumerate all those we have come across. Thus in one vil- lage the costume is all black and white, the cut and make of an almost conventual simplicity forming a piquant contrast to the blooming faces and seductive glances of the beautiful wearers, who give the im- pression of being a band of light-hearted maidens masquerading in nuns attire. In other hamlets, blue or scarlet are the prevailing colors; and a few steps over the Roumanian frontier will show us glit- tering costumes all covered with embroi- dery and spangles, rich and gaudy as the robes of some Oriental princess, stepping straight out of the Arabian Nights. The headdress also varies with the dif- ferent localities; it is sometimes a brightly colored shawl or handkerchief, oftener a filmy veil embroidered or spangled, and worn with ever-varying effect. It may 140 TRANSYLVANIAN PEOPLES. either be wound round the head turban fashion, or else twisted up into Satanella- like horns, now floating down the back like a Spanish mantilla, or again coquet- tishly drawn forward, and concealing the lower part of the face. Whatever is tight or constrained-look- ing is considered to be unbeautiful; the folds must always flow downwards in easy lines, the sleeves should be full and bulg- ing, the skirt long enough to conceal the feet, so that in dancincr o visible. ~ nly the toes are The men have also much variety in their dress for state occasions, but for ordinary wear they confine themselves to a plain coarse linen shirt, which hangs out over the trousers like a workmans blouse, confined to the waist by a gigantically broad leather belt, red or black in color, and with various receptacles for holding money, firearms, knife and fork, etc., etc. The trousers, which fit rather tightly to the leg, are in summer of linen, in winter of a rough sort of white cloth. Both sexes wear on the feet a sort of leather sandal, called o~intschen, beneath which the feet are swaddled and protected by wrappings of linen and woolen rags. To be consistent with the Roumanians notion of cleanliness, his clothes should by rights be spun, dyed, woven, and made at home. He may be occasionally obliged to purchase some article of a stranger, but in such cases he is always careful to select a dealer of his own nationality. The marriageable girls sometimes wear a headdress richly embroidered with pearls and coins. This is a sign that her trous- seau is ready, and that she only waits for a suitor. In some districts it is customary for the young man who is seeking a girl in mar- riage, to go straight at the painted wooden chest containing her dowry, and only if satisfied by the appearance of its contents, of the skill and industry of his intended, does he proceed to the formal demand of her hand. If, on the contrary, the coffer proves to be ill-supplied, he is at liberty to beat a retreat, and back out of the affair. In one village the matter has been still further simplified, for there, during the Carnival time, the parents of each mar- riageable daughter are in the habit of organizing a sort of standing exhibition of the maidens effects in the dwelling-rooms, each article displayed to the best advan- tage, hung against the walls, or spread out upon the benches. The would-be suitor is thus enabled to review the situa- tion by merely pushing the door ajar, and need not even cross the threshold if the show fall short of his expectations. An orthodox Roumanian wedding ~should last seven days and seven nights, neither more nor less, but as there are many who cannot afford this sacrifice of time, they circumvent the difficulty by interrupting the festivities after the first day and taking them up again on the seventh. In some districts a pretty little piece of acting is still kept up on the wedding morning. The bridegroom, surrounded by his friends, arrives on horseback at full gallop before the house of his intended, and roughly calls upon the father to give him his daughter. The old man denies having any daughter, but after some mock wrangling he goes into the house and leads out a toothless old woman, who is received with shouts and clamor, then after a little more fencing he goes in again, and returns this time leading the true bride dressed in her best clothes, and with his blessing gives her over to the bride- groom. Elsewhere I have alluded to some of the Roumanian customs attending death and burial, such as the lighted candle, without which no one should be allowed to expire, and the funeral banquets (~o~nanas) held at intervals in memory of the departed. When the corpse has been laid out for burial, duly washed and equipped for his long journey, and supplied with the money supposed to be necessary for clearing the ferries on the way to Paradise, then the wailing and mourning begins. Women alone are allowed to take part in these lamentations (called bocete), and all women related to the deceased by ties of blood and friendship are bound to assist as mourners, also all such whose families have been on unfriendly terms with the dead should now appear to ask his for. giveness. The corpse remains exposed a full day and night in the chamber of death, and during that time must never be left alone, nor must the lamentations be allowed to cease for a single minute. It is therefore usual to have hired women to act the part of mourners, by relieving each other at intervals in singing the mourning songs. .~ The men related to the deceased also spend the night in the house, keeping watch over the corpse. This is called the privegghia, which, however, has not nec- essarily a mournful character, as they pass the time with various games, or else seated at table with wine and food before them. The mass for the departed soul TRANSYLVANIAN PEOPLES. 4 should, if possible, be said in the open air, and when the coffin is lowered into the grave the vessel containing the water in which the corpse has been washed must be shattered to atoms on the spot. Whoever dies unmarried must never be carried by married bearers to the grave; a married man or woman is carried by married men, a youth by other youths, while a maiden is carried by maidens with hanging dishevelled hair. In every case the ran k of the bearers must correspond to that of the deceased, and a fruntas can as little be carried by mylocasi, as the bearers of a codas may be higher than himself in rank. During six weeks after the funeral, the women of the family let their hair hang unplaited in sign of mourn- ing. It is, moreover, not uncommon to hear of people who have vowed themselves to perpetual mourning, in memory of some beloved deceased one, as was the case with an old peasant in one of the Transylvanian villages, who ~vas pointed out to me as having worn no head-cover- ing, summer and winter, for over forty years, in memory of his only son. In the case of a man who has died a violent death, and in general of all such as have expired without a light, none of these ceremonies take place. Such a man has neither right to bocete, priveg- ghia, mass, nor pomana, nor is his body laid in consecrated ground. He is buried wherever the body is found on the mountain or in the heart of the forest, where he met with his deathhis last resting-place only marked by a heap of dry branches which each passer-by is expected to add to by throwing a bundle of twigs a handful of thorns, as they express it on the spot. This is the only mark of attention to which such deceased may lay claim, and consequently to the Rouma- nian s mind no thought is so dreadful as that of dying deprived of light. The Roumanian does not seem to be courageous by nature, or to love warfare for its own sake, as does the Hungarian, neither does courage exactly take rank as a virtue in his estimation; for courage implies a certain recklessness of conse- quences, and, according to his way of thinking, every action should be circum- scrihed and only performed after due de- liberation. When, however, driven to it by circumstances, and brought to recog- nize the necessity, he can fight bravely and is a good soldier. The Roumanians have often been called slavish and cringing; but is it not impos- sible that they should be otherwise, if we consider their past history, oppressed and trampled on, persecuted and treated as vermin by the surrounding races? Little more than a century ago it was illegal for any Roumanian child to frequent a Ger- man or Hungarian school, while at the same period the Roumanian clergy were compelled to carry the Calvinistic bishop on their shoulders to and from his church whenever he chose to exact their service. Among the many inhuman laws framed against them, was one which continued in force up to the seventeenth century, order- ing that each Wallachian out of the dis- trict of Poplaka, in the neighborhood of Hermanstadt, who injured a tree, if only by peeling off the bark, was to be forth- with hung up to the self- same tree. Should, however, the culprit remain un- discovered, prescribes the law, then shall the community of Poplaka be bound to deliver up for execution some other Wallachian in his place. The faults of the Roumaniatis are the faults of all slaves; they are lazy, not be- ing yet accustomed to work for themselves nor caring to work for a master, and have acquired cunning and deceit as the only weapons wherewith to meet tyranny and cruelty. Occasionally they have cast off their yoke and taken cruel revenge on their real or imaginary oppressors, as in 1848, when, instigated and stirred up by Austrian agents, they rose against their masters, the Hungarian noblemen, whom they put to death with many torturing devices, crucifying some and burying oth- ers up to the neck, cutting off tongues and plucking out eyes as a diabolical fury sug- gested. Such acts of cruelty of which the Roumanians were guilty at this period, have deprived them of much of the sym- pathy to which they might have laid claim as a suffering and oppressed race; but those people who have a thorough knowl- edge of the Roumanian character, and are able to estimate correctly all the influ- ences brought to bear upon them at that time, do not hesitate to affirm that these people were far more sinned against than sinning, and cannot really be held respon- siNe for the atrocities they perpetrated. Even Hungarian nobles, themselves the greatest sufferers by all that happened, are wont to speak of them with a. sort of pitying commiseration, as of poor mis- guided creatures led astray by unscrupu- lous agents, and quite unable to under- stand the heinousness of their behavior. Perhaps no other race possesses in such marked degree the blind and immovable sense of nationality which characterizes 142 THE SHEPHERD OF THE SALT LAKE. the Roumanians. They hardly ever mingle with the surrounding races, far less adopt manners and customs foreign to their own. This singular tenacity of the Roumanians to their own dress, manners, and customs is probably due to the influence of their religion, which teaches that any diver- gence from their own established rules is sinful. In some districts where attempt was made (in the time of Maria Theresa) to replace the Greek popas by other cler- gymen belonging to the united faith, the people did not rebel, but simply absent- ed themselves from all church attend- ance. Cases are known of villages whose churches remained closed over thirty years because the people could not be brought to accept the change. It is a remarkable fact that even in cases of intermarriage, the seemingly stronger-minded and more vigorous Hun- garians are absolutely powerless to influ- enc~ the Roumanians. Thus the Hun- garian woman who weds a Roumanian husband will necessarily adopt the dress and manners of his people, and her chil- dren will be as good Roumanians as though they had no drop of Magyar blood in their veins, while the Magyar who takes a Rou- manian girl for his wife, not only utterly fails to convert her to his ideas, but him- self, subdued by her influence, will imper- ceptibly begin to lose something of his nationality. This is a fact well known, and much lamented by the Transylvanian Hungarians, who live in anticipated ap- prehensions of seeing their people ulti- mately dissolving into Roumanians; and this fear it is which makes the present Hungarian government devote such iron energy to the task of Magyarizing all peo- ple within the frontiera task which the opposition of Croats, Serbs, and Slovacks, the stubborn conservatism of the Saxons, and the eager aspirations of the Rouma- nians, bids fair to render little short of herculean. It is not easy to foresee the end of this portentous struggle, which is a question of no less than life or death on either side. Given a quarter century of peace for Hungary, it is just possible that the government may accomplish the ob- ject pursued with such relentless persist- ency; but does any one believe in such peace just now when the Eastern question daily becomes more ominously interroga- tive? And how is it possible to doubt that the war, which, in some shape or other, must come before long, is the op- portunity many await for slipping off un- welcome chains? For the dwindling handful of S~cons indeed no resurrection seems possible, for are they not doomed to moulder away in their self-spun cobwebs? But for the Roumanians, in virtue of their rapidly increasing population, of the thirst for knowledge, and the powerful spirit of progress which have arisen among them of late years, it is scarcely hazardous to prophesy that the future has much in store, and that a day will come when, other na- tions having degenerated and spent their strength, these descendants of the ancient Romans, rising phenix-like from their ashes, will step forward with a whole fund of latent power and virgin material, to rule as masters where formerly they have crouched as slaves. E. GERARD. From All The Year Round. THE SHEPHERD OF THE SALT LAKE. CHAPTER I. HE was known to have leen a convict, and to have served out his time at Mac- quarie Harbor, though in his old age there was little or nothing in his manner or ap- pearance to indicate anything of savagery or vice in his disposition. Twenty years of his life had been spent in profitless labor with pick, and shovel, and cradle, on the diggings that broke out in endless numbers throughout the length and breadth of Australia, after the gold discoveries of 1851. During the fifties he was in Victoria; first at Bendigo, then at Ballarat, Mclvor, Maldon, the Ovens, and other places of promise. The six- ties~ found him in New South Wales, still leading the nomadic life of a digger. The seventies ~ saw him shepherd, stock- man, station cook, timber-feller, and hut- keeper; and in i88oan old, broken- down man he was shepherding sheep in Queensland. No life could have been more forlorn and desolate than his during those latter days of his travailing. His hut was dis- tant some twenty miles from the primitive head-station on which his employer lived. From week end to week end he saw no living soul except the black boy who brought him his rations, and, at rare in-. tervals, the sheep overseer or manager, who rode out to count his flock. His solitary bark hut was erected on the edge of the basin of a dried-up salt lake, such as are found frequently in the interior of Australia. It was nothing but a depressed hollow, treeless and grassless~, covered with a salty incrustation, and at THE SHEPHERD OF THE SALT LAKE. 43 the edges with a sparse growth of creep- ing pig-weed and dwarf ti-tree. There was something unutterably melancholy in this vast expanse, gleaming with a dirty- white lustre under the suns rays silent, lifeless, and desolate. It was the home of no living thing; even its scanty covering of vegetation only extended its straggling growth along the edges, choked back by the salty, dust-like soil. The very birds seemed to avoid it and in other direc- tions ; the chirp of the crickets and grass- hoppers, sounding incessantly from the grass all about, never broke the mournful stillness that brooded over the Salt Lake. It might have been blighted by some awful curse, so lifeless, so lugubrious a thing was it. It lay in the heart of mulga ridges, rising in gentle slopes all around, green where covered with grass, dirty-red where the friable earth lay unhidden. To- wards the spot where the old shepherds hut was erected, a low outcrop of rock formed the northern boundary of the lake behind this was a clump of gidyea-trees, and, stretching back from it, a wilderness of wattle and wild-hop vines. In this melancholy retreat old Scotty passed many a long and weary year. So isolated was it, and so deeply did his nature become imbued with the callous- ness of his surroundings, that time passed over his head almost unheeded. The days brought nothing to him but the dull routine of his duties; the weeks fled; the months slipped by; and he neither noticed nor cared to mark their flight. His dog and his quiet flock were his only compan- ions. He had no thought for anything else; they made the sum total of his ex- istence. He almost knew every individ- ual sheep by sight, and they in return exhibited no fear of him, so accustomed were they to his voice and presence. Every morning, when he let them out of the yards, they would slowly wander across the ridges, feeding as they went; every evening they would as slowly make their way back again, without effort or direction on his part. The months came and went, and brought no change in the lonely life of the old shepherd. The stony, grass-covered slopes of the mulga ridges surrounded him, cut- ting him off from the outer world by a motionless, billowy sea of green; the Salt Lake, gleaming with saline incrustations, was ever before his gaze, benumbing his mind with the mystery of its lifeless so- lemnity. One evening, at the close of a long summer day, when the wattle-blossom and the wild hops made the languorous air heavy with their subtle perfume, three horsemen suddenly appeared before the lonely shepherd. It was the owner of the station, accompanied by two bush. hands. Good-day, Scotty; sheep all right?~ said the former, reining up and dismount- ing. Ay, boss. Thats right. Well camp here to- night, and Ill go and have a look at them. Im going to start fencing in this end of the run. Weve come to mark out the line. I suppose the gibbera holes full? Ay, pretty well. Then we will take the horses down and give them a drink. The four men, leading the horses by the bridles, walked to where the outcrop of white limestone rock formed a natural barrier to the Salt Lake. A broad sheep- track led down to a narrow gully, that split the rock almost at its centre. Hid- den in this ambush, and overhung by an immense block of limestone, was a small, dark-looking pool not more than three to four feet in width. Some troughing, rudely constructed from the hollowed-out trunks of trees, lay on the ground near by. The horses drank from the troughs, whilst the men dipped their pannikins in the pool. The waters cold as ice, said Scottys master. It makes your teeth tingle. Its always the same, answered the shepherd, even on the hottest day. Its a regular godsend, this gibbera hole, said the squatter. The only water for ten miles round. It must be a spring. It doesnt seem to go down at all. No, it never alters. I wonder if its deep, said one of the men. Deep? It is so, answered Scotty. I cut a sapling twenty feet long, but I couldnt bottom with it. Their thirst satisfied, the men made their way along the gully out on to the small plateau of rock that commanded the Salt Lake. The vast expanse stretched away before their eyes desolate and life- less, and the three visitors gazed at it for a long time in silence. Its a strange place, said the squatter at length, speaking softly, as though loth to break the curious stillness. Its enough to give one the horrors. Horrors! exclaimed Scotty, with sudden vehemence, youre right. It do give the horrors. Its always the same summer and winter, weighing down and 44 THE SHEPHERD OF THE SALT LAKE. crushing the heart out of a man. Its a drefful place. Theres a curse hanging to it, and those who live nigh it get the curse in them too. I know it. Night and day for four years Ive been watching it, and its blighted me the same as it is itself. Theres no livin thing goes near it but me and the sheep. Its only me knows what a cursed thing it is. The squatter and his men exchanged a quick look of surprise. The old shep- herds manner had suddenly changed. He had been dull, impassive, and silent. Their unexpected arrival had aroused in him no surprise, had given rise to no sign of welcome or pleasure. But when he spoke of the Salt Lake, his manner was wholly changed. His sunken eyes gleamed with excitement, his voice was raised, his hands and arms moved restlessly. I know it, he continued, with still greater vehemence, pointing towards the lake with shaking finger. Ive watched it for days and days together, feeling it weighing me down more and more. This is what its done. He motioned with one comprehensive gesture towards his fur- rowed face, his sunken eyes, and trem- bling limbs. Its broke me down. Its made me like this. Its blighted me the same as it blights everything that goes near it. Theres no escaping from it when once its got hold of you. Itll be the death of me in the end. Theres no get- ting away from it now not for me. His arm sank to his side, the light died away from his eyes, and he relapsed into silence, standing there gazing vacantly at the funereal waste. His three companions exchanged a sec- ond look of meaning, and one of the men whispered to his mate, Hes clean off his head. Oh, its not so bad as that, Scotty, said the squatter soothingly. Its a dull place to live in, and its terribly lonely, too. If you like, Ill move you to another part of the run. But the old shepherd shook his head. No, he answered listlessly, Im not wanting to go away. Ive been here for four years, and Ill leave my bones here. I cant get away from it. Its got hold of me body and soul, and Ill stand by it till it finishes me. I dont want to go away. There seems to be a bit of feed on it, continued the other, anxious to change the current of the old mans thoughts. Ay, he answered dully. The sheeps fond of the pig-weed, and I let em run along the edge sometimes. But it aint over safe in the middle. -. How ? In summer its all fine sand and drift; but in winter after the rain its nothing but a bog. Its a fearful place altogether, said the other with a slight shudder. But lets get back and hobble the horses but. The three visitors spread their blankets under the shelter of old Scottys hut that night, and on the next day set themselves to the duty of driving in pegs and blazing the trees along the projected line of fenc- ing. A compass placed on a stake driven into the ground was the sole instrument used; by its aid the long line, running due east and west, was roughly marked out with sufficient accuracy for the purpose of guiding the fencers in their subsequent work. For three days the marking out of the line was continued, and for three nights the workers camped with the old man; then they both took their departure, and the solitary shepherd of the Salt Lake was left once again to his wonted isolation. But the visit of the squatter and his men was but the herald of a greater change. A month passed, and the old shepherd, pursuing his weary round of duties, had wholly forgotten the circumstance when on returning with his flock one day towards sundown,.the white gleam of a tent close by his hut caught his eye. So broken was he by his long enforced solitude, so apa- thetic, so insensible to every outward in- fluence, that even that unusual sight failed to arouse in him the slightest interest. He followed his sheep towards the brush- wood yards, and it was not until two men, emerging from the tent, accosted him, that he seemed to be alive to the fact of there being intruders on his solitude. Good-evening, mate, said one of the new-comers. Good-evening, Scotty answered. Weve come here on that job of fenc- ing, continued the man, seeing that the other asked no questions. Have you? Ay. Me and Larry here have taken the contract for it. Ive got the missus inside and a youngster. We camped here for the water. We found the sheep tracks goin down to the spring. Yes, answered Scotty. Youll get ~ plenty of water at the gibbera hole. He did not speak as though he resented the intrusion of the fencers, only as though he were wholly indifferent to it. His do~, however, used so long to his master s company only, barked furiously at th~ strangers. Lie down, Jerry, said the old man THE SHEPHERD OF THE SALT LAKE. 45 listlessly, and then stood silently regard- ing the two men. Its pretty lonely here, observed the one referred to as Larry. Thats a rum- looking place, that there swamp. Ay; its got a curse on it. Both the fencers looked curiously at the old man, but he offered no further expla- nation. How dye mean? asked one of them at length. There aint no livin thing on it. Its got a curse on it. The men looked at one another mean- ingly, and then again at the old man. They forbore to make any further allusion to the Salt Lake however, and the one who had spoken first, whom the other addressed as Duke, knocking the ashes out of his pipe, said, Well, I expect well be camped here some time, seem that this is the only water for ten miles round. 1 hope well hit it right. We wont interfere with the sheep further than getting one now and again for rations. Them were the arrangements with the boss. Well kill to-night, if youll put us on to a good fat un. All right, answered Scotty slowly. Take what one youve a mind to. He watched the men whilst they clam- bered over the hurdle gates of the yard, and secured one of the sheep. Then, when they had carried it away to kill, he retired to his hut to prepare his poor even- ing meal. Entering, he seated himself on the edge of the bunk, gazing through the open doorway at the Salt Lake, visible in all its hideous desolation. Then he rose. and proceeded to busy himself in a dull, spiritless way with the wood ashes on the hearth. He fanned the still-smouldering embers into a flame, and, filling a billy with water, put it on to boil. That done, he reseated himself on the bunk, and gazed out once again at the desolate land- scape spread out in front of him. He sat there for some time, silent and meditative, when a slight noise caused him to lower his gaze. A little girl was peeping through the open doorway. Scotty looked at her with- out speaking, and the child returned his gaze with grave scrutiny. At last, em- boldened by his silence, she stepped into the hut, and going up to him, laid her hand fearlessly on his. Whats your name? she asked. Scotty recovered himself with a start at the sound of her voice. The dreary ex- panse of the Salt Lake was before his eyes, the thought of it in his mind, and the little LIVING AGE. VOL. LVIIL 2974 figure, coming before him so suddenly, seemed in some way to have a mysterious connection with it. He gazed at her with a sudden, newly awakened interest. She was a thin, deli- cate-looking child, with a pale, clear com- plexion, and a pair of deep, large dark brown eyes. She was dressed in a dirty white frock, and her legs and feet were bare. Whats your name ? she asked again, after a pause of silent observation. Scotty. Mynames Lizzie Lizzie Duke. Im nearly six. Do you think thats being quite old? Yes, he answered mechanically. So do I. lVlother dont, nor father. But I do. I want to be old. Do you? he said in the same way. Yes. Of course. I dont get any girls and boys to play with, so I want to be old like mother. Have you seen mother? Shes here, you know, with father and Larry. Theyve come to do the fencing, and Im going to help them. Do you live here? she continued, looking round. Yes. Its a nice place, but I like a tent bet- ter. Dont you? Theres so much room in a big tent. Her eyes wandered slowly round the humble dwelling-place. It was poor enough, the whole structure being of bark and wood. The framework of saplings was visible from inside; the sheets of bark that did for walls and roof being fastened on the outside. The floor was simply the earth beaten hard, the open fireplace a protection of bark and clay. A rude table, made out of roughly adzed slabs, stood against one ~vall; opposite it was the bunk on which the old man was seated. A block of wood near the fire- place was the only substitute for chair or form, whilst over the bed was fastened a shelf, on which lay a few tattered volumes, ~a couple of tin pannikins, and a few odds and ends. Hanging from the roof was a clean flour-bag, tied tightly at the neck. It contained the shepherds rations of tea, flour, and sugar, and was placed there for protection from the ants. The hut was miserable enough, and hideous in the dingy brown of bark and wood and earthen floor, the only gleam of color be- ing in the blue blankets that covered the bunk. I think I like a tent better, repeated the child, gazing at old Scotty~ gravely. 146 THE SHEPHERD OF THE SALT LAKE. Its lighter, and theres more room. Dont you think so? But the old man did not seem to hear the question. He was gazing out through the open doorway on the darkening face of the Salt Lake. Almost wholly hidden by the crepuscular shadows, its saline in- crustations still dully gleaming, it looked more grotesque, more solemn than in the daylight. What is that? said the child, follow- ing his glance. Its the Salt Lake. What a funny place! Its all flat, and there arent any trees on it. Why is it like that? Because theres a blight on it that de- stroys everything that goes near it, he answered, almost unconscious of whom he was addressing. A blight? Whats that? A curse, that withers and chokes and sucks the life out of every living thino- The child uttered a cry of fear. Oh, its wicked to say that, she cried, and Im getting frightened. Why do you say such naughty things? They cant be true. Ay, but its true enough, he an- swered, wagging his head solemnly. Its done it to me, and, if you stop here, itll be the same with you. No, it wont, she answered, breaking out into a fit of childish weeping, and youre a bad man to frighten me so. I shall tell mother. The old shepherd gazed at her in sur- prise. Tears were so new to him, that the sight of them made him actually trem- ble. He was moved with a strange agita- tion. For the first time during all those years of loneliness, a feeling of pity and tenderness thrilled him. A curious trem- bling took hold of him as he laid his hand tenderly on the girls head and drew her to him, and in his own eyes glistened a moisture that the long, callous years had not seen before. A weeping child had reopened the springs of human sympathy so long dried up. Then half-an-hour later the mother came to look for her little daughter. She found the child in the old shepherds hut. The billy had boiled itself out, the fire was low, the place was dark; but, seated motion- less on the bunk, ~vas old Scotty, with little Lizzie sound asleep in his arms. CHAPTER II. THE mulga ridges round the Salt Lake before so silent resounded with the ring of the axe, the thud of the mawl, the metallic clink of hammered wedges, and the dull grating of the cross-cut saw. Fallen trees marked the projected line of fencing; then the square post-holes, dug out at regular intervals, showed a further stage of progress; and then the short posts themselves sprang into existence in a long, straight line, which every day was added to and lengthened. During two months of hot summer weather the work was carried on bravely, and Scottys solitude was shared by the fencers and the mother and child. The long summer days, odorous with the breath of the hops and wattle-blossom fled by; the mulga ridges lost their green, and assumed a sober brown hue more in har- mony with the dark red soil; the dark- hued mulga trees drooped listlessly before the remorseless heat; the giant box-trees exuded a dark crimson gum, that hung in semi-transparent drops like clots of thick- ened blood; and still the white tent of the fencers and the hut of the shepherd stood near together by the edge of the Salt Lake. And the long days had not fled by with- out bringing other changes in their train. To the lonely life of poor old Scotty they brought a fresh interest a new ex- perience. He learned to love the little being, who had come and awakened him by her childish presence and her young grief from his long lethargy. He came to love the sound of her voice, the sight of her thin figure, the touch of her hand. And, strange to say, the little girl returned his liking. She was never tired of wan- dering with him behind the straggling flock, talking in a quaint way to the quiet sheep, who grew to know her. Often- times she would pass the day with her father and Larry at their work; but she did not like the noise of the chopping and hammering. It made her head ache, and she was always glad to get away from it. She liked watching her father dig the square post-holes, and passed many an hour counting the mulga posts and taking long glances over their tops to see if they were quite in a straight line. She liked being with her mother, too, when she did not make her do lessons, and when she -~ was not ill. But it was always one thing or the other. When her mother was well enough, she would invariably set her to spelling and reading; and then, when she was ill, and lying in bed, it was so dull in the tent, little Lizzie was always glad to get out into the fresh, odorous air. Yes, she liked THE SHEPHERD OF THE SALT LAKE. 47 best of all to accompany old Scotty in his slow wanderings with his flock, resting with him in the shade, talking to the sheep, listening to his rambling stories, which she would hardly understand, but which exercised a strange fascination over her, for they were all of the old convict days. That was what she liked best, for they were days full of novel experiences for her. At first, aroused by the new ele- ment that had entered into his life, the old shepherd had thrown off, in some measure, the apathy and supineness that characterized him. In his companionship with the little girl he became more ani- mated than he had been for years. He tried to amuse her to the best of his pow- ers. He puzzled his failing memory for recollections of past experiences to tell her; he got her bush flowers and pretty heaths; dug up edible roots for her; took her to where quandongs and chucky-chuck- ies grew, and helped l~er to fill her apron with the priceless fruits. He had acquired, during former years of his lonely life, something more than an ordinary skill in carving with his clasp knife, and this he returned to, after many years of disuse, cutting out for her all manner of curious toys and knick-knacks. He even deftly carved the quandong stones and made a necklace of them for her a task of the utmost delicacy, that took him almost a month to accomplish. It was no wonder little Lizzie liked being with Scotty and the sheep. Nobody was so kind to her as the old shepherd; nobody knew how to amuse her so well. And so the days fled, and the golden wattle and the hop blossoms began to fall, breathing out a sweeter fragrance indy- ing; and the peppermint-trees, and the resinous pines, and the bleaching gum- leaves, loaded the summer air with a pun- gent redolence. The spicy air of the mulga ridges had brought something like a flush of health to little Lizzies pale cheeks during those two months; the evening breezes, sweeping across the Salt Lake, and laden with its saline emanations. had not carried a blight with them, hut had strengthened the weakly child and benefited her. Im not frightened of the Salt Lake now, she said one day to old Scotty, when both were reposing under a clump of emu bush near its edge, idly watching the camping sheep. I dont think theres a blight on it now. Perhaps its gone away.~~ No, no, he answered, shaking his head. Its here, sure enough. But mother says its making me strono~ Ay; it did me good at first, too. But it got hold of me and broke me down af- terwards. The child looked curiously at him. Mother said I wasnt to believe it at all, she said after a pause. She says its wicked to talk like that. Maybe, he answered, shaking his head a second time. I dont know. But theres a curse on it for all that. He gave way to the child in everything, hut on that one point nothing could make him speak differently. Im not frightened of it then, ~ exclaimed little Lizzie. And, rising from her shady seat under the emu bush, she ran down towards the lake. No, no, dont go there, cried the shepherd. But the child shook her head merrily, and, followed by the old shepherds dog barking joyously, walked out on to the flat expanse. A little cloud of acrid dust rose at every footstep, and she sank up to her ankles in the light, pervious soil. As she walked out further she xvent still deeper, and even the dog bounding ahead of her, light weight as he was, sank up to its knees in the yielding mould. There, you see, she said, returning breathless with the exertion, Im not frightened of it a bit. You shouldnt have done it, answered Scotty, shaking his head in a troubled way. It wont lead to any good. You shouldnt have done it. Towards sundown the two companions made their way back to the camp at the tail of the slowly moving flock. The sun going down at the far end of the Salt Lake cast a blinding glare over the treeless waste. The salty incrustations that spread in dirty white patches over its surface flashed crimson, as though the earth were stained with blood; the glaucous pig-weed and the darker ti-tree bushes took a strange unnatural brilliance~ even the discolored limestone rocks at the edge became sublimated by the crimson glamor. Slowly the bleating flock made its way homeward over the mulga ridges, the man and the child following with the dog at their heels. The glowing sunshine trans- fused the long avenues of the bush with a soft radiance; the birds and insects, rousing themselves after the heat of the day, filled the air with sound; the spicy odors distilled by the heat from tree and -flower made the air languorous and heavy; from the dried herbage, crushed by the 148 THE SHEPHERD OF THE SALT LAKE. feet of the moving sheep, arose a fainter part with her, and so were in a bit of a perfume. taking about it. Oh! sighed the child, haif-uncon- Leave her with me, exclaimed Scotty sciously, as the white gleam of the tent eagerly. Ill take care of her. She was seen in the distance, what a long, shant want for nothing. long, beautiful day! The suns nearly Thats what I said, interjected Larry. down. How beautiful it all is! Oh, I These mulga ridges is very healthy, wish it could go on like this forever and and theyre doing Liz a tremenjis lot of ever! good. Theres no use draggin her to the That same evening as old Scotty sat township. Its a bad place for children, alone at his solitary hearth, the two fenc- and the journeyd knock her up. Wed ers entered the hut. be back in a month or six weeks most like, Weve just been putting little Liz to and so if Liz is willing to stop, I ses, Let bed, said Duke. She was that tired, her. happy-like, she could hardly hold her head Dont take her away. For Heavens up. sake dont take her away, cried Scotty. She do enjoy herself all day long, Well, Im for leaving her, answered said his mate. Its wonderful what she Duke, though the missus isnt: Weve finds to amuse her. She was singing been talking over it, and we made up our away like a young chirrup, almost until minds if you were willing to take she ~vent off. charge of the childto leave it to little Yes, said Scotty eagerly. Shes Liz herself. If she wants to stop, she asleep, is she? can. if she wants- to come with us, well Sound as a bell. then, well take her along.~ Ah, thats it, thats it, he murmured. No, no. She must not go. Ill take Shell be awake and bright enough to- care of her. No harm shall come to her. morrow. Ill look after her morning and night. See See here, Scotty, said Duke thought- here; Ill give you this if you leave her fully. Larry and me have come because with me, he cried, fumbling amid the we ye something to tell you. Were blankets on the bunk. Its all I have. goin away. But here; you shall have it all if youll What? Going away? he cried, let- leave her. ting his pipe fall to the ground in his sud. Put up your cheque, man, returned den dismay. No, no; youre not going Duke, with rough good-nature. I dont to take the child. You wont take her want it. If the child likes, she shall stop from me. with you. Ill leave you plenty of rations We must go. Least ways I must, and for her, and you can look after our camp its no good Larry stopping alone. My for us, for well leave the tent standing missus has been ailin a good bit since and the tools. weve come here, and shes close on her Yes, yes. Only leave the child with confinement. I wont risk it without a me, and I will do anything you want. doctor this time. If shed been all right The old shepherd passed a sleepless shed have got through it well enough, but night. The fear of losing the child worked she aint. Im going to take her in the upon his feeble mind to such an extent, dray to Gidanga, where she can be at- that during the whole of that warm sum- tended to. It wouldnt be any good Larry mer night he walked restlessly to and fro stopping alone he couldnt do much, so in the hut in a fever of hope and fear. hes coming along. With the earliest streak of dawn he was But the child! out, waiting impatiently outside the tent Well, its this way, said Duke of the fencers. An hour later Duke thoughtfully. Itll be a rough journey emerged from it. to the township. It must be nigh on Youre early, he said. eighty miles, and there aint a track till The child! exclaimed Scotty feveii~ we get in the river road, you know. Shes ishly. a delikit little thing is Liz, and I dont Well, Ive been talking it over again much like the idea of her havin to rough with the missus, and she agrees to leavin it. We mean coming back, of course, and Liz here if she wants to stop. So well finishing the contract; so, seem as youve just ask her. grown so fond of her, and she having a The girl, bright and rosy from her long liking for you, I thought, if you wanted sleep, emerged from the tent at that mo- her, as you might take care of her.till we ment. come back. But the missus dont like to Come here, little Liz, said the father THE SHEPHERD OF THE SALT LAKE. gravely, I want to ask you something. Mother and mes going away for a time going a long way all through the bush. Mothers ill, you know; and Im going to take her to the doctors. But we re com- ing back again soon. Would you like to go with us, or stay here along with Scotty and the sheep? Lizzies glance wandered from her fa- thers face to the old shepherd. He stood feverishly, tremblingly, expectant of the coming answer, with such a look of en- treaty in his eyes that her gaze was for the moment arrested. He seemed about to speak, but no sound came from him, only his lips moved convulsively. The childs glance wandered from the shep- herds face to the golden wattle gleaming in the early sunlight, and the hops on their pendent branches waving a mute greeting. The sheep camped in one corner of the brush yards attracted her attention for a moment, but her gaze wandered away to the park-like avenues of graceful mulga- trees, to the bright green clumps of emu and apple bush, to the dark green of the pines and tall peppermint-trees, and to the red mulga ridges. At last her wandering glance rested on the Salt Lake silent, lifeless, gleaming white and burnished. She gazed at it for a moment in silence, and then she said with strange quietness Id sooner stay by the Salt Lake, father. The next day the fencers took their de- parture, leaving little Lizzie under Scottys care. Early in the morning the two horses were harnessed to the dray, one in the lead, one between the shafts. Mother and father embraced their daughter for the last time; then Larry cracked his long whip lustily, the harness strained, the heavy wheels creaked slowly round, and Scotty and his little charo~e were left to the solitude of the Salt Lake. Oh, mother! mother! sobbed Lizzie, as the dray moved off, burying her face in her hands, I wish Id gone too. No, no, said Scotty, holding her hand tight in his, you will stop with me and the sheep. We shall be so happy together. And theyll be back soon very soon.~ But under his beard he muttered to him- self, She couldnt go. No, no; the Salt Lake has got her the same as me. She cant get away from it. CHAPTER III. SUMMER waned, and the autumn came with a breath of freshness and a sobering touch that lent a fuller charm to the mulga ridges, and chastened the suns heat with. 49 gentle breezes. Its first month brought no new experience to the two lonely dwell- ers by the Salt Lake, further than that testified by the change in their surround- ings. They lived their solitary life undisturbed, except by the rare visits of the sheep overseer from the head station pursuing a daily routine that seldom altered. The old shepherd fulfilled his trust to the uttermost letter. He scarcely ever allowed the child out of his sight. He made her a bunk in his hut, and every night undressed her, and remained by her till she had fallen asleep. He lookecf after her with a tenderness her own mother could not have surpassed. His quiet flock required little care, of their own accord they would come and go to the yards at the accustomed time; and so he was able to devote himself almost entirely to his little charge. No act of his that could give her pleasure was too much trouble for him. He lived in the child. Her slightest wish was law. Almos~the whole day was spent in trying to amuse her. At first little Lizzie enjoyed to the ut- most the liberty and independence of her new life. She had no lessons to do now no reading or spelling. And Scotty cooked her nice things. She could have as much brownie as she wanted. It was very nice to have so much cake; and sometimes he made her lolly from the brown ration sugar. Then he got her luscious currajong roots bush cocoa- nut, as he called it and wild fruits and berries, and nice sour binil grass. It was all very pleasant at first, and Lizzie felt herself a veritable queen. Scotty would do anything she asked him make her toys, and tell her stories, and carry her pick-a-back when she was tired, and catch a sheep for her to play with, and hold her hand at night till she fell asleep. But soon the solitude began to weigh upon the childs spirits. She longed for her father and mother again, even for the sound of the hammering and the ring of the axe-strokes, that used to make her head ache so. The bush was so silent now, that sometimes it frightened her, and even the battering of the mawl on the iron wedges would have been a welcome change. As the days dragged on their weary length, this feel- ing became stronger and stronger. The child began to pine for other companion- ship than that of the half-witted old man; the very intensity of his affection became irksome to her. And so the first month of autumn passed, and then a sudden change came to the inulga ridges and the silent Salt Lake. 150 THE SHEPHERD OF THE SALT LAKE. The wet season was unusually late that year, but when at last the rain did set in, it fell in unusual quantities. For two days it caine down in an almost continu- ous downpour, and then cleared off, only to recommence in lighter showers. Dur- ing that time little Lizzie was confined to the hut; and a weary, weary time she found it. The old shepherd would take advantage of any temporary break in the weather to let his flock out, in order that the sheep might pick up a mouthful; but he would not allow Lizzie to accompany him, fearful of her getting wet. The rain came down, and the patient sheep stood nearly all day long with hang- ing heads under lee of the brush yards; the mulga ridges and the Salt Lake were blotted out; the air was heavy and moist; and the hut was so dreary that poor Lizzie, used to being out in the fresh air all day long, hardly knew what to do with herself. All Scottys efforts failed to amuse her any longer. She longed for some change in her dull life; she sighed for the return of the sunshine, for her father and mother to come back again. It was better when the rain cleared off, and the warm sun came out again, and made everything bright and pleasant. As though by magic the inulga ridges, with the stony hollows between, assumed a new appearance. Two days of bright weather were sufficient to bring the sweet- smelling herbage out, and to cause the grasses to put forth their tender green shoots. Pools glistened in the hollows; the red loam before so parched was moist and soft, and exhaled a fresh earthy smell that mingled with the more delicate perfume of the young herbage. The mulga-trees assumed a fresher green; the drooping fronds of the tall peppermint- trees dripped a resinous thanksgiving for the fresh nutriment their spreading roots sucked up; even in the patches of scrub the rain seemed to have washed off some of the dinginess. All was bright and fresh, and Lizzie, freed from her impris- onment, forgot, for the time, her weary longing and impatience. The two were seated, one day, near the gibbera hole, now overflowing and filling the narrow gully. The sheep were scat- tered along the edge of the Salt Lake, nib- bling greedily at the tender young herbage that had sprung up, as it were, almost by magic. Old Scott was gazing out at the deso- late waste o the Salt Lake. Why are you looking like that? asked Lizzie curiously, laying her hand on the old mans knee. im thinking what a terrible place it is, he answered mechanically. Look at it. Its nothing but a steaming hog. And see, its trembling and shaking like a hungry thing. Its hidyus. The lake presented a strange appear- ance. A grey exhalation, drawn out of the rain-sodden, spumy soil by the heat of the sun, partially hid its surface; through it the salty incrustations glittered with a strange colorless shimmer. It may have been the vibration of theheated air, or it may have been the quivering of the rising mist, but the whole surface of the lake seemed to be trembling and shaking. Ay; its the curse, muttered old Scotty fearfully. Its a drefful thing to see it ; it drors the life out of you. Its al~vays worse after the rain. Couldnt you walk across it now? asked the child,gazi ng with a shudder at the misty waste. Walk! Its nothing but a hungry bog that would swallow you up. Nothing dare go on it now, after the rain. See how the sheep keep away from it. They know what a hidyus thing it is and I know it too. Look at it shaking. Come away, child, or itll blight you the same as it has done me. The next day, as they were returning with the sheep, towards sundown, the crack of a whip, in the distance, suddenly broke the stillness of the bush. Its mother and father 1 cried Lizzie, with a joyful cry. Oh! theyve come back at last. She ran in the direction of the sound, leaving old Scotty to yard the sheep. Soon the creaking wheels sounded near at hand, and the dray slowly came into view, surmounting the last of the mulga ridges. When it stopped at length, before the tent left standing by the fencers, the little girl, weeping bitterly, and with her hand clasped in that of Dukes mate, ap- proached the old man. Theyve not come, she cried, 5Qb- bing pitifully. Its only Larry come alone. The man nodded to Scotty, and gave him the usual bush greeting. Yes, Im by myself this time, Liz, he said. But dont you cry. Ive come to take you to mother. To take her away! cried Scotty in a scared voice. Ay. Her mothers waiting for her at Gidanga. But Ill turn out the horsds first. Theyve had a heavy time of it. I was near bailed up by the rain. Them mulga ridges are as soft as butter now; it was as much as the horses could do to pull the empty dray. Theyll be glad of a spell. He unharnessed the horses and then, leading them down the gibbera hole for water, hobbled them out. Scotty watched him as though in a dream. It had come to an end, then, at last! The child was to be taken away from him. Their happy life together was over. He would see her no more; hear the sound of her Voice and her happy laughter, hold her hand in his, watch her untroubled sleep, no longer. She was to be taken from him. His feeble mind had hardly realized that such a day must come, in the end. Happy in her companionship, he had never thought of separation. It had seemed as if their peaceful, happy life must go on forever. And now the evil day had come. He was to lose her. A terrible despair all the more powerful by reason of its dreadful suddenness took hold of him. Heart and brain felt numbed and stupefied. He uttered one hoarse cry; but that was all. His grief and despair were too deep for outward expression. That evening, when little Lizzie had been laid tenderly to rest by the old shep- herd, the fencer told his story. I didnt tell her, he said, seated on a wooden block before the fire, because I didnt want to frighten her. But theres been an accident. Poor Dukes dead crushed under the wheel of the dray. It was at the Culgoa crossing. There wasnt much water in the river, but the crossing- place is a bad one. I was in the dray holding his missis up, preventing her from being jolted, for it was nigh on her time, and she was very weak. The place was pretty steep and rough, and he was leadin the horses down. There isnt a brake to the dray, and the leader fell, coming down on him. The wheel went right over poor Duke, crushin his head in. He was dead when I jumped down and pulled him out. He never moved. It was orful sudden, poor fellow. The old shepherd listened as though in a dream. He was dead, then her father and still they wanted to take her away from him. I took his missis into the township, Larry continued, and poor Dukes body too. She had a bad time of it, poor soul; but I got her in safe to the doctors, and shes there now. Shes got a childa boy, and Ive come out to take little Liz 5 to her. She isnt comm back here now her old mans killed, and I aint either. Ive given up the fencin contract, the boss allowing me and her for what work me and Duke did. She hadnt got the heart to come out here again, and Im going to stop and take care of her. Duke and me were mates for nigh on five years, and Im going to look after his missis and the kids. Were going to get married when shes better. So Ive come out with the dray to get the tent and tools, and take little Liz back with me to Gidanga. Poor Scotty! His paralyzed mind hardly understood what the other was saying. Only one idea whirled through his brain. Her father was dead, and still they wanted to take the child from him. No, no, he exclaimed, answering his thoughts more than the others words. Dont take her away. Leave her with me. Leave her. What would I leave her for? Her mother wants her. But I want her, he cried in tones of agony. I cant give her up. Shes mine. I love her so. Oh, leave her with me! The fencer looked with an air of aston. ishment at the trembling old man. Why, youre off your head, mate, he said, with rough good-nature. I sup- pose a mother can have her own gal. No; I cant leave her. Ive come out special for her. I love her so, I love her so, muttered poor Scotty. Oh, youll get over that. Theres oth- ers coining out to take up the fencin ~ Theres a contractor coming with five or six men and his family. Hes got four children. Youll find one of them to take up with. Scotty made a hopeless gesture, and his head sank on his breast in mute despair. Well, Ill turn in, Im pretty tired, said Larry, rising and laying his hand on the old mans shoulder. Dont be down- hearted, mate. Youll soon take up with them others. Im going to spell the horses for a couple of days. Then Ill pull down the tent, and load up and be off. Little Lizzie, murmured Scotty, wag- ging his head unmeaningly. No, no; dont take her away. The next two days were spent by the old shepherd In a state of pitiable collapse. The shock was so sudden that it seemed completely to take away the remnants of reason that remained to him. Almost for the first time during all those long years, he neglected his flock. He never ~vent THE SHEPHERD OF THE SALT LAKE. 152 THE SHEPHERD OF THE SALT LAKE. near it, but sat for hours together, holding the girls hand in his; or else, when she ran away to join her newly found compan- ion, in gazing vacantly out at the Salt Lake. His mind seemed to be completely unhinged. He mumbled unmeaningly to himself; his head wagged from side to side ; his bleared eyes were sometimes dimmed by moisture, sometimes lighted up by a gleam of excitement. At times he followed the child about like her shadow, praying her in broken accents to stop with him, wildly offering her every inducement he could think of. At night he sat by her bed, gazing absorbedly at her peaceful face, listening to her regular breathing. He would sit motionless like that all through the night, listening, watch- ing. bowed down with anguish and de- spair. Towards the end of the second day a change came over him. He muttered constantly to himself; his hands and arms moved restlessly; his eyes gleamed with excitement. Her father was dead; why should she be taken from him? that was the one thought that surged through his mind. The man who had come to take her away was nothing to her; he should not have her. The old mans mutterings and his wild exclamations showed what was passing in his mind; but he made no further appeal to the fencer. And so the evening of the second day came, and on the morrow Lizzie and her new protector were to take their departure. The tent had been struck and rolled up, the tools collected, the dray laden, and everything was ready for an early start at sunrise. Scotty passed the night at the childs bedside, at first in dumb despair; then in gradually increasing excitement. It was the last night. In seven hours she would be taken from him in six in five. The thought was madness. Once he woke her gently to ask if she would not stop with him, and when she answered yes, fretful at being aroused but knowing with childish intuition that that answer would satisfy him, a gleam of wiid joy lighted up his face. After that he never stirred again during the whole of the night, but sat there with bowed head watching the sleeping child. With the first grey streak of dawn a footstep outside the hut arotised him. It was the fencer, who had camped for the night under the dray. Hullo! You up? he said, peering into the dark hut. Youre early. Im going after the horses, for I want to.make an early start. Make up the fire and put the billy on, will you? Liz and me have got a long days journey before us. Ill wake her up. Its nearly time she got dressed. It had come at last, then. No, no, cried Scotty, suddenly start- ing up and brandishing his arms in mad excitement; leave her be. Shes not going. Shes going to stop with me; she said so. Goin to stop with you! Youre off your head. Here, get out of the way and let me pass. No, no; stand back. The man made his way into the hut; but Scotty, ~vhipping up the child from the bed, with a hoarse cry darted past him in the obscurity, and gained the door. Rudely awakened, little Lizzie began to cry. Where are you off to, you looney? exclaimed the fencer. Come back, will you? But the old shepherd, still grasping his burden, ran quickly from the hut. Utter- ing a startled oath the man followed, try- ing to overtake him. Outside, a grey mist obscured everything. Nothing was. visible but the nearest trees, standing shadowy and impalpable like phantom forms. The mulga ridges were veiled by the dense fog; the Salt Lake was nothing but an indistinguishable mass of shadows. The old mans flying steps took him in the direction of the gibbera hole; he stag- gered along the top of the rock, the child crying bitterly in his arms. He did not seem to know where he was his sole idea appeared to be to escape with his burden from his pursuer. He staggered blindly across the plateau of rock, slippery with the fog. A shrill cry broke from the fencers lips, and he stopped suddenly, with blanched face. Stop, stop, you madman, he screamed. The Salt Lake! The Salt Lake! Right beneath the feet of the flying shepherd curled the chill mists that hid the lake. But he did not seem to be con- scious of anything. He staggered on, stumbled, recovered himself, and then tottered blindly over the edge, the crying child tightly pressed to his heart. There was a loud scream from little Lizzie a hideous, dead thud as man and child fell into the morass a dull splash of the foul spume a sickening gurgle as the choking slime closed over them an4 then all was quiet. The Salt Lake had its victims at last. LORD GEORGE GORDON AND THE RIOTS OF 1780. 53 From Temple Bar. LORD GEORGE GORDON AND THE RIOTS OF 1780. LORD GEORGE GORDON, the subject of this sketch, was born in 1752. He was the second son of Cosmo, third Duke of Gordon, his mother being a daughter of William, second Earl of Aberdeen him- self the representative of a branch of the distinguished house of Gordon. The duke died before the birth of his youngest son, and eventually his widow married a gentleman of the name of Morris. All through the seventeenth century the head of the Gordon family and his de- scendants were staunch upholders of the Roman Catholic faith, but the marriage of Alexander, second duke, with Henrietta Mordaunt, a daughter of Charles, Earl of Peterborough, the general who attached himself to the Prince of Orange in those troublous times, worked a change in the thoughts and feelings of her husbands lineage, and it has been asserted that the Duchess of Gordon was rewarded by a pension of i,ooo a year for her achieve- ment in converting that noble house from the errors of popery. Lord George Gordon entered the navy when a boy, and after serving in America and the West Indies in due time became a lieutenant. Returning home he con- ceived the project of representing Inver- nessshire in Parliament, and of ousting Fraser of Lovat, the sitting member a much rarer and bolder undertaking in those days than now. Fraser was a po- tentate in his own country, and it must have been as great a surprise as mortifi- cation to find that a mere boy had super- seded him and secured the seat, whose tenure he regarded with as great a sense of ownership as he did Beauly Castle. Lord George at this time is described as being possessed of good looks and a win- ning address, and to have had the art of making himself popular with all classes. He spoke Gaelic, was courteous and arree- able, and gave on the occasion of his successful election a magnificent ball at Inverness, hiring a ship to bring thither from the Isle of Sky fifteen young ladies all of the family of McLeod all beau- tiful, and the pride and admiration of the Highlands. It was not however to be endured that this stripling should bear away the chieftains honors thus, and it was arranged between Lovat and the Duke of Gordon that the latter should purchase for his son an English borough. He was therefore duly returned for Ludyershail at the election of 1774. -. With a very inaccurate estimate of his own abilities Lord George entered Parlia- ment with the avowed intention of sup- porting Lord Norths ministry, then in power. Lord Sandwich was first lord of the admiralty, and he before long applied to that minister for his naval promotion. The request was altogether unreasonable. He had distinguished himself in no way, and had it been granted he would have been placed over the heads of other far moie deserving officers. Lord Sandwich very properly refused the application, and Lord George forthwith quitted the minis- terial benches and went over to the Oppo- sition. He was patronized by Fox and Burke, who desired to engage him to their side; and in 1776 he made his first notable speech, delivering an intemperate and passionate philippic against the govern- ment, and asserting that they had endeav- ored to bribe him from the opposition by the offer of a sinecure of ,p~O a year. If this were true, there can be no doubt that they put a far greater value on his support than it was worth; and if he really refused a bribe, it is possible that he re- sented that his magnanimity was not more appreciated, for before long he began to disunite himself from both parties of the State, proclaiming himself to be that vora- cious seeker after popularity, a friend of the people. He rapidly became a nuisance in the House of Commons, for of wit and wis- dom the only terms upon which any departure from the ordinary course of business can be tolerated there he was destitute, and his eccentricity of dress and manner grew to such an excess that he was looked upon as partially insane. He insulted the ministry, badgered the opposition, interrupted the course of husi- ness,* continually bringing in matters concerning religion and the dangers of popery, in a manner wholly irrelevant to the matter under discussion, and he di- vided the House on questions wherein he stood alone, and was, in short, not only singular, but offensive and irrepressible. At one time he took up the Irish ques- tion, and feeling no doubts that he could solve all difficulties, reduced his views to a pamphlet, with which he proceeded to Buckingham House, demanded, and ob- tained, an audience of the king, and be- gan, says Horace Walpole, to read it incontinently to him. His Majesty lis * Then, as unfortunately now, in the power of any indifferent speaker. Ed. 154 LORD GEORGE GORDON AND THE RIOTS OF 1780. tened with courteous attention to the ap- law in England than the Roman Catholics parently interminable argument, but at there, naturally desirous of partaking in length the day began to decline so rap- the benefits of their co-religionists, sent a idly that it was difficult to distinguish the petition to Parliament praying that they print. Eagerly availing himself of the might be included in the Relief Act. No heaven-sent means of escape, George III. sooner was this known than the rumor was begged that he might be excused the rest. bruited about that the legislature con- Nothing daunted, ho~vever, by the signs templated granting their prayer, and the of the kings fatigue, Lord George ex- Scotch people at once became exasperated tracted the royal word of honor that he at the prospect of the victims being de- would finish the pamphlet, and having ob- livered from what they deemed merited tamed this concession, at length took his sufferings. Associations were formed, departure. meetings convened, speeches made, and To some enlightened and benevolent pamphlets published, and the whole of minds it seemed desirable about this time Scotland thrilled with rancorous indigna- that certain penalties and disabilities suf- tion. fered by the Roman Catholics since the It was resolved to send a counter peti. time of William III. should be repealed. tion to oppose the Roman Catholics, and A bill to prevent the further growth of a form was promptly prepared, settihg popery~ had been passed in that reign, forth all the advantages that had accrued some clauses of which were, as Sir George to Christianity in general and Protestant- Savile, who moved for leave to bring in ism in particular by the persecutions and the Relief Act, said, entirely opposed to humiliations suffered by their Popish the principles of Protestantism. Framed brethren, and praying their rulers to resist in the most moderate spirit, only certain the threatened remission of their penalties. clauses were named for absolute repeal; One leaflet in particular appeared in Edin- and, at the end of a temperate and well- burgh which stirred the people to their reasoned speech, Sir George instanced, depths. It was as follows as an inducement to the house, the loyal and peaceful behavior of those who had for so long suffered such intolerable per- secution. The clauses to which he ob- jected were: the liability of all Popish priests and Jesuits to perpetual imprison- ment should they take upon themselves the education of youth, or the keeping of schools in the realm, or should they offi- ciate in their places of worship; the for- feiture of Popish heirs educated abroad and whose estates devolved upon the next Protestant heir, powers being given to the son or other nearest relative being a Protestant to take possession of the fathers or other relations estate, during the life of the real proprietor; and the depriving of Papists from acquiring any legal property by purchase. Sir George Savile was a Whig, and a man respected by both parties; and his speech was so full of good sense and feel- ing, so moderate and well-considered, that the motion was carried without a dissen- tient voice, and the bill was passed. Many Roman Catholics of all grades came for- ward to express their gratitude for this gracious and benevolent act, and with the most ardent professions of attachment to the king and the government; and the expected good effects of the indulgence seemed in a fair way of being realized. This act, however, did not extend to Scotland; and no sooner did it be~pme MEN AND BRETHREN, Whoever shall find this letter, will take it as a warning to meet at Leith Wynd on Wednesday next, to pull down that pillar of Popery lately erected there. (Signed) A PROTESTANT. P.S. Please read this carefully, keep it clean, and drop it somewhere else addressed to every Protestant into whose hands this shall come. Jan. ist, 1779. In Leith Wynd a Roman Catholic bish- op resided, and it was, perhaps correctly, surmised that there existed under his roof a chapel. What with angry resolutions, violent pamphlets and handbills, the population were worked up into such a state of exas- peration, that on the 2nd February, i779, their fury exploded with irrepressible wrath. Nor did they confine their acts of vengeance to Roman Catholics alone. Protestants who were suspected of sym- pathizing with the unpopular religion were marked as victims for their deeds of vio- lence. The magistrates assembled, to- gether with a regiment of fencibles; but - they were powerless to restrain the mob, who destroyed the bishops house, as well as those of many other suspects. Unable or afraid to take decided measures, the magistrates, to their disgrace, assured the people that no repeal of the penal laws against Papists should take place, and~ quiet was temporarily restored. Other LORD GEORGE GORDON AND THE RIOTS OF 1780. 55 Scottish towns, encouraged by the metro- politan success, took the same steps, with the same result; and Lord Weymouth, the home secretary, wrote confirming the as- surances given them by their syndics. So much did the Roman Catholics suffer during this agitated period from the hands of their Christian Scottish brethren, that they deemed it prudent to memorialize Par- liament againnot for the relief that had been won for their fellow-sufferers, but for the immediate protection of their own lives and properties. Burke was their medium, and on the i8th March he laid their petition before the House; and it was on this occasion that Lord George made his first appearance in the character of the champion of the Protestant privilege to persecute Papists.* In August Lord George visited Edin- burgh, and was there received with the most extravagant expressions of welcome and confidence. Undeserved honors al- ways turn the heads of the recipients, and Lord George was no exception to this rule. Flattered at the ovation accorded to him, he by his incendiary speeches and appeals fanned the smouldering fire of Scottish anger, and on returning to London deliber- ately proceeded to sow the seeds of siini- lar wrathful fanaticism there. The reception he had met with in Edin- burgh induced the Protestant Association jealous of the success with which Scot- land had opposed the Relief Act on their own behalfto nominate him their pres- ident, a post which he accepted in an evil moment for all concerned. This as- sociation had been formed in February, 1778, for the purpose of opposing the Act of Concessions, and contained a multitude of persons of all ranks and grades, but more especially of the lower. By sermons, placards, pamphlets, ballads, and handbills they incessantly endeavored to arouse popular indignation against the Roman Catholics. The lo~ver classes were told that both king and ministers were to be assassinated by the popes orders, and that twenty thousand Jesuits were hidden in the caves of Surrey ready to blow up the banks and bed of the Thames, so as to drown out London and Westminster. They made an Appeal to the People of England, stating that to tolerate Popery is to be instrumental in the perdition of immortal souls - - . Popery is not only * In the month of April the sum of s,6oo was awarded hy arbitration to the Roman Catholics of Edinburgh, which sum was paid by that city. Nine- teen rioters were apprehended, examined, and set at liberty. high treason against king and State, but against God... The present act has put the sword in the Papists hands, and En- gland will be deluged with the blood of martyrs. After a few skirmishes in the House, Lord George Gordon on the 5th May pre- sented a petition from Plymouth for the repeal of Sir George Saviles act, but little heed was paid to it. Indignant at what he was pleased to condemn as weakness, Lord George called a meeting of the Protestant Association at Coachmakers Hall, Foster Lane, on the 29th May, and in a fanatical and in- flammatory speech asserted that alarming progress was being made in Popery, and the only way to stem the tide was by going in a firm, manly, and resolute man- ner to the House of Commons and show- ing their representatives that they were resolved to maintain their religious free- dom with their lives. As for him, he said, he ~vas determined to throw in his part and run all hazards with and for the peo- ple; and if they proved themselves too lukewarm, and less than twenty thousand of his fellow-citizens attended him on the appointed day, he would refuse to present their petition. A resolution was then passed that the whole body of the associa- tion should meet on the following Friday, June 2nd, in St. Georges-in-the-Fields, to accompany Lord George to the House of Commons to present the Protestant peti- tion. Many temperate men and good Protestants no less desirous of the welfare of their religion than the fanatics refused their support, anticipating some of the dangers which resulted. Lord George invited all true Protes- tants of Great Britain~ and all friends of civil and religious liberty to meet him to support the Protestant interest, and ex- horted all who had not already signed the petition to attend at his house in Welbeck Street, where it lay for further signatures. The people, he added, were all to be dressed in their best, and to be distin-. guished by the wearing of a blue cockade. He declared that the king was a Papist at heart, and had violated the coronation oath, and had placed himself in the same predicament as James II. after his abdica- tion. Lord George need have been under no apprehension lest the numbers stipulated by him as a condition of his patronage should fall short, for by ten oclock on the morning of Friday, June 2nd, an enormous multitude had assembled at the appointed rendezvous. All the shops in the neigh- 156 LORD GEORGE GORDON AND THE RIOTS OF 1780. borhood were closed, for the gathering together of such a throng of people was in itself a sufficient cause of uneasiness in the breasts of orderly and peaceable peo- ple; and as the mob arrived from every quarter, wearing the blue cockade, and many bearing banners of the same color inscribed with mottoes inimical to Popery, the noise of this enormous assemblage estimated at from sixty to one hundred thousand people is described as resem- bling the surging of the waves of the sea. Every unit of the crowd seemed laboring under the most intense excitement, which found vent in various ways some in singing hymns, some in wildly shouting the words inscribed on the banners they carried; whilst the mere fact of such an assemblage of human beings congregated together added to the electric excitement with which the very air seemed charged. At twelve oclock the scouts who were posted on the outskirts of the crowd to give the first warning of Lord Georges ar- rival announced his approach. Descend- ing from his coach he passed through, the people standing expectant, whilst many of them broke out into a chorus to a hymn tune as he passed down the lines inspect- ing his vagabond battalions, who under the guidance and discipline of some of his selected followers had been drilled into semi-military order. Several bodies un der suitable commanders occupied differ- ent parts of the field each division formed by lines of nine men abreast all decked with blue cockades, and the words No Popery on their floating blue ribands. The petition, which had grown to such enormous proportions that one man was unable to carry it, was lifted on to mens shoulders, and occupied a conspicuous place in the procession. Those entrusted with the command of divisions presently, by preconcerted signals, ranged their men into three portions, and soon after Lord Georges arrival on the scene the word of command was given to march. Unfet- tered by anything but optional obedience to temporary and amateur authority, and thrilling with the burning fanaticism that had been kindled and quickened by their leader in his mad and incendiary speeches a leader both morally and physically unfitted for the awful responsibility that from henceforth rested on his feeble shoulders the living mass set out on their march to Westminster. Each of the three portions took a different route, and crossed the river by a different bridge one by Blackfriars, the second by West- minster, and the third, preceded by Lord George in his coach, by London Bridge, that portion being three miles in extent. The whole multitude seems to have marched in perfect order and decorum the three rivers of human beings flowing into every approach and avenue leading to the Houses of Parliament. Its arrival was proclaimed by an unanimous shout, de- scribed as being of such tremendous and terrible volume and portent as to fill the minds of all peaceable persons with dis- may and alarm. It was about half past two, and the members of Parliament be- gan shortly after to arrive for the transac- tion of business. The petition had been taken in and laid in the lobby of the House, into which place the crowd had penetrated, and but for the prompt clos- ing of the door they would have flowed into the chamber itself. The arrival of some of the peers, who were about to as- semble in their own chamber, was the signal for the first breach of the peace. Blue banners waved from ~the tops of many of the adjacent houses as signals to the people which coaches they ~hould attack. The first victim to their fury was the Archbishop of Canterbury. His coach was stopped and himself compelled to alight. They saluted him with groans and hisses, forcing him to cry No pop- ery, which h~ is described as having done in a feeble voice. The lord president of the Council Earl Bathurst an old and decrepit man, was dragged from his car- riage and cruelly kicked, and it was with difficulty that he found refuge in the House. The Bishop of Lincolns coach was next stopped, and, showing some symptoms of resenting the indignities offered him, he was dragged out, and a ruffian seized him by the throat till blood came from his mouth. He managed to get to a gentle- mans house, and escaped over the roof, while twenty or thirty of the mob were seeking for him below. Lord Mansfield who was after to sit in judgment upon the author and abettor of all these out- rages was abused and insulted, and mud was thrown in his face. The Duke of Northumberland, the Bishop of Lich- field, Lords Willoughby de Broke, Towns- hend, Hillsborough and many others were no less ill-used, and their coaches all de- molished. With every insult the rabble became more and more outrageous, fol- lowing the lords to the door of their house, which, however, had been fortu- nately barred. Such were only a few of the shameful assaults upon the peers. LORD GEORGE GORDON AND THE RIOTS OF 1780. 57 The members pf the House of Commons escaped with less damage, only two having been seriously attacked; but the presence of the miscreants in the lobby was a cir- cumstance that added seriously to the threatening state of matters. Mr. Ellis, one of the attacked members, was pursued, and narrowly escaped assassination; and the mob pressed so violently against the door that divided them from the chamber, that every moment it seemed imminent that it would break down and that the ral)ble would flood the House. Meantime Lord George Gordon had presented the petition, which was signed by one hundred and twenty thousand per- sons, and moved to have it brought up, Alderman Bull seconding the motion. This was granted. Lord George then asked to have it taken into immediate consideration; and being told that the rules of the House did not permit it, he proceeded to divide the House, when six ayes voted against one hundred and nine- ty-two noes. While this was proceeding he was repeatedly called on by members to make an effort to disperse the mob; but so far from complying with their re- quests, he kept running backwards and forwards from his place in the House to the window to the staircase on the lobby frequently addressing the multi- tude from one or the other, in language so far removed from conciliatory that he announced the name of each member that spoke against the cause, exciting the al- ready half-frantic people to a further pitch of fury. He denounced Burke as one of their chief enemies, he threatened Lord North, and exhorted his hearers to continue steadfast to their glorious cause. He promised himself to perse- vere, though there was little to be hoped from the House of Commons. The con- fusion and noise were bewildering. Mem- bers came out in the vain hope of appealing successfully to the mob, but it was impos- sible to hear anything but the clamor and hubbub of the rabble. Lord Georges name was described by a witness as being constantly chimed by the crowd, while others pressed into the lobby shouting, Repeal, repeal, repeal. While Lord George was in the midst of haranguing the people Colonel Murray, General Conway, and Colonel Holroyd advanced to remonstrate with him, telling him he was a disgrace to his family, and that Bedlam only was a fitting place for such conduct; while Conway warned him that should the rabble break into the chamber, not into the heart of the-first man that enters, but into yours I will plunge my sword. See, said Lord George to his howling followers see how they strive to op- the triumph of your cause. There was a moment, Conway told Hor- ace Walpole, when it seemed imminent that members would be compelled to open the doors and fight their way through the mob sword in hand. The assistant chaplain of the House, who seems to have kept his head better than many others, discovered Lord George at one moment, overcome with heat, fa- tigue, and excitement, in the dining-room, where he had thrown himself on a chair and was seemingly half asleep. Address- ing him peremptorily, the chaplain told him that he himself had heard men in the cro~vd assert that they would disperse if Lord George told them it was desirable they should do so. He assured him he was convinced that all depended on the attitude he would assume. Lord George preserved an absolute silence; and leaving the room, once more addressed the people in more inflammatory language than ever, instancing the success of the Scotch peo- ple in their object by resolution and riot. Taking hold of the chaplains gown he having followed him in the vain hope of controlling his mad folly See said he, this is the chaplain of this House. Ask him his opinion of the Popish Bill ! Justly indignant at this cowardly attempt to turn the peoples wrath upon him, the chaplain told him angrily that every disas- trou~ consequence would rest on his head. One of the mob then asked him if they should leave the lobby. He told them to use their own judgment, and do what they saw fit for their own cause. A hot discussion was during this scene of confusion proceeding in the House of Lords. By the timely and judicious exer- tions of Sir Francis Molyneux the incur- sion of the mob had been prevented. The Duke of Richmond, Lord Shelburne, and many others animadverted in the severest terms upon the supineness of the govern- ment, which, said Lord Shelburne, had been warned of the threatened storm, and had yet taken no precautions to prevent disturbance. And while the full force of the peers denunciations was proceeding, Lord Boston, fresh from the hands of the sovereign people his clothes in tatters, his bag gone, his face bleeding entered the House, and for a short time all attention was centred in his plight. The discus- sion was however shortly resumed when Lord Hillsborougl3, a member of the gov 158 LORD GEORGE GORDON AND THE RIOTS OF 1780. eminent, angrily asserted that notice had been given to the civil powers, and certain magistrates had received instructions; the truth, Horace Walpole solemnly asserts, being that the Cabinet Council of the pre- ceding day (Thursday) authorized Lord North to prepare the civil officers to take measures to keep the peace, and that he (Lord North)forgoz to do so till two oclock of the next day that same day when the procession had nearly arrived at West- minster. The two magistrates who represented the civil powers were indicated as being present, and were questioned, and denied receiving any instructions whatever. In short it was the old story, and every one implicated tried to tay the blame on each other. But meanwhile the foe was actu- ally as well as metaphorically at the gates the danger was very imminent and these scenes were but the prologue to the drama, or rather to the tragedy, that fol- lowed. A written order was hastily deliv- ered to the justices empo~vering them to take means to disperse the rabble, and the House adjourned. The concourse of people did not disperse till between nine and ten, when a detachment of Life Guards arrived and scattered them with but little difficulty. Never before in any reign or under any circumstances had so alarming and humil- iating a spectacle been witnessed in the realm Lords and Commons imprisoned in their own palace, bereft of power, au- thority, and dignity, by a furious and irre- sponsible mob; the town given up to the tender mercies of a ruffianly and degraded rabble, who by the success of each fresh outrage gained renewed confideiice in their own power, and less control over their own passions. Quitting the neigh- borhood of Westminster, and dividing themselves as in the morning, one portion proceeded to the Sardinian embassy in Duke Street, Lincolns Inn, where they pulled down the altar and destroyed the contents of the chapel, while the other portion did the same to the Bavarian em- bassy. Two silver lamps were stolen from the former, and when the engines arrived to quench the fire that had been kindled to destroy the edifice, the people prevented their being used, until a com- pany of Foot Guards arrived, that had been fetched by a gentleman, a Mr. Bear- croft, from Somerset Street barracks. Colo- nel Wynyard, the commanding officer, caused all persons found inside the chapel to be arrested, and forming his men round three deep made a prison of the street~ Thirteen were arrested. and taken to the Savoy, and amongst them a Russian officer who was liberated the next day, vhen they were all examined, some re- manded, one discharged, and five sent to Newgate. Mr. Bearcroft was duly warned that his house would be destroyed for the part he had taken. It was so, and all its contents burned in the streets. It seems incredible that in the face of such alarm- ing incidents no effort should have been made by the authorities to suppress the ever-growing tumults, save by sending a handful of soldiers to some spot already infested by the rioters, who irritated without subduing them. So it was, ho~v- ever. After pausing on Saturday they assembled on Sunday in Moorgate Street, and with the now established cry of No Popery soon gathered together a large number of idlers and roughs, and attack- ing a Roman Catholic chapel in Rope- makers Walk demolished its contents. A company of Guards appeaiing, they de- camped. No person up to now had been killed by the soldiery; and, probably en- couraged by this fact, the mob reassem- bled on Monday and commenced burning, plundering, and destroying as they moved along, and gaining assurance at every step, vowed vengeance on all who opposed their progress. Some carried trophies of the pillages of Friday and Sunday, and paraded before Lord Georges house, af- terwards burning them in an adjacent field. Again dividing themselves, one party went to Wapping, another to Smith- field, and a third to Sir George Saviles house, which they gutted, together with those of two other gentlemen Messrs. Moberley and Rainfdrth who had given evidence at the examination of the thir teen arrested rioters. The five who had been committed to Newgate had been escorted there by a file of Guards, who were pelted and stoned by the mob during the execution of their duty. The soldiers behaved with the greatest forbearance; still, so much did the rabble fear them, that each section of the mob stationed scout~ to watch all the approaches to the spot on which they were operating, so that they might on the first alarm of their proximity decamp. On this day Monday a proclamation was issued by the government, offering a re- ward of ~oo for the apprehension of those concerned in the destruction of the Sar- dinian and Bavarian embassies; and the Protestant Association circulated a hand- bill, requesting all true Protestants to show their attachment to the cause by LORD GEORGE GORDON AND THE RIOTS OF 1780. legal and decent deportment; while Lord George, not to be behindhand, dis- seminated one on his own account, dis- claiming all complicity with the riots, recommending peace and order, and pro- mulgating the most Christianlike injunc- tions for good behavior. But the arm of the law was paralyzed, and no decided measures were resorted to by the amazed and incapable government. The following day, Tuesday, the 6th, was that upon which the Houses of Par- liament were to meet again. All the mil- itary in the town were ordered on duty there and at the Tower; but in spite of these precautions Lord Sandwichs coach, which was conveying him to the House of Lords, was stopped on its way thither, himself assaulted, and severely wounded in the face. He was rescued with diffi- culty, and escorted by soldiers to his own residence. Crowds again assembled before both Houses, and were fully as numerous and threatening as on the previous Friday. Seeming more orderly at first, they speed- ily became tumultuous, and it was deemed prudent to cause a detachment of Foot Guards to occupy Westminster Hall, the doors of which were then closed to pre- vent the mob from entering. Several of the members, amongst whom was Burke, walked down to the House, and were sur- rounded by some of the more orderly and respectable of the malcontents, who expostulated with them for supporting the obnoxious bill. Entering the House, Burke spoke with indignant fire and elo- quence of the humiliating condition of public affairs of the bludgeoned mob~~ awaiting them in the streets, while a mili- tary force with fixed bayonets had to guard them at their door. Resolutions were passed, one being an assertion of members privileges; a sec- ond voted for a committee to enquire into the late and present outrages, and for the discovery of their authors and promoters; a third for a prosecution by the attorney- general; and a fourth voted an address to the king for the reimbursement of the for- eign ministers to the amount of damage they had sustained by the riots. They agreed also to consider the petitions from many of his Majestys Protestant subjects. The Lords met likewise, but the state of tumult, together with the fact that they had to be guarded by a military force, and that the first lord had been severely wound- ed by the rabble, decided them to adjourn, which they did, to the nineteenth. In- telligence of conflagrations in the city was 59 also received by the House of Commons, and a hasty adjournment took place there also. Meantime Lord George, in spite of his appeals in the cause of peace and good-will before mentioned, had been in his place in the House wearing the blue cockade ostentatiously in his hat. One of the members, Colonel Herbert, indig- nantly declared that if he did not at once remove the insignia of riot he would him- self cross the House and compel him to do so. At this one or two of Lord Georges supporters there were but six in all interfered, and he being unwilling to give it up, it was forced from him. During the discussion that ensued he once more attempted to leave the House to address the populace, but he was forcibly detained. Sir George Osborne went out and warned them that unless they dispersed, the militia had orders to fire upon them. We will repel force by force, they re- plied. Justice Hyde launched a body of cavalry amongst them, and he having besides this made himself obnoxious by helping to rescue Lord Sanvich from their hands, one Jackson, a sailor, hoisted a black and red flag, and heading the mob, marched to Lisle Street, where Mr. Hydes house was situated. A party of Guards was sent after them, but too late to avert the mischief. XVhen the house had been destroyed, Jackson in a stentorian voice called out To Newgate ahoy! and once more placing himself at their head, led the rab- ble down Holborn to rescue their impris- oned comrades. The principal keeper of the gaol, Mr. Akerman, had been warned that they con- templated visiting the prison and liberat- ing the prisoners; and he, being a resolute and fearless man, took every precaution that the emergency seemed to call for, and, relying on the enormous strength of the walls and defences, probably believed that even if he and his companions chanced to fall into their hands and got roughly treated, at least the prison would be proof against their attacks. The sequel showed their error. Akerman bolted and barred every opening to his dwelling which formed an outer part of the gaol and awaited their arrival. By seven oclock the street was filled with the horde of tramping miscreants, who were pre- ceded by thirty men, walking three abreast, each carrying a crowbar, or a sledge-hammer or a pickaxe, and all tools necessary to carry out their design, which tools had been sacked from shops on their march. The multitude that followed had i6o LORD GEORGE GORDON AND THE RIOTS OF 1780. all the appearance of being perfectly organized. One of them, clearly acting from preconcerted instructions, knocked at Mr. Akermans door; no one replying to the summons he ran down the steps of the house, bowed to the crowd, pointed significantly to the door, and retired. Akerman appeared at a window and shouted his refusal either to yield up his charges or to surrender the place. He then escaped through the gaol and made his way to the sheriffs, to seek the assist- ance of the magistrates, who still hung back. The lord mayor, one Brackley Kenneth, proved himself utterly ineffi- cient and cowardly in the emergency unable to grapple with a difficulty, which, however, had proved an equally tough one to more spirited and intelligent men than he. The crowd now deliberately divided itself; one part attacked Akermans dwell- ing, the second xvent to the felons door, and the third to the debtors. Bludgeons quickly demolished Akermans windows, and a mad Quaker, the son of a rich corn factor, wearing a mariners jacket, drove a scaffold pole like a battering-ram through the shutters. Mounting on his shoulders, a lad rammed in the broken shutter with his own head. A chimney- sweep was the first in, and was wildly cheered by the mob. He was closely fol- lowed by the Quaker, who directly after appeared at the first-floor window. The door was forced open and all the contents of the house pitched out, a heap made, and set on fire. It is a curious instance of the way that the wildfire of contagion had run through the whole town, that all this time there were standing round a circle of well-dressed men, who encour- aged the rioters by every means in their power. Many of the actors in this special scene appeared to have lost all control over their actions, and literally and actually to have gone mad. One Sims, a tripe-man, rushing up to the great gate of the Old Bailey a ponderous and apparently im- pregnable tower of strength swore des- perately that it should fall. From this moment there was no pause in the peoples fury. Like demons suddenly let loose they rushed upon the gate with sledge- hammers and pickaxes. hurling their com- bined strength and fury upon it to demolish the stubborn and apparently immovable barrier. Many belonging to the more re- spectable classes shopmen, servants seemed to catch the horrid infection, and added blow to blow to demolish -.they hardly knew what, with a fury whose cause it was not possible to trace. Now it was that the Gordon riots reached their climax, and continued at high-water mark until the following Thurs- day. Several times the gates caught fire, and as many did the turnkeys who stood the siege inside push down with broom- sticks the burning furniture which had been piled there by the mob, and swill them with water to keep the lead from melting that soldered the hinges. It was all in vain; the flames had now well-nigh demolished that part of the prison that was inhabited by Akerman, and had spread to the lodge, then to the chapel, and one after the other to the different wards. The horrors of the scene were increased by the terror of the unhappy prisoners, who, all manacled and fettered, believed that they must be burnt to death. Their cries and oaths mingled with the rabbles, whose efforts to get at them became more and more desperate. The~ supreme mo- ment arrived the ponderous gate at length yielded and the whole mass of people flooded the gaol. The prisoners rushed to and fro, beating the walls and bars; while the glare of the fire and the confusion and din exceeded in horror all that could be imagined or described in Dantes Hell. But, like the gate, the bars yielded, the walls were partially de- molished; and amid yells, cheers, and screams, three hundred prisoners stood released from their incarceration. Some were dragged out by their liberators sense- less and bleeding, some were conducted away by their friends in the crowd, and some were seen lifted by their sympathiz- ers on to horses, encumbered with their fetters and shackles. The engines, at their best of little more use than tea-ket- tles, arrived. The fire raged, the mob yelled and whooped; and that no incident should be wanting in the dramatic effect, an opening was made in the crowd, and there, in a coach drawn by some of his bludgeoners, appeared Lord George Gor- don, bowing compracently to the popu- lace. Years later, when it was resolved upon to drain the lake that occupied the pres- ~ ent site of the gardens in St. Jamess Square, the keys of Newgate were dis- covered lying at the bottom, where they had presumably been flung by some guilty and terrified rioter after the tumults had subsided. That same night, Tuesday, sixth, whil~ these scenes were proceeding at Newgate, another mob had attacked Lord Mans- LORD GEORGE GORDON AND THE RIOTS OF 1780. i6i fields house in Bloomsbury Square. They forced their way into this magnificent mansion, which contained not only beauti- ful pictures and works of art, but an in- valuable library, and a treasure store of rare MSS. These were all pitched out of the windows and destroyed women and children assisting in the wholesale anni- hilation. Lord and Lady Mansfield es- caped by the back door, or they would in all probability have fallen victims to the insensate fury of the mob. A file of foot soldiers arrived, drew up near the blazing pile which had been made of these e f- fects, but appear to have taken little heed of the rioters. Some Life Guards arrived, and then the mob was fired on and six people killed. With banners flying and triumphant shouts and yells they took their way to Caen Wood, Lord Mansfields residence at Hampstead; but finding it protected by the soldiery, they made no serious attempts upon it. Another portion proceeded from Bloomsbury to Mr. Lang- dales, a Roman Catholic distiller in Hol- born. An enormous concourse of people as- sembled here, attacked the buildings, and fired them. They seized the vats and barrels containing the spirits manufac- tured there, and emptied all their contents at hazard. Hundreds drank themselves into insensibility, and not a few to death. Some too intoxicated to lift themselves wp from where they fell were trampled to death. Others perished in the flames. More met their deaths during this episode than were otherwise killed during the whole of the six days riots. The gutters rnn with gin, brandy, and spirits of all kinds, and the people men, women, and children lay themselves down to imbibe the fiery liquid. On this day an attack had been made on the Bank an attempt which was re- pulsed by John Wilkes and the soldiers on guard. The anxiety and fears of the government seem to have been roused by this incident, which, however, had been threatened for some time. The metropo- lis, so long absolutely at the mercy of the lawless ruffians, now saw a prospect of de- liverance. The rabble, emboldened by the impunity with which their criminal acts had been treated, had sent notice of their approach to the officers of the public buildings, and messages to Wedderburn, Lords Stor- mont, Ashburnham, and several others of the ministry, warning them of their inten- tions. The houses of the ministers, how- ever, were now protected by the military, LIVING AGE. VOL. LVIII. 2975 and wherever this proved to be the case the mob considered discretion to be the better part of valor. They had announced their intention of visiting the Fleet prison. on the~ Tuesday night, and of freeing the prisoners; and it is amongst the curious facts of this happily, hitherto, unique epi- sode of Londons history that these unfor- tunate prisoners begged piteously that they might not be rescued at night, as many of the poor creatures had no other asylum than the sheltering roof of their miserable gaol. Thus it happened that it was on Wednesday that the burning of the Fleet prison and the liberation of its inmates were effected. Horace Walpole asserts that but little excitement prevailed in the fashionable quarters of London, and that the amusements there proceeded with- out check, though there were passages in his letters written at the time that point to this allegation as being at all events an exaggerated one. It would indeed be diffi- cult to describe the alarm and dismay that pervaded the greater part of th~ town. A wild rumor was disseminated, and found credence with many, that the rioters con- templated opening the doors of Bedlam and releasing the maniacs incarcerated there, and that they were about to liberate the wild beasts that were then enchained ifl the Tower. It was said that the king had been kid- napped murdered that the palace was burned and a thousand reports of all sorts were circulated, none of which were impossible, or even unlikely, in the exist- ing state of things. Seventy-two private houses, four gaols, and property to the amount of /JmSo,ooo were destroyed. Later on compensation from the public purse, in pursuance of a vote in the House of Commons, was awarded to those who had suffered. The sum was levied upon vari- ous wards in the City, and upon the Southwark and county boroughs. Lord Mansfield and Sir George Savile refused all indemnification. We have up to this time (Wednesday) concerned ourselves entirely with the do- ings of the mob and the Parliament. Let us now examine a little the proceedings of the king and the CounciL Of all the statesmen upon whom lay the enormous weight of responsibility involved in the preservation of the public safety, the king alone stood firm and undaunted at this critical juncture. Although the timidity and pusillanimity of those who were bound to assist him with their counsel and sup- port filled him with anxiety and distress of mind, he did not shrink from the duty 162 LORD GEORGE GORDON AND THE RIOTS OF 1780. thus unfairly laid upon him. But for his resolution and firmness it is probable that the disgraceful scenes that had been enacted without check or hindrance for five days would have continued still longer; it is even possible that a large portion of the capital would have been destroyed. The king convenect a meeting of the Privy Council for this day (Wednesday), at which he presided. There were two questions upon which he and his ministers were at variance: first, what amount of ill-behavior on the part of the rioters could warrant a magistrate in giving an order to the military to fire on the mob; and sec- ond, whether previous to giving such order it was imperative that the Riot Act should be read. On this point the ministry were divided, and would probably have re- mained divided, but for the resolute action of the monarch. Lord Bathurst, the pres- ident of the Council, and Sir Fletcher Norton, the speaker, supported his views; while all the other ministers insisted that not only should the act be iread, but that an hour must intervene between its read- ing and the order to fire. Indignant at this hesitation and cowardice, George III. announced his intention of acting upon his own responsibility should his minis- ters refuse to support him. He was fully alive to the odium that would almost cer- tainly attach itself to him should he alone authorize the severe measures he knew were imperative, but the king possessed the courage of his opinions as well as the dignity of his order. He announced that as his Council refused him their assist- ance, he would act without it. lie would, he said, mount his horse, head his Guards, and in person disperse the rioters. There shall be one, he said, with em- phasis and emotion one I can answer for, that will do his duty. It was the sixth day of the riots, and the danger was still growing. At the mo- ment that the Council was breaking up, Wedderburn, afterwards Lord Loughbor- ough, and then the kings attorney-general, appeared upon the scene. The king at once addressed him, and putting the facts concisely before him, charged him to answer in his character of attorney-gen- eral. Wedderburn promptly and posi- tively endorsed the sovereigns opinion; and thus fortified, the privy councillors reluctantly assented to an order in Council being sent to Lord Amherst, the com- mander-in-chief, at once to disperse the rioters without any further warrant from the civil powers. Later Lord Mansfield, the most eminent lawyer of the day, sup- ported these views in a powerful and elo- quent speech in the House of Lords. A camp of ten thousand men was formed in Hyde Park on the night of Wednesday, ten militia regiments being summoned to aid nine regiments of regu- lars. All the militia regiments but two were encamped in Hyde Park and in St. Jamess Park and in the gardens of Mon- tagu House, now the British Museum. To this significant menace the miscreants at once succumbed, and in twenty-four hours the town, which in many parts bore the appearance of having stood a siege, became quiet, the mob betook themselves to their refuges, and people began to breathe more freely. The fact may not be without interest to the cynical, that John Wilkes on this occasion prominently espoused the cause of law and order. His diary exists in the British Museum, de- tailing his services. At the head of a band of armed citizens he defended an attack on Blackfriars Bridge, upon which, since 1766, an unpopular toll of one half- penny had been levied on foot passengers; and in consequence of this the toll-house was marked for destruction, and was, to- gether with bar, books, and accounts, burned. Several men were thrown into the river during the encounter. The Wilkes and Liberty tumults that had taken place twelve years prior to Lord George Gordons efforts in the same direc- tion had apparently assuaged the thirst of that so-called patriot for riots and sedi- tion; or at all events and this is suffi- cient for our purpose of such riots of which he was not himself the hero and apotheosis. John Wilkes in short had ceased for some years to be a rebellious patriot, and had blossomed into a law- abiding alderman, having filled first the posts of alderman and sheriff, in iy~ the not unremunerative office of lord mayor, and finally in 1779 the extremely lucrative one of chamberlain of the city qf London. He helped to disperse a mob in Fleet Street, and did duty on the night of Lord Georges arrest in St. Sepulchres Church- yard. The following is said to be a true copy of the return made to Lord Amherst of ~$ those who were killed and wounded dur- ing the six days tumults By light horse By troops and guards Died in hospitals Prisoners under care 101 109 75 73 Total 458 LORD GEORGE GORDON AND THE RIOTS OF 1780. 163 To these must be added those who per- ished by accident, those who drank them- selves to death at Langdales distillery, and those who expiated their crimes on the gallows. On the ninth another meeting of the Privy Council was held, and a warrant issued for Lord George Gordons arrest. The messengers charged with the execu- tion of this duty repaired to his house, gained easy admission, and informing him -~f their business, he at once entered a hackney coach and was driven to the Horse Guards. A squadron of light horse were stationed in the adjoining street in case of resistance. A long examination before the secretaries of state and other members of the Privy Council ensued, and Lord George was finally despatched to the Tower, his coach surrounded by far the greatest number of Guards that had ever before escorted a prisoner of State. On this same day Mr. Fisher, the secre- tary of the Protestant Association, was arrested and examined, but he was lib- erated. On the nineteenth there was a debate in the House of Commons, when Fox, while supporting the address to the throne, which was one of thanks for the measures taken by the king for the resto- ration of public order, severely blamed the inaction of the government. Burke also declaimed vehemently against the rioters, and lauded the Relief Bill which they de- sired to repeal. He also animadverted in forcible terms on those in power, assert- ing that the Kings Bench prison might have escaped destruction had attention been paid to certain information sent to the commander-in-chief; while the sensi- tive and scandalized Wilkes declared that had the chief magistrate done his duty much mischief would have been averted. In the House of Peers Lord Mansfield bestowed the great weight of his approval and advocacy upon the measures taken by the king, basing his opinion upon his profound legal knowledge. The metrop- olis, he declared, would have been burned but for the sovereions decisive action; and the assistance o~the military was not only timely, but strictly in accordance with the law. The soldiers, he said, whether wearing red coats or brown, had acted as citizens. On the 28th June, 1785, rioters were tried at the Old Bailey. Thirty.five were capitally convicted, and forty-three were acquitted. One woman a negress was executed, and another woman was sentenced to be whipped for stealing a pewter cup. Seventeen of the condemned rioters were respited, and eighteen were hanged. The correspondence, if that word is not a misnomer when the written communi- cation is all on one side, which passed between Lord Stormont, one of the secre- taries of State, and the lord mayor during the progress of the riots was published, but it did not redound to the credit of either. Lord Stormont urgently exhorted the first magistrate to take drastic meas- ures for the repression of the tumults, but by carefully avoiding, however, to indicate in words the nature of the course thus ambiguously recommended, he contrived to elude any responsibility that might fol- low on his advice being taken. The lord mayor, however, proved equal to the occa- sion, and took the simple and effectual method of not answering the letters; and when urged on this point assured Lord Stormont by message, and with a vague- ness that rivalled Lord Stormor~ts that he would use his best endeavors to this end. For some unexplained reason possibly in order that popular feeling might have time to calm down Lord Georges trial did not take place for eight months after these events. During this time the stringent and severe rules that had been at first laid down for his safe keeping were very much relaxed, and he was permitted many indulgences. On the day appointed for trial he was conveyed from the Tower to the Court of Kings Bench. The streets were filled with spectators, and coaches lined the highway. Attired in a suit of black velvet he entered the hall with a firm air and a not undignified deportment. When the jury were challenged he objected smil- ingly to a ropemaker, because, he said, he was interested professionally in the result. The indictment was a long one. He was charged with levying war against the kings majesty - . - to effect by force an alteration in the law of the country. This, of coi~rse, involved high treason. The judge was the lord chief justice Lord Mansfield himself one of the greatest sufferers from the actions of the prisoner. Counsel for the crown were the attorney-general and the solicitor-gen- eral, while the Hon. Thomas Erskine and Mr. Kenyon defended Lord George. The trial lasted from eight oclock A.M. on Monday to five AM. on Tuesday. Many witnesses were called for the crown, and the evidence given by them was to all ap- pearance conclusive and incontrovertible. 164 LORD GEORGE GORDON AND THE RIOTS OF 1780. All the genius and eloquence of Mr. lant, and wrote Lord Georoe fulsome and Erskine a young lawyer whose right to congratulatory . laudations, teeming with distinction was first achieved on this oc- texts, ascribing the glory of his acquittal casion were brought to bear upon the to divine interposition, and charging him defence of his unworthy client, whose in- to walk before God in the land of the disputable guilt was doubtless but one livino The riots, the association as- more incentive to exertion to extricate him serted, were begun by the Papis~ts in order from his emergency, and added another to injure the sacred cause; and it pointed laurel to the young orators wreath of out that not one Protestant petitioner out victory. In the excitement of the mo- of the forty-four thousand was either ap- ment he permitted himself to overstep the prehended, tried, convicted, executed, or limits prescribed by usage to prisoners killed, whilst in every one of these pre- counsel, and called God to witness the dicaments Papists were to be found. innocence of his clients actions. He Lord George responded in the same key, who could blame such honest and artless calling God to witness that he had had no conduct is a ruffian, he concluded. We part in the tumults. believe that only once since has any emi- Entirely unabashed by the estimation nent counsel indulged in such an irregu- in which he was held by all reasonable larity. This was in the case of the mur- and reputable persons, he continued to der of Lord William Russell, when Charles keep himself before the public. Every Phillips called God to witness the inno- effort was made by his brother the Duke cence of Courvoisier.* of Gordon and other relatives to induce The lord chief justice summed up and him to retire into private life, but in vain. addressed the jury. He was resolved to quaff th~ bowl of noto It cannot be sufficiently impressed upon riety to the dregs. Immediately after his the mind of Englishmen proud of quali- acquittal he tried to obtain audience of ties of the great men of their country, that, the king, and failing in this, he applied flinging aside all feeling of personal re- for the same favor to the Prince of Wales, sentment and sense of injury, Lord Mans- but here also he was refused. In 1782 field, if he erred at all in his dignified and he visited Paris, and was there presented admirable charge, erred on the side of to Marie Antoinette. During his stay he mercy. formed a friendship with the impostor With a lofty wisdom he explained the Cagliostro, in whose wiles and arts he law, and while denying that Sir G. Saviles became involved, Cagliostro being one of bill encouraged Popery, he affirmed it to the causes of his ultimate incarceration in be an erroneous religion and one - that Newgate. should be restrained. Judges are, no Soon after his return he protested doubt, bound to act impartially; but this against the restoration of their forfeited was an instance where stern severity estates to the rebels of 1745. There would have seemed almost inevitable. seems to have been no public question He summed up a clear, enlightened, and upon which he hesitated to exhort, coun- moderate speech by stating that the case sel, and instruct. He tormented Pitt with depended on two points: one was whether letters containing his crude and foolish the multitude assembled and committed views on taxation; he got up a demonstra- deeds of violence with intent to terrify the tion against the shop-tax; he intrigued legislature into compliance with their de- with the Dutch ambassador, and endeav- sire that the act be repealed. If their ored to entice British seamen to enter the opinion were in the negative, the prisoner Dutch service (Holland at that moment should be acquitted. The other was: was watching her opportunity to declare Did the prisoner incite the insurrection in favor of American independence against intending to enforce a repeal of the law? England) ; he entered into correspondence He stated that he purposely avoided mak- with Mr. Pitt, enclosing him addresses that ing observations, leaving them to form he said he had received from British their own opinion; and if they were not sailors desiring to serve the Protestant -~ fully satisfied of his guilt on this point interests in Holland. Not receiving a they were to acquit him. The jury retired, prompt reply to this communication he and returning into court after half an wrote again, stating he considered Mr. hours deliberation, pronounced the ver- Pitt very rude for not replying sooner. dict of not guilty. He sent memorials to all the different The Protestant Association was jubi- statesmen of Europe, acquainting them with the purposes and intentions of the Mr. Erskine became lord chancellor in r~96. Protestant Association. In connection LORD GEORGE GORDON AND THE RIOTS OF 1780. 165 with the Dutch affair a crowd of deluded sailors went to Buckingham House clam- oring for employment; and finding no redress, a feeling of anger grew up against Lord George, and they adjourned to his house vowing vengeance against him. The rumor of their approach had gone before them, and the neighborhood was terrified. They knocked at the door, and he (to do him justice, he was no coward) opened it -in person, and, addressing them in one of his long-winded speeches, laid the blame on the ministers, and assured them that he was their friend and advocate. In one moment the temper of the mob was changed, and their anger diverted in an- other channel. The air, which but a few minutes before had resounded with furi- ous objurgations directed against Lord George, was now rent with the cry of Gordon and Liberty, and many enquired whether they should not go and pull down Pitts house. This question Lord George answered with a low bow, and doubtless he regretted the rabble did not carry their suggestion into execution. In 1786 he was excommunicated by the Archbishop of Canterbury for refusing to give evidence in the Ecclesiastical Court concerning the will of a clergyman at whose death he had been present; his deposition being necessary. The punish- ment did not affect him very seriously, and he made the pertinent (and imperti- nent) observation that to expel him from a society to which he did not belong was an absurdity worthy of an archbishop. His attachment to Protestantism, the peg which he had hitherto used where- upon to hang his notoriety, appears about this time (1786) to have begun to yield to the superior attractions of Judaism. Not Protestantism alone, but Christianity lost favor in his eyes; and in due course he embraced that faith. The Jews welcomed him as a second Moses. He conformed to all the ceremonies of the ancient fa- thers, and expected all ~vho professed the same religion to do likewise. In April, 1787, informations were ex- hibited against him in the Court of Kings Bench, one at the suit of the attorney- general, for a libel entitled the Prison. ers Petition, purporting to come from the prisoners in Newgate, reflecting on the administration of justice there and in the country; and the other at the suit of the French ambassador, for a libellous and injurious publication against the queen of France. He refused to employ counsel for his defence on the score of poverty, arguing with the court and brin.g ing forward every sort of factitious oppo- sition and quibble to postpone the issue. Time after time the court adjourned, and it was not till June 6 that the trial com- menced. There was no moral doubt whatever that this tirade of treason, blasphemy, and folly was his own production, though pur- porting to emanate from the prisoners. Imputations on the sovereign, and weari- some and blasphemous extracts from the Old Testament, were among its salient features. Mr. Erskine, his successful champion at his first trial, was now, to- gether with the attorney-general, arrayed against him. He was found guilty of both charges. His speech on the last was so violent and indecorous that he was stopped in its de- livery, and the attorney-general declared indignantly that he was unworthy of the name of Briton; yet for some unexplained reason he was permitted to withdraw at the end of the trial, before sentence was pronounced, and without bail. Taking advantage of the opportunity thus, surely intentionally, afforded to him, he escaped to Holland. Shortly after his arrival in Amsterdam the burgomasters perempto- rily commanded him to leave the city within the space of twenty-four hours. Leaving Holland he returned to England, and landed at Harwich in July. From thence he proceeded to Birmingham, where he lived in hiding until December. Here he consorted entirely with Jews, adopting their dress and manners. On the 7th December he was apprehended and taken to London, and immediately brought up to the Court of Kings Bench to receive his sentence. In delivering judgment, Judge Ashurst told him that the document called the Prisoners Pe- tition was fictitious and of his own fabrication, written by him manifestly to excite insurrection and sedition and dis- content amongst the prisoners; and that as to the crime of which he had also been found guilty that of aspersing the char- acter of the queen of France it would be doing him too much hon5r to read these libels, so full of scurrilous language and low abuse. He regretted that one descended from such illustrious ancestors should thus have dishonored his family. For the offence of publishing the Peti- tion he was sentenced to be imprisoned in Newgate for three years. For the libel he was fined 500, and further imprisoned for two years after the expiration of the first judgment. He was also to give secu- rity for fourteen years good behavior i66 LORD GEORGE GORDON AND THE RIOTS OF i78o. himself in io,ooo, and sureties in 2,000 each. Attired in Jewish garb, and decked with a long and flowing beard, Lord George bowed in ostentatious humility to the finding of the court. The extraordi- nary clemency with which he was treated was continued up to the last, for the royal pardon was soon after offered him, provi- sionally, if he recanted his opinions, and promised to lead a quiet life for the future. He replied that to sue for pardon was a confession of guilt, and that his public conduct should never disgrace the prin- ciples he had espoused, and that the ten- der mercies of the wicked were cruelties. Thus in Newgate he remained mani- festly by ~his own choice. He bore his confinement with equanimity, and was treated with the greatest consideration by the authorities of course in accordance with their instructions. He enjoyed good health, had regular diet, rose at eight, and went to bed at eleven; read the papers, wrote letters, and received visitors at twelve; played the violin, and had six or seven guests to dinner every day. He enjoyed concerts of music, and had danc- ing parties. He fasted according to the rites of the Jewish Church, was kind and considerate to his fellow-prisoners, doing all in his power to alleviate their distress. From hence he forwarded a memorial to the friends of liberty, inveighing against all power but that of democracy. In 1789 the news of the capture of the Bastille, which took place on the 14th July of that year, penetrated even into the ir~erior of Newgate, where in all proba- bility the occupants believed a similar day of deliverance might dawn for them. Suf- fering as he was in part for the attack on the queen of France, Lord George pre- pared and despatched a petition to the National Assembly of France, putting forth that he was imprisoned for his at- tempt to succor the oppressed there. He therefore prayed them to apply to the court of St. James for the remission of his sentence. The Abbd Gregoire replied on behalf of the Assembly that as Lord George wits a foreigner, and was detained in an English prison, it would be highly improper for the Assembly to deliberate a LOU Igard, and recommended him to apply to the English tribunal. Lord George replied by indignantly enquiring of the National Assembly whether under the new rigirne the powers of France were curtailed, and whether the French ambas- sador at the English court would refuse to obey their commands if these were laid upon him to demand his release? Once more he passionately claimed their inter- ference, and inquired not without some show of reason whether now that they themselves slept in safety from the cruel dungeons of the I3astille they could with- out emotion suffer him to be incarcerated with murderers and thieves, and make no effort on his behalf. He concluded his invocation by the extraordinary argument that he was brother to a man of the birth and importance of the Duke of Gordon. On the 28th January, i793, his term of imprisonment having expired, he once more appeared in the Court of Kings Bench. Enormous crowds assembled to see him. He entered with his hat on, and being desired by the judge to remove it, he did so, and proceeded to bind his head round with a handkerchief of three colors in the form of a turban. He asked per- mission to address the court, which was accorded him. He then said he was ready to pay the fine of 500, and assert- ed he was able to find the necessary se- curities, mentioning two of his friends, whose means, however, proved to be in- sufficient. He was again remanded to Newgate, and as he was being removed he observed with an angry frown that he felt more for the servile complaisance of the court than for his own misfortunes. But he was not destined to drag out his wearisome and profitless existence much longer. Gaol fever more or less always then present in Newgate struck him down in December. On the eighth day of his illness he was informed of the death of the unhappy Marie Antoinette, when he observed that she was not the last member of the royal family of France that would perish by the guillotine. Shortly afterwards he became delirious, repeatedly calling his brother and address- ing him as if he were present, and mutter- ing sentences by which he had in former days rallied round him his fanatical and vagabond followers and filled them with the spirit of rebellion and riot. Gaunt and emaciated he lay upon his prison bed, helpless, unconscious, and forsaken of his own; his shattered life the grievous result of his lawless and seditious career. XVith a last effort he raised himself in hisbed, and half chanted, half spoke the opening .~ words of the republican song Ca ira words that at that time were infecting half Christendom. With this expiring tribute to an evil cause his spirit passed away. Lord George Gordon has, I think, been erroneously pronounced mad by posterity. To me he seems to have been ~only ex MR. GLADSTONE ON THE IRISH DEMAND. 167 travagantly vain. Throughout all the wild and turbulent scenes that he first reck- lessly provoked and then deliberately en- couraged there was no occasion when he lost his powers of acting rationally and consistently with a view to the success of his designs, nor did he lose his self-control under circumstances that might well try the nerves of the strongest. His inten- tions and deeds were criminal, and all his actions are consistent with this theory. From The Nineteenth Century. MR. GLADSTONE ON THE IRISH DEMAND. THE article * upon the Irish question which has lately been contributed to this review by Mr. Gladstone will doubtless receive that attentive consideration which is due to its intrinsic merits as well as to the position and character of its author. It must be highly satisfactory to those Liberals who felt it their duty to resist the Irish legislation recently proposed by Mr. Gladstone to read his candid admission that such legislation was attempted by him before the reflective side of the ques- tion had been exhausted. The announce- ment of the new policy undoubtedly took the country by surprise, and it may well be urged by Mr. Gladstones opponents as well as by himself that during the whole of last year the question was approached on what may perhaps be termed its im- ~5assionedas opposed to its reflective side. It is therefore with sincere pleasure that I find Mr. Gladstone advising us to betake ourselves to that reflective process which might well have been recommended before legislation of a strange and start- ling character was proposed, but which even after the proposal and the defeat of such legislation cannot be otherwise than of good result. One point, at least, has been gained by the publication of the article which I have now under review. Almost every portion of the Home Rule Bill of last year has been held to be an open question, i.e., a question which might be settled by any compromise which should unite the differ- ent sections of the Liberal party in its support. Now, however, we have it clearly and unmistakably laid down that the pol- icy to which Mr. Gladstone is immovably attached is that of establishing a statu- tory Parliament in Ireland, with its neces * LIVING Aou, No. 2231. sary consequence, a ministry responsible in the colonial fashion, and under proper conditions to secure the just interest of Ireland in imperial concerns. The im- portance of this statement consists in the fact that it enables us to see and recognize beyond all doubt t.he real, deep, funda- mental difference between Mr. Gladstone and the Unionist party. The latter are perfectly ready to give to Ireland, as also to Scotland, Wales, and parts of England distant from the metropolis, such extended municipal powers, under proper regula- tions and with due security, as may re- move the practical grievances attendant upon centralized administration, develop and enlarge the principles of local self- government, and confer the power of managing their own affairs upon the people of every county or district in which such powers can be conferred with a due regard to the public safety and the mainte- nance of the law. The point of difference is in the statutory Parliame~it a~d separate ministry~ We who are attached, I be- lieve immovably, to the policy of main- taining En gland, Scotland, Ireland, and Wales as a United Kingdom believe that to the existence of this union a united Parliament is a necessity, and that, in the words of Mr. Bright, to have two legisla- tive assemblies in the United Kingdom would be an intolerable mischief To establish a separate Parliament for Ire- land ~vould be to encourage ideas in the Irish mind which would infallibly create confusion and disorder, and work evils which must be patent to the most ordi- nary foresight. Every restriction imposed upon such a Parliament would be repre- sented as coming in a foreign garb and imposed by a foreign power, and it is difficult to find a valid ground for dissent- ing from the concluding words of Mr. Brights address to the electors of Bir- mingham, that no sensible man can wish for two legislative assemblies ~vithin the limits of the present United Kingdom who does not wish the United Kingdom to be- come two or more nations entirely se~a rate from each other. There is one remarkable feature in Mr. Gladstones article to which I desire to call attention, because it throws a vivid light upon the difference between him and his opponents. I allude to the manner in which, throughout the whole of his argu- ment, he persists in speaking of England, Scotland, Ireland, and Wales, as separate countries, and in virtually ignoring that common citizenship, in which, according to our Unionist ideas, the inhabitants of i68 MR. GLADSTONE ON THE IRISH DEMAND. these islands are happily blended. It is existing for the general interests of our this craze with regard to individual na-J home nationalities, and for the wider in- tionalities, and the apparent inability to terests which are sheltered beneath its understand or recognize their absorption power or assisted by its influence, is some- in the larger and nobler aspirations of a thing of greater importance than any mdi- united country, which a quarter of a cen- vidual nationality, too valuable to our- tury ago misled Mr. Gladstone in his esti- selves and to mankind to be trifled with mate of the probable outcome of the or imperilled by any sentimental legisla- struggle between the Northern and South- tion. That this is also the view of the em States of America, and is, I venture people was tolerably well proved at the to think, misleading him to-day. Mr. last general election. Gladstone recognized the local autonomy In the course of the article with which of the Southern States, their presumed I am dealing the writer asks and answers constitutional right to sever themselves eight questions upon the subject under from the American Union, and the deter- discussion. I am glad to find myself in mination, energy, and perseverance with complete accord with him as regards one which they attempted to enforce that right, important matter namely, the vast and That which he absolutely failed, on the solid strength of Great Britain. Confin- other hand, to recognize and to appreciate ing myself strictly to the point With which was the intense belief of Americans in the ~ve are dealing to-day, I admit at once the larger nationality of their Union, their possession of a giants strength, and I inflexible determination to preserve to recognize the force of the argument which their country that power and position seems to spring naturally from such an among the nations of the world which admission namely, that if there should would have been imperilled by the lop- be given to Ireland those legislative pow- ping off of the Southern States, and their ers which are demanded for her, Great consequent resolution to maintain at all Britain would be able effectually to pre- hazards the unity of their republic. It is vent her abuse or misuse of the same. It the same story to-day. Mr. Gladstone appears to me, however, that the tempta- not only recognizes (as indeed no one dis- tion to use her strength like a giant putes) the existence of separate nationali- hardly exists in this case, nor is it by any ties in Great Britain and Ireland, but he means necessary to appeal to the innate, deems itwise and patrioticforever to harp ineradicable nobleness of English charac- upon the fact of this existence, to stereo- ter. The temptation is all the other way. type any possible differences of race and Indeed, Mr. Gladstone himself admits and feeling, and to encourage individual as founds an argument upon this fact. He against general nationality. This is a tells us that by blocking the way with course precisely the reverse of that which Irish business we have effectually hin- commends itself to Unionists. We are dered the progress of British leois far from desiring that either English, and denies that we have ~ Jation, any adequate Scotch, Irish, or Welshmen should forget compensations~ for the grave and semi- their several nationalities, or cease to be ous mischiefs which are entailed by the proud of whatever may be great, good, present system. Surely, then, if this be and glorious in the traditions of their past. the case, the temptation~~ to a country But we contend that, for each and all, it is conscious of her own strength, and en- better and wiser to cling more and more dowed moreover with that nobleness of closely to the common citizenship which character which inclines the strong to be unites us under one flag and one constitu- indulgent to the weak, is, not to use her tional sovereign; we recognize the fact strength like a giant, but to yield to (admitted by Mr. Gladstone himself as re- that which is put forth as a legitimate gards the Irish people) that time has gone Irish demand. The only reason why far to remove and ob~terate the differ- she has not so yielded, and why, in my ences of race which formerly existed be- judgment, she will not so yield, is because tween us, and we, like our American breth- she believes that concession would be ren, are determined not to suffer those mischievous both to lreland and to her- bonds of union to be relaxed which bind self. Mr. Gladstone advises that the ap- us together as one people. That is the peal to England should be made to her real issue between us and Mr. Gladstone. heart, her reason, and her conscience, not To him individual nationality is a fetish to her fears. It is a pity that he should to be worshipped, the British Empire the not have refrained from asserting, in ~ accidental outcome of a grouping of na- previous page, that it is undeniable tionalities. To us the British Empire, that Catholic emancipation, and other MR. GLADSTONE ON THE IRISH DEMAND. i6g specified great measures passed with reference to Ireland, were in the main due to the frars of England. The as- sertion is one which is certainly open to question; and with regard to the measure of 1829 it is to be remarked that,although - words of the Duke of Wellington have been construed to bear the meaning at- tached to them by Mr. Gladstone, those words were never intended to imply that the concession to Catholic claims was made through fear, and the duke himself gave a categorical denial to the charge in a speech of later date.* Compliance with popular demands may be at one time unwise and undesirable, and at another time prudent and politic, but to attribute the various concessions ~ or remedial measures which have from time to time been given to Ireland by the British Par- liament to the fears of that Parliament or of the nation would be a mistake of a graver and more serious nature than to impute Mr. Gladstones Irish Church Dis- establishment measure to those outrages at Manchester and Clerkenwell which in his own words only made it possible for him to give the Irish question prece- dence over other pending questions. It was recently my duty to demonstrate the inaccuracy of certain propositions of Mr. Gladstone which had been publicly put forward as facts of Irish history, and which bore materially upon the issues before the country. It is with regret that I find Mr. Gladstone still assuming, as the basis of an argument, statements which cannot bear the test of historical investi- gation. He speaks of the great series of measures which made the years between 1778 and 1795 almost a golden age of Irish history. It was not until 1782 that the new con- stitution, commonly known by the title of Grattans Parliament, was fairly launched. But if we take the period from 1782 to 1795 we shall find that in admit- ting it to be almost a golden age we shall certainly run counter to the opinion of Grattan and those patriots of Grattans school who held the views respecting Irish independence which Mr. Gladstone presumably holds to-day. The latter, how- ever, has placed himself in a dilemma from which there is no escape. He has declared that Grattans Parliament was a free parliament, with which Ireland was satisfied, and on being confronted with the fact that this same Parliament was notoriously subservient to the British * House of Lords, February z~, s833. -. government, he has fallen back upon a division of the period of this Parliaments existence, counting it as almost a golden age up to the time of Lord Fitzwilliams recall, and as something very much the reverse for the remainder of its existence. But does either picture correctly represent the truth? I am not for a moment deny- ing that good measures were passed by the Irish Parliament bet~veen the years 1782 and 1795, although it must never be forgotten that they were so passed at the initiation and by the influence of the Brit- ish government. But just as recent Brit- ish governments have been taunted with passing alternate remedial and coer- cive measures, so it will be found that the course of the Irish Parliament at the time of which we treat was of necessity in a similar direction. It cannot be too often impressed upon the public mind that it is absolutely untrue to state or to imply that Ireland was tranquil and loyal up to the time of Lord Fitzwilliams recall, and that it was subsequent to and in consequence of that incident that rebellion was kindled in the country. It was eleven years be- fore Lord Fitzwillia;n went to Ireland, i.e., in 1784, that the Whiteboy outrages became serious. In the three folloxving years houghing, tarring and feathering prevailed, attacks upon Protestant clergy- men were frequent, and riotous and disor- derly meetings were sufficiently numerous to induce the Parliament to pass in 1787 an act to prevent tumultuous risings and assemblies. In 1791 the scene of vio- lence shifted from south to north; mur- ders and outrages still disgraced the country, and in that same year was inau- gurated and established the Society of United Irishmen, which was based upon hatred of England and admiration of French revolutionists. Is it credible that, with all these facts before him, any one should calmly tell us that, during the period in which such a state of things existed, any measures of the Parliament could make it almost a golden age, that Great Britain had to encounter a united Ireland, and that when the critical year of I 795 opened religious animosities were at their nadir, because the spirit of nationality was at its zenith? It appears to me that the man must be wilfully blind who does not see and under- stand that Ireland was undermined by secret societies, demoralized by religious and political outrages, and infected with a spirit of active disloyalty long before the critical year of 1795, and that although 170 MR. GLADSTONE ON THE IRISH DEMAND. it is a fair subject for argument whether ever this may be, we have ample material Lord Fitzwilliams recall did not hasten to-day from which to judge of the real the rebellion, yet it is beyond argument or character of the United Irishmen of 798. doubt that the seeds of that rebellion had I am not pretending to maintain that long before been sown, and that the non- the action of the British government dur- removal of Catholic disabilities was a pre- ing the dark times of which we are writ- text for that which had long been plotted ing was in all respects such as can be and the authors of which only waited their approved by the statesmen of to-day; but, opportunity. in the first place, we must remember the But whether or no Mr. Gladstone is enormous difficulties with which they had justified in his estimate of the effects of to contend, and, in the second, we must Lord Fitzwilliams recall, the language in not confound the action of the British gov- which he concisely relates the occurrences eminent with the excesses of exasperated which immediately followed stands sorely loyalists who met outrage by outrage, and in need of justification. Without discuss- only too closely imitated the crimes and ing the reality of the holy alliance be- cruelties which disgraced the rebellion. tween Irishmen of different Churches, I It is, or should be, comparatively easy for come to his charge upon the executive us to judge of events which we can calmly of his country of having entered upon a contemplate after so long an interval of headlong career, to which he attributes time. Unfortunately, however, whatever in/er alia the deplorable foundation of has been spoken or written of Ireland, the Orange lodges and the gradual con- both before and after the particular epoch version of the United Irishmen into a of which I write, has been almost inva- society of separatists. With respect to riably tinged with such a coJor of partisan- the foundation of the Orange lodges, it ship and spirit of bigotry that it is in most may be observed that although their name cases still difficult to arrive at the exact was changed and their organization im- truth. Mr. Gladstone, indeed, has no dif- proved and extended in 1795, the members ficulty, for he pronounces against England ~vere the same Peep o Day Boys, who upon every point, and attributes to her had existed for years before Lord Fitzwil- misgovernment and the headlong career hams viceroyalty, and whose existence, of the executive all the misfortunes of the as well as that of the Defenders, on the period. I cannot honestly retaliate by side of the Catholics, pretty conclusively charging everything to the perversity of proves that Mr. Gladstones holy alli- Ireland. But because I admit that Ire- ance was of a very limited and uncertain land had a right to complain of several character. Religious animosity had un- things connected with British administra- happily prevailed in Ireland too long to tion, and perhaps most of all of the exclu- have been swept away at once by any re- sion of the majority of her people from an medial measure, and it was as the product equality of civil rights with their fellow- and outcome of religious animosity that citizens upon the ground of their religious these societies existed, and not in conse- belief, I entirely refuse to allow that such quence of any headlong career on the conplaints, however justifiable in them- part of the executive. But what of the selves, either justified or were the principal United Irishmen? The revelations of causes of the rebellion of 1798 and the Wolfe Tone have amply proved that hos- subsequent sufferings of the country. tility to England and desire for separation These things were, in my opinion, princi- from her were the mainsprings and roots pally due to three causes first, that the of the society in question, and that the jealousies and bitterness caused by the gradual conversion into separatists is old confiscations of Irish estates still a charitable offspring of Mr. Gladstones rankled in the breasts of the people and own imagination. A hundred years hence, were a perpetual source of discontent; or possibly at a much earlier date, the secondly, that this element of mischief, as world may be in possession of memoirs or well as that of the religious differences diaries of some of the Home Rule leaders between Catholic and Protestant, was con- of to-day, which will enable it to judge stantly inflamed by the action of self- more clearly than at present of the value seeking agitators; thirdly, that the spirit of of their protestations against that idea of the French Revolution, which had spread separation from Great Britain which, up like wildfire over Continental Europe and to the time of Mr. Gladstones sudden threatened the existing constitution of avowal of his adhesion to Home Rule, had every country, produced an immense so often found expression in their public effect in Ireland and fanned into a flame utterances up6n the question. But how- the smouldering embers of discontent. MR. GLADSTONE ON THE IRISH DEMAND. 7 There were then alas that there should still be I men of character and ability who, instead of pointing out to Ireland that a closer union between Great Britain and herself and a more thorough identifi- cation of the inhabitants of both countries must result in an enormous benefit to both, preferred to appeal to the spirit of separate nationality, described Great Britain as an alien nation, represented her legislation as coming to Ireland in afor- eign garb, and so worked upon the feel- ings of an excitable people as to produce those deplorable results which a British statesman at the present time can recon- cile it to his conscience to attribute to the policy of his own country and the action of those eminent men to whom fell the arduous task of guiding her destinies in those perilous times. Mr. Gladstone is entirely right in his advice to Ireland not to rely upon ob- taining what she desires from the fears of England; he is as completely wrong in asserting that England ever was afraid, or that her statesmen have ever been ac- tuated by a desire less pure and generous than his own to show such favor to Ire- land, and to act as much in accordance with her desires, as they have felt to be consistent with the general interests of that empire of which she forms an integral part. Mr. Gladstone in his second ques- tion asks whether, in the recent contro- versy, Ireland, as the weaker party, has had the full benefit of equal treatment. I reply that, if the question had been one between two independent nations, about to enter upon an administrative agree- ment, the reasoning about securities on one side or the other would be entitled to every consideration; but I contend that Great Britain and Ireland are as one coun- try under one sovereign and one govern- ment, and that the matter under discus- cussion is between the subjects of one sovereign as to the best and most con- venient manner in which the government of a united country can be conducted. And if we decline to establish a separate Parliament in Dublin it is from no ill-feel- ing to Ireland or to Irishmen, but simply because we believe it to be highly incon- venient and prejudicial to the interests of the empire that such a body should be called into existence for the transaction of the business of any separate portion of the thirty-six or thirty-seven millions which constitute the population of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and ireland. The third question put by Mr. Glad- stone is one which I am scarcely con- cerned to answer at the present moment. It is founded upon the manner in which the Irish Nationalists appear to under- value the proper share of Ireland in im- perial concerns, and to concentrate their efforts upon obtaining self-government at home. Apart from the peculiar his- tory of Ireland, there is a possible solu- tion of the enigma. If the Nationalists are in reality looking forward to complete separation from Great Britain, it is not difficult to imagine that, eagerly grasping at the stepping-stone to that separation which would be given them by Mr. Glad- stones proposals, they would concentrate their efforts in his support, and neither profess nor feel much anxiety to secure to Ireland her proper share in imperial con- cerns. The prospect of a Parliament in which they would be omnipotent may well have induced them to think and care little about imperial concerns until these objects had been obtained. I must transpose the order of Mr. Glad- stones next two questions, because upon the last one logically follows the fifth, which demands whether the establishment of a statutory Parliament in Dublin will make over the government of Ireland to Mr. Parnell and his friends. I must pass over the first paragraph of Mr. Glad- stones answer with a simple protest against its one-sided and anti-English ref- erence to the history of the past. It is a little too bad to tell us, as a matter of undoubted historical fact, that a certain policy was in I 795 abandoned in defiance of the Parliament, under orders from En- gland, which orders were issued under the inspiration of an Irish faction, and still worse to assert that the determination was taken to work the government against the representative portion of the Par/ia- ~nent. It would have been perfectly just to protest against a Parliament being called representative in Ireland from which Catholics were excluded, but it is totally inaccurate to say that in the Prot- estant Parliament the representative portion was all on one side, and that in opposition to the government. But if Mr. Gladstone is unfair in his historical reference to 1795, what shall we say of his account of i886? He says that the Irish policy approved by the majority of English voters in the election of i886 was that we should have the representation of the country one way and its adininistra- tion another way. Is this a fair and true representation of the case? That which I conceive to have been the policy ap 172 MR. GLADSTONE ON THE IRISH DEMAND. proved was that, Great Britain and Ire- land being bound together as one United Kingdom, the affairs of that kingdom should be administered by one govern- ment, representative of the whole, and not by a double and divided;administration. As an earnest supporter :~f this policy I accept Mr. Gladstones propdsal to take the future into view. Heasks(i), Is there the smallest chance of rescuing the representation of the country from the Nationalists? (2) If .not, is there a chance of our continuing for a generation or two with the representation of the coun- try one way and its administtation the other way? 1 will reply with other ques- tions. Is Mr. Gladstone prepared to see a Nationalist government in Dublin, ad- ministering the affairs of Ireland in a spirit entirely contrary to that which Great Britain would sanction in her Parliament? If he is so prepared, and would further consider that Great Britain should stand aloof and allow such a government so to administer Irish affairs, by what argument of logic or reason could he oppose the total separation of the two countries if it were desired by the same Nationalist government? If he is not so prepared, what other course is there to take in order to preserve the Union than to preserve intact that United Parliament in which the anti-Unionist Irish are a minority, though a minority sufficiently strong to make their power felt whenever they have any real cause of complaint? Mr. Glad- stone tells us that when once a statutory Parliament had been established in Dub- lin the basis as a party of Mr. Parnell and his friends would disappear, just as the basis of the Anti-Corn Law League disappeared with the repeal of the Corn Law. Is this so? The position of Mr. Parnell and his friends would be entirely different from that of the Anti-Corn Law League. In that case a principle tri- umphed, and there was virtually no more cause of battle. But the concession to the Irish Nationalists of a separate Par- liament, with. limited powers, would he an entirely different matter, and would leave ample basis for the continued existence of the party whose disappearance is con- templated by Mr. Gladstone. I will point out, without particularizing, that Mr. Gladstone proposed in his bills of last year to impose certain restric- tions upon the statutory Parliament of Ire- land from which Grattans Parliament was free. Can any one doubt that whilst one of these restrictions remained, the basis would still exist? Mr. Gladstone believes that the leisured and landed classes will establish friendly relations with all other classes, and will represent the peo- ple of Ireland in the future. But almost in the same breath he tells us that the leisured class has abandoned and excom- municated Nationalism, which conse- quently now seeks and finds very effi- cient representatives, who to a considera- ble extent are not of the leisured class. Does he, then, expect these men to stand aside, or to be thrown overboard by those whom they have led to victory? Does he expect the men who have thriven upon agitation, lived upon foreign subsidies, denounced landlordism, the Saxon, English rule, and everything connected with the British connection, to disappear quietly from the scene as soon as a stat- utory Parliament shall have been estab- lished in Dublin? This would be an incredible result. Mr. Gladstones first question is whether the political question as to Irish govern- ment can be disposed of by means of what is termed firm government, or by some improved action of the executive in Ireland. An affirmative answer to this question has doubtless been rendered vastly more difficult by Mr. Gladstones own action. It is not too much to say that from the time of the passing of the Act of Union down to the Christmas of 1885 no leading British statesman had ever sanctioned the idea of that practical repeal of the Union of which Mr. Gladstone unexpectedly posed as the advocate. I readily admit that his new attitude changed the whole aspect of affairs, because he effectually broke up the unanimity with which the two great political parties in Great Britain had previously regarded the fundamental principles by which this question should be ruled. The country, however, having emphatically condemned Mr. Gladstones proposal to abrogate these principles, his question must still be answered in the affirmative. The Irish difficulty must be met by firm government and by such improved action of the executive~~ as experience may have shown to be desira- ble. No concession to Irish demands will -~ be grudged so long as those demands are consistent with the interests of the em- pire; but attempts to weaken the connec- tion between Great Britain and Ireland by legislation in the direction of a sever- ance of interests and an administrative separation must, in the interests of Ire- MR. GLADSTONE ON THE IRISH DEMAND. 73 land herself quite as much as in those of picture? Mr. OConnell relates in minute Great Britain, be encountered by a stern detail every murder and outrage commit resistance. ted by Protestants upon Catholics. Un. I will not d~vell upon Mr. Gladstones fortunately it is beyond all doubt that the sixth question, which relates to foreign greater part of the cruelties to which he contributions, but pass at once to the sev- refers were practised in retaliation for the enth and eighth, which practically embrace atrocities committed by Catholics upon the whole problem which is before us for Protestants at the outbreak of the rebel- solution. They relate to the intentions lion of 1641. I am quite aware that Mr. with which Great Britain has legislated OConnell denies that any massacre oc for Ireland. curred at this period. His inspiration is I must once more notice with deep re- apparently derived from a book published gret the persistent manner in which Mr. in Philadelphia in 1823, entitled Vin- Gladstone refuses to credit his country, dici~ Hibernic~e, the author of which, from first to last, either with good inten- Mr. Carey, states that his object is to tions or kindly action towards Ireland. develop and expose a few of the multifa- From the earliest connection between the rious errors and misrepresentations re- two countries he condemns the policy of specting Ireland in the histories of May, England towards Ireland alike in its in- Temple, Whitelock, Borlace, Rushworth, tention and its results. It is impossible Clarendon, Cox, Carte, Leland, Warner, to answer vague and wholesale accusa- Macaulay, Hume, and others; particu- tions except in general terms; but ~vhen larly in the legendary tales of the ire- Mr. Gladstone once more refers to Mr. tended conspiracy and ,nassaCre of 1641. OConnell as a witness who has demon- Mr. OConnell, faithfully follpwing the strated the wicked conduct of England example set him by this writer, imputes towards Ireland in the first four centuries unscrupulous falsehood to all Protestant of their connection, I must warn the pub- writers. lic against accepting Mr. OConnell as a Upon this point I will content myself reliable authority. His book, published with these general remarks: first, that in 1843, declares that the Irish people writers who begin by accusing all those are determined to insist on the restoration who have preceded them of falsehood and of their native Parliament, which his- errors, do not deserve to be accepted by torical truth proves to have never existed the discerning reader as impartial histori- save as an institution founded by the En- ans; secondly, that, so far as the events glish colonists, for the more important of 1641 are concerned, I refer my readers part of its existence inaccessible to the to the first volume of Mr. Froudes En- adherents of the native religion, and in glish in Irelai~d for the authorities upon no sense to be termed native as against which rest the history of the rebellion and England, or capable of being restored in the massacre of Protestants, and to the the same form and under the same condi- Parliamentary history of 16413; thirdly, tions of existence which obtained at the that these events must not be judged of time of its extinction. But the narrative from the accounts of any one historian, of Mr. OConnell, extending from the Catholic or Protestant, but from a fair year 1172 to i66o, has but one object and comparison of the writings on either side. intention namely, to extol to the utmost It is hardly possible to conceive a more the character of his Catholic fellow-coun- bitter and one-sided partisan spirit than trymen, to deny their guilt in any instance, that which pervades Mr. OConnells pub- and to impute first to the English and, lication; and whilst I utterly detest the after the reign of Henry the Eighth, spe- persecution of Catholics, and heartily re- cially to the Protestants, all the evils joice in their present equality with their which came upon Ireland. It is quite Protestant fellow-countrymen before the true, as Mr. Gladstone takes care to in- law, I say that no man can impartially form us, that Mr. OConnell employs read the terrible and melancholy history citations from authority~ to prove the of Ireland from the accession of Charles cruelties practised by the Protestants the First to the Treaty of LimeriQk with- too frequently, I grieve to say, with direct out coming to the conclusion that upon sanction from those who were responsible Catholic as well as Protestant, upon Irish for the government of England upon as well as English, rests the blame and the Catholics of Ireland. the responsibility for the deeds of that No Englishmen worthy of the name can miserable epoch. But, to my mind, there read such a recital without shame and sor- is a serious responsibility and blame rest- row. But is there no other side to t.he ing also upon those statesmen of to-day I74~ MR. GLADSTONE ON THE IRISH DEMAND! who aggravate the present difficulties of the Irish question by appeals to a past over which both sides would do well to draw a veil. During the times of which Mr. OConnell writes religious animosity was inflamed to the utmost pitch; but, in addition to this fearful element of discord, there raged a civil war which greatly com- plicated the differences and confused the issues of the day. The old issues between the English colonists and the native Irish had in reality to a great extent passed away, and become merged in the battle between Royalist and Parliamentarian and, alas! between Catholic and Protestant. This is a fact which ought to be borne in mind, but which is too often forgotten by the controversialists of the present day. It suits the orator who appeals to passion and sentiment to represent the difficulties of Irish government as pro- ceeding from the differences of race and the oppression of the Celtic by the Saxon nation. In reality, such has been the fusion of the two races, that even in the days of Sir John Davies it was true, and to-day it is still more true, to say (as Mr. Glad~tone himself has said) that the greater part of the Irish people are de- scended from British extraction. The real differences between Great Britain and Ireland which still exist are differences founded upon the events of the Civil War, upon the confiscations which preceded and followed that war, and upon the religious divisions which, in bigotry and bitterness, have been of magnitude and duration un- equalled in the history of the world. Mr. Gladstone would apparently join with Mr. Carey and Mr. OConnell in throwing all the blame upon Protestantism and En- gland. I cannot retaliate by casting it entirely upon Ireland or upon Catholicity. I maintain that any man of impartial mind must admit that there has been blame upon both sides, and that the true way in which to approach the question to-day is by a free admission of this fact, a mutual determination to exchange forgiveness for the past, and a hearty resolution to recog- nize the wisdom, the righteousness, and the advantage of greater forbearance, more kindly feeling, and closer union in the future.* * At p. 38$ of his book Mr. OConnell asks his read- ers to join him in blessing Providence, who gave the Irish nation a soul so full of humanity, a disj5osition so rejilete with mercy, that, excepting in the actual civil war itself, the Irish shed no blood, committed no crime, perpetrated no barbarity, exhibited no into?- erance, exercised no 5ers~cutio~~~ As the rebellion and massacre of 1641, however some of the details may have been exaggerated (as is doubtless the case), are facts which rest upon a mass of evidence which.place Pursuing his continuous indictment against Great Britain, Mr. Gladstone de- c ares that no one will dare to assert ~ that the intention of England and of the Parliament was good, even from the legis- lative union onwards. No doubt we may find much to blame in the policy pursued after the Union, but in the first place it is unfair to say that it was founded upon any evil intention towards Ireland; and, in the second place, it terminated with the triumph of Catholic emancipation in t829. Since that year I do not think that any man can fairly maintain that the inten- tion of Great Britain towards Ireland has been anything but good, or that there has been any want of sympathy with Ire- land, any disinclination to listen to her complaint and to remove her grievances. When Mr. Gladstone comes to deal with times more recent, he speaks of course with the authority of one who has been an active participator in the legislation of which he is now the critic. To deny good intention would be an act of self- inculpation which could not be expected. But when he tells us that in 1847 the want of information and care on the part of the British Parliament was gross,~~ and that, even so late as i88o, the British government was not well-informed by local officialism, may we not deem it possible that something even less reliable may misinform and mislead Mr. Gladstone himself in 8887? He tells us that we are treating of the local concerns of Ireland, which, as distinct from imperial concerns, hold a position quite different from any that belongs to those of Scotland or of Wales. It is well to note those words, because Mr. Gladstone will have to ex- plain them away when hereafter he comes to ask for the application of the Home Rule principle to Scotch and Welsh local concerns which he foreshadows in some later expressions. But what is the difference which Mr. Gladstone declares to exist? On this side the Channel public authority administers the law in sympathy with the people, on the other it does not. Well, but why not? Is the law or are the people in fault? If the law, is the British Parliament unable or unwilling to alter it? If the people, are they, being wrong, to be encouraged to hold themselves superior to the law, or to be made to obey it? them beyond doubt, I must ask the public to pause be- fore they endorse Mr. Gladstones recommendation of the author of the above passage as a reliable authority and his book as one of the best works on Irish his- tory. MR. GLADSTONE ON THE IRISH DEMAND. 75 Again does Mr. Gladstone repeat the phrase, so hateful and, I must add, so un- patriotic from an Englishman, that the law wears in Irish eyes a fore:gn garb. Why? XVhat law? Is it the law which forbids to steal, to murder, to mutilate, to violate legal contracts, and to prevent loyal citizens from following their peaceful avocations and discharging their lawful obligations? Is the breach of such laws to be excused by Mr. Gladstone or tol- erated in Ireland because certain persons say they come in a foreign garb? And does or can any one say so who is a loyal subject of Queen Victoria and who honestly desires this to be a United King- dom? Let us have no cant and equivoca- tion in this matter. Are Irishmen to steal, murder, and commit outrage because such things are forbidden by the laws of Great Britain? The men who encourage such doings are the men who give countenance to such absurd ideas as that of the for- eign garb, well knowing that if the words have any meaning at a they signify that Ireland is, or ought to be, no part of the United Kingdom, and, more than this, a country to which the ordinary laws of civilization ought not to be applied. The first necessity of government, says Mr. Gladstone, is to have the law in har- mony with the ~eo~le. Grand words, indeed, but what do they mean. Laws should surely be founded upon principles of justice and morality. If, being so founded, they are broken by the people, are they to be made unjust and immoral in order to meet the popular view? The irish people, as a people, are not uhjust or immoral, but they are a people of a peculiar and impulsive character, and they have been subjected of late years to influ ences and temptations of no ordinary kind. If they have in too many instances suc- cumbed to these, and if evils of great magnitude and extent have consequently followed, it is not so much the people to whom blame is to be attached as their teachers, and those statesmen who, by weak concession and irresolute and vaci I- lating action, have placed power in the hands of those teachers. But we have surely not yet arrived at such a point that we must consider, not whether laws are just and right, but whether, being just and right, they are in harmony with the peo- ple. The duty of a government is to gov- ern to frame just laws and see that they are obeyed and the government which fails in this duty is unfit for its office. No doubt I shall be told that Mr. Glad- stone only intends to propound that laxy~ relating to the local affairs of Ireland should be in harmony with the views of the Irish people. But what proposal rela- tive to such laws has been brought before the British Parliament in ~vhich the prin- ciples of justice and honesty have not been directly in question? Justice is not the monopoly of any one country. British and Irish interests are interwoven .with each other, and anything which distinctly militates against the principles of justice in the one country cannot be tolerated in the other so long as the two countries are part and parcel of one united kingdom. Mr. Gladstone complains of the incon- veniences of legislative arrears. Which has more reason to complain, Great Brit- ain or Ireland? The consumption of Parliamentary time upon Irish affairs has been great, and ren- dered greater by the action of those who have avowed their desire and intention to bring the Parliament of Great Britain into contempt. Is the remedy of neces- sity to be found in separation~ May it not be more effectually foun~1 in the alter- ation of the procedure in Parliament it- self? It may be that Mr. Gladstone is right in affirming that the machinery of our imperial legislation is ill adapted for the despatch of purely Irish concerns, but the same may be said with regard to the concerns of any particular part of Great Britain, and the defect in a vast machine may often require its repairing without necessitating its destruction. I will not follow Mr. Gladstone in his comparison between the Scotch and Irish Union fur- ther than to call attention to his repetition of the historical inaccuracy that there was in Ireland no independent national party which favored the Union. The petitions from the Irish Catholics (which may be found by reference to Plowdens history), the evidence given during Lord Cornwal- liss progress, and, above all, the division lists, which include among the supporters of the Union many representatives of the larger and more independent constituen- cies, prove Mr. Gladstone to be entirely in error. With regard to the bribery I must again remind those who care to recur to the sub- ject that by far the greatest part of the expenditure incurred at the time of the passing of the Union was employed in the payment of compensation to the owners of Parliamentary seats, which had been to them and their families a source of income for generations. The system was un- doubtedly bad; the payment may have 176 MR. GLADSTONE ON THE IRISH DEMAND.~ been wrong, but it was made alike to sup- Secondly, the Union entitled the peo. porters and opponents of the Union, and ple of Ireland to the same elective fran- it is unfair to represent it as bribery in the chise with the people of England. In sense in which the word is usually em- this respect the last Reform Bill has given ployed. that equality which Mr. OConnell de- We are asked by Mr. Gladstone whether manded for his countrymen. our present relations with regard to Ire- Thirdly, the Union entitled the people land exhibit a state of things so desirable of Ireland to an adequate portion of the that it is worth our while to run a risk in representation in Parliament. This, says money or any other risk in order to main- Mr. OConnell, has been scornfully and tam them. I reply that the truer form of contemptuously refused. It has now the question is this: whether a separation been granted to such an extent that com- between the two countries is not so un- plaints come from Great Britain of the desirable in the interests of both that each over-representation accorded to Ireland. will do well to tax its resources in order Fourthly, the Union entitled the peo- to avoid such a calamity? ple of Ireland to an identity of relief with We are told that in a matter where England from corporate monopoly, big- Ireland has an integral and England a par- otry, plunder, and abuse of every other tial concern we are expecting the Irish kind. These words are rather vague, to consent to substitute the English con- and I own that I am unable to say whether viction for their own. My comment they include a complaint concerning any upon Mr. Gladstones words is that they grievance which has not yet been re- again express his old fallacy namely, moved, but I am sure that there is none that our country is not united, but divided which they can comprehepd to the re- into four nations. We claim that, as a moval of which, when once shown to be united people,, we have, a/i of us, an in- an inequality and a grievance, the British tegral concern in the affairs of every part Parliament would not freely consent. of our united country, and that our legisla- Add to this that the Protestant Church tion must be determined by the majority Establishment in Ireland has, for good or of the whole representation. If we are to evil, been abolished, and how does the enter into an argument as to the relative matter stand? Mr. OConnell declared amount of representation enjoyed by each that Ireland demanded the repeal of the part of the United Kingdom, Mr. Glad- Union because she had been refused stone would find that it is England who equality identity. The first has been might with justice complain that her pop- fully granted; the latter has been more ulation and relative amount of contribution than granted, because the only point of to imperial taxation entitle her to a larger non-identity consists in the Irish branch share of representation than that which of the Established Church having been she enjoys. This, however, is at the mo- disestablished in accordance with what ment beyond the scope of the question was supposed to be the Irish demand. which has to be answered. That question What, then, is that demand to-day? Un. is practically whether we are to grant that der the specious title of the privilege or which, under the name of Home Rule, Mr. the right for Ireland to manage her own Gladstone designates as the Irish de- affairs the practical demand is not only mand. Let us consider, first, whether the for the repeal of the Union but for a great Irish demands of past years have been deal more. It is perfectly true that Mr. granted or refused, and what has been the Gladstone speaks of a union of heart result ; secondly, what is the actual Irish and soul to replace the paper union~~ demand now, and what it implies and in- at which he sneers; but let us look a little volves. I take Mr. Gladstones own closer into the matter. This is not the favorite work namely, Mr. OConnells demand which is really made by those memoir and I find that his plain and who claim to represent the Irish nation. straightforward demand was for the re- Under cover of the demand to manage,~ peal of the Union. He termed the Union their own affairs they desire to overthrow ~ a living lie, and he did so for the fol- the settlements made by British Parlia. lowing reasons : ments in the past, and to introduce princi First, because the Union entitled the pIes of legislation which ~an only be called Catholics of Ireland to religious equality principles by courtesy at the expense of with the English and Scotch. truth. It is not on y that they would per. Can any one deny that this equality, mit tenants, far and wide, to break their though too long delayed, has now been legal contracts, and would subject land- given? . lords to an arbitrary reduction of rent, ML GLADSTONE ON THE IRISH DEMAND. 77 which would entail misery and ruin upon those who may have hitherto escaped those too frequent results of recent legislation. If words mean anything they would sweep away the present race of landlords alto- gether. This is no idle assertion. In the recent Parliamentary debates Mr. Parnell deliberately stated that almost every title to Irish land is founded on wholesale rob- bery and embezzlement. In the same debate Mr. Redmond declared himself the determined enemy of landlordism, and in the Freemans 7ournal of January 3 Mr. Dillon was reported to have said: The soil of Ireland was the property of the children of Ireland, and not the prop- erty of the contemptible, rack-renting, as- cendency landlords, whose fathers had robbed it from their fathers and from whom they would now take it. No doubt it would be difficult at the present time to discover the children of these plundered fathers, or to restore the lands to descend- ants of form.er possessors who themselves would be hard of discovery. No doubt also that the abolition of landlordism would be a difficult task, since the land must be owned by somebody, and a change of land- lords is all that could be accomplished. But the words above quoted only sam- ples of expressions which might easily be multiplied a hundredfold are ample evi- dence of the spirit in which Mr. Glad- stones Irish allies are prepared to deal with the question. The settlement of land two hundred years ago is to count for- nothing; the fact that probably three- fourths of the land of Ireland has, since that period, been bought and sold in open market is to be held of no account; the circumstance that the British Parliament has legislated again and again upon the subject of Irish land, and has given a Parliamentary title to its purchasers, is to stand them in no stead. Landlordism or, to put it in the real sense in which the expression is intended, the race of land- lords with a title derived from British influence and British legislation is to be abolished, and the past settlement of Irish land to be swept away like a spiders web if it stand in the way of the Irish demand. Are the British people prepared for this? Will the British democracy be ready to resist the calls for aid which will be made upon them by their brethren who have trusted to the fafth of British Parlia- ments, to bargains made under and ac- cording to the law, and to a settlement two hundred years old? Will it be said that I am dealing in exaggeration? Hear another sample of what language is used LIViNG AGE. VOL. LVIII. 2976 - in Ireland and what are the expectations which her people are taught to entertain. I have before me the Dundalk Examiner of January 15, containing the report of A Lecture on Irish Freedom, delivered by the Rev. Eugene OSheehy, P.P., in the town of Dundalk. He justified his appearance by stating that so long as Ireland was torn, ground down, and de- spised as a province by a forezWn and alien government, Irishmen expected the priests to come into line with them and to struggle and work until this island of ours takes her ri~htful~lace forevermore among the nations of Europe. He stated that for seven hundred years Ireland had maintained the combat against En- gland, and that the struggle was for the restoration of land and property, and was continued at present by twenty mil- lions of the Clan-a-gael. From these interesting observations of a general char- acter the reverend speaker presently con- descended to particular statements, in one of which he justified the conduct~of Father John Murphy in the rebellion of 1798 (for an account of whose murderous proceed- ings I refer my readers to Mr. Froudes English in Ireland, vol. iii., p. 434), and remarked that at that time twenty thou. sand of the kings troops perished in Wexford alone, and how would it have been ~f thirty-two counties had taken united action? I think I have said enough to show that concession in Mr. Gladstones fashion to that which he designates the Irish de- mand involves far more than the simple granting that permission to manage local affairs which, under proper conditions, may and will be granted to every portion of the United Kingdom. The real point upon which the whole controversy turns is the question whether we are to be henceforward a united people, under one sovereign and under one Parliament, or whether the claims of each of the nation- alities which at present constitute our Union are to be advanced and pressed in such a manner as, commencing with a separation of Parliaments, must inevitably tend to separation of a still more vital character, and eventually either to a civil war or to the breaking up at once of our Union and our monarchy. To this ques- tion the people have given their answer at the last general election, and when the whole of the issues are more clearly be- fore them and more certainly understood I confidently believe that the same answer will be repeated in a louder and more de cisive tone. BRABOURNE. 178 RICHARD CABLE. From Chambers Journal. RICHARD CABLE, THE LIGHTSHIPMAN. BY THE AUTHOR OF MEHALAH, JOHN HERRING, COURT ROYAL, RTC. CHAPTER XII. AN INDISCRETION. WHEN the guests were gone, Aunt Ju- dith retired. She was sleepy. She had eaten a good dinner, and eaten heartily, and wanted her rest after it. You are going to bed? said she in the doorway to her niece. Eventually, answered Josephine. I must play some good music on the piano first, to dissipate the reminiscence of Strauss and Waldteuffel I have been strumming. Why did you not play good music? Because good music is desecrated if played to those who dont listen, dont value it, and prefer what is bad. Aunt Judith yawned, said nothing in reply, and withdrew. Josephine went to the window and threw it open. The room was warm and close. One window unfolded upon the garden; the other at right angles into the conservatory. She opened the garden window and stepped out to inhale the fresh air; then, fearful of catching cold, as the dew might be falling, and she had on a low dress, she went in again, and stood in the window leaning against the side, looking out. She rested the elbow of her right arm in the palm of her left, and held her chin, with the forefinger ex- tended on her cheek. She was in a pretty rose silk dress, ~vith lace about the necl~, and short sleeves. The hue suited her admirably; she had looked very pretty that evening, especially when her color came and her eyes flashed with excite- ment during her passage of arms with the rector. In her hair was a sprig of azalea, now faded, Madame van Cruyzen, a crim- son azalea; and another sprig was in her bosom. Aunt Judith, a frugal woman, had extin- guished all the lights in the drawing-room except those on the piano, which she left because her niece wished to play, and a little lamp in the conservatory, which she forgot. This latter was placed among ferns, and was of red glass, so that it dif- fused a warm glow over the plants. Josephine did not care to play from notes, so she blew out the candles before she went to the window. The moon was shinincr; just over the top of the palings at the %ottom of the garden could ~e seen the sea, a quivering sheet of silver, under the moon; the evening was light, so light that there seemed no blackness in the shadows, only deep blue; the sky was blue, the trees blue, the bushes blue, the moonlight bluish. It may have been the contrast to the red light in the conserva- tory that gave Josephine this impression, the contrast of coolness of color also to her own warm tints of dress. She thought of Captain Sellwood. She had known him as a child, before he went to India; and had seen him since, when he returned on leave. He had hung about her whenever he came home; she knew that he liked her, and yet he never got far in showing his liking. She remembered once making her father laugh by calling him the Morbid Fly. She had meant that he clung about, was half asleep, a little troublesome, and not very interest- ing. She had used the expression when she was much younger and did not know the meaning of words. She had intended to call him torpid. Eve~ aftdr, he had gone in the house by the name of the Morbid Fly. She knew that he was more gifted than he seemed. His fello~v-officers spoke highly of him. He had done well in his eEaminatiOns before going out, so that he could not be deficient in brain; but he was not an interesting man. As the Frenchman said of truth: it is so pre- cious, ilfaut hi bieniconoiniser; so might Captain Sellwood have said of his wits; he husbanded them so jealously that many doubted if he possessed any. That he was an honorable man, Josephine could not doubt. The rector was so high-principled and sound at core, that a son of his could hardly fail to inherit something of his good quality. On occasion, he had shown that there was energy in him, but only on occasion. All good qualities were in him, as heat and its correlative light are in a stick or in a piece of lump-sugar latent, only to be made manifest by friction. There are blaze and bang in a percussion cap, but they are developed only by a blow; and when not beaten, a percussion cap is an uninteresting object, deficient in self-assertion. Really, said Josephine, I do no~ want a husband who will be invaluable in emergencies, and a cipher at all other times. Besides, I am not so sure that he would do and say the right thing when roused. It is a weakness of such persons often to do just what is not apropos, and, like his mother, say buttered eggs, when no one is thinking about such things. RICHARD CABLE. 79 She stepped to the piano and closed it; temper impelled her to no positive line of she would not play any more that night. action; it made her disposed to quarrel rt might disturb her father and aunt. with every one who came in her way, and She would go out into the pavilion, a oppose everything that was suggested to small summer-house in the garden, on her. In nervous disorders, the patient is raised ground that commanded a sea- irritable, and almost insufferable to his view; in it she could sit, get cool, and nurses; and Josephine was spiritually ill; perhaps sleepy. It was of no use her her moral tissue was in a state of angry going to bed now; she was far too excited excitation. We are her nurses sitting to sleep. Had she spoken her own opin- round her, reading her mind, with our ions in her controversy xvith the rector? fingers on her pulse, counting its furious She had no opinions. Her moral sense, throbbing. We must be patient with her, her views of life, were inchoate. She had and not angry because she seems to us merely repeated what she had heard fall unreasonable. The moral sickness must from her father, opinions which her mind be borne with as tenderly as the sickness received without consenting to them or that is physical. Have we not ourselves rejecting them. She had measured arms had our periods of ethical giddiness, when with the rector out of perversity, because everything swam round us, and the ground she knew that her father wished her to gave way under our feet? When we put gain the old parsons good opinion, and out our hands grasping in vacuum, we because she owed her father a grudge for caught at things that could not stay us up. having wasted her property. That she Or, to vary the simile somewhat, may was cutting off her own nose to spite her- we not consider our span of life~as ati~,ht- self, she was aware, but indifferent to the rope on which we have to dance our hour? consequences. That she would meet with We can do it with the balance-pole in our angry rebuke, and sneers worse to bear hands that we are supplied with a hal- than rebuke, from her father, she also ance-pole of one sort or another moral knew, and did not care. She was in that principle or social etiquette. How we condition of soul which is most dangerous pirouette, and leap and fall and rebound, in a young person, a spiritual condition and trip and spin on tiptoe, with a smiling analogous to that of one who in a dark face. We have our pole. And what room has lost all his bearings, does not pranks we play with that same pole! Now know where door or window or table or we bear it horizontally, and then all the wardrobe is; who beats about with the lookers-on know we are safe. Anon we hands, moves this way, then that, and at balance it on our noses, and folding our last goes forward desperately, knowing arms across the breast, caper a hornpipe; that a blow or a fall must ensue, and give thereat every breath is held, for all expect the proper bearings of the room. Jose- our fall. Anon we toss the pole from phines mind was in confusion; she hardly hand to hand, and sway in our dancing could distinguish between right an~1 precariously; a gasp from the spectators wrong, and she was perfectly incapable of we have cast our pole from us high into judging what was her proper course. the air. We are lost! No; a somersault She did not care about her fortune that is turned on the rope, and the hands grasp was squandered, because she had made the falling pole in time to steady us again. no scheme, built up no hopes on the future So we go along our rope to the end; and when she would be her own mistress, whether we carry our pole off it at the She had one passion for music, and at extremity depends on what the balancing- one time she thought of going on the pole has been. stage; so she would escape from home; Some acrobats are sent along the rope but she doubted whether she had the per- without any pole at all, to balance them- Severance to pass through the drudgery selves as best they may with outstretched of apprenticeship for the opera; and it arms; and under some, nets are spread was to the opera she turned, with her which may receive them if they fall; but musical ear and splendid voice, to others, are only the hard stones of the There had been long simmering in her pavement and sharp flints. When these heart indignation against her father, and go down, they never go aloft to dance impatience with Aunt Judith; and now again; they cause a talk for a day, and this boiled over. The baseness of her are then forgotten. The broken creatures father had never seemed to her so odious lie all about us; they can be counted by as since she had made the acquaintance scores. We thank God we are not as of Richard Cable, nor the supineness o~ they; we have our balancing-poles and our her aunt less inexcusable. Her rebellious receiving-nets, and have not our spasms i8o RICHARD CABLE. of supreme agony, when our feet totter, balancing-pole whatever, certainly no our heads whirl, and we know we are lost, moral principle. She walked through the Not we. We have social etiquette, which garden, softly singing the mermaids song, can never fail us, which will always restore bearing the colored light, a pretty object, our equilibrium, always remain in our had there been any one there to see her. hands and keep us upright; always, that The garden gate could be opened by the is, till we reach the end of our cord, and hand from the inside, but only by a latch- then we throw it away forever, key from without. When she came to it, As Josephine sat in the summer-house, she put the box of crackers under her she was quite in the dark. The house chin, and held it thus whilst her disen- was of board, painted, with a conical roof, gaged hand drew back the latch. Then no window, only a side door. Through in a moment she stepped through, and this door she looked on the quivering with a merry laugh, stood lamp in hand silver belt of the sea. A cloud obscured before Cable and the door closed behind the moon, but not the rays that fell on the her unregarded. She raised the lamp and sea, which gained in brilliancy by the ob- let the rosy light fall over her face and scuration of the moon. She knew that hair and bare neck and shoulders. the tide was full. The hour was midnight, The boatman took off his cap and stood and when the tide was at noon day or as one dumbfounded, holding his cap to night, thenwere the highest tides at Han- his breast with both hands, looking at her. ford. She could hear the lap of the water Are you not surprised to see me, Mr. on the sea-wall outside the garden palings Cable? a cool pleasant murmur, that soothed Very miss. I thought I saw a fairy, her. Without thinking of what she was or a vision. doing, moved by the sight of the glittering And I, she said, smiling, I was sur- water and the sound of the tide, she began prised too. I sang, and heard an echo. to sing the mermaids air in Oberon. I came out to see whence the echo came, As she sang, she thought she heard a and found you. How come you here at sweet whistle repeating the air; she this time ofnight? stopped, and the whistle continued it. Well, miss, answered Cable deferen- She flushed in the dark. Richard Cable tially, 1 am up so much of nights when was without, on the sea-wall, in the moon- aboard the lightship, looking after m~r light, watching the tide, by the garden lamp; and now that I am ashore, I can t gate. She sang another verse and stopped, always sleep; and this being a beautiful and again the whistle echoed the strain, night, and the tide flowing full, I thought Then she started up. What can have Id walk on the wall. But, miss, excuse brought him here? He has been thinking me; you ought not to be here. about me! I have some crackers for his Oh, I have only come to give you this children. I put the box aside in the con- box of gilt crackers; it will amuse the servatory. She did not stop to consider children. Each contains a trifle, a brooch, what she was about; she ran to the house, or a ring, or an anchor. How they will stepped into the little glass veranda and laugh over them! took the box. Then she also stooped Yes, said Cable; but I had rather and carefully raised the ruby-globed lamp, you had not brought them now. and went out into the garden with the box I give you them. Take them. I of gilt crackers in one hand, and the ruby must go back. lamp in the other. She took the lamp Yes, miss, at once. partly that she might show Richard the She put her hand to the garden door. pretty crackers by its light, as the moon It was fast. 0 Mr. Cable! she ex- was hidden; partly, also, out of a sense of claimed, as her heart stood still. vanity, because she wished him to see her Hush! He put his finger to his lip. in her rose silk evening dress, and artificial Both heard voices close at hand, on the light was necessary to bring out its color, sea-wall. The wall made a bend at the Another, a third reason, also influenced garden paling, so that those approaching~ her, as unacknowledged as her vanity; an from one direction were invisible. On instinctive sense of imprudence in going the other side it extended straightforward out of the garden gate at midnight to for a mile. speak to a man, and a fancy that the bear- The moon burst forth in a flood of licrht ing of a light would modify the impru- Instinctively, Cable and Josephine loo~ced dence, along the wall. No escape was possible Josephine, for her trip along the rope in that direction. Seawar 1 also was no of life, had been given by her fttfher no escape; the tide was in and washed the THE OVEN ISLANDS. i8r base of the dike. The sailor put his foot against the door, it was too strong to be burst open. Josephine blew out the light, and then was aware that it was useless for her to do this; she could not be hid. She stood in her evening dress, in the glare of full moon, against the painted, boarded wall, and Cable beside her, exposed to the sight of any one turning the corner, with- out possibility of escape, without a place where she could hide. Scarce a moment was afforded her to determine what to do, when round the angle came the rector and his son, arm in arm. My dear Algernon, said Parson Sell- wood, you need not be afraid; she is right at heart. It is human nature to be perverse.~~ Then, all at once, the two gentlemen saw those before them. My dear Josephine! exclaimed the rector. Good gracious! what is the meaning of this? Josephine looked down, and her voice faltered as she said: I came with crack- ers for the children, and the gate closed and and I asked Mr. Cable to take the crackers home to his little ones.~~ The gate fast? asked the rector. Locked out on the wall at midnight. 0 Josephine! In a moment, the captain threw his overcoat that he had on his arm upon the spikes that incrusted the top of the pal- ings, and laying both his hands on the coat, lifted himself over, and in another minute had opened the door. We are inconsiderate, said Captain Sellwood; we must not keep Miss Cor- nellis standing here making explanations. No, said the rector, inventino~ ex- planations. He clicked his tongue in his mouth. What a pity it is you have lost your mother! To a young girl, noth- ing can replace a mother; no, not the best of aunts. Shut the gate. Come on, Algy. He said nothing to Cable; but as he re- linked his arm in that of his son, after a few paces in silence, he muttered: No; it wont do. I am sorry. There is good in the girl; but it wont do, Algernon. Look elsewhere. From Longmans Magazine. THE OVEN ISLANDS. A VISIT to certain islets in the /Egean Sea, which rejoice in the name of the Ovens, was undertaken by us for the pur- pose of arch~eological research, pure and simple. Arch~eologists are accused of being slightly oblivious to passing events in the great absorption of their subject; and, perhaps, that was why it never oc- curred to us that, whilst war was pending between Greece and Turkey, and whilst the steamers which protect the coasts of Asia Minor had been removed for fear that the Greek population should steal them, the Oven Islands, with their wealth in harborage and distance from govern- ment control, were not the safest place for Dr. Dryasdust and his wife to pitch their tent. There are four Oven Islands lying close together, and I believe they owe their name to certain ancient rock-cut tombs which to the inhabitants look like ovens; only one of them is inhabited, and on this there is only one village, called Kroussle, which consists of forty houses. The in- habitants, in fact, are all members of one fam.ily, over whom the commo~i ancestor, Captain All Holy (Panagiotes), a retired sponge-fisher, rules supreme. It was a great pleasure to us to be plunged into a society so truly patriarchal as this was ; to witness the respect paid to the eighty years which weighed but lightly on All Holys shoulders; to hear how every voice was hushed when he spoke; how at the feast his was the first song, and how his advice was law in the councils held in the village church. He told us that he had been born in the Oven Islands, and that in his youthful days only four houses existed on the island. He del ightec.l in recounting stirring incidents of the revolution, during which time the Ovens were the hotbed of piracy. He had had many sons and daughters born to him at Kroussa~, who in their turn had so increased the popula- tion that the number of houses had of ne- cessity been multiplied by ten. Husbands and wives had been imported from the adjoining island of Nikaria, where every one knows Captain All Holy, of the Ovens, and is proud to claim rela- tionship with him by those strange ties of kindred which puzzle the uninitiated in the Greek social system; such as fellow father-in-law, fellow godfather, and the like. Captain All Holys family had originally emigrated from Patmos, a highly respectable island, which revels in tradi- tions of St. John; consequently the im- portations from Nikaria are looked down upon. For no island in these seas has a worse reputation; its inhabitants are nomad charcoal-burners, and so wedded to 182 THE OVEN ISLANDS. their primitive line of life that when on one occasion a Nikariote who had made some money at Smyrna returned home, bring- ing with him, amongst other comforts, a four-post bed, his compatriots were so scandalized by its appearance that they dragged it into the village square and reduced it to charcoal. Evil report also says that most of those hideous deformi- ties which beg from you on the bridges at Constantinople are manufactured by heart- less parents on Nikaria; so the descend- ants of All Holy have probably just cause for looking down upon their consorts who hail from there. The male descendants of Panagiotes are either shepherds or sponge-fishers, whilst the females are remarkable only for their extreme simplicity and servile obe- dience to their husbands. They deal largely in magic and spells, and they hoard amongst themselves superstitions which have long ceased to exist else- where. Those who witnessed our arrival one stormy wet evening in April received us with great effusion; it ~vas raining in such torrents that it was out of the question to live in our tent; it was even impossible to proceed to the village. So we took refuge for the night in a tiny coffee-shop which Captain All Holy keeps down by the shore. Fifteen souls in all were collected in this apartment, not to mention dogs, cats, and hens; and as the night came on the storm so increased in fury that none of our com- forts could be brought from our boat. We dined off a tin of lobster, and then resigned ourselves to be stared at, for the space of two hours, as those only can stare whose staring appetite has never been assauged by exhibitions and wonders from all quar- ters of the globe; it was a simple, child- like stare which meant no rudeness, but genuine delight. They left us at last in possession of the room. I lay on my ulster and on boards; my ~vife reposed in her hammock; and to our manservant Mat- thew we generously handed over the sole and separate use of All Holys bed and its entomological treasures. Evils in the night are doubly hard to bear, and I never remember a dawn more acceptable than that which shone on Kroussa~ towards the close of last April, ~vith a brilliant sun to dry us and the prospect of a cleaner home. Up in the village we secured a largish room, out of which we turned every mova- ble thing. We hired a woman to clean it, whose only dustpan was her own petti- coat, and her only brush was nearly bald. After some hours work it was raised to the rank of an exceedingly dirty English room; but we had our own beds and bed- ding and our own canteen, and thus we settled down in our Oven Island home. We had four windows without any glass in them, a door opening onto an outside staircase, and Matthew slept and cooked in a dirty hole below us. Our landlady, Mrs. Peace, was one of All Holys eldest daughters. She had had fourteen chil- dren, she told us, in her day; seven of them were still living at Krouss~, mar- ried, and with houses of their own, and three had gone to Hades. She was a bustling, stirring woman, between fifty and sixty, whose great pride was having once been to Patmos and having said her prayers in the cave of the Apocalypse. She thought herself very lucky to have secured us as tenants, and was a constant visitor. The next day was that dedicated to St. George, a holiday of course, so no workmen were to be found who would accompany us to the proposed site of our explorations. I was exceedingly glad to see the so-called KCLpa fires which, on the vigil of St. George, were lit at Krouss~ it was a weird sight to see the women and children dancing around them and sing- ing, Get out, ye fleas ! get out, ye bugs I get out, ye mighty rats! It is a super- stition, connected, I suppose, with St. Georges mythical victory over the dragon, that he has~likewise power to destroy the smaller tormentors of the human race. I was told that a similar performance is gone through on St. Georges other day in November; and, as circumstances turned out, I was not sorry for the opportunity of remaining for the feast-day in the village. St. Georges Church, with its bell hung to a tree outside, looked very gay; it had been newly whitewashed for the occasion; its floor was strewed with myrtle and sweet-smelling herbs, and its picture of St. George was dressed up in a new piece of chintz for the occasion. As the service proceeded I looked at this picture, which represents St. George on a winged horse piercing the dragon, whilst the princess and the flocks stood trembling by; and as I looked I thought how kindred are the leg- ends of ChristendoiP to those of heathen ~- days when read here on their native soil. Who is St. George but Perseus? Is not the horse Pegasus? The princess is An- dromeda, and your story is almost com- plete. Perseus for merry England would sound odd enough to our ears, and still odder would it be to tell the aristo cracyof THE OVEN ISLANDS. 183 England that they had been married in a temple of Perseus not far from Hanover Square. The amusements for the evening were simple but characteristic; the men assem- bled together in a shady garden, cut up a lamb into tiny pieces, and boiled the bits in a caldron which cast a savory odor far and wide. When they had eaten enough, and drunk and sung songs to their hearts content, they joined the ladies, who had hitherto only dared to peep occasionally at the lords of creation over the garden wall; and then dancing began the strange singing dances of Nikaria, in which men and women revolve in a long, wavy circle, singing as they move part-songs more monotonous than beautiful, and our earlier slumbers were disturbed b~r the sound of bagpipe and lyre and the discordant yells of inebriation. We went to our work next morning, taking with us our tent, our provisions, and ten workmen; we were rowed in a boat some dozen miles to the site of our proposed excavations a hillock by the sea, on which had formerly stood a marble temple. That we slept peacefully in our tent when the workmen left us all alone for the night, that we rejoiced in the clean- liness and solitude which surrounded us, we owed to our ignorance rather than to our courage. I fancy that if we had known of the arrival of a certain two-masted caYque in the harbor of Krouss~e that evening, and of its object, we should not have slept so well, and we should not have enjoyed our evening stroll amongst the rocks and brushwood. Luckily for us our researches were not crowned with suc- cess; the spot was not a promising one; so we decided to return to the village on the following morning. As we entered the harbor the new arrival at once arrested our attention. She is quite a fine boat, we said to each other. We must try to secure her for our return voyage, 1 innocently remarked to our boatmen; but they shook their heads mysteriously; there was evidently something wrong about her, for she had no flag and her color of dark chocolate did not look pre- possessing. There was much confusion and secret talking when we got on shore. All Holys coffee-shop was full, and so was his sons up in the village, and amongst the com- pany we soon recognized the strangers, ill-conditioned, European-dressed men. Mrs. Peace was the first to tell us all about them. It was a well-known pirate boat which often paid the Oven Islands a visit1 Karabas, a Samiote of evil reputation, who had murdered a man in Syra only a few weeks befoi~e, was their captain, and his crew of twenty-two men were selected from amongst the greatest ruffians of the neighboring islands. They were all armed to the teeth, and, concluded she, they have even got torpedoes on board to pre- vent any one from venturing alongside. Their object this time in visiting the Ovens was to capture the English arch~- ologists, and of this object they made no. secret when conversing in the cafd~ Our position we at once recognized as highly critical; we hardly dared to think of the night we had spent in solitude in our tent; and our only chance of safety now lay in support from the Oven Islanders. By great good-luck, Mrs. Peaces son-in-law had a small store close to our house, and, moreover, he had some money by him; consequently the presence of pirates dis- turbed him almost as much as it did us; and to this fact I firmly believe we owed the allegiance of the islanders. Towards evening we held a council of war in the church, at which were present Captain All Holy, two of his sons, the demarch, who had married the captains third daughter, the two Turkish soldiers, who feebly represented their government on the Ovens, my servant Matthew, and myself. The Greeks were loud in their protestations of good faith; the Turks merely looked on in a cynical fashion and said nothing whilst w~ examined their guns and pronounced them valuable only as firewood. Besides these we found that there were twelve other guns on the island, all of them more formidable in appearance than reality. It was agreed that a little army of Oven Islanders, under the generalship of our servant, who, to our comfort, we knew was an excellent shot, should be formed for our protection. Every available weapon was to be produced, and our house was to be barricaded and surrounded by our faith- ful followers. Captain All Holy concluded the proceedings by stating, Nothing more can be done to-night; to-morrow the demarch shall demand of Captain Karabas his papers, and state that a steamer is daily expected from Chios in pursuit of pirates. Greeks are always ready with a lie, and the old mans stratagem met with universal applause. When I reached home I found my wife and Mrs. Peace hard at work with the barricades; large stones were being car- ried up to our room with which to block up the windows; the door, which was de 184 THE OVEN ISLANDS. cidedly a weak point, was being mended; and women were gathered in clusters out- side, who, being far behind Mrs. Peace in courage, could do no more than lament the calamity which they felt sure was impend- ing. In spite of the circumstances we could not help laughing at the misery of Mrs. Peaces daughter-in-law, a gaunt, unkempt young woman, who was married to the storekeeper. The exigencies of the position had quite bereft her of any senses she may ever have had, and she went about exclaiming, 0 mother-in-law! Ianakki must axe the corpse. Mrs. Peace would not explain this statement to me until I pressed her warmly, and then she told me how her daughter-in-law was only a Nikariote, and that those de- spised islanders believe that if a misfor- tune falls on any one it is because he has been at enmity with a man who has died. The only way to avert calamity is to go at night, exhume the body, and break up the bones with an axe. The Bishop of Samos, whose spiritual jurisdiction ex- tends to Nikaria, has nearly succeeded in putting down this miserable superstition; but in remote places like the Ovens su- perstition is more powerful than episcopal mandates. At length darkness came on, and with it horrors innumerable. No one went to bed, and the whole village was wide awake. Men in great homespun coats paraded in front of our house, and we almost felt as if we were at a play, and were incapable of realizing the grim horrors of our situa- tion. Occasionally a story I had heard of a pirate boat which in these very waters had boarded a caYque, robbed the captain and his two mates, tied them to the masts, and scuttled the boat, would flit across my mind; but I think at the time the nov- elty of our position was rather agreeable than otherwise. The noises of that night were something awful. Every dog on the island barked at the unusual disturbance; the men made use of a weird sounding instrument they call a bourlas just a thick reed hollowed out with which they are accustomed to call one another when out on the mountains or when they get separated at sea. It has a deep, unearthly sound somewhat akin to an Australian bull-roarer and I am sure we were more alarmed at this than at the idea of pirates. Nothing happened during the night, and with the morning our confidence returned. With consummate cheek Karabas and some of his men not only came ashore, but came to take stock of us; and as they did so we took care to shov~- them our six-chambered revolvers. Even the woman is armed, they were overheard to say; and I doubt if this inspection of us gave them satisfaction. Matthew went to the cafi and entered into conversation with them. Where are they going? was asked. To Patmos, was the reply; a most deliberate falsehood, for we were bound in the other direction. When will they go? Immediately, was the reply. But from this conversa- tion we gathered no encouragement, for it suggested the disagreeable idea that the pirates, finding we were so well pro- tected in the Ovens, intended to waylay us on our voyage; and as the thought occurred to us we cursed our folly for allowing our zeal for antiquities to lead us into such a trap. Captain All Holys plan was crowned with apparent success; Karabas and his men took alarm at once, and by twelve oclock that day we had the satisfaction of seeing the hated caYque spread her sails and leave the harbor of the Ovens. We agreed that it would not be safe to take our departure for some days to come, for we felt sure our movements would be watched; and to ascertain the movements of the enemy we dispersed our soldiers all over the hills. Some brought back word that she had sailed for Nikaria, others that they had seen her on her way to Samos. Opinions were greatly at vari- ance, but, notwithstanding, great ease and contentment came over us that evening, and before nine oclock we were in bed, sleeping the sleep of the wearied. We had not been asleep long two hours at the most when a loud hammer- ing at the door below awoke us. The pirates are coming, was the cry which accosted our stupefied senses. Ii passed rapidly from man to man, and from house to house; dogs barked, women screamed, bourlas roared, the village of Kroussme was a scene of the wildest confusion. General Matthew was up in no time. I never knew him undress during the three winters he has travelled with us; in fact, night garments are so little known in the Greek islands, that unless I give special orders to the contrary, the washerwomen, if they possess starch, insist on putting i~ into the collars and cuffs of my nightgown. He had his little army in marching order in no time, and they started off towards the cape, behind which the shepherd who had given the alarm said he had seen the pirate ship hiding. And there they fouiid her, sure enough, just in the act of send- ing a boatload of men to the shore. General Matthew is a man of prompt action; so without further delay he gave orders to his men to fire, although the enemy was as yet out of reach of gunshot. The manc~uvre was attended by immedi- ate success, for the pirates at once took alarm and rowed back to their ship; and our soldiers had not long to wait before they saw the sails unfurled again and Captain Karabas and his crew putting out once more to sea. The intentions of our enemy were obvious. They had thought to take us unawares in the night, but see- ing their plan was discovered, and not wishing to run the risk of encountering so effectual an opposition as the Oven Isl- anders afforded, they thought discretion the better part of valor, and sailed away. But though we felt grateful in the ex- treme for our escape, and very charitably disposed towards the shepherd who had been the means of saving us, nevertheless ugly thoughts for the future confronted us; we were still on the Oven Islands, and the nearest point of safety was at least six hours sail with a favorable wind. We could not live forever where we were, though the inhabitants kindly expressed a wish that we should do so. The only thing for us to do, we said to ourselves over and over again, was to have patience. A little time amongst the Oven Islanders would be instructive; there were ancient remains on the hill above Krouss~e; we would excavate; and we would imprQve our acquaintance with the inhabitants, for whom we now felt a special liking, since they had been so active in our defence and when we finally left the Ovens we would do so in the dark with a favorable wind behind us; and for this combination of circumstances we resigned ourselves to wait. If it had not been for a sense of danger which we could not altogether stifle, I think we should have been thoroughly happy on the Ovens. When tired of our friends in the valley we could flee to the mountains and enjoy delicious views over the island-dotted sea. Within an easy walk of our home, high up on the hillside, was a mandra, that is to say, an enclosure for flocks, and adjoining it was the shep- herds hut; and if we presented ourselves there just after the morning milking we were sure of being offered a brimming gourd of milk, and then we could watch the process of cheese-making with primi- tive instruments, which have in no way altered since the days of ancient Hellas. The austerities of the Lenten fast were now over, and the shepherds were busy 185 making themselves cakes, for the recipe of which you have but to turn to the pages of iEschines, who describes certain cakes composed of butter, flour, and aromatic herbs, which the islanders of his time made. I ate one of these, though it was hard and heavy, and strongly fla- vored with fennel, chiefly because I wished to partake of food so truly classical; and for the rest of our stay on the Ovens we were burdened with gifts of them from the kindly inhabitants, and the secret dis- posal of these, so as not to hurt the feel- ings of the donors, formed the object of many a mountain walk. With a mandra close to us, affording an abundance of milk and kids, our table was never badly supplied; of course we had no vegetables save onions and salads of mountain herbs; but then honey was abundant, and so was fish; and, after all, my favorite delicacy and I am not ashamed to own it was snails; fresh spring snails boiled with rice mixed well with olive oil, and served with hairpins to effect the extraction, forms a dish which those who have the courage to try will never have cause to repent. One of our friends had a garden which was particu- larly prolific in edible snails, and we were invited to go and catch snails therein in much the same spirit that in England one is invited to a good days fishing in a favored stream. It has horns, yet it is not a cow; it carries a saddle, yet it is not an ass ;this is a specimen of Oven Island wit relating to snails. The first of May found us still prison- ers on the Oven Islands; and though get- ting slightly impatient of our detention we were glad to have an opportunity of seeing how gaily they decked their houses and balconies on this occasion with flow- ers and ears of corn; a little festival which seems common all the world over and in all ages, a pretty homage paid to the fructifying influence of spring, as rep- resented in the ancient world by floral offerings to Demeter. We were told, rather mysteriously, I thought, that this was the eve of St. Athanasius, but the information conveyed nothing to my mind beyond a passing recognition of the curi- ous fact that the saints day, whose name signifies immortality, should be identical with a festival which is symbolical of the perpetuation of vegetable life; and if I had not luckily noticed the young women of Kroussa~ busy in conclave, as if in con- templation of some event, I fancy we should have left the Ovens without dis- covering that a quaint and interesting cer THE OVEN ISLANDS. i86 THE OVEN ISLANDS. emony was being performed under our very noses. The day of St. Athanasius is one of great importance to the maidens of the Ovens, for on this day, by a curious proc- ess, they divine who is to be their future husband. Elsewhere in Greece they do this on the eve of St. Johns day, but here, for some unknown reason, they have chosen for the ceremony the two first days of May. Preparations for the divination were being made when I discovered them on the vigil of the saint. The maidens collect together in one house, each bring- ing a present for the girl at whose home the divination takes place. These gifts generally take the form of food for the feast on the morrow, whilst one brings meal which, when passed through a sieve, is converted into salt cakes, the use of which we shall presently discover. When all preliminaries are settled they despatch the three youngest amongst them to three of their friends who bear the name of Peace, a curiously favorite name on the island; these three Peaces fill small jars with water from the well without speaking, and take them to the maidens in their house; the water is poured into a big jar, around which they sit, and cast into it flowers, gold or silver ornaments, and each maiden is careful to bear in mind the article she has thrown in. Be- fore separating for the night this jar is put on the roof, that it may see the stars, as the expression goes, and they try to do this without letting any of the young men see, for there is a tradition amongst them that on one of these occasions the young men played the annoying practical joke of stealing the ornaments, and thereby ren- dering the divination abortive. The maidens all returned home when it was dark. Somehow they seemed rather ashamed of the proceeding, and I do not wonder at it. Next day at dawn they reassembled at the same house, and from this time till midday they were mysteri- ously engaged at their work. The doors were closed, and ingress was forbidden even to the inquisitive English; however, we heard them singing in low, monoto- nous voices from without, and were told that during this time they continued to stir the jar and all that was within it. Occa- sionally their songs would be accompanied by the beating of a brass dish, the true meaning of which mystic rite I was unable to gather from my married female inform- ants. When the hour of midday arrived the singing and the stirring ceased, for..the time of feeding had come; and, shocking to relate, they are in the habit of drinking so much wine at this meal that they ap- proach intoxication, and when reduced to the condition of Bacchic m~nads they eat the salt cakes and lie around the room to sleep. This is called the divination sleep, and during its continuance they suppose that they have revealed to them in dreams the person of their future husband, though the name is not as yet disclosed to them. When all are a~vake and recov- ered from the effects of the meal, they again seat themselves around the jar in a circle, and sing a strange couplet, which may be roughly translated as follows Awake, now, 0 jar, and sleep not so hard, And by sleeping too much divination retard; For still all the mountains are covered with snow, And there is my love whose name I dont know. The youngest girl is now deputed to dra~v out the articles from th~e jar one by one, and as this is done a verse is sung by each maiden in turn, which contains some punning allusion to a mans name; for ex- ample, vt,cii 6 2~a6~ (the people conquers) is easily understood to be Nicholas, and the girl whose article is drawn out as the verse is sung takes it to herself, ponders over it as the ancients pondered over the utterings of a Deiphic oracle, and imag- ines that her future husband will bear the name alluded to in the verse. With this concluding ceremony the divination of St. Athanasius is brought to an end, the doors are thrown open, and a man who plays the bagpipe is summoned to attend; no sooner are his hideous strains heard through the village than the young men begin to stroll in, and the evening, according to the inva- riable custom, is devoted to dancing. We found the Oven Islanders very great people for amusements; the children, the young men, and sometimes even the old play games on the beach much as our youngsters do on the village green; and they play many games, too, which we know ~vell in England. Is it that mens minds, when intent on sport, will arrive at pretty much the same conclusion all the world over? I think so, for I am sure that if .~. any traveller has ever visited the Oven Islands he never took the trouble to teach the inhabitants oranges and lemons, blind mans buff, and games of a kindred nature, which we saw under different names cer- tainly, but played in much the same fash- ion on the beach. Most of the games partook of rather a THE FIGHT AT TRINKATAT. tunity than we had when watching these islanders on Sunday afternoon at their games by the shore. The next best place for this study is the cafd where every bargain, however small, is transacted to the soothing warble of the narghili. One day we sent round the bellman, here called the herald, to tell the inhabitants of the Ovens to bring to the cafe any embroid- eries, old plates, or curiosities that they m.ight have in their possession; and it was there that they tried to convince us that a rather battered English penny had been found in an ancient tomb, and that the owner had been offered a gold piece for it in Smyrna; and yet I verily believe that if we had offered for it Turkish coins sufficient to make a halfpenny, on the day of our departure, the owner would have run after us to the boat to effect the change. The day, or rather night, came at last when we felt it expedient to quit our prison, and before the rising of the sun we were once more under the pi~otecfion of the principality of Samos. Apparently it was no surprise to the Samiotes when ~ve told them that Karabas and his crew had been after us. His boat had been seen on its way to the Ovens, and our visit there was known to every one on Samos; but, with the usual apathy of the East, no steps were taken to pursue him until we had said some exceedingly unpleasant things to the authorities. Whether our enemy was ever caught or not we did not hear, nor do we now so much care. J. THEODORE BENT. bellicose nature, and bore testimony to the hardiness and spirit of our friends. A game called war is distinctly of this nature, and is a great favorite amongst the adult population. Two sides are chosen, the ups and the downs, say ten on each side, and hostile camps are pitched about thirty yards apart; having previ- ously come to a decision as to which side is to commence firing, the general of the ups marshals his men in a row, takes a ball in his hand, and when the signal for the commencement of hostilities is given hurls it with all his might on the downs. If it is caught before it falls, one of the ups has to go over to the camp of the downs as prisoner of war; he is henceforth termed a beast of burden. They jump on his back and ride him up and down in tri- umph; if, however, as it frequently hap- pens, it is not caught, the prisoner who is hit has to go from the camp of the downs, and receives similar treatment. The next shot takes place from the opposite side, until not a man is left. There was always great excitement, we noticed, when only one was left in each camp, and the victory generally fell to the thrower of the ball. Whilst their elders were thus engaged, the more juvenile portion of the popula- tion were to be seen hard by engaged in a game of an equally rough nature. Four of them, with their arms linked and their backs outwards, were dancing slowly round in a circle, singing as they went; to one of them was attached a red girdle, the other end of which was held bya~other boy, ~vhose duty was to prevent the rest of the players from jumping on the backs of those who were singing; if any one succeeded in doing so the boy with the girdle was defeated and gave place to an- other. Scarcely any of their games are without this jumping on the back as a sign of victory and humiliation to the vanquished; rough treatment and blows naturally ensue, and all are borne with the THERE was great rejoicing among the greatest good-nature. I never once saw officers and men of the gallant Essex and them squabble over this class of game; Wessex Regiment (late i~oth), stationed in this point they differ from English at Kaliopur, on the first day of the year children. It is very different, however, 1884. The regiment had that morning~ when money is at stake. In the game of received its home orders. It had served omades, a form of pitch and toss, or in the in India for over twelve years, and every caf~s, where the men fight over their cards one was getting a little homesick. In the and labyrinth games, the disputes often Piela bungalow, where Captain and Mrs. take alarming proportions. In this char- Brittomart lived, the news was especially acteristic they are Greek, and undoubtedly welcome. Mrs. Brittomart had not left theirs is the sensible view to take of the India since she went out with her husband matter; squabble only when there is some- four years before. The climate was be- thing substantial to be gained by so doing. ginning to tell seriously on her health; Anybody wishing for a study in Greek but she was a heroic little woman in her human nature could have no better oppor- way, and always refused to come home From Chambers Journal. THE FIGHT AT TRINKATAT. A STORY OF THE 5UAKIM. i88 THE FIGHT AT TRINKATAT. without her husband. So the only change they ever had was when he could get away to the lulls during his summer leave, for she never went without him. But now she had her reward. They were going home together. It was rather phenomenal in India to see a married couple continue to be so wrapped up in each other as they were; and this circumstance formed a never ending subject for bat-chit in that magic ring that is so often formed in the cool of the evening on the lawn after ten- nis parties, etc., before the final adieu is saida time when the men discuss bran- dy pawnee and cigars, and the ladies dis- sect their absent friends. But although Mrs. Brittomart was one of those who never tolerated a bow- wow a species of animal well known in Indiaand never went to the hills as a grass-widow, still she always seemed to be very happy. Strange to say, too, she was very popular wherever she went. For society, as a rule, is not very tolerant of those who do not conform to its laws, both written and unwritten, and no one could doubt for a moment that it was Mrs. Brittomarts bounden duty to contribute her little quota to that list of generally meaningless scandals that form one of the chief charms of an Indian station. All pretty women did it. But then Mrs. Brit- tomart gave capital dinners and charming tennis parties. So society forgave her for being fond of her husband. As the regiment was to leave Kaliopur in a weeks time, there was the usual bus- tle and confusion that generally ensue when a regiment is about to move. But at last everything settled itself in an or- derly manner. The Essex and Wessex was inspected, and complimented by the general, the route arrived, the last goodbye was said, and the train started with its happy load for Deolali. While they were at the latter station, strange rumors began to float about, about the Soudan Osman Digna Suakim, a place hitherto unheard of an English expedition. Then these rumors gradually took a more definite shape, and it was whispered that the gallant Essex and Wes- sex would probably take part in the expe- dition, instead of going home. Do you think it is true, Jack? asked Mrs. Brittomart of her husband. What, my love? That we are going to Egypt? I have heard nothing positive yet ; but if we do go, we will take no im~edi;nenta with us, no ~vives and children. 0 Jack, what is to become of me then? Oh, the government will look after you, and give you a nice house to live in, and provide you with every comfort until the war is over. That is their way, you know, when they send men to fight their battles and get them out of a difficulty. Dont be satirical, sir, but try and be serious for ten minutes if you can. At last the day of embarkation arrived; and when Mrs. Brittomart found herself on board and snugly (?) settled down in her cabin with four other ladies she felt that they .~were at last safe, and that she was really returning to England, and that no one could separate her from Jack. An hour afterwards, the assistant adjutant- general came on board with a telegram in his hands, and asked for the captain. The news he brought with him soon spread like wildfire. The Alligator was to go direct to Trinkatat, and disembark the Essex and Wessex regimenf thei-e. The men were of course elated, and eager for a brush with the Arabs. Some of them had seen service before; others were anx- ious to try their mettle. They will not send the women and children on shore again; will they, Jack? asked Mrs. Brittomart of her husband when she heard the news. No, my little woman; they have no time to do so. And then it would cost so much money to send you all home in a P. and 0., that the budget would never re- cover it. So you must come along with us. I am so glad. In due course the Alligator arrived at Trinkatat; and a couple of days after that the Nerbudda, the sister ship, also arrived from Bombay with troops. They were all ordered to disembark on the 28th of February. Mrs. Brittomart bore up bravely as long as her husband was with her. Good-bye, Jack! she whispered when he was ready to start. God bless you, my love! he said, as he clasped her in his arms. Take care of the little one at home if I do not come back. Think of him, Jack, to to-morrow, and promise me to be careful. Yes; but duty is duty, and And I should not tempt you to shrink from it. You are right. Good-bye. One long kiss. Then his lips seemed to move as if with a silent prayer, and he left her. THE FIGHT AT TRINKATAT. 189 That day the troops only moved as far as Fort Baker, when they bivouacked for the night. Teb is about six miles from Trinkatat; and Mrs. Brittomart was early on deck next morning to see the square leave Fort Baker in the direction of the battlefield. The deck was soon crowded ~vith the other ladies, and the soldiers wives and children, sobbing some of them with excitement, as they watched their husbands and fathers marching out to fight almost under their very eyes. Mod- ern times can find no parallel for this scene. It was heartrending in the ex- treme. It is sad enough, indeed, to say good-bye, perhaps farewell, to a near rela- tive, knowing that he is on his way to the war; but what a refinement of torture to see him actually engaged with the enemy, actually face to face with death! A wom- ans heart sickens at the sight of the blood of a stranger, or even of a dumb animal. What, then, must her feelings be when it is the blood of those nearest and dearest to her that is being shed in her sight! From the moment that the Carysfort, which was lying next the troopers, began to open the battle with its big guns, the excitement grew intense. It was a weary, anxious day of watching for those on board, who could distinctly hear the rattle of musketry and the report of the cannon and Gatling guns in the distance. Hearts beat faster, and eyes grew strained and dim from looking through telescopes and field-glasses that told too much, and yet not enough. Those on board felt such pangs as Tantalus must have endured while reaching after the grapes that he thirsted for, but was destined never to touch. Mrs. Brittomart almost broke down under the trial. She often thought that she could distinguish her husbands company in the confused mile, but there was no certainty. Each shot she heard seemed to sound his death-knell. Grad- ually the firing grew less frequent, and at last ceased altogether. The smoke cleared away, and hung in a black cloud overhead, making a fit pall for those who had been killed. The fight was over, the battle won. As the sun was setting, the captain of the Alligator, who had been on shore the whole day, came on board. What news, captain? For Gods sake, the news! My husband, is he safe? were the cries that met him from the crowd of excited women as he put his foot on the deck. We have driven the Arabs back, he said, but at the cost of four officvvs killed and nineteen wounded, twenty-six men killed and a hundred and twenty- three wounded. Their names, captain quick, their names! I can give no names, he said, and went quickly to his cabin. For some time after that his door was besieged by weeping women and children. But for all he had the same grim answer: I can give no names.~~ Half an hour afterwards, a noise was heard on deck that startled every one. The sailors were running about lugging heavy cables along, others ran up the rig- ging, others manned the capstan. The ship was about to leave Trinkatat. Mrs. Brittomart, on seeing this, went to the captain. Surely, captain, we are not leaving? she queried. Yes, Mrs. Brittomart; we will be away in a few minutes. What! before we can hear any news about our husbands whether they are - dead or alive? No; I do not believe you could be so cruel. You will wait until to-morrow, wont you? urged she, unable to control her emotion. My dear Mrs. Brittomart, indeed I feel very keenly for you, he answered, and a tear glistened in his eye; but my orders are peremptory I must leave at once. This is monstrous, she burst out in- coherently. I have watched and waited patiently all day; I have almost seen my husband fighting, and have not uttered a single cry. Perhaps he is now lying dead in the field, and they will bury him with- out my seeing his face again. And still you will not wait until I hear the truth? Captain, you little know what the anguish of suspense is like. I have felt it for the first time to-day. Indeed, indeed, Mrs. Brittomart, I sympathize deeply with you. I will do all I can to help you; but Perhaps he is wounded, and is even now calling for me. 0 captain, have you no heart? We have not been parted for four years. You will not tear me away from him when, perhaps, he wants me most? The captain remained silent. Put me on shore, she continued wildly; I insist on it. What power have you to keep me here? I care not what becomes of me, but I must find out the truth, or I will go mad. Mrs. Brittomart, this interview is in- deed very painful to me. Although I am very sorry that it i~ not in my power to 190 NOVEL ANNOUNCEMENTS. But overwrought by the excite- ment of the day, and the consciousness of how futile her piteous appeal was, Mrs. Brittomart at this point ended the scene by fainting away. When she recovered, the monotonous grinding of the screw, as it worked its way through the water, was the first sound she heard, and it seemed at the same time to pierce a big hole in her heart; for it told her that all chance of hearing any news was gone. The days that followed were very dreary and very miserable for every one on board. The same thought was upper- most in every ones mind: When will we hear any news? But at Suez no news, at Port Said no news, as they stayed hardly any time at either of these places. flow the time passed with Mrs. Brittomart she could never quite tell. It was a period of sickening suspense. For the first few days she was very ill; then she struggled up on deck with a book in her hand and tried to read; but the same sentiment seemed to form itself on every ,page: Four officers killed and nineteen wounded. That sentence haunted her day and night. Was Jack in- cluded in those ill-fated numbers? Who could tell I It was not until the ship touched at Plymouth, on its way to Portsmouth, that the news was brought off to the anxious, careworn women on board. And who heard that wailing cry of the weeping women and children, as they wrung their hands in their grief? It is a sound not easily to be forgotten. The British pub- lic? Oh no. They had shed all their tears of sympathy a few hours after the battle, when every detail of it was then known to them. It was ancient history now. Gen- eral Gordon was the history of the mo- ment. All their attention was concen- trated on him. And what news about Captain Brittomart? He had been se- verely wounded in his arm, and it had to be amputated, and, worse still, the doctor feared blood-poisoning would set in. Poor Mrs. Brittomart! It was well that her old father had come down to meet her and broke the news to her. She never saw Jack again. I-fe found a soldiers grave not far from the scene of battle. His comrades reverently marked the spot with a few stones gathered near by. A sad and careworn woman is even now to be seen not far from the village in which she lived when a girl, wandering ~6me- times in summer time through the fields with a boy by her side now her only pride, she says. When the stranger asks her name, there are few who cannot tell it him, as well as the sad story of how she saw her husband fighting for the honor of England, and then had to leave the spot, knowing not whether he was dead or alive, and how she never saw him again. From Chambers Journal. NOVEL ANNOUNCEMENTS. IN a number of the London Ma~~azine of 1767 was this curious announcement, addressed to all foreigners and others: This is to give notice that the English vulgar tongue is taught at Billingsgate by a company of qualified fishwomen upon very reasonable terms. An equally curi- ous notice is said to be given by a minister in Salem County, New Jetsey, namely, that he will perform the marriage cere- mony on the most accommodating terms. Those who are not blessed with cash can pay the fee in cordwood, bacon, or corn. A Liverpool furrier informs those ladies who wish to have a really uenuine. article, that he will be happy to mare them muffs, boas, etc., of their own skins. This is matched by the proprietor of a bone-mill, who announces that parties sending their own bones to be ground will find their orders attended to with punctu- ality and despatch. An Irish provincial paper inserted the following notice: Whereas Patrick OConnor lately left his lodgings; this is to give notice that if he does not return immediately and pay for the same, he will be advertised. A countryman of the author of the above, not to be outdone in the same line, announced in an Irish jour- nal that, among other portraits, he had a representation of Death as large as life. But one of the latest of Irish bulls is the following from an editorial in one of the leading papers of the Nationalist party, the other day: So long as Ireland was silent under her wrongs, England was deaf to her cries. Book-lenders might do worse than take a hint from the following, which is said to have appeared on the notice board of a certain Oxford college: Mr. Blank, hav- ing lent a volume of Plato to some one, and being unable to remember to whom he has lent it, ventures to point out to the~ unknown borrower that under the unusual circumstances of the case, he would be NOVEL ANNOUNCEMENTS. quite justified in returning the book to its owner without waiting for a more direct invitation. In a certain benighted part of the coun- try may be seen, on the outside of a hum- ble cottage, the following inscription in large gilt letters: A seminary for young ladies. This was perhaps too abstruse for the villagers, as immediately under- neath there is added, in rude characters: Notey beney allso, a galls skool. More comprehensive was the curious in- scription at one time to be seen over a door in a village in Somersetshire: Pet- ticoats mended; children taught reading, writing, and dancing; grown-up people taught to spin; roses distilled, and made into a proper resistance with water; also old shoes bought and sold. A foreign paper describes a board hung up in front of a house with these words on it: Room to let on the first floor at six dollars a month. Lowest price four dol- lars. Another tells us that the following announcement is in an hotel at Algiers: Customers are politely requested not to kick the hall porters. This is as good as the notice put up in an American hotel: Customers are requested not to go to bed with their boots on; and also re- minds us of a notice over the piano in a mining camp free-and-easy: Please dont shoot the player he is doing his best. In a parlor window of a certain house, a bill was displayed with, To let, a small sitting-room and bedroom, with a superb view of an immense garden, much fre- quented, planted with large trees, brilliant with flowers, and decorated with numerous statues and other works of art. The garden in question was a cemetery. We are told that a placard posted up through- out the town of Dundee once announced the opening of the Theatre Royal under the management of Miss Goddard, newly decorated and painted. Politeness could not be carried further than it is at a certain coal-mine in Dudley, where a notice warns all and sundry in these terms: Please do not fall down the shaft. That please is excellent. All business men who hold with Lord Bacon that friends are robbers of our time, will fail to see any harshness in the notice which was posted conspicu- ously in an office: Shut the door; and as soon as you have done talking on busi- ness, serve your mouth in the same way. A gentleman put up the following at his gatehouse: A terrifikokaiblondomenoi kept here. A friend asked him what tie 9 mendous affair that was. He replied: Oh, it is just three big Greek words put all together; but it serves the purpose well; the unknown is always dreadful. At a market town in Rutlandshire, the following placard is affixed to the shutters of a watchmaker, who had decamped, leav- ing his creditors minus: Wound up, and the mainspring broke. As pithy and curious was the notice lately stuck up on the window of a London coffee-house: This coffee-room removed up-stairs till repaired. In a respectable luncheon bar in West- minster, the writer was once amused by seeing a placard announcing the arrival of fresh muscles. After this, he was not surprised to see a street hawker in Cheap- side bearing a card which informed the public that bird worblers, as he called his whistles, were only one penny each. There are many curious signs and busi- ness announcements to be found in Lon- don, of which a few are: Sick dogs medically attended by the week or month. Birds to board. Ladies and gentlemens feet and hands professionally treated by the job or season. Round-shouldered per- sons made straight. Babies or children hired or exchanged. False noses as good as new, and warranted to fit. Black eyes painted very neatly. In the extreme West, we hear of a shanty which bears the sign: Heres where you get a meal like your mother used to give you.~~ A kind of witty contest has sometimes been carried on between sign proprietors. For instance, we are told that Mr. Isaac Came, a rich shoemaker of Manchester, who left his property to public charities, opened his first shop opposite to the build- ing where he had been a servant, and put up a sign which read: I. Came from over the way. Somewhat like this was the sign of a tavern-keeper named Danger, near Cambridge, who, having been driven out of his house, built another opposite and inscribed it: Danger from over the way. The successor re- torted by putting up a new inscription: There is no danger here now. But in alluring business announce- ments, few can match those in the flowery language of the Celestials. The traveller must have been amused who saw in Pekin scores of curfr~usly worded sign- boards, of which these are a few speci- mens: Shop of Heaven-sent Luck, Mutton Shop of Morning Twilight, The Nine Felicities Prolonged, Flow- ers rise to the Milky way. The Honest 192 NOVEL ANNOUNCEMENTS. Pen Shop of Li would seem a reflection on his rivals. A charcoal shop calls itself The Fountain of Beauty; and a place for the sale of coals indulges in the title of Heavenly Embroidery; and The Thrice Righteous is a pretension one would scarcely expect from an opium shop. An old farmer employed a son of Erin to work for him on his farm. Pat was constantly misplacing the end boards in the cart the front board behind and the tail board in front, which made the old crentleman very irritable. To prevent blunders, he resolved to distinguish each board by some sign or notice thereon. Accordingly, he painted on both boards a large B; then, calling Pat to him, and showing him the boards, he said: Now, you blockhead, you need make no mistake, as they are both marked. This point- ing to one board is B for before; and that indicating the tail board is Bfor behind; whereupon the old gentleman marched off with great dignity. A German paper relates that during the absence of his son Louis, who had gone on a distant journey, Prince Ferdinand of Prussia, who then resided at the palace of Belle Vue, near Berlin, caused some alter- ations to be made in the park by the in- troduction of artificial hills, lakes, and grottos, in order to gratify the young princes love of the romantic when he returned from his foreign tour. Soon after his arrival, Prince Louis was shown round the park by his proud father, who did not fail to point out to him all the beauties of the scenery. An hour later, a placard, placed by some wag, was discov- ered on the outer gate with the following inscription: Visitors are requested to be careful not to crush the hills flat by step- ping on them. No dogs allowed, as they might drink up the lakes. No one is per- mitted to pocket any of the rocks that are lying about. By Order. A swimming-school in Frankfort-on- the-Main announces in English: Swim- ming instructions given by a teacher of both sexes. An allusion to swimming reminds us that at Dieppe, that famous bathing-place, there are police established whose duty it is to rescue persons from danger. This notice is said to have been recently issued to them: The bathing police are requested, when a lady is in danger of drowning, to seize her by the dress, and not by the hair, which often- times remains in their grasp. A country paper in a notice of a lecture given by a phrenologist, said : Behind the platform is a large gallery of life-size portraits twelve feet high.~ This odd no- tice reminds us of the handbill put forth at Exeter which was headed: Wanted, a few healthy members to complete a a Sick Society. Obituary notices have n6t always the solemnity about their composition which is thought desirable. A country sculptor was ordered to engrave on a tombstone the following words: A virtuous woman is a crown to her husband. The stone, however, being small, he engraved on it: A virtuous woman is 5$. to her husband. Scarcely so ingenious, but equally ab- surd, is the Hibernian notice said to be seen over the entrance gate to a French burying-ground: Only the dead who live in this parish are buried here. A New York stone-cutter is said to have received this epitaph from a German, to be cut upon the tombstone of his wife: Mine vife Susan is dead. If she had lived till next Friday shed been dead shust two veeks. As a tree fall so must it stand. ENTIRE ARMOR PLATING. The ~ourna? de hi Marine of last week contains an article on explosive projectiles in the navy, from the pen of Lieutenant Weyl. The writer begins by observing that, after having to a certain measure, uncuirassed vessels of war, the question now arises whether it will not be necessary to cuirass them from top to bottom to protect them from the terrible effects of projectiles filled with gun-cotton, dynamite, rn/finite, etc. Lieutenant Weyl then continues thus: Every one knows the result of the ex- periments undertaken by the artillery of the army; they are so far advanced that we can declare that before long the French army will possess siege guns whose power of destruction will be incomparable. The naval artillery is also engaged in making experiments, which, however, are kept secret. Referring to the terrible effects of the bursting of a rn/finite shell inside a vessel, the writer argues that it 4 is indispensable to provide means for making - such projectiles burst outside, and that conse- quently all the cruvres vives, or portions of a vessel out of water, must be armored. The armoring of the water-line will no longer be sufficient for armorclads, and we shall be obliged, perhaps, to plate even ur rapid cruisers all over.

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The Living age ... / Volume 173, Issue 2235 Littell's living age Every Saturday; a journal of choice reading Eclectic magazine The Living age co. inc. etc. New York etc. April 23, 1887 0173 2235
The Living age ... / Volume 173, Issue 2235 193-256

LITTELLS LIVING AGE. Fifth Series, No. 2235. April 23, 1887. From Beginning, Volume LVIII. Vol. CLXXIII, CONTENTS. THE DECLINE AND FALL OF DR. FAUSTUS, MAJOR LAWRENCE, F.L.S CONTEMPORARY LIFE AND THOUGHT IN FRANCE RICHARD CABLE, THE LIGHTSHIPMAN. Part IX. FRENCH AGGRESSION IN MADAGASCAR, REVELATIONS FROM PATMOS, MR. RUSKINS PUBLISHERS, Contemporary Review, Murrays Magazine, Contemporary Review, Chambers 7ournal, Fortnzghtiy Reriew, Biackwoods Magazine, Pa/i Ma/i Gazette, TO-MORROW,. ON THE BELFRY TOWER, MISCELLANY, . POETRY. 194 MARCH BLOSSOMS, 94 -. I;4 PUBLISHED EVERY SATURDAY BY LIT TELL & 00., BOSTON. TERMS OF SUBSCRIPTION. For EIGHT DOLLARS, remit/ed directly to the Publishers, the LIVING Au~ will be punctually forwarded for a vear,free of~ostage. Remittances should be made by bank draft or check, or by post-office money-order, if possible. If neither of these can be procured, the money should be sent in a registered letter. All postmasters are obliged to register lette. *hen requested to do so. Drafts, checks, and money-orders should be made payable to the order oi LITTELL & Co. -. Single Numbers of THE LIVING Ao; aS cents. I. II. III. IV. V. VI. VII. 95 203 220 233 236 243 250 ~94 TO-MORROW. WE will gather flowers to-morrow, When the mist of rain is oer, When the air is warm and sunny, And the tempest howls no more. But the flowers are parched and faded, For the clouds have passed away, And we leave them still ungathered, Though to-morrow is to-day. We will climb the hills to-morrow, In the morning cool and bright: Who could scale these rugged mountains In the noontides scorching light? But the snow-wreaths clothe the summits, And the mists hang chill and gray, And we leave the slopes untrodden, Though to-morrow is to-day. We will lend an ear to-morrow To our fallen sisters woes; We can scarcely hear their voices While the music comes and goes. But along the thorny highway Still with weary feet they stray, A~d we pass them by, unheeding, Though to-morrow is to-day. We will leave our work to-morrow, And with eager hands and strong, We will lead the little children Far away from paths of wrong.~~ But our hands grow old and feeble, And the work goes on for aye, And the little children perish, Though to-morrow is to-day. We will raise our eyes to-morrow To the cross on Calvarys brow; At our feet the gold is sparkling, So we cannot heed it now. But we clutch the glittering fragments, Mid the dust, and mire, and clay, And we cannot raise our eyelids, Though to-morrow is to-day. Chambers Journal. BROwN ROBIN. ON THE BELFRY TOWER. A SKETCH. LOOK down the road. You see that mound Rise on the right, its grassy round Broken as by a scar? We stood, Where every landscape-lover should, High on the gray old belfrys lead, Scored with rude names, and to the tread Waved like a sea. Below us spread Cool gravestones, watched by one great yew. To right were ricks; thatched roofs a few; Next came the rectory, with its lawn And nestling schoolhouse; next, withdrawn Beyond a maze of apple boughs, The long, low-latticed manor-house. The wide door showed an antlered hall: Then, over roof and chimney-stack, You caught the fish-pond at the back, The roses, and the old red wall. Behind, the Dorset ridges go With straggling, wind-clipped trees, and so The eye came down the slope to follow The white road winding in the hollow, Beside the mound of which he spoke. There, said the rector, from the town The Roundheads rode across the down. Sir Milestwas then Sir Miless day Was posted farther south, and lay Watching at Weymouth; but his son Rupert by name an only one, The veriest youth, it would appear, Scrambling about for jackdaws here, Spied them a league off. People say, Scorning the tedious turret-way, (Or else because the butlers care Had turned the key to keep him there), He slid down by the rain-pipe. Then, Arming the hinds and serving-men With half-pike and with harquebuss, Snatched from the wainscots overplus, Himself in rusty steel-cap clad, With flapping ear-pieces, the lad Led them by stealth around the ridge, So flanked the others at a bridge. They were but six to half a score, And yet five crop-ears, if net more, Sleep in that hillock. Sad to tell, The boy, by some stray petronel, Or friends or foesreport is vague Was killed; and then, for fear of plague, Buried within twelve hours or so. Such is the story. Shall we go? I have his portrait here below; Grave, olive-cheeked, a southern face. His mother, who was dead, had been Something, I think, about the queen, Long ere the days of that disgrace, Saddest our England yet has seen. Poor child! The last of all his race. Lougmans Magazine. AUSTIN DOBSON. MARCH BLOSSOMS. I. GATHERING the buds of blue-eyed March, Yonder I see her now: The wild white violets at her feet, The robin on the bough. II. I, too, must gather the blooms of spring; Ah there! I have it now The look that lights, like sudden fire, Her lip and cheek and brow. III. We are but gathering early flowers: What think ye of it now, Ye wild white violets at our feet, Thou robin on the bough? Time. SIDNEY A. ALEXANDER. TO-MORROW, ETC. From The Contemporary Review. THE DECLINE AND FALL OF DR. FAUSTUS. NOT long ago a Saturday Reviewer com- mented upon the ne~v popularity given to Faust by Mr. Irving, stating that since the first performance of the play at the Lyceum hundreds and thousands of copies of the English translation of Goethes poem have been sold. Faust is again as well known by name as he was in the six- teenth century. For years remembered only by scholars and men and women of supposed culture, he has now been taken back by the common people, from whom ages ago he had birth. To borrow ideas and legends from past generations is no new thing. Savages and barbarians alone have any claims to originality as creators. But in the uncon- scious process of borrowing, beliefs and legends are modified and changed, thus reflecting the mental and moral charac- teristics of the borrowers. Adaptations are usually of no less, and often of more, importance than the original. The beau- tiful and terrible and indecent myths of Greeks and Romans hold as indispensable a place in the history of the worlds faiths as primitive animism. The accordeons and tambourines of the Salvation Army are as significant outcomes of emotional religion as the timbrels of Miriam or the music of the ma~nads. Unfortunately, as the world grows older, men not only lose the power of creating, but become less vig- orous in adapting. Instead of breathing new life into old forms, they give them but a show of animation, such as the pup- pet manager gives to his Punch and Judy. This very lifelessness, however, is not without vital meaning. Negative as well as positive qualities have their value. While it is interesting to know that Mr. Irvings Faust has met with so much appreciation that the Lyceum is crowded night after night; that the play is widely read, as it may safely be said it never was before; that the general public has received the old hero with a cordiality undreamed of by the Saturday Reviewer; it is even more interesting to do that which I do not believe has yet been done to pause a moment, and consider what 95 has been made of the old legend in mod- ern England; whether Faust and Mephis- topheles have really come forth alive at Mr. Irvino-s summons; whether, in a word, Englishmen of the nineteenth century have seriously accepted the old legend and adapted it to the new conditions of life, as, for example, Greeks and Romans did those of their Aryan forefathers. In the present age of shams this question is not easily or at once answered. When the illusion is clever puppets may be mis- taken for men. But, before deciding what Faust is now, it would be better to re- member what he was. The subject has been enlarged upon so often before that the merest reminder of his origin and growth is necessary. It would not be a difficult task to trace his descent from animistic ancestors, and to find for him as many cousin~ in India, Greece, and Rome as Goethes Mephis- topheles met in the Pharsalian Fields. But his genealogy is a study apart. The point here is not whence he sprang, but what he was ~vhen he achieved distinct individ- uality as Faust. Nor is it ~vorth while to prove or disprove the actual existence of. a man of this name, though the discussion is as dear to the specialist as the Bacon- Shakespeare controversy. Just as the merit of the plays would be the same if Stratford-on-Avon ceased to be a place of pilgrimage, so the importance of the chap- book and puppet-stage hero would not be lessened were it definitely known that a real Dr. Faustus never took liberties with the pope, or went about the world accom- panied by a dog which was the devil. As has often happened, the creature of the imagination has lived, while the creature of real life has been all but forgotten. Of the former it is certain that it was in the sixteenth century he first appeared under that name, and with modifications of char- acter which gave him a personality apart from that of his immediate predecessors. If the age of the Reformation accom- plished anything, it was the confirmation of Satans power as an article of belief. In the sixteenth century the devil seemed no less real and visible an evil than the pope in Rome or the reformers in Ger- many and England. Men were then as THE DECLINE AND FALL OF DR. FAUSTUS. 196 THE DECLINE AND FALL OF DR. FAUSTUS. sure of his existence as of that of their next-door neighbors, and much more con- scious of it. If their knowledge was not born of their own experience, it was the result of that of their nearest relations and dearest friends. If they themselves had not attended the revels on the Brock- en, or in the little church of North Ber- wick, or under the tree of Benevento, their wives and children perhaps had there met Satan face to face and been burnt for it at the stake. Moreover, they were as convinced of his power as of his presence, since not only did he enable common folk who had sold their souls to him to fly through the air on broomsticks, bewitch cattle, and raise storms, but he increased the knowledge of scholars who had made the same compact, until they, like him, ruled all the elements and defied the limitations of space. The worst of it was that in this state of affairs men could never answer for their own spiritual safety. If others had succumbed to the tempter, might not they too be prevailed upon to barter their eternal inheritance for a hell- ish mess of pottage? No danger was so great, and hence no danger was so con- tinually in their minds. As stories of English outlaws gradu- ally gathered about the name of Robin Hood, so in the sixteenth century those of compacts between Satan and scholars eventually evolved Dr. Faustus as their popular hero. All the wild rumors then abroad were collected and recorded in his career. The belief of the people made his story possible in the first instance, and their acceptance of him as a type en- sured its survival. His name in Germany and England at least became a household word. He figured in romance, and walked the puppet stage. To record and analyze all the early versions of his story given by the romancer and the dramatist would be to compile a bibliography and write a book. However, if they differed in de- tail, the many versions agreed in the chief facts and the moral to be drawn from them. Of this sixteenth-century Faustus, Marlowes may be taken as a fair repre- sentative. Idealized and dignified as he was by the passionate strength and fervor of the English poets verse, the concep tion of his character and the incidents of his life ~vere precisely those of the Ger- man tale published by Johannes Spiess, and of the English Damnable Life and Distressed Death of Dr. Faustus, books which were then the principal authorities. He was the scholar swoln with cunning of a self-conceit, who tired of logic, med- icine, divinity, not because they had taught him how little he knew, but be- cause he had mastered them completely, and longed for still greater power and pleasure than they could yield. He made his choice, not because he found the worlds good and better cheats and snares, but because evil was sweet to him. He was no despairing sceptic, willing to lay a wager with the devil that the moment to which he would cry Stay! would never come; but a man full of faith in the pleas- ures of the world. The thought of them cheered his soul. He was in all haste to conjure in somc lusty grove, And have these joys in full possession. He would have answered a hearty yes to the favorite question of Mr. Mallock and the pessimists of to-day. He believed in gold and triumph, and wine and women, and power to work wonders; and twenty- four years of delight in these things seemed so well worth living that his soul was not too high a price to pay for them. This was a Faustus the people of the sixteenth century could understand. Equally within their comprehension were his adventures. They saw no reason to doubt that a man assisted by the devil could change horses into straw, steal gold from bishops and plate from popes, and have the spirit of a fair woman of the olden time for his paramour. Was not Satan forever giving proof of his power? Had not Tannh~user lived for long years with Dame Venus on the Horselberg? But men in those days could not keep hell long out of their minds, and Faustus, ~$ even while he reaped the rich harvest of his infernal sowing, was tormented by hideous relentless devils, and given a glimpse of Lucifers kingdom awful as Dantes Inferno. Mephistopheles the tempter, though he, like many a jolly med. i~val demon and buffoon of the miracle THE DECLINE AND FALL OF DR. FAUSTUS. 97 plays, could relish practical jokes, was never out of hell. With the Reformation, religion and the things of religion had grown more serious. If one minute Satan made men laugh, the next he silenced and subdued them as quickly. Nor was he any longer to be easily cheated. At the end of the twenty-four years he claimed the soul of Faustus to be damnd perpet- ually. In an age when an earthly judge gave no chance to witches, it was not likely a devil would be more kind. Mar- lowes moral, as well as his argument, was that of the popular story. Magic and un- lawful things in the present will be pun- ished by death and destruction in the future. The ~varning was clear. The story needed no explanation. The Faust legend of the sixteenth cen- tury was as terribly real in form as Lewes says Goethes Faust is in spirit. Faustus, the arch-conjurer, was essentially the property of the people. It was just as they were ready to give him up alto- gether that Goethe transformed him into the Faust we know best. Almost dead as a hero of every-day reality, he was made to live anew in a world of allegory and symbolism. It was the only life now possible for him. The days of that old northern phantom, the devil, were over. Gone were horns and tail and claws. As Walpurgis night came round, year by year was the Brocken more desolate. And Satan, in the new order of things, played no longer ~vith the bodies, but with the souls of men. The old blood-signed coin- pacts had gone out of fashion. Indeed, ths new gospel, understood as yet only by the few, was doing away entirely with an incarnate, fiend-like devil, substi- tuting for him a power that always wills evil and works good. If a man stum- bled it was not because ~f a tempter always at his heels, but that he might be stimulated to further striving. The Faust story, from being a literal record of every- day events, was by Goethe made a parable, whose sole virtue was the meaning to be derived from it. Faust was raised to a higher sphere, and this not because he ceased to be real, but because the truths he now, symbolically, expressed were higher. One by one he tested the pleas- ures that had satisfied the old Faustus, and one by one they were proved wanting. Womans love, the wine-cup, hellish jug- glery, could not bring the perfect good he sought. From the narrow sphere of his own passions he was launched by Meph- istopheles, according to their bargain ,into the great world of action the world of political struggles, of art, of arms, into which the mere selfish sensualist seldom, if ever, ventures. Yet even here peace was not, until Faust turned from all these things to find in industrial toil for men the only true freedom and existence. Marlowes, that is, the sixteenth-century hero, with no thoughts beyond his own body and this life, chose evil since it could satisfy his very definite desires~ Goethes, or the modern hero, oppressed with unknown needs, full of vague yearn- ings, all his own experience and studies having but proved to him that life is un- blest and nothing can be known, leagued himself with evil his last hope that through it he might, perhaps, attain the good that nothing else could give. The ambitions of the first were low and of the earth earthy. The aspirations of the sec- ond touched heaven in their flight. The old moral taught that a man must not seek happiness in evil, for if he does he will be damned for it; the new, that he must find happiness in working .for his fellow-men, for therein is his only salvation. It is the difference between the worship of the devil of egoism and the love of humaity. Faustus was a child of the old faith; Faust a man of the new. High climbers catch the greatest fall, says the historian of the Damnable Life of Dr. Faustus. It was certainly a high climb when the arch-conjurer stepped forth upon the world-stage as the lover of men; when his history, instead of being a simple warning against unlawful things, became as a mirror reflecting the eternal problem of our intellectual existence, and beside it, the varied lineament of our so- cial existence. In this greatness might have been found a sign of his future down- fall. That it has come is a fact beyond dispute. But pages would again have to be filled were all the modern versions of his story named and analyzed, were his 198 THE DECLINE AND FALL OF DR. FAUSTUS. progress downward given in detail. As in Marlo~ves poetry he took his first step up- ward from the people, so in Mr. Irvings art as stage manager he may be said to have taken the last on his way back to them that is to say in England, with which country alone we are here con- cerned. It is certainly due to Mr. Irving that Faust has once more become a popular character, while it is as certain that in the Lyceum he has bidden a long farewell to his Goethe-given greatness. Nor is this fact to be attributed to shortcomings crit- ics have pointed out in Mr. Irving and his company. They might all be Garricks and Rachels, and the result would be the same. The fault lies in the arrangement of the play which Mr. Wills and Mr. Irv- ing have been pleased to present to the public, and which, judged by Goethes conception, is simply meaningless. Se- verely criticised and little read as is the second part of Faust, without it the first part is incomplete. It has been said so often that it seems almost useless to say again that not until Faust sees the great world of universal action as well as the little world of personal experience, and finds in activity for others the happiness self-indulgence could not bring; not until in reclaiming the waste marshy plain for the millions, he cries to the flying mo- ment, Ah, still delaythou art so fair! that his compact with Mephistopheles is fulfilled and the story carried to its legiti- mate ending. The meeting with Marga- ret and the subsequent scenes form but one of many episodes to explain the course of his development. To reproduce the whole poem on the stage would doubtless be impossible. On the other hand, to give one of its least important parts and make of it a whole is unquestionably to degrade its meaning. This is what Mr. Irving has done. Mr. Willss translation from the German may be very literal, but the construction of his play as a whole is that of Gounods opera rather than of Goethes poem. In it Faust never gets beyond the little world, while the mighty spirit that denies, willing evil and work- ing good, becomes again a mere personal devil, but one whose functions, in an age of little or no faith in him, are limited when compared with those of the origi- nal Mephistopheles. The old magician, though not to be ranked with his later successor, was not without a greatness of his own. His bargain with the devil.~as on a grand scale. If he sold his soul it was for all the worlds pleasure and more than human power. He was a giant of evil. But it must be confessed there is something of the pigmy about this latter- day Faust. The shadow of power he gains is out of all proportion to the sub- stantial price he pays for it. His sin, great as it is, is not greater unfortunately than that of many men, even of the six- teenth century, who in its commission would have scorned the personal interven- tion of the devil. To Dr. Faustus, with his countless paramours and visits to the sultans harem, and these the least results of his compact, the new Faust would have seemed the veriest weakling trying to play the blackguard. And indeed this is the impression given by the play. it is wretchedly feeble when measured by Goethes symbolism or Marlowes realism. If Charles Lamb wanted to know what Margaret had to do with Goethes Faust, it might as reasonably be as1~ed what has Mephistopheles to do with Mr. Irvings Faust? Why all this thunder and light- ning and giving of youth and signing of compacts with blood, to accomplish that which, so long as human nature is what it is, will but too often be wrought by men for themselves without direct supernat- ural influence? As Muller sets forth in his version of Faust to quote Lewes Nowadays, a woman deceives her hus- band, a lover seduces a girl, luxury enters into every house, runs in every vein, and men sin and damn themselves without the devils aid. It may be said that, with Mr. Irvings play as with Goethes poem, the facts are nothing, the meaning everythin~ But the latter sought to give a solution to the problem of life; the lesson of the for- mer at the best is but that of a Sunday- school tale for grown-up children. The story, because of its moral, may have its value in these days of Pall Mall expos- ures and divorce-court scandals. But to Goethes poem it stands in much the same relation that a temperance tract bears to Thomas It Kempis. Before the representation of Faust at the Lyceum, where there was one man who knew his Goethe there were hundreds who knew their Gounod. The opera led many to believe the Margaret episode the whole instead of the part; the perform. ance at the Lyceum could but have con- firmed them in this belief. Or perhaps it would be more accurate to say that with- out the opera the play would not have been so clearly understood, Mr. Irving, like the manager in Goethes prelude. a~ THE DECLINE AND FALL OF DR. FAUSTUS. 99 parently thinkingat least in this case that If youve a piece, why, just in pieces give it. It is therefore to be hoped that the many thousand copies of Faust lately sold contain the second part of the poem, and that they have been read by the many thousand purchasers. Among these are to be counted few of the regular pit and gallery frequenters, and yet it is really through the latter that Mr. Irving has given Faust back to the people. How it has fared with him in their hands is now to be shown. Completely missing even the very simple meaning of Mr. Irvings version of the legend, so much so that some have left his theatre rejoicing that Faust and Margaret were happily married in the end, it is not surprising that their interpretation has dragged Faust to the lowest depths of degradation. That the people have attempted to in- terpret the story for themselves I discov- ered by chance. I had always wanted to see a penny gaff* since I first read my Dickens and looked at Dor~s drawing in J errolds London, of a dark, cavern-like place, where a man, with a bag over his head, walked the tight-rope in the gloom. But penny gaffs are not to be found for the asking. They are not mentioned by B~edeker, neither are they advertised in the daily papers, nor does Partington dare you to pull down their posters. It was not until last winter that I found a guide to those on the Surrey side of the river, where, in his time, Shakespeare played. I consider my visit to them worth record- ing, since without it I could not have real- ized the full extent of the modern popu- larization of Faust. If it be said, as most probably it will, that a penny gaff performance is great nonsense, unworthy the serious attention of men of edncation, it must be remembered that even nonsense has its relative value. According to our ideals there is little but nonsense in the History of the Damnable Life and Dis- tressed Death of Dr. Faustus, with its monstrous and grotesque descriptions of demons, and its record of Mephistopheles practical jokes. And yet to the study of the sixteenth century familiarity with it is as necessary as knowledge of the archives of State. The men and women who now ~ There are penny gaffs and penny gaffs. When I speak of them I mean the Penny Theatre, and nothing else. I know from mx own experience how difficult they are to find. In an article on ~Penny Gaffs in Chain- tSers Magazine for February, the writer merely de- scribes what I should call penny peep, or rather freak, shows, never once mentioning the Penny Theatre. go to penny gaffs are not any lower in the social scale than those who once weut to the mysteries, moralities, and puppet- plays, in which our interest is so great that scholars have devoted years to study- ing and ec~ting them. Unfortunately, when we concern ourselves with the affairs of the people of to-day, as is just now the fashion, we are too much taken up with what they and their pleasures ought to be, to try to find out what they really are. We may not, but the men who come after us will regret that the present age could boast of but one Dickens, one Anstey. Posterity may feel about penny gaffs and similar places of amusement much as we do now about the mysteries and moralities, when we wish there had been shorthand reporters in every audience. At the first penny gaff to which I came in the London Road, there xvas the usual crowd of working people and unemployed who are soon to be civilized and elevated to a private-theatricals standard by. Beau- mont trustees, and according to Mr. Be- sant, but who as yet have not risen above the penny-gaff level. Talking to them from steps that served as a platform was a Mephistopheles, who, like Mr. Irving, had borrowed the red dress, cocks feather, and sword from the puppet costumer, and, unlike him, but perhaps more sensibly, had retained the moustache and forked beard of the operatic Mephisto. As in the old drama, Mephistopheles laid a wager in the court of Heaven before the real play began, so his penny-gaff succes- sor bargained with the people before the curtain was drawn. Whatll you see insoide, genlemen? he cried; people suspended in midair! Yes, genlemen. At other places a guineas charged, and peoples wisibly supported by one stick. But ere all sticks is taken away and Im only chargin you a pinny. We dont ask a shillin, genlemen, but only a pinny. What I promises outsoide, I performs in. My show is sciointifik and respectable, and a ten minutes respectable and scioin- tifik shows bettern a hours rot, which is all you gets in some of your guinea thea- tres. Your own consciencesll prompt you to recommen my show! I give his patter, since it points out what he considered to be the principal feature of his performance. It misled me; I thought the Mephistopheles cos- tume a mere accident. But that it was not was delnonstrated by the play. This, to students of the history o~ the Faust legend, is not without its slgnificance. A short account of it, therefore, will not be ~oo THE DECLINE AND FALL OF DR. FAUSTUS. out of place. The first scene represented a room that might have be en a study, and in which Faust in dirty blue and white satin stood alone. I loves a statute, he began, going on with a disregard to periods, commas, and semicolons, peculiar to penny-gaff deliv- ery; this love ants me dayn night wats to be dun I knows I onst made a compac with the Demon of Darkness by my Ger- man studies I ave learned to summon im lords of bugs and flies I summons you. Mephistophles but such an abject Mephistopheles I with arms folded, and stooping because he was too tall to fit into the stage, appeared in the doorway. Wouldst elp me give life to the stat- ute? cried the modern Faust. I wouldst, was the answer. Take this ring put it on er finger itll give life to the statute but until I gets it back youre mine! and he vanished, and in less time than I can write it the statute stood in his place. This change, together with the series of transformations that followed, was man- aged by the well-known arrangement of mirrors, popular a few years ago among the Houdins of the time. I mention the fact, trivial as it may seem, because to these transformations and the apparition of a boy, suspended in mid-air without wisible su~~ort, that served as after-piece, the actors looked for the success of their performance, of which the words of the play ~vere the least important part. But the Devil, and consequently Faust, were an excellent excuse for magical interfer- ence. When the statute a large woman en- veloped in many sheets first appeared, her right hand ~vas extended, the first finger, thanks to the sculptors forethought~ pointing upward. On it the ring was put without difficulty. Belvedererfor so Faust in an aside told us he had named her opened her eyes, winked several times, looked about her, discovered the ring, admired it, played with it, held it up to the light. Be mine, Belvederer! said Faust. Belvederer shook her head. The magic ring had given her life, but not the power of speech. The plot now thickened. This obstinate, passionless statute refused to give him, not only her love, but the de- mon s ring. The latter she quietly pock- eted, and at once disappeared. The Demon of Darkness returned im- mediately to claim his property. He had only lent it, it seemed, that he might have the speedy pleasure of asking for it again. There followed several scenes in which Faust declared his passion, and begged for the ring, Belvederer continuing as in- different to his prayers as an implacable Aphrodite. At last Faust gave up all hope. Im lost! he announced; I cant ~et back the ring the Demon of Darkness 11 soon be ere the Demon of Darkness is ere Demon of Darkness gimme back my freedom. No! shrieked the demon, red cal- cium lights suddenly enveloping them both in a hellish glare, the hour as comen thou hart mine! Perhaps, for the same reason that only an Englishman knows America as it is, so only an American hears the English as she is stoke. To believe modern En- glishmen and Daily News leader-writers, irritated by Atlantic Monthly articles, stories of the misplaced letter h are as purely mythical as the tales of gods and goddesses, equally misun4er~tood by com- parative mythologists. Still, I cannot think my American ear was wholly re- sponsible for the recklessness of the Demon of Darkness where that letter was concerned, nor for the fact that he was the only man I have ever heard misplace his vs and ws in true Cockney fashion. Everything in this world, says Mr. Shandy, is big with jest, and has wit in it and instruction too if we can but find it out. I had found the jest for myself better than Faust could have discovered it for me. But he now pointed out the instruction where I should least have ex- pected it. Ladies and genleme n, he said, walking up to the footlights, let me be a varnin and let all ere see as they as nothin to do with lood vomen vhic h theyve brought me to the Demon, of Dark- ness and destruction! He was translat- ing Mr. Irvings moral as he understood it, though, his troubles being the result of having to do with a statute, it did not seem appropriate. The final scene was bewildering. It showed a woman in white drapery reach- ing to her ankles, and displaying a broad expanse of heavy-laced black boots, and two children seemingly hung on the wall. They waved their arms as if trying to ~- swim through the air, and it may be they were modelled on the flight of angels at the Lyceum, and had come for the statute. Or, perhaps, like many another thing of, beauty, the scene had no particular mean- ing, and was merely ~. concession to the aesthetic tastes of the audience. Ho~vevei~ that may be, it was a great success, and THE DECLINE AND rALL OF DR. FAUSTUS. 201 the curtain went down in the midst of uni- versal applause. I should be the first to think a mountain had been made of a molehill, were my as- sertion that the Faust legend has been taken back by the people based upon one visit to a penny gaff. The performance I have just described was but one of many I have already seen. In its utter but un- conscious senselessness it is a fair type of the class to which it belongs. There is not space, even did I think it desirable, to analyze the others in detail, but a few words will be sufficient to show how truly it may be said that Faust has again be- come a popular character. The very evening I saw the scientific and respecta- ble show, I went to a second penny gaff in the New Cut. Here was another red Mephistopheles, this time figuring as a Storm Fiend, and another Margaret, who masqueraded as the fair Hevaleen, a fine figure of a woman, as Joe Gargery would say, in shabby satin and paste jewels. The play, if play it can be called, was an- other distorted reflection of the Lyceum Faust. Again there was the compact between the demon and the man who had learned to summon him, of which the immediate object was that the latter might gain Hevaleens love, and the end, the triumph of the demon over his victim, both disappearing to a hell of red calcium lights. And again the magic mirror was looked to for the strongest effects of the tragedy. But it was in York that I felt most keenly the degradation of a story made great by the terrible reality of the belief that gave birth to it, by the poetry of Mar- lowe and Goethe; made beautiful by Gounods music and Mr. Irvings stage pictures. The principal attraction of York Martinmas Fair this year was, to judge by the number of its patrons, Walls Phantasmagoria. Without, on the great gilded walls, was an announcement of ghosts, visions, and vampires; within was a performance of Faust, pathetic in its absurdity to all who have read the poem and h& ard the opera. The per- formers were more faithful to their Ly- ceum model than penny-gaff actors, though they, too, sought to impress their audi- ence by the spectres of the mirror, and though they had borrowed from the libret- to. It was not only that the Mephistoph- eles was, in his own way, as conscientious as Mr. Dixey in his imitation of Mr. Irv- ing. There was an unmistakable effort to reproduce Lyceum scenes. Faust was in the first act transformed from an old to a young man; Margaret but a Margaret whose hair was short and crimped and parted on one side, and who wore flat sil- ver earrings had her spinning-wheel; Martha appeared in the garden scene. But the meaning was still as vague as in the London Road and New Cut versions. There was a suggestion of rivalry between Faust and Siebel, who on this stage be- came as prominent as in the opera. When the latter placed his flowers on the spin- ning-wheel, Mephistopheles brought the jewels, remarking, Vegetable against mineral; I backs the minerals every time. But immediately the scene changed, Faust declared his hour had come, and Mephis- topheles carried him off in the inevitable red light. To me, knowing as I did upon what the play was based, it was quite un- intelligible. That it was equally so to many of the lookers-on, who had never heard of Goethe, Gounod, or Mr. Irv- ing, I was fortunate enough to learn A woman, sitting next to me, who had already seen the performance, and whose interest inspired her to friendliness, explained the plot, or rather her interpretation of it. The aged Faust, to whom Margaret in the vision kissed her hand, was Margarets father; the young Faust was her husband; Siebel was her young man; Mephis- topheles him they reckons to be the red devil was trying to get her for himself with the jewels! The faith of the masses has indeed changed since the days when this same demon robbed the Bishop of Salzburgs cellars, fooled the pope, and gave substance to the spirits of the dead. The men of the sixteenth cen- tury would have scorned such a devil. As Helena left but her robe and veil with Faust, so of the old Mephistopheles only his costume and name remain with the people. This arrancrement of Faust is not peculiar to Walls Phantasmagoria. In Durham, at a country theatre, where the seats, as in York, were threepence, I saw it performed by an entirely different com- pany of actors. But on this occasion the magic mirror was dispensed with. It was as a slight compensation, I suppose, that the plot was more elaborated, and Mephis- topheles, as in the old puppet-shows, relieved the serious action by throwing squibs and playing jokes. The rivalry between Faust and Siebel was more fully emphasized. To get the latter out of the way, Mephistopheles now turned him into a tree, now dropped him in a well. The result was also less vaguely set forth. Siebel wished to run away with Margaret; 202 THE DECLINE AND FALL OF DR. FAUSTUS. Mephistopheles interfered to such good purpose that Faust captured Margaret while Siebel took Martha by mistake. However, to the audience it may have seemed that he had the best of it, for another friendly neighbor explained to me that Margaret was Marthas mother, as indeed, reasoning from appearances, she might well have been. The performers belonged to a cheap burlesque company. But they were thoroughly in earnest in the love scenes and the tragic parts. Here they had no thought of burlesquing, and for this very reason the parody was more complete than at Mr. Tooles thea- tre. Old habits are strong, and even in the garden Miss Rose Edwin and her fel- low actors burst into comic song. To them it was as little out of place in trag- edy as to the men of the Middle Ages was jocular blasphemy in the miracle plays. The old Faust drama of the puppet stage had its share of comedy. Though people no longer laughed at the devil in real life, they could treat him as a clown in the theatre. The comedy with them only intensified the tragedy. But in the Durham Faust the concert-hall fun could but lower the already sadly de- graded legend. That the mutilated story of Faust is as widespread as was its great orio~inal is more than probable. Penny gaf~?s have a dozen audiences every night; Walls Phantasmagoria travels from one end of England to the other. When it went from York it was on its way to the great fair in Hull, and so, through north and south country and midlands, it carries its ghosts, visions, and vampires.* The deductions to be made from the study of this modern popular dramatization of Faust are neg- ative and not positive, but they are on that account none the less important. The old legend is logical in its folly; given its premises, its conclusions are in- evitable. Its latest interpretation is not even illogical; it is as utterly senseless in the beginning as in the end. If the for- mer be a proof of the belief of the six- teenth century in a personal devil and his power to work miracles, the latter shows that this belief exists no longer. It shows, moreover, that though the legends that spring from the people are honest reflec- tions of their thoughts, feelings, and be- liefs, and therefore often of more relative importance than the artificial productions of educated men, on the other hand the * Since writing this I have seen the same version given in the Worlds Fair, held in the Agricultural Hall, lslington. -. people, in borrowing themes, which they do not understand, from the educated classes, are almost sure to lower them both in spirit and form. The fall of Dr. Faustus is a curious instance of this, since he originally rose from the people. But they have long since forgotten him as he was represented on their stage and in their literature, and the modern conception of his character is beyond their mental grasp. When they first told the story it was real to them, and the very sincerity of the faith upon which it was founded gave it dignity and vitality, so that, despite its childish- ness of form and expression, it could in- spire a Goethe ; now, when they attempt to tell it again, they cannot impart to it the least semblance of reality, and the Demon of Darkness and the Storm Fiend are the result. The devil of the sixteenth and sev- enteenth centuries survives but as a spir- itual agent, and among those who believe in him in this capacity there is a-tendency to think the devil not so black as they used to paint him, nor hell so hot as the people say. When supernatural beings were constantly appearing in visible form it was n~t difficult to accept the person- ality of purely symbolical characters. Vices and virtues could talk and laugh in the moralities, and the lesson they were intended to teach was understood without difficulty. But we have changed all that. Nowadays allegory has lost sotnething of its old realistic force, and, if human shape be given to angels and devils in tale or drama, the improbability is so great that even the moral their actions are intended to convey is missed by the uninitiated. The penny gaff and the Phantasmagoria actors had without doubt been to the Ly- ceum. There they grasped the fact of the compact between Faust and Mephis- topheles. They saw that upon it, though how they could not understand, depended the scenes between Faust and Margaret. But the principal lesson they learned was that strange spectres and red lights are indispensable when the devil walks upon earth. Many intelligent critics in the stalls have thought Mr. Irvings Fausts but a higher development of Drury Lane spectacle. It is not therefore strange that, ~ looked at from the gallery, flames and apparitions seemed the chief end of the play. On the penny-gaff stage they have become so without disguise. Mr. Irving advertises the Witches Kitchen, his present chief spectacular attraction, in thQ papers. His humble imitators should not be taken to task for themselves announc MAJOR LAWRENCE, F.L.S. 203 ing their marvels from doorsteps, this be- ing their only method of advertisement. It is natural that to the audience, in turn, these marvels seem the only reason for the performance, which is consequently measured by their merits. It is true that the managers of mysteries, moralities, and marionettes appealed to their patrons by elaborate scenery and many squibs. On the puppet stage and in the chap-books, every few minutes and pages it thun- dered and lightened as if the world had been at an end. But scenery and squibs were in keeping with the play. Now the play is in keeping with squibs and spectres. Characters and dialogue are re- ceived as wonders bearing no more mean- ing or applicability to every-day life than the glare of the calcium lights or the re- flections from the mirrors. Not Faust, but his distorted shadow, has been re- stored to the people. ELIZABETH ROBINS PENNELL. From Murrays Magazine. MAJOR LAWRENCE, F.LS. BY THE HON. EMILY LAWLESS. AUTHOR OF HURRISH, A STUDY, ETC BOOK I. HOME AND EXILE. CHAPTER I. HE had only a years leave, but, as barely two months of it were as yet ex- pended, it seemed a reasonably long time to look forward to. John Lawrence was thirty-two years and a month old, and already fourteen years of his life had been spent in India. He was not quite eighteen when his father received the offer of a commission in an Indian regiment for one of his sons, and there seemed to be a good many excellent reasons why John Johnnie he was then called should be the one selected. There were no very soul-terrifying exami- nations to be passed in those days, and there were five young Lawrences, all boys, and as Johnnie was neither the eldest nor the youngest; neither the cleverest, nor perceptibly the stupidest; neither his fa- thers favorite, nor his mothers favorite, nor the favorite of any one in particular except of. a crabbed old uncle, whose predilections did not count for very much one way or other; as moreover he had attained the right age, it seemed in every way fitting that he should be the one selected. -. He did not himself rebel against his destiny. He had not formed any very dis- tinct ideas of India, but thought that he should perhaps like to see it. He would have preferred, however, on the whole to have done so without having to become a soldier for the purpose. The more ornamental side of soldiering, scarlet clothes, gold lace, adlniring glances, the consciousness of entering life under the guise of a conquering hero, the sudden sense of emancipation; all that ordinarily suffuses life in general with a roseate snist to the young recruit, did not particularly commend itself to his imagination, cer- tainly not nearly as much as to that of most young gentlemen of eighteen. He was a shy boy, to begin with; not awkward, but often appearing so at the first glance; much given to mooning about with his hands in his pockets, though with his eyes, it must be added, commendably wide open. When he was about twelve years old he had had an accident, from which at the time it had seemed unlikely that he would ever entirely recover. He had fallen some thirty feet from the top of the wall of a dismantled church, where he had stationed himself to watch the return of a pair of jackdaws which were bringing up a callow family amongst the ivy, and where the treacherous masonry had suddenly given way under his feet, precipitating him downward, and half-burying him under stones and rubbish into the bargain. The house to which he was carried on this occasion was not his own home, merely a farmhouse which his father Mr. Lawrence, a barrister with an increasing Chancery practice, was in the habit of hiring annually, as a convenient spot for his turbulent brood to disport themselves in during the holidays. Mrs. Lawrence was not there at the time, but at once hur- ried back upon hearing of the accident, and devoted herself to the care of her injured son. For a long time the boy lay between life and death. At last he worked his way back to life, got out of bed, and on to a pair of crutches, upon which he hobbled about with much awkwardness and con- siderable dissatisfaction to himself. Be- sides the lameness, he had a good deal of stiffness in one wrist, and a long scar upon the left side of the face, beginning at the chin and running right up the cheek, until it lost itself amongst the hair. It was not deep enough actually to dis- figure him, but it gave his face a curious expression, half-humorous, half-deprecat 204 MAJOR LAWRENCE, F.L.S. ing, which had not been there before, and which, from that time forward, became one of its most distinctly marked character- istics. Before this stage of his recovery had arrived, the period for which the farm- house had been taken had come to an end. The other boys had gone back to school Mr. La~vrence was settled again at his work in London, where his wifes pres- ence was urgently called for. The ques. tion therefore arose, what was to be done with Johnnie? The doctors desired him to have as much as possible in the way of fresh air, and as little as possible of schooling, at any rate for some time longer. Where could he be sent? was therefore the im- portant question. Fortunately at this juncture a half-brother of his fathers, a retired sea-captain, living in a little cot- tage upon the coast of Devonshire, vol- unteered, to every ones astonishment, to have the boy sent to him, and the offer was promptly and gratefully accepted. Johnnie went to Devonshire, where, the day after his arrival, he dropped one of his crutches into a deep cleft in the rocks, out of which he had been trying to hook the skeleton of a sea-bird which had got wedged between a couple of big stones. He clambered to the top without it; hopped back as best he could to the house, where, however, he soon got on so well that he discarded the other, and with the help of a big stick borrowed from his uncle, was soon limping all over the place nearly as actively as ever. Captain Pelligrew Parr was what is commonly called a character, which means in this case that he was as crusty above the surface, and as estimable below it, as characters at any rate in fiction and upon the stage are popularly sup- posed to be. He had left the service in a pique, and had never, as the phrase runs, repented of that act but once. He was a born salt, saturated with the flavor of the sea from the cro~vn of his head even to the soles of his feet. There was not a sentiment, a thought, or a preju- dice and that last, it must be owned, was saying a good deal which had not im- bibed this briny flavor, and was not nearly as much a direct product of the ocean as a mussel or a limpet. Such a man tied for life to the shore is like a herring in a fresh-water aquarium; discomfort per- vades his very breathing. Seeing that he could not now habitually live on board ship, he had built himself a house which as closely resembled a~ ship as one thing radically dissimilar can re- semble another. Colts Head Cottage stood upon the very brink of the shore, within easy reach of the spray, which even in the mildest weather had a playful fash- ion of rendering the windows upon the seaward side useless for observation, and which in bad weather it was necessary to keep out with strong iron shutters, the putting up and taking down of which was one of the chief excitements of the cap- tains life. Not only was the house close to the sea, but it stood upon a narrow neck of rock, a miniature peninsula, which jutted out a good hundred yards in advance of the rest of the world, and was necessarily sur- rounded on three sides by the waves, which, whenever the wind was at all un- usually high, rendered any ordinarily pitched conversation perfectly inaudible. The timbers of which this house was constructed, and with which the walls of its rooms were panelled, were mostly of drift wood, picked up upon the shore, leg- acies of vessels long since foundered and perished. There was hardly a door or a shutter in which a careful examination might not have detected the small, but suggestive, hole left by the destroying tooth of the teredo. To any boy, but especially to a boy like J ohnnie Lawrence, such a house and such surroundings seemed to be what one of the quaintest and most delightful of Writ- ers has called a handsome anticipation of Heaven; a heaven to which the howl- ing wind, the swirling brine, the naked rocks, the absolute treelessness, the all but total absence of vegetation, the grim- ness, sullenness, bleakness of everything on which the eye rested, seemed only so many additionally celestial elements. It put the finishing touch to that inborn passion of his for poking after his inferior fellow-creatures and remote relations; watching their ~vays, and trying to ascer- tain their rathcr inscrutable motives, which would probably always have been observable in him, but which in this favor- ing medium rose at once to the foremost place in his mind. To burrow from morn- ing till night in the rock pools, which yawned black, green, and purple below ~ the windows; to fill every tub and wash- hand basin with crawling, creeping, wrig- gling gentry, sending out importunate tentacles, and long s~iny or gelatinous filaments; to go fishing with the captain in his yawl, or assisting Phil Rudd, hi~s factotum, to set lobster-pots all this be- came his life ; his one thought by day, his MAJOR LAWRENCE, F.L.S. 205 dream by night. He went home from Devonshire cured of his lameness, but radically confirmed in these inquisitive propensities, which in London, it must be owned, proved more plague than pleasure, and which at school brought him into per- petual collision with the authorities. This did not much matter, however. He was one of those extremely well-behaved boys who never allow themselves to be inter- fered with; quietly and unostentatiously pursuing their own way, untroubled by other peoples opinions. Though shy, he was, fortunately for himself, not at all self- conscious. After this, he visited the captain several times, never, however, remaining quite so long as upon his first visit. He never again, for one thing, fell down a wall thirty feet high, though of other adventures in furtherance of the beloved pursuit he had not a few. When the question of the In- dian commission came under discussion, Captain Parr was vehemently opposed to Johnnie being despatched into exile. In- dia a quarter of a century ago was a good deal further off, practically, than at pres- ent. A lad consigned there was like a stone dropped into the void; the air closed in behind. His place might be vacant for a while, but the knowledge that the thing was done, and done for life, tended to fill up the gap and to keep it filled. Captain Parr never quite forgave his brother for robbing him of his favorite nephew. It remained ever afterwards a sore spot in his mind, a distinct grievance. Even to him, however, poor Johnnie appeared after a while to belong to the category of things, if not actually lost, at any rate hopelessly mislaid. He did not forget him, as he in fact eventually proved; but the pen was not a weapon which came at all comfortably or naturally to his fingers. He never wrote to his nephew, and his nephew, after a few spasmodic efforts, ceased to write to him. lie too felt that he had been dropped;~ that, as far as he was concerned, for the next twenty or thirty years, India, not England, was the country to which he had to look. It cannot be said that he accepted his lot with any very glowing satisfaction. He was a decently good soldier, but hardly an enthusiastic one. Regimental life, with its perpetually recurrent round of petty obligations, was he did not seek to disguise it from himselfa tedious- ness, and a weariness to him; that sense of finality which was so excessively sooth- ing to his relations at home, not, perhaps, proving equally so to him. -. It is not impossible that he might even have dismayed those relations by throwing up the advantages that had been secured to him, and returning precipitately to En~ gland, but for two events which occurred not long after he had joined. The Mutiny was over, but its after effects were still rumbling and muttering about, and in one sharp brush upon the Punjab frontier the native regiment to which he belonged suf- fered so severely, that young Lawrence found himself one fine morning gazetted a captain at the age of twenty-three. This was naturally cheering, and three months leave, which he spent a year later amongst the Himalayas, proved even more so. Then, for the first time, he seemed to find himself genuinely face to face with nature; not in scraps, hints, and innuendoes, catch- ing a glimpse here and a glimpse there, as it were behind backs, but face to face, in the heart of one of her own fastnesses, amid a crowd of forms, new, not only to him, but in many cases at that remote period to science herself also. He took to his old pursuits again with a will, de- voting every spare moment of time to them, to the no slight bewilderment of his brother officers, whose sense of the be- coming was not a little outraged by so unheard-of a variation of a subalterns rec- reations. He was not unpopular, but this and a few other points about him tended to set him apart, and hinder him and them from ever thoroughly amalgamating. He had been about eight years in India when it was his good fortune to make the acquaintance of that brilliant savant and physiologist, Henneker Jenkyll, since grown, as every one knows, to be a con- spicuous star in the sky of science, but at that date a mere scientist adventurer or free-lance, who, having some private means of his own, had gone out to India for the purpose of working up certain still obscure problems, for which it appeared to him to offer a good, and as yet comparatively an undisputed field. In all these researches John Lawrence was able to be of consid- erable help; his previous studies, informal as they were, having put him into posses- sion of a number of somewhat out-of-the- way if also somewhat loosely adherino facts, all of which were very much indeea at his new friends service. The two men made several expeditions together, and when in due time Professor Jenkyll re- turned to England, and published those researches which at once brought his name into the foremost rank of contempo- rary zoologists, he made handsome men- tion in foot-notes and other places of 206 MAJOR LAWRENCE, F.L~S. Captain Lawrence as his kind and invalu- able assistant. Some people those who were jealous of the professorsaid that it was the very least he could have done, and that had strict justice prevailed, some of those laurels with which his own head was so abundantly adorned would have fallen to the lot of his undistinguished coadjutor. It is only fair to add, that this was not John Lawrences own opinion. He was Jenkylls jackal, he always declared, and he was perfectly content to call himself so. In this capacity, he did good if ob- scure work in the cause of zoology, and it was in recognition of his services in this respect that the professor bestirred him- self, some six or seven years later, to get his friend elected, first as associate, after- wards as member of that illustrious soci- ety, to which it was ever afterwards our modest heros pride and chief distinction to belong. He had been fourteen years in India, as already stated, before he returned home. He could have obtained leave sooner, but the expense of the journey was a consid- eration not without weight, and there were others which made it seem wiser to re- main doggedly where he was for the pres- ent. At last, however, the moment, long delayed, came, and a few weeks after receiving his majority he found himself on board of a troop-ship, bound from Bombay to Southampton. Naturally, the world to which he re- turned was not precisely the same world as the one he had sailed away from. His mother was dead, so also was one of his brothers. Two were settled in Australia, another was married and a parson in the north of Yorkshire. His father, too, had married again, and now at the age of sixty- nine was the proud parent of a couple of baby girls, the only ones in the family. Captain Parr was also dead, and this per- haps was the fact which in some ways affected our major most, for, by the pro- visions of his uncles will, Colts Head Cottage, the paradise of his boyish days, had been left to him, with many minute directions as to the keeping of it in the same condition in which it had been left. He did not go there immediately upon his arrival in England, but had not been home long before he found occasion to do so. His fathers new minage did not, it must be owned, entirely suit him; perhaps it would be more accurate to say that he did not entirely suit it. His stepmother was universally spoken of as a charming young woman, brilliant, social, popular. His father, now a judge, seemed upon the whole to be rather younger, if anything, than when he last remembered him; four- teen years of unceasing forensic labor having apparently had rather a rejuvenat- ing effect upon his constitution than oth- erwise. It was distinctly a successful marriage, the new Mrs. Lawrence not apparently regarding the discrepancy of age between herself and her husband as more than a picturesque and amusing ele- ment of their union. She was not at all too young for her delightful old judge, but she was certainly it now began to strike her rather too young for her delightful old judges son. This big, bronzed man arriving from India and sitting down with an air of preoccupation at her breakfast table; not knowing a single soul of all her numerous acquaintances, or a single one of the allusions with which her conversa- tion bristled; with a certain vague reputa- tion for cleverness, or rather learning, but with nothing apparently to show for it; with brown, faintly humorous eyes which followed her slowly round the room with an air of mild bewildermenthe puzzled her; he was not somehow malleable or readily assignable to any category she was acquainted with; she did not, in truth, know exactly what to make of him. He was very excellent so she conscien- tiouslv assured all her acquaintances; but wifh a slight movement of the shoul- ders just a little a little well, pon- derous, you know. Poor John! He was perfectly con- scious of his own ponderosity more so perhaps than his sprightly step mother gave him credit for. He felt like a bull in a china shop; a bumble-bee enclosed in the calyx of a harebell anything you like suggestive of inappropriate and un- warrantable bigness, when he found him- self, after his fourteen years of soldiering and bachelor existence, adrift in that dec- orative establishment. He had been ex- cessively astonished when he heard of his fathers second marriage, but had not felt called upon seriously to resent it. At bottom, indeed, he was rather amused, to tell the truth, by the whole aspect of affairs, and his own somewhat incongruous share in them. His sense of humor was latent, ~ however, rather than ostensible; it was not very available for social purposes; it lurked in his eyes, but did not often reveal itself on his lips; when it did, it was half unconsciously. He was shy, too, having never entirely got over his youthful fail? ings in that respect, and the position in which he found himself in the household MAJOR LAWRENCE, F.L.S. 207 was, it must be owned, sufficiently trying to the susceptibilities of a man afflicted with that most uncomfortable of com- plaints. He got on best with the nursery portion of the establishment. These two little sisters, who might so easily have been his daughters, were a sort of revelation to him, while he, upon his side, was promptly accepted by them as a new, and upon the whole a desirable, vassal and playmate. They called him Donny and Doddy, and other nursery perversions of his name; they got him down upon all-fours, and rode both together upon his back, kicking him vigorously in the ribs as they did so to make him go faster; they fed him upon small comfits, and bits of stale cake, and insisted upon his drinking innumerable thimblefuls of cold currant-tea out of their dolls teacups. Sophonisba Maria, the largest and plainest of those ladies, and he were to be married shortly, they an- nounced. To these requisitions the major sub- mitted with the complacency of a large dog, half astonished, half gratified. He had an unacknowledged passion for chil- dren, as many big and unexpansive men have, of whom nobody would ever have suspected it, and would have liked nothing better than to have had just such a pair of his own, if circumstances had only been good enough to allow of the possibility of such a thing, which it is plain to all rational people that they had not. There are men as ~vell as women, who seem born to go through the world seeing the best things only through other peoples eyes, which is rather like seeing a fire through a sheet of glass which gives us the light but cuts off nearly all the warmth. In spite of this alleviation, in spite even of the unbounded wrath and astonishment of his two little yellow-headed tyrants, the major did not remain long in London. His fathers house, outside the nursery, did not particularly suit him, and a man of thirty-three cannot spend all his days in a nursery, especially in his stepmoth- ers nursery. He made various excuses for his departure, and hastened away, not without a sensation of escape, to Dev- onshire. He breathed a long sigh of relief when he found himself in the train, and several more when, having driven the eight or nine miles that intervened between Colts Head and the nearest railway station, he found himself upon the little narrow wind- scraped peninsula which he remembered so well, which he had thought of so often; the very feel of whose slippery grass and gritty rocks was so curiously different from the feel of any other grass or rocks in the world. Here at least, he said to himself, he would meet with his old self again and his old world. Here at least he was at home as much home as he seemed destined to have. The first day he did nothing at all; nothing, that is, but sit or stand, his mouth half-ajar, facing the sea. This ~vas what he had been waiting for! this was what had kept him going during those intermi- nable days and nights in India; this was England! those rocks, this tufted grass, that interminable sweep of grey! He hugged the country, metaphorically speak- ing, to his bosom. Yet to the ordinary observation, unstim- ulated by exile, Colts Head would not have been regarded as by any means a characteristically English scene, being much more suggestive of north Scotland or west Ireland. This, however, he did not mind, rather liked it the better for. To a man, too, who has never~ in all his life owned any spot which he*wld call his own, beyond the temporary occupancy of some corner, of a barrack, the mere sense of possession even though it were 6nly the posses~ion of a rickety cabin, and a few worthless acres of stones and sea thrift is in itself an exhilaration. He sniffed the air with a sense of pos- session ~vhich could hardly have been greater, had all that he could sweep with his eyes been in truth his own. His nearest neighbor was an old Lady Mordaunt who had been a warm friend of his mother in early days, and who upon his return forthwith elected herself into a sort of amateur aunt or grandmother, in- sisting upon his coming to stay with her, and taking the liveliest interest in his for- tunes and prospects generally. Apart from this personal amiability, Lady Mordaunt was a delightful woman, her sapphire-blue eyes looking all the bluer and the brighter for the tower of white hair brushed into a sort of crown upon the top of her head, and arranged under a Spanish-looking combination of black lace. It was not an old face, either, though she was turned sixty, and if there were wrinkles on it, not one of them at least betokened a mean, a sordid, or a dissatisfied preoccupation. She might have suggested a Marie Antoinette who had survived her troubles, and lived to smile again. One of those crownless old queens, whose royalty no one has ever been found bold enough to question. 208 MAJOR LAWRENCE, F.L.S. Lady Mordaunt, like Marie Antoinette, had had her full share of trouble, if not upon quite so heroic a scale. Her son Lord Helversdale Earl of Helversdale and Kenneth, let us by all means give him his proper designations was popularly supposed to be going to the dogs, as fast as race-horses and other cognate extrava- gances could combine to carry him. She had had another son, but he was dead; had died seven years before of malarious fever, and the first account his mother had received of his death had been through the newspapers. She had also lost two daughters, within a week of each other, of diphtheria. She rarely or never spoke of these troubles. It seemed as if she had lived through them, and come out again upon the other side as if nothing could now affect her other than superfi- cially. She was in the enjoyment of a considerable fortune of her own, and in earlier days had lived a good deal in the world, openly preferring town to country. The last six years, however, she had spent in Devonshire, upon a property of her sons, which she had taken under her charge, and to which she devoted nearly the whole of her income. It was a dull life for a woman who in her day had tasted the sweets of social power, and had as pretty a turn for domination, too, as any old lady in the three kingdoms. That the advent of our major was, under the cir- cumstances, a godsend may be imagined. She laid out her plans for his advantage; consulted him upon all her most private and domestic affairs; turned over every heiress of her acquaintance with an eye to his interests; scolded him in motherly fashion whenever she considered he re- quired it which was frequently would have had him take up his quarters perma- nently in her house, if he would only have consented to do so. He did not avail himself of these benev- olences, however, as much as he might have done. He liked Lady Mordaunt im- mensely, no one better, but she had a rival who, had she been a woman, would per- haps by this time have been getting a little into her decadence, but who, being superior to the foibles of humanity, seemed only in her admirers eyes to get younger and fresher every day; whose charms too had for him been additionally heightened by the obstacles which a remorseless fate had hitherto thrust in the path of his pas- sion. In other words he had embarked, with all the zest of a novice, upon his old zoolog- ical pursuits, and daily despatchedpages of closely filled memoranda to his friend Jenkyll; pages brimming over with sug- gestions; with new facts; with lines of investigation, which only required proper following out; all which contributions that brilliant investigator, who had plenty of such fish of his own to fry, received, it must be owned, with somewhat daunting indifference. The immortal discoveries of one man are apt unluckily to seem just a little fiat and jejune to another. It did not daunt our major, however. He laughed between whiles at his own en. thusiasm, but he revelled in it none the less. He dredged, he trawled, he rifled the patient bosom of the deep. He peered indefatigably night and day into his micro- scope. He drew diagrams and sections very badly, to tell the truth of the subjects under observation. Blessed, thrice blessed, is the man possessed by a hobby! For him dulness existeth not, and boredom is unknown; his solitude is never really solitude, for it ~s enlivened by the presence of the beloved! Of all hob- bies, too, which have been ridden since the beginning of the world, not one is so indefatigable, not one so delightful in its paces, as that bestridden by the natu- ralist; be he scientist or amateur, world. famous benefactor of his species, or the sorriest mere collector that ever aired his wants and superfluities in the columns of a penny ~oological journal. In this re- spect our major may be said to occupy a midway position between the two ex- tremes. He was no needle-eyed special- ist; still more emphatically no immortal and soaring genius; had never, even for a moment, flattered himself that he could be either the one or the other. For all that, at the very bottom of his soul he dick nourish hopes of doing good work, in some form or other, in the cause of zoologic science. It was the only form of ambi. tion in which he ever indulged. Nothing could be less inflated than the view he took of himself in most respects; few men needed less Sir Thomas Brownes prudent advice as to the laying of early plummets on the heels of pride; few entertained saner views of their own capabilities; his tendency, in fact, had always rather been, to underrate them. Only in this one, this.~ to most people comparatively obscure di- rection, he did cherish hopes and dream dreams hopes and dreams known only to himself. The harvest was so large, so absolutely inexhaustible, and the laborers, by comparison, so few. It did not seem an extravagant hope to entertain, that by great pains, great care, unceasing per. MAJOR LAWRENCE, F.L.S. 209 severance, some little sheaf overlooked by other gleaners might yet come to his share. Had he not already in fact, he asked himself, had his little successes? Had he not discovered no less than three distinct species of Neuroptera, and two of Hy- menoptera, one of which had even been endowed with the preposterous name of Lawrenceana after its finder? It had cer- tainly been changed again not long after- wards, he reflected, when a fresh revision had been made of the genus, but that, as any reasonable person would admit, was certainly not his fault. Of late, since his coming to Devonshire, a new light had dawned for him, one of greater brilliancy than any that had as yet risen upon his horizon. He had been working at the life-history of certain some- what undistinguished marine organisms, studying, examining, comparing; it was a group fortunately well-represented upon that part of the coast. Suddenly, in the course of these investigations, a new idea had burst upon him as a seed-vessel bursts when the moment for its fruition has come. It was merely an indication; adazzlingflash,andthenagainobscurity; but it is through such indications, by means of such momentary flashes, that all new and epoch-creating discoveries have admittedly been evolved. This was not, it is true, exactly an epoch-creating dis- covery, even if it turned out to be a dis- covery at all, which had yet to be proved. It was merely a perception of certain affinities, certain underlying similarities which had previously, as it seemed to him, been overlooked. He saw or believed that he saw a bridge, thin as the thread which leads to a M~ihometan paradise, but still a bridge, conducting the investigator to what might not impossibly prove to be a new departure in that particular branch of zoology. For him that bridge was, for the moment, the link with paradise. To explain the grounds upon which this idea of his based its as yet infantine ex- istence, might result in causing the reader to shut up this unoffending periodical with a maledictory bang. Suffice it then that there are two orders, known respectively by the alluring titles of the Ctenophor~ and the Discophor~e suppose for brev- itys sake we say the C.s and the D.s whose precise modes of development and interdependence have long been a fertile source of zoologic controversy. They have been arranged, divided, and subdivided by one illustrious authority, and then again disarranged, re-divided, and re-subdivided LIVING AGE. VOL. LVIII. 2978 - - upon a totally different system by an- other. They have been shuffled in and out, and hustled up and down amongst their zoologic kinsfolk and neighbors, until it seemed doubtful whether they would ever attain anything like a resting-place at all. Their nomenclature has been changed again and again, each time with the result of becoming more and more sesquipeda- han, until the bewildered tyro, toiling in the rear of his betters, finds his temper embittered and his brains addled under the weight of portentous syllables. It was in one of the bewildering ramifica- tions of this bewildering group that the major caught sight of his ideahisfac/, he called it. He flung himself upon it as a gold-seeker upon a promising vein of auriferous quartz. Sitting sometimes at night in the little sitting-room, which by a summary process he had turned into a zoologic laboratory with not a soul awake but himself; without a sound except the hollow mutter and chuckle of the sea; withotit a move- ment except the small, mouse-like strug- gles of a tiny stream, escaping one drop at a time through the earth and stones, and falling stealthily over the edge he would be filled with a feeling of wild ex- citement, which to most men comes only once or twice in their lives; at some great crisis, some culminating moment of their fate. His heart would beat, his nerves tingle, his whole frame shake and quiver like a nervous girls. In his excitement his room would suddenly grow too small for him it was not of commanding pro- portions and he would spring to his feet, cross it with hasty steps, and gaze eagerly out westward towards the Atlantic, that Atlantic which to all who have once caught enthusiasm from its vastness, be- comes, as it were, the very symbol and embodiment of greatness, spiritual no less than physical. To John Lawrence, with his head full of his organic problems, it was the symbol of life itself, that great ocean of sentient life with all its baffling problems, its bewildering, its inextricable mysteries. Was there not an Atlantic too - in this direction? he would ask himself excitedly an Atlantic which as yet had hardly been explored, whose skirts and land-locked bays were all that could be said to beknown? What was all that had been done, compared to what there still remained to do? Who could tell at what moment even the least accredited of voy- agers might suddenly burst into a new sea, a virgin sea whose waves had never yet been ploughed by mortal keel? 210 MAJOR LAWPENCE, F.L.S. Just as a man who is not a great poet may yet enjoy by moments the genuine poetic rapture, so our major, who was not a great scientist, who had not even had that preliminary training which, might have enabled him to be so, had by mo- ments his share of that electric thrill which is the guerdon of those whose names stand written in the red-letter book of fame. He dived, he plunged, he floated; he lost breath in waters that were too deep for him; he rose again to the surface, panting, but undefeated; he scoffed at himself, but he persevered; he dreamed, he hoped, he believed. Such at this par- ticular moment of his career was his in- side life. What the outside one was during the same period it will be the busi- ness of the following pages to relate. CHAPTER II. HE was sitting one morning, soon after breakfast, in his shirt-sleeves before a micrOscope. It was a hot day, the sum- mer, a late one that year, having arrived, as it sometimes does, with a rush, as if bent upon making up for lost time. There was not much just there for it to exercise its functions upon, unless indeed the air itself and the water are to be reckoned, for of trees, as stated, there were none, and even the flowers had been so long used to ill-usage that, save in sheltered corners, where they could tuck their petalled faces away from the blast, they seldom went to the useless trouble and expense of putting out any blossom; the very daisies having apparently all been born with permanent cricks to their necks. From where the master of the house was sitting, nothing was visible but the water and the sky above it. He might have been taking a voyage in mid sea, but for the sounds, which had all the pecul- iarly perturbed fractious sough of waves against a detaining shore. Every now and then, too, with a rhythmic regularity came a dull, resonant thud as if the very foundations of the house were being un- dermined, followed by a glad, exultant hissing and shooting, like the upspringing of an imprisoned sky-rocket. The major was not thinking of these outside sounds, however. He had no time to do so, in fact; he was too busy. He was engaged in mounting some minute microscopic ob- jects in Canada balsam, which, as any one who has ever tried that pastime knows, is a very delicate operation indeed, requir- ing much care and much nicety of manip ulation. -. The Canada balsam was fizzing and bubbling comfortably upon a small iron tripod, beneath which stood a lighted spirit lamp, adding its small quota to the heat of the room. He was in the act of giving the object its final adjustment, and had just taken up a piece of thin glass with which to cover it in, and make all safe, when there came a scraping sound of wheels from the landward side of the house, followed the next moment by a sudden, vigorous rat, tat, tat, tat, upon the old sea-rusted, iron door-knocker. Even this did not at once distract our investigator. He was anxious to get the last and most critical portion of his opera- tion safely over before he stirred; besides, who ever came to pay morning calls at the Colts Head? Presently, however, there came the unmistakable rustling sound of a womans dress immediately outside the door, which was quietly, al- most stealthily opened, and a deep but not at all a masculine voic~ said, Wise man ! In his shirt-sleeves 1 John Lawrence started up, thereby up- setting the equilibrium of his object, which took the opportunity of escapipg amid a crowd of bubbles over the edge of the glass Lady Mordaunt! he exclaimed, in a tone of astonishment. This is indeed an early honor! More honor than pleasure! Dont deny it? Be candid; candor, you know, is your forte. I caught that glance of agony which you cast at your handiwork as I came in. I suppose now that is the labor of a week, at least, that I have de- stroyed by bursting in upon you at the critical moment? Not quite that, he answered with a laugh, at the same time casting another involuntary glance to where the object was fast hardening into an indistinguish- able mass of pulp. I have got another of the same kind too, he added magnani- mously. Well, my apology must be my needs. I am in despair, and have come to you as my only salvation. Dont put on your coat. You can listen perfectly in your shirtsleeves.~~ But the major had already put on his .~ coat. What can I do for you, Lady Mordaunt? he enquired, standing in an attitude of attention. You havent heard my news yet. She paused; then suddenly sat down, nearly overturning as she did so a vase of salt water, in which a pink medusa wa~ swimming languidly. They are all com 211 MAJOR LAWRENCE, F.L.S. ingh ome, John bnmedia/ely I,, she said care of themselves, he answered rather impressively, dryly. Coming? Who are coming? he He put a cover over his microscope; asked blankly. Your son, do you mean, blew out the spirit-lamp; put the cork into and his family? he added after a minute. the bottle of Canada balsam; replaced Yes, all of them. Helversdale him- some specimens, which were waiting for self, and his wife; Eleanor, the girl; their turn, in a glass milk-pan which stood a governess; and how many servants upon a side table; got his hat from a peg Heaven alone knows! And all upon in the wall, and was ready at once to ac- Tuesday not Tuesday week, but next company her. Tuesday. There! What do you think She stood watching these various ar- of that? rangements with the same air of smiling XVeIl, you are pleased, I suppose, amusement. arent you? Upon my word, you seem to have Pleased? Yes, I suppose as you say made yourself very snug here in your I am pleased. Of course I am delighted, way, she said at last, glancing round the but at the same time I am horribly put room, and then out of the window at the out. I am flustered beyond all expres- great blue-grey quivering plain below. sion! How in the wide world do you What a pity it is that you have to go imagine 1 am to get ready for them in back to that wretched India! Must you four days time? Are you aware that, ex- really go? cept in my own little corner of the house, 1 must. My beasts, as you call them, there is not a bed that has been slept upon would hardly keep me, neither would the last eight years? Colts Head. If I were a sheep or a And is it absolutely essential that they goat, it might be competent to do so, but should be all slept in? he enquired. hardly as it is. Besides, there is a pen- She threw up her eyes with a gesture sion looming ever so far ahead, which I of despair. must go back and grind for. What it is to talk to a man! Every- Ah, well, if you must, you must! thing, I tell you, has to be done. And to Lady Mordaunt stretched out her hand for add to my troubles, Crocket the only her cloak, which was lying upon a chair. one of the servants that is in the least to The major put it on her, and went for- be depended upon, who has the sem- ward to open the door which led almost blance of what can even by courtesy be directly on to the porch. called a head upon his shoulders, is Lord and Lady Helversdales coming down upon his back with lumbago has is rather sudden, is it not? he enquired not been off it for a week. So that there as they were going down the hill. is literally no one in the house but the Very sudden, she answered. It Biddys, and Sukeys, and Tommys, who would have been less sudden and more make up the rest of my establishment; gratifying perhaps if they had anywhere and although Tommy is called Thomas, else to go to, she added, with a bitter- and considers himself my footman, you ness which seemed to escape almost in- know how much of a servant he is! voluntarily. Well, Lady Mordaunt, my head is not He looked concerned. Are matters equal to Crockets; of that I am well so bad as that? aware; but if you will tell me exactly what They are very bad; how bad, I dont is to be done, I will try and do it. Shall myself pretend to know. I doubt if even I come back with you now and see if we they do. can discover some way in which I can LAnd can nothing be done? make myself useful? Everything, I fancy, that can be done She held out her hand. Good man! has been done so at least Mr. Price that is what I call a friend! To tell the assures me everything mortgaged that honest truth, it was that errand which can be mortgaged; sold or let, that can brought me here this morning. I wanted be sold or let. The house in London ; the to secure you. It is too bad, though, tak- one near Newmarket that is a ldss, as ing you from your beasts, isnt it? she you may imagine, which I can reconcile added, glancing with a smile at the work myself to. This place Mordaunt, I before him, the good-humored, tolerant mean is safe as long as I live. After- smile of one who puts up with a friends wards I She checked herself sud- foibles, because they are, after all, the denly, and looked away towards a group foibles of a friend, of larches, defining them selves in pale Thanks, my beasts will take very goo~ green against the grey beyond. 212 MAJOR LAWRENCE, F.L.S. John Lawrence said nothing. It was rather his fashion to say nothing when he felt sorriest, and he felt very sorry indeed for Lady Mordaunt. Nominally the place was still Lord Helversdales, but every one knew that his mother had not only parted with her house in town, but seri- ously straitened her own means in order to save itthere being no entailfrom coming into the market. Whether any- thing of the nature of a family collision had taken place on the occasion of her doing so, John Lawrence did not know; but it seemed, to say the least, likely, see- ing that from that time to the present neither Lord nor Lady Helversdale, or either of their children had set foot in Devonshire, where Lady Mordaunt had lived for the most part the life of an ab- solute hermit, cheered at long intervals by the visit of some benevolent friend; shutting up two-thirds of the house and living in a corner of the rest, but keeping the place up as it had always been kept, and giving the people that employment to which they had always been accus- tomed, and without which they would in many cases have found no little difficulty in keeping the wolf from their humble doors. All this ~vas the more praise- worthy, seeing that she was not one of those women to whom the charities and minor benevolences of life till up the whole circuit of human activities. She had a keen eye, too, for the foibles as well as for some of the reputed virtues of humanity, including that of gratitude; hardly an advantageous qualification for the part. They had got out of sight of the sea, had left the main road, and had reached the edge of the Mordaunt property, when their attention was caught by the sound of a vehicle behind them. Not the solid jog-jogging of a cart, nor yet the cheerful clatter and rattle of a gig the two vari- eties which constituted the staple of wheeled conveyances in those parts but the quick, alternate beat of a pair of horses feet, and the self-important roll and rumble of a barouche. The road was narrow, and the major went to the ponys head in order to lead it a little aside, so as to leave room for the more ambitious equipage to pass. It did not avail itself of this privilege however, for just as they were coming abreast, one of the two occu- pants of the carriage gave a signal to the coachman to stop, and the barouche ac- cordingly drew up exactly on a line with the pony chair; the two vehicles in their relative proportions presenting soii~ewhat the effect of a line-of-battle ship and its accompanying launch. The principal occupant of the barouche was rather a stout lady, with a mild, curi- ously expressionless face; a face with a rounded, bulging forehead, surmounted by an elaborate pink bonnet; high arched eyebrows over round, prominent eyes; round, full, well-colored cheeks, and a mouth with no corners to speak of. A face which was irresistibly suggestive somehow of a sheeps, the most amiable sheep surely that ever nibbled grass, or baa-ed in puzzled helplessness after its offspring. Beside this lady was seated a boy of twelve or possibly thirteen years of age. The two were sufficiently alike for him to be readily identified as her son, yet the type to which he belonged was widely, even radically, dissimilar; there was noth- ing sheep-like or lamb-like either about him. His large, somewhat prominent eyes, dark as midnight, were very much handsomer than those of his mother, the delicacy and pallor of his face making them seem even startlingly so. The fea- tures, too, as features, were perfect; clas- sically modelled, fastidiously delicate. A handsomer lad, in fact, it would be diffi- cult to imagine. ~Vhat gave the bystander a certain sense of discomfort in looking at him was a total want of solidity, a want even of promise of manliness, which was further brought out by the indolent, su- percilious fashion in which he lolled upon the cushions. He looked sickly, he looked bored, he looked pampered and cross. He might have reminded a traveller of one of those beautiful but not at a~ll attrac- tive youths whose lives are spent within the walls of a harem, where their self- importance is nourished upon a diet hardly less deleterious than the sugary concoc- tions with which they ruin their digestion. Looking at him, you would have sworn that he had never faced a cold wind, wet- ted his feet, or made a dirt pie in his life. Oh, Lady Mordaunt! this young gentlemans mother began, in rapid, pant- ing tones, occasionally catching at her breath from excess of volubility, I do hope, Im sure, youll excuse me for stop- ~ ping? I hope you wont think it a liberty ;~ I wouldnt not for anything but when I saw ~vho it was, I couldnt help but tell Batters to pull up; its so long since I had the pleasure of seeing you, except of course in church, and that does not count, for one cant talk,-can one? Indeed Im always on the fidgets to get away on account, I mean of course, of Algernon. MAJOR LAWRENCE, F.L.S. 213 Such dreadful draughts as there are all about, especially near the door no doubt youve noticed them yourself. And those little Puddlingtons perhaps you havent heard theyve all got the measles at least most of them, so its likely to go through the rest, unless of course the others was sent away first but it is best to be upon the safe side. Dont your ladyship think so? I am glad you did stop and speak to me, Mrs. Cathers, Lady Mordaunt an- s~vered briskly, leaving the more compli- cated question of the little Puddlingtons on one side as irrelevant. As you say, it is a long time since weve seen one another. You neednt tell me the fault is mine, I know it is; Ive been intending to drive over and pay you a visit for some time past, but, as it happens, Ive been particularly busy lately. Indeed, yes; your ladyship must have a terrible deal upon your hands, the other replied sympathetically. Particular as Im told that the earl and family is com- ing home next week are coming home, she added hastily, with a glance, not at Lady Mordaunt, but at her own youthful son, who, however, appeared to be per- fectly indifferent to his mammas lapses in grammar. Now, how in the world did you hear that, Mrs. Gathers? Lady Mordaunt en- quired with some astonishment and a tinge of vexation. I only received my sons letter myself two days ago, and I dont think Ive spoken of it to three peo- ple since. Oh, Lady Mordaunt, those sort of things is always known, particular in a dull place like this, you may take your word of that! There aint there arent, I mean so many earls about, but what their comings and goings gets talked of, and Mr. Price, his lordships agent, is our agent tooAlgernons, I meanit was he mentioned the family were returning. And I hope it wasnt indiscreet, Im sure, my repeating it. I wouldnt for the world be the one to bring the poor man into trouble with his employers, not for any- thing. Of course were his employers, too, and Algernons property is a vey good one, and improving, Im told. Stil, were new-comers, Im never the one to deny it, and ld be sorry to get him into disgrace with his lordship very While this was going on, and Lady Mordaunt was reassuring Mrs. Gathers on the subject of Mr. Prices indiscretions, Major Lawrence and the other occupant of the barouche were left gazing at each other, one from his post at the ponys head, the other from his luxurious couch amongst the cushions of the carriage. The majors first impulse had been to nod good-h umoredly at the lad, and he would probably have followed this up with fur- ther demonstrations, but for the very dis- tinct discouragement with which his first overture was met. Everybody, I sup- pose, has at some time or other been snubbed by a child, and therefore knows the sensation, than which I am myself acquainted with few more unpleasant. This boys beauty, and air of conscious fastidiousness, gave to his supercilious- ness a force which it perhaps otherwise might not have had. At any rate, the major, who at bottom we know was shy, felt not merely snubbed, but nettled. It was nothing to him, of course, that a spoilt brat of a boy should choose to stare im- pertinently at him, and yet it vexed him, almost as much as if the latter had been a dozen years older. He felt a sudden im- pulse to pick him up by his two disdainful little shoulders, give him a good shake, and set him down to run in the mud, by way of a hint to improve his manners. That vigorous mode of procedure being unfortunately unavailable, he grew im- patient, and wished that Lady Mordaunt would bring her neighborly conversation to a conclusion. It was one thing to lose his morning, and sacrifice one of the best slides he had ever turned out, for her sake, and quite another to be kept kicking his heels upon the roadside, and stared out of countenance by a little upsetting ape of a boy. He began to wish that he had not showed so uncalled-for an alacrity in vol- unteering his services. It was always a mistake, he informed himself