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BENTLEY'S 


MISCELLANY. 


VOL.  XXV. 


LONDON; 

RICHARD     BENTLEY, 
NEW  BURLINGTON  STREET. 

1849. 


^fc»J.»-»«^JJ^"^ 


CONTENTS. 


'  Mrs.  Ward 


The  Note  Book  of  &  Coroner*^  Clerk,  by  the  Author  of  '*  Expe- 
riences of  a  Gaol  Chapkin,**  .  1 ,  I  H,  21 7,  3^7,  U9,  SU 
Good  Night!   From  the  Gemiart  of  Pnuer,         .  .  ,  .14 
Cmjuet  Side.     A  Sketch  from  the  North  Countrre. 
The  Happy  Valley ;  or,  The  Emigrants  Home 
Leaves  irom  Admiral  Lord  Minorca^s  Note- Book 
Old  Music  and  Pictures,                   .....  02 

Hans  Michel ;  or,  A  Few  Old  German  Proverhs^ 

applied  to  New  German  Pomica  .  U     ^^  pj^^^^^  21 

The  Mirror  of  the  French  Repuhuc;  or.  The f    ' 

Parisian  Theatres,     .  ,  .  -*  -  .      369 

Queen's  Bench  Sketches.     No.  IV.       *  *v  .  .  31 

Frank    Hamilton;   or,  the  Confessions  of  an 

Only  Son,  .  .  .  ^By  W.  H.  Maxwell.       124 

An  Incursion  into  Connemara;  with  an  Account 

of  a  Traveller  who  Survived  it,  .'  .  .  .       3.59 

The  By- Lanes  arid  Dowiih  of  England,  iritli  Turf  Scenes  and  Cha- 
racters, hy  Sylvanus,  ,  .  38,  175,  236,  400,  479,  603 
A  Holiday  at  Berlin  in  Ancient  Times,               ,  .  .  ,43 
ITie  Rambles  of  Death,          ......  47 

Life :  A  Gossip.  .  .  ,  .         " 

The  King  who  became  Voung  Again  I  A  Tale 

to  be  Put  to  the  World, 
Forgiveness. — The  Beturn,  . 
Appetite.    A  Sarcastic  on  the  Gastric, 

Wayside  Pictures  : 
XV I L  The   Ranee.     XVIU. 

Bert  rand  d  11  Guesclin,  XIX. 

The  Ruins  of    La  Garaye, 

and  the  Priory  of  Lehon,     •       57 
XX.  The  Valley  of  the  Foun- 
tain.   The  Balls  of  Dinan. — 

XXL  English  and  French  m 

Dinan  hefore  the  Revolution, 

^X  X I L  The  Mayor's  Head; 

The  Sedan  Chair.  Mixed  An- 

iiqui t ies .—  X  X 1 1 L  Renn  es,       164 
XXIV.  Soldiers  and  Priests.— 

XXV.  The  Game  of  Soule. 

-^XXVL  Nantes,— XXVI L 

The  Duchess  de  Berri,        *    275 


By  Alfred  Crowqnill . 


XXVIIL  The  War  of  La  Ven- 
d^e.  A  ngers. — ^XX 1 X .  T  he 
Paradise  of  the  Demi- For- 
tune, .  *  .416 

XXX.  La  Jeune  France*  — 
XXX L  Celtic  Monuments. — 
XXXI L  Tours.  — XXXIIl. 
The  Loire  to  OrleaiiB.^ — 
XXXIV.  The  Show-houses 
of  Orleans,   .  .  .465 

L  The  Shoreis  of  the  Low 
Countries,  Antwerp. — ^11. 
Malines.  Bruges. — 11  LBrus- 
sels  and  its  Revolution,        .     624 


66,  197,  299,  411,  53^1 


193 


L 


MimeirB  of  Chateaubriand,  written  by  Himself, 

PMtion  of  Sir  James  Brooke  in  the  Indian .  „^  • ^    a    -.   * 

Archipelago..  .  .  By  James  Augustus        ^ 

Sir  James  Brooke  and  the  Pirates  .      1  ^t.John, 

The  Cellini  Cup,  by  Samuel  James  Arnold,  .  ,  -83 

The  Literary  Career  of  William  Eliery  Channing»  }  By  Charles 
Schiller  and  his  Contemporaries,  .  \  Whitehead 

A  Winter's  Night  with  my  Old  Books,  chiefly  concerning  Ghosts  and 

Prodigies,  by  Albert  Smith,  ..... 

The  Philosophy  of  History. — Macaulay's  James  the  Second 
Literature  op  the  Month: 

Warwick'^  Naaotofty. — Forty  Dayi  In  the  Desert  on  the  TrAck  of  the  JcraeUtes.^Bar* 
naril'i  Three  Y«ar>*  Croics  in  the  Moxftiublque  Ctvanntl  for  the  Buppre«ilD&ar  the  SUv» 
Trade. — Merrlfteld^s  Arti  tt(  PaintiD|[  in  Oil.  Miniature^  Maiatc,  and  on  Glut.— Coa- 
tvlW*  Clara  Pano. — Shaw'i  OulUni!!*  of  En^li^h  LiUrature,— Druinniond's  Hemonr  of 
Montagiie  Stanley,  A.R.3.A. — AJnaworth'B  I.ancaihire  Witchet. — Martin  Tmitrond,  a 
Frenclunan  in  London  In  1II3L--The  Ilomance  of  the  Peer af;e.— Max well'i  Cxar,  hit 
Court  and  Feople,— Tyndalc'«  tiland  of  Sardinia. — WUItio's  DilaailA  and  Montenegro. 
— Gr«l«'«  Notetof  a  Two  Yean' Renidenre  in  Half,  .... 

Bryant'e  What  I  saw  in  Californiiii  in  1S46  and  1847.— Ketnhlv'a  Saxons  in  Eufland,— A 
HJflory  of  the  EiiKllih  Com  moo  wealth. — Mr«.  Homer's  Bird  of  Fuaaie;  or,  Flylnx 
GiiTop«e«  of  Many  Landi.— Count   Kraaiiiikl's  Coisaeks  of  ih«  UlirAtne,— CiirHitg  « 


imiXhnm.    A  Ufeodof  Te 
tt>ryinii,ui  194%W  ILC. 

Perdvsl  r 
A  €Mhft  tn  a  Slaver,  I7  Cmcli, 
nt  Djrariiid  tha  DoamncaiL    A  Ueend  of  Aix. 
fli»l4tt^    From  ScMUer,       ,  . 

Tka  iMvoestioii  to  Destli^   . 

WmIjii  MAoor,  By  the  Author  of  *'Th^Eoaet  Cboioe,^ 
"  A  Ballad,  .  ,  ,  .  . 


BfLM^ 


Vte] 


imor8H«.lfooitlb 
tiia8lBver.>rCBidi 


t  and  Tears,  hj  WUhBmJmmm^ 
Tb*  Loring  Start  !  by  William  Jooet, 
Fkn ;  or^  Scenes  and  Adveotores  on  llio  BanlcB  of  tbe  Aniaaan.  br  K 

E.  Wan-eJi,  .  .  ,  .  ,  - 

Musical  Note*  for  March,  404  j  April,  519;  May,  by  Tartini's 
The  Opeaii^  of  the  Operaa        -  .  .  , 

Alke  May,  by  Edward  Jeoe^  .... 

GoMp  of  Walballa  and  Schiraathaler,by  Mis  CoeteUo, 
Night.     From  the  German,  ... 

The  House  of  D'Etpagnet,  the  Arehitect,  at  Bordeaux, 
To  the  Cloudi      From  the  Gonnati,  ,  .  . 

Spring,     From  the  Germanj       .  .  ♦  . 

Lyrical  Bt^oei  of  the  Indian  MaU.— No.  L  ChiUianwallah.— ! 

CkMDxerat,       *...., 
'-^innirnt  Alfreil  B.  Street, 

and  \V'»ve«,       .  ,  *  ,  , 

utht'd  Meg.     A  Lay  of  the  Border, 
W  Hiding  SK(>et.  A  Lejfend,  from  the  German  of  Guatav. 
UhefHled  Forrat.     A  True  Tale, 
'**.--To  Clara,  by  MiiH  Cofttello, 


t  to  Hoyalty  in  the  Gambia,  by  Capt.  Sir  H.  V,  HunUey,  R,N 
Mf(f*  f»f  I>e  Lomartine,  Victor  Hugo,  and  Julee  Janln,  by  l\  i 


Nititiorc^ 
o  Victoriai, 


148 
154 
ISl 
4S4 

ia4 
.  190 

im 

941 


dt^4 
314 
SSS 
378 
630 


3S7,  5€S,  607 

^  '  643 
430 
469 
502 
507 
506 
510 
51ti 

No.  XL 

539 

.  563 

566 

.     567 

Soilings  581 

589 

568 

589 

G. 

596 
640 


BENTLEY'S  MISCELLANY, 


THE  CORONERS  CLERK, 

BY   THE    AUXnOR   OP    "  KXPRRIRNCES   OF    A    GAOL    CHAPLAIN/* 
WITH     AN     ILLUdTEATION     BY     LEBCR. 


OBAPTKH    I, 


A     DI7CHSSS     a     DIAMOND 


i  A  R  *  R  I  N  G  8. 


^^  There  is  at*  oonti)nditi|;(  with  ner«iMiicy,  und  we  Klinuld  be  very  tcn^Br  how  wo 
cemure  tho^e  that  siibrait  to  it  ?  'Ti*  une  thin^  tti  \*e  at  lil>t?rty  to  do  what  wfs 
wiiJ,  ami  iLiiutL«r  thing  to  be  tied  up  u>  do  what  we  inu»t.** 

Sir  Rooeh  L'^Ebtramoc. 

I  wONDBR  whether  this  record  of  a  chequered  life  will  ever  come 
before  tlic  world  I  Will  credit  be  given  to  its  disclosures  ?  and  will 
lliey  avail?  will  they  warn,  deter,  console? 

At  twenty  I  found  myselt^  with  articles  on  the  eve  of  expiring,  in 
the  office  of  a  very  wary,  successful^  and  thoroughly  unscrupulous 
man. 

He  was  an  attorney  of  the  olden  time:  cunning,  half-educated, 
cringing,  unprincipled,  mendacious.  Similar  characters  may  exist  at 
this  day.  But  if  ever  there  was  a  being  whose  soul  was  steeped  in 
suspicion  ;  who  believed  all  would  cheat  if  tliey  could  ;  who  looked 
upon  uprightness  as  fabulous,  and  the  law  as  a  license  to  prey  on  the 
property  and  fears  of  others,  Mr*  RalTorde  was  that  valuable  and 
truly  popular  personage.  But  he  throve;  and,  as  far  as  the  rapid 
accumulation  of  means,  accompanied  by  the  utter  wreck  of  character, 
could  be  called  prosperity.  IVlr.  Raffbrde  might  be  deenieil  a  very 
thriving  personage*  The  secret  of  his  rise  may,  perhaps,  be  thus 
explained:  fie  was  a  thoroughly  reckkss  pracfUtQucr.  The  bearings 
of  no  case,  however  dark  and  dajjtardly  might  be  its  features,  de- 
terred him  from  undertaking  it.  He  quailed  before  no  rebuff  of  a 
judge,  and  no  sarcasm  of  an  oppotiing  counsel.  Libel  the  deatl, 
knowingly,  I  would  not;  but  in  musing  on  his  career  I  feel  con- 
vinced that  the  more  ^agitious,  base,  and  indefensible  the  cause,  the 
more  heartily  did  it  commend  itself  to  his  advocacy. 

In  the  office,  and  tlioroughly  devoted   to  its  owner's  interests, 

slaved  another  clerk,  named  Tillett,    In  him — he  was  barely  two  and- 

twenty — Rafforde  seemed   to  repose    unmeasured  confidence.     lie 

was  one  of  a  large  family ;  and  niaintainedj  such  was  his  habitual 

self*denial,  out  of  a  moderate  salary,  his  mother  and  a  blind  and 

I  decrepid  sister.     A  more  despondent,  dejected,  craven  countenance 

ras  never  owned  by  human  being  I     And  there  appeared  no  adequate 

»use  for  this  depression*     He  stood  well  with  his  employer.    How- 

ver  crabbed  or  sarcastic  Raflbrde  might  be  to  others,  he  had  always 

'«  word  of  encourage  men  t>  a  kindly  phrase  for  the  down-ca^t  Tillett. 

VOL.    XXV.  B 


TffE   COROKEKS   CT.ERE. 


Angry  as  he  might  be  with  others,  the  vials  of  his  wrath  were 
never  poured  out  on  his  humble  and  industrious  familiar.  The  ex* 
ception  was  too  raai  ked  to  escape  notice.  I  ventured,  on  one  occa- 
sion, to  allude  to  it ;  it  was  a  dark,  bleak,  winter's  day,  and  the 
willing  slave  had  been  toiling  in  the  office  for  thirteen  hours  conti- 
nuously, over  a  mortgage  i*hich  required  iinniediate  execution*  All 
at  once  he  lagged, — ^his  physical  powers  gave  way, — blindness  seized 
him  ;  he  tottered  feebly  from  his  seat,  and  declared  that  he  could  no 
longer  see  the  parchment  it  was  his  business  to  engross,  I  spoke  to 
him  :  he  returned  no  answer — looked  piteously  around  him — began 
to  mutter  hastily  and  incoherently  ;  and  in  a  few  seconds  fell  sense- 
less on  the  floor.  I  raised  him — applied  restoratives — and,  when  he 
had  somewhat  rallied,  counselled  rest  and  refreshment* 

*'No,"  said  he,  resuming  his  pen^and  again  bending  himself  to  his 
unwelcome  task.  '*  no  rest  for  the  guilty  man ;  let  him  toil  till  he 
dies." 

"  Pooh  I  pooh  1  bright  days  are  in  store  for  you,  Tillett.     Your 
employer   conBdes  in  you,  applauds   you,  caresses  you,  defers  CoH^ 
you  — "  ^ 

He  looked  up,  with  quivering  lip  and,  bloodshot  eye,  and  added, 
slowly :  "  and  will  one  day  hang  you !  *' 

The  amazement  pictured  in  my  face  recalled  to  him,  I  imagine, 
his  wonted  self-possession.  With  ready  cunning  he  instantly  essayed 
to  remove  the  effect  of  his  previous  self-accusation. 

**  I  rave  !  heed  not  what  I  say.     I  will  hurry  home  and  sleep/* 

He  wrung  my  hand  and  rushed  wihily  from  the  office. 

But  I  was  by  no  means  cle*ir  that  he  did  "  rave/'  or  that  it  behoved 
me  to  pay  "no  heed  "to  his  extraordinary  admissions.  And  this 
impression  was  deepened  by  an  ejaculation  that  escaped  him  the  first 
morning  he  was  able  to  ivork  after  recovering  from  his  seizure. 

Pleased  by  some  unprompted  effort  which  I  had  made  in  his  ser* 
vice,  by  something  which  I  had  on  the  spur  of  the  moment  done^ 
or,  cautiously,  lefi  undone,  Rafl^jrde  surprised  me  with  a  hearty  ex- 
pression of  rare  approval,  and  the  reo>ark, 

"  Conduct  like  this  merits  encouragement,  and  must  have  it.  On 
Tuesday  I  go  to  the  assizes  at  Derby,  and  thence  for  a  couple  of 
days  to  Matlock.  Now,  the  latter  place  you  will  not  be  sorry  to  see ; 
and  at  the  former,  while  rvurk  is  going  on,  you  may  learn  a  lesson. 
You  shall  accompany  me,  and  I  will  bear  your  expenses  throughout. 
In  fact,  you  shall  be  my  guest.  Give  me,  I  say,  the  man,  and  not  the 
mere  machine — the  man  who  can  think,  and  plan,  and  act  for  him- 
self.    I  start  at  ^\e  to  the  minute." 

Scarcely  had  the  sound  of  hi*i  retreating  footsteps  become  inaudible 
when  Tillett  rushed  from  his  seat,  and  advancing  hastily  towards  me, 
Raid,  with  passionate  earnestness, 

•'Don't  trust  that  man.  Accept  no  favour  at  his  band.  False 
and  designing  in  all  he  does,  his  benefits  are  snares.  Once  place 
yourself  under  obligation  to  him,  and  you  become  his  victim  for 
life/* 

"  This  from  vou,  Tillett !  You  who  are  so  manifestly  in  Raffbrdc's 

nfidence,  and  enjoy  so  large  a  share  of  his  favour  !     You  *re  jea- 

u  !— palpably  and  undeniably  jealous!  " 
No!'*  said  he,  and  his  former  vehemence  of  manner  subsidfl 
perfect  sadness,  •*  no  such  unworthy  feeling  actuates  me. 


THE    COEONEE'S   CLERK. 


motives  you  cannot  fathom,  but  they  are  pure.  Yes  !  I  can  call  God 
to  witness  that  they  are  pure.  You  don't  know  thia  man.  Man,  do 
I  call  him  ?     He  is  a  demon  I  " 

"  A  flattering  observation  !  and  to  the  party  chiefly  interested  be- 
yond question  g^rati tying,  Hope  the  demon  does  not  know  what  is 
said  of  him  in  hia  absence  hy  his  confidential  clerk  !  But  to  Derby 
Iffol  Make  up  your  mind  to  double  fag,  Tillett,  for  a  week's 
hohday  I  11  have." 

"  And  at  Mr.  Raffbrde's  cost  ?  " 

*'  Most  assuredly  :  it  will  add  to  the  enjoyment  of  my  trip  that  my 
principal  bears  all  charges./* 

Thia  was  said  with  a  laugh.  It  seemed  to  grate  harshly  on  Til- 
let's  ear.  He  turned  hastily  and  almost  angrily  away.  Returning 
after  a  few  moments,  and  taking  my  hand  in  his,  he  murmured  in 
low  but  earnest  tanea^ — 

"HaslamI  Have  I  ever  deceived  you?  Has  there,  since  you 
knew  me,  been  aught  in  my  bearing  towards  you  unjust  or 
insincere?" 

*'No,  my  boy]  no  siu  of  that  kind  can  be  laid  to  your  charge.  If 
somewhat  too  melancholy  for  the  ordinary  aifairs  of  life, — and  at 
times  abominably  short  and  crusty, — a  dissembler  your  worst  enemy 
cannot  call  you," 

*'  Has  my  advice  ever  proved  selfish  or  equivocal?  " 

'* Never:  save  and  except  when  you  exhorted  me  to  be  leas  de- 
monstrative in  my  attentions  to  the  gunsmith*s  pretty  daughter* 
You  turn  away  indignantly  I  Nay,  then,  111  be  serious.  Your 
counsel  has  always  proved  salutary;  and  for  it  1  readily  own  myself 
your  debtor." 

*'  Cancel  the  obligation  by  granting  me  one  request — abandon  this 
journey.  Feign  ilhiess  ;  plead  unwillingness  to  leave  home  ;  conjure 
up  some  pretext  for  remaining  where  you  are.  Risk  offending  Raf* 
forde,  rather  than  accompany  him.  Ooce  within  his  toils,  and  you 
are  lost  1 " 

"Pooh  I  nonsense!  I  shall  go:  and  a  merry  week  I  promise  my- 
self. RafTorde's  notions  of  honesty  and  principle  may  be  somewhat 
faint  and  shadowy  r  does  it  follow  that  /  am  to  adopt  them  ?  1  dety 
him  to  mislead  me/' 

Tillett  turned  sadly  away,  remarking  in  an  under-tone, — 

*' It  is  as  I  expected — another  victim! — another,  to  the  full,  as 
self-con  fid  en  tj  and  ere  long  to  be  as  debased  and  degraded  as 
myself  I  " 

**  As  if  one  would  be  muzzled  and  led/*  was  my  muttered  aside, 
"by  mysterious  inuendoes  of  that  lugubrious  description/' 

Strange!  the  temerity  with  which  in  early  life  we  avow  crude  and 
rash  conclusions,^the  tenacity  with  which  we  cling  to  them, — and 
the  chagrin  with  which,  slowly  and  reluctantly,  we  receive  the  les- 
sons of  that  stern  and  remorseless  teacher^Experience.  Who  is  it 
that  says,  well  and  wisely,  'Uhey  advise  better  who  impose  caution, 
than  they  who  would  stimulate  hope?  '* 

It  was  a  bright,  dusty,  piercing,  breezy  morning  in  i\Inrch  when 
Rafibrde  and  I  drove  into  Derby.  The  commission  had  been  opened 
on  the  previous  evening,  and  the  town  was  crowded.  It  was  a 
motley  assemblage.  There  were  to  be  seen — ^jostling  about  in  the 
throng  and  conspicuous  for  top-boots,  buckskins,  buff  waistcoats. 


TME    CORONERS   CLERK. 


and  blue  coats  with  bright  buttons — goodly  spedmens  of  the  county 
gemlemiiii,  summoned  on  tlie  grand  jury,  and  looking  alarmingly 
solemn  and  important, ^barristers,  keen,  expectant,  and  wiry-visaged, 
with  eyes  red  as  ferrets  from  want  of  sleep  and,  perhaps;,  a  somewhat 
letigihened  AetkrufU  at  the  bar  mess, — ^gaping  and  bewildered  country 
yokels,  subpoenaed  as  witnesses,  and  even  out  of  court  palpably  all 
abroad  and  thorougldy  mystified, — uneasy  clients,  hunting  up  iheir 
attornieSj  and  looking  marvellously  impatient^  obstinate^  and  vicious, 
— and  javelin-men  marvellously  ill  at  ease  in  their  new  attire,  and  all 
more  or  less  under  the  influence  of  their  early  potations- 

Rare  specimens  of  the  animal  that  walks  arm-in-arm — as  man  has 
been  quiiintly  defined— may  be  met  with  in  a  country  town  during 
the  assize  week.  One  case,  which  contributed  its  full  quota  of  wit- 
nesses, rendered  that  assize  memorable,  and  jrave  occasion  to  much 
delicious  gos^jsip,  was,  that  of  a  disputed  will,  in  which  the  fluent 
Vauf^han  (afterwards  judf^e)  was  counsel.  He  represented  the 
hdrs-at-law,  and  was  retained  to  upset  tlie  wilL  The  amount  at 
stake  waa  not  large  ;  some  eight  or  nine  thousand  pounds  at  the 
utmost,  But  undue  influence,  it  was  averred,  had  been  exerted. 
Three  nephews  to  whom  the  testator  was  known  to  have  been  par- 
tial, and  the  youngest  of  whom  was  his  Gotl-child,  were  gratified 
with  legacies  of  ten  pounds  each ;  a  favourite  farming  bailiff  waa 
rewarded  for  thirty  years  of  faithful  service  by  the  liberal  remem- 
brance of  five  guineas ;  while  a  vinegar- faced  and  most  tyrannical 
housekeeper,  was  ma«le  easy  for  life  by  a  specific  legacy  of  ^ve 
thousand  pounds,  and  was  named,  moreover,  residuary  legatee. 

These  last  were  termed  •*  frightful  items  in  a  single  gentleman's 
will,"  and  were  denounced  accordingly.  Some  odd  stories  too  were 
afloat,  as  to  the  mental  condition  in  which  the  sick  man  was  found 
when  his  will  was  read  over  to  him,  and  the  reluctance  with  which 
he  signed  it. 

In  fact,  the  will  was  said  to  be  any  body's  rather  than  that  of  the 
party  whose  property  it  disposed  of. 

The  main  witness  for  its  validity  was  that  of  an  old  crony  of  the 
deceased,  who  had  played  cribbage  with  him  every  night  for  the 
last  dozen  years,  and  from  whom  he  had  ha<l  no  concealments.  Thi» 
person  gave  the  history  of  the  will ;  how  **  it  first  came  to  be  thought 
of/*  anti  a  rough  copy  made  ;  how  this  was  altered  by  the  deceated 
Again  and  again,  till  '*  he  had  fashioned  it  to  his  own  liking;"  how 
it  was  copied  out  afresh,  and  hhewn  to  the  housekeeper,  who 
•* mightily  approved"  of  it;  how  it  was  finally  transcribed,  signed, 
and  sealed,  in  witness's  presence,  by  the  dying  man,  as  and  for  his 
last  will  and  testament; — all  this  was  stated  by  the  stalwart  yeoman 
with  admirably  feigned  aimpHeity.  He  was  a  handsome,  hale  look- 
ing, old  man ;  and  his  grave,  respectful,  and  decorous  demcanoag  j 
told  amazingly  with  the  judge,  and  not  a  little  with  the  jury.  ^1 

Vaughan  rose  to  cross-examine*  "■ 

The  gay,  smiling,  easy  manner  with  which  he  addressed  himself 
to  his  task  ;  the  passing  compliment  which  he  paid  the  witness  ,*  the 
adroitness  with  which  he  threw  him  off  his  guard  ;  the  subtlety 
with  which  he  shaped  question  after  question,  till  he  finally  nailed 
his  victim  to  some  most  perilous  admissions,  attested  the  clearness 
his  intellect,  and  his  thorough  insight  into  character.     The  fact* 

length  established  were  these :  that  he  (the  witness)  was  to  marry 


THE   CORONERS    CLERK. 


the  housekeeper  "  if  the  will  stood ;"  that  they  •*had  a  written  tm- 
derstafidim/  uprm  that  matter  ;"  that  she  (the  housekeeper)  liad  re- 
peatedly told  him — "  the  will  must  be  to  mtf  liking  as  well  as  to 
fiis  (her  master's),  'afore  /'//  aiiow  kim  to  sign  it ;"  and  that  **  words 
were  struck  out  and  figures  put  in  at  her  bidding  ! " 

All  these  points  were  developed  with  quiet  but  masterly  manage- 
ment. 
I  Rafforde,  who  sat  next  me,  w^hose  sympathies  were  generally  with 

the  designing  and  fraudulent,   and  to  whom   rascality  was  always 
palateable,   sighed  deeply   when    these   awkward   revelations  were 
unfolded, 
I  **  Ah  f  "  whispered  he,  "  these  admissions  are  damning, — damn- 

ing I  Vaughan  will  pitch  the  case  out  of  court.  Bah!  what  an 
oversight." 

And  he  was  rl^lit. 
I  In  a  speech  which  occupied  an  hour^  Mr.  Vaug-han  effectually 

demolished  the  evidence  in  favour  of  the  will.  The  testimony  of 
the  old  yeoman  J  so  much  relied  upon  by  the  opposite  party,  he  rid- 
dled with  shots  of  the  most  merciless  raillery,  antl  then  dissected 
with  scorn  the  base  and  mercenary  motives  with  which  it  was  given. 
And  yet  his  address  turned  upon  one  pivot.  There  was  but  one 
idea  in  the  whole  speech— that  the  disputed  will  was  made  under 
undue  influence  ;  was  the  honsekeeper's  will,  not  the  will  of  the  de- 
ceased. Bnt  that  idea  was  exhibited  under  such  rich  and  various 
clothing;  was  lighted  up  with  such  happy  illustrations ;  had  here 
the  decoration  of  some  apt  quotation,  and  there  the  ballast  of  some 
grave  and  weighty  apothegm  ;  here  gleamed  the  stroke  of  the  most 
polished  irony  ;  there  fell  the  home-thrust  of  the  most  manly  indig- 
nation ;  as  a  whole,  it  seemed  the  perfection  of  legal  oratory. 
To  Rafforde  the  impression  made  was  nauseous. 
"Let  us  go/'  said  he,  ere  Vaughan  concluded;  "I  foresee  the 
verdict,  and  I  've  a  baptismal  register  to  search  at  All  Saints* 
Church," 

With  a  flushed  visage  and  angry  eye  he  literally  fought  his  way 
out  of  court.  Nor  did  the  cool  air  calm  him.  He  growled,  and 
grumbled,  and  muttered  discordant  curses  every  inch  of  the  road; 
and  as  he  passed  the  threshold  of  the  sanctuary,  wound  up  his  dis- 
contents by  ejaculating,^ — 

*'  flang  those  fools  I  hang  'em  !  hang  'em  I  Faugh  !  to  mar  by 
foUy  Buch  a  glorious  chance  f 

The  day  was  closing.     Bark  clouds  were  gathering  in  the  west, 
and  a  thick,  gloomy  haze  filled  from  aisle  to  aisle  the  noble  church 
we  were  entering.     What  a  contrast  to  the  scene  we  had  quitted  ! 
TfterCf  all  spoke  of  earthly  passions,  of  man's  contests  with  his  fel- 
low— ^of  jealousy,  rivalry,  hate,  revenue  ;  Aer*?,  every  object  reminded 
him  of  impending  helplessness,  declitie,  decay,  oblivion  ;  Ihvrt^,  the 
pervading  watchwoTils  seemed  ** effort  and  struggle;"  here,  gentle 
Ij^^oices  seemed  to  murmur  **  repose  and  rest ;''  thtre,  everything  did 
^Bhomage  to  the  fleeting  present;  ftcrc^  every  obj^>ct  beckoned  to  the 
^■dim  and  distant  future;  tftere,  amid  the  hum  of  voices,  and  the  ex- 
^Hciting  conflict  of  intellect,  and  the  subtle  appeals  of  prejudice,  won- 
^Hdrous  deference  was  paid  to  the  rights  of  property,  ami  dexterous 
^"allusion  made  to  the  halo  of  fame  and  the  blazon  of  heraldry  ;  here, 
one  stern  and  unbending  moral  wn&  reiterated  over  the  mouldering 


6 


THE   CORONERS   CLERK. 


tombs  of  the  departed — "  Mortal  1    learn  that   earth's  distinctiont 

here  cease  for  ever  V 

A  slirunken,  bent,  white-haired  old  man — the  aged  guardian  of 
the  sanctuary^  soon  to  be  with  those  of  whom  he  spake^now  tottered 
feebly  up  to  us,  and  in  a  shrill,  reedy  voice  craved  owr  "notice  of 
what  most  deserved  a  traveller's  attention  in  All  Saints'  Church/* 

First,  he  pointed  to  the  monument  of  the  celebrated  Bess  Hard- 
wicke,  Counters  of  Shrewsbury,  completed  before  her  death.  She 
was  plagued  with  four  husband^^  and  yet  reached  the  age  of  eighty- 
seven;  then  to  a  tablet  commemorative  of  a  Rev.  Dr,  Henderson, 
an  unwearied  beggar  in  a  good  cause,  who  solicited  and  obtained 
contributions  from  strangers,  travellers,  friends,  forei^ers,  anybody 
and  everybody,  towards  rebuilding  his  church  (All  Saints'),  and 
who  found  such  favour  in  his  irksome  but  self-imposed  calling,  that 
by  his  own  individual  eflbrts  he  raised  the  sum  of  three  thousand 
pounds.  Next  the  old  man  rested  beside  a  monument  raised  to 
some  persons,  a  family,  who  fled  from  London  to  avoid  the  plague, 
and  died  of  it  at  Derby !  '*  Wondrous,"  as  the  great  magician 
writes,*  *'  that  our  will  should  ever  oppose  itself  to  the  strong  and 
uncontrolhible  tide  of  destiny — that  w^e  should  strive  with 
stream  when  we  might  drift  with  the  current  T' 

On  these  perishing  mementoes  of  the  past  the  old  man  glibly  dea^ 
canted  in  his  thin,  shrill,  wiry  tones,  but  to  dull  and  sluggish  ears. 
RafTorde  would  not  soothe  him  with  even  feigned  attention.     He 
wandered  listlessly  from  aisle  to  aisld  till,  pausing  abruptly  in  the 
chancel,  he  exchiimed, — 

**  Here  slumbers  a  beautiful,  gifted ^  and  much  calumniated 
woman  !  and  no  tablet,  no  monumental  slab,  however  humble,  marks 
her  place  of  rest, — she  who  was  once  so  caressed  and  worshipped  T* 

"  To  whom  do  you  refer  ?" 

"  To  one  whom  neither  high  birth,  nor  unrivalled  beautyj  nor  a 
most  generous  and  confiding  spirit,  could  screen  from  savage  and 
unrelenting  calumny  t  what  unsuspected  facts  could  I,  from  my 
own  personal  knowledge,  disclose  relative  to  this  ill-fated  woman!" 

•*  You  have  yet  to  name  her/' 

'*  Georgina>  the  celebrated  Duchess  of  Devonshire." 

"  Right  r*  cried  the  aged  cicerone,  who  had  by  this*  time  crawled 
up  to  us,  and  who  now  chimed  in  the  conversation  with  his  thin, 
shrill  voice — **  she  lies  in  the  family  vault  along  with  her  great  fore- 
elders.  There  were  many  grand  folks  at  her  funeral — many — 
many — I  mind  it  well  f 

*'  Nor  can  I  easily  forget  it/*  observed  Rafforde,  *'  for  I  was  pre- 
sent. It  makes  me,*'  continued  he,  *'  an  old  man  to  remember 
events  so  long  passed.  I  was  detained  by  business  at  the  inn  at  Red- 
burne,  where  the  funeral  cortege  made  its  first  pause,  and  where 
the  conductors  held  /heir  first  citrouse.  No  room  for  surprise  ! 
The  funerals  of  the  great  are  rarely  mournful  affairs  ;  all  disphiy  of 
feeling  is  scnipuloualy  shunned.  But  onward.  I  saw  the  pro- 
cession enter  Northampton,  a  drenched  and  wretched-looking  com- 
pany, with  a  creaking  and  battered  hearse,  plumes  all  soiled  and 
travel- stained,  attendants  unshaven  and  shabbily  clothed,  and  horsei 
fit  for  the  knacker's  yard.  It  was  a  sorry  cavalcade,  ill-suited  to 
the  last  obsequies  of  one  ho  courted,  so  popular^  and  so  fair.     And 

•  Sir  \r»Uer  Scott,  **  The  AbLut/'  voL  iii.  p.  207. 


THE   CORONERS   CLERK. 


I  was  present  in  this  church  when  they  buried  her.  It  wai  mla- 
managed  to  the  last ;  all  was  hurrj  and  confusion.  What  mattered 
it?  The  grave  never  sheltered  a  more  truly  broken-hearted 
woraan/' 

'*  Wonderful !'*  struck  in  the  old  sexton j  amaeedly;  "broken- 
hearted I  and  to  have  so  many  friends  to  follow  her  to  the  grave — so 
many  I  for  I  well  remember  it  was  a  l^rge  funeral/' 

*'  Her  enemies  outnumbered  them,"  observed  Raffbrde  ;  "  nor  did 
they  cease  to  vilify  her  even  in  the  grave.     One  charge,  most  pertf- 
fiaciously  persevered  in,  I  know  to  be  false ;  that  tounded  on  the 
diamond  ear-rings  held    by    IVIeyer,   the   Jew  bullion-broker,   and 
which,  it  was  asserted,  had  been  lost  at  play^    Nothing  more  un- 
true I    The  whole  matter  was  adjusted  by  the  firm  to  which  I  served 
my  clerkship.     There  was  a  party  named  Aleason — he  *s  dead  and 
gone,  so  there  can  be  no  delicacy  about  names — who  held  a  situa- 
tion of  trust  in  a  mercanlile  house,     Meason  was  the  son  of  a  favou- 
rite servant  of  the  duchess — a  nurse,  I  think — and  whom  her  former 
mistress  much  i^alued  for  faithful  services.      The  son   was  a  silly 
young  man,  inconsiderate  and  extravagant — ^got  into  difficulties,  and 
forged  the  signature  of  his  employers.     He  was  detected,  and  his 
ruin   seemed   inevitable.     In    her  sorrow  the  delinquent's  mother 
sought  the  duchess,  and  implored  her  aid.     With  many  tears  she 
assured  her  former  benefactress  that  the  firm  woiild  forego  all  pro- 
ceedings against  the  criminal  if  the  amount  of  his  forgeries  (seventy 
pounds)   was  forthcoming,  and  a  solemn    promise   given  that    he 
would  quit  the  country.     'Would  the  duchess,  to  save  her  child's 
life/  the  suppliant  proceeded,  'lend  her  this  sum?*     Strange  as  it 
may  sound,  the  duchess  was  penny  leas.     She  could  no  more  com- 
mand the  required  seventy  pounds  than  she  could  seven  thousand. 
She  avowed  this  with  many  regrets.     The  agonized  mother  then 
said,  *  The  duchess  was  her  la^t  hope  ;  ikai   failing,  her  son  must 
perish  on  the  scaffold/     Yielding  to  the  impulse  of  the  moment, 
the   duchess   rose,    took    from  her  jewel-case  a   pair   of  diamond 
ear-rings,  placed  them  in  Mrs.  Hyett's  hands,  and  told  her  to  leave 
them  with   Meyer,    in    Hatton    Garden,    who    would    advance  the 
necessary  sum.     Her  (the  duchess's)  name  was,  under  any  circum- 
stances, to  be  withheld.     The  culprit's  life  was  saved  ;  but  the  story 
got  wind,  and,  amid  innumerable  other  calumnies  uttered  relative 
to  this  lovely  and  envied  woman,  was  this,  that  her  diamond  ear- 
rings had  been  sold  to  Meyer,  the  Jew,  to  pay  her  play  debts.    Nor 
had  any  member  of  Hyett's  family  the  candour  (at  least,  that  I  ever 
heard)  to  come  forward  and  state  the  simple  truth.    But/'  continued 
he,  musingly,  as  he  turned  away  towards  the  vestry,  "this  is  not 
an  isolated  case.    The  noblesse  are  not  cruel  or  hard-  hearted.    They 
are  not,  in  the  main,  selfish  or  sordid.     Far  from  it.     They  are  the 
poor  man's  truest  and  most  generous  friends.*' 

**  This  from  you,  sir,'*  said  I,  **  is  cheering ;  because  I  have  seen 
books  on  your  table  in  which  passages  like  these  were  to  be  found 
*  the  higher  classes  are  forgetful  of  their  Christian  obligations  ;  they 
treat  the  poor  bke  cattle:  as  for  the  nobility  they  are  notoriously 
d^d  to  all  feelings  of  compassion :  insolent  in  demeanour,  and  volup- 
tuaries in  practice  ;  they  are  cold  and  callous  to  the  voice  of  humanity, 
and  exercise  over  the  poor  man  a  system  of  heartless  cruelty  calcu- 
tated  to  draw  down  upon  them  the  just  vengeance  of  heaven  ! '  ** 


THE   CORONERS  CLERK. 


''Good  metal,  too!"  cried  RafTordei  sniiliugly,  and  rubbing  hill 

hands.  *'  Nothing  tells  so  well  at  an  election  with  a  mob,  or  on  aoj 
occasion  where  popuhir  leeling  is  to  be  roused  as  a  fierce  attack  on 
the  aristocracy — nothing  more  grateful  to  the  masses  than  abuse  of 
their  superiors.     It  will   find   willing^  hearers  to  the  end  of  time. 

*  Down  with  the  Peerage ! '  A  glorioua  cry  1  I  would  use  it  to* 
morrow  to  suit  my  purpose."  . 

"  Well !  "  cried  the  old  guide,  with  a  face  of  horror,  **  if  ihia  b#" 
not  '  to  blow  hot  and  cold  with  the  same  breath,'  if  this  be  not  to  put 

*  bitter  for  sweet  and  sweet  for  bitter/  I  've  heard  to  no  purpose 
godly  and  painful  preachera  in  this  church,  man  and  boy,  for  a  mat- 
ter of  fourscore  years.  Theresa  no  denying  it — 'tis  the  end  of  the 
world  j  *' 

CHAPTER    II. 

HOW     TO     TAMPER      ^VITH     A     R£OISTBR* 

<*  My  perplexities  and  arinoyiiTj*:*'^  have  not  iM&en  few.  At  one  period  tlie 
fras  drHihuTiLil.  But  the  Hpetrtntile  un  the  whutut  was  cheering,  ib«t  of  a 
fmiedy — Lord  8i  oaro  u  t  h. 

In  that  vestry  to  which  Rnfforde  now  stole  with  a  light  gingerly 
step  sat  a  pale^  shy,  awkward-looking  young  man,  who,  w^e  were 
told,  was  the  curate  pro  i  em  pore.  His  attendant  satellite,  the  clerk, 
stood  behind  him,  holding  in  hit*  brawny  fist  a  large  key,  which  from 
time  to  time  he  brandished  impatiently,  either  by  way  of  signal  to 
us  to  mend  our  pace,  or  as  an  assurance  that  he  had  the  means  of 
satisfying  our  curiosity.  On  him  Hafforde  bestowed  no  attention. 
lie  was  intently  scanning  the  curate;  and  the  while  there  gleamed 
in  his  grey  sleepy  eye  that  expression  of  malignant  cunning,  which  1 
had  more  than  once  remarked  in  it  when  he  was  meditating  some 
act  of  villany. 

''  You  wish,  I  understand,  to  search  our  registers/'  said  the  pilUd- 
faced  curate ;  he  had  the  voice  ofagirl,  and  looked  faint  and  f* 
hausted  :  **  during  what  year  ?*' 

**  I  am  iniable  to  say,"  was  RafTorde's  cautious  reply  ;  **  my  search 
may  extend  over  a  lengthened  period.  1  require  the  register  of  the 
birth  and  death  of  a  partj^  named  Johanna  Maygarth." 

**  With  what  year  willjou  commence?"  said  the  clergyman,  with 
a  culm  business-like  air,  "and  with  what  register — that  of  baptismi 
or  burials  ?" 

"  What  year? — oh,  with  that  of  17^0;  and  the  register — let  roe 
see — yes,  that  of  burials."  The  volume  was  searched  out,  dustedj 
and  handed  down  to  him  in  silence. 

The  man  of  law  pored  over  it  with  seeming  earnestness ;  I  could 
■ee  by  the  (lashing  of  the  eye  and  the  restless  twitching  of  the  mus* 
clea  about  the  mouth  that  he  was  cogitating  some  cmtp  d'Hat,  and 
annoyed  at  some  existing  impediment  which  opposed  its  execution* 
Ten,  twenty,  forty  minutes  elapsed,  w^hcn  the  clergyman  satd  kindly 
to  the  clerk,  who  had  been  labouring  for  the  last  half  hour  under  a 
paroj^ysm  of  the  fidgets,  dusting  books,  arranging  papers,  smoothing 
the  surplice,  and  beating  the  devil's  tattoo,  first  with  one  foot  and 
then  with  the  other,  in  a  fever  of  anxiety  to  be  off,  "  Morris,  you 
need  not  remain  here  ;  I  will 'see  to  this  matter  niyself— the  preiiCDCC 
of  one  party  will  suffice.*' 

*'  But  the  key,  sir,  the  key  !"  said  the  weary  functionary,  brands 
isliing  the  emblem  of  his  office  with  ofliciauB  importance ;  "  them 


^ 


THE  CORONER  S  CLERK* 


registers  be  precious ;  they  contains  the  pedigrees  of  half  the  folks 
in  Derbv." 

'*  I  will  lock  up  the  iron  chest/'  responded  the  curate  quietly, 
''and  see  that  everything  is  restored  to  it  which  ought  to  be  In  its 
custody." 

Amen  required  no  further  pressing  ;  he  *'inade  a  leg/*  and  was  off 
in  a  trice ;  but,  on  his  departure,  his  fidgets  and  restlessness  seemed 
transferred  to  Rafforde,  That  worthy  searched  on,  but  suddenly  be- 
came strangely  addicted  to  locomotion.  *'  The  draught  from  the  win- 
dow was  cutting/'  and  he  moved  a  little  to  the  right ;  '*  the  stone  on 
which  his  feet  were  resting  was  cold  and  damp/'  and  he  retreated  a 
h'ttle  to  the  left ;  soon  afterwards  "  the  odour  from  falling  soot  on  an 
expiring  fire  annoyed  him,"  and  he  removed  stool  and  table  to  a  dark 
recess  some  few  paces  forward ;  ere  long,  ^'  he  found  the  light  defi- 
cient/' and  retreated  some  half-dozen  feet  backward.  One  fact 
amidst  all  this  restlessness  was  observablej  that,  shift  his  position  as 
Kaflbrde  would,  and  place  the  register  and  table  in  what  light  he 
mightj  the  curate  quietly  but  speedily  so  arranged  his  own  arm- 
chair as  thoroughly  to  command  the  attorney's  every  movement. 
Whether  this  arose  from  accident,  from  habitual  vigilance,  or  from 
suspicion  of  his  visitor's  intentions,  must  remain  matter  for  conjec- 
ture. 

Suddenly,  my  principal's  face  lighted  up  with  a  aelf-aatisfied  leer, 
the  nearest  approach  to  a  smile  that  ever  brightened  his  designing 
visage;  and  I  felt  persuaded  that  his  scrutiny  had  been  rewarded  by 
some  entry  in  the  register  which  was  favourable  to  him,  or  which  he 
fancied  he  could  turn  to  account  He  drew  from  his  pocket-book  a 
pencil,  and  then,  slowly  and  stealthily  from  his  w^ristband,  a  dimi- 
nutive double-bladed  penknife — the  miracles  which  I  have  seen  that 
little  implement,  aided  with  a  dash  of  pounce,  effect  in  certain  ill- 
drawn  and  obnoxious  documents  I — wrote  the  following  words  on  a 
scrap  of  paper,  and,  folding  it  up  closely,  tossed  it  over  to  me  for 
perusab^ — 

**  Engage  your  neighbour  in  conversation ;  take  any  subject,  no 
matter  what — the  approaching  death  of  the  bishop — the  expected 
vacancy  in  this  very  living:  talk  to  him,  and  mute  Mm  lalk  iotfou." 

I  began,  and  did  my  best,  but  in  vain  ;  the  curate,  for  the  'most 
part,  replied  in  monosyllables.  The  colour  deepened  in  his  cheek, 
and  his  eye  looked  still  more  anxious  and  haggard  when  1  ventured,  on 
m^  prificipats  atti/torih/,  to  speak  of  his  rector's  death  as  being  hourly 
expected.  He  *'  had  not  heard,*'  he  said,  **  of  his  incumbent's  being 
ill ;  his  loss  would  be  felt  in  the  parish."  As  to  the  '*  demise  of  the 
diocesan,  the  death  of  a  bishop,"  he  quietly  reraarkedj  "  was  not  a 
matter  which  much  affected  llw  inferior  ckrgtf," 

But,  while  he  spoke,  his  gaze  was  riveted  on  Mr.  Rafforde ;  he 
never  withdrew  it  for  an  instant,  and  my  employer,  as  I  could  see 
by  his  rising  colour  and  angry  scowl,  was  annoyed  and  controlled 
by  it*  Twiliirht  »tole  on  ;  but,  before  it  had  rendered  surrounding 
objects  indistinct,  the  churchman  rose,  and  said  deliberately,  **  I  am 
sorry  to  interrupt  you,  but,  for  to-day,  your  search  is  closed/' 

''^  Why  so  ?"  inquired  the  other;  "  we  have  some  twenty  minutes* 
twilight  before  us  yet,  and  my  sight  is  always  strongest  at  this  hour." 

*'  An  unusual  advantage  ;  and^  that  you  may  not  presume  upon  it 
unduly/* — the  clergyman's  tone  increased  in  firmness — ^'  permit  me 
now  to  close  the  books/* 


THK  COWOSWMS  CLERK. 


■"^J 


llie  Iawj9,  inkpeiuoual J ;  ''nothiog  like 

lii  joong  companion  ;  *'  but  it  is 

eff«  M  Mf  *  sltMimiffg/  " 

ined,*  cried  the  attorney  fiercely 


0,i 


Mt  «rip  libee;  sen 
liMi  tht  irBcat.  Man  ■ 
f  ibeCL   Never,  aercr  * 

•-Mr*" 


le:  no  r^lj  Cioald  well  be  briefer. 

\  mUk  wkidl  k  was  uttered  startle 
mt  fisible  even  in  the 
111  fffiir— **  tntcirtioDs  were  present 
IgilaMI  >CBtmei  in  the  soul ! — thou 
$o€  TAX  Grsat  Etsrkal  !  —  thy 
hL    Of  thiiie  empire  the  most  flagi. 

doift  llMNi  whoUy  de^rt  even  &e 

my  ht  can  ttlcnee  thee,  defy  thee, 
wUkomi  God  U  a  tribunai 


CBAPTXB    in. 


FflTSMTT     AND    PStKCIPLS* 


*▼•! 


ifvi  in  tlw  cunc  particuW 
«id  to  a  malicioua  ntaa 


WttDi  R«ibede  had  recoTered  a  Utile  froin  the  rebufi'  which  the 
curate*^  worda  and  laMitr  CMveyed»  mad  taw  the  latter  calmly  re- 
phdng  the  legioets  wlti^  mm  nsty  de|>anto(ry»  his  native 
amimtitr  retained,  and,  aaaiaiiiing  the  bullT.  he  excUitned  sharply 
and  imely— 

''You  are  ialktii^  en  ne,  sir,  creel  hardship;  hardship  which 
yoiir  tMDpormTy  poateaiop  of  power  eoables  yoa  to  perpetrate,  but 
whieh  your  better  jiwlppem  nasi  cwwidemw,*' 

''Hamph!"  was  the  nerpleiiiig  reply. 

'*  Happdjr  eoRtiiiued  Raffbrde,  **  you  are  amenable  to  the  higher 
powers,  and  rely  upoo  it  that  your  cooduci  shall  be  represent^  to 
the  hishop." 

'« Boom,"  went  the  last  massy  r^^giatcr  into  the  far  depths  of  the 
iron  chest :  *'  click — click,"  was  the  merrj-  response  of  the  lock. 

«*  Do  a5  you  would  be  done  by/'  resumed  Ra0brde,  bent  on 
bullying  the  clergyman,  and  striding  up  to  him  with  an  insolent 
and  menacing  gesture, ''  is  a  precept  often  on  your  lips*  Profes- 
sional duty  compels  you  to  utter  it.  Why  should  not  kindness  of 
heart,  which  ^om  are  bound  specially  to  cherish,  induce  you  to  prac- 
lise  it  ?  " 

"  A  weighty  question,  but  which  might  have  been  more  oppor- 
tanely  put,"  said  the  other  calmly. 

**  You  have  injured  me,"  bellowed  RaForde,  "  grossly  and  griev* 
ously  ;  and  not  myself  only,  but  those  wronged  and  helpless  ones, 
the  widow  and  the  orphan,  for  whom  I  seek  redress.  A  selfish  and 
^cruel  spirit^  priest,  most  assuredly  is  your's." 

"'In  toe  main,  your  conclusion  may  not  be  wholly  erroneous,** 
I  the  churchman,  pleasantly ;  "  but  how  I  can  have  eithibited  it 
I  preaent  instance,  puzzles  me." 


THE   CORONEE  S  CLERK, 


11 


"  Then  listen.      My  principal  object  in  coining  to  Derby  waa  to 

search  those  registers  in  behalf  of  some  oppressed  parties  who  have 
been  strippeil  of  their  property,  and  are  now  seeking  its  restoration. 
Certain  entries  in  those  books  will  at  once  establish  or  negative 
their  claim.  I  believe  those  entries  to  be  there  existent ;  and  it  was 
material  to  me  that  my  search  should  be  minute,  patient,  prolonged, 
and  thorough.     You  interrupted  this." 

*'Only  when  day  departed  :  for  to-morrow  name  your  own  hour, 
and  your  appointment  shall  be  abided  by,  I  say  to-morrow,  for 
to  any  investigation  of  registers  by  candle-light  1  object  on  prin- 
ciple/' 

**  To-morrow  I  shall  be  in  court,"  was  the  attorney's  sullen  reply. 

**  Search  early,  before  the  court  sits,"  suggested  the  churchman, 
in  a  good  humoured  tone  ;  *'  say  seven,  or  even  six,  if  time  be  an  ob- 
ject to  you/' 

'*  Before  the  sitting  of  the  court,"  said  the  man  of  law,  pettishly, 
"  X  am  compelled  to  be  in  consultation  with  counsel/' 

** The  day  following?" 

'f  Will  see  me,  I  trust,  far  on  my  homeward  journey/' 

The  curate  bowed.  He  had  satisfied  his  own  mind  by  urging 
every  suggestion  which  had  occurred  to  him  as  feasible.  Jfiach  was 
over-ruled,  and  he  leisurely  withdrew.  But  not  unobserved. 
Every  movement  was  watched  by  his  tempter.  With  rapid  and 
matthews4ike  alteration  of  tone  and  manner,  he  ran  after  the  re- 
treating clergyman,  and  exclaimed, — 

"  Forgive  me,  sir,  one  word  more/* 

He  paused, — the  curate's  shabby  coat  and  napless  hat  had  not 
escaped  him^ — and  then  proceeded  in  a  more  deferential  tone. 

''  It  is  of  great  and  pressing  moment  to  me  to  conclude  my  search 
to-night.  Would  you  object  to  trust  these  registers  with  me  for  an 
hour  at  my  inn  ?  *' 

"  A  likely  matter  truly  ]  "  was  the  response, 

**  My  card/'  and  Raffbrde  handed  one,  '*  will  put  you  in  posses- 
sion of  my  name  and  address,  1  am  well  known  in  my  immediate 
neighbourhood," 

'*  I  never  permit  those  records  to  pass  out  of  my  custody,"  was 
the  reply  ;  "  they  are  confided  to  my  care,  and  I  know  the  value  of 
the  trust" 

"Undoubtedly — ^undoubtedly;  as  a  general  rule  admirable;  but 
al!  rules  are  occasionally  relaxed/'  and  the  lawyer  called  up  a 
hideous  smile,  ''Every  care  shall  be  taken;  not  a  leaf  shall  be 
soiled  or  creased  ;  and — and — and — I  am  generously  dii^posed,  sir, 
always  in  matters  of  business,  and  invariably  towards  the  clergy/'— 
here  another  hateful  grin  was  forced  up,  accompanied  by  a  singu- 
larly servile  bow  ;  *^  will  you  look  at  this  paper,  by  and  by,  at  your 
convenience?  " 

He  held  out,  discreetly  folded,  a  bank-note. 

The  churchman  partially  unrolled  it,  and  then  becoming  aware  of 
its  nature,  returned  it  hastily,  with  the  query,  "  What  do  you  see  in 
me  so  unlike  an  honest  man  that  you  could  suppose  a  bribe  would 
be  irresistible?  " 

"Thou  full-fledged  and  incomprehensible  fool!"  muttered  Raf- 
forde  as,  palpably  foiled,  he  strode  away,  *' and  poor  wit/ml/*  he 
added  bitterly. 

Wondrous  the  importance  with  which  the  sordid  and  the  selfish 


12 


THE    CORONER  S   CLERK. 


invest  weaUh,  and  the  loathin|f  and  horror  with  which  they 
poverty  J  Their  book  of  synonyms  is  a  strange  one — means  another 
name  for  excellence ;  and  penury  identical  with  infamy.  The 
curate's  vigilance,  pertinacity,  adherence  to  times  and  seasons,  these 
mi^ht  be  forgiven  him*  His  damning  sin,  his  inexpiable  transgres- 
sion lay  in  the  fact  that  beyond  all  coritradiction  he  was  poor. 

For  my  own  part,  the  more  I  reflected  on  the  passing  dialogue  the 
more  puzzled  did  I  become.  The  name  of  Johanna  May  garth  was 
new  to  me.  \^'ith  no  document  in  our  office  could  I  trace  its  con- 
nection. No  previous  reference  had,  in  my  hearing,  been  ever  made 
to  it.  And  as  to  the  flourish  about  **  those  wronged  ones  the  widow 
and  the  orphan/*  that  I  well  knew  to  be  bitm.  My  virtuous  princi- 
pttVs  creed  was  no  secreU  **  Widows  and  orphans,'*  ran  his  legal 
canon,  "  were  glorious  subjects  for  verbiage,  provided  they  had 
wherewithal  to  fee  their  lawyer.  But  a  poor  widow,  pshaw  I  He 
"  would  not  faveher  from  a  funeral  pyre,  unless  he  was  sure  of  his 
six  and  eight  pence  for  taking  instructions  ;"  and  '*  thirteen  and  four- 
pence  for  effecting  a  caption.  What  business,  in  the  devil's  name, 
had  the  poor  with  law  ?  **  wound  up  the  good  creature  by  way  of 
inquiry. 

On  a  sudden  it  flashed  across  me  that  there  was  in  the  oflice  a  case 
of  disputed  inheritance — ^a  title  which  could  only  be  bolstered  up  by 
the  most  dexterous  roguery  ;  and  which  had  been  brought  to  Raf- 
forde  for  his  especial  nursing.  Gradually  a  conversation  recurred 
to  me  bearing  on  the  dispu led  existence  of  some  shadowy  individual 
and  linked  with  certain  certificates  which  the  wily  Rafforde  wished 
to  suppress  ;  **  and  very  properly/*  said  Tillett,  *'  for,  if  forthcoming, 
they  would  prove  vastly  inconvenient"  Were  these  extant  in  All 
Saints'  register  ^  And  had  it  been  Rafforde's  mission  and  intention 
to  destroy  them  ?  For  the  life  of  me  1  could  come  to  no  other  con- 
clusion. To  this  hour  I  feel  persuaded  that  there  is  a  leaf  in  the 
burial  register  of  All  Saints*  parish  for  some  year  immediately  pre* 
ceding  or  closely  following  I777i  which  hangs  by  a  verif  slight  vitc" 
gumcut,  and  which  has  evidently  been  subjected  to  the  unscrupulous 
operations  of  some  daring  spoliator. 

My  companion's  undisguised  annoyance  and  irritability  confirmed 
this  surmise.  He  checked  his  steps  and  muttered  audibly  to  him- 
self— his  wont  when  foiled  or  contradicted.  Hissingly  between  bis 
ebon  teeth  came  the  words — 

"Yes!  it's  there!  yes— there — by  all  that's  holyl  cursed  Inckl 
ten  minutes*  more  twilight  would  have  sufficed.  Well !  well  J  know 
where  it  exists!  can  lay  my  finger  on  it  at  any  hour!  must  be 
had  1  must  be  had — at  any  risk^ — at  any  penalty,  by  ^-" 

And  a  ready  imprecation  fell  from  his  polluted  lips. 

For  two  mortal  hours  did  his  chafed  spirit  fret,  and  furae»  and  vent 
itself  in  brief  and  passionate  ejacuUlioin.  On  a  sudden  he  rallied^ 
threw  off'  much  of  his  chagrin,  gave  profuse  orders  for  supper,  and 
shewed  a  disposition  to  be  jovial  and  communicative,  At^er  repeated 
rounds  of  the  bottle,  and  just  as  we  were  on  the  point  of  separating 
for  the  night,  he  said,  in  a  frank,  easy  tone  of  admirably-assumed  in- 
difference»  *'  By  the  way,  Haslam,  the  case  of  Hushford's  executors 
V9rtu9  Smithers  comes  on  to*morrow  ;  1  shall  have  to  put  you  in  the 
witness-box — a  mere  form,  nothing  more.  You  don't  want  me  to  tell 
ou,  I  dare  say,  what  you  *11  have  to  prove  when  you  get  there?" 

[  was  silent  and  aghast ;  for  a  recollection  of  Tillett's  warnings. 


THE   CORONERS   CLERK. 


13 


and  a  growing  suspicion  as  to  the  motive  of  RaflTorcle's  sutklen  cor- 
diality and  profuse  hospitality,  beset  me. 

"  You  catch  my  meaning  ?  "  pursued  the  tempter. 

"Indifferently/'  was  the  faint  reply. 

*'  Indeed !  nothing  more  siniple  :  it 's  an  affair  of  some  half  dozen 
sentences.     You  11  not  be  in  the  box  five  minoles.*' 

**  Why  at  all  ?  "  said  I,  with  unfeigned  simplicity. 

"  Because  it 's  necessary  you  should  prove  a  fact  which  you  can- 
not do  other  than  renQember,"  continued  my  virtuous  principal  in 
bis  blandest  tones. 

*'  What  lact  ?  " 

"This:  that,  on  Lammas-day  last,  in  your  presence,  I  banded 
over  to  the  deceased  man,  Hushlbrcl,  the  money  w^hich  his  executors 
now  seek  to  recover,  and  that  he  then  and  there  accepted  it." 

"  I  recollect  nothing  of  the  kind.'* 

"  Oh,  yea*  you  do,  or,  rather,  will  do,  after  a  few  moments'  reflec- 
tion," resumed  Rafforde,  with  a  sickening  assumption  of  perfect 
candour  and  good  faith ;  **  I  can  easily  refresh  your  memory — listen. 
Hush  ford  came  to  my  office  by  appointment ;  and,  after  some  aller- 
catian  relative  to  this  matter,  I  tendered  him,  on  Smithers's  behalf, 
the  sum  he  claimed*  He  took  the  money,  recalled  the  offensive  ex- 
pressions he  had  used,  and  left  me-  Now  you  recollect  all  about  it, 
eh  J*     You  must  do  so :  you  were  in  the  office  at  the  time." 

I  shook  my  head  in  dissent, 

**  Pshaw  !  this  is  trifling  ;  you  can»oi  have  for^^otten  the  transac- 
tion. The  amount  claimed  was  sixty-five  pounds,  and  I  paid  it  in 
Bank  of  England  notes;  tens  and  Bves;  you  'U  say  as  much  in  the 
box  to-morrow  ?  " 

"  I  cannot." 

"Cannot!  when  you  witnessed  the  wi^ole  affair.!*"  and,  as  he 
spoke,  the  lawyer's  eye  began  to  light  up  with  its  customary  malig- 
nant expression. 

"  You  must  labour  under  a  mistake,  sir,  as  to  the  party.  Tillelt, 
probably,  was  present ;  I,  most  unquestionably,  was  not.'* 

'*  Tillett,  on  that  day/'  remarked  Raflbrde  with  asperity — his  as- 
Bumed  amenity  of  manner  had,  by  this  time,  wholly  disappeared — 
•*  w^as,  as  you  must  know  perfectly  well,  full  forty  miles  from  home, 
at  Tissington,  on  business  relating  to  the  Fitzherbert  property.  Had 
ME  been  at  the  office^  I  should  have  been  sure  of  a  verdict," 

"Would  to  heaven  he  had  !  "  s.^id  f,  humbly. 

*'  He  knows  his  duty,"  retorted  Raffbrde,  angrily ;  *'  would  have 
stood  firm  to  his  employer's  interests,  and  not  have  deserted  him  at 
a  pinch.     Till  tit  has  principle — princlplej'* 

*'  Mine  will  not  permit  me  to  forsw^ear  myself.'* 

I  said  this  calmly  ;  but  it  rendered  my  employer  furious. 

**  Ugh  !*'  exclaimed  he^  with  a  face  expressive  of  unmitigated  dis- 
gust,— ''  ugh  !  and  so  you  persist  in  saying,  do  you,  that  you  have 
[  no  remembrance  of  these  important  circumstances — of  Husbford'a 
rvisit  to  my  office,  and  of  my  paying  him  in  your  presence?" 

**  None  whatever." 

*'  And  you  refuse  to  go  into  the  witness-box  upon  vn/  perfect 
Iremembratice  of  these  facts,  and  of  my  assurances — my  repeated 
[and  solemn  assurances— that  such  was  the  case;  and  that  you  may 
F safely  swear  it?" 


GOOD   NIGHT* 

'*  That  would  not  change  my  view  of  the  transaction;  it  we 
still  be,  in  my  judgraent,  perjory," 

"Indeed!  and  you  coolly  tell  me  thi«;  after  my  relying  upon 
you  so  fuily;  releasing  you  from  toil;  bringing  you  all  this  dii- 
tance  ;  lionizing,  and  feasting  you  ?"  ^ 

''  And  for  this  came  I  hither?"  cried  I,  indignant  in  my  turn, 
Tillett's  cautions  and  prophecy  forcibly  recurring  to  me* 

"  For  what  other  abject  under  heaven  ?"  was  my  companion's  in* 
quiry,  "  Do  you  imagine  that  I  gave  you  a  seat  in  my  gig  merely 
to  look  at  you — to  be  amused  by  your  charming  conversation,  or 
soothed  by  the  task  of  replying  to  your  sensible  questions?  The 
veriest  greenhorn  in  Derbyshire  would  scout  such  an  absurdity. 
But  come  ;  think  better  of  this.  Go  into  the  box ;  I  depend  on  you. 
Your  evidence  is  essential.  Oblige  me  ;  you  shall  have  no  cause  to 
repent  it," 

*'  But  I  should — hereafter,  as  well  as  here,"  was  my  reply.  . 

"  Oh  I   those  are  your  notions,  are  they — a  puritan — eh  ?"  ' 

**  The  fir&t  I  have  ever  had/*  said  he,  deliberately  lighting  his 
candle,  and  preparing  to  retire — "the  very  first  I  Well,  well!  can 
a  saint  be  circumvented  ?     We  shall  see." 

He  grinned  maliciously,  and  \e£t  me. 


GOOD  NIGHT  I 

raOM    Ttl£    GERMAN    OF    FAtTEB.. 

Dauk  h  the  Nif^hc  I 
Yet  ttan  are  glimmering  through  the  cope  of  heaven  ; 

The  air  sight  softly  tii rough  the  vrhispering  trees  i 
And  Iimocence,  unstained  hy  eril  leaven, 

All  hright  within— the  outward  gloom  can  please; 
With  the  awcet  influence  of  the  calm  hour  Mled, 

lu  iu  clear  bosom  carrying  its  own  beaveti ! 
Tu  idl  who  have  tbeir  day^n  work  weU  fulfilled — 
To  them— Good  Night  t 

Still  IB  the  Night ! 
All  Day*»  loud  noines  wjine  ! 

Weary  and  tearful  eyelidii  own  the  ralm  ; 
And  ileep  is  lulling  in  her  iofc  domain 

The  throhblng  heart*  with  hcaven'«  oxnm  soothing  belm. 
To  yo«  for  whom  her  shades  dc&cend  in  mn. 

Whom  cane  keeps  watching— Peace  your  cares  disarm  ! 
Soollied  be  the  couch  of  sorrow  and  of  pain  ! 

To  such— Good  Night ! 
Rich  is  the  Night ! 
Can  man  hope,  here,  for  more 

M^hen  the  dark  night  of  trouble  veiis  him  round. 
Than  in  bright  dreams  to  see  heaven  ope  its  store. 

And  each  warm  wish,  at  least  hy  Fancy  crowned  ? 
To  you  for  whom  Hope  smiles  hy  day  no  more 
May  bcr  soft  whispers  in  your  sleep  be  found  ! 
To  you — Good  Night  I 

Faith  spring!  by  Night ! 
When  all  the  fond  heart  liailed 

Hafie  long  beneath  the  lonely  hillock  slept^ — 
Wlien  they — the  dearly  loved— the  deeply  wailed — 

Fate's  bitter  flood  from  iliv  fond  arms  haih  swept — 
Tbink, — andd  all  tbe  triatt  that  assailed. 
One  eye,  abo^  the  stars,  its  watch  hsth  kept — 

And  watoheth  still  !-.Gaod  Night !— Ets 


16 


^ 


COQUET    SIDE, 
A  SKETCH  FROM  THE  NORTH  COUNTRTE. 

BY    MHS,    WARD, 

AUTMoa  or  **Fivj:  tears  in   kaffirland/*  etc, 

A  STORY  is  on  record  of  a  Highland  ofBcer»  who,  on  being  asked 
if  he  knew  the  name  and  origin  of  one  who  had  lately  joined  his 
regiment,  the  forty-second,  replied* "  I  *ra  thinking  he  maun  be  some 
obscure  deevil  frae  the  South,  for  I  dinna  ken  him  e  en  by  name/' 
And  even  in  these  days  of  railways,  the  north  and  south  of  England 
are  yet  so  divided,  tliat  the  habits,  customs,  superstitions,  nay,  the 
very  language  of  ench  locality,  vary  con«iiderably.  The  scenery  of 
the  '* Border"  is  of  a  different  character  from  that  of  the  more 
southern  counties,  and  although  tlie  genius  of  Sir  Walter  Scott  has 
brought  the  frontier  of  England  into  notice,  his  descriptions  are 
often  read  as  romance  rather  than  reality.  Yet  there  they  stand, 
those  feudal  castles,  shewing  still  a  bold  front,  and  albeit  but  the 
semblance  of  what  they  were,  like  the  dead  Cid  upon  the  battle 
ground,  they  stand  proudly  on  their  eminences,  as  though  by  their 
position  they  gave  a  character  to,  and  kfpt  certain  watch  and  ward 
over,  the  small  hamlets  lying  peaceably  at  their  feet. 

Yes,  these  railways,  unsightly  as  they  are,  have  dissected  our 
towns,  laid  bare  their  narrow  streets  ;  and  old  buildings  which  for 
years  have  been  hidden  by  the  gables  and  chimneys  of  the  dark 
abiding  places  of  the  poor,  are  freed  from  their  former  thraldom. 

Observe,  for  instance,  the  old  Norman  keep  at  NewcaBtle  ;  the 
traveller  has  little  time  indeed  to  examine  it,  as  be  is  carried  in  fran- 
tic baste  over  the  Tyne,  on  which  he  looks  breathlejsly  down  from 
the  *'  high  level  bridge"  which  spans  it. 

Rush  on,  screaming  engine !  rush  on  and  bear  us  from  these 
busy  smoky  streets,  to  the  more  open  country  I  And  now  the  train 
stops,  we  alight  and  pause,  and  gladly  exchange  the  burly  burly, 
and  the  speed  and  the  smoke,  for  a  low  phaeton,  in  which  we  bowl 
along  the  hawthorn  lanes,  towards  one  of  the  ancestral  homes  of 
England. 

Enter, — welcome.  The  hospitality  of  the  "^^  North  Co un trie '*  is 
proverbial^  and  for  comfort,  behold  the  fire  blazing  in  the  hall; 
enjoy  the  warmth  that  is  diffused  throughoyt  the  mansion.  It  is  to 
this  mansion  and  its  neighbourhood  my  sketch  refers. 

Here,  in  this  venerable  place,  shrouded  with  ivy,  and  hidden 
from  the  world  by  waving  woods,  Mlas  Porter  wrote  her  *'  Pastor's 
Fireside.**  Perhaps,  in  this  very  bay-window  she  sat ;  the  ancient 
trees  have  now  shut  out  the  view  of  the  hills  beyond,  but  we  will 
wander  into  the  plantations  by  and  bye.  Let  us  go  into  the  gar- 
den; it  is  old-fashioned  and  stately,  like  those  who  walked  and 
talked  here  long  ago.  Opposite  the  terrace  stands  an  aged  larch  ; 
it  will  die  soon  ;  the  upper  boughs  look  gaunt  and  wan,  but  it  must 
not  be  cut  down,  for  he  who  planted  it  fell  at  New  Orleans.  It 
bath  a  dignity  even  in  its  faded  state,  and  stretcheth  out  its  foster- 
ing arms  towards  the  other  trees  and  shrubs,  which  flourish  in 
graceful  contrast  with  the  dying  sovereign  of  the  lawn.     The  grave 


16 


CX>QrET   SIDE. 


cypresses  clo^e  bj'  her,  look  like  the  solemn  maids  of  honour  of 
Queen  Elizabeth's  daj,  in  prim  attendance  to  the  last. 

What  a  charming  aliee  vcrtef  screened  by  hedges  of  impervious 
jew  and  hornbeam,  and  sheltered  further  by  a  magnificent  row  of 
horse-chestnuts*  which  keep  out  the  eastern  breezes  from  the  sea. 
Here  we  may  walk  in  quietude.  We  have  reached  the  upper  step 
of  the  terrace.  Hark!  there  is  a  distant  clatter  !  Look  down  the 
vista,  through  the  archway  cut  in  the  plantations^  and  betweei 
these  solemn  woods  and  the  far  hills  on  which  the  sun  is  shinin^ 
the  long  railway  train  rattles  by,  looking  like  a  toy.  It  h, 
passed,  and  there  would  be  utter  silence,  but  for  the  busy  rooki 
which  are  keeping  up  their  wonted  talk,  far  up  among  the  o«ks  and 
beeches. 

On  the  boles  of  these  said  oaks  and  beeches,  many  initials  arc 
carved.  Ah,  how  many  tales  do  hang  thereby  !  One  of  those  who 
wandered  in  her  youth  among  these  green  aisles,  died  but  a  year 
mgo,  aged  nearly  one  hundred  years.  I  had  the  good  fortune  to 
see  this,  mine  ancient  kinswoman,  when,  at  the  age  of  eiglity-six, 
she  visited  us  in  Scotland.  Very  erect,  and  of  a  most  stalely  pre- 
sence, was  the  Lady  Frances.  Her  short  conversation  was  of  a 
nature  to  impress  a  girrs  mind,  and  1  have  often  recalled  it.  She 
travelled  without  her  lady's  maid,  and  when  she  was  asked  if  she 
was  not  greatly  inconvenienced  by  the  want  of  assistJince  at  her 
toilette,  she  replied,  **  My  dear,  I  can  button  my  ain  gown  ;  and 
they  11  no  the  le^s  write  the  gude  name  I  hear  upon  my  tombstone 
w  hen  I  am  dead,  because  I  didna  want  help  like  a  (ine  leddy/'  But 
more  than  all,  do  I  remember  her  asking  to  see  the  picture  oi  the 
lover  of  her  youth,  long  since  dead. 

True,   she  had  been  the  kind  and  faithful  wife  of  another,  bol 
this  first  love  had  been   the   dream  of  her  existence^  **  the  date  to 
which  she  referred  everything.'*     He  had    been  a  soldier,  had  gonHj 
abroad  when  young,   and  it  was  SAid  had  soon   forgotten  all  ihi 
had  passed  upon  the  banks  of  Coquet, 

The  picture  was  brought  to  her.  She  held  it  a  long  time  in  her 
hand,  and  gazed  silently  upon  the  very  handsome  portrait  of  her 
*'fau?e,  fiuse  love."  The  features  of  the  aged  lady  were  not  hand- 
some, but  very  expressive ;  the  eyes,  like  Mrs.  Opie's  at  the  presenl 
*hiy,  had  in  them  the  light  of  youth»  and  her  complexion  was  fail 
and  smooth.  Down  those  fadeti  cheeks  the  tears  stole  slowly  ;  si 
wiped  them  not  away,  but  looking  through  them  on  the  face  of  hi 
cousin  (for  near  relationship  had  brought  the  pair  together  in  theil 
early  days),  she  said  quickly,  '*  Ah,  Frank,  Frank  !  ye  were  a  b' 
bonny  lad  ! "  As  she  put  it  beside  her  on  the  couch,  she  looked) 
round  upon  the  group  of  sisters,  among  whom  she  sat,  and  address*^ 
Ing  one  of  us,  asked,  **  An'  you  lussie,  are  you  gaun  to  marry  a  sol- 
dier?" There  was  little  in  what  she  said,  but  much,  very  much 
in  her  manner  of  receiving  the  reply  in  the  affirmative  ;  in  her  su 
sequent  earnest  gaze,  her  re- examination  of  the  picture,  and 
heavy,  heavy  sigh  with  which  she  put  aside  the  image  of  her  fin 
love, — her  soldier  cousin, — then  aud  for  ever  ! 

She  came  to  us  from  Edinburgh,  a  place  she  had  not  visited  fi 
years.     "I  had  a   mind,"  s.iid  she,  *' to  see  the  mansion  of  the 
mily,  and   had  to  seek   it  amang  the  thronged  streets  of  the  atild 
town.     I  stood  and  looked   at  it  wi*  a  sair,   sair  heart.     It 's  filledi 


ue 


n^^ 


thi 


fa* 


COQUET   SIDE. 


17 


wi'  a  miseraMe  crowd  o'  beings,  women  and  chilclren,  ant!  ill- 
favoured  looking  men,  and  I  coyldna  bear  to  think  on  a'  the  plea- 
sant days  o*  my  youth,  when  it  was  a  noble  house  ! " 

We  coyld  fancy  her  in  her  proud  sorrow,  standing  alone  in  the 
noisy  thoroughfare,  and  gnzmg  up  towards  the  home  of  her  girlish 
day 8,  while  squalid  children,  and  reckless  men,  and  wretched 
women,  crowded  past  her ;  and  we  could  see  her  turning  away 
'^wi'  a  sair,  sair  heart." 


Through  the  wood,  through  the  wood ;  down  by  the  banks  of 
Coquet ;  down  to  the  mill  where  dwelleth  one  who  was  the  **  Rose 
of  Coquet/'  but  now  resembleth  more  the  fading  lily  ;  inhere  the 
restless  wheel  is  perpetually  casting  up  its  diamond  jets  of  spray. 
What  a  noisy  island  between  us  and  the  opposite  moor  !  noisy  with 
rooks,  for  here  they  are  again,  busy  things.  Up  the  lane  now, 
where  the  pretty  children  meet  in  "  coming  frae  the  well."  The 
North  certainly  beats  the  South  in  the  beauty  of  the  lower  classes. 
Here  is  a  fine  sweep  of  the  river,  and  the  rabbits  are  so  tame  on  the 
moor,  that  they  come  out  of  the  whin  bushes  and  look  composedly 
at  us.  Cunning  things  I  they  understand  the  line  of  defence  be- 
tween them  and  us,  the  glittering  river  Coquet,  which  some  suppose 
received  her  name  from  the  French,  from  the  coquettish,  flirty 
way  in  which  she  turns,  now  this  way,  now  that ;  sometimes  hitling 
herself  beneath  the  alders,  and  sometimes  dancing  merrily  over  the 
stones  ;  now  leaping  like  a  romping  girl  from  rock  to  rock,  and 
now  gliding  on  as  demurely  and  slily  as  if  it  were  her  peculiar  way 
to  go  through  the  world  as  quietly  as  she  does  at  the  edge  of  the 
wood  just  here.  These  glades  remind  one  of  cathedral  aisles  ;  and 
the  ivy  wreaths  round  the  smooth  columns  of  these  ash-trees  offer 
a  new  idea  in  ornamental  architecture.  Here  is  a  grove  shadowed 
by  oaks  and  mistletoe-boughs.  Voices  in  the  wood,  busy  voices  of 
workmen  ;  and  lol  a  noble  viaduct,  one  hundred  and  fitly  feet  high, 
spans  the  stream.  High  in  air  hangs  a  platform,  with  two  men 
standing  on  it :  it  makes  one  dizzy  to  look  at  it.  There  is  some 
difficuHy  in  passing  under  this  archway,  from  the  heaps  of  brick  and 
mortar  which  desecrate  the  green  banks  of  the  shaded  river  Coquet. 
But  there  is  a  long  vista  before  us,  and  the  path  looks  almost  un- 
trodden, for  the  ground-ivy  and  the  periwinkle  are  sireclmg  across 
it.  We  shall  come  at  last  upon  a  sunlit  patch,  a  miniature  prairie, 
with  a  shooting- lodge,  where  have  been  held  most  pleasant  pic- nics 
by  day,  and  where  dark  battles  have  been  fought  by  night  with 
poachers. 

We  have  passed  the  prairie  ;  we  are  in  the  depths  of  the  woods 
again  ;  they  grow  dimmer  at  every  step.     What  utter  solitude  ! 

That  shriek  1  that  terrific  shriek  !  like  the  cry  of  some  great  crea- 
ture in  its  agony.  We  fly  from  the  stillness  of  the  woods  to  the  open 
banks  of  the  river,  and  the  nature  of  the  shriek  is  manifested  by  the 
stir  of '*  many  chariot-wheels'*  whirling  over  the  viaduct.  The  hush 
of  night  succeeds,  and  we  retrace  our  steps,  for  the  sun  is  dipping 
behind  the  hills,  and  the  wind  blows  cold  and  chill  up  the  stream. 
Again  we  pass  beneath  the  arch ;  the  men  are  still  at  work  upon 
the  platform  ;  how  strange  their  voices  sound  up  in  the  air  1  They 
laugh,  the  laugh  echoes  along  the  banks,  but — there  is  a  crash !  a 
shout  from  the  parapet  above^  a  hurried  tread  of  feet,  a  gathering 

roL.  XXV.  c 


18 


COQIJFrr   SIDE, 


along  the  bank,  cries  of  womenj  and  the  earnest  words  of  meii^ 
The  platform  we  observed  suspended  in  iiiid*air  has  given  way  and 
fallen^  and  the  two  young  labourers  whose  merry  voices  and  cheer- 
ful whistle  made  the  old  woods  musical  all  day,  lie  dead,  mutilAted^ 
crushed  to  pieces  on  the  stones  below  I  ~ 

"  Have  they  any  friends  here  ?  *'  we  asked. 

**  No ;  their  people  are  very  poor,  and  wrote  lately  to  beg  they 
would  go  back  to  Scotland  and  work  among  them,  to  help  them< 
One  of  them  was  engaged  to  be  married^  and  the  girl  is  here,  olmo 
mad/* 

And  then  the  speakers  turned  aside  carelessly,  in  spite  of  i 
picture  presented  of  the  *'  very  poor  parents,"  and  the  miserabli 
girl  '*  engaged  to  be  married  "  there,  and  half  mad  I 


We  had  a  walk  in  prospect  a  day  or  two  afterwards,  for  the  beat 
tiful  rcj/w  in  J  of  W  ark  worth  Castle,  stern  in  their  resistance  of 
cay,  were  perpetually  before  us  in  our  drives  and  saunterings.  We 
climbed  the  steep  on  which  the  castle  stands,  and  turning  to  look 
on  the  Coquet,  which  here  Hows  placidly  along,  saw  the  funeral 
procession  of  the  unfortunate  labourers  winding  beneath.  Nothing 
could  be  more  picturesque*  The  woods  rising  on  each  side  of  the 
stream  were  in  all  the  glow  and  beauty  of  autumn  in  her  prime. 
The  tints  of  the  northern  forests  are  marvellously  lovely ;  here 
crimson  and  gold,  and  every  shade  of  brown,  and  the  deep  green  of 
the  holly,  and  the  coral  berries  of  the  mountain  ash,  and  the  paler 
tints  of  fading  willows^  and  the  rich  hues  of  the  copper  beeches, 
were  blended  together  by  a  pervading  atmosphere  o4'  purple.  We 
waited  till  the  little  procession,  with  its  one  coffin,  containing  the 
mangled  limbs  of  the  youthful  dead,  had  passed  under  the  castle 
Bleep,  and  then  walked  beneath  the  overhanging  branches^  to  the 
spot  opposite  the  Hermitage. 

The  Hermitage  ?  Yes ;  Doctor  Percy *8  charming  ballad  has  im- 
mortalized this  hermitage  of  England  especially. 

Here,  in  '*  this  sweet  sequestered  vale/'  the  heart-stricken  Sir 
Bertram  chose  his  rest;  the  "  noble  friend'*  from  whom  he  held  his 
tenure  was  a  Percy,  and  the  lady  wag  most  probably  a  Widdrington, 
for  the  castle  of  Widdrington  stands  about  dve  miles  distant  from 
the  spot;  nay  we  can  imagine  the  lady  leaning  from  her  palfrey, 
listening  to  ner  true  knight*3  vows,  and  descending  **oft  beside 
that  murmuring  stream^'*  to  stroll  along  its  green  margin,  Slay- 
liap  it  was  beneath  these  very  rocks  she  gave  him.  the  helmet  ne 
wore  in  the  Scottish  wars. 

Doubtless,  the  **  bold  Sir  Bertram  "  performed  bitter  penance  for 
his  crime;  but  the  hermits  or  monks  who  succeeded  him,  and  who 
were  successively  maintained  by  the  Percys,  most  probably  bi 
the  good  warm  kitchen  at  the  foot  of  the  rock. 

We  examined  the  interior  of  the  hermitage  closely ;  but  whoev* 
reads  the  **  Percy  ballad  *'  now,  must  no   longer  expect  to    fii 
*'  a  kneeling  angel  fairly  carved/*  hovering  over  the  ngure  of 
lady,  nor  '*  the  weeping  warrior  at  her  feet/'  nor  "near  to  these 
crest**     All  is  defaced,  or,  at  least,  scarcely  traceable  at  this  time; 
but  the  ballad  is  le(\,  and  for  that  the  lovers  of  antiquity  and  border 
reliques  must  be  thankfuL 

Much  more  might  be  written  of  thia  pleasant  locality^  '*  CoqiMi 


who 

I 


COQUET  SIDE. 


19 


Side/*  and  of  Wark worth  Castle,  which  the  Percys  received  from 
Edward  IL  in  1310,  and  many  other  places  on  the  border,  and  of 

the  genuine  hoapitaUty  of  the  old  families  Btill  living  **  thereaway  " 
in  sequestered  and  cosy  corners ;  but  there  is  only  space  left  for 
**  something  about  Alnwick/'*  One  reads  grave  descriptions  of 
such  places;  but,  when  we  visit  them,  new  ideas  strike  us,  founded 
an  anecdotes  or  traditions  told  on  the  spot,  and  dwelt  upon  with 
aflectionate  delight  by  those  who,  in  spite  of  the  new  spirit  of  loco- 
motion, and  the  advantages  of  steam,  are  content  to  remain  where 
true-born  borderers  are  happiest— at  home. 

We  need  not  go  buck  to  the  date  of  Alnwick  Castle's  first  rise. 
Chronology  is  a  stupid  study  at  best ;  but  we  may  just  touch  upon  the 
incident  of  King  Malcolm's  death,  who,  seeing  an  armed  soldier  ride 
forth  from  the  castle  gates,  with  the  keys  thereof  swinging  at  the 
end  of  his  glittering  spear,  advanced  to  meet  him,  thinking  he  was 
coming  to  surrender;  then  the  soldier  smote  King  Malcolm  down 
in  the  face  of  his  assembled  army,  and,  turning  from  the  dead  mo- 
narch with  a  scornful  shout,  put  spurs  to  his  gallant  charger,  and 
swam  the  swollen  river  A  In  before  the  Scottish  soldiers  had  time  to 
recover  from  their  rage  and  consternation. 

Seen  from  the  street,  Alnwick  Castle  presents  a  singular  appear- 
ance, from  the  circumstance  of  the  battle ment^i  being  crowded  with 
figures,  who  look  like  living  men  of  various  degrees  and  character 
suddenly  summoned  from  their  occupations  Knights  and  esquires, 
grooms  and  falconers,  belted  earls,  gentlemen  in  sylvan  suits,  nay, 
the  very  cooks,  with  their  aprons  girded  round  their  waists,  have 
stepped  out  upon  the  roof,  and  are  strangely  contrasted  with  the 
bowmen  and  the  stalwart  porters  with  monstrous  stones  in  their 
hands.  One  of  these  over  a  gateway,  a  ferocious  looking  giant,  al- 
most appals  the  visitor  at  firstj  but  one  soon  gets  accustomed  to  hia 
attitude  and  its  rigidity. 

In  the  great  court-yard  certain  chivalrous  feelings  are  called  up 
at  once  at  the  sight  of  '*  Hotspur's  chair."  One  cannot  fancy  him 
given  to  meditation  ;  but  here  he  sat,  and  probably  marshalled  his 
forces,  or,  perhaps,  in  the  pauses  between  his  many  fights,  he  and 
his  father  settled  various  '^  plans  of  operations"  against  Henry  IV. 
Here,  mayhap,  he  twitted  the  old  earl  with  having  proposed  to  raise 
that  king  to  the  throne,  whom  he  now  resolved  to  displace;  we  can 
fancy  Harry  Percy's  bitter  laugh  against  this  "fawning  grey  hound/* 
this  **  kind  cozener  /'  and,  at  VVarkworth,  when  the  **  Lady  Percy/' 
*'  Kate,"  strove  to  guide  his  thoughts  from  "  fields,  and  blows, 
and  groans,"  to  gentler  aims,  he,  much  more  intent  upon  his  '*  crop- 
eared  roan  "  than  her,  would  bid  her  "  come  and  see  him  ride/' 

Hill  and  valley,  forest,  glade,  and  ford,  are  all  at  peace  now  ;  and, 
as  we  gaze  from  these  silent  ramparts,  we  rejoice  in  the  quietude  of 
this  once  restless  border ;  nevertheless,  our  sympathies  are  enlisted 
for  the  old  earl  mourning  his  "dead  Harry  Hotspur,"  his  "brave 
Percy."  Miserable  anil  solitary,  we  follow  him  to  the  retirement  of 
his  castle  at  Warkworth,  and  back  again  from  that,  when  he  learns 
the  secret  of  the  scheme  to  surrender  him  a  prisoner  to  the  royalist 
forces.  Then  the  stout  old  earl  buckles  on  his  armour,  and  once 
more  summons  his  bold  vassals  round  him ;  once  more  the  din  of 
arms  resounds  through  the  quadrangle,  and  at  last  the  unquiet  spirit 
rivw- — iricAr,  Siixoa  name  for  towii^ 


OI.B 


J8IC    AND   PICTURES. 


of  Earl  Percy  is  laid  at  rest,  and  shame,  shame  oo  the  barbaricms' 

feeling  of  those  days  I  his  whitened  head  bleaches  on  a  pole  for  the 
city  crowd  of  London  to  gaze  at. 

Farewell,  old  Alnwick  !  one  look  back  from  the  gateway  in  spite 
of  the  giant  above,  'with  his  mass  of  rock^-one  look  back  upon  the 
green  court-yard  of  the  castle  and  its  unpeopled  walls,  bearing  no 
sign  of  past  stormy  agea  save  one  space,  marked  by  its  repairs  of 
later  date*  The  people  of  Alnwick  point  out  to  the  toyrist  this  mark 
in  the  ramparts,  and  speak  low  when  they  say  *'  there  was  a  great 
battle  fought  there  long  ago.  It  was  a  dreadful  day,  for  many  fell 
in  the  struggle  to  beat  down  the  walls,  and  hence  that  spot  has  ever 
since  been  known  by  the  name  of  the  *  Bloody  Gap.' "  * 

Home  again  to  our  ancestral  mansion,  Pause  a  few  minutes,  and 
look  into  the  churchyard  at  the  monument  of  Archdeacon  Single- 
ton. IVIethinks  I  hear  him  reading  one  of  Sidney  Smith's  most  witty 
pamphlets  addressed  to  Mr,  Singleton  himself.  We  must  not  linger 
m  the  church,  although  there  is  much  to  interest  us  there,  but  tread 
lightly  through  the  mazes  of  these  many  graves.  Behold  the  broken 
shaft  I  fit  emblem  of  the  Duke  of  Northumberland's  regrets  at  the 
loss  of  hlsjriend :  we  have  not  space  for  the  inscription.  How  few 
noblemen  are  fortunate  in  their  friendships,  how  few  would  acknow- 
ledge what  they  ow^e  to  friends  whose  position  in  bfe  is,  conven- 
tionally speaking,  inferior  to  their  own  ! 

Home — past  Alan  Water  ^ — what  green  banks!  another  viaduct 
here — the  4>hriek  of  the  railway  engine  is  heard  hourly  *'  on  the 
banks  of  Alan  Water/'  Home  over  the  bridge  and  past  the  mill. 
Coquet  Island  lies  in  shade,  and  War k worth  Castle  rises  again  be- 
fore us,  reminding  us  of  Earl  Percy,  and  Sir  Bertram,  and  his  lady 
love^  and  of  those  stormy  days  when  men  for  pastime  sang, — 

^*  Now  cMick  up  yoiir  bonuetJ,  and  cock  Vm  full  Bpruib, 
We  '11  tjver  the  border  and  gi  ■  tbem  a  bnijili : 
Tliere  '■  sometiocly  there  wanta  keeping  in  order, 
So  OQ  iri'  your  boaoeti  and  over  the  border,** 


OLD  MUSIC  AND  PICTURES. 

Thu  old-world  muiic  sounds  to-night,  within  tlie  dear  ramiliar  room, 

Aa  a  haunting  Ktrain  of  wiemory  weaving  ihadowft  'tnfcj  the  gloom  ; 

The  pictunet  hang  upon  the  walls,  well-known  from  efirly  rhildhood't  dir^ 

Ah  I  Dould  they  mirror  forth  ibe  piAl  what  changeful  soenei  they  might  ai>pli|| 

Of  mirthful  bourn  and  carelets  hearU,  of  fidr  yoitng  face*  they  would  tell, 
And  of  the  gentle  mother's  love  preaiding  o*er  with  kindly  i|idl  ; 
And  they  would  hroathe  of  death  and  woe^within  the  lelf  ume  chamber  aped 
Life's  fleeting  houn — and  here  reposed  her  honoured  coffined  bead. 

Old  pictures  !  ye  have  teen  far  more  than  mortal  ken  may  ever  know^ 
Of  agooy  and  dark  despair— and  dayi,  and  weeks,  and  months  of  woe  £ 
And  when  thi»  simple  rausic  weaves  sweet  melodies  of  *Jlher  years. 
The  heart  is  far  too  full  for  words — and  tbougbt  is  far  too  deep  for  touv. 

Beloved  ones  were  hstening  then,  diaered  by  the  well-known  homely  itnln— * 
Fond  bearta  throbbed  that  never  more  may  claap  me  to  their  own  agrnui ; 
Old  pictures  gmm  !  aa  ye  were  wont  in  the  careless  dayi  of  yof«^ — 
But  alas  !  for  the  melody  of  heart  which  haa  fled  f<»r  erannore. 

C.  A«  M-  w* - 


•  Another  tradition  of  the  '*  Bloody  Gap  "  rektes,  that  the  soldier  who  earned 
the  keys  on  bi<»  ipear  cajoleil  Malcolm  as  far  as  the  portcullis,  and  that,  aa  the  King 
came  beneath  it,  it  dropped,  and  braiDing  him^  cut  hit  hor9«  in  twain.  The  port* 
euliui  wie  ii«ver  used  again,  and  the  wall  was  built  up. 


21 


HANS    MICHEL; 

A  FEW  OLD  e£RMAN  PROVERBS  APPLIED  TO  NEW  GERMAN 

POLITICS. 

B7    THE   FLANBim* 

St>7CB  of  proverbs  there  is  to  be  question,  the  Fldneur  will  start  oif 
with  one  at  once,  "  It  k  an  ill  turn  to  pelt  a  man  with  his  own  outa*" 
There  is,  perhaps,  a  want  of  generosity  and  delicacy  of  feeling  in  col- 
lecting from  your  host's  table  such  innocent  after-dinner  pastime-food 
which,  with  innocent  complacency,  he  may  have  been  comfortably 
cracking  over  his  wine,  and  flinging  them  at  hia  head ;  and  the  Flaneur 
might  have  some  scruples  of  conscience  in  committing  so  ungrateful  an 
act  towards  a  host,  who  has  shewn  him  many  kindnesses,  had  not  that 
host  himself  evinced  a  disposition  to  fliog  all  bis  nuts  to  the  ground  as 
mere  pig- sty  diet,  unfit  for  the  refined  delicacy  of  a  stomach  which, 
upon  a  new  system,  he  crams  with  daintier  and  more  piquant  houbons 
d  ia  Fran^mse,  Be  the  feeling  what  it  may,  however,  the  Fldnetir 
owns  himself  to  be  maliciously  pricked  on  to  pick  up  a  few  of  the  poor 
despised  fruits  that  "  mine  host  *'  at  one  lime  considered  not  only 
daintier,  but  most  wholesome  and  nutrttious  food,  and  try  if  he  cannot 
so  aim  them  as  to  give  '*  mine  host"  a  fillip  on  the  nose— a  nasenstuber, 
as  his  German  host  himself  would  call  it. 

Proverbs  were  formerly  considered  as  nuts  somewhat  hard  to  crack, 
so  as  to  get  at  the  true  taste  of  the  kernel,  but  very  excellent  diet 
when  properly  chewed  and  well-digested,  although  sometimes  rather 
bitter  withal.  There  may  be  dilferences  of  opinion  as  to  the  entire 
and  infallible  truth  of  such  a  suppoaition  ;  some  people  have  been 
known  to  condemn  such  diet  altogether,  not  only  as  unrefined  in  ta^te, 
but  even  as  indigestible  and  deleterious*  This  utter  rejection  of  them 
from  the  table  of  life  appears  rather  too  exclusive  a  measure:  some  of 
these  old  dried  fruits  of  the  social  storeroom  may  have  become  shrivel- 
led, so  as  to  be  mere  hard,  dry,  tasteless  morsels,  unlitted  for  any  pa- 
late now-a-days  ;  some  of  them,  and  perhaps  not  a  few,  may  have  been 
rot  ten  J  even  from  the  Irrst  gathering ,-  hot  there  is  a  large  store  of  them 
which  people  might  still  swallow,  old-fashioned  food  as  they  are,  and 
find  them  sweet,  palatable^  and  nutritious*  And,  certainly,  there  was 
a  time,  when  no  Spaniard  was  more  proud  of  the  dish  of  proverbs, 
which  he  laid  before  the  world,  than  was  the  German  of  his  own  long- 
collected  store ;  he  was  a  veritable  Sancho  Fanza,  and  not  a  whit  the 
worse  for  his  resemblance,  in  simplicity  and  true-heartedness,  to  this 
doughty  type  of  *'  the  people's  wisdom,"  although  he  may  somewhat 
lack  the  spice  of  malice  and  cunning  which  formed  an  underground 
current  in  the  character  of  the  Spanish  serving-man.  "  Proverbs/*  as 
the  German  himself  declared,  '*  are  the  popular  expressioits  of  the  wis- 
dom and  experience  gathered  from  the  public,  private,  moral,  religious, 
and  political  life  of  men.  They  are  the  result,  the  national  treasure, 
so  to  say»  of  the  observation  and  understanding  of  men  and  nations. 
.£very  people,  as  every  man,  has  its  own  genius ;  and  this  genius  is  re^ 


22 


HANS  MTCHEL. 


presented  in  its  collected  store  of  proverbs."  How  far  tbe  Germans  hi 
tlieir  new  revolutionary  mania,  caught  up  like  a  new  last  fashion,  and 
put  on  all  awry,  have  interpreted  this  "  wisdom  and  experience,"  or 
what  sort  of  form  this  **  genius,"  thus  represented,  may  now  wear, 
may  be  partially  gleaned,  perhaps,  from  the  application  to  them  selves 
of  a  few  of  their  own  proverbs. 

The  Fldjieitr  again  asks  pardon  for  what  may  appear  only  a  "conceit** 
in  thus,  upon  the  Ph alar tiH-buil- principle,  shutting  a  nation  up  in  a 
portion  of  its  own  '*  wisdom  and  experience,"  and  thus  **  roasting  '*  it ; 
or,  in  other  words,  taking  up,  as  it  were,  a  man's  homely  family  plas- 
ters, and  applying  them  as  blisters  to  his  own  back  :  but,  with  the  tu- 
multuous events  of  modern  Germany  passing  around  him — with  the 
banner  of  disunion,  under  tbe  pretext  of  *'  Unity,"  flaring  before  hit 
eyes—with  the  thunder  of  the  musket  and  cannon,  morally,  at  least, 
deafening  bis  ears — and  with  the  sight  of  hload  gushing  thick  and 
warm  before  his  eyes,  when  he  has  sought  re|>ose  in  a  quiet,  heavy, 
good-tempered-looking  book  before  liim,  tilled  with  upwards  of  seven 
tbouNand  specimens  of  the  ''  wisdom  and  experience  "  of  a  people,  be 
bas  been  unable  not  to  feel  the  contrast  painfully  between  its  new 
deeds  and  its  old  words :  be  has  been  unable  to  resist  the  impulse  of 
just  gently  trying  the  tuuchstoue  of  the  words  upon  tbe  deeds.  Per- 
haps, the  truest  apology  he  should  offer  ought  to  be  for  trying  this 
touchstone,  in  playful  spirit,  upon  a  painful  and  serious  wound.  But, 
in  these  matters,  FMneurs  have  their  privilege  bestowed  upon  tbem  by 
tlieir  very  nature* 

It  ia,  in  trutli,  '^an  ill  turn  to  pelt  a  man  with  bis  own  nuts."  But 
when  he  will  have  none  of  tbem — what  then  ?  Proverbs  have  an  es- 
sentially conservative  nature  in  them,  in  spite  of  the  half-sulky,  half- 
scolding  air  of  reformers  that  they  will  put  on,  like  an  anpry  old  father 
in  an  old  comedy  of  tbe  Old  Dor n ton  and  Sir  Anlhontf  Abmhie  school, 
not  a  whit  the  more  inclined  to  root  their  misbehaving  children  alto- 
gether from  their  hearts  because  tbey  knit  their  brows,  flourish  their 
canes,  and  stamp  their  feet;  no!  proverbs  have  conservative  tendencies 
about  them^  and,  in  general,  a  patient,  relying,  smoothly  and  mode- 
rately-progressing spirit,  in  their  very  essence;  and  your  good  old 
German  proverb  possesses,  perhaps,  more  of  this  character  than  those  of 
most  other  nations*  No  wonder,  then,  that  with  such  old-fashioned 
ways  about  them,  tbey  should  be  torn  off  by  young  Germany— so  eager 
to  don  its  new  revolutionary  gnrb— and  thrust  out  of  sight,  as  unfit  f^ir 
any  siprigbtly  youth's  attire  in  modern  days.  But  that  is  no  rea- 
son why  tlie  rags  they  have  made  of  the  stout  old  homely  stuff,  which, 
by  tbe  way,  was  not  without  its  gold-kce  interwoven  in  tbe  web, 
should  not  be  held  up  in  their  faces,  and  tbe  question  gently  asked, 
whether  tbe  old  garb  did,  after  all,  become  them  so  ill,  or  migljt  not 
still  Ih*  turned  to  advantage,  or,  at  least,  made  to  fit  in  with  effect 
among  the  patches  of  the  harlequin  jacket  that  young  Germany  now 
wears  ?  If  this  he  not  allowed,  the  Flaneur  will  be  doing  no  more  than 
calling  "Old  Clo'  1 "  that  are  only  lit  to  be  thrown  on  the  dunghill,  and 
mt^ht  as  well  put  his  coned Iq  in  his  pocket* 

Let  the  Germnn,  however,  he  condemned  out  of  his  own  moutb.  lie 
bas  told  us  himself  that  *'  proverbs  contain  the  most  useful  and  appli- 
cable lesKins,''  that  **  tiiey  teach  the  most  practical  philosophy  of  life, 
not  fundamentally,  or  in  an?  connected  system,  like  a  book  of  lessons, 
but  clearly  and  intelligibly  like  a  good  old  friend,  always  present  and 


HANS   MICHEL.  23 

thoroughly  grounded  in  the  prmciples  of  truth,  who,  without  flashing 
hither  tir  thither,  strikes  the  nai!  directly  upon  the  head,  and  hestows 
upon  many  points  information  which  neither  learned  men  nor  learned 
hooks  can  give."  If  be  turns  his  back  upon  his  trusty  '*old  friend,*' 
then  he  should  surely  take  it  kindly  if  the  *'oId  friend**  should  conde- 
scend to  send  him  a  visiting-card  to  let  him  know  that  the  *'  old 
friend  "  still  exists.  If  the  nail  of  good  sense  is  to  be  struck,  let  it  be 
atrnck  home:  so  much  the  worse  for  him  if  he  flinches  under  the  ope- 
ration. If  yesterday  the  proverbs  contained  ''  useful  and  applicable 
leRsons,"  surely  events  cannot  have  so  thoroughly  '*  transmogrified  " 
them  as  to  deprive  them  to-day,  of  all  application  and  use. 

The  German  may  say  that,  in  truths  mere  social  and  domestic 
maxims,  such  as  is  the  usual  doctrine  taught  by  the  *^  old  friend/'  will 
bear  neither  their  old  application  to  new  political  events  nor  retain 
their  useful  virtues.  Politics,  it  is  true,  are  not,  in  a  direct  sense,  very 
sympathetical  to  proverbs — ^at  least,  the  politics  of  diplomacy  and  of 
state-wisdom ;  but  yet  proverbs  have  a  diplomatic  tact  of  circuitous 
inuendo  of  their  own  also,  all  direct  and  ^'  knock-down  " — the  word  and 
the  blow  together^as  they  may  generally  be ;  and  they  are  not  with- 
out the  "  wisdom  of  the  serpent,"  although  the  wisdom  be  directed 
against  the  serpent  itself,  upon  the  homceoptithic  principle  of  curing  the 
poisonous  bite  of  the  reptile  by  the  antidote  in  its  own  body.  But 
"  wisdom  and  experience  "  there  are  amongst  them  also,  applicable  as 
well  to  political  as  social  matters;  and  now  that  social  and  political 
considerations  are  so  designedly  mixed  up  in  the  *'aifairs  of  men,**  and 
so  confounded  in  the  universal  hurly-burly,  the  nail  very  frequently 
cannot  be  struck  on  the  head  without  darting  through  the  superficies 
of  the  social  system  to  run  into  politics,  or  rending  a  hole  in  politic^il 
devices  to  make  its  impress  upon  the  social  state  of  man :  give  it  a 
smart  blow,  and  it  will  be  almost  always  sure  now-a-days  to  pin  the  two 
together.  Proverbs,  too,  as  perhaps  they  were  always  meant  to  do,  bit 
with  a  double-edged  weapon*  Direct  as  they  are,  they  are  no  less 
vague  and  mysterious  oftimes  in  their  sense,  as  much  as  any  of  those 
oracles  of  old  from  which,  as  by  divine  right,  tbey  affect  to  have  de- 
duced their  origin.  *' Who  made  our  proverbs?"  says  the  German 
agitin.  **  Sages,  patriarchs,  kings,  sybils,  prophets,  poets,**  personages 
much  out  of  fashion  now-a-days,  it  is  true,  and  whose  words  are  no 
longer  considered  oracles,  unless  it  be  the  latter,  and  thai  only  when, 
instead  of  venturing  tipon  vague  oracles  and  mysterious  dicta  of  wis- 
dom, they  flatter  and  caress  the  new  would-be  rulers  of  the  day  and 
their  ideas,  and  bestow  all  their  vagueness  upon  vain  vague  words  such 
as  "  Liberty,  Equality,  Fraternity,*'  the  sense  of  which  men's  eyes 
once  fancied  tbey  perceived,  but  which  have  latterly  clouded  them- 
selves in  the  tliickest  mist  of  misapprehension  redly  tinged,  not  with 
the  beams  of  the  rising  sun  that  shall  dissipiite  it,  but  with  the  reflect- 
ed glare  of  blo<id.  The  more  vague,  the  more  obscure,  the  more  am- 
biguous the  oracles,  whose  nature  is  claimed  by  proverbs,  may  be,  the 
more  sympathetically  and  typically  may  they  be  applied,  perhaps,  to 
those  vague,  obscure,  and  ambiguous  theories  called  *^  new  German 
politics/* 

Weber,  a  witty,   satirical,  cynical,   and  not  over-decent  German 

luthor,  who  succeeded,  perhaps,  better  than  moat  of  his  countrymen  m 

Secting  the  Voltairian  dress,  without  pushing  it  utterly  to  caricature, 

id  putting  coarse,  tawdry,  second-hand  tinsel  iu  the  place  of  its  ori- 


24 


HANS  MICHEL. 


glnal  dangerous  glitter,  has  attributed  what  he  calls  the  perverie  i 

nesfi  of  his  countrymeoj  their  incorrigible  heavinesti>  and  their  un^^il- 
lliigiie«s  to  march  forward  in  the  progress  of  enlightened  ideas,  entirely 
to  tiieir  attachment  to  their  "inane  proverbs"  of  a  retardatory  nature^ 
such  as  *'  Eiie  mit  JVeik,"  borrowed  of  the  more  ancient  *'  Fcstina  lentc" 
*'  Kamini  Zeit  konimt  Rath" — >with  time  comes  counsel^  '*  Mii  Geduid 
pfiucki  man  Rosen"' — patience  gathers  the  budding  rose> — and  others  of 
the  same  nature,  of  which  he  laments  the  quantity  in  the  German 
tongue,  and  enumerates  some  thirty  or  forty.  Had  he  lived,  how  he 
might  have  nuw  rubbed  his  hands  with  satisfaction  at  seeing  his  fellow- 
countrymen  rushing  eagerly  with  full  heaps  of  such  poor  old  proveibt 
in  their  arm»  to  burn  them  as  heretical  to  the  spirit  of  the  times^  and 
blasphemous  towards  a  people's  impatient  will*  upon  the  blazing  pile  of 
revolytion.  They  have  shovelled  all  such  tiresome  old  influence  away 
in  as  wholesale  a  manner  as  he  could  have  desired :  or  rather,  to  do  his 
memory  honour^  they  have  turned  the  poor  proverbs,  martjrr-like,  with 
their  heads  uppermost  before  burning,  until  an  utter  recantation  of 
tlieir  old  heresies^  and  an  avowal  of  diametrically  opposite  principles 
has  been  wrung  out  of  them*  Potw  Saint  '*  Eiic  mit  Iveile,*'  spite  of  the 
antiquity  of  his  Roman,  and  perhaps  more  ancient  origin,  has  been 
made  to  cry  **  Gallop  !  gallop  I  on  !  on  !  Plunge  forward  without  look- 
ing to  right  or  to  left !  heed  not  if  there  be  a  precipice  before  you  I " 
**  Kommt  Zeii  kammt  Rath  *'  has  been  converted  into  "  Do !  and  let 
counsel  come  when  it  will!  "  and  as  to  the  *' roses"  promised  by  un- 
happy "  Geduhl/'  they  have  been  snatched  in  their  first  budsoutof  her 
hand  and  placed  in  the  feverish  grasp  of  impatience,  covered  with 
nettles^  wherewith  men  may  lash  and  sting  each  other's  faces* 

How  delighted  Weber  might  have  been  to  see  his  countrymen,  after 
the  atttO'da'f^  of  their  obstinate  *'  retrograde  and  reactionary  "  pro- 
verbs, acting  to  the  life  those  fables  which  he  has  forgotten  to  include 
in  the  condemnation,  dancing,  much  after  the  fashion  of  the  bull  in  the 
china-shop,  amidst  the  fragments  of  laws,  customs,  principles,  creeds, 
and  hopes,  of  past,  present,  and  future, — striving  to  imitate,  like  the 
ass,  the  gambols  of  the  French  lap-dog — blood- hound  might  be  the 
better  term — ^in  frisking  upon  the  lap  of  revolution,  and  performing 
thereby  such  heavy  and  insensate  antics,  that  men  know  not  whether 
they  should  laugh  at  the  burlestpie  sight  or  cry  for  fear  of  every  kick 
of  the  asinine  hoofs* — cutting  up  tlieir  nenly -obtained  constitution* 
goose  to  get  at  its  golden  eggs  before  it  am  have  time  to  lay,- — taking 
the  mncliiuery  of  the  watch  to  pieces,  like  the  spoiled  boy,  to  see  how 
it  goes,  or  even  to  make  it  go  better*  with  clumsy  fingers,  and  then 
abusing  the  w^atch maker  when  he  finds  it  run  down  with  a  whiz  and 
go  no  more, — and — for  to  the  truth  of  these  proverbs,  after  all,  they 
must  come  at  last — rtourishing  about  their  edged  tools  regardlesslv,  I 
slashing  their  owu  faces  and  cutting  their  own  inexperienced  haa^l 
thereby.  j 

The  time  is  not  long  since  gone  by,  however,  when  the  German  still  1 
cluiig  to  hh  old  conceits,  regarding  them  instinctively,  as  it  were»  ail 
the  bullust  that  kept  tiie  social  vessel  steady  in  the  storuu  Politicallir  | 
sjieaking,  there  was  much  to  be  amended, — perhaps  much  old  rubbisli ' 
to  be  swept  away  and  a  few  stains  to  be  wasljcd  out;  hut  none  dreamt 
then  of  praying  for  the  Ganges  of  revolution  with  all  its  attendant 
crocudilejt^  to  sweep  through  the  house  and  sweep  it  all  away  lo  its , 
foundations,  as  such  a  llood  threatens  to  do^  by  way  of  a  purificatioii  j 


HANS   MICHEL, 


25 


;new  that  politiciil  housewives  must  and  won  Id  be  forced  to  do 
the  work  by  degrees;  and,  in  trutli,  as  Weber  said,  tbey  iuiitinc lively 
also  relied  upon  the  talisman tc  pTOverbs,  whose  anto-da-Je  has  been 
just  commemorated,  fiir  the  realisution  of  what  really  was  desirable. 
S<>cjBUy  speaking,  they  ** bided  their  time"  also  for  the  changes  which 
civilisatioa  bronghtj  alowly,  it  is  true,  but  inevitably;  and  they 
grumbled  not  at  the  good-tempered  nicknames  which  they  gave  them- 
selves. *'  Der  Detii^che  Hans  **  and  '*  der  Deutsche  Michel,**  and 
sometimes  the  combLnation  of  the  two  names  into  that  of  *'  Hans- 
Mickeit"  were  then  terois  of  good-natured  banter  and  not  of  oppro- 
brium, aa  they  have  since  been  taught  by  their  emancipated,  aspiring, 
conceited,  revolutionary  Frei^Geut.  What  might  we  expect  at  home, 
if  we  were  to  fling  aside,  as  unworthy  of  our  regeneration-mood,  the 
good  old  name  of  "John  Bull  ?'*  We  might  as  well  take  up  at  once 
that  of  '*  Jacques- Wolf,*'  like  some  of  our  neighbours.  To  our  praise 
be  it  said,  we  may  still  glory  in  the  name — all  heavy,  headstrong,  blun- 
dering nickn&me  as  it  may  he :  we  may  still  glory  in  the  sturdiness,  the 
solidity,  ay !  and  even  the  obstinacy  of  the  title,  and  pick  it  up  as  a 
wreath  of  laurel,  when  our  envious  neighbours  may  fling  it  m  our 
faces  like  an  old  whisp  of  straw.  **  Der  Deutsche  Hans  *' — German 
Jack — bore>  formerly,  some  analogy  to  "John  Bull,"  although,  per- 
haps, the  name  was  more  directly  applied  to  the  peasant  than  the 
well-thrivingj  sturdy  farmer,  and  bore  a  somewhat  heavier  sense  than 
that  attached  to  our  straightforward,  clumsy^  grumbling,  but  more 
enlightened  "John."  But  even  superstition  attached  a  certain  spell 
of  protection,  well-being,  and  peace  to  the  title.  In  the  Middle  Ages 
in  Germany  there  was  never  a  family  without  a  Hans  among  its  sons : 
there  were  aometimes  even  as  many  as  three,  distinguished  as  Grosz- 
Hana,  Mittel-Hans,  and  Klein-Hans,  or  Great- Jack,  Middle- Jack, 
and  Little-Jack.  In  fact,  there  could  not  be  too  many  Jacks  in  a 
family  circle,  popular  superstition  having  taken  up  the  fancy  that  the 
lightning  would  never  strike  a  roof  beneath  which  the  sacred  name  was 
sheltered.  To  be  sure,  when  houses  were  struck  by  lightning  in  spite 
of  their  multiplicity  of  Hanses,  the  superstition  fell  into  discredit,  and 
the  name  of  Hans  into  disrepute;  it  was  even  degenerated,  sometimes, 
intfi  a  term  of  reproach,  and  *'  Sauf^Hans^'*  Drunken* Jack,  "  Prahl- 
Hans/*  Boasting- Jack,  and  even  *'  Hans-wursl/*  which  term  we  also 
possess,  freely  translated,  in  the  word  *'  Jack^Pudding,"  became, 
among  many  others,  names  of  opprobrium  and  derision.  **Der  Deutsche 
Hans"  however,  was,  for  all  that,  as  sterling,  genuine,  and  hearty  a 
designation  as  a  natiun  might,  in  its  true  interpretation^  be  proud  to  be 
nicknamed  by ;  and  Germany,  over-susceptible  as  the  German  may 
notoriously  be,  smiled  i|uietly  at  its  own  name  until  Frei^Geist  came, 
like  an  evil  Fairy  of  Disorder,  disordering  men's  minds,  and,  by  hold- 
ing up  a  fake,  distorted  looking-glass  to  its  face,  making  it  ashamed  of 
the  phyhiogiiomy  it  saw  thtre,  and  of  the  name  it  bore. 

"  Der  Deutsche  Hans  "  was  no  longer  the  talismanic  spell  it  had 
been  deemed  in  men's  minds ;  the  lightning  struck  the  roof  beneath 
which  it  had  so  long  sheltered  itself  in  peace;  and  then  Frei^  Gcist  pointed 
to  the  ruin  and  condagration  resulting  from  the  storm,  which  it  had 
itself  conjured  up  on  the  political  and  social  horizon  of  Germany,  and 
he  fire  which  it  had  brought  down  upon  the  German  roof,  just  new- 

atched  with  layers  of  constitutions,  and  mockingly  said,  ''Look  ye  1 
comes  of  being  nothing  better  than  a  foolish,  superstitious^  con- 


HANS  ancHEL. 


fiding  '  Deutcher  FiarntJ  "  And  Hans  grew  ashamed  of  liis  name,  «nfl 
called  himself,  with  an  aflTectation  of  Frenchified  manners^  ^*  Jacques*' 
forgetting!  however,  to  take  at  the  same  time  the  old-fashioned  French 
addition  of  "  Bon-homme,**  which  the  French,  to  be  sure,  had  al&o 
sbulBed  oiF  from  them  for  some  time  past, — ju*t  as  the  Flaneur  baa 
known  simple  Anns,  who  have  answered  to  no  other  name  than 
**  Annette,"  and  plain  Janes  who  have  re-haptized  themselves  **  Jean- 
nette/'  But  Hans  may  put  on  what  French  affectations  he  pleases,  Ee 
remains  Hans  for  tdl  that,  and  is  a  far  clumsier  Hans  than  ever, — tripping 
with  a  gait  which  he  has  i  Jl  learnt,  knocking  his  heavy  head^-«till  heavier 
now,  since  he  is  drunken  with  deep  draughts  of  French  revolutionary 
spirits — ^against  every  pillar  and  post  in  his  way>  and  in  danger  of 
falling,  as  ha  trips  on  with  his  nose  ahjft,  into  the  precipice  towards 
which  he  is  staggering,  and  beneath  which  lies  a  slough  of  blood  and  rot- 
tenness. He  is  still  Hans,  and  he  may  pick  among  the  many  Hanses  of 
his  old  proverbial  designations  of  mockery  for  tlie  true  meaning  of  that 
name,  which  he  would  vainly  throw  aside,  or  may  even  take  them  all 
at  random; — *' Hans  Alkrki/'  Jack-what-you-will;  for  he  takes  tip 
every  revolutionary  fashion  that  tailor  Frei-Geigt  offers  him — *'  HaH4 
in  alien  Gassen**  Jack-in-every-street ;  for  he  takes  every  road  that 
his  new  guide  Frei-Geist  points  out  to  him,  however  muddy,  however 
full  of  ruin  and  destruction  it  may  be — *'  Hans  imn  der  Lu/l"  Jack- 
of-the-air,  '*  who  lives  under  the  open  sky  of  rootless  houses,"  as  the 
German  nickname  explains  itself ;  for  he  is  working  hard  to  pull  his 
old  roof  down  npon  his  head,  without  ever  thinking  beforehand  how  be 
is  to  build  a  new  one  to  cover  him — "  Hans  Ru/tr  *auf"  Jack  Stir-up; 
for  he  is  stirring  up,  with  the  restless  character  of  idiotism,  every 
muddy  slough  he  can  put  his  bands  into^  regardless  of  the  pe^tilentiju 
stench  with  which  sncn  *'  &lirring-up"  proverbially  offends  his  nostrilt 
and  endangers  his  health — "  Hans  ohne  Sorge"  Jack  Careless,  *'  who," 
as  the  phrase  continuesj  *'  lives  with  wild-geese  and  eats  of  their  dung  ;** 
for  he  follows  a  **  wild-goose  chase"  after  a  phantom,  thert-by  **  eating 
dirt"  to  a  marvellous  amount  of  quantity,  which  Frei-Geist  crams  into 
his  mouth — "  Hans  mil  der  Latte,'*  Jack-wilh-the-lath,  as  the  fellow 
^as  called  who,  in  an  old  German  game,  struck,  with  bandaged  eyes 
and  a  lath  in  his  hand,  at  a  pot,  to  try  whether  he  would  hit  or  miss; 
for,  verily,  with  designedly  blinded  eyes,  he  goes  smiting  to  the  right 
and  to  the  left,  before  and  behind,  careless  whether  he  hits  or  misses, 
or  what  he  may  smash,  and  if  lie  hits,  breaking  his  pot  to  shivers  with 
his  blow. 

Up,  now,  with  a  few  of  his  old  own  nuts,FlSneur/  and  give  him  a  gentle 
fillip  on  die  no«e  as  he  is  thus  employed*  **  Hans,"  sounds  one,  as  it 
whisks  by,  **  krne  nkht  zu  vkl ;  du  inmzt  sonsi  zu  mel  thun*'  What 
is  in  the  kernel,  when  it  is  cracked  ?  '*  Hans,  learn  not  too  much  of 
what  you  are  told  is  political  knowledge;  or  you  may  do,  indeed,  a  bit 
too  much  afterwards" — ay!  and  repent  it,  too.  What  whispers  an- 
other as  it  flies?  **  Was  Hanscken  nkht  kkrnt,  khrnt  Hans  nimmcr,* 
— what  little  Jack  does  not  learn,  big  Jack  will  never  know.  Ay  ! 
and,  in  truth,  if  **  little  Jack,"  in  his  false  school  of  revolution,  has  not 
already  learnt  a  lesson  of  painful  experience,  ''great  Jack"  will  not 
learn  it,  or  will  learn  it  too  late  to  his  cost.  Another  still:  '*  BVr 
weisz  wo  Hans  isl,  fcenn  *s  Gras  tvachstf"' — who  knows  where  Hans 
will  be  when  the  grass  grows?  Yes!  who  can  tell  when  the  grass 
of  quietude  and  prosperity,^,tramp!ed  down  by  revolutionary  feet  to 


HANS  MICHEL. 


27 


rottenness  nnd  bareness,  may  grow  again  ?  and  where  will  Huns  be  tben  ? 
Prostrate  on  the  bare  earth,  or  revelling  in  the  drnnkennesa  of  blood- 
Yet  another*  *^  Hans  kommi  durch  seine  Dummheit  fort " — Jack's  own 
stupiditf  will  make  him  blunder  through.  Blunder  through  ?  Whi- 
ther? When  stupidity  is  genuine  and  honest,  it  may  blunder  through 
mnch  confusion  and  find  a  resting-place  at  last ;  but  when  ihe  «tnpidity 
decks  it}}  head  with  the  peacock  s  plumes  of  conceit  and  presumption, 
and  the  affectation  of  a  wisdom  of  which  it  has  no  aane  idea^ — ^when 
it  is  pushed  on  by  the  treacherous  instigation  of  designing  men,  who 
take  Jack's  paws  to  thrust  them  between  the  bars,  and  make  them 
draw  the  chestnuts  out  of  the  fire» — when  it  prances,  and  reels,  and 
wears  white  sombreros  on  its  head  stuck  full  of  revolution-typifying 
red  feathers, — when  it  puts  on  a  garb  to  act  a  part,  and  thinks,  Jike  a 
had  actor,  that  it  acts  to  the  life  because  it  wears  the  dress, — when  it 
staggers  along  streets,  howling  for  **  Liberty/*  but  meaning  "License." 
— when  it  cries  *'  Death  to  the  reactionary/'  without  knowing  what  it 
cries,  hut  thinking  thereby  to  cut  the  thi*oat  of  somebody  or  something, 
according  to  the  already-mentioned  golden-goose  fas Ji ion, — when  it 
becomes  frantic,  furious,  bloody-minded,  and  is  no  longer  stupidity, 
but  madness,  whither,  indeed,  will  it  blunder  on  ?  Poor  Deuiscker 
Hans  /  to  what  a  pitch  of  folly  have  you  come  since  you  repudiated 
your  name,  as  gross  and  heavy  and  unworthy  of  your  regeneration  ! 

But  a  word  has  still  to  be  said  of  TMichel" — Jack's  cousin — 
*'  Fetter  Mtchd**  as  he  is  sometimes  called.  "  Der  Deutsche  Michel " 
is  of  a  rather  higher  social  condition  than  Hans :  he  has  less  of  the 
peasant  or  plebs,  and  more  of  the  trading  middle  classes  in  him ; 
and,  in  this  respect,  although  he  is  more  given  to  city  commercial  than 
land  agricultural  pursuits,  he  hears,  perhaps,  a  greater  affinity  to 
honest,  well-thriving  John  Bull, — although,  by-the*way,  Hans  was 
not  otherwise  formerly  than  in  a  very  thriving  condition  also.  And 
Michel  was  a  very  good  fellow  in  his  way,  ready- handed,  soft-hearted, 
loyal,  and  even  enthusiastic  and  inclined  to  Schwtinnerei.  Poor 
Michel,  however,  long  ago  had  an  active  enemy,  who,  if  he  did  him  no 
greater  harm  than  tripping  him  up  in  the  dark,  borrowing  his  money 
without  repaying  it,  and  kissing  his  daughter,  at  all  events,  worried 
out  his  soui  by  turning  him  into  ridicule.  This  enemy  was  the  Stu- 
dent,— the  latent  essence  of  the  Frei^Geisieiei, — who  treated  Michel 
as  the  tjpe  of  his  favourite  object  of  aversion,  objurgation,  and  scorn^ — 
the  Fhdislerthum,  or  ^wrgAer- spirit. 

Some  years  ago,  der  Detttseke  Michel^  in  a  somewhat  more  extended 
sense,  was  shewn  up  in  a  book — at  that  time  prohibited  by  the  strict 
laws  respecting  the  press,  and  only  circulated  under-hand — as  having 
heljied  the  German  sovereigns,  who  were  crying  for  tfce  loss  of  their 
crowns  during  the  wars  of  Napoleon,  through  their  Slough  of  Despond, 
by  having  put  his  shoulder  to  the  wheel  of  their  cart — as  pushed  on  to 
bellow  through  a  muzzle  put  upon  him  by  his  master,  at  the  ahirmed 
Frenchman,  when  the  latter  began  to  raise  a  new  short-lived  clamour 
about  the  Rhine-limits — but  then,  not  content  with  the  reward  he  did 
not  get  fur  his  bellowing, as  looking  very  foolish  at  his  own  good-tempered 
zeal,  and  finally  walking  up  to  the  old  German  emperor,  who  had  slept 
in  a  ma^ic  grotto,  until  his  beard  had  grown  through  a  stone  table* 
This  allegorical  etfusion  was  one  of  the  first,  or,  at  least,  one  of  the 

e,  that  raised  the  new  watchword  of  **  German  Unity  in  a 
ipirei''  and  thus  put  forward  the  revolutionary  pretext  of 


»fe 


tbttliei 


J  «f  tils  Unity,  which 

'  dEl  Cff3i^  mA  wUdi  has  prcxluced 

i  MP  I  Eiiiifg  cffcnfn«oii»  Uie 

oe.    Be  dtai  the  bM^  as  an  imCanoe  of 

wtA  Hjckd  te  bdie¥e  ^hal  be  had  in  truth 

hm  VBS  -r^'nffi^  snd  deceived^  and  that  to 

ft  pfii  11.  at  cbIj  wskiiig  up  the  eld  Gei^ 

Bgy.  VIS  a  greet  aad  eietitorioiiiB  deed. 

as  fct  bei  eely  Imd  es  en  ngl j  imp  along 

ell  wmm  ef  Hssae  fireshs  and  frolics  of 

maMmtkft  m  ibe  eeraldtioa-tniinpet-cdl 

aad  mmr  lendly  shouted  te 

\  m  taMtks'M  md^  BigH  be  the  master  of  Gef^ 

is  levito  and  wmikm  banioades^  aad  destroj,  and 

the  ansisaft  at  iot  tbaeriit  it  good  policy  to 

ae  vf  Ma  ^mmtnh  mtk  Mkbel.  wd  a&r  Hsi^d  hl^  hand^  that 

rwUbt  dMas*  Disarm  viditfmti!  bs^  five  Ocavan  unit?  T  t4>^ 

'    ~  Mk^il,  i id   iiiifaaiii    nd  maeb    bemldeied, 

■is  sev  wJfym  aad  Bade  bameades  too^  and  reTolatioBS. 
Bd  ta  aSap  ab«t,  bawMLi,  iibea  be  cane  a  little  to  his 
ad  tbat  tbe  atodcat  ««s»  at  tbe  battsai  of  his  heart,  is 

^  aa  loyal  in  truth  as 

re  than  his  Oennon 

i  a  Germao  pailia- 

e  ail,  a  ted,  hladct 

ior  tbe  "  nexv  old 

with  tbe 

t  eTen^tMag  with  tbe  last  new 
by#Vai-GBis<,'«'dAaslealJ^«MaBde.''    And  Mi- 

~  t  be  looked  ronnd 
( af  tbe'people»  JuMad  ibat  be  was  liitten  bj  Frn- 
I  a  bjdiapbaiiii  aversion  to  any  clear 
mtor  ef  peace  aad  mist,  via  dnaloM  b^ge  tankards  fiill  of  revolu- 
taaaary  biaadf .  Ana  MkbeL  vbe  bad  csied  §m  anitj  of  nations  and 
^emdm,  and  vaaied  i»  aadke  esse  es^ae  widi  Haa%  aad  hare,  in  fact, 
•alj  atte  auadtsfaBy  bsaiitifal  Haas^Micbel  §udij  between  them,  was 
tnatod  as  a  **  ietiiyads,''  aad  ymt  coabl  aat  gect  nd  of  Hans  abont  bis 
aeek.  Well  nwyaieo  bald  aptbelrbaiids  sad  siaf  the  old  German  aoDg, 
«  HMS-lfidK  Hams-Mkkd,  M  gAH  dm  dam  kmf  Hai»-ttUdid» 
Baa»-liicbd,sh!   where  art  tbaa  gaiw? 

Where  is  Usna-Ilichel  gsiag  t»}  £i  a  Ttgne  way  some  truths  on 
dm  matter  mtriit  be  ctpooaded  te  him  out  of  hia  national  "  Book  of 
Proverbs:"  aad  as  be  faas  never  been  much  out  of  the  path  of  tbe 
**  Vagne,"  sad  ia  now  threading  tbe  misty  tract  more  conhiaedly  than 
ever,  pobaps  stich  a  vi^e  ecpositioB  might  ^nit  him  beat.  The 
Ftdmemt  wpm  the  hook  slmosi  at  random*  What  doea  the  Book 
gf  Pt^vffbs  tcH  Hani-Michel  upcn  tbe  subject  of  lieedom^  **Z« 
ffti  trtsgl  R€we.*"  —  too  free*  woe  to  theei  and  a|^in,  **  Je  mekr 
'"rtikmi^J^  isrAr  AfalAiriil^,''^tbe  more  freedom,  the  more  reck- 
,^4ia  nil'*  again*  '*  FrtiUtii  iM  m  Goii,  FmkeUcn  tarn  Tai/eV' 
f^jl^jjm  eamea  from  God»  licence  from  the  deviL  Hans-Micbel 
.llMwed  the  evil  spirit  of  revolutioa,  the  child  ef  Frri-Gdst,  in 
bss  Bttm  Invited  bim  le  ooaa  east  ftom  Franoe 


f  weald 


be  weald  aat«*ea! 


HANS  MICHEL.  29 

«s  a  pleasant  gtiest— ha  has  clapped  his  Kantls  at  hh  approach^ 
and  now  that  the  evil  spirit  turns  and  rends  him,  on^ht  he  to 
be  surprised  ?  Had  he  not  kicked  his  •'  Book  of  Proverbs  *'  into 
a  duat-hole  as  old  waste- paper,  he  might  have  learnt  from  it  the 
warning  that,  **  fVer  den  Teufcl geladen,  must  ihm  auch  Wcrk  sckajfcn" 
— the  devil's  host  must  give  him  his  own  work  to  do:  he  mi^ht  have 
read,  with  a  forebodin|^  shudder,  that  '*  Wetm  man  den  Teufel  Idszt  in 
die  Kirchc  kommen^  nnU  er  gar  aufden  Altar**  —  let  the  devil  into  the 
church,  and  hell  be  upon  the  altar*  And  truly,  the  sanctuary  of  all 
that  was  formerly  respected  and  lioly  has  been  opened,  by  careless 
bands>  to  the  evil  spirit ;  and  it  has  sprung  upon  the  altar  of  all  old 
faith  to  shatter  it  to  ruin*  In  the  last  unhappy  events  of  Vienna 
(October  1848)^  has  not  the  prophetic  proverb  been  literally  fiilfilled? 
The  evil  spirit  has  'raged  in  the  saoctitied  slirine  of  St.  Stephen's^ — ■ 
blood  has  been  shed  upon  the  very  *'  Holy  of  holies/*  Hana-Michel 
would  retreat  now^  and  would  try,  too  late,  to  mnaszle  the  wild-beast 
he  has  permitted  to  break  forth.  Too  late  I  he  shut  his  eyes  to  the 
very  first  verse  of  the  first  chapter  of  his  popular  oracJes,  that  saya, 
'*  Sieh  vt/r  dich,  dasz  Reue  nichl  betssei  dick  "  —  look  before  thee>  lest 
repentance  bite  thee>  He  looked  not  before  htm  at  world-known  con- 
sequences; and  now  repentance  may  well  bite  him,  suck  his  very  life's 
bltwd,  devour  his  very  marrow.  It  is  useless  now  to  make  wry  faces. 
He  should  know  that,  *'  Thut  dir  's  Kratzcn  tvohtt  so  lasz  dick  nackker 
das  Beisjfen  nichl  verdriessen'* — is  scratching  to  your  taste,  so  grumble 
not  at  biting.  He  laughed  at  the  scratching:  let  him  not  wonder 
that  the  biting  should  follow  ;  let  him  be  prepared  to  be  called 
'*  reactionary/'  when  he  flinches  at  the  bite-  '*  Das  Kalb  musz 
der  Kuh  Jhlgen'  — ^  the  calf  must  follow  the  cow-  He  has  accepted 
the  parentage  of  Frei^Geist  ;  poor  calf!  bleat  as  he  may,  he  must  fol- 
low m  the  steps  of  the  roaring  bull,  or  be  trod  to  death  beneath  its 
hoof.  When  he  followed  so  readily  in  the  dance  led  by  French  revo- 
lutionists, he  should  not  have  forgotton  that,  '^  Reiset  die  Kalze  nach 
Frankreichf  so  kmnmt  ein  Mausfdtiger  wieder "—  if  the  cat  goes  to 
France,  she  is  sure  to  come  back  a  mouse- catcher.  He  has  let  his  cat 
go  to  France  to  school :  can  he  be  surprised  that  she  should  put  her 
claws  on  every  trembling  mouse  within  her  reach^  lick  up  all  the  cream 
of  prosperity  in  the  national  dairy,  and  break  every  pot  and  pan,  nay, 
every  well-stored  treasure  and  relici  in  her  frantic  friskings  ?  When 
Hans-Michel  abjured  his  name,  foolishly  thinking  to  arrive  at  some 
ideal  good  by  clamouring,  as  he  was  taught,  for  *'  the  people's  so- 
vereignty," he  was  not  prepared  to  be  sure  to  be  told  afterwards  that 
this  "  people "  consisted  of  the  tumultuous  lower  classes,  and  their 
friends,  the  hot-brained,  extravagant^  insensate  students^  aloue ;  but 
he  might  have  had  a  pre&entiment,  had  he  looked  into  his  '^  Proverb- 
book/*  that,  ^'  Wer  deta  Puhd  dient  hat  einen  scklimmen  Herrn"  that, 
he  who  serves  the  people  serves  but  a  bad  master— that,  "  Wenn  die 
Herru  hauern,  und  die  Bauern  herren,  so  gieti  es  Lumpeft,'*  that,  when 
the  master  acts  the  man,  and  the  man  the  master,  both  are  no  better 
than  raggamuffins  —  that  *'  Dem  Pobel  n*eich%  thn  *s  alter  ikm  nicht 
gleich**  —  give  way  before  the  people,  but  follow  it  not — were  words 
containing  a  wholesome  lesson  to  be  studied :  for  that  *'  Dem  Pohei 
fveicki  auck  der  Teufd-^"  even  the  devil  himself  is  not  match  for 
it.  Pour  HaBS-Michel !  he  dreamt  of  **  new  orders  of  things," 
new  constitutions,    new   rights,  new  empires  —  new  —  the  FMncvr 


HANS  MICHEt 


knows  not  what;  but  he  kicked  his  old  shoes  off  his  feet,  or  al- 
lowed them  to  be  most  viUanoiisly  trod  down  at  heel^  before  be 
knew  where  to  get  new  one*^  much  less  what  a  price  he  should  hare 
to  pay  for  them,  and  with  a  chance  of  not  getting  them  after  all :  he 
forgot  the  warning,  "  ^^^^rf  die  alien  iSchufte  nkhi  weg  bU  du  nenc 
hast"  He  made  a  vast  bue-and^cry  about  his  new  national  Unity 
Parliament,  with  sovereign  attributea,  without  thinking  that  "  Es  w/ 
nicht  gut,  wenn  viele  regicrcn" —  there  's  little  weal  when  many  rule — 
that  **  Es  ist  schlimm  rcden  hei  dencH,  die  cinen  zu  Tode  reden** — it  it 
ill  talking  with  those^  who  talk  one  to  death,  as  the  fantai^tic  parlia* 
ment  does— and  that  *'  Grosz  Geprahtf  schmakr  Bisxen* —  great  boast, 
small  roast, — as  the  same  good  parliament  has  most  excellently  exem- 
plified. To  be  sure  this  same  parliament  of  Hans-Michel'ii  has  shewn 
Itself,  in  its  majority,  moderate,  and  conservative  in  a  revolutionary 
sense — ^if  sense  there  be  in  such  a  hull ;  the  evil  spirit  has  not  got  quit© 
the  upper  hand  in  it  yet* 

However,  the  Flaneur  will  not  venture  to  offer  to  Hans-Michel,  on 
thiH  subject,  an  old  proverb  that  might  seem  apropos^  "  fVo  dcr  TeH/d 
nivkt  hin  kann,  da  sc/tic&t  er  etn  alt*  IVeiL  " —  where  the  devil  cannoi 
get  in,  there  he  sends  an  old  woman, — lest  he  should  l»e  thought  1 
suggest  an  unseemly  allusion  to  the  poor  old  Reichswenvcser,  til 
Archduke  John  of  Austria*  Hans-Michel  now,  however,  is  olf  on  hii 
dangerous  career;  and  if,  in  the  darkness  of  the  path  in  which 
stumbles  drunkeniy  forwards,  he  thinks  ever  to  set  up  a  guiding  ligfa 
to  lighten  his  ways, — if  he  ever  manages  to  hold  one  aloft  at  all,  tha 
is  not  extinguished  at  once  by  the  storm,  —  let  him  not  forget 
thatj— 

«<  SeiMi  man  dku  Lkht  mu  hoeK  'o  fotcht  €m  det  Winds 
SetMi  man  e*  ru  niedHg^  *o  to»ohi  e$  dot  kmd.*^ 

'*  If  lie  fix  hiB  Hgbt  toci  higli,  every  wind  il  pufT  out  the  flame  : 
If  he  Hk  hiK  li^lit  too  low,  cttch  mmd  cljiltl  Diay  du  the  same.** 

At  all  events,  Hans-Micliel  can  only  blame  himself  if  his  light  be 
utterly  extinguished.  "  fVie  das  Gcspinnstf  m  das  Gcwinnst  *' — as  the 
Web  is  woven,  so  the  winning  *s  won — in  other  words,  **  As  be  sows,  so 
he  mufit  reap,"  many  tares  and  little  wheat, — as  it  will,  to  all  appearance, 
prove.  Poor  Hans-Michel  I  **  Fid  nttscheu  machf  scklechie  IJojten"—' 
fidgftiy  baset^  muke  holts  in  breeches.  Poor  Hans-BIichel  i  he  has  been 
fidgetting  about  upon  his  new  revolutionary  seat,  until  he  has  already 
worn  sad  and  nioiit  unseemly  holes  in  his  national  inex(>ressibies:  if  he 
fidget  thus  much  longer,  he  may  find  himself  soon  sitting  bare— «  vi-ri- 
table  mm-cuivtte — upon  a  most  uneasy  stool  of  repentance.  At  all 
events,  whatever  measures  he  may  take  to  cook  up  that  fabulous  dish 
of  National  Unity,  in  stirring  up  the  broth  of  which  so  many  cooks  are 
engaged,  regardless  again  of  all  proverbs  about  "  many  cooks,'*  let  him 
reflect  well  each  time  l>efore  he  stirs  the  fire,  and  whether  he  upplv  not 
the  heat  too  fast,  "  Gehrannt  ist  nicht  gt'hralen  "^burnt  meat  in  no 
roast  meat.  The  "  new  order  of  things,"  for  which  Hans-Michel  still 
clamours,  may  Ikc  turned  round  at  the  revolutionary  fire  ;  but  it  will  he 
no  sound  lieahhful  food  for  all  that.  But  now  the  Flaneur  finds  it 
high  time  to  shut  up  his  **  Book  of  Proverbs,"  and  bid  adieu  to  his  boat 
&nd  friend  Hans- Michel,  with  the  warning  song,  "  Hanx^ Michel! 
Hans-Michel,  wo  gehsi  du  demi  hin  ?  *'  and  with  the  wish  that  he 
njight  duly  crack  the  nuts  Hung  at  his  head,  and  digest  them  uutri- 
tioualy. 


SI 


QUEEN'S  BENCH  SKETCHES. 


BY  W.   H.   MAXWELL^   EBQ. 

**  The  Uw  of  arrest  for  debt,  is  a  permisftion  to  commit  greater  opprewinn  aod 
inbiimaniiy  than  ure  to  J»o  met  in  slavery  itself — to  tear  the  father  from  his  weeping 
children— the  huRhund  from  his  distrncted  wife — to  aatiute  the  deiDoniiic  veiigeaii<» 
of  tome  wortlileM  creditor/'^-Lofci  Eidon*i  Speech  ^n  the  Siav4  Trade* 

Skktch  IV, 
"  MiBS  H —  waa  married  when  aixleeii  to  a  man  on  the  wrong  Bide  of 
forty.    In  arrancing  her  union  her  parents  treated  her  like  a  child^  re- 

?;ulated  the  settlement,  and  told  her  when  called  upon  to  nign  the  deed 
or  the  first  time,  the  name  of  the  happy  man  to  whom  her  hand  had 
been  legally  assigned^  and  with  as  little  ceremony  as  n  horse  Is  knocked 
down  at  Tattersairs  to  the  best  and  highest  bidder.  Her  Jlege  lord 
was  of  the  Borean  school,  rude,  noisy,  and  swore,  as  antiqutited 
troopers  used  to  swear,  A  sla^h  of  a  cutlass  acroas  the  cheek  does  not 
add  much  to  personal  beauty,  and  although  a  wooden  leg  is  a  very 
honourable  substitute  for  a  flesh  one,  still  among  board ing-achooJ  girls^ 
the  prejudice  is  strong  in  favour  of  the  latter  supporter.  Sir  Hannibal 
regulated  his  household  as  he  did  his  ship;  he  was,  in  truth,  what 
is  termed  'a  taut  hand;^  at  the  sound  of  his  stump,  cook  and  house- 
maid held  their  peace, 

•  Breading  the  deep  damnation  of  his  *  Bah  1  * 

while  his  lady  wife  scarcely  dared  to  bless  herself  without  permission. 

"  When  promoted  to  bis  flag  and  a  command,  the  martinet  habits 
pursued  for  a  dozen  years  in  hia  domicile  and  ship,  underwent  no 
cbange,  and  the  laws  of  Aledes  and  Persians  were  never  more  absolute 
than  the  port-regulations  of  the  single-legged  commander*  One  grave 
otfence  in  the  eyes  of  Sir  Hannibal  was,  a  youngster  appearing  on  shore, 
unless  be  were  '  in  full  fig/  and  wo  unto  the  unhappy  reefer,  upon  whom 
the  rear  admiral  could  pounce  in  mufti. 

^*  In  a  sen-port,  like  an  inland  village,  scandal  will  occur ;  and,  as  in 
earlier  life,  the  West  Indies  had  been  the  scene  of  his  exploits,  it  was 
maliciously  whispered  that  he  had  there  committed  an  amatory  esca^ 
pade,  and  when  '  Bnccbi  plenus,*  had  married  a  woman  of  colour.  Re- 
port further  stated  that,  tired  of  his  black  beauty,  the  admiral  had 
drawn  the  splice,  allotting  to  the  lady  of  his  former  love  a  small  annuity 
to  support  herself  and  one  youthful  pledge  of  mutual  affection. 

**ljate  one  fine  afternoon.  Sir  Hannibal  was  taking  a  digestive  stroll 
after  an  early  tiflfen,  when,  on  rounding  the  corner  of  a  street,  he  ran 
against  an  unhappy  midshipman  who  had  ventured  on  shore  in  a  round 
hat* 

*^' Hallo,  youngster,  what  ship  do  you  belong  to?'  roared  the  com- 
Lmander. 

'  To  the  Penelope,*  stammered  the  reefer. 

" '  What  is  your  name,  eh  ?  ' 

** '  Patt  Macnamara.* 

**  *  You  have  no  cocked  hat,  it  would  appear,  eh  ?     Well,  we  '11  try 
[mid  find  you  one.' 

**  And  taking  the  victim  by  the  arm,  he  crossed  the  street,  and  en* 
Uered  an  outfitter's  shop. 


ss 


queen's   BENCn    SKETTCHES. 


" '  This  young  gentleman  requires  a  cocked  hat/  said  tbe  admiral ; 
'supply  him  with  what  he  wants,  and  I  will  see  you  paid.' 

*'  And  with  a  grin  of  satisfaction,  he  bade  the  alarmed  midshipman 
'  Good  morning/  and  toddled  down  the  street.  filr,  Macnamara 
watched  him  until  he  had  stumped  round  the  corner^  and  then  turning 
coolly  to  the  counter,  he  selected  a  handsome  cfiapeau, 

'* '  How  devilish  particular  my  father  is/  said  the  reefer,  as  he  ex- 
amined his  person  with  great  satisfaction  in  the  pier-glass.  ■ 

" '  Your  father,  sir/  returned  the  astonished  hatter.  ■ 

"'  Ye*/  said  the  unblushing  midshipman.     'The  thing's  not  gcne^ 
rally  known,   for  my  step-mother  is  so  infernally  jealous,  that  if  she 
discovered  Sir  Hannibal  had  a  successor  to  his  estates,  there  would  be 
the  devil  to  pay  and  no  pitch  hot.' 

"  Now  IVIr.  Gubbins,  the  outfitter,  had  heard  the  West  Indian  stoij 
whivspered  quietly  at  his  counter,  and  Mr.  iMacnamara,  being  exceed- 
ingly swarthy,  he  concluded  him  to  be  the  half-caste  heir  of  the  wooden* 
le^ed  commander,  and  great  was  his  civility  accordingly. 

**  *  Was  there  iiny  other  article  he  could  shew  him  *  *  and  stocks* 
shirts,  and  pocket-handkerchiefs,  were  rapidly  paraded.  Mr.  Alacna- 
mara  thougjit  he  might  as  well  complete  his  outfit  at  once>  settled  him- 
self on  a  chair,  and  most  generously  encouraged  trade  by  an  extensive 
selection.  The  articles  were  to  be  directly  sent  to  the  sally-port  where 
the  boat  was  waiting  from  him,  and  Mr.  Alacnamara  was  ceremoniously 
bowed  out  of  the  shop,  he  having  given  the  out  litter  a  monitory  hint, 
tbat  he  was  to  take  care  when  he  handed  the  bill  to  his  papa,  that  bis 
siep^ni other  was  not  present. 

**  Three  days  passed;  the  admiral  was  taking  his  usual  stroll,  and 
perceiving  1^1  r.  Gubbins  disengaged^  he  stumped  into  tbe  shop^  and 
took  a  chair  beside  the  counter* 

'*  <  He,  he,  he!  Gubbins,  brought  you  a  customer  t'other  day;  that 
yellow  chap,  you  recollect/ 

**  *  He  is  a  leetle  dark.  Sir  Hannibal;  but  lord  I  he*s  a  fine  oft" 
handed  young  gentleman.  I  assure  your  honour,  when  he  told  me  of 
the  relationship,  that  I  supplied  him  with  the  best  articles,  and  charged 
the  lowest  figure/ 

'' '  The  relationship  I '  exclaimed  the  admiral.  '  Why,  who  tlie  devil 
is  he  related  to?* 

**  *  I  never/  said  Mr.  Gubbins,  in  reply,  and  simpering  as  he  bowedi 
'  name  anything  entrusted  to  me  in  confidence,  but  I  never  saw  a 
itrunger  likeness  to  a  father  in  my  life«  Lord  !  Sir  Hannibal,  had  tbe 
you  Jig  gentleman  not  mentioned  it  himself,  I  should  have  guessed  it  in 
a  moment.* 

"'Guessed  what? '  roared  the  admirah 

** '  That  1  had  the  honour  to  supply  your  son.' 

"'Whoaeson?' 

" '  Youm^  Sir  Hannibal/  

•*  *  Hell  and  furies  1 '  shouted  the  infuriated  commander    *  I  have  no 

* 

"*Not,  as  the  young  gentleman  explained  to  me,  by  her  present 
ladyship,  but  by  a  black  gentlewoman  in  Jamaica.  Indeed,  he  con- 
■iderately  nienliouid,  that  I  was  not  on  any  account  to  hajid  you  Uia 
UtUe  bill  in  the  presence  of  his  stepmother,  for  that  she  was  a  re^kr 
white  sergeant,  and  you  dare  not  buckle  on  your  leg  without  permis- 
lioii/ 


k 


queen's  bench  sketches.        33 

**  Sir  Hannibal  stared  i  his  eyes  dilated » 

<*  Until  eiicli  strained  ball  of  aight  aeeto'd  bars  ting  from  his  head," 

*^  Ht*avens  and  earth !  it  was  quite  evident  tliat  he  had  been  bnnibii|r- 

d  ;  but  tbat  be,  before  whose  wrath  a  whole  ship's  coTiipan\r  trembled, 

d  to  whose  order  the  pertest  spider- brus her  dared  not  ^f^vt  a  reply, 
that  he  should  be  represented  as  rough-ridden  by  his  wife,  and  debarred 
from  nainj^  liis  wooden  substitute,  without  obtain inf*  feminine  permis- 
sion before  he  strapped  it  on  i  Why  a  saint,  Jaden  heavily  with  psalm- 
books,  could  not  listen  to  the  charge  with  common  patience  ! 

^' *  You  did  not  Jet  the  young  scoundrel  take  away  the  hat?*  in- 
quired the  old  pjentlemnn*  suspiciously. 

'"The  butt'  excluimed  the  astonished  tradesman,  '  Ay,  and  six- 
and  twenty  pounds'  worth  of  general  out-fittings  besides.  Why,  on 
your  respected  guarantee^,  he  might  have  carried  off  the  shop,  contents 
and  all; 

"  The  admiral,  dreaming  of  nothing;  short  than  the  annihilation  of 
this  young  and  nef;irious  delinquent,  stnmped  otU  of  the  shop,  mi^^ 
bent  on  speedy  vengeance,  headed  to  the  pier.  His  barge  was  promptly 
on  the  water,  and  the  crew  of  the  Penelope  were  marvellously  sur- 
prised to  see  the  dreaded  functionary j  at  this  nnusual  hour^  pulling 
directly  to  the  frigate. 

"  *  What  the  devil  drives  old  timber-toe  this  way,  and  at  this  time  ?  * 
inquired  one  idler  from  another,  as  standing  on  a  carronade,  he  scruti- 
nized the  Approaching  boat  through  his  telescope. 

"  '  No  friendly  errand,  you  miiy  depend  upon  it.  I  can  even  now 
remark  that  there  is  a  cockle  in  his  wig.     But  here  comes  the  schipper.* 

"And  as  the  captain  came  on  deck,  the  youngsters  moved  away. 

"Ten  minutes  brought  Sir  Hannibal  alongside,  and  an  honourable 
reception  placed  him  and  his  wooden  supporter  in  safety  on  the  frij^ate'a 
quarter-deck.  The  unusual  and  unexpected  evening  caH  bad  excited 
a  general  curiosity  over  the  ship,  and  hundreds  were  listeiiing  anxifiosly 
to  learjj  what  might  he  the  cause  of  this  mysterious  visit.  The  admi- 
ral was  no  whisperer — and  all  doubt  as  to  the  object  of  his  coming  was 
speedily  put  to  rest. 

'"Muster  your  midshipmen/ roared  the  single-legged  commtinder. 
*  You  have.  Captain  Black wowl,  a  d— d  scamp  among  the  lot/ 

'"If  yon  made  the  number  half  a  dozen.  Sir  Hannibal,  you  would 
come  nearer  to  the  mark,  ^lay  I  inquire  the  name  of  the  mauvais 
gtijei  after  whom  you  so  particularly  inquire?  * 

'"He  calls  himself  Macnamara/ 

**  *  No  such  name  upon  our  muster-roll.  Describe  him,  if  you  can, 
personally.* 

*"A  tall,  wiry,  devil-may-care-looking  chap,  dark  eyes  and  hair, 
and  yellow  as  a  kite*s  claw.' 

**  'Nothing  in  the  Penelope  that  answers  this  description.  But*! 
see  the  youngsters  laugh.  Possibly,  from  some  of  them  we  may  find 
a  clue  to  Mr.  Macnnmara.  Hotham,'  and  he  beckoned  to  one  of  the 
reefers,  who  immediately  came  forward  ;  'do  you  know  anything — ' 

"'Of  a  scoundrel  who  did  Hnggins  out  of  thirty  pounds,  and  swore 
that  I  was  his  father?'  shouted  the  admiral. 

"  Captain  Blackwood  turned  his  head  aside,  as  he  felt  some  difficulty 
to  preserve  a  proper  gravity. 

I  am  pretty  sure,  sir,  that  I  know  the  yonng  gentleman.' 

VOL.  XXV,  n 


f 


QUEENS   BENCH    SKETCHES. 


35 


being  snapped  up  by  some  militaire,  to  whom  a  change  of  linen  and  a  few 
sovereigns  would  be  a^jrceable  surprises »  is  miraculous,  Slie  did,  how- 
ever, come  home  a  mdow^ — but  escaped  that  matrimonial  Chary bdisj, 
a  soHf  nontenant ^  only  to  fall  into  Scylla,  in  the  shape  of  a  London 
solicitor* 

**  T^lr^  Jones  Sweepall  was  a  west  end  practitJoneTj  borrowed  money 
for  the  Blues,  put  in  appearances  for  t!ie  Life  Guards,  drew  settle- 
ments for  single  gentlemen  and  their  wives,  and  would  not  hiy  pen  on 
fmrchment  for  any  client  who  could  not  plead  gentility.  He  was  a  man 
argely  embued  with  law,  and,  as  D[>ctor  Ollapod  says,  *full  of  honour 
as  a  corps  of  cavalry.'  He  had  chambers  in  the  Albany,  and  a  house 
on  Hampstead  Heath*  His  lady  drove  a  smartish  brougham — but  Mn 
S  wee  pall,  for  the  sake  of  exercise  and  health,  preferred  making  his 
diurnal  migrations,  in  and  out  of  town,  on  hoTReback. 

**  Lady   made    the    acquaintance  of   Mrs.  Jones   Sweepall   at 

Madanie  Cremeline's  Magazm  dcs  inw^to,  a  worfij/t' of  unquestionalde 

ioH,  to  whom  Lady had  been  favoured  with  a  letter  of  introduc- 

tionj  by  a  Parisian  corset-maker*  The  ladies  being  in  quest  of  a  duck 
of  a  bonnet,  the  taste  of  both  was  mutually  interchanged  in  effecting 
the  selection*  Sir  Hannibal,  being  two  monttis  dead,  it  was  full  time 
for  his  relict,  as  Bob  Acres  did  '  his  leathers,'  to  render  her  crape 
'incapable;  *  while  Mrs.  Sweepall  required  something  smart  and  sea- 

fTeenish,  wherewith  to  open  the  summer  campaign  at  Worthing.  In 
Jerman  romances,  ladies  and  gentlemen  exchange  eternal  fidelity  over 
a  stoup  of  Rhenish -^and  why  should  not  enduring  friendship  be  regis- 
tered across  a  counter  ? 

"In  one  brief  week,  IMrs,  Jones  Bweepall  regarded  Lady with 

a  protective  feeling  amounting  to  maternal,  she  being  at  least  three 
years  older  than  the  adopted  one.  On  all  matters  of  importance,  such 
as  millinery  orders  and  contributions  to  pic-nics,  Mrs.  Jones  Sweepall 

was  more  anxious  in  directing  Lady  • *s  operations^  even  than  a  bad 

stepmother — and  hence  the  migrations  to  sea-coast,  spa,  or  town,  were 
invariably  made  in  company,  the  admiral's  relict  paying  of  course  her 
portion  of  the  expenses, 

tf  When  ladies  are  confidential, 'much  private  matter  will  pop  out — 

and  Lidy castially  mentioned  that  sue  had  three  thousand  ponnda 

in  government  secnrities.  Mrs.  Jones  Sweepall  started  at  the  confes- 
sion, and  politely  inquired  whether  'she  were  mad?'  Mad  she  was 
not,  for  Sir  Hannibal,  of  wo<i  den -legged  memory,  had  often  asserted^ 
and,  as  was  '  his  wont,'  verilied  the  same  on  oath,  that  he,  tlie  com- 
mander, would  not  trust  any  bank  save  that  of  Eagland,  with  the  cus- 
tody of  a  sovereign.  What  were  Contts,  Smith,  Payne,  Jones,  Lloyd, 
and  such  lif»ht  craft  as  these?  Why,  when  he  was  master's  mate 
In  the  Amphion,  had  not  Shakerleys,  the  quaker  bankers,  failed  at 
Portsmontbj  for  twenty  thousand  pounds? 

**  Mr.  Jones  Sweepall  just  then  happened  to  toddle  in,  listened 
graciously  to  the  subject  in  dispute,  and  gently  elevated  his  shoulders. 

"  *  Good  heavens !  Lady ,  have  yon  been  so  ill  advised  as  to  leave 

money  in  the  funds  ?  Oh  !  bad  I  known  it  but  two  days  ago  I  but  we 
must  bow  to  the  decrees  of  fate/ 

"  *  Really  I  do  not  understand  you/  observed  the  pretty  mourner. 

'''  Welli  to  be  intelligent,  since  your  departed  husband  was  a  mas- 
ter's mate  (1  take  that  event  in  round  numbers,  to  reach  back  to  half 
Mr  century )»  the  world,  my  dear  lady,  has  been  re-created.    We  hold 

D  2 


QUE^S  BENCH    SKETCHES* 


:m 


an  era  some  dosen  years  back  to  he  ctyexhtent  with  wliat  ftdiooTfn^ 
term  the  diirk  ages.  But,  good  Lord!' — and  Mr.  Jones  S\veep« 
lurued  his  eyes  upwards,  even  to  the  cornice—'  what  must  have  been 
the  btale  of  things  when  your  lamented  husband  was  a  maiiter'a  mate  ? 
£len  ignorantly  considered  then  that,  with  good  securitv,  four  per 
cent-  was  an  excellent  return  for  money  sunk  ;  and  I  heur^  my  father 
mention  the  lamentable  case  of  a  country  gentleman  who  became  hope- 
lessly deranged  from  having  lent  out  five  thousand  pounds  at  fiv& 
We  turn,  however,  our  cosh  to  better  account  now-a-days.  The  wi 
before  last  I  invested  twenty  thousand  pounds  for  Lady  Twankey, 
widow  of  the  great  tea  merchant,  in  the  Bally-smashall  Giand  Junc^ 
tion  with  the  Great  Conoem&ra ;  and  1  pledge  my  honour  as  a  gentle* 
man' — and  he  placed  a  band  crippled  with  jewellery  across  bla  breaii 
— •  that  her  ladyship,  within  a  couple  of  years,  is  as  likely  to  receiTe 
from  the  investment  five-and -twenty  per  cent,  as  she  is  five  V 

"Now  Mr.  Jones  Sweepall  spoke  the  truth  ;  for  the  one  event 
just  as  probable  as  the  other. 

**Laay  sighed,  and   thought  what  luck  a  woman  bad 

married  into  the  tea  trade. 

**  The  conversation  was  renewed.  Had  Mr.  Jones  Sweepall  enter- 
tained the  remotest  suspicion  that  bis  unsuspecting  friend  bad  been 
swindled  into  the  funds,  even  a  fortnight  since  be  could  have  remedied 
tlie  grievance.  But  it  was  too  late— nut  a  share  in  the  *  Bally-sma^all ' 
w^as  prtKuruble  for  love  or  money, — ay,  or  at  any  price. 

'* '  Wliat  will  not   woman  when  she  loves  ?*  as  the  song  says — but 
what  Will  not  woman  when  she  has  bestowed  her  friendship  on  another  j 
Mrs.  Jones  Sweepall  was  ven  pretty,  and  Mr.  Jones  Sweepdl  was  ve 
proud  of  possessing  beauty  aud  aflfection  united.     Mrs.  Sweepall  pa 
Ler  arms  round  his  neck — used  such  diminutives  as  wiFes  use  mk 
soliciting  the  thing  supposed  uugrantable^-called   bim    her 
'Joney,'  and  declared  that  she  would   never  release  him    fro 
aw«et  bondage  until  he,  the  darling  '  Joney,'  would  prouiiset  oa 
llODour  of  a  solicitor,  to  exchange  three  thousand  pounds'  woith 
Bally-smashalls  for  as  much  rubbish  in  the  three  |ier  cents  1 

•*  Alen  are  all  weak.  Marc  Antony  lost  the  world  for  'a  qtteeiK 
fifty  * — aud  Mrs*  Sweepall  was  but  thirty- five.  Now  what  cbanoe  F 
the  unfortunate  man  of  law  ?  Like  John  Gilpin,  be  kissed  bis  '  dea 
dear/  aud  next  day  exchanged  three  thousand '  Bally-smasballs '  for  the 
pretty  widows*  three  per  cents.  There  was  a  proof  of  self-devotion  in 
II  solicitor ! 

"A  lady  with  four  hundred  u-year,  '  without  incumbrance/  may  live 
particularly  well ;  but  lake  the  medium  return  of  the  *  Baliy-smashalls ' 
iit  fifteen  |>er  cent.,  whv»  it  would  not  require  Jo©  Hume  to  demon* 
atrate  that  the  relict  of  bir  Hiinnih»il  bad  a  clear  eight  hundred  at  her 
disposal.  Should  she  remain  at  Portsea,  or  Portsmouth,  or  any  other 
port?  No,  Why  *  waste  her  sweetness  on  the  desert  air?*  Town 
was  the  place.    Mrs.  Jones  Sweepall  assured  Lady  of  the  liicW 

aud  I^f  r.  Jones  Svveep4dl  confirmea  the  assertion* 

**  Lady  ■  accordingly  cut  her  unfashionable  locality,  and  removed 

ber  household  gods  to  No.  121,  Maddox  Street. 

**  An  unsuspicious  man  may  inan^e  to  escape  the  macbinations  of  a 
rogue  ;  but  a  woman,  ignorant  of  the  world,  has  no  security  against  the 
artificer  of  her  own  sex.  Mrs.  Sweepall,  to  specious  manners  united  con- 
•iLOUiiHle  cunnings — Mr.  Sweepall.  was  oa  unprincipled  as  any  scoundiil 


r 


queen's  bench  sketches.  37 


in  tlie  profession;  and  a  brace  of  greyliounda  never  conrRed  a  hare  in 
company  with  more  alility  and  fixity  of  determination  to  run  !ier  down. 

Lady was  vain,  thotightless,  and  confidinir — and  Mrs.  Sweepall  led 

her  into  debt,  Mr*  SweepnU  induced  tbe  wretched  fool  to  accept  bills 
for  hioi,  and  extensively  ;  und  so  perfectly  was  the  victim  deluded,  that 
the  niorninfj  on  which  she  was  arrested  in  Regent  Street,  and  driven 
to  ]Mr,  Levi's  select  establishment,  she  fancied  she  was  worth  ten  thou- 
sand pounds,  at  the  moment  when  she  was  irretrievably  ruined.  She 
was  actually  en  rouie  at  the  time  to  inquire  for  2\Jrs.  Sweepallj  whom 
she  had  not  seen — strange  occurrence  f — for  two  days. 

"  For  hours  she  smte  in  the  apartment  of  a  sponging-bouse,  gazing 
listlessly  through  the  barred  windows,  until  the  dream-like  vision 
which  Hit  ted  across  her  unsettled  mind  assumed  the  lixed  character  of 
sad  reality.  What  was  to  be  done?  She  rang  the  bell, — asked  for 
the  bailiif*8  chief  official, — ^and  inquired  the  course  she  should 
pursue. 

"  *  Send  for  your  solicitor,  marm,'  was  the  reply.  '  I  '11  git  ye  a 
messenger.     IV'ho  is  he?' 

'*  '  Mr.  Jones  Sweepall/ 

*' '  Lord  I  how  queer  I  Why,  he  would  be  a  smart  chap  wot  would 
find  him,  I  guess.  He's  done  hnnvn,  and  has  cut  his  lucky.  I  '11  see 
if  I  can't  git  the  paper  rs  contains  the  particklars.' 

'*  In  a  few  minutes  be  returned  with  the  *  Times,*  and  Ludy  ^ 

read  the  fullowing  paragraph : — 

"'The  Bally-sma-shall  bubble,  as  had  been  long  since  foretold,  has 
burst  at  last ;  and  of  all  the  swindles  of  the  day,  this  seems  the  moat 
atrocious.     The  projector,  a  scoundrel  well  known  among  the  black 
sheep  of  the  law,  has  succeeded  in  ruining  hundreds  of  the  unsuspect- 
ing— and^  as  it  now  appears,  credulous  wi»men  were  not  *  few  and  far 
between'  in  the  roll  of  his  victims.     His  hidy  was  an  admirable  ally — 
and  while  the  worthy  chairman   levanted   to  the  Continent  with,  as 
I       report   states,  '  ten  thousand/   I^Irs.  Sweepall  contrived,  in  two  brief 
I      days,  to  denude  the  Hampstead  establislmient  of  everything  convertible 
into  cash,  leaving  of  the  erstwhile  sweetly  appointed  villa  scarcely 
I      *a  wreck  behind/ 

^  *'To  pourtray  the  extent  of  misery  into  which  that  half-maddened 

woman  had  been  plunged ^  requires  no  sketching.  She,  left  in  affluence, 
in  one  short  year  was  beggared.  —  She  will  soon  be  fatuous, —  she 
is  even  now  half-imbecile — and  if  she  ever  chajij^e  her  place  of  bond- 
age, the  chances  are,  the  eTtchange  will  be  for  a  lunatic  iisylum/' 

1  shuddered  at  the  picture  that  I  be  two-legged  gentleman  had 
drawn,  *'  And  could  ma  that  poor,  weak,  wretch t'd  woman*  even  by  her 
sheer  simplicity,  exact  some  small  compassion  from  her  victimizers?*' 
"  Oh  i  no.  The  Scotch  say,  that  *  hawks  dina  pike  oot  hawks  een/ 
The  real  beast  of  prey  is  hnman,^ — the  brute  respects  his  kind,  but 
man  never  spares  his  fellow  I" 

How  long  I  might  have  moralized  is  uncertain,  bad  not  a  band  been 
laid  upon  my  shoulder,  and  a  voice  exclaimed  close  to  my  ear,  that  he 
*'  would  sleep  me  against  anything,  barring  a  watchman,  for  a  thou- 
sand" I  awoke.  The  little  demon,  as  he  appeared  to  the  student  of 
Madrid,  vanished  in  a  cloud  of  smnke, —  the  Bencbj  with  its  dark 
walla  and  motley  population,  melted  into  air  ;  for,  as  honest  John 
Bunyan  says — "  Lo!   it  was  a  vision/' 


38 


THE  BYE-LANES  AND  DOWNS  OF  ENGLAND; 

WITH 

TURF   SCENES   AND   CHARACTERS. 
BY   SYLVANUS. 


The  Ejcctimon.  —  A  Rfonimg  Rtde.  —  Langton  Wold.— The  '^  Trial."— WTiiw 

Wail  Corner. — Our  **  Ilouseliold  Gods,** 

The  dewdrops  yet  trembled  unbroken  on  the  neatly  trimmed 
hedges  of  the  farm,  and  brightly  flixxled  the  large  fields  of  red 
clover^  wheat,  and  trefoili  through  whose  vernal  beauties  a  bridle- 
pathj  crossed  at  intervals  by  white  hand-gates,  led  to  the  so-called 
high-road,  by  which  route,  before  breaking  my  fast,  I  purposed  to 
gain  a  small  market-town  on  the  Wolds^  situated  some  score  of  miles 
inland  from  my  present  hii!f*rural,  half-marine  habittttion. 

It  was  in  the  blush  of  spring,  and  un  hour  or  two  before  sunrise, 
when  I  mounted  **  Hildebrand/'  bent  on  a  fortnight's  excursion  to 
the  southward,  actuated  by  the  hope  of  finding  a  friend  at  his  cottage 
on  the  Wharfe,  who  from  his  bnsinesx-ltke  connexion  with  the  turf 
might  safely  be  termed  a  racing-man,  and  whom,  1  had  no  doubt,  of 
inducing  to  adopt  my  mode  of  travelling,  and  then  to  accompany 
me  as  far  as  Newmarket,  whither  I  knew  he  would  be  on  the  point 
of  starting  for  the  first  Spring  IMeeting. 

An  autumn  an<l  winter  had  passed  away  since  I  returned  to  old 
England,  and  had  sufficed  hy  aid  of  my  veteran  campaigning  recipe 
for  hatching  comfort — by  ruminating  on  scenes  in  contrast — to  see 
me  fairly  shaken  down  in  my  rustic  quarters ;  andj  moreover,  1  was 
content  with  my  arrangements,  for  in  thh  lies  the  secret. 

During  this  period  of  comparative  inertion,  I  struck  off  my 
reminiscence  of  old  Kbur,  and  now  purposed  beating  up  a  friend, 
for  whose  character  I  entertained  as  sincere  a  respect,  from  its  dis- 
playing, as  it  did,  the  trite  gentlvmaji  under  tlifficiiUies,  when  this  test 
of  tests  was  in  due  courise  applied,  as  I  had  a  relish  for  his  soeietjf 
manner,  and  sterling  tone  of  mind. 

This  **  racing. man/'  at  the  time  I  write  of,  and  to  whose  cottmge 
1  was  wending  so  pleasantly  ou  the  sweet,  hazy  morn  of  an  E^ 
Riding  spring,  was  by  name  George  Dallas,  the  son  of  an  old  and 
highly  meritorious  officer  of  the  commissariat  department,  at  whose 
death  before  he  had  well  arrived  at  manhood,  he  had  acquired  a 
fortune  exceeding  40,000^.,  with  complete  control  over  purse  sod 
person. 

The  elder  Dallas  had  married  late  in  life,  and  after  a  few  years 
passed  us  a  widower,  died  before  his  two  children,  the  one  already 
named,  and  a  single  daug liter,  several  years  the  Junior  of  her 
brother,  had  arrived  at  an  age  when  their  loss  could  be  adequate* 
ly  comprehended. 

The  intelligent  old  commissary,  during  a  prolonged  career  am 
active  service,  aitled  by  the  many  opportunities  occurring  for  pro- 
fitable investraentj  had  succeeded  in  increasing  his  originally 


illy  «»ft}l^J 


THE   BYE^LANES    AND  DOWNS  OF   ENGLAND* 


89 


Jjatrimony,  so  aa  to  bequeath  to  his  ou\^  son  the  haTidsonie  amount 
specified,  and  about  a  moiety  of  the  same  to  his  daogliter. 

The  brother  and  sister  were  deeply  attached  to  each  other,  and 
had  resided  so  long  under  the  same  roof  ministering  to  each  other's 
comforts  and  pleasures,  that  the  idea  of  matrimony  and  separation, 
and  a  total  change  of  hfe  in  consequence,  was  about  the  last  that 
entered  their  thoughts,  and  had  scarcely  for  a  moment  been  seriously 
contemplated  as  a  probable  contingency  by  either. 

Thus  J  when  the  writer  departed  abroad^  his  young  orphan  friends 
were  settled  in  their  paternal  dwelHng,  a  comfortable  cottage-man- 
sion, girt  by  a  few  rich  fields  of  swarth,  with  ample  grounds  and 
gardens  that  met  the  sweet  waters  of  the  Wharfe  in  one  of  the  most 
exquisite  of  that  lovely  river's  graceful  turnings. 

And  now  it  was,  after  the  brightest  years  of  life  had  passed,  when 
youth  and  its  aspirations  had  sped,  and  little  less  than  a  passive  par- 
ticipation in  the  pleasures  of  life  remains,— for  who  can  repair  the 
broken  chain  so  as  to  leave  no  sign  of  the  missing  links^  or  disguise 
the  newness  oi"^  their  substitutes  ? — that  I  mounted  my  good  steed  and 
trotted,  apparently  gai!y  as  of  yore,  over  the  short,  spangled  sward 
that  invariably  skirts  the  lane-sides  in  the  pecuharly  pastoral  district 
over  which  I  was  crossing  in  my  journey  towards  the  Wharfe, 

At  intervals  my  route  lay  across  large  pastures,  all  but  unen- 
closed, partaking  the  features  of  the  Down  and  Prairie,  studded 
Iiere  and  there  with  ancient  copses  of  thorn  and  holly,  under  whose 
welcome  shade  and  shelter  the  numerous  flocks  and  herds  retired 
during  the  heat  of  day.  Deep  belts  of  fir,  dripping  in  dew,  with  an 
occasional  covert  of  flowering  gorse,  flanked  the  lanes  which  led  and 
diverged  from  these  meadow  scenes,  whilst  the  keeper's  lodge,  co^ 
vered  with  trophies  of  his  trap  and  gun,  and  a  solitary  farm-house 
thrown  far  back  on  the  landscape,  were  for  many  miles  the  only 
abodes  of  men  encountered  by  the  eye;  and  from  these  scarcely  a 
wreath  of  smoke  yet  curled. 

The  sun  had  not  yet  risen,  and  all,  save  the  warblers  of  the  woods^ 
was  still.  Not  a  ploughman,  nor  even  a  shepherd  was  a-foot  to 
humanise  or  disturb  the  slumbering  scene.  The  cattle  and  ewes 
with  lamb  still  reclined  drowsily  on  their  night-lairs,  such  a  start 
had  1  taken  of  the  early  rising  world. 

The  joyous  serenity  oC  mind  incidental  to  this  supremely  sooth- 
ing, and  at  the  same  time  refreshing  scene  and  mode  of  travelling, 
was  exhilarated  into  a  thrill  of  delight,  as  1  debouched  on  Langton 
Wold  from  a  narrow  lane  overhung  with  blooming  hawthorn,  and 
was  instantaneously  crossed  by  a  gallant  team  of  race-horses  at  full 
gallop,  before  I  had  the  least  warning,  heyond  the  sudden  snort  and 
bounding  hoof,  of  their  proximity*  There  were  at  least  a  dozen 
taking  a  bursting  fout-mile-spin  in  their  clothes,  led  by  old  11  etman 
Flatoff,  pulling  Jack  Holmes  double — probably  as  stirring  an  inci- 
dent as  could  well  break  in  upon  a  man's  reverie  before  sunrise. 

Early  as  it  was,  the  '' touts '* — ^ihoae  indefatigable  turf^spies — had 
got  scent  of  a  trial  that  had  come  off  between  two  of  Scott's  Derby 
horses — one  engaged  and  heavily  backed  in  the  approaching  **  Two 
Thousand  Guineas/*  They  had  been  put  on  the  tpii  vivf  by  the  fact 
*>f  Bill  having  been  gazetted  as  having  arrived  from  York  over 
night, — ^a  circumstance  sufficiently  sitxpicious,  in  their  opinion,  to 
induce  a  lynx-eyed  vigilance  over  every  part  of  the  wold. 


i 


^  ml  1^ 


mm  ikc  iflitj  of 

Bmrj  to^moi 

m  mtf  tmt  but 

a  tnal  la  be 

hiB^cf  Mail 


'  1  bvely 

,€n 

t  *7  tft  get  thrMigfa  hi» 

mr«  kiiinf  BO  iiK 

_  ■feMlcr*'  from  the 

[  i^  lirr  *  CiiMci*  Ibrlte  *"  BAIj.** 

^S  Ck;  i0^  MMi«pal«Bd||'  twew  oirrr  the 

afcini  with  whom 
e  *  fer  A  •*  IWDJ  " 

I  gAm  hi^i*«i  bpflfcfT  iM^H ;  he  i^cwjuygJ  doing  «  bit  od  the 

Mitt  «tt  M»  #n  111  11^  asi  bj  ftting^  dhe  "^  doable  dod|s«  "  on 

^h—t  WncMfll.  tfe^fb  ^  ^o^  <>»fy  «»B  <7<^  Hinr  bred  at  thit 
fine  «  CM^ife;  m  knnly.  whca  bceoiie  loo  umparfiamtiti^trf  for 
tV  fiBfiiife  tsrl^  M  KtfMaem,  in  La  Vendee,  where  be  tromed,  Vode^ 
itti  '  itubhlid*  d  I*  #Vwii(WMe,  in  a  somU  wot. 

To  ictom  to  Sootfs  lot  oTntiB-hoesco  oo  the  eqiedol  moming  we 
nre  deocribiciii*  A  oofD|»lcte  Mioadren  of  tbeie  dodle,  eiegont  cre*- 
Uire%  of  Toriottt  ages,  woa  on  the  ground*  Some  were  walking  in 
smgle>file ;  others  were  undergoing  the  operation  of  rubbing  after  a 
aweot;  all  of  which  the  intelligent  chief  of  the  establf&hment^ — sealed 
on  his  hack — was  superintending  with  eye  and  voice,  ordering  bit 
forces  about  the  field  in  the  '^  preparation  *'  they  uere  undergoing, 
and  personally  prescribing  the  needful,  discriminating  treatment 
applied  to  each  animal  entrusted  to  his  charge. 

The  Wold  was  alive  with  man  and  horse ;  for,  besides  John  Scott's 
splendid  **  lot/*  at  least  eighty  strong,  there  were  the  teams  of  other 
»ntalkr  trainers  on  the  ground,  though  it  was  sufficiently  Urge  to  ac- 
commodate them  and  mure»  without  the  chance  of  clashing  or  UQ» 
IrttMani  proximity. 

Langton  Wold  is  surely  the  abiding-place  of  health  and  longevity, 

d   aa   a   training-grourid   in   all  Cbsentiuls,    especially    in    moitit 


DOWNS    OF   ENGLAND.  41 

weather,  is  unequalled.  It  belongs  to  Colonel  NorcljflT,  who  makes 
a  pretty  addition  to  his  income  by  letting  these  noble  downs  to  the 
trainerSj  whose  residences  and  stables  lie  on  the  outskirts  of  Malton. 
The  view  from  the  summit  of  the  Wold  embraces  a  magnificent 
rural  and  picturesque  coup  d'a^it.  Highly  cultivated  lands,  fox 
coverts,  wooded  heights,  fair  meadows,  mansionsj  and  village  spires, 
lie  in  sweet  mel^e  at  your  feet. 

The  house  of  Mr.  John  Scott,  the  trainer,  is  situated  snugly 
under  the  brow  of  the  downs,  and  is,  nearly  at  all  times,  open  to 
the  sporting  wayfarer,  and  the  multifarious  claims  of  hospitality* 
Anything  more  sub^stantial,  liberal,  yet  strictly  in  unpretending 
keeping  with  an  eBtablishnient  devoted  to  training,  could  not  be  well 
imagined  than  the  then  economy  of  **  White-Wall  Corner.'* 

Stable*time,  dinner-time,  hours  of  exeTcise^  and  for  a  plentiful  en- 
joyment of  the  good  things  of  life,  were  regulated  by  clock-work  ; 
and  it  was  quite  immaterial — -or  rather,  the  same  thing — to  John 
Scott  whether  Lord  Chesterfield  drove  up  at  "grub-time  '*  in  his 
britchska,  or  the  *'  Old  Vicar"  (of  WakefiehJ),  the  jock,  shufHed  up 
on  his  asthmatic  pony.  Both  were  equally  welcome  to  a  seat  at  his 
well- 61  led  table,  at  which  you  neither  saw  high  places^  nor  heard 
excuses.  Though  Scott  was  an  cjftphi/^f  he  was  in  his  own  castle, 
and  manfully  deported  himself  as  its  master ;  whilst,  for  the  good- 
natured  nobleman  alluded  to,  it  is  only  fair  to  say  that  if  there  was 
pride  on  either  his  or  the  "  Vicar's"  side,  the  "  Pardon- Jack  "  had 
it,  and  not  the  **  Prince  of  Derbyshire  !  '* 

No  man  could  dispense  a  gracious  affability,  or  put  his  inferiors 
more  completely  at  their  ease  in  these  chance  rcuconirts  over  the 
stable-flags,  or  trainer's  mahogany,  than  Lord  Chesterfield  ;  nor  was 
any  colour  seen  in  the  van,  or  fortunate  number  beheld  signalised 
as  winner,  with  more  sincere  satisfaction  by  the  majority  of  specta- 
tors than  were  those  of  the  jolly,  handsome  owner  of  '*  Don  John," 
and  Bret  by  Park* 

Malton  has  long  been  famed  as  a  breeding*placej  as  well  as  nursery 
for  race- horses  :  Mn  Allen,  of  the  *'  Lodge,'*  a  fine  specimen  of  an 
ancient  English  country-mansion,  well  tenanted^  having  bred  many 
noted  winners,  though  the  horses  mostly  got  into  other  hands  before 
ihey  ran  as  three-year-olds.  Amongst  these  may  be  mentioned 
"  Turraw,*'  '*  Fitzallen,"  '*  Belle  Dame,"  ^'  Rockingham,'*  and  others, 
who  found  their  way  into  the  stables  of  Mr.  Watt,  of  Bishop  Burton, 
also  another  very  successful  competitor  about  this  time  on  the  turf, 

Mr,  Watt  had  Barefoot,  Mcmuon,  Old  Tramp,  Whalebone,  and 
many  other  first-rate  animals. 

Of  late  years  he  has  been  out  of  luck,  the  last  horse  I  remember 
of  his  being  a  wretch  called  **  V^ollri,"  a  black,  tiring,  four-legged  im- 
postor, that  they  managed  nevertheless  to  make  into  a  great  favour- 
ite for  the  Derby  at  one  time  of  the  year,  less  than  ten  to  one 
being  greedily  taken.  Since  this,  I  have  scarcely  seen  Mr,  Watt's 
name  in  print. 

After  leaving  Langton  Wold  and  the  town  of  Malton  to  my  right 
hand,  I  arrived,  after  an  hour's  smart  riding,  at  our  place  of  baiting, 
when,  having  seen  my  **  noble  friend  "  well  groomed,  clothed,  and 
bandaged,  given  him  myself  his  water  and  half-peck  of  oats,  and 
handful  of  old  beans, — ^the  latter  to  act  as  his  petit  vcrre,  or  *'  cfta^se" 
to  speak  more  in  accordance  with  hia  sympathies^ — we  locked  the 


J 


^w 


THE  BYE'LAKES   AND    DOWNS   OF  ENGLAND. 


door  of  hia  loose  box,  put  the  key  in  our  pocket  to  insure  an  honif^ 
or  two's  undisturbed  repoise,  and  straightway  attacked  our  eggs  £ 
rasher  like  a  very  wolf. 

Into  what  a  snug*  consoling  little  room  was  I  inducted  !  yet  how 
bumble  in  its  garniture  and  arrauflrements.  It  belonged  so  thoroughly 
to  the  country,  was  bo  clean  and  English  in  its  features,  that  I  ex- 
perienced all  the  old  appeal  made  by  our  household  gods,  after  any 
considerable  absence  from  their  rites,  and  felt  naore  home- won  at  the 
eight  of  the  old  highly  burnished  yew  chair,  and  well-remembered 
adjuncts  of  a  countrified  hostel,  recalling  *'o!d  familiar  faces,"  than 
I  could  have  thought  credible,  after  having  been  ao  long  a  stranger 
to  them.  Believe  me,  the  insignificant  items  in  daily  use,  and 
viewed  as  part  and  parcel  of  our  home  and  home-thoughts  since 
childhood,  have  not  assumed  the  title  of  deities  without  possessing 
some  of  the  god-like  attributes  by  which  our  chfLstened  tempera- 
ments and  sympathies  are  involuntarily  touched  to  a  greater  extent 
than  we  rough  pioneers  of  life  would  willingly  allow. 

But  it  is  by  these  small,  yet  gushing  streams  of  fancy,  tliat  the 
wild-flowers  of  the  heart  are  irrigated  and  kept  in  bloom ;  whilst, 
by  their  ever- trifling  agency,  the  deep  pool  of  affection  which  we 
bear  towards  our  father-land, — in  spite  of  absence  and  the  roost 
luxurious  contrast,— and  to  the  spot  of  our  birth  beyond  all,  is  kept 
brimfull  of  life  and  freshness  j  This  most  pleasing  sadness  ever 
accompanies  the  twilight  of  the  mind,  when  the  gentle  dew  of  re- 
trospect falls  soothingly  on  our  senses,  and  infuses  on  well-regu- 
lated temperaments  a  tranquil  enjoyment  and  repose,  to  which  the 
most  boisterous  happiness  of  youth  cannot  be  compared.  It,  more- 
over, in  no  respect  prevented  our  discussing  a  hearty  repast  at  the 
*^  White  Hart,"  in  the  small  town  wherein  we  had  slopped  to  bait ; 
on  the  contrary,  it  rather  increased  the  sober  rehsh  with  which  II 
viewed  all  and  everything  around  me,  doubly  enforcing  the  en  treaty  1 
of  hope,  that  I  might  never  again  be  compelled  to  cross  the  Channel  | 
whilst  I  retained  the  mortal  coil,  whose  material  was  grown  and 
spun  upon  lands  so  broad  and  fair. 

**  Hildebrand/*  bright  as  a  star,  and  equally  refreshed  with  hit 
master,  with  his  stirrups  tucked  up  in  due  accordance  with  accom- 
plii»hed  groom- craft,  and  playing  with  his  snaffle,  is  walking  before 
the  windows,  held  by  a  true  type  of  the  curry-comb,  evidently  im- 
patient to  be  off  to  the  excellent  quarters  in  store  for  him  at  Thorp 
Arch,  once  a  sweet  village,  now  overbuilt  and  tleftjnned  into  a  town* 

Here  we  intend  passing  the  night,  and,  as  we  would  not  willingly 
pirate  from  Pater  son  or  other  learned  compiler  of  our  public  ways, 
we  shall  beg  the  reader  to  imagine  us  to  have  dined,  slept,  and 
breakfasted  at  our  genuine  host  Furrar's,  to  have  strolled  through 
his  well-known  garden,  and  by  the  banks  of  the  fair  river,  every 
shallow,  pool,  and  overhanging  blufl*  of  whose  beauteous  course  we 
equally  know  and  love !  and  to  suppose  us  again  eti  route  to  the 
dwelling  of  our  friend  Dallas,  stirred  into  a  sling  gallop  by  the  &n* 
tici paled  pleasure  in  store  for  us. 


tad 


43 


A  HOLIDAY  AT  BERLIN  IN  ANCIENT  TIMES. 

From  about  tlie  end  of  the  sixteeoth  century,  or,  perhaps,  rather  be- 
fore, one  of  the  moat  popular  holidays  of  the  most  holiday-loving  people 
of  Berlin  has  been  what  is  called  ihe  **  Fishing  of  Stralow,"  which  takes 
place  on  the  24th  of  August. 

Now,  concerning  this  village  of  Stralow,  we  can  state  that  it  is  situ- 
ated within  a  moderate  drive  of  the  Prussian  capital,  on  the  banks  of 
the  river  bearing  the  rather  jovial-sounding  appellation  of  the  Spree ; 
and  that,  more  than  a  thousand  years  ago*  there  abode  in  that  same  spot 
a  certain  Sclavonic  tribe  of  Wends  (the  Wends,  not  the  fishes),  who  sub- 
sisted upon  the  dainty  fishes  to  be  found  thereabouts,  until  they  were 
driven  away  by  the  Margrave  of  Brandenburg,  agreeably  known  as 
Albert  the  Bear. 

More  would  we  gladly  tell  concerning  its  history  and  antiquities,  but 
for  one  reason — namely,  that  that  is  all  we  know. 

W^ell,  then^  vla  we  were  sayiDg,  or  about  to  say,  on  the  morning  of  the 
54th  of  August  business  goes  on  very  briskly  in  the  streets  of  Berlin, 
and  the  jobs  that  workmen  have  been  loitering  over  for  weeks  past  are 
now  finished  and  brought  home  in  a  great  hurry,  in  the  hope  of  laying 
in  a  smaller  or  larger  stock  of  that  whi:;h  makes  the  sinews  of  pleasure- 
taking  no  less  than  of  war.  The  good  folks  of  Berlin  are  famous,  as 
our  readers  perhaps  know,  for  catching  at  the  smallest  excuse  for  a 
holiday,  and  never  suffering  business  to  stand  in  the  way  of  pleasure. 
They  are  exemplary  Christians  to  the  extent  of  "  taking  no  thought  for 
the  morrow,"  when  they  have  a  chance  of  enjoying  themselves  for  to- 
day. Look  at  that  group — that 's  a  shoemaker  with  three  children,  who 
hasn't  paid  his  rent,  and  who  has  an  excellent  chance  of  having  his 
furniture  seized  within  a  week.  W^ell,  what  of  that?  as  he  says,  **  Can 
be  help  it,  if  lo-morrow's  the  fishing  of  Stralow  ?'*  he  cheers  up  his  wife 
with  the  promise  that  the  dtaj  uj^er  he  and  his  apprentice  will  work  away 
like  good  ones,  **as  if  the  whole  world  was  barefooti  and  he  had  to  make 
its  boots."  **  Do  you,  Latta^  put  into  your  market- iKisket  some  ham  and 
sauaageSf  and  bread  and  btilter,  and  a  drop  of  something  to  drink^ — just 
what  we  can*t  do  without — -and  the  boy  shall  carry  it;  and  then  you  can 
take  little  *Gusta,  and  1 11  carry  Fritz,  and  Karl  can  run  by  the  side  of 
us." 

But  it  is  two  o'clock  in  the  afternoon^  and  the  whole  population  of 
Berlin  appears  to  be  streaming  out  of  the  gate  that  leads  in  the  direc- 
tion of  Stralow.  As  far  as  the  eye  ca.n  reach  stretches  an  endless  line 
of  vehicles  of  all  descriptions,  and  the  road  on  either  side  is  filled  by  a 
moving  mass  of  pedestrians  m  their  gayest  attire.  The  doctor  has  left 
his  patients,  the  lawyer  his  clients,  the  painter  his  canvas,  all  "  the 
trades'*  of  the  city  have  united  in  one  grand  procession,  and  nobody  is  left 
at  home  who  has  either  legs  to  carry  him,  or  money  to  pay  for  being  car- 
ried^ to  the  point  of  attraction.  There  is  the  young  carpenter,  who  has  taken 
the  modest  little  needlewoman  under  his  arm,  but  who,  truth  to  tellj  is 
fidly  as  much  oecnpied  with  his  new  boots  and  his  yellow  waistcoat ;  there 
is  the  journeyman  tailor,  still  more  elegiuitly  attired  ;  there  is  the  sol- 
dier, three  years  ago  as  awkward  a  lout  as  you  might  see  on  a  summer'a 
day,  now  a  iigure  distracting  to  the  peace  of  half  the  cooks  in  the  neigh- 


HOLIDAY   AT    BERLIN. 


bourliood*  He  hag  one  now  under  bis  protection*  with  a  high  cap  with 
crimson  ribbons,  and  a  foot  that  I  defy  you  to  overlook,  and  which  the 
warrior  is  much  perplexed  to  keep  step  with ;  but  on  the  arm  of  this 
fair  creature  bangs  (can  he  bave  perceived  it  ?)  a  basket,  containing  a 
large  portion  of  ibe  mortal  remains  of  a  line  ca!f  and  a  stately  ox,  to  say 
nothing  of  a  well-filled  bottle,  of  the  content*  of  which  it  is  not  impos- 
sible he  may  bave  some  suspicion. 

Last  night,  when  she  was  talking  to  bfra  with  the  street  door  ajar,  he 
tenderly  reproached  ber  with  ber  coldness,  and  she  replied,  in  language 
dark  as  that  of  tlic  Delphic  oracle^  '*  To-morrow,  thank  goodness,  is  the 
fishing  of  Stralow  V  But  those  words  have  shed  a  ray  of  hope  into  the 
fine  and  well-padded  cbest  of  the  bero. 

Close  to  Stralow,  on  a  rich  meadow  between  the  Berlin  road  and  the 
river,  the  innumerable  equipages  stand  ranged  side  by  side^  for  none  are 
allowed  to  enter  the  village  ;  and  the  coachmen,  while  enjoying  on  their 
lofty  seats  the  otium  cum  di^mfufef  do  not  disduin  to  interchange  sallies 
of  playful  wit  with  the  lower  orders,  who  are  moving  about  among  them, 
and  offering  various  eatables  and  drinkables,  it  may  he  ob*?erved,  how- 
ever, that  the  private  coacbman,  though  he  will  say  nothing  to  hurt  the 
feelings  of  the  driver  of  the  hackney,  by  alluding  to  bis  inferior  station 
in  society,  is  still  aware  of  what  is  due  to  bimijelf,  and  to  the  order  to 
which  he  belongs. 

Another  distinction  of  rank  is  perceptible,  abo,  between  the  driver  of 
the  regular  //rtcr^  plying  within  the  city,  who  is  under  strict  superiniend- 
ence,  and  is  a  member  of  a  recognised  profession,  and  the  irregular  prac- 
titioner, who  takes  his  chance  for  his  fares  outside  the  gates.  The 
former  has  a  fixed  salary,  and  has  already  calculated  to  a  nicety  the 
average  amount  of  the  Trifdypki^  the  presents,  over  and  above  the 
fare,  which  he  is  likely  to  receive  from  passengers.  The  world  has 
little  more  to  interest  bira,  and  be  exhibits  symptoms  of  becoming  I4ctse 
and  misanthropical*  The  driver  "  without  ibe  pale,"  on  the  contrary, 
who  has  to  scramble  for  a  livelihood,  and  whose  outward  man  has  much 
more  of  the  ragamuffint  sees  life  under  a  different  aspect.  It  has  in  it 
enoujfh  of  uncertainty  to  aff"ord  bim  the  excitement  of  hope  and  fear; 
he  is  alert  and  merry,  always  ready  for  either  a  job  or  a  joke,  let  hira 
be  ever  so  tired.  But  let  us  enter  Stralow,  and  make  our  way  through 
the  noisy  crowd  to  the  green  island  on  which  stands  the  old  romantic- 
looking  church*  To  the  right  we  see  a  line  of  taverns  and  tea-gardens, 
running  down  to  the  brim  of  the  Spree,  all  f<iU  to  overllowing.  The 
kitchens  lie  next  the  road,  and  there  boiling,  and  roasting,  and  frying, 
and  other  culinary  operations  are  going  on  at  a  great  rate,  and  the  clat- 
ter and  jingle  of  cups  and  glasses  forms  a  pleasing  ad  fOtitjim  accompa- 
niment to  the  horns,  violinB,  harps,  and  trumpets  that  are  working  away 
for  dear  life  in  the  gardens.  The  August  sun  shines  down  with  dazzling 
brightness  on  the  broad  river,  and,  sheltered  by  the  boughs  in  leafy 
arbours  appear  tbonsands  upon  thousands  of  happy-looking  faces,  whose 
owners,  it  might  be  supposed,  bad  not  a  care  in  the  world. 

The  river  is  covered  with  boats  and  gondolas,  adorned  with  flags  and 
Btrearoers  of  all  the  colours  of  the  rainbow,  many  of  them  employed  in 
crossing  and  recrossing  incessantly  to  convey  passengers  to  and  from 
Treptow  on  the  opposite  hank,  which  exhibits  a  picture  so  exactly  re- 
sembling Stralow  that  it  might  be  taken  for  its  reflection  in  the  water* 
In  one  large  gondola,  which  has  a  flag  bearing  the  black  Prussian  eaglei 


A  HOLIDAY   AT    BERLIN. 


45 


and  the  rowers  of  which  are  clad  in  Turkish  dresses,  sit  ihe  priaceB  and 
pri  need  sea  of  the  royal  family. 

We  have  reached,,  at  len^h,  a  field  behind  the  church,  which  may  b-e 
considered  the  centra)  point  of  they'^^i?,  and  its  wide  surface  exhibits  a 
multitutlinous  assemblage  of  pic^nic  parties.  Men  and  women,  boys 
and  girls,  are  sitting  or  lying  about  in  g^roups  on  the  grass,  with  white 
napkins  spread  upon  the  bright  green  carpet,  and  surrounded  by  bags 
and  baskets  of  all  sorts  and  sizes,  from  which  they  have  drawn  forth 
knives,  and  forks,  and  spoons,  and  plates»  and  cold  roast  meat,  and  sau- 
sages, and  cheese,  and  such  creature  comforts,  to  say  nothing  of  a  suffi* 
cient,  or  more  than  sufficient,  quantity  of  wine  and  liquors.  Here  and 
there  huge  fires  are  flaming  beneath  kettles  and  frying-pans,  and  women 
and  girls,  with  their  gowns  tucked  up,  are  on  active  service  supplying 
the  vast  quantities  of  eatables  in  demand,  notwiths landing  the  stores 
furnished  by  private  foresight. 

Pedestrians  of  all  classes,  high  as  well  as  low,  are  moving  about 
amongst  the  throng,  or  stopping  to  watch  the  turns  of  fortune  in  the 
booths,  where  various  games  are  going  on  ;  and,  elbowing  their  way 
with  httle  ceremony^  come  boys  with  boxes  of  cigars  and  a  lighted  match, 
bawling  out,  somewhat  pleonaatically,  **  Cigars^  jft/V*  acecdufeu  /"  and 
dealers  in  pickled  cucumbers  are  calling  attention  to  the  favourite  dainty 
with  the  incessant  cry  of  **  Gentlemen,  sour  cucumbers  I  gentlemen,  sour 
cucumbers  1 "  which  occasionally  they  vary  into,  **  sour,  gentlemen,  cu- 
cumbers !**  contending  for  a  hearing  with  the  dealers  in  cakes  and  fruit, 
and  the  hawkers  of  medals  struck  in  commemoration  of  this  year  s  FM» 
in^.  Here  an  honest  burgher  is  running  about  with  a  cloak  and  um- 
brella, complaining  that  he  has  lost  his  wife,  and  another  bids  him  take 
comfort,  and  only  wishes  he  had  any  chance  of  losing  his  ;  and  there  is 
his  wife,  a  pretty,  smart  young  woman,  who  has  happened  to  miss  him 
by  walking  on  before  with  his  fiiend,  the  handsome  serjeant,  while  he 
was  paying  for  the  boat  from  Treptow, 

A  little  further  on,  we  spy  among  the  groups  on  the  grass  our  former 
acquaintance,  the  shoemaker,  with  his  wife  and  children,  enjoying  him- 
self none  the  less  because  his  wife's  wedding-ring  and  his  own  (in  Ger- 
many it  is  customary  for  both  parties  to  wear  rings)  have  this  morning 
found  their  way  to  the  pawnbroker's  to  furnish  the  means  of  this  day's 
jollity.  We  own,  however,  we  cannot  look  at  this  group  with  perfect 
satisfaction,  although  we  are  glad  to  see  that  the  father  is  stuffing  the  chil- 
dren with  sandwiches,  and  urging  the  mother  to  make  herself  comfortable, 
**  Look  there  !^*  says  one  of  two  elegant-looking  men  who  are  passing 
by ;  *'  the  people  are  always  complaining  of  poverty,  and  see  how  they  Ve 
revelling  here  and  throwing  away  their  money,  and  yet,  all  the  while, 
grudging  their  superiors  the  enjoyments  of  their  station," 

"  You  smooth-faced  dandy  I"  says  the  shoemaker,  who  has  overheard 
him,  apringing  up  in  a  towering  passion,  **  why»  you  spend  as  much  upon 
your  dogs  in  one  day  as  would  keep  me  and  my  wife  and  children  for  a 
week  I  1  have  to  work  from  five  o'clock  in  the  morning  till  nine  at 
night,  and  1  have  to  pay  as  much  a  pound  for  ray  meat  as  you  do  for 
yours  ;  and  yet  you  can't  see  me  here,  trying  to  forget  my  troubles,  but 
you  must  come  making  your  remarks  upon  me." 

We  fear  there  are  faults  on  both  sides  here.  We  could  wish  our 
ahoemaker,  for  his  own  sake,  more  prudence  and  forethought,  and  to  the 

•  *•  Mil "  )•  ihe  German  word  for  «  with," 


46 


A   HOLroAY   AT   BERLIN. 


gen  tie  man  wbo  censures  him  somewfiat  more  consideration   for  thoso 
whose  pleaRtires  are,  after  all,  so  much  fewer  than  hb  own. 

**  Now  comes  still  evening  on/*  but  she  has  by  no  means  clad  all 
ttiings  in  her  sober  livery ;  indeed^  sobriety  of  any  sort  is  not  so  univer- 
sal as  we  could  wish.  Although  the  sun  has  set,  most  of  the  higher 
classes  of  the  company  have  not  yet  left  the  dinner-tables  in  the  vari- 
ous Gnest'IIimscs  ;  but  the  people  are  crowding  through  the  gardens 
into  the  little  wood  beyond,  where  lights  are  soon  beginning  lo  sparkle 
in  all  directions,  and  dancing  and  flirtation  is  going  on  very  briskly. 
Colour  after  colour  fades  from  the  sky— the  wide  fields  around  send  up 
their  evening  incense  — the  water  assumes  a  darker,  colder  tint — the 
woods  on  the  other  side  of  Stralow  loom  forth  huge  and  black — and 
Berlin  in  the  distance  looks  like  a  gloomy  prison  ;  while  the  tall  old 
church- tower,  rising  above  the  leafy  crowns  of  the  highest  trees,  looks 
down  upon  the  scene  with  its  pale  face,  like  the  spirit  of  ages  past. 

Lights  are  now  glittering  over  the  broad  surface  of  the  Spree,  and 
song  and  music  resound  from  far  and  near.  Many  of  the  revellers  have 
obviously  made  up  their  minds  that  they  **  wont  go  home  till  morning," 
which  we  are  sorry  for,  for  we  think  they  would  retain  pleaaanter  re- 
membrances of  the  Stralow  fishing  if  they  would  join  us  and  the  greater 
part  of  the  company,  who  are  now  getting  into  various  equipages  and  pre- 
paring to  return  quietly  home-  We  must,  nevertheless,  confess  that  this 
our  quiet  proceeding  does  begin  with  a  moat  distracting  hubbub.  Mas- 
ters are  calling  to  their  servants,  hackney-coachmen  to  their  fares  ;  the 
drivers  of  public  conveyances  are  imploring  pedestrians  not  to  get  under  J 
but  rather  into  their  vehicles.  Husbands  are  searching  for  their  wives;  | 
wives  screaming  for  their  children  ;  young  men  for  their  companions ; 
damsels  for  their  sweethearts;  while  the  police  and  ihc  j^ens  (Tamics  are 
bending  all  the  energies  of  their  souls  to  prevent  the  carriages  from 
quitting  the  line.  It  is  quite  dark^  and  there  is  of  course  great  con- 
fusion. "  Where  are  you  ?"  **  Here  I"  **  Where  Y*  •*  Oh  \  goodness 
gracious  me,  1  *ve  broke  my  toe  over  the  stump  of  a  tree/* 

"  It  \  no  use  saying  anything  about  it ;  the  slump  don't  care,—  Don^t 
run  against  me,  you  stupid  ass — ^you  Ve  tipsy." 

**  How  BO  ? — ^tipsy  1"  is  the  answer  in  a  somewhat  thick  utterance. 
•*  Why,  you  know — ^you  know  nothing  about  natural  history^  you  don't ; 
you  *ve  had  no  univcrsity^-you  haven't.  How  can  you  suppose  that  an 
ass  is  tipsy  ?  No  ass  gets  tipsy  ;  man  gets  tipsy — the  ass  keeps  sober. 
Every  ass  is  sober,  and  every  one  that 's  sober  's  an  ass,**  Whether 
any  one  is  inclined  to  dispute  the  truth  of  this  proposition,  we  know  not, 
for  the  voice  is  immediately  drowned  in  the  simultaneous  shouting  of 
many  different  songs;  Freut  ench  des  Ldicns,  (Life  let  us  cherish,) 
"  Upon  a  mo*sy  bank  ;"  **  Wreathe  the  brimming  bowl ;"  "The  Pope 
he  leads  a  jolly  life,"  and  other  popular  favourites. 

As  we  move  on,  and  ultimately  enter  the  gates  of  Berlin,  we  see 
houses  of  public  entertainment  brilliantly  lighted  up  ;  pair  after  pair  of 
waltzera  whirl  rapidly  past  the  windows,  and  then,  like  the  Gods  of 
Olympus,  are  hidden  by  clouds  from  mortal  sight  (videlicet,^ — clouds  of 
tobacco  smoke),  billiard  balls  roll  along  green  tables,  and  white  foam- 
ing  ale  glides  down  ever- thirsty  throats  ;  but  long  before  the  Fishing  of 
Stralow  is  concluded — which  is  not  till  the  sun  of  a  new  day  has 
brightened  the  eastern  clouds,  philosophical  observers  like  yourself,  dear 
reader,  have  betaken  themselves  home  to  bed. 


I 


Oari,  hark  I-^Lo»  ainiin^  'tia  llie  pawing-Ml  •  c»lii  I 
It  reMa  not  — still  peopling  idv  desolftte  hulls. 
The  sjuoimons  haih  romo  to  the  mighty  and  (rr«»t — 
*Ti»  a  ruJer — a  sovereiffii — who  yr*?ldB  to  his  fate ; 
He  dr«cends  from  his  throne^  though  rehictant  he  I 
And  bows  to  a  mightier  monarch — ^in  me  I 

Harkj  hark  1 — Lo^  a(^ain,  'tia  the  paiaing>l>ell  calls  I 
It  rests  not^ — atill  peopling  my  desolate  hallii* 
Hence,  hence  to  the  tomh,  a  ycmng  maiden  inufft  hie, 
With  her  long  flowing  loeks^  roty  chtM*k^  and  bri|(ht  eye. 

AIL  gaily  she  bloasomft,  in  love  and  in  tight — 

But  the  fairest  of  flow^ra  I  *m  the  swiftest  to  blipht. 

Yet  I  blight  to  revive  1—"  Thy  fair  hand^  lovely  maid  ! 

Lo,  I  guide  to  &  land  where  tJie  flow'rs  never  fade  !" 

Hark}  hark  l^Lo^  again,  *tis  the  paBsing-belJ  caUs  f 
It  reits  not — still  |>eop]ing  my  desolate  halljt. 
A  merchant  it  summons— keen  Iwirgains  wh  o   nicr, 
And  heaped  up  vast  riches  by  barter  and  trade. 
To  iMomTriou  devoted,  be  bought  an<l  ho  sold. 
And  loved  the  bright  shine  of  the  silver  and  gold. 
But  his  term-time  is  tixed — 'tis  his  jreckoniug  day- — 
With  bis  life  he  must  now  tliat  last  reckoning  piiy. 

Hark,  hark  I — iio,  again,  ^is  the  passing-bell  calls  1 
It  rests  notr — ^atiU  peopling  my  desolate  halls, 
l^pon  the  dark  journey  a  mother  munt  hie, 
While  weeping  and  wailing  her  cliilclren  stand  by. 
But  their  tears  and  their  sigli&  cannot  purchase  delay— 
The  doom  is  gone  forth — "  Come  away— come  away  ! 
The  Father,  who  dwells  where  the  stars  had  their  birth, 
Forgets  not  the  orphans  you  ieave  on  the  earth  !  "* 

Hark,  bark  1 — I^,  again,  His  the  passing4>ell  calls  1 
It  rests  not — still  {>{^o|)tiDg  my  desolate  halb. 
Hence,  hence,  from  liis  studies,  it  summons  a  sage. 
The  hoaat  of  his  otmntry,  the  tight  of  his  age. 
But  on  one  hidden  myst'ry  the  wisest  are  dark  ; 
Nor  learning,  nor  science!,  can  strike  out  a  spark. 
^'-  Clufte,  close  then^,  thy  folios  ! — thy  stndie4  are  oVr-^i- 
In  vain  would  tlie  deepest  my  secrets  explore. 
La  i  a  mightier  volume  im veiled  to  thine  eyes — 
It  haogB  o'er  the  stars  in  the  depths  of  the  skies  !" 

Hark,  hark  [ — Lo,  again,  *tis  the  passing-hell  calls ! 
It  re«ts  not — stlU  peopling  my  desolate  halls. 
A  skilful  artificer  yields  lo  liis  fate. 
Who  lal>ourcd  unceasingly,  early  and  late. 
As  pupii,  and  partner^,  and  master^  at  length, 
He  gave  to  his  calling  his  skill  and  his  strength  ; 
But  his  sinews  relajc— all  his  busy  thoughts  stilled— 
His  calling  has  ceased — his  career  ia  fulfilled. 


*  In  the  origioal,  *'  the  UUle  bell  '*  (Olockkln)  wKidi  is  rung  before  the  priosts 
when  they  go  to  administer  extreme  nuctioD  to  the  dying,  a  sound  constantly 
recurring  in  Roman  Catholic  dtios. 


43 


THE  RAMBLES   OF  DEATH. 


Bmk,  hark  !^*Tifl  no  bell^it  is  thunder  t>iat  c&lU ! 

Tkml  fcttS  Boc— stiU  peopling?  my  desolate  tudls. 

*TSi  thm  tfcanJw  of  tear  /— 'tis  a  Hero  myit  die — 

All  oJb  it  kk  inieii,  and  unaauntcd  bis  eye. 

Tbe  blood  gaoMag  sviftlv  that  dyet  hts  bold  breast. 

With  his  Uee  to  the  foe  te  sinks' down  to  his  rest. 

On  a  prayer  for  bis  country  he  spends  hjs  la?*t  breathy 

Aai  yitidi  to  the  vonquerorV  conqueror- — Death  I 

**  Kovwrieona !— thy  hand  !— What !  thou  Binchest  not  nowf 

Qniik,  ^|iiidt«-4et  the  laurel  be  twined  round  thy  brow  I  ** 

Baiie«  bark  ! — Lo^  afiua,  'tis  the  passing-bell  calls  f 

It  i«ifii  BOt — still  peopling  my  desolate  halls. 

*Tkm  pair  sickly  child  that  endures  the  last  sirife— 

**■  Ah,  fittia  haat  thou  been  indebted  to  Life  ! 

Kanght,  aon^it  of  this  earth  bast  thou  known  but  its  paina^ 

Bad  a  better  far  tbee,  in  ber  lap  yet  remains. 

Haiia.  laite  to  tbj  wtother  ! — thou  smilest,  poor  child— 

Tkon  ibah  ciaa  thififie  an  angeJ,  thou  sufferer  mild  1  ** 

Hark,  bark  1 — Lo,  agaio,  *tis  the  paasing-bell  calli  1 

It  rases  not — ^stilt  peopling  my  desolate  halls. 

It  calls  to  netr  glories — ah  !  not  undeaired — 

A  nkpCaroos  minstrel — a  poet  inspired  ! 

Wbo.  itt  •oul-thrilling  tones,  aang  of  virtue  and  truth. 

For  tha  Muses  had  marked  him  fn^m  ^Hiest  youths 

Ha  leaaiad  as  descended  from  some  higher  sphere — 

ThiOa|[b  bmigcr  and  poverty  «raited  him  here. 

••  Coma  away^ — come  away  !^Lo,  tbe  change  U  not  great — 

To  tba  baaven  whence  you  sprang,  1  again  but  translate  !  ** 

Haik,  hark  ! — Lo,  again,  *tis  the  passing-bell  calls  ! 
It  resU  not^ttll  peopling  my  daiolate  halls. 
*Tb  a  beggu'^  whom  Death  does  nnt  hlii»h  to  relieire — 
H€  cannot  be  scorned  whom  his  God  will  receive. 
^  Not  in  TBJn  to  bear  np  a^inst  fate  you  have  striven, 
Ycntr  master  bath  spread  you  a  table  in  heaven  \ 
Take  heart,  bapleta  victim,  of  undescrvM  woe^* 
*Tis  not  to  a  grave — to  a  palace  jou  go  !^ 

Hark,  bark  ! — Lo,  again,  'tis  the  passing-bell  cal!t ! 

It  leaves  toe  no  rest  in  my  desolate  halls. 

Moocot  benoa  to  bis  doom  a  poor  sinner  must  haste, 

Wbo  the  f«d  cup  of  wrath  for  bis  dark  deeds  must  taste ; 

Wbo  raa^  of  bis  sowing  the  fatal  reward— 

WbooA  tbe  hangman  awaiteth,  while  dangles  the  cord  ! 

V«l  ba  laeiiii  bit  de«p  burden  of  guilt  to  lament. 

<•  ftaptntf  iboa  poor  perishing  sinner— repent  1 

Afkd  gr«ee  may  bestow  on  thee  yet  a  new  birih^ — 

Aiul  ihy  sini  lie  atoned  in  the  bosom  of  earth  !" 

And  ever,  and  ever,  the  pasMng  bell  calls  I 

It  leaves  me  no  rest  in  my  desolate  hoik 

I  must  nin  without  ceasing  the  wide  earth  armind. 

And  brandish  my  keen  tcyihe  where'er  Life  is  found. 

When  the  summons  thou  hearest,  then  think  tbon  of  me— 
And  watch  for  the  hour  when  it  cometb  to  tket  I 

Eta. 


4Q 


LIFE:  —A    GOSSIP- 


BY   ALFRED    CROWQUILL. 


LiFB  IS  a  farc€  made  up  of  a  great  numWr  of  ridiculoiis  acts.  So 
say  the  old  and  the  cynical  wlien  their  performance  a|iproache8  the 
epibguej  and  the  curtain  is  rung  down  hy  the  prompter  Time* 

Life  is  only  a  dream^  in  which  it  m  very  necessary  to  keep  one's  eyes 
open. 

Life  is  a  continual  struggle,  after  that  which  we  cannot  take  with 
OB,  riches;  which  seem  given  to  uh,  aa  the  nurse  gives  the  child  a  preUy 
ornament  or  shell,  from  the  mantle-piece,  to  keen  it  quiet  utnlil  it  falls 
asleep,  when  it  drops  from  its  iielpless  Lands  and  is  replaced^  to  please 
other  babies  in  their  turn. 

Life  is  a  thing  which  most  people  seem  in  a  deuce  of  a  liunry  to  get 
fid  of,  if  we  may  judge  hy  the  number  of  fast  people  now-a-days,  who 
use  themselves  up,  with  the  greatest  apparent  self-satisfaction- 
Life  is  a  permission  from  death  to  be  half-awake,  sleep  being  the 
homage  and  acknowledgment  to  him^  that  you  are  his  bound  en  slave, 
and  awaits  bis  summons- 
Life  18  a  pleasant  piece  of  self-deceit,  where  we  always  lay  our  faults 
upon  the  shoulders  of  others,  and  positively  consider  ourselves  the  in^ 
jured  parties.  If  this  fact  could  be  more  generally  acknowledged,  how 
little  cause  we  should  have  for  courts  of  law,  where  the  weak-minded 
congregate  to  pay  dearly,  for  the  judgment  of  others,  because  they  have 
none  of  their  own. 

Life  for  one,  is  a  subscription  from  many,  fur,  from  the  smallest  to  the 
largest  created^  the  death  of  others  is  necessary  to  their  lives* 

Life  is  a  voyage,  upon  which  we  too  often  foolishly  allow  others  to 
guide  the  helm,  and  are  shipwrecked  accordingly. 

The  sum  of  life  is  one  of  most  difficult  arithmetic,  in  w^hich  we  all 
figure  away^fnll  of  false  calculations  and  mistakes,  which  we  only  iind 
out  when  we  go  to  strike  the  balance,  and  blush  to  own  ourselves 
obliged  to  put  down,  *'  errors  excepted/' 

Life  is  one  Jong  bill,  which  we  accept,  and  are  oontinually  paying  off, 
with  a  doctor  as  the  drawer  and  last  endorser. 

Life  is  a  long  lesson,  which  dama  Nature  sets  us,  and  which  we  are 
never  able  to  learn,  although  we  are  continually  chastised  for  not  know- 
ing it  when  we  are  called  upon. 

Life  is  only  a  beginning,  therefore,  never  can  be  perfect.  It  is 
abused  by  most  people,  who  believe,  in  their  folly,  thut  their  wisdom  is 
ahewn  by  their  contempt  for  that,  which  is  themselves. 

Life,  after  all,  what  is  it?  we  do  not  know,  with  most  it  appears  a 
motley  coat,  in  which  they  play  the  fool  for  a  given  time,  and  get  ap- 
plauded by  those  ivhom  they  pay. 

I  dare  say  all  this  is  said,  1ms  been  said,  and  will  be  said,  about 
Life — notwithstanding  which,  I  think  life  a  most  charming  thing. 
Flowers  grow  on  every  side,  if  we  will  condescend  to  pluck  them  and 
enjoy  their  fragrance.  The  man  in  worse  than  foolish  who  gathers 
nothing  but  weeds,  and  exclaims,  "  See  what  the  world  produces!" 

This  world  is  a  good  worlds  and  I  will  maintain  it  1  and  I  hope,  in 
return,  it  will  maintain  me^-fur  one  good  turn  deserves  another  ;  and, 

VOL.  XXV.  K 


JTm' 


W  .^^^tt.  ^  ^^.  ^^ft  ^^^^  ^v  ^^B  ^^H^  ^K  kv  tl^  fll^Hi^^v  with 


{■eeimr  first 
r«    Helttd,  , 
^Elixir 


mm    liv^  MMncf&HiK^aaMiliBi 


i«T  Hke  ft 


midk  m 


to  hif 
Ifeit 

r  iC  MMMenwitMn  on  my 
» is  Am  place  of  &  liBir-bmsb, 
ItklMdratriBBpk! 

tWi  ffverag  feogetWr.    Tlie 

m^  old  frioid**  Tdoe,  os  he 

Kom  or  poeuc  fc^gto■«■■ ;  fm  hh  were  the 

of  OBipidtj  aad  grailuidev  for  tlie  ouaj 

Ton  wot  ecrtonlf  a  m«b  wIm  bod  lost  lim  shadow,  but  be,  anllka 
iho  Gcmaii,  bad  oold  bis  lirlba  WmIi  of  bii  frieods. 

Hie  »ext  moraii^  P^^V^  OM  ia  all  Ibt  mwie  of  ibe  firal  iaU  of 
anoir.  Slf  old  Winter  bad  arrlfvd,  aobeleaily,  daring  the  night,  and 
WirfJa*!  tlie  eartb  wiib  bis  oaal  lioeiis^  so  tiisl  on  our  rising  w«  bo* 
liaM  Ibe  son,  r^d  iit  tlie^^ee,  witiidrawiog  the  misty  r&U  and 
Ibe  hridc  in  her  t\ 

In  fact,  it  bud  I 


i 


I  of  daasling  white. 

I  aBOWiBg  prettj  oonaidcrablj.    I  was  glad  to  sio  j 


LIFE. 


61 


it  t  From  my  earliest  childhood  I  loved  the  snow.  In  my  schooldays 
it  spoke  of  home  aod  Christmas  boxes.  In  my  youth  it  whiapere*!  of 
mistletoe  and  rompB.  In  my  age  it  speaks  most  cheenugly  of  the  con* 
stantly  enlarging  circle  tliftt  Is  busy  in  joining  handsj  to  be  as  onej  at  the 
Christmas  gathering— ^where  the  new-l>urn  infant  sleeps,  for  tlie  first 
time,  in  the  lap  of  its  aged  granddanie^ — when  you  see  the  mysterious 
boundless  lore  of  the  first  and  third  generation.  The  end  and  the  be- 
ginning—children both ! 

We  started  like  Ja  couple  of  very  boys,  feeling  inclined  to  nod  at 
everybody^  and  joined  most  heartily  in  the  cheers  of  a  chaise  full  of 
young  urchins  going  home  for  the  holidays,  and  even  smiled  at  soma 
livelv  rogues  wlio  saluted  us  with  snowballs,  although  we  feit  them 
slowly  dissolving  into  our  ears  and  neck.  It  was  the  privilege  of  the 
season, — everybody  knows  you  carry  your  very  best  temper  about  with 
you  at  such  seasons  of  universal  jollity  and  good  fellowship* 

Tom  knew  everybody  down  the  road  ;  it  appeared  so  many  miles  of 
good  feeling  and  friendship.  One  old  woman  brought  him  out  a  com- 
forter, knitted  by  herself,  and  at  the  same  time  returned  an  empty 
hamper,  which  no  doubt  had  been  left  by  my  good  friend  full,  in  the 
journey  up.  At  a  gate,  we  found  a  boy  waiting  for  us  with  some 
aplendid  birds  from  the  great  house,  and  the  squire's  kind  regards,  and 
numerous  otlier  little  acts  of  kindness  and  consideration  met  us  at  every 
turn,  bespeaking  the  estimation  be  was  held  in  by  the  poor  and  the 
rich.  Let  us  do,  then^  as  Tom  Thornton  did,  and  we  shall  be  rewarded 
by  the  aged  and  the  poor,  bringing  us  their  great  offerings,  and  the  rich 
sending  us  their  little  gifts*  When  apparently  receiving  from  others, 
we  but  give  to  ourselves,  it  is  our  good  feeling  returned  to  us. 

When  within  a  mile  or  so  of  his  house  Tom  pulled  up  his  willing 
horse — who  seemed  to  know  his  master's  humour  well — at  a  roadside 
little  public-boiise.  Out  tumbled  a  seedling  ostler,  with  a  grin  from 
ear  to  ear  at  the  sight  of  my  friend.  The  little  bay-window  of  the  bar 
showed  a  row  of  smiling  faces  amidst  the  decorating  Christmas,  as  if  we 
were  some  eatquisite  piece  of  itinerant  drollery,  instead  of  two  stout, 
middle-aged  gentlemen,  in  want  of  a  glass  of  warm  something,  with 
sugar.  I  observed  Tom  was  always  afflicted  w^ith  a  sudden  drought 
whenever  he  approached  this  little  picturesque  caravanserai,  although 
ten  minutes  would  take  him  to  his  own  door,  and  his  own  unrivalled 
cellar.  Tom*8  father's  old  butler  was  the  landlord — that  was  the  se- 
cret ;  and  the  line  old  man  was  always  gkd  to  see  '*  the  gay  young 
rascal,"  as  he  still  considered  my  friend ;  who,  in  a  most  incredibly 
short  space  of  time  had  emptied  his  capacious  pockets  of  ribands  for 
the  landlord's  blushing  daughters,  and  in  no  time  added  to  that,  had 
levied  more  kisses  from  them  than  ought  to  fall  to  the  share  of  one 
Dian*  'Twos  very  silly  not  to  think  of  n  few  gay  ribands  myself.  But 
Tom  always  had  got  the  better  of  me,  even  from  the  very  earliest  days 
of  marbles  and  bard -bake. 

Next  came  the  welcome  home.  Old  boxes,  belonging  to  old  friends, 
stood  in  the  hall,  of  a  size  that  promised  a  long  stay  from  their  owners. 
The  shake  of  the  hand  he  gave  the  aforesaid  jolly  owners  spoke  in  a 
language  not  to  be  misunderstood,  that  be  would  willingly  have  bad 
them  double  the  size.  The  younger  children  nearly  smothered  me 
with  their  embraces;  for  I  assure  you  I  was  then  stock -master  of  the 
revels,  and  did  such  astonishing  things  when  I  did  come  out,  that  they 
were  sometimes  in  doubt  as  to  the  strict  propriety  of  my  cliaracter 

X  2 


M  LIFE, 

For,  if  I  were  not  tlie  old  gentleman  Um^elf,  tliey  gave  me  credit  i 
beings  at  the  very  least.  Lis  refonned  and  reckimed  first  cousin.  Such 
a  chfld  do  children  make  me,  and  I  am  very  much  obliged  to  tHem  for 
it;  for  I  never  feel  so  wise  as  when  I  am  committing  !»ome  folly  for 
their  amusement.  Wisdom  and  eicperiefioe  are  fine  things  to  possess; 
but  the  price  is  frightful  for  such  pfmeMiom,  Want  of  wisdom  Is  the 
foUy  of  believing  sll  the  people  in  the  world  are  as  good  and  true  as 
your  unscathed  heart  wishes  them.  Experience  is  the  master  of  the 
ceremonies  to  wisdom,  and  beware  of  him ;  for,  although  he  opens  your 
eyes,  he  doses  your  heart,  and  if  he  fills  your  head,  he  leaves  your 
heart  empty.  There  was  once  a  philosopher,  who  was  so  clever  and 
searching  that  he  became  dis^ted  with  himself,  and  forthmth  threw 
himself  into  the  sea.  Many,  in  searching  to  unriddle  the  meaning  and 
end  of  life,  find  out  too  late  that  they  have  neglected  the  uses  of  it. 

I  would  have  given  a  round  sum  for  my  cynic  to  have  been  placed 
within  the  charmed  circle  that  smiled  around  my  joyous  friend  on 
Christmas-eve,  and  seen  the  happy  feces  that  grew  ruddy  under  the 
bright  gleams  bursting  from  the  ponderous  log  upon  the  ^capacious 
health,  that  seemed  to  expand,  like  my  friend's  generous  heart,  to  he- 
stow  its  warmth  upon  every  bod  y«  Old  and  feeble  voices  essayed  the 
songs  of  their  youth,  and  touched  the  heart  with  more  force,  fmm  their 
very  feebleness.  Timid  infant  voices  carolled,  with  silver  aweetnesip 
the  little  ballads  taught  by  their  young  mothers,  whose  occasional 
prompting  voices  mingled  not  less  sweetly  with  their  faltering  notes. 
Aud  bold  manly  voices  trolled  forth  ihe  praises  of  beautiful  Nature, 
fur  the  gifts  with  which  she  rewarded  their  perse vermnoo  and  in- 
dustry. 

Talk  of  the  magic  circles  drawn  by  the  magi  of  old  to  protect  them 
against  evil  I  What  were  they  to  a  circle  like  this,  which  protects  voo 
not  only  against  evil,  but  agaiust  yourself,  should  you  be  inclined  to 
doubt  that  this  is  a  beautiful  wofld,  and  that  life  is  a  blessing. 

But,  hold.  I  am  gossipping  on,  and  stopping  my  friend  Tom  from 
speaking.  On  Chnstmas*eve  he  always  haa  his  story.  lie  did  not  tit 
up  all  night,  like  the  lady  in  the  Arabian  Nights ;  but  I  firmly  believe 
he  knew  us  many  stories.     After  clearing  his  voice,  Tom  b^an 

"  You  all  know  the  sheep-sheds  in  our  lower  croft,  by  Windy  C3«p»** 
said  he.  '*  Before  I  built  those  sheds,  when  it  first  came  into  my  pos- 
session, I  had  often  endeavoured  to  reclaim  it ;  but  after  many  vain  at^ 
tempts  I  gave  the  obstinate  bit  up  in  despair,  and  put  it  to  its  pfCMiil 
use.  It  is  a  desolate- looking  nooK,aiid  in  its  appearance  carries  out  to 
a  miracle  the  scenes  of  unhappiuess  enacted  upon  its  site. 

*' William  lilavvby  was  born  there,  of  parents  well  to  do  in  the 
world,  with  everything  about  their  farm  in  a  thriving  state.  As  a  mere 
child,  he  was  of  a  peevish,  solitary  nature.  This  I  have  heard  from 
good  authority  ;  for  I  only  became  acquainted  with  him  as  I  entered 
my  first  hcliooi,  and  he  was  just  on  tlie  point  of  leaving  it. 

**  Consequently,  when  I  returned  home  for  good  to  my  parents*  roof 
he  was  a  grown  man,  and  I  a  mere  stripling.  As  so  short  a  distance 
divided  bis  father's  farm  from  our's,  I  soon  fell  over  him,  and  renewed 
our  acquaintance.  His  occupation  was  a  foreshadowing  of  his  miserable 
clASxactei ;  he  was  diligently  inspecting  a  heflge  that  divided  a  dose 


I 


LIFE. 


53 


from  tHe  main  r^ad*  He  thought  that  he  had  dlscoyered  evident  traces 

of  some  one  having  passed  into  the  field  throogh  the  said  hedge. 

''  I  laughed  at  his  wise  and  serious  face,  drawn  into  a  look  of  pro- 
found wisdom  for  bo  tricing  an  occasion. 

"  *  My  young  friend/  Baid  he,  'men  are  ruined  by  trifles ;  It  is  not 
the  hroken  hedge  I  value ;  tut  I  suspect  the  trespasser  passed  through 
that  gap  upon  some  unlawful  purpose :  but  I  II  be  even  with  them 
now  my  suspicions  are  aroused* 

"  With  that  he  tapped  the  side  of  his  nosej  and  went  on  his  way 
most  Buapiciously  uncomfor table* 

"The  next  day,  to  the  amusement  of  the  village,  a  large  board  ap- 
peared staring  over  the  hedge,  with  the  announcement  of  all  sorts  of 
penal tiei  and  spring- guns  to  the  unwary  trespassers.  His  old  father 
was  a  merry -heart  en,  plain  oM  man,  who  never  put  himself  under  the 
infiiction  of  doubts;  for  he  believed  that  men  were  all  pretty  consider- 
ably honest,  as  the  world  went,  and  he  had  not  the  shghtest  idea  that 
he  was  better  than  anybody  else :  consequently,  he  smoked  his  pipe  in 
ealm  contentment^  and  let  the  world  wag. 

"His  suspicious  son  soon  disturbed  his  blissful  equanimity;  for, 
much  to  his  annoyance,  he  found  padlocks  placed  upon  things  that  had 
hitherto  been  open  to  all.  His  neighbour  had  to  wait  for  his  glass  of 
ale  while  he  found  his  son,  and  his  son  found  the  key  ;  for  he,  the  con- 
triver,  was  not  always  sure  where  he  had  hidden  it. 

**'  Poor  William's  principal  torment  was  his  suspicion  of  his  own 
father.  His  lynx  eyes  soon  fathomed  the  soft,  easy  temper  of  his  pa- 
rent, and  saw  a  thousand  ways  wherein  his  disposition  might  be  turned 
to  account  by  the  cunning  dealers  on  market-days,  when  the  ale  was 
uppermost  at  their  simple  friendly  dinners,  in  which  the  old  man  de- 
lighted, and  which  it  would  have  been  difficult  to  wean  him  from  ;  as, 
althougli  yielding  and  good-natured,  he  was  too  tough  and  independent 
to  be  dictated  to  by  any  body »  Another  painful  thorn  in  his  side  was 
an  aged  aunt,  to  whom  the  old  man  took  a  well-stored  weekly  basket. 
She  lived  on  a  small  stipend  in  the  market-town.  She  had  two 
daughters.  The  old  man  often  took  his  aoberin|  cup  of  tea  with  them 
on  his  return.  He  might  leave  them  something  comfortable.  The 
thought  was  tormenting* 

''His  suspicion  carried  him  every  market-day  to  dodge  his  father^ 
with  the  show  of  the  most  sincere  afl^ection ;  which  the  unsuspicious 
old  man,  with  his  heart  glad,  reported  to  his  plain,  simple  dame^  who 
rejoiced  with  him  over  their  imagined  treasure. 

"  He  was  at  this  time  about  eight-and-twenty,  and,  dodge  as  he 
would,  he  could  not  escape  a  pair  of  bright  eyes  and  rosy  cheeks  that 
caught  him  in  the  before-mentioned  market-town  on  one  of  his  suspi- 
cious visits* 

"  He  soon  scraped  an  acquaintance^  after  having  by  great  assiduity 
found  out  that  her  father  was  a  retired  miller,  of  good  fortune,  and  that 
she  was  an  only  child.  He  thought  this  a  safe  investment.  His  posi- 
tion and  appearance  soon  gained  him  permission  to  continue  his  visits ; 
which  were,  in  fact,  continual,  for  he  was  always  under  the  apprehen- 
sion that  when  the  cat  is  away  the  mice  will  play,  and  that  some  other 
might  snap  up  his  valuable  mouse.  He  did  not  feel  quite  assured  as  to 
the  old  man's  positive  possessions,  so  made  it  his  business  in  a  thousand 
tortuous  ways  to  make  inquiries. 

**  This  could  not  go  on  so  quietly  but  it  at  last  reached  the  old 
miUer*a  ears,  who  good-naturedly  put  it  down  to  the  young  man's  pru- 


§4 


UFK. 


Iiiwk^t ;  tei»«a  iafsirr,  W  disoorered  tKat  it  proceeded  from  a 

of  liw  fttHfttilliiilj  ■■■  fciifirj      This  miller  was  a  shrewd  old 

fcUlbt  It  vat  Imi  Ittte,  to  find  out  whether  the 

jka  Bflt  liewwitnff  m  MMiie  of  the  qualities  he  thought 

I  r  Fi  1 1111111  IT  I II 

^  TW  ltd  h«ikwfra»  %  ck«H  cf  the  raiUer's ;  through  whose  instro- 

hm  kid  imcjuicd  htig^  wamm  in  excellent  mortgages.     He  al* 

to  W  fMsifnd  hf  Mawbj,  with  the  conniraoce  of  the 

r ;  Mdt  PBiwem>eiitlT.  tr  winHixg  replies  to  his  eager  inquiries, 

» ««t  tbt  «ulkr  t«  be  littW  less  than  insolvent* 

ink  down  t9  aercv  although  it  had  for  months 
tm  hm  own  accoont,  like  two  or  three  Etnas 
'iCB,  were  true^  What  an  escape !  thought 
1Mb  Bt  it  w«i  Ibr  tke  ftitiiB«l«  girL  He  proceeded  to  his  intended* 
9mii^  Kmmis  It  kemg  dark*  ke  crept  ofer  the  garden-palingst  and 
mmi»i  up  liifiii  ike  Gutter.  Here  he  vatnly  attempted  to  peep 
tkrMfk  tk»  Cli¥kga*  Here*  whilu  endeayouring'to  make  out  a  rour- 
vmred  coBTCCaatUkiu  in  which  he  thought  he  heanl  his  own  name  men- 
tiMii*  hm  waa  pinned  hy  the  miller'a  dog ;  who,  poor  brute !  was  cursed 
with  Ikt  ymilk  a  Bah  o^  sMpkiMi,  aM  aospecting  that  he  was  a  thief, 
had  s«>ia^  ki»  Mioaffdii^T.  Hwe  waa  ratiier  an  awkward  dimjm* 
9ni»  and  kt  kad  na  rtgkt  Vbmn  $  tk«  paitk  ta  the  door  lay  another  way. 
Ill  kfa  aii3u«tf  ke  had  timmpled  dovn  tke  toirrr-bed.  He  stammered 
ant  aona  asasia  wm.  kb  fieleaaa»  and  departed  home  crest-^en, 
kapiii|  tkal  tkty  did  mi  nafMl  kk  lofieions* 

*'lW  naxlaMrauitfkereceiifeda  polita  note  from  the  miller,  begging 
kin  ^»at  to  repeat  his  Ttsiti*  aa  tke  dog  appeared  to  have  taken  a 
sudden  dislike  lo  kiD>«  in  which  h«  was  joined  by  himself  and  his 
daughter.  At  the  aaaie  time  to  eaae  kia  mind  as  to  the  state  of  their 
ftClit^  ke  kimtd  to  iav  that  any  respeolakle  Toung  man,  who  pleased 
kk  ditt|ktai''a  taatek  m^X  kare  tan  tkooaana  don^  on  the  weddinig- 


daji  and  aa  miiek  nan  at  kit  i 

**  For  anea  WilliaKi  anspected  rigkt»  vis.  that  ke  had  made  a  sad  fool 
ofkimaalf. 

**Not  many  montka  after  this,  ke  kat  kia  simple-minded  mother. 
Her  death  gave  him  plenty  of  exercise  for  his  miserable  fault*     For  he 
waa  oontanually  laying  trapa  fixr  the  aerrants,  as  if  they  had  been  i^K 
many  mka^  to  catch  thrm  out  in  their  little  peculations,  until  14|^| 
eapMoajte  made  all  around  him  so  uncomfortable  that  many  of  the  ol^^ 
domestics  left  the  farm  in  disgust. 

WheneTer  bemetmebe  was  full  of  some  deeply  laid  plan  to  find  out 
some  miserable  suspected  one,  and  often  in  the  midst  of  his  self-suffi- 
cient tale,  he  would  start  off  on  a  sudden  without  any  apology,  beeausa 
a  suspicion  had  Bashed  acrosis  hiH  mind  that  he  haa  not  locked  aome 
corn-bin  or  preserve-cupboard  before  he  left  home. 

''His  whole  occupation  seemed  to  be  to  tiod  out  things  tliat  would 
make  him  uncomfortable.  The  food  preserved  fur  his  own  table  be 
constantly  dotted  or  nicked  that  he  might  see,  upon  their  being  brought 
to  table  again,  whether  anyone  had  ventured  to  purloin  the  smalJatt 
particle. 

"  He  had  a  habit  of  laying  straws  in  key-holes  that  would  be  displaced 
Upon  the  slightest  attempt  to  insert  a  key,  and  discover  the  intended     \ 
thii'f,     1  have  known  him  walk  to  a  considerable  distance,  and  tha^H 
return  ait<I  put^h  the  door,  to  assure  himself  Uiat  the  lock  had  shot.     ^| 

'*  He  once  got  caught  in  his  own  trap.    One  night  late  he  had  an  en* 


LIFE, 


S6 


gagement  to  go  to  Bome  neighbouring  danee^  bo  he  Rent  all  the  servants 

to  bed  and  locked  the  back  and  front  door,  and  to  make  all  secure,  hid 
the  ponderous  key.  On  his  return  he  could  not  for  the  life  of  him  think 
of  the  hiding-place;  he  therefore  had  a<jine  hours  to  walk  up  and  down 
in  the  night  air  before  day- dawn,  when  the  imprisoned  servants  dis- 
covered him  feeling  about  in  hencoops  and  under  thatches  for  the  miss- 
ing key<  At  last  his  hiding-place  struck  his  memory,  and  he  had  the 
roortitication  of  withdrawing  it  hefore  the  tittering  servants,  who  thus 
discovered  his  suspicionsj  and  the  retribution  on  himself  in  his  long 
night-watch, 

"  His  father,  who  Iiad  now  grown  too  aged  to  attend  to  the  farm,  left 
it  entirely  under  his  control.  Here  hia  suspicions  had  nearly  tinished 
him  oif ;  for  he  suspected,  during  his  harvest,  that  his  shocks  were  pulled 
and  robbed  in  the  night.  He  therefore  hired  a  clown  to  ait  up  as  a  watch- 
man, armed  with  an  old  double-barrelled  gun  loaded  with  slugs.  The  first 
night  his  suspicions  would  not  let  him  sleep.  This  watchman  might 
be  bribed  to  connivance^  and  he  get  laughed  at-  He  was  soon  dressed, 
and  creeping  along  the  hedgej  where  his  suspicions  were  verified  by 
hearing  low  murmuring  voices.  He  crawled  close  in  their  vicinity, 
and  there  discovered  that  it  was  the  poor  fellow's  wife  who  had  brought 
him  something  comfortable  for  his  supper.  He  crept  back  cautiously, 
butp  stumbling  over  the  root  of  a  tree,  roused  the  attention  of  the 
watchman,  who  challenged  him  immediately.  He  lay  still  for  a  mo- 
ment, hoping  he  should  escape  observation  in  the  darkness  of  the  night, 
but  upon  his  fir^t  attempt  to  raise  himself,  he  received  about  a  dozen 
slugs  in  his  arm  and  back,  for  his  watchman  was  a  better  shot  than  he 
suspected.  The  picking  out  of  these  by  the  village  surgeon,  was  a 
positive  satisfaction  to  the  many  to  whom  hia  character  had  become 
pretty  well  known. 

'*  Thus  he  went  on,  until  liis  father's  death  left  him  entirely  alone,  for 
his  suspicious  mind  never  allowed  him  to  form  a  friendship,  which  c[in 
only  be  true  and  valuable  where  theie  is  a  mutual  continence  and  an 
openness  of  character.  He,  by  his  suspicions  nature,  had  locked  him- 
self within  himself,  which  is  the  most  fearful  of  iuiprisonments, 

*vHis  father's  wealth  enabled  him  to  please  his  fancy  ;  so,  to  set  his 
mind  at  ease,  he  sold  the  farm  that  he  might,  as  he  thought,  he  freed 
from  a  host  of  pilferers.  He  built  himself  a  house,  in  the  croft  I 
mentioned  at  the  beginning  of  the  tale,  the  very  prototype  of  himself. 
It  had  a  most  suspicious  look,  it  had  but  one  door,  but  windows  were 
placed  so  that  he  could  see  all  that  was  going  on,  on  every  side. 

*'  He  had  only  one  domestic,  an  old  cripple  without  relation,  who  was 
too  lame  to  go  out,  and  of  course  had  no  visitors.  It  was  ^vell  known 
in  the  neighbourhood  that  he  had  withdrawn  large  sums  from  the  dif- 
ferent country  bankers,  where  it  had  been  invested  by  his  father,  and 
it  w  as  strongly  believed  that  he  kept  it  in  the  house,  as  he  suspected 
that  these  speculative  gentlemen  might  one  fine  morning  turn  out  to 
be  insolvent*  His  walks  were  confined  to  within  sight  of  his  solitary 
mansion,  the  precincts  of  which  he  was  never  known  to  leave  as  age 
crept  on  him,  but  wandered  about  like  an  unquiet  spirit  around  his 
self-imposed  tomb. 

'*  In  course  of  time  his  old  domestic  was  conveyed  to  the  village 
churcliyard,  much  less  solitary  than  the  abode  which  she  had  left. 

**  For  a  moment  the  old  man  stood  and  gazed  after  the  bearers,  hti 
white  hair  blown  about  by  the  cold  wintry  wind,  and  his  shrivelled 


^s 


LIFE- 


hmuA  i***^^g  kk  eyfs.   He  tamed  slowlj  £roin  tlie  sigbt  and  closed  tlie 

*"  Mmaj  were  ^ht  kU  aiUi  firoa  the  umple  people  of  the  villa^. 
But  sll  offen  of  aemoe  ll«  vaniaielT  declined^  as  he  suspected  that  hb 
age  md  vefthk  w«tfie  cyoditod  upon  to  a  nicety,  and  a  thumping 
Vmcf  looked  fbrvaid  to^  k  the  retrard  of  some  tricing  attention. 
DMUnt  relalktti  bc^m  to  korer  nmnd  him  and  make  tender  inquiries. 
Tkeie  he  aliraya  met  <n  tke  dom  ttcp»  which  waa  his  onlj  audience- 
cktwber  fur  saek  calkn. 

**  That  soUtarv  oldmaant,  aslongastke  daylight  lasted,  at  a  mndow 
ofrerlookiBg  tke  li^  Toad  ;kere  ke  paaacd  hb  life  in  reading  and  watch- 
aag;  tke  wamm  window  dwwed  m  light  bomiiie  during  the  hours  of 
del  I  ■WW,  §m  be  miwmja  eppfred  on  kis  guardt  as  upon  any  penson 
•ppneckug  ncMti  tkan  waul  to  tke  premises,  his  ears  were  saluted 
kV  tko  dttfp  growl  ef  kis  dog.  wkidi  mtrei  lef^  the  house  any  more  than 

**  About  two  feors  after  tke  deccm  of  hk  housekeeper,  the  nightly 
Ugkt  WM  aiiaied  Bmm  tke  wtikdov,  for  it  had  beoonte  quite  a  guide  to 
WUUkf  coBUBg  to  tke  viOagBb  'ihis  of  course  caused  some  of  the  more 
etakm  to  eppfoadi  tke  koitae  in  the  daylight,  and  reconnoitre.  But 
there  tot  tke  aolitmry,  mpperendy  deeply  occupied  with  hia  book,  and 
ilio  tke  dog  peering  through  the  gla»;  this  aatlsfied  them,  and  they 
departed* 

**  A  week  had  elapaed,  and  the  Tillage  was  alarmed  by  the  appearance 
of  Ma  why 'a  dog  careertiig  in  a  wild  manner  through  the  village*  Upon 
l>etng  notieed*  lie  tped  back  to  the  crt^ft ;  many  followed  him,  and  upon 
apf>r(iaching  the  houae  and  looking  up  at  the  ^rindow,  they  perceived 
the  old  tmin  still  fitting  unmoved^  although  the  glass  and  frame  had  been 
•maahod  by  the  dog  a  esut.  Alter  repeated  calla»  which  met  with  no  at- 
Mllbn^  they  foreed  tkelr  way  into  the  boose. 

**  Eforrthiiig  io  tke  ckanber  woa  neat  and  comfortable.  There  Bat 
the  peer  eld  man  in  kk  bsge  emidiBirt  dead  and  alone.  Of  what  ralae 
weio  tkeee  ikkce  new  wkick  ked  deeed  kia  keart  against  all  the  plea- 
iuiea  of  tkk  bcottttM  werid,  ngemet  tke  *po»etsion  of  ivife,  children, 
kindred*  frienda.  There  waa  no  will,  for  he  suspected  the  moment  ho 
niudr  it  in  anyoae'a  fiivoar«  that  would  be  his  last  moment  of  security*^ 
It  therefore  spreed  itself  ^r  more  eril,  and  was  split  up  into  forty 
Uw-autta»  for  toe  beaeit  of  everjone  but  the  rightful  heirs. 


4 


4 


n 


••  This,"  said  Tom  Thornton,  '*  is  a  leaf  out  of  the  large  volume  sup- 
plied by  that  circulating  library,  the  world,  out  of  which  we  can  aU 
read*  If  ^ve  are  not  fools,  and  it  teaches  us  to  value  such  a  circle  as  now 
f*it8  rtlmul  us»  and  to  bless  the  happy  Christmas,  which  links  us  all 
together  after  our  scatterings  through  the  rest  of  the  year,  to  gather  in 
riches  bestowed  upon  us  by  the  bountiful  earth. 

'*  Suspect  none  hut  yourself,  for  if  you  have  lirmness  enough  to  be 
true  to  yourself,  you  will,  nine  times  out  of  ten,  find  that  you  have 
rightly  suspected.*' 

As  honest  Tom  was  proceeding,  a  Urge  bowl  was  placed  upon  the 
tuble,  of  such  a  charming  and  engrossing  odour,  that  it  cut  him  abort, 
in  that  which  I  dare  say  would  have  been  most  erudite;  and  an  apple- 
faced  old  gentleman  roared  out  with  a  remnant  of  a  bass  voice,  *'  Drowa 
St  in  the  bowl ! "  which  we  accordingly  did* 


57 


THBOUOB 

FRANCE,  BELGIUM,  AND  GERMANY. 


X VII.— THE  RANCE. 


I  little  1 


from 


tialo  to  Dinan  yp  the  river  Ranee,  a 
distance  of  about  fifteen  miles,  is  performed  by  a  light  steam -boat, 
which,  owing  to  the  navigation,  is  compelled  to  proceed  at  a  leisurely 
rate  through  §ome  of  the  most  picturesque  scenery  of  France,  The 
vessel  is  always  obliged  to  wail  for  the  tide,  and  can  seldom  accom- 
plish the  trip  up  and  down  in  one  day  more  than  three  times  a  week. 
Such  is  the  shallowness  of  the  bed  of  the  river,  that  the  stream  is 
artificially  sustained  near  Dinan  by  the  help  of  a  lock. 

The  banks  of  the  Ranee  may  be  compared  to  a  variety  of  pretty 
pastoral  spots,  mixed  up  with  wild  rocks,  picked  out  of  Switzerland 
and  looked  at  through  the  wrong  end  of  an  opera-glass*  You  can 
here  fancy  everything,  to  the  very  breath  of  the  steeps,  to  have  come 
freshly  from  Interlacken  and  twenty  other  such  places  in  the  re* 
cesses  of  the  mountains,  taken  in  the  height  of  their  summer  beauty, 
and  dropped  like  showers  of  roses  over  the  margins  of  this  stream. 
The  variety  is  endless:  all  upon  a  small  scale,  but,  by  force  of  con- 
trast, occasionally  assuming  a  character  of  sublimity.  Sometimes 
the  river  runs  into  little  bays  and  creeks,  and  sometimes  it  closes  up 
and  forms  inland  lakes,  sheltered  on  all  sides  by  hills  covered  with 
verdure  to  the  summit ;  in  some  places  a  chateau  crowns  a  well- 
wooded  height,  or  gleams  out  through  the  green  depths  of  a  valley; 
then  a  village  grows  up  before  you,  its  white /apaf/cf  creeping  along 
the  side  of  a  cliff,  or  disappearing  in  a  ravine  as  the  steamer  sails 
past.  As  you  approach  the  port  of  Dinan  (for  so  the  French  call 
the  little  quay  that  juts  out  here)  you  see  the  spires  of  several 
churches  glistening  above  dense  masses  of  foliage  on  the  tops  of  the 
pretty  miniature  mountains,  and  now  and  then  you  get  a  glimpse  of 
the  old  grey  walls  of  the  fortifications,  with  the  dark  outline  of  a 
mighty  town  standing  on  the  heights  with  an  air  of  tyrannic  strength. 
A  clatter  of  little  boys  and  passengers  from  the  town  come  down  to 
convey  back  sundry  purchases  conveyed  by  the  steam-boat, — ^an  odd 
carteature  or  two  of  a  sailor  hanging,  like  a  lizard,  to  the  wall, — some 
half-dozen  idlers,  such  as  are  to  be  found  at  every  place  in  the 
known  world  where  a  boat  touches,— and,  perhaps,  three  or  four 
English  visitors  sauntering  about^  and  glad  of  an  incident  to  break 
the  aieepy  routine  of  the  day,^-are,  upon  the  average,  the  first 
signs  of  Life  you  may  expect  to  encounter  upon  landing  at  the  port 
of  Dinan. 

The  town  itself  stands  on  the  top  of  the  hill,  to  which  you  must 
make  your  way  up  a  narrow,  precipitous  street,  practicable  only  for 
goats,  very  properly  called  "  le  phts  i^iiahte  rite  de  Dinan"  This 
street  is  nearly  perpendicular;  it  scales  the  face  of  the  hill,  and 
conducts  you  into  the  town  through  a  picturesque  old  gate  sunk  in 
the  centre  of  a  stupendous  tower.     Your  passage  to  this  point  will 


Wong 


¥^i> 


iCBded  in  tbe 
piuf  Ir  tg»fil> 

flf  Ac  cue,*" 


tmi^htmmU^ 


«.ltl 


^n^nkiicyi 

BriM  wbidi  ]€d  to 

Bitf  tiMre  wxs  no 

MO  It  five  a'ciock 


fhm  fyrDiturCj 
Kke  aa  mvwy 
•  •duiQl^l 
npoo  iBe 
a  tztoopof 
mL  «««ld  kiHft  ttdi  nthcr  in  «nd  ontolilie 
on  tW  Uttttin^  amI  down  the  stairs  and 
vp  ^nin*  and  m  af«r  the  whole  hanjg,  ijing  at  last  out  of  door*  to 
finiah  the  c^«se  in  the  BMm.  Now  y^m  hope  for  a  little  repoae,  and 
are  bei^umin^  to  enjoy  it  too^  when  snddenljr  a  low  growling  sound, 
•omething  like  the  rumbling  of  distant  thunder,  creeps  up  the  walls, 
and  slowly  fiUa  the  room.  You  bare  not  the  slightest  conception 
from  whence  or  bow  this  sound  proceeds,  and  your  surprise  is  in-* 
creased  rather  than  dimini:>hed  when  you  are  told  that  it  is  caused 
by  the  process  of  grindin^r  coffee  for  breakfast.  Madame  Barrs 
would  do  well  to  get  rid  of  these  terrible  noises,  and  to  exclude  chil- 
dren. Boarding-houses  are  not  fit  places  for  children.  They  are  in 
body's  way,  and  everybody  is  in  their  way.  If  tiiey  scamper 
rii  children  with  bright  brains  and  healthy  spirits  ought  to  do, 
rtain  to  provoke  ill-natured  complaints,  and  to  bring  their 
o  couteits  and  scrapes  ;  and,  if  they  are  pent  up  in  rooms 


IN    FRANCE,   BELGIUM,    AKD  GERMANY. 


59 


to  spare  the  nerves  of  their  elders,  it  will  be  at  the  cost  of  tears  and 
ill-huraours,  which  their  elders  have  no  right  to  inflict*  Then,  the 
companionships  of  boarding-houses  are  not  always  the  most  advisa- 
ble for  children.  It  reveals  to  them  views  of  human  nature  which 
cannot  improve  their  hearts  or  their  understandings ;  gives  them  a 
premature  taste  for  personal  gossip  and  small  talk  ;  lifts  them  too 
soon  out  of  their  hoops,  and  tops,  and  dolls,  to  sit  up  at  table  and 
take  an  interest  in  scandal ;  and  sets  them  the  example  of  turning 
the  seamy  side  of  society  out,  a  pleasant  exercise  of  spite  and  malice, 
which  their  young,  quick  faculties  are  ready  enough  to  seize  and 
imitate*  The  company  at  Madame  Barrs'  was  as  unfit  for  children 
as  children  were  unfit  for  them.  But  good,  hospitable  Ikladame 
Barrs,  who  thought  of  nothing  all  day  long  but  going  to  market,  and 
providing  for  the  creature  comforts  and  housing  of  her  guests,  never 
troubled  herself  with  matters  of  this  kind.  If  a  remonstrance  were 
made  against  the  noises,  she  would  promise  to  do  her  best,  which 
she  would  do,  and  which  amounted  to — nothing.  She  could  not 
herself  comprehend  how  the  noises  or  the  children  could  be  objec- 
tionable, for  her  benevolence  was  so  tiniversal  that  she  wotild  have 
reconciled,  if  she  could,  the  most  obstinate  antipathies  ;  and,  in  strict 
justice  to  her  it  must  be  said  that,  however  impossible  or  contra- 
dictory might  be  the  petitions  of  her  guests,  she  always  returned  the 
most  satisfactory  answers  to  them.  And  this  satisfaction,  which  the 
real  goodnature  of  Madame  Barrs  inspired,  made  people  waive  all 
further  objections,  and  put  up  with  petty  vexations  for  the  sake  of 
Madame  Barrs  herself*  Fortunately  there  was  little  to  put  up  with, 
for  the  house  was  liberally  supplied,  and  the  charges  were  remark- 
ably moderate,  two  recommendations  which,  combined  with  air  and 
deanUnesBj  ought  to  content  even  the  most  splenetic  Englishman, 


XVIII—BERTRAND  DU  OUESCLIN. 

Of  all  towns  in  Brittany  Dinan  gives  you  the  most  complete  reali- 
zation of  the  mediaeval  character.  The  forms,  colour,  physiognomy 
of  the  Bllddle  Ages  are  here  to  be  seen  in  perfect  preservation.  Every 
thing  in  and  about  Dinan  is  of  that  half-way  antiquity,  especially  the 
architecture;  the  streets  and  little  squares  are  nearly  all  shut  up  in 
Gothic  houses  of  the  fourteenth  and  fifteenth  centuries.  There  is 
nothing  apparently  changed  since  the  days  of  the  Thirty,  except 
the  costume  of  the  people,  and  you  might  readily  imagine  yourself 
living  in  the  feudal  times  if  it  w^ere  not  for  a  round  hat,  which  you 
occasionally  see  moving  up  and  down  the  passages  and  dark  arcades. 
Ah,  that  round  hat!  type  of  the  unpicturesque  dreariness  of  the 
modern  world;  how  astonishingly  it  dispels  all  such  illusions  1 

It  is  impossible  to  walk  through  Dinan  without  tumbling  at  every 
itep  over  fragments  of  history :  the  towers,  walls,  promenades,  are 
all  historical.  Du  Guesclin  is  the  hero  of  Dinan,  and  is  presented  to 
you  at  every  corner ;  there  is  a  statue  of  him  in  the  Grand  Place,  a 
picture  of  him  in  the  Mairief  his  heart  is  preserved  in  the  church  of 
St.  Sauveur.  If  you  are  very  curious  about  him,  you  can  get  a  peep 
at  some  of  his  relics,  and  there  is  scarcely  a  shop  in  the  town  where 
they  do  not  retail  his  life  and  adventures  in  a  hundred  old  story- 
books, ballads,  and  chronicles.  Let  nobody  grudge  him  the  distinc- 
tionSj  he  is  better  entitled  to  it  than  ninety- nine  in  a  hundred  of  your 


IN   FRANCE,   BElorUM,  AND    GERMANY,  61 

Du  Guesclin  was  one  of  the  best  specimens  of  that  animal  energy 
which  has  lifted  so  many  constables  anil  crusaders  into  the  niches^of 
history.  His  fight  with  Thomas  of  Canterbury  is  as  exciting  (which 
is  saying  quite  enough  for  it)  as  the  encounter  of  St.  George  and  the 
unknown  giant^— ^ 

'^  Towards  Cbristendom  he  made  hii  flighi. 
But  mel:  a  f^ant  by  the  wmv, 
With  whom  m  combat  lie  did  fight. 
Most  Vidian tl)'  &  summer's  day,^* 

And,  mixed  up  with  this  relishing  valour,  was  a  touch  of  tender- 
ness in  the  character  of  Du  Guesclin  which  makes  an  effective  appeal 
to  the  imagination,  from  being  found  in  association  with  such  brawny 
vigour.  Fidelity  in  a  lover  was  no  great  merit  in  an  age  when  it 
w^as  enforced  by  vows,  and  regarded  as  a  point  of  honour  as  well  as 
faith.  Virtue  was  not  half  so  fearfully  tried  in  those  days  as  it  is  at 
the  present  moment ;  the  soldier  never  incurred  such  risks  in  his 
round  of  sieges  and  campaigns  as  the  flattered  rani  in  the  perilous 
run  of  a  London  season.  But  it  is  not  for  the  truth  of  his  tfevotion 
to  the  fair  Stephanie  that  Du  Guesclin's  memory  is  held  in  such  fa- 
vour, but  for  the  romantic  way  in  which  he  published  it  to  posterity. 
Stephanie  was  his  first  wife  (Du  Guesclin's  love  for  her  not  inter- 
fering with  a  second  marriage),  and  his  attachment  for  her  outlived 
the  attractions  of  her  successor.  It  has  been  said  that  there  is  no 
second  growth  of  the  aflfections,  a  dogma  which  may  be  successfully 
disputed  by  the  bulk  of  mankind ;  although,  in  the  case  of  the  re- 
nowned Bertraud  du  Guesclin^  it  seems  to  have  held  good  in  the 
end,  for,  in  his  last  moments,  he  recurred  to  the  dead  love  of  his 
youth  as  if  the  intervening  years  of  his  life,  during  which  her  place 
was  filled  by  another,  had  had  no  existence.  On  his  death- bed  he 
made  a  testamentary  disposition  of  his  heart,  desiring  that  it  should  be 
carried  to  Dinan,  and  buried  in  the  church  of  the  Jacobins  close  to 
the  tomb  of  his  beloved  Stephanie.  His  wish  was  reh'giously  exe- 
cuted ;  and,  when  the  church  of  the  Jacobins  was  demolished  in 
lilOtlj  the  heroic  heart  was  found  in  an  excellent  state  of  preserva- 
tion, and  after  being  embalmed  and  enclosed  in  a  heart  of  teatl,  was 
placed  upon  a  mural  tablet  in  the  Church  of  St.  Sauveur,  with  the 
following  inscription: — '*  Ci  gist  k  Cneur  de  Messire  Bert  rand  jour 
gueaqui  en  son  vivani  conestal/k  de  France  qui  irespassa  k  XIII.  Du^ 
dcjuiilii  tan  mil  1 11'^,  IIIP\  dont  son  corps  repose  avee  ceux  des 
Hois  it  Sat  net  lyerttfs  en  France/' 

The  statue  of  our  great  man,  which  stands  in  the  Place  du  Gue- 
sclin (looking  up  sturdily  at  the  dormitory  windows),  was  defaced 
a  few  years  ago,  a  part  of  it  having  been  broken  off  in  the  night- 
time, to  the  infinite  consternation  of  the  inhabitants.  When  the 
profanation  was  discovered  tlie  next  day»  you  might  have  supposed 
that  a  fire  had  broken  out,  or  that  the  town  was  in  a  state  of  siege, 
so  full  of  alarm  was  the  hurrying  to  and  fro,  the  crowdings  and 
talking,  and  agitation  of  masses  of  people  through  the  streets.  A 
regular  French  scene  was  immediately  got  up  with  all  due  pomp 
and  preparation.  The  mayor  and  the  municipal  authorities,  having 
first  gravely  deliberated  upon  the  matter  with  closed  doors,  advanced 
in  solemn  procession  to  the  Place,  where  they  examined  the  statue, 
and  took  a  proces  verbal  of  the  injuries  it  had  sustained^  for  the  pur- 


J 


A 


of! 

therefore^  wai 
to  the  Ka- 
bjr  A  coanCer- report, 
ae  tadvcBitT  ihem- 

ilottbtlMi^  the 


huTe  been,  the 
Gallic  blood  in  them. 
V  aotwttlisUndiJig 
tbe  French  are 
TTulnerable 
they  have 
Om  one  occMoo  llicjr 
Dery-ffcd 
a|MNi  Its  bead 
mi  Ae  giood  people 
le  tricked 


TK  AKX»  TfiS  FRIOBV 


aUparts  of  Franoe, 

The  otady/emKr 

mnt  of  La  Gvi^e  b 

with  ivy  flod 

tiful 

edcbnted  i 

tkerid 

iM  the   stable  or 

and  the  tatter- 

boon  at  the 

IT  anj  pttrpoM, 

•f  m  muUiaiied 

is,  that,  m 

I  «f  the  building, 

avcty  high  wind 


IN    FRANCJE,  BELGIUM,   AND   GERMANY. 


63 


the  largest  apartment  of  the  whole  from  some  smaller  one,  and  the 

remains  of  a  capacious  fire-place  may  yet  be  seen  suspended  in  mid- 
air and  jutting  out  over  the  wall.  The  depths  below  are  inscrutable. 
£ni bedded  in  rank  weeds  and  mosses,  and  infested  by  a  numerous 
population  of  owls  and  reptiles,  the  experimeut  of  a  descent  is  not 
to  be  entertained.  Nor  are  there  any  means  of  descent,  nor  any- 
thing to  see  even  if  these  dismal  caverns  could  be  entered  with 
safety.  Now,  all  these  obstacles  could  be  cleared  away  at  a  trifling 
expense^  and  the  place  could  be  rendered  accessible  in  every  part 
iivithout  displacing  a  single  stone,  or  removing  a  fibre  of  that  pic- 
turesque vegetation  which  gives  it  such  an  air  of  antiquity.  But 
circumstances  have  rendered  the  people  indifTerent  to  the  conserva- 
tion of  their  great  houses.  The  first  Revolution  threw  most  of  these 
properties  into  new  hands.  They  were  sold  to  meet  the  exigencies 
of  the  provisional  government,  and  the  persons  who  obtained  pos- 
session of  them  in  this  way,  being  always  apprehensive  of  the  return 
of  the  Bourbons, — an  event  which  would  have  the  immediate  effect 
of  restoring  all  confiscated  estates  to  their  original  owners,  felt  no 
anxiety  to  bestow  any  cost  upon  their  preservation.  On  the  con- 
trary, it  was  rather  their  interest  to  let  them  go  to  decay ;  for  the 
chateaux  were  everywhere  landmarks  of  personal  rights,  and  in 
many  cases  the  claims  of  families  depended  entirely  on  the  chateau 
and  a  small  patrimony  immediately  surrounding  it ;  so  that  the  pos- 
sessors by  purchase  were  not  unwilling  to  let  the  houses  crumble 
away  as  quickly  as  possible,  giving  a  sly  impetus  to  the  work  of 
ruin  every  now  and  then  for  the  sake  of  diminishing  the  future 
value  of  the  property,  and  destroying  as  far  as  they  could  the 
evidence  upon  which  the  rights  of  the  owners  in  some  instances 
depended. 

La  Garaye  in  this  manner  fell  into  the  hands  of  some  hard,  horn- 
handed  farmer.  In  one  fell  swoop  be  turned  all  the  elegancies  of 
the  establishment  into  the  rudest  utilities,  and  trampled  out  all  me- 
morials of  the  legend  of  the  chateau.  The  outbuildings,  formerly 
the  stables  of  the  magnificent  roue  who  built  the  place,  standing 
under  the  shadow  of  the  trees,  close  to  the  bridge  where  the  Lady 
of  La  Garaye  received  that  dreadful  fall  which  is  said  to  have  con- 
verted her  rake-helly  husband  into  &  founder  of  hospitals,  are  now 
transformed  into  a  range  of  barns.  What  metamorphoses  in  detail 
they  may  have  undergone  in  the  process  it  is  now  impossible  to  tell; 
but  their  present  aspect  presents  a  strange  contradiction  to  the 
desolate  ruins  of  the  mouldering  chateau  which  gleam  upon  you  so 
mournfully  through  the  trees*  There  are  yet  standing  beside  the 
bridge  two  handsome  columns,  which  formerly  belonged  to  the 
gate,  which  the  visitor  may  be  recommended  to  examine  from  the 
interior.  They  are  in  excellent  preservation,  and  covered  with  ivy 
to  the  top.  The  prints  of  the  chiUean  which  are  to  be  found  in  the 
books  of  modern  tourists  are  not  to  be  trusted.  The  artists  usually 
put  in  an  imaginary  foreground  for  the  sake  of  making  a  picture, 
and  all  these  engravings  are  chargeable  with  at  least  one  story  too 
much. 

The  legend  of  La  Garaye  is  equally  suspicious.  If  you  consult  the 
authorities,  written  and  unwritten,  which  are  available  on  this  sub- 
ject, you  will  get  into  a  maze  of  irreconcilable  absurdities.  The 
simple  trutli^  as  well  as  it  can  be  extricated  from  a  network  of  con- 


64 


WAYSIDE   PICTURES 


tradictions  and  improbabilitiefl,  «eem8  to  have  been  that  the  chdtmn 
was  built  by  a  young  man  of  enormous  fortune,  who  waa  cursed 
with  an  unbounded  love  of  pleasure,  which  we  may  take  for  granted 
was  not  much  checked  by  the  possession  of  ample   means  for  itt 
gratification.     lie  married  a  beautiful  woman,  who,  nothing  loih, 
plunged  recklessly  with  him  into  his  wild  orgies  and  violent  excesset. 
They  kept  the  chaicau  full  of  company ;  had  large  parties  down  from 
Paris ;    used   to  act   private  plays,    and  dance  and  revel    ttl]    long 
past  midnight.     When  the  surrounding  country  was  buried  in  re- 
pose, then  the  towers  of  La  Garaye^  biazing  with  lights,  and  rocked 
with  music,  would  flame  out  over  the  still  valleys,  and  shouts  of  mer- 
riment and  wasting  tapers  would  outlast  the  stars,  until  the  rising 
iun,  extinguishing  the  glare,  would  send  the  mad  dtbauchei  to  their 
chambers.     According  to  one  version  of  the  story,  the  lady  q^  L* 
Garaye  was  killed  at  her  gate  by  a  fall  from  her  horse  as  she  woj 
going  out  to  hunt  on  a  Sunday  ;  the  spot  where  the  accident  hap- 
pened has  undergone  very  little  alteration,  except  that  the  balus- 
trades of  the  bridge  have  rotted  into  the  dyke,  which,  instead  of 
being  enlivened  by  a  clear  stream  of  running  water,  is  dried  up  and 
choketl  with  w^eeds  and  brambles.     According  to  other  versions,  the 
lady  was  not  killed,  but  sustained  a  violent  injury,  which,  annihilat- 
ing the  prospect  of  issue,  had  such  an  effect  upon  her  husband,  that 
it  suddenly  gave  a  new  direction  to  the  current  of  his  life.  It  was  the 
fashion  of  the  age,  when  a  man  was  struck  with  remorse,  or  bad  i 
serious  impression  made  upon  him,  to  rush  at  once  into  sackclotil 
and  ashes.     The  more  extreme  the  transition,  the  easier  the  recon- 
ciliation  with  heaven  and  the  church,^ — a  doctrine  which  the  clergy 
were  not  slow  to  urge  upon  the  conscience*stricken  penitent,     hk 
Garaye  acted  up  to  it  in  full.     He  abandoned  pleasures  of  all  sorts, 
cast  away  his  fine  garments,   and  chithed  himself  in  the  coarsest 
clothes;  turned  his  rhateau  into  an  hospital,  and  his  theatre  into  a 
dispensary,  and,  afler  studying  surgery  and  medicine  in  Paris  for 
two  years,  he  dedicated  the  rest  qIl  his  life  to  the  pious  office  o^  at^ 
tending  upon  the  ailments  of  the  poor.     The  time  was  full  of  super- 
stition— and  what  time  is  not  to  the  ignorant  and  weak? — and  thii 
remarkable  conversion  of  La  Garaye  was  ascriheil  in  the  neighbour* 
hood  to  supernatural  interference.     The  life  of  the  convert  was  pub- 
lished some  years  ago  in  two  volumes;  but  it  has  Long  been  out  of 
print. 

The  priory  of  Lehon  is  another  picturesque  ruin  in  this  Quarter, 
in  a  still  worse  state  of  preservation,  if  that  be  possible,  tnan  La 
Garaye.  This  priory  is  said  to  have  been  built  by  one  of  the  kings 
of  Brittany  about  a  thousand  years  ago,  a  strong  fortress  having 
been  afterwards  erected  for  its  defence.  Scarcely  a  vestige  remains 
of  either,  except  the  cloisters,  which  are  tolerably  perfect,  although 
the  wretched  people  who  live  in  them  are  daily  doing  all  they  can 
to  destroy  not  merely  their  beauty,  but  their  actual  existence.  The 
wretched  crone  who  keeps  watch  in  the  place  emerges  as  you  ap- 
proach, like  an  apparition,  from  a  dark  oozy  chamber,  not  unlike  a 
cavern  in  the  bowels  of  a  mine.  When  you  enter  the  clotsten,  di* 
lapidated  as  they  are,  you  cannot  fail  to  be  moved  by  the  simplicity 
of  the  architecture,  and  by  that  tone  of  tranquillity  so  consonant  with 
f  uch  scenes,  but  now  so  horribly  broken  up  by  a  clatter  of  noises. 
Two  or  thre«  swarthy,  sweltering  youths,  who  might  have  sat  to 


IN   FJIANCE,   BELGIUM,    AND   GERMANY,  65 

Abator  Rosa  for  same  of  his  brigands,  are  occupied  in  the  quad- 
rangle sawing  and  smashing^  wood.  These  brawny  savages  bear  no 
TOore  sense  of  the  spiritnal  charm  of  the  place  than  if  they  were 
buried  in  a  coal-pit,  and  in  their  violent  operations  think  as  little  of 
chipping  off  pieces  of  granite  from  the  columns  or  walls,  if  they  ha|>- 
pen  to  be  in  iheir  way,  as  if  they  were  breaking  stones  on  the  high- 
road. Oil  the  opposite  side  of  the  cloisters  from  that  on  which  we 
entered  we  heard  a  constant  succession  of  cringing,  wheezing  sounds, 
which  suggested  some  disagreeable  a:»&ociations^  and  considerably 
interfered  with  our  enjoyment  of  the  tJtherwise  intense  solitude  of 
this  monastic  retreat.  Peeping  through  the  dingy  window,  to  ascer- 
tain the  Ciiuse  of  the  sounds,  we  discovered  a  horde  of  cotton- 
spinners  at  work,  the  whole  place,  wherever  there  was  a  sheltered 
nook  in  or  about  the  priory,  being  appropriated  to  some  servile 
labour  or  handicraft  ;  just  as  if  there  were  not  ample  room  on  the 
banks  of  the  river,  or  under  the  hdb^  or  up  in  the  village,  for  a 
hundred  times  the  work,  a  hundred  times  the  number  of  hands  em* 
ployed  in  this  den  would  accomplish* 

A  further  examination  of  the  ruins  satis^ed  us  that  the  final  ex- 
tinction of  this  splendid  fragment  of  antiquity  must  have  been  deli- 
berately resolved  upon  by  the  Vand,'ds  of  this  miserable  village.  In 
pursuance  of  this  design,  they  have  built  a  brewery  straight  up 
against  the  front  wall  of  the  abbey,  chjse  to  the  entrance,  whose 
charming  details  are  lost  under  its  ji;rim  shadow.  This  brewery  falls 
back  upon  the  cloisters;  and, should  the  increasing  demand  for  sour 
beer  (which  Heaven  forbid  I  on  all  accounts)  require  increased  space, 
there  is  no  doubt  that  the  cloisters  will  be  pulled  dow^n,  without 
hesitation,  to  make  way  for  n*ore  vats  and  cylinders. 

At  last  we  got  into  the  body  of  the  abbey  ;  but,  what  a  scene  \\h^ 
there  1 — all  ruin  from  the  base  to  the  top.  The  roof  was  gone  alto- 
gether;  the  walls  in  some  places  were  shockingly  dilapidated  an<l 
disfigured  ;  the  turret-stairs,  which  had  been  standing  only  a  few 
years  before,  and  by  which  you  might  have  reached  the  top  of  the 
walls,  at  that  time  capable  of  being  trodden  by  any  adventurous 
visitor  with  a  clear  head,  had  <li»appeared  ;  a  few  windows  yet  ex- 
hibited scraps  of  their  rich  designs,  and  here  and  there  we  were  able 
to  detect  upon  the  walls  some  traces  of  the  ruddy  tints  which  for- 
merly shed  such  a  flood  of  warm  colour  over  the  interior.  But  the 
depredations  committed  upon  the  building  had  been  so  considerable, 
that  our  enthusiasm  was  put  to  a  severe  trial.  Sunk  in  deep  recesses 
in  the  wall  were  two  gorgeous  tombs  of  some  unknown  knight  and 
lady.  A  few  years  before  both  tombs  were  there  ;  now  one  of  them 
was  gone.  That  which  remained  was  quite  perfect,  and  had  evident- 
ly been  erected  to  the  memory  of  some  person  of  distinction.  The 
floor  of  the  abbey  was  covered  with  wrecks  and  fragments,  smother- 
ed up  in  long  grass ;  and  in  one  corner,  to  thrust  the  sacrilege  more 
prominently  into  the  faces  of  visitors,  a  shed  had  been  erected  for 
the  purpose  of  cleaning  flax  ! 

We  next  w*ent  into  the  private  chapel,  where  two  or  three  prostrate 
tombs  had  been  stowed  away  for  safety.  One  of  these  U  supposed 
to  be  the  effigy  of  Jehan  de  Beauinanoir,  the  son  of  the  hero  of  the 
(>oinbat  of  the  Thirty  — a  stout  fellow,  with  a  short  beard  and  a 
churlish  face,  Tl>e  chapel  was  in  such  a  lillhy  condition,  that  we 
picked  our  way  through  it  with  feelings  of  aversion.     The  roof  had 

VOL.    XXV,  p 


MEMOIRS   OF   CHATEAUBRIAND, 

either  fdllen  in,  or  been  dismantled ;  the  walls  were  perfectly  p5 
and  the  only  object  to  compensate  for  the  annoyances  we  suffered  I 
every  step  was  a  beautiful  window,  looking  out  on  a  vegetable  ^tf* 
den  that  runs  down  to  the  banks  of  the  river,  interspersed  with  wil' 
^  lows  and  fruit-trees  ;  but  the  Gothg  who  hold  the  place,  as  if  thejT 
were  malignantly  resolved  to  deprive  the  world  of  the  pleasure  T 
examining  this  window,  had  built  a  huge  boiler  for  manufacturiDi' 
domestic  purposes  close  under  it,  and  iss>ued  an  edict  prohibit! 
*  visitors  from  entering  the  garden,  from  whence  a  view  of  it  mightl 
I  obtained  from  the  outside.  This  prohibition,  however,  did  not  ] 
vent  us  from  crossing  the  picturesque  Httle  bridge,  which  enable 
to  see  the  window  to  great  advantage  from  the  opposite  bank  oft 
river.  The  entire  ruin  renders  a  charming  picture  from  the  hci/ 
above  the  town  ;  but  the  village  of  Lehon  is  execrable.  The  J 
are  crumbling  into  the  gutter;  the  streets  are  narrow  a]iiio^l 
darkness,  and  ankle-deep  in  mud,  and  the  population  look  as  if  t 
had  been  just  emptied  out  of  a  subterranean  pit,  and  pitched  up  s 
denly  into  the  daylight.  Above  the  village,  on  the  summit  of  i  hiB 
Btand  the  ruins  of  the  old  fortress,  supposed  to  have  belonged  iolht 
Beaumanoira.  The  tradition  is  doubtful ;  but  it  is  certain  that  tb< 
stronghold  was  intended  as  an  outwork  to  defend  the  towD  snd 
priory  ;  that  it  was  once  inhabited  by  Anne  of  Bretaync,  and  taken, 
after  an  obstinate  defence,  by  Henry  II,  of  England.  There  is  off* 
nothing  to  be  seen  but  the  shells  of  two  towers,  filled  up  to  thebrin 
with  waving  corn.  Tlie  table-land,  which  bears  these  skeleton  fift^ 
liques  of  the  old  ckMeau,  ia  covered  over  with  corn-fields. 


MEMOIRS  OF  CHATEAUBRIAND. 


WRITTEN   Br   HIM8KLF. 

"  My  grandmother  left  the  management  of  her  household  a 
to  her  sister.  She  dined  as  early  as  eleven  o'clock  every  day, 
took  a  sie,tfa  which  lasted  till  one,  and  afterwards  was  carried  out  W 
the  foot  of  the  garden-terrace,  and  placed  under  the  w^jllows  netr 
the  fo o n tai n  ;  here  she  sat  knitting,  surrounded  by  her  children, 
her  grandchildren,  and  her  sisier;  In  those  days  old  age  was  bomt 
with  dignity,  but  now  it  frequently  appeitrs  to  be  only  a  burdefi< 
At  four  o'clock  my  grandmother  was  removed  from  the  ternce 
into  the  drawing-room,  her  servant,  Pierre,  regularly  placed  a  cir4- 
table ;  Mademoiselle  de  Boisteilleul  struck  the  back  of  the  chimnet 
with  the  tongs,  and  a  very  few  minutes  after  this  signal  three  old  mtiit 
from  the  next  house  came  into  the  room.  These  three  sisters  wcrt 
called  Vildeneux  ;  they  were  daughters  of  a  poor  gentleman »  snd 
had  never  been  separated*  nor  had  they  ever  quitted  their  nilivr 
village:  ins^tead  of  dividing  their  scanty  fortune,  they  enjoyed  it 
together.  From  their  childhood  they  had  been  intimate  with  my 
grandmother,  and  as  they  lived  next  door  to  her,  came  to  play 
at  quadrille  with  her  every  day  at  the  appointed  signal.  As  tfci 
game  proceeded  the  old  ladies  began  toquarrel,  though  their  tempcff 
were  never  known  to  be  ruffled  at  any  other  time ;  but  this,  per* 
haps,  was  a  little  excitement  in    their  usually    monotonou 


MEMOIRS    OF    CHATEAUBRIAND. 


67 


Supper  J  which  was  always  broaght  in  at  eight,  aoon  restored  their 
[ood-humour.  My  uncle,  De  Bedee,  with  his  son  and  daughters, 
rould  often  join  the  party  at  this  meal,  which  was  always  enlivened 
by  stories  of  the  olden  time.  My  uncle  would  describe  the  battle 
of  Fontenoy  at  full  length  (for  he  had  fought  in  it),  and  those  ad- 
ventures in  which  he  was  more  particularly  engaged  were  slightly 
coloured  by  the  brilliancy  of  his  imiigination :  he  generally  finished 
the  evening  by  relating  a  few  anecdotes  by  no  means  of  the  most 
refined  description,  but  which  caused  the  good  old  ladies  to  shake 
their  sides  with  laughter.  Supper  was  removed  at  nine,  the  servants 
came  in,  and  everybody  knelt  down  while  Mademoiselle  de  Bois- 
teilleul  read  prayers.  At  ten  o'clock  stillness  reigned  throughout 
the  house,  and  all  were  in  bed  except  my  grandmother,  who  always 
sat  up  till  one  wHth  her  maid,  who  read  to  her  from  some  favourite 
author. 

"  These  happy  little  meetings^  where  I  received  my  first  impress 
sions  of  society,  were  soon  broken  in  upon  by  death, — that  happy 
and  peaceful  abode  was  made  desolate  by  its  inroadsj— chamber 
after  chamber  became  uninhabited.  I  saw  my  grandmother  by  degrees 
compelled  to  forego  her  favourite  game  of  quadrille, — her  most  inti- 
mate friends  gradually  removed  from  this  world,  for  she  survived  them 
all, — till  I  beheld  her  at  length  follow  them  to  the  tomb.  She  and 
her  sister  felt  that  they  could  not  live  without  each  other,  and  it 
seemed  true  ;  for  Madame  de  Bedt^e  died  a  few  months  after  her. 
Perhaps  I  was  the  only  person  who  was  much  interested  about 
their  existence.  How  many  times  has  this  since  occurred  to  my 
inindj  aud  how  often  has  it  since  been  my  lot  to  witness  the  disper- 
sion of  friends  with  whom  I  have  spent  many  happy  hours !  The 
fragility  of  all  human  ties  has  often  warned  me  against  attaching 
myself  too  closely  to  any  object.  Of  what  consequence  is  it  that  a 
strange  hand  administers  the  cup  of  water  in  sickness?  Let  us  only 
pray  that  it  may  not  become  too  dear  to  us;  for  how  is  it  possible 
readily  to  forget  those  for  whom  we  have  once  conceived  a  strong 
a  Section,  those  whom  we  would  wish  to  have  always  near  our 
heart  ? 

**  The  cMieau  of  the  Comte  de  Bedee,  which  was  rather  more  than 
a  mile  from  Plancouiit,  was  beautifully  situated  on  rising  ground ; 
the  atmosphere  itself  seemed  to  breathe  enjoyment*  My  uncle's 
good-humour  and  love  of  fun  were  inexhaustible.  He  had  three 
daughters^  Caroline,  Marie,  and  Flore,  and  one  son,  the  Comte  de  la 
Bouetardais,  member  of  parliament^  who  inherited  his  father's  jovial 
disposition,  Monchoix  had  ever  with  him  his  friends  and  rela- 
tions who  happened  to  be  near  him  :  there  was  mui»ic  and  dan- 
cing, hunting  and  driving,  and  merry  doings  from  morning  till 
night.  I^Iy  aunt,  Madame  de  Bedee,  seeing  that  my  uncle  was 
likely  to  run  through  his  fortune  in  a  very  short  time,  very  justly 
endeavoured  to  remonstrate  with  him,  but  it  was  all  in  vain,  and  her 
consequent  ill- tern  per  seemed  only  to  increase  the  hilarity  of  her 
husband  and  family  ;  and  her  whims,  for  she  had  some,  afforded 
them  all  considerable  amusement.  She  had  alwayi  a  large,  ugly, 
snappish  pointer  seated  upon  her  lap,  and  a  tamed  boar  by  her  side, 
which  disturbed  the  house  with  its  grants.  When  I  left  my  father's 
quiet  roof  on  a  visit  to  my  uncle,  in  whose  ckafcau  nothing  but 
feasting   and  merriment    went   forward,   the  contrast   struck    me 

I-    2 


68 


MEMOIRS    OF    CHATEAU BEI AND. 


rent     I 


forcibly  ;  to  exchange  Corabowrg  for  M  on  choir  was  like  quitting 
donjon  for  the  villa  of  a  Hoiiian  prince. 

**  On  Ascension -day,  177^*.  I  left  my  grandmother's,  and  proceeded 
vith  my  mother,  my  aunt  De  Boisteilleid,  my  uncle  De  Bedee,  hii 
children,  and  my  nurse  and  foster-brother  to  Notre  Dame  de  N 
zareth.  I  was  dressed  in  a  sort  of  white  surplice,  and  my  sb  _ 
gloves^  and  bat  were  white»  though  I  wore  a  blue  sash.  We  went 
to  the  abbey  at  ten  o'clock  in  the  morning.  The  convent,  which 
was  situated  near  the  roadside,  was  rendered  venerable  by  rows  of 
elm-trees  planted  in  the  time  of  Jofin  V.  of  Bretagne.  After  passing 
through  the  elm-trees  you  entered  the  cemetery ;  the  christian  was 
obliged  to  walk  some  distance  amidst  tunibs  before  he  reached  the 
church, — tor  is  it  not  by  death  that  we  enter  God's  presence  ^  The 
monks  were  already  in  their  stalls^  the  altar  was  lighted  up  with  a 
profusion  of  wax-candles»  lamps  were  suspended  from  the  various 
arches  of  the  roof.  In  all  gothic  edrtices  there  is  a  series  of  back* 
grounds,  a  succession  of  horizons, 

**  The  mace-bearers  came  to  meet  me  in  due  form  at  the  door,  and 
conducted  me  to  the  choir  where  three  scats  were  placed.  I  sat  in 
the  midille,  my  nurse  was  on  my  lel\,  and  my  foster-brother  on  my 
right*  Mass  began;  in  the  offertory,  the  priest  who  officiated, 
turned  towards  me,  and  read  the  prayers ;  after  which  my  white 
dress  was  removed,  and  fastened  as  ci  i^oto  to  the  buse  of  an  image  of 
the  virgin.   They  then  clothed  me  in  a  little  violet-coloured  coat.   The 

Erjor  afterwards  gave  us  a  long  discourse  upon  the  efficacy  of  voms ; 
e  alluded  to  the  history  of  the  Baron  de  Chateaubriand ;  he  said  that 
perhaps,  like  him,  I  might  visit  Palestine,  the  holy  virgin  of  Naxareth^ 
to  whom  I  owed  the  preservation  of  my  life  through  the  intercession 
of  the  prayers  of  the  poor,  which  are  always  acceptable  to  God.  The 
monk  who  related  to  me  the  history  of  my  family,  as  Dante's  grand- 
father relutetl  to  him  the  history  of  his  forefathers,  might,  Uke  Caccia^ 
guida,  have  added  the  prediction  of  my  exile, 
**  Til  prorerai  til  i'4)me  m  di  imle 

II  pane  akrtii^  e  come  «  duro  calle 

Lo  »cender6  e*l  nalir  per  T&ltrui  seal*. 

E  qiitl  c*ie  pit!  ti  gravers  le  t|>dle. 

Sura  la  eompa^ia  mnlTagia  e  loempia. 

Con  la  quid  tu  cad  mi  in  queata  vaile ; 

Che  lutta  ingrats,  tutt4&  matta  ed  empia 

Si  fara  contra  ta     .     ,     . 

Di  sua  betiialitate  il  suo  processo 
Sari  la  pruuva  ;  si  cb*  a  t©  (ia  btdlo 
A^erii  fatta  pnrie,  per  se  atesso/'  ♦ 

"After  the  monk's  exhortation,  I  began  serioualy  to  contempl  ._ 
making  a  pilgrimage  to  Jeruaalem  when  I  should  be  old  enough; 
this  I  at  length  had  the  pleasure  of  accomplishing. 

'*  I  was  tjiken  back  to  S^int  Blalo,-  my  future  profession  was  already 
chosen  for  me,  so  that  I  was  permitted  to  pass  my  childhood  in  ind< 
lence*     A  smattering  of  drawing,  of  the   English  language,  hydn 

•  "  Vou  will  know  how  bitter  twtes  the  bread  of  othen  ;  and  to  what  decree 
in  painful  10  go  up  and  down  unotlier'a  staircase.     And  whai  will  wfigh  ittll  n 
heavily  on  your  sbonldera  will  be  the  had  and  foolish  company  into  which  you 
be  thrown,  and  which,  utterly  ungrat4?ful,  frivolous  and  impiou*,  will  turn  an 
you.  #  •  •  *  »  ^ 

•*  lu  conduct  w411  he  the  proof  of  iu  sttipidicy ;  whSla  you  will  thine  in  tl 
out  ior  yourwilf  a  lepimite  path.*' 


k 


MEMOIRS   OF   CHATEAUBRIAND.  69 

_  j%  and  malhemiitics  was  consitlered  quite  sufficient  education 
for  an  awkward  boy  who  was  destined  to  lead  the  rough  life  of  a 
sailor;  consequently  I  grew  up  in  the  most  blissful  state  of  igno- 
rance. We  no  longer  inhabited  the  house  where  I  was  born ;  my 
mother  lived  in  an  hotel,  Place  Saint  Vincent,  nearly  opposite  the 
door  which  communicated  with  the  Lillon.  The  commonest  boys 
of  the  town  became  my  most  intimate  friends;  the  court-3^ard  and 
staircases  of  the  house  were  filled  with  these  choice  companions.  I 
copied  them  in  everything;  I  spoke  their  language,  and  acquired 
their  coarse  habits  and  slovenly  gait;  my  dress  soon  became  like 
theirs,  my  clothes  were  Iialf- buttoned  and  torn,  and  my  shirts  in 
perfect  t altera,  I  never  by  any  chance  wore  a  pair  of  stockings 
which  were  without  large  holes ;  I  shuffled  along  with  my  miserable 
shoes  down  at  heel,  which  slipped  off"  my  feet  at  every  step  I  took  ; 
my  hat  was  never  to  be  found,  and  I  frequently  lost  my  jacket.  My 
face  was  generally  besmeared  with  dirt,  scratched  and  bleeding,  and 
my  hands  were  as  black  as  a  sweep's.  My  whole  appearance  was  so 
extraordinary,  that  even  my  mother  in  the  midst  of  her  anger  could 
not  help  laughing,  while  she  exclaimed,  'How  ugly  he  is  V  In  spite 
of  this  wretched  description  I  have  given  of  myself,  I  infinitely  pre- 
ferred being  clean  and  neat.  At  night  I  endeavoured  to  mend  my 
rags  and  tatters  ;  my  good  Villeneuve  and  my  dear  Lucille  assisted 
me  in  repairing  my  garments,  in  order  to  save  me  from  lectures  and 
penance,  but  the  patches  which  they  were  obliged  to  make  only  served 
to  make  my  dress  look  more  ridiculous.  I  was  more  especially  an- 
noyeil  when  the  children,  with  whom  I  played^  w"ere  decked  out  in 
new  clothes,  to  be  obliged  to  appear  in  rags* 

"On  certain  days  of  the  year  the  country  people  as  well  as  the 
towns-people  met  at  fairs  which  were  sometimes  held  in  the  isles,  and 
sometimes  in  the  forts  surrounding  Saint  Malo;  when  it  was  low 
water  the  visitors  came  on  foot,  but  they  were  obliged  to  come  iu 
boats  when  it  was  high  water.  The  number  of  sailors  and  peasants*, 
the  covered  carts,  the  different  convey ancea  drawn  by  horses,  don- 
keys, or  mules,  the  tents  planted  on  the  seashore^  the  processiona 
of  monks  with  their  banners  and  crosses  winding  their  way  through 
the  crowd,  the  many  boats  and  vessels  entering  the  port,  the 
Baivos  of  artillery,  and  the  ringing  of  the  church- bells  occa- 
sioned much  variety  and  excitement  in  these  merry  doings,  I 
was  perhaps  the  only  person  present  at  these  fetes,  who  did  not 
participate  in  the  general  amusement  1  could  not  buy  playthings 
and  cakes,  because  1  had  no  money.  In  order  to  escape  the  ridicule 
which  always  attends  ill-luck.  I  withdrew  from  the  crowd,  and  seat- 
cd  myself  near  those  pools  of  water  which  are  formed  by  the  sea  in 
the  hollow  of  the  rocks.  There  I  amused  myself  in  watching  the 
flight  of  the  sea-gulls  ;  in  gazing  dreamily  on  the  blue  horizon  ;  in 
picking  up  shells;  and  in  listening  to  the  musical  murmuringsof  the 
waves.  When  I  went  home  in  the  evening  I  was  not  much  happier. 
I  had  a  particular  dislike  to  some  dishes ;  but  they  always  compel- 
led me  to  take  a  portion  of  them.  I  looked  at  La  France  imploring- 
ly to  remove  my  plate  while  my  father's  head  was  turned  away. 
The  same  severity  was  exercised  towards  me  iu  keeping  me  from  the 
fire, —  I  was  never  permitted  to  approach  the  chimney-piece.  How 
differently  are  the  spoilt  children  of  the  present  day  treated  \  But, 
if  I  had  many  troubles  which  are  unknown  to  infancy  in  the  present 
day,  I  had  also  many  pleasures  of  which  it  is  equally  ignorant* 


I 


MEMOIBS  or   CHATEAUBRIAND. 


**  Those  solemn  religioui  and  family  observances  are  'not  now  so 
common.  Then  the  whole  coantrj,  and  the  God  of  that  country, 
appeared  to  rejoice.  Christmas^  New  YearVday,  Twelfth*night, 
Baster^  Pentecost,  St.  John's  day,  were  extraordinarily  happy  days  to 
mew  At  these  festivals  I  was  taken,  with  my  sisters,  to  the  different 
iaiictiianes  of  the  town,  to  the  chapel  of  Saint  Aaron ^  to  the  Con* 
vent  de  la  Victoire.  The  soft  voices  of  women  whom  I  could  not 
•ee  sonnded  delicioasly  on  my  ear ;  the  harmony  of  the  hymns  which 
they  sang  blended  melodiously  with  the  roaring  of  the  waves* 

'^On  Chrii^mas-eve  the  cathedral  was  sure  to  be  filled ;  there  were 
numbers  of  old  sailors  devoutly  kneeling ;  young  mothers  and  chil* 
dren  praying  fervently,  with  little  wax-candles  in  their  heures,  and 
at  the  moment  when  the  benediction  was  given,  all  who  were  present 
joined  in  chorus  in  the  Tantum  ergo.  In  the  interval  of  these  chants 
the  winter  wind  might  be  heard  whistling  through  the  large  win* 
dows  of  the  basilic,  till  it  shook  the  very  arches  of  the  nave,  that 
rang  also  with  the  deep,  sonorous  tones  of  Jacques  Cartier  and 
Dugnay  Tronin.  The  whole  scene  strongly  impressed  me  with  a 
feeling  of  religious  awe.  There  was  no  necessity  for  La  V^illeneuve 
to  desire  me  to  join  my  hands  in  prayer.  In  imagination  I  beheld 
the  heavens  opened,  and  the  angels  offering  up  our  incense  and  our 
vows,  and  I  bent  my  head  with  emotion ;  at  that  time  it  was  not 
weighed  down  by  those  cares  which  in  after-life  have  often  nearly 
overwhelmed  me,  and  have  tempted  me  to  pray  when  I  have  been 
kneeling  that  it  might  never  be  raised  again  from  the  earth. 

"  As  i  was  consecrated  to  the  Virgin,  I  loved,  and  was  acquainted 
with  the  glorious  attributes  of  ray  protectress,  whom  I  confounded 
with  my  guardian  angel.  Her  image  had  cost  my  good  Villeneuve 
a  halfpenny,  and  was  fastened  to  the  head  of  my  bed  with  four  pins, 
I  ought  to  have  lived  in  the  times  when  Mary  was  spoken  of  as 
'  Doulce  Dame  du  ciel  et  de  la  terre,  mere  de  pi  tie,  fontaine  de  tous 
biens,  qui  portastes  Jesus  Christ  en  vo5  pretieux  flancz,  belle  tres 
doulce  Dame,  je  vous  mercye  et  vous  prye/  * 

**The  lirst  thing  that  I  learnt  to  repeat  was  a  sailor's  hymn, 
which  began  thus: — 

«*  Je  meu  ma  oonfiuioe, 
Vier^f  en  votre  »eoour«  ^ 
Sorrex  moi  de  d^fente, 
Preaes  soln  de  met  jnurs  ; 
Et  quftnd  ma  dernJere  heure 
Vietidrm  finir  moti  sort, 
Obtene*  que  je  roeiim 
De  la  pill*  sal  Die  roort/*f 

"  I  have  since  heard  that  hymn  sung  in  a  shipwreck.  Even  now 
1  feel  as  much  pleasure  in  repeating  these  indifferent  rhymes  as  in 
reciting  the  finest  verses  of  Homer.  A  Virgin,  adorned  with  a 
Gothic  crown,  dressed  in  a  blue  silk  gown,  trimmed  with  silver 
fringe,  inspires  me  with  as  much  devotion  as  the  most  beautiful 
Madonna  of  Raphael/* 

•  «  Gentle  Lady  of  heaven  »ntt  earth,  mother  of  pity,  foimuin  of  mil  goodacM* 
who  bore  Je«iia  Chrltn  in  your  predous  womb,  beatitiful  mid  most  ge&tle  Lmdy,  I 
give  you  thiink*,  and  pray  to  you" 

f  **  I  place  my  entire  oorifideiice  in  your  luccour,  mcwt  Holy  Vtnpti:  lerveineas 
a  shield,  preserre  my  life,  ond  when  my  last  hour  shall  arrive,  intercede  (^»  ne^ 
IhsB  I  m»y  die  the  death  <if  a  taint/* 


71 


POSITrON  OF  SIR  JAMES  BROOKE  IN  THE 
INDIAN  ARCHIPELAGO, 


BY     JAMES     AUdUBTUS     ST.     JOHN^ 

"AUTHOR  OF    "the    HISTORY    OF   THE   MANNERS    AND    CUSTOMS    OW 
ANCIENT   GRfiSCS/*    KTC 

WITH    A   POaXRAIT   By   FRA^NCtS   GRANT,    A.R,A. 

A  GflKAT  deal  has  lately  been  written  on  the  progress  of  events  in 
the  Indian  Arrhipelago>  on  the  position  of  the  English  and  the 
Dutch,  and  on  that  vast  system  of  piracy  which  obstructs  the  move- 
ments  of  commerce.  The  adversaries  of  Sir  James  Brooke  are  of 
course  interested  in  underrating  the  force  of  the  buccaneers,  because, 
should  the  plan  of  operations  he  recommends  prove  successful,  they 
will  be  able  to  disparage  his  eflTorts,  by  niaintaininfr  he  had  no  very 
formidable  obstacles  to  overcome.  There  is  another  class  of  per^ions 
deeply  interested  in  extenuating  or  concealing  the  dangers  incurred 
by  those  who  navigate  the  Eastern  aeas  j  the  projectors,  I  mean,  of 
trading  schemes,  who^  though  they  owe  aJl  their  chances  of  success 
to  the  presence  of  Sir  James  Brooke  in  the  Archipelago,  would  be 
glad  to  see  his  services  forgotten,  and  the  objects  of  his  legitimate 
ambition  completely  frustrated. 

Here  at  home,  a  majority  of  people  must  always  look  upon  the 
events  which  take  place  in  the  Archipelago  rather  with  curiosity 
than  with  any  deeper  feeling.  They  love  to  hear  or  read  of  the 
exploring  of  new  regions,  of  perilous  adventures,  of  expeditions  by 
sea  or  land.  How  the  unobtrusive  raer chant  may  fare  they  pause 
not  to  inquire.  Consequently,  if  you  would  arrest  their  attention 
and  compel  them  to  sympathise  with  the  representatives  of  British 
civilisation  in  that  remote  and  comparatively  little  known  portion  of 
the  globe,  you  must  be  able  to  shew^  that  the  situation  which  our 
countrymen  there  occupy  is  encompassed  with  difBculties  and  dan- 
gers. The  amount  of  these  will  be  estimated  differently  by  different 
men.  Some,  enveloped  in  complete  selfishness,  can  appreciate  no 
peril  to  which  they  are  not  themselves  exposed ;  others  have  a  natu- 
ral disposition  to  diminish  whatever  is  distant;  while  others  conceive 
it  to  be  philosophical  to  affect  indifference  in  all  matters  of  this  kind 
and  to  mask  their  real  opinions  beneath  the  language  of  moderation 
and  reserve. 

According  to  a  certain  class  of  writers  there  is  not  much  left  for 
Great  Britain  to  accomplish  in  that  part  of  Asia.  The  Dutch  and 
the  Spaniards,  they  say^  divide  all  the  islands  betw^ecn  them,  the  lat- 
ter possessing  half,  and  the  former  claiming  more  than  the  remain- 
der ;  but  Brooke  is  not  of  this  opinion.  He  finds,  and  the  authori- 
ties here  at  home  would  seem  to  agree  with  him,  that  large  portions 
of  the  Archipelago  are  itill  independent,  and  that  an  immense  field 
consequently  exists  for  the  extension  of  British  commerce  and  enter- 
prise. But  properly  to  lay  open  this  field  is  a  task  far  from  easy. 
Doubtless  no  obst^icle  impedes  the  settlement  of  such  matters  on 
paper,  when  the  writer  makes  what  he  pleases  of  facts,  distorts 
everything  to  suit  his  own  convenience,  annihilates  millions  by  a 


Sm  JAKES  EEOOKC 


,  nomtams  mb 
I  the  clo$e  meshes  af  i 
m  iancy.     Practical  IjJ 
nd  to  exist ;  and  if  the" 
I  «f  Saravak  mmooemi,  at  I  kire  evcrj  reaBon  to  believe  be  will, 
ij  rniwi^  cfceai.  the  CDuBttj  witt  owe  him  a  deep  debt 

tioa  his  sagaeityi  hia 
hmust  jQevitablj ' 


Mt^afiai?. 

iiMifed  in  the  I 
thelnaCi 


vhe      . 


>na 

I 

ow 


the  aid  af  the  ]la|ah's  ovn  earlr  journals,  dre^p  a 
caraer  vp  to  his  airiral  in  this  country  in  the 
[Hviof^  hb  abort  ataj  what  boootirs  were 
he  cxcsted*  what  ha|iGS  and  aspirations 

MMt  |M!N0Ba  arill  remember.    On~ 
he  ttshi  quitted  England  in  order  once 
OB  uc  fcene  of  lus  former  achievements, 
mad  rached  Sn^gipare  aarlj  ia  Mar-   There  he  and  the  otber  mem* 
hcra  of  the  gut cratnt  <»f  iiohwin  were  received  with  enthusiasm, 
ami  treated  arith  the  «tiiioct  diilinctioii.    Whatever  mar  be  the  ca^e 
hete  in  Earme.  Sir  Jmrnt*  Brooke  la  properl}^  appreciated  beyond 
the  Stnita  of  Habeea,  arhere  neither  ntwj  nor  jeaIou^y  can  deny  the 
vndom  €i  the  pn)|ecti  be  h^  originated  for  the  honour  of  hii 
cnniitry,  and  the  redemption  of  millions  of  bis  fellow-creatures  fron 
crudty*  tjronnjr,  oppresMn,  and  the  grc^aest  po^ble  slavery  boti 
of  body  atfkd  miiMl     Among  naval  and  military  men  he  has  alway 
been  held  in  high  admiration.     Adventurous  themselves,  they  know 
how  toc«timate  the  spirit  of  adventure  in  him,  and,  very  much 
their  credit,  thej  have  always  been  willing  to  recognise  bib  merit] 
and  to  do  justiee  to  bis  distinguished  services. 

While  the  Rajah  remained  at  Singapore  several  steps  were  taken 
towards  converting  the  island  of  Lsbuan  into  a  proper  receptacle  fof^H 
civilised  men.     The  jungle  was  cleared  away  in  the  neigh  bo  urhtKjdl^B 
oi  the  site  of  the  projected  city  ;  vessels  thronged  to  the  port ;  la-^" 
bourers  passed  over  from  the  main  island,  and  every  thing  proceeded 
with  rapidity  and  success.     Some  symptoms  of  sickness  were  said  to 
have  made  their  appearance^  but  these  were  not  considered  formid* 
able  and  excited  no  particular  alarm.     JSIenn while,  signs  of  extraor-       j 
dinary  une^ne&s  were  vii^ible  in  the  Netherland  authorities  through-       ' 
out  the  Archipelago  where  their  paramount  influence  was  evidently 
about  to  *lip  from  their  hands.     Secretly,  no  doubt,  they  attribute 
the  disasters  which  have  recently  befallen  tliem  to  our  unwelcome 
presence  in  their  vicinity  ;  and  it  is  more  than  probable  that  btrth 
the  Balinese  and  people  of  SuJu  have  been  encouraged  to  treat  them 
with  contempt,  by  reliance — whether  ill  or  well  founded^ — on  our, 
countenance  and  protection.     However  this  may  be^  it  is  quite  cer 
tjiin  I  hut  the  arms  of  Holland  have  lately  been  unable  to  make  any^ 
impression  on  the  people  of  Bali,  who,  animated  by  the  spirit  of  in- 
dependence, and  confiding  in  the  justice  of  their  cause,  have  boldlifj 
met  the  Dutch  in  the  field  and  driven  them  ignominiously  from  lijeu^ 
i>l;uHK     How  far  it  may  suit  the  views  of  England  to  interfere  ifl 
that  part  of  the  Archipelago  [  cannot  pretend  to  determine,  but 
f^T  n%  appCHrs  at  present  the  Dutch  are  mere  intruders  in  Biili,  on^ 
which    iiicy    have   no  more  genuine   claims    than   on   Lu9on  or 

idanao.  ^^ 


eta 
in- 

on  ^ 


IN  THE   INDIAN  ARCHIPELAGO. 


73 


But  Holland  obviously  imagines  that  io  far  from  home  there  is  no 

necessity  for  practising  justice,  or  paying  any  attention  to  the  £tipu-« 
lation  of  treaties.  Every  things  it  conceives,  is  to  be  effected  by 
arms.  Accordingly  it  has  subjugated  the  Padris  in  Sumatra,  the 
Malays  and  Dyaks  in  Southern  Borneo,  and  is  now  engaged  in 
carrying  out  the  same  syatem  against  ibe  Bugis  in  Celebes,  and  the 
Papuans  in  New  Guinea.  The  niisMon,  therefore,  of  the  Englinh  in 
the  Arcbipelap^o  is  obviously  twofold  ;  first,  to  check  the  eocroach- 
ments  of  the  Dutch,  who,  if  suffered  to  accomplish  their  designs, 
would  reduce  the  whole  of  that  part  of  the  worhl  to  slavery ;  and 
second j  to  destroy  that  system  of  piracy,  the  strength  and  widely- 
spread  ramifications  of  which  it  ret|uire8  some  intrepidity  and  more 
knowledge  to  credits  Pedantic  ignorance  is  apt  to  be  sceptical  re- 
specting that  which  it  does  not  understand  ;  and  therefore  we  oi\en 
see  called  in  question  the  very  existence  of  that  formidable  organi- 
8ation»  to  counteract  and  extirpate  which  is  one  of  the  chief  objects 
of  the  Rajah  of  Sarawak, 

All  who  had  watched  the  career  of  this  sagacious  statesman  in  the 
Archipelago  regarded  with  uneasiness  the  situation  of  his  principal- 
ity during  his  absence  in  Europe.  Many  persons  have,  in  semi -bar- 
barous countries,  acquired  power  for  themselves  which,  so  long  as 
they  could  exert  it  personally,  they  have  been  enabled  to  maintain 
unimpaired  ;  but  any  attempt  at  handing  over  the  reins  of  govern- 
raent  to  a  substitute  or  successor,  has  generally  proved  fatal  to  the 
new  dyna.sty,  if  I  may  so  express  myself.  It  whs,  therefore,  feared 
by  the  friends  and  well-wishers  of  Brooke  that  the  moment  he  quit- 
ted Sarawak,  and  \l4\  his  Raj  under  the  management  of  others, 
the  natives  w  ould  rise  against  the  delegated  authority  and  scatter  it 
to  the  wind.  Nor  did  this  apprehension  appear  altogether  unreason- 
able even  to  those  who  were  best  informe«L  A  handful  of  English* 
men,  stationed  on  the  corner  of  a  vast  island,  with  nothing  worthy 
to  be  regarded  as  a  military  force,  and  governing,  by  the  mere  in- 
fluence of  a  name»  a  considerable  province,  must  always  appear  to  be 
a  political  phenomenon  even  when  all  the  circumstances  of  the  case 
have  been  taken  into  account.  But  the  spell  of  Brooke's  reputation 
preserved  them.  The  Dyaks  sincerely  loved  the  man  from  the 
West ;  aTid  though  he  had  departed  from  them  for  a  season,  they  felt 
confident  he  would  return  to  complete  their  deliverance  and  to  ele- 
vate them  to  that  condition  towards  which  the  longings  of  all  men, 
savage  or  civilised,  invariably  tend.  In  considering  this  fact 
however,  w^e  must  not  lose  sight  of  one  circumstance;,  that  there 
was  all  the  while  an  English  s(|uadron  in  the  neighbourhood,  not 
often  visible  indeed  to  the  J\Ialays  or  Dyaks,  but  known  to  be  there 
neverlheless,  chieiy  by  the  immunity  it  insured  from  the  visitations 
of  piracy.  The  ravages  formerly  caused  by  this  scourge  throughout 
the  sultanate  of  Borneo,  and  in  most  other  divisions  of  Kalaman- 
tan,  Brooke  himself  has  described.  The  fleets  of  the  lllanuns  and 
Balanini  swept  periodically  along  the  coast,  landing  w'herever  there 
was  any  promise  of  booty,  and  carrying  off  the  peaceful  inhabitants, 
men,  women,  and  children,  into  slavery,  after  first  gratifying  their 
savage  propensities  by  the  profuse  shedding  of  blood  and  the  perpe- 
tration of  all  those  horrors  which  the  most  ignoble  of  the  human 
race  are  inclined  to  commit  against  weakness  and  innocence. 

But  they  who  have  watched  the  growth  of  the  system  of  slavery 


n 


POSITION  OF   SIR  JAMES   BROOKE 


on  the  western  coast  of  Africa,  and  considered  how  difficult  it  i§,cf«n 
by  the  employment  of  immense  fleets  of  ships  and  steamers,  todiedt. 
and  how  utterly  hopeless  to  suppress  it,  by  operations  wholly  carried 
on  at  sea,  will  easily  comprehend  the  ira practicability  of  effecting  J 
similar  purpose  by  similar  means  in  the  Archipelago,  Ships  of  wur 
arc  necessary  there,  and  steamers  are  still  more  necessary.  But  tbry 
will  not  suflice  of  themselves  to  extirpate  piracy,  which  may  be  re- 
garded as  the  foundation  on  which  slavery  in  that  part  of  the  woM 
reposes.  Vet  no  great  progress  is  to  be  made  until  the  entire  free- 
dom of  the  sea  has  been  by  some  means  or  other  established,  Iti* 
true  that  a  large  native  trarle  is  at  present  carried  on,  which  incretics 
with  the  increase  of  safety  occasioned  by  the  presence  of  our  shtpi 
of  war.  But  neither  commerce  nor  civilization  can  be  properly  deri^ 
loped  until  the  evil  shall  have  been  entirely  rooted  out.  Thii  is 
the  unalterable  conviction  of  Sir  James  Brooke^  and  to  accompU 
it  he  is  now  in  the  Archipelago, 

Persons  interested  in  spreading  false  information  have  lately  bem 
labouring  insidiously  to  throw  discredit  on  him  and  his  plans,  and  t» 
prove  the  uselessness  of  that  support  which  has  at  length  been  given 
him  by  government*  But  if  the  piracy  of  the  Indian  Arcbipeligo 
be  not  formidable,  Captain  Keppel's  services  on  the  rivers  and  in  tbt 
interior  of  Sarawak  were  of  no  significance,  and  Sir  Thomas  Cochrane 
and  the  other  officers,  who  rasped  to  the  ground  the  g^reat  pinte 
haunts  of  Northern  Borneo,  were  equally  undeserving  of  comnieodi- 
tion.  Indeed  I  see  not  upon  what  pretext  England  hais  unfurletJ 
her  banner  in  those  seas,  if  it  be  true  that  the  buccaneers  are  theft 
little  to  be  dreaded  even  by  traders  so  timid  and  inexpert  as  the 
Chinese.  Experience,  however,  proves  the  very  reverse  to  be  the 
fact.  It  would  of  course  be  useless  to  look  into  Crawfurd  or  aoT 
other  of  the  older  writers  for  a  complete  picture  of  the  piraticil 
system.  It  was  not,  when  they  published,  thought  of  sufficient  coo- 
geqnence  to  command  the  attention  of  the  country.  Other  idcts 
occupied  their  minds;  disquisitions  on  language  and  literature,  oo 
traditions  and  superstitions,  on  physiology  and  imperfect  ethnc^n- 
phy.  It  is  only  now  in  the  midst  of  the  nineteenth  century  th«t 
we  are  beginning  to  form  a  just  conception  of  the  long  existing 
impediments  to  commerce,  so  widely  scattered  through  the  Eastern 
seas. 

To  calculate  our  chances  of  success  we  ought  carefully  to  obserte 
the  effects  which  have  been  alreatfy  produced  upon  the  native  tribo 
with  which  we  have  come  in  contact.  This  we  can  best  study  in 
Sarawak  where  the  Dyaks,  though  subjected  to  the  government  o( 
an  Engli?*hman,  are  sufficiently  conscious  of  their  strengtli  to  speak 
and  act  as  voluntary  agents.  Let  us,  therefore,  take  up  Sir  Jame» 
Brooke  on  his  way  from  Singapore  to  his  principality,  and  observe 
tiie  reception  that  awaited  him  on  his  return  to  his  little  capital* 
The  narrative  is  extracted  from  the  journal  of  one  who  accompanied 
him,  and  witnessed  and  shared  the  pleasure  which  the  H^ijah  expe* 
rienced  on  standing  once  more  in  the  midst  of  hia  Dyak  subjects, 
whom  he  treats  very  much  like  his  own  children. 

**  August  29tli,  luesday.     Left  Singapore  with  mingled  feelings 

ftd  a  little  regret,  but  more  joy  to  overbalance  it. 

[**  VV'ednesiday.     A  party  landed  on  Banu  island  and  shot  birds. 
^Ow  Thursday  signalled  Borneo,  our  long  wished-for  destination. 


IN  THE   INDIAN  ARCHIPELAGO. 


75 


I  felt  pleased,  but  experienced  no  wilil  enthusiasm*  I  regarded  the 
scene  with  a  calm  delight.  The  wind  died  awiiy,  and  here  on  Sun- 
day^ the  3rd,  we  are  \yinfi  olT  the  mouth  of  ihe  Sarawak  river.  Our 
progress  is  too  slow.  The  scenery  alonj(  the  coast  is  beautiful. 
Before  stretches  a  fine  prospect  of  hill  and  dale  clothed  to  the  sum- 
mit with  dark  rich  jungle,  A  boat  left  yesterday  to  row  up  to  Sara- 
wak to  give  notice  of  our  arrival.  After  dinner  w^e  went  on  shore 
pulling  to  a  pretty  creek  between  the  two  entrances  of  the  Sarawak 
river.  It  is  a  deep  nook.  At  the  end  just  above  the  sand  are 
the  graves  of  several  Englishmen.  It  is  melancholy  to  die  so  far 
from  home,  but  it  is  our  lot.  It  is  a  quiet  resting  place.  The  men 
now  tried  to  catch  some  fish,  but  were  not  very  successful,  while  we 
amused  ourselves  on  the  sand  searching  for  fresh  water  at  the  edges 
of  the  jungle,  and  jumping  and  stepping  over  a  natural  rope^  a 
species  of  ivy.  The  Rajah  joined  us  in  the  fun,  and  getting  tired 
we  M'aded  through  the  water  to  where  our  clothes  were  lei\.  Then 
lying  down  on  the  sand,  we  conversed  about  the  scenery  of  the 
country,  and  truly  that  before  us  was  very  beautiful. 

''Sept,  4th.  About  ten  o'clock  in  the  morning  native  war- boats 
commenced  issuing  from  the  Morotabas  entrance  and  sailed  towards 
us.  These  were  the  Sarawak  people  come  to  welcome  back  their 
Rajah  to  the  country  of  his  adoption.  They  were  long  light  prahus 
with  tapering  mast%  and  '  butterfly  '  sails  ornamented  with  flags 
and  streamers,  and  all  on  board  were  dressed  in  gala  costume.  The 
pangerans  and  datus  came  on  board  and  greeted  their  chief  with 
heartfelt  gladness,  w^hile  outside  they  kept  up  a  continual  beating  of 
tomtoms  and  gongs.  Some  of  our  visitors  were  rather  fine  meUj  but 
on  the  whole  their  outward  appearance  was  somewhat  insignificant. 
Their  jackets,  however,  were  beautifully  ornamented  with  gold  lace, 
and  clustered  together  they  looked  quite  picturesque.  About  one,  we 
left  the  jVIaeander  under  a  royiil  salute,  the  sailors  manning  the  yards. 
It  was  well  done  of  Keppel  to  treat  the  Rajah  as  a  sovereign  princess 
compliment  to  which  he  is  justly  entitled,  and  some  day  I  feel  convin- 
ced he  will  be  in  a  far  higher  and  prouder  position.  Manning  the  yards 
has  a  singular  effect,  the  whole  of  the  spars  covered  with  men,  in  their 
clean  white  dresses,  standing,  apparently,  hand  in  hand,  and  all  of  a 
height.  When  the  last  echoes  of  the  salute  had  died  away,  the  blue 
jackets  gave  three  hearty  cheers  and  then  sw^ armed  like  bees  down 
the  rigging.  The  war-prahus  around,  particularly  the  '  Black 
Eagle/  kept  up  a  constant  firing  of  guns,  much  to  our  own  and 
their  amusement.  I  was  gratified^  highly  gratified ;  I  hope  the 
Rajah  was  so  too.  The  pull  up  the  river  was  a  long  one,  but  the 
appearance  of  the  country  compensated  for  the  little  eutim^  for  though 
near  us  the  scene  was  ever  the  same,  in  the  distance  the  fine  out- 
line of  the  mountains  afforded  a  striking  contrast  to  the  low  jungle 
around  us  ;  occasionally  we  passed  fishing-huts  and  boats,  and  once 
a  small  Chinese  junk  fired  a  royal  salute  eu  passant.  This  pleased 
me  as  much  as  anything.  As  we  drew  near  the  town  the  shades  of 
evening  came  over  us,  not  however  before  a  moat  brilliant  sunset. 
The  prahus  sailing  up  irregularly  behind  us,  and  two  Dyak  boats  near 
ns,  kept  up  a  continual  firing  of  guns  and  beating  of  tomtoms.  The 
whole  scene  was  wild  and  picturesque.  On  rounding  the  last  bend 
of  the  river  we  were  astonished  to  find  the  whole  town  illuminated; 
along  either  bank  the  houses  presented  a  mass  of  light,  resembling 


I 


hcka 
'iifffi 

tiiitif 


Vewa 


'■B«r. 


ksi 


wtdi 


Weiisited 


t  tDgamm 

Thire  wai 

1  vttll 

(plice  of  dcbtrcft- 

■Hiii^  piUce  bi  tht 

tmd  ai  we  mored  rn 

diffMigli  the  outer 

'  CiU  it,  a  brge  apwt- 

old 


■flHMat  «■  ifei  hanr  piMtcr-walU,  eaicept  an  ok 
w«i  cvpcviri  «j&  ■flia^  mhI  oo  one  side  was  ar^H 
r  oTckHn  fei^f  cadh  olfaer  fo^  tbe  various  l^uitM^| 
^■J  ■  1  MBlfcfr  f  hair  with  a  pkce  of  cloth  of  gotd^^ 
jbr  Wijifc  ;  M  Mi  iaet  waa  atmilv  brocade^  while 
L     te  tile  RajahV  right  hand 
■aliya  tlggance  and,  with  aoine 
al%bt1y  rubbed  a  golden 


MBvnee«ecr  II&,    Sliel 

ir  kind  airma,  aod  geadf  proaied  tt  on  our  foreheads. 
tg  been  branghs  in,  oor  faair  wia  cprinkled  with  it  by 
asea.  Tbeae  greecinft  beio^  over,  I  had  leisure  to 
fjook  around  the  room,  and  examine  the  crowd.  Behind  me  sat  the 
1  and  girls ,manjr  of  theyotinger  tolerably  good-looking^and  some 
>  natii^e^ ,  handsooie;  but  in  general  they  are  neither  one  nor  the 
The  rest  of  the  nyom  was  crowded  with  men  and  boys,  some 
of  tbe  latter  naked,  others  half-dre««ed^  while  a  few  of  the  men  had 
lolarable  clotlies ;  but  here,  a«  elsewhere,  we  mii^t  not  jtidge  of  rank 
by  habiliments,  Numa  sat,  us  I  before  said,  on  the  right  hand  of  the 
i^jah^and  entered  into  conversation  with  him.  One  of  her  remarks 
»«  well  worth  preserving. 

The  Rttjcih  paid  a  compliment  to  her  neat  house,  when  she  an* 


IN  THE    INDIAN   ARCHIPELAGO. 


77 


swered,  *  Ah,  Tu&n^  were  it  not  for  yon  I  should  not  have  had  this 
hause.  It  h  yours,  for  we  never  cauld  buiUl  such  places  as  this 
before  yoy  came  among  os/  Her  voice  is  occasionally  very  sweet. 
She  is  pleasant  in  her  manners,  and  rather  a^^reeable  in  her  ap- 
pearance, with  mild  dark  eyes,  and  is  extremely  quiet.  She  is 
aboiit  twenty-eight,  but  looks  older.  She  was  dressed  in  black, 
with  heavy  gold  buttons  to  her  native  robe.  The  other  women 
were  but  slightly  dressed*  Presently  a  white  cloth  was  spread 
between  a  pile  of  chairs,  and  covered  with  sweetmeats  and  cakes. 
Some  sat  d  h  Tiirque,  others  reclined  with  pillows  under  their  arms. 
1  tasted  a  few  of  the  dainties,  one  not  unlike  sponge* cake  in  appear- 
ance, but  made  of  sugar,  others  tolerable,  but  not  very  tasty.  After 
a  little  conversation  we  withdrew,  shaking  hands  with  the  ladies. 
There  was  one  nice-looking  childj  a  daughter  of  the  datu  by  his  other 
wife,  adopted  by  Numa  as  she  is  childless.  The  datu  lives  with  his 
wives  alternate  quarters.'* 

Englishmen  all  the  w*orld  over  employ  the  intervals  of  business  or 
study  in  the  sports  of  the  field,  to  which  the  Rajah  of  Sarawak  is 
Btrongly  addicted.  The  larger  kinds  of  game,  however,  are  unknown 
in  Kalamantan,  if  we  except,  perhaps,  the  rhinoceros,  which  is  sup- 
posed to  exist  in  the  recesses  of  the  forests,  and  in  certain  districts 
on  the  eastern  coast.  But  the  chase  of  the  Mr  as  pappatt,  com- 
mon in  Sarawak,  is  extremely  exciting,  though  the  resemblance 
of  the  animal  to  man  in  appearance  and  habits  infuses  into  it  a  pain- 
ful interest,  something  like  that  which  would  be  experienced  in 
hunting  down  a  savage,  or  a  ferocious  buccaneer.  Of  this  latter  kind 
of  chase  an  example  lately  occurred  on  a  small  island  in  the  sea 
which  bounds  the  Archipelago  towards  the  north.  M«ist  persons 
have  heard  of  the  massacre  on  board  the  **  General  Wood.*'  The 
Chinese  convicts,  after  they  had  perpetrated  the  crime,  dispersed 
themselves  in  various  directions ;  some  making  towanls  the  Celes- 
tial empire  itself,  while  others  sought  other  places  of  shelter,  and 
among  these  sixty  took  refuge  on  Pulo  Oby,  a  small  island  at  the 
entrance  to  the  Gulf  of  Siam,  This  island^  of  granitic  formation, 
rises  in  jagged  peaks,  and  is  thickly  covered  with  jungle.  It  con- 
tains one  small  village,  consisting  of  a  few  mat-huts  and  a  joss-house, 
or  temple  of  Buddha,  with  another  similar  structure  on  the  opposite 
side.  The  original  inhabitants  were  few  in  number,  and  harmless; 
and  these,  when  the  convict  pirates  landed,  took  to  the  woods.  By 
degrees,  however,  they  were  induced  to  return  to  their  dwellings, 
while  their  ferocious  visitors,  who  at  first,  as  we  have  said,  amounted 
to  sixty,  took  up  their  residence  among  them*  The  object  of  the  buc- 
caneers in  seizing  on  this  positicrn  was  to  escape  the  pursuit  of  the 
English  ;  to  remain  until  they  had  fed  and  lived  so  well  that,  to  use 
their  own  expression,  none  save  God  should  know  them^  no,  not 
even  their  own  mothers  and  Msteres,  and  then  retire,  with  all  the 
booty  they  could  collect,  to  their  homes;  or  else  take  once  more  to 
piracy,  and  enjoy  the  pleasure  of  committing  all  kinds  of  excesses, 
and  shedding  abundance  of  blood. 

On  this  remote  outskirt  of  the  buccaneering  system  it  may  possi- 
bly be  supposed  the  prices  would  be  rare,  and  the  victims  few.  Not 
so,  however.  According  to  the  testimony  of  the  natives  of  Pulo 
Oby  not  less  than  seventy  trading- vessels  were  captured  during  the 
year  1847*  within  sight  of  the  island;  while  the  wretched  inhabitants 


posntox 


I 


t  |wfqljr  voold  seem  to  constitute  a  sufficient  pro^ 
Mslly  Cflonwlled  to  hide  whatever  they  possess 
tl>e  earth,  that  it  maj  not  be  taken  from  them  by  the  ma- 
ffMlders.  Gr&otmg  that  m  the  round  nuisber  seventy  there  may 
hsve  been  soae  exaggeislioi^  we  may  still  infer,  from  the  account  of 
Uiese  people,  tlial  the  dmtrMctioD  of  property  throughout  the  Archi- 
pelago by  piracy  is  very  great-  Indeed,  the  large  hordes  of  th<»e 
who  live  by  plunder  prove  at  once  the  value  of  the  trade^  and  the 
iiecetnCj  of  extending  adequate  protection  to  it. 

For  some  time  the  pirate*  remained  undisturbed  on  Pulo  Ohy, 
eating,  drinking,  and  caroujiDg.  It  had  been  agreed  on  landing  that 
the  whole  body  shoald  keep  together  for  self-protection,  and  that 
when  the  time  came  for  separating,  they  should  eflTect  this  operation 
in  the  manner  beft  calculated  to  promote  the  welfare  of  all.  But 
there  is  no  honour  among  thieves.  As  soon  as  an  opportunity  pre- 
sen  ted  itself^  twelve  of  their  number,  forgetting  the  oath  they  had 
taken,  made  off  in  the  large  boat  which  contained  their  common 
treasure ;  and  of  the  remainder  several  effected  their  escape  by  dif- 
ferent means.  The  smaller  boat,  in  which  they  had  arrived  at  Oby, 
was  still  in  their  possession  ;  but,  on  the  appearance  in  the  offing  of 
the  English  ship,  **  Celerity,'*  they  sunk  it,  in  the  hope  of  thus 
avoiding  discovery.  The  fact,  however,  that  the  pirates  were  on  the 
island  transpired,  in  spite  of  all  their  precautions,  and  on  the  arrival 
of  the  "  Celerity  '*  at  Singapore,  it  was  determined  to  dispatch  the 
*'  Phlegethon  *'  steamer,  well  manned  and  armed,  and  furnished  with 
a  month's  provisions,  for  the  chase  and  capture  of  these  reckless  de- 
speradoes. 

The  "  Phlegethon"  whilst  steaming  towards  Pulo  Oby  enjoyed  mag- 
nificent weather ;  but  as  soon  as  it  neared  the  island  heavy  rain  came 
on*  All  felt  they  were  engaged  in  an  exciting  adventure,  and  were 
impatient  to  enter  on  the  chase  of  the  pirates.  The  mate  of  the 
'*  Celerity  "  had  undertaken  to  act  as  their  guide ;  but,  as  afterwards 
appeared,  possessed  a  very  slight  acquaintance  with  the  localities, 
No  one  precisely  knew  the  number  of  the  enemy ;  whether  or  not 
they  had  been  joined  by  fresh  allies  since  their  arrival  on  the 
I  island  ;  in  what  fastnesses  they  might  have  uken  up  their  retreat,  or 
what  means  of  defence  were  in  their  power*  This  uncertainty  con- 
tiderablv  added  to  the  excitement  experienced  by  the  crew  of  the 
Phlegethon/'  who,  while  rowing  along  the  shore  in  rain  and  dark* 

[jiesSi for  it  had  been  judged  expedient  to  precede  the  steamer  in 

boats, — pictured  to  themselves,  each  according  to  the  liveliness  of 
his  fancy,  the  novel  kind  of  contest  they  anticipated. 

Early  the  following  morning  they  with  much  difficulty  effected  a 

landing  over  rocks  rendered  slippery  by  the  rain,  and  making  a  rush 

upon  the  village,    succeeded  in   capturing  there  a  number    of  the 

[pirates.      The  re&t,  slipping   out  between  the  mats  of  which  the 

[tuts  were  constructed,  escaped  to  the  jungle*     Then  took  place  a 

'  ieries  of  manoeuvres  and  pursuits,  on  the  one  hand,  and  of  dexterous 

stratagems  and  escapes  on  the  other,  which  greatly  protracted  the 

operations  of  this  curious  little  campaign.     Oby,  as  has  been  said,  ii 

thickly  clothed  with  woods  and  thickets,  abounds  with  precipices 

and  caverns,  and  opposes  numerous  other  obstructions  to  an  explor* 

ing  party.    It  consequently  uppearetl  almost  hopeless  to  capture  the 

^screautu  after  whom  search  was  now  made,   Ihey  dispersed  them* 


IN   THE   INDIAN   ARCHIPELAGO. 


79 


the  depths  of  the 


selves ;  they  hid  in  caves  ;  they  plunged 

jungle  ;  but  the  necessity  of  obtaining  food  compelled  them  from 
time  to  time  to  issue  forth  in  quest  of  it.  Besides,  the  various  arti- 
cles of  property  which  had  been  carried  off  from  the  '^*  General 
Wood/'  ships-carriages,  bayonets,  time-pieces,  English  boat's  rudder, 
mast!*,  and  sails,  ladjes*  work-boxes,  card-ca*»e8,  &c,,  which  were 
from  tiaie  to  time  discovered,  put  the  pursuers  on  the  track  of  the 
fugitives,  who  were  gradually  captured  in  detail.  Nevertheless,  the 
proce&s  was  so  slow,  that  the  commander  of  the  '*  Phlegethon"  became 
impatient.  Both  officers  and  men,  moreover,  were  suffering  greatly 
from  fatigue;  many  had  caught  the  jungle  fever,  while  the  clothea 
of  all  were  nearly  torn  fn>m  their  bodies  by  the  thorny  shrubi 
abounding  in  the  thickets. 

The  idea  now  suggeated  itself  of  departing  with  the  steamer  for 
Cambodia  for  provisions,  wliich  were  beginning  to  run  low,  leaving 
strong  parties  concealed  in  the  village,  which,  upon  the  appearance 
of  any  of  the  malefactors,  might  turn  out  and  secure  them.  The  in- 
cidents of  the  '*  Phlegethon's  "  visit  to  the  river  Kamoo  may  serve  to 
illustrate  the  position  we  now  occupy  in  those  seas.  A  certain  de- 
gree of  respect  was  paid  to  the  British  flag,  and  the  Cochin-Chinese 
governor  exhibited  unequivocal  tokens  of  uneasiness  when,  on  his 
shewing  reluctance  to  comply  with  the  wishes  of  our  conntrynien.  he 
was  told  that  his  conduct  would  be  represented  to  the  Queen  of  Eng- 
land. Still,  it  is  obvious  that  the  impression  we  have  made  on  the 
minds  of  those  people  is  not  yet  sufficiently  deep ;  for,  though  his 
excellency  made  many  promises^  he  fulfilled  none  of  them.  The 
commander  of  the  '*  Phlegethon,"  therefore,  who  had  claimed  the 
assistance  of  a  body  of  natives,  was  constrained^  in  proceeding  with 
the  chase,  to  rely  entirely  upon  his  own  resources.  His  success, 
however,  wag  almost  complete,  for  out  of  thirty- five  pirates  he  cap- 
tured thirty  ;  with  whom  he  departed  for  Singapore.  Even  now  the 
prisoners  were  far  from  relinquishing  hope*  They  were  overheard 
plotting  the  seizure  of  the  steamer;  and  when  they  saw  their  design 
frustrated,  several  of  them  attempted  self-destruction,  and  of  these 
one  succeeded  ;  for,  leaping  overboard,  he  was  struck  dead  by  the 
paddle-wheel. 

Were  I  to  repeat  the  narratives  of  the  native  traders,  and  describe 
minutely  the  sufferirigs  to  which  they  are  exposed,  I  should  fill  vo- 
lumes. No  part  of  the  Archipelago,  or  of  the  continental  countries, 
which  lie  to  the  north  or  north-west  of  it,  is  exempt  from  periodical 
ravages.  It  might,  no  doubt»  be  supposed,  and  the  supposition 
would  be  perfectly  natural,  that  at  least  those  islands  which  are 
ruled  by  European  authority,  and  protected  by  European  arms, 
must  escape  such  visitations.  But  this  is  very  far  from  being  the 
case.  The  pirates  constantly  make  descents  even  on  the  Island  of 
Penang,  and  carry  off  the  inhabitants  into  slavery.*   No  surprise  can 

"  ^'^  The  ij^Iandi  less  Livouti^  by  nature,  or  under  the  influence  of  particular  bis- 
torical  drciimi)tfiii(.'e$,  have  lifcome  the  Meats  of  great  piratical  roui  muni  ties,  which 
jjerimlicalJIy  send  fi^rth  lurge  fleets  to  sweep  the  M^aii,  and  *Jitrk  ainng  the  shores  of 
the  Archipelago  ;  despoiling  the  teafaring  trailer  of  the  fruits  of  his  industry  and 
his  perMonai  iilierty,  and  cAftymg  oflT  from  their  very  hornet  the  wives  and  children 
of  the  villagers.  From  the  creeks  and  river*  of  Borneo  and  JoLoncj  from  the 
sumeroiis  iylanda  between  8ingBpore  and  B&nka^  and  from  othtiir  parts  of  the  Ar. 
kiptelago,  piratiod  expeditions,  less  formidahle  thaiii  tho«ei  of  the  Camens  of  Siily, 
B,  year  aft«f  year,  fitted  out.     No  coast  is  so  thickly  peopled,  and  no  harbour  su 


80 


POSITION   OF    SIR    JAMES  BROOKE 


therefore  be  felt  that  similar  disaBtcrs  should  befall  the  Dutch  settle- 
merils,  which  it  may  be  presumed,  from  the  a[K)tlietic  character  of 
the  Hollanders,  are  less  vigilantly  /^uarded.  At  any  rate  numbers  of 
Javanese,  are  often  found  among  the  persons  reduced  to  slavery  bj 
the  buccaneers,  and  sometimes,  though  rarely,  a  stray  Dutchman 
compelletl  to  taste  of  those  hardships  from  which  his  govertimenf 
will  not  be  at  the  pains  to  protect  its  native  subjects* 

A  touching  story  is  told  of  a  Dutch  officer,  who,  after  the  capture 
of  his  ship,  was  taken  prisoner  and  sold  into  slavery,  in  which  con- 
dition he  endured  all  the  hardships  to  w^hich  men  &o  circumstanced  . 
are    habitually  exposed.      Compelled  to  perform   the  meanest  and] 
most  degrading  drudgery,  he   was  passed  from  owner  to  owner, 
everywhere   treated    with   hardships  and  severity,  and    constantly 
sinking  from  bad  to  worse.     At  length  he  got  into  the  hands  of  the 
Sultan  of  Linga,  where  his  story  became  known  to  a  Chinese  mer- 
chant trading  to  Java,     The  worthy  celestial  having  some  faith  in  j 
regal  generoj^ity,  entreated  the  suhan  to  release  Mynheer  StokbroWjl 
partly  for  the  pleasure  of  performing  a  good  action,  and  partly  a1s<l1 
with  the  view  of  ingratiating  himself  with  the  authorities  of  Java  pi 
but  the  disciple  of  Buddha  made  his  appeal  in  vain  ; — with  the 
Sidtan  of  Linga  nothinjj  but  good  hard  dollars  would  prodtice  con- 
viction.     Tan    Leansing    therefore,   resolved  to    perfect    his   good 
work,  paid  down  the  ransom  of  Stokbrow,  and  talking  him  onboard 
his  ship  treated  him  with  the  greatest  hospitality,  and  conveyed  hin 
side  atid  sound  to  Samaranp:,     Nor  does  the  romance  of  the  sia 
end  here.  The  friends  of  3Iynheer  Stokbrow  and  the  governor  of  lh« 
place,  iMonsieur  Nikolaus  Engelhard,  immediately  offered  to  reim- 
burse the  Chinese  merchant  the  sum  he  had  expended  for  the  de 
Jiverance  of  their  countryman  ;  but  he  refused   to  accept  anything^ 
saying,  '*  he  was  satisfied  with  the  consciousness  of  having  perforn 
ed  a  good  action/'    M*  Sttikbrow  was  a  man  of  property,  and  having 
been  restore*!  to  his  ftniily,  experienced  all  the  emotions  of  a  grate 
ful  heart,  and  entreated  the  Chinese,  if  he  would  not  accept  repay<^ 
ment  of  the  ransom,  at  least  to  make  his  house  his  home  dunng  hil 
annual  visit  to  Samarang.     This  invitation   Tan   Leansing   remlilj 
accepted,  and  every  year  on   his  arrival  at  Samarang,  M,  Stokbrof 
drove  down  to  the  beach  in  his  carriage,  conveyed  the  Chinese  nier 
chant  back  to  hia  house,  and  during  the  fortniglit  he  usually  re 
mained,  every  day  was  a   holiday.     The  whole  family,  with  all  iti 
numerous  friends,  vied  with  each  other  as  to  who  should  shew  mo* 
respect  to  Tan  Leansing,  who  at  length  almost  became  transforme 
into  a  Dutchman.     This  agreeable  intercourse  continued  till  abou 
four  years  ago,  when  M,  Stokbrow  died,  though  I  believe  the  hone 


well  protected,  bs  to  lie  sfsrure  from  nil  mt^Wtation^  for  where  open  force  wmild  1 
iifbeleAH,  re«*(mrse  is  Jiad  to  titpalth  and  ntnitagetn*  Men  had  l>een  kidnapped  I 
brcKidduy  in  the  Imrhour  of  Penftriif  and  Singiiiwire.  Several  ialiiitntatiu  of  Pn 
vince  M  ellesley,  who  had  been  carried  away  from  their  hnnaea  ihrough  the  ha 
biHir  of  Penally,  and  down  the  Straits  of  Mdaaa  to  the  wmihward,  were  recenl 
discovered  hy  the  Diitt:h  authortties  atid  restored  to  their  hijines  But  t)ii*  ordi 
nary  abtxlet  of  the  pirates  themselve*  are  not  uJiriiyi  at  »  distance  from  tli<j  liur 
)>e«n  settlements.  As  the  Thnji^  of  Ilenj^al  i»  only  known  in  hii  own  viliitf^i  i 
peaceful  penaant,  ro  the  pirate^  when  not  ^broitd  on  an  exp4'dition«  iippwurs  iit 
river  and  ah^ng  the  ihiintu  of  Singaimre  as  an  boneit  boiitniAii  or  fishermaxi . ' 
— Jifumai  o/ihe  ituiiaH  Archipeiag^^  i*  15. 


IN   THE  INDIAN   ARCHIPELAGO. 


81 


luddh] St  still  sarvivcSf  and  is  probably  made  as  welcome  as  ever  at 
fcianiarang  by  the  relatives  of  his  deceased  friend. 

The  readers  of  Sir  James  Jlrooke's  Journals  will  no  doubt  remem- 
ber that  the  crews  of  two  English  ships  wrecked  off*  the  coast  of 
Borneo,  weretakeji  prisoners  and  reduced  to  slavery  by  the  natives; 
and  that  after  having  endured  many  hardships,  they  were  ransomed 
and  restored  to  their  friends  by  the  white  Rajah »  The  Btigis  and 
Malays,  when  the  same  calamity  befalls  them,  seldom  find  any  one 
generous  enough  to  pay  their  ransom  ;  and,  accordhigly,  unless  for* 
tunate  enough  to  effect  their  own  deliverance  by  craft  or  courage, 
usually  wear  away  their  lives  in  the  service  of  cruel  task- masters. 
The  depositions  made  before  the  magistrates  at  Singapore  supply 
very  striking  illustrations  of  the  wide-spread  disastrous  influence  of 
the  piratical  system  which  embraces  within  the  circle  of  its  opera- 
tion the  whole  extent  of  the  Archipelago,  from  Acheen  and  Penang, 
to  the  Ladrones  and  New  Guinea. 

No  advantage  would  possibly  accrue  from  entering  into  further 
detailsv,  because  1  think  it  must  be  obvious  from  what  has  already 
been  said,  that  the  commerce  of  Insular  Asia  can  never  be  properly 
developed  till  piracy  shall  have  been  suppressed.  They  who  think 
lightly  of  its  evils  can  have  been  at  little  pains  to  inform  themselves 
of  the  facts.  The  trade  of  Singapore  and  Penang  suffers  severely 
from  the  operations  of  this  cause,  and  Labuan  will  languish  under 
the  same  influence^  unless  decisive  measures  be  at  once  adopted  for 
entirely  emancipating  those  seas. 

What  Sir  James  Brooke's  plans  may  be,  further  than  he  has  de- 
veloped them  in  his  published  journals,  it  is  not  for  me  to  explain, 
but  he  will  probably  be  of  opinion  that  possession  as  soon  as  pos- 
sible should  be  taken  of  the  principal  Sulu  Islandsj  and  of  such 
other  parts  of  the  Archipelago  as  are  adapted  for  commercial  em- 
poriums, coal  stations,  or  settlements.  It  is  mere  absurdity  to  pre- 
tend that  all  the  islands  are  already  occupied  by  other  European 
Powers.  We  know  the  exact  limits  of  the  Spanish  possessions  in 
that  part  of  the  world,  and  if  the  claims  of  the  Dutch  be  more  in- 
definite, they  are  not  all -en  grossing.  On  the  contrary,  it  is  acknow- 
ledged by  the  Netherlands  that  ati  extremely  large  field  still  re- 
mains open  to  English  enterprise,  and  our  neighbours  affect  at  least 
to  think  we  should  be  doing  good  service  to  civilisation  by  hoisting 
our  flag  in  several  groups,  to  which  they  do  not  even  pretend  to  the 
shadow  of  a  right.  It  may  be  hoped,  moreover,  that  circumstances 
will  shortl)'  lead  us  to  undertake  a  mission  to  Japan  on  a  suitable 
scale  of  magnificence.  The  government  of  that  country  only  awaits 
the  application  of  a  gentle  pressure  from  without  to  terminate  that 
exclusive  system  which  has  already  lasted  much  too  long  for  the 
honour  of  the  civilized  world,  Holland,  which  appears  to  profit  by 
the  continuance  of  Uiis  exclusive  system,  is  in  reality  as  much  con- 
cerned as  we  are  to  put  an  end  to  it.  Her  miserable  settlement  on 
Dessima,  in  the  harbour  of  Nangdsaki,  is  pernetually  exposed  to  a 
series  of  contumelies  and  insults,  which  no  other  nation  in  Europe 
would  endure  ;  and  after  all,  the  advantages  she  reaps  from  this  con- 
temptible sacrifice  of  national  honour,  are  scai  cely  deserving  to  be 
enumerated  among  the  gains  of  a  great  commercial  people.  Even 
the  English  thetnbelves  are  often  treated  by  mistake  or  otherwise 
with  much  less  respect  than  we  are  elsewhere  apt  to  claim  for  our 

vol..   XXV.  o 


( m  fault,  sometimes 
»  are  oar  ships,  ex- 
*  jet  many  countries 
between  an 
re  any  dif- 
Occasion^ 
r«f  the  bttrbuians  induces 
I  h  wamj,  in  Cftae  of 


recently  on  the 

horn  adventurous  Hog- 

ptoverb,  "  to  carr)*  their 

» s  jnnk,  with  a  Chioese 

i  lus  w*j,  howcrer,  aaoM 

%hm  DOfftli-eaat  niiaosooii,  and 

My  d^^tmm  towards  the  west 

;  with  the  CelestiaU 

the  helm,  they 

to  all  ills  wamingSj  madly 

Here  she  soon  found 

_  ;  by  the  board,  smd  in  the 

t  «f  mThmi^  iAk  viaii  to  pieect»  and  her  scattered  fragments 

mtm  ftaMh^  hmi  fie  wacvek  Sose  fiew  seamen  were  drowned, 

r  aafe  to  land,  where  our 
was  made  prisoner, 
iinarv  harshneis  and 
[  uf  irr  wirtii  At  the  end  of  that  period, 
tTWffQQ  harboar  in  the  "Royalist," 
y«chv  and  demanded  and  obtained 
.  he  ooQTeyed  to  Singapore. 
t  «f  a  iftvy,  whkh  Howca  lumaelf  tells  with  the  most 
mlUkj,  wmf  be  thoagjn  to  powess  little  interest,  but 
ll^  ImH  awi^i  to  ahrv  the  neeeanty  of  our  appearing  more  fre* 
MCMify  Ml  ijbum  ihoiti,  that  we  may  ^uniliarize  the  natives  with 
0«r  Im.  tfri  teach  theia  to  dretad  the  consequences  of  setting  it  at 
Jifiim^u  In  0  tredn^  pomt  of  view,  the  possession  of  Singapore 
is  highly  impoftaiUp  and  oar  new  settlement  on  Labuan  will  in  all 
liktfliho^l  prove  cqaaUy  Talaable.  But  we  must  not  pau^  there, 
fftnce  nothing  short  of  our  studding  the  archipelago  with  s^ettlements 
will  ellect  the  purposes  we  have  in  view.  Against  this  scheme  some 
have  objected,  on  account  of  what  they  consider  its  enormous  ex- 
pense. But  expense  is  relative.  If  we  reckon  what  Singapore  costs 
us,  for  example,  we  must  set  against  it  our  commercial  gains,  and  it 
will  then  be  found  that  in  reality  it  costs  us  nothing.  The  same 
thing  will  prove  true  of  every  otlier  settlement  in  the  Archipelago 
judiciously  made.  It  is  the  height  of  absurdity,  therefore,  to  found 
tiny  objection  against  such  settlements  on  the  expenditure  of  the 
occasion,  provided  the  profit  derived  from  them  in  commercial  re- 
turns exceed  the  outlay. 

It  may  appear  premature  to  speculate  on  the  estabhshment  of  new 
commercial  emporiuins,  before  the  settlement  of  Labuan  has  been 
completed.  But  the  wants  of  commerce  have  now  become  pressing, 
and  so  long  *is  we  persist  in  our  false  notions  of  economy,  and  re- 
itrict  ourselves  to  one  or  two  points  on  that  wide  area,  the  system 


THE  CELLINI   CUK 


83 


of  piracy  will  continue  to  flourish,  and  the  cost  of  the  naval  arnia* 
ments  necesaary  to  keep  it  in  check,  will  greatly  exceed  that  of  all 
the  new  stations  and  emporiums  which  circumstancei  require  us  to 
eatablish. 

These  observations  I  have  made  in  anticipation  of  the  plan  which 
I  suspect  Sir  James  Brooke  will  recommend,  because  it  may  be 
useful  to  enlist  public  opinion  as  far  as  possible  on  the  side  ot  his 
comprehensive  views*  Besides,  there  are  some  writers  who  seek  to 
alarm  the  country  by  false  representations,  pretending  we  have  no 
right  to  fix  ourselves  in  any  part  of  the  Archipelago,  which,  accord- 
ing to  them,  belongs  exclusively  to  other  European  States,  and  that 
we  should  derive  very  little  advantage  from  such  settlements  as  are 
contemplated,  if  we  had  really  made  them.  These  representations, 
however,  are  deserving  of  no  respect,  being  either  made  in  complete 
jgnorunce  of  the  actual  slate  of  the  Archipelago^  or  in  wilful  defi- 
ance of  the  knowledge  and  judgment  of  the  writers.  No  expense 
can  be  more  wisely  incurred  than  that  which  we  enter  into  for  the 
advancement  of  commerce.  We  require  new  outlets  for  our  manu- 
fiictures;  the  inhabitants  of  the  Archipelago  are  ready  to  become 
our  customers,  and,  besides,  possess  the  means  of  paying  handsomely 
for  what  they  require.  It  only  remains  for  us  to  establish  a  suffi- 
cient number  of  marts  in  their  vicinity,  wrhich,  by  discovering  to 
them  their  wants,  and  awakening  their  desires,  could  not  fail  to  im- 
pel them  into  the  career  of  civilization. 


THE  CELLINI  CUP. 

BY      S  A  Bl  U  K  L     J  A  lU  E  8      A  R  N  O  L  n. 
CUAFTER   VI. 

On  the  day  followiiipf  the  transaction  recorded  in  the  last  chapter, 
Georgtj  Silverthong  was  summoned  to  attend  his  fattier  on  busiuess  to 
the  city— arrived  at  the  otfit:e  of  the  broker  who  had  purchased  the  stock, 
he  requested  his  attendance  to  the  hank*  The  broker  understood  the 
object,  and  attended  him  immediately — he  bustled  before  them  through 
the  motley  crowd,  was  well  known^  and  instantly  attended  to,  at  the 
counter ;  the  receipts  displayed^  and  the  book  laid  open  for  signature,  as 
if  by  silent  machinery. 

**  Here,  sir/*  said  the  broker,  **'  you  will  sign  your  name/*  pointing  to 
the  spot  to  which  the  bank -clerk  had  himself  pointed, 

**  llere>  George/*  you  will  sign  your  name,"  said  the  father,  pointing 
to  the  spot  to  which  the  broker  had  pointed. 

*'  I,  sir  ? "  said  the  son,  to  whom  the  whole  movement  was  matter  of 
novelty  and  surprise ! 

**  Certainly  you,"  replied  the  father,  '*  you  never  hesitated  to  obey  me 
yet,  nor  will  you  now." 

The  young  man  wondered  what  all  this  meant,  but  instantly  took  the 
pen,  and  signed  the*  name  of  George  Silverthong,  All  being  concluded, 
the  broker  made  his  bow,  and  the  father  and  son  returned  to  their  homes. 

Our  young  sculptor  as  yet  knew  little  of  the  world,  but  still  less  of 
business — but  he  could  not  shut  his  eves  to  the  fact  that  he  had  just  left 


[  just 


84 


THE  CELLINI    CUF. 


the  Bank  of  England,  in  which  he  had  ngned  his  Dame  for  some  [ 
or  otber»  and  that  purpose  he  concluded  must  be  connected  with  th 
inightj  money  concerns  transacted  there ;  with  great  naivete,  he  inquired 
of  his  father  for  what  purpose  his  name  could  be  necessary. 

"  I  will  explain  it  in  few  words/'  replied  the  parent,  **  and  let  those 
few  words  be  remembered  when  I  am  at  last  happy  in  my  grave.  Yoo 
have  signed  your  acceptance  of  a  considerable  stock  in  the  3  per  cent, 
consols.  You  are  at  this  moment  the  sole  proprietor  of  that  sum,  but 
it  is  not  without  large  drawbacks ;  while  I  lire  you  must  support  me, 
and  aboTe  all  you  must  appropriate  a  becoming  portion  to  my  other  dear 
and  belo^-ed  child — ^your  as  dear  and  beloved  sister*  I  might  bare 
arranged  this  otherwise,  but  I  owe  you  a  long  reparation  for  your  neg- 
lected education,  though  when  t  mark  your  generous  and  manly  Tirtues» 
together  with  your  already  distinguished  talents,  I  cannot  but  belicT 
that  mj  course«  though  compelled,  has  been  attended  with  the  ble2>sin 
of  diTine  proTidence ;  a  far  happier  result,  my  son,  than  might  hav 
been  produced  by  the  utmost  exertion  of  human  wisdom  and  precail^ 
tionary  calculation.  You  will  naturally  ask  me  why^  with  the  apparent 
prospect  of  some  years  of  life  before  me,  I  have  taken  this  decisive 
step  at  the  present  momenu 

"  Frankly  1  answer,  I  could  not  have  accepted  that  stock,  or  ever 
received  a  dividend  upon  it  without  a  consciousness  of  dishonour ;  with- 
out feeling  that  I  was  committing  au  act  similar  to  that  which  has 
brought  me,  in  midlife,  to  a  premature  old  age, — which  has  destroyed 
my  happiness — my  social  existence,  and  almost  overturned  my  mind  1 

"  1  should  have  committed  forgery  I 

'*  Not  so  with  you» — to  drop  a  name  is  not  to  assume  one.  You  are 
still  as  truly  and  legally  entitled  to  the  name  of  George  Silverthong,  as 
you  once  were  to  another.  When  I  executed  the  deeds  which  severed 
us  for  ever  from  our  ancestral  property,  I  signed  that  name  for  the 
last  lime,  as  I  trust  you  did  also,  and  I  never  will  sign  another.  From 
this  day  you  are  to  consider  yourself  the  head  of  your  family ;  and  as 
such  it  behoves  you  to  start  at  once  in  your  new  and  honourable  call- 
ing. You  have  at  your  command  an  abundant  capital,  and  though  yoa 
commence  your  career  as  a  stranger,  those  seldom  want  friends  who  are 
known  not  to  want  them.  Your  talents  and  integrity  will  insure  you 
success.  I  need  not  bid  you  to  cherish  a  sister  whom  you  already  so 
tenderly  love  ;  but,  even  were  she  less  deserving  your  affection,  I  should 
plead  for  your  heart's  devotion  to  her,  were  it  alone  for  the  wonderful 
resemblance  she  displays  (  a  resemblance  becoming  more  and  more 
striking  from  year  to  year)  in  form,  in  features,  in  expression,  as  well 
as  in  mind,  and  disposition,  to  the  departed  angel  who  gave  her  birth."  j 

He  paused  here  as  if  to  repress  his  strong  emotion.  I 

"  But  surely,  dear  father,  we  shall  continue  to  live  together  ?  Yo«i 
do  not  think  of  leaving  us  ?  "  said  George. 

**  Not  altogether,  certainly/*  replied  the  father ;  "  but  for  a  time  I  feel 
that  I  require  solitude  in  order  to  restore  me  to  myself;  and  rest 
assured  that  nothing  on  earth  can  promote  that  object  so  effectually  •£ 
witnessing  your  gradual  elevation  in  your  new  rank  of  life — a  rank, 
which  when  assisted  by  talents,  and,  above  all,  when  supported  by  recti- 
tude, in  this  great  commercial  country  may  proudly  assert  its  indepen4 
cnce  amidst  the  highest  of  the  high.'* 

By  this  lime  they  had  reached  their  lodgings,  and  no  time  was  lost  i 
caj-r^ing  the  father's  wishes  into  execution,  and  the  settlement  of  Gmf\ 


THE   CELLINI   CUP. 


85 


iilvertLoTig  in  the  shop  in  Bond  Street  where  we  first  became  acquaint* 
cd  with  him* 

While  these  matters  were  proceeding  in  Londoni  Sir  John  Maotell 
had  returned  to  Devonshire,  On  his  arrival  he  was  told  that  a  strange 
man  had  heen  in  the  neigh botirhood,  who  had  in  his  possession  a  still 
stranger  dog,  and  had  inquired  for  the  Oldmixon  family ;  that  as  no  one 
could  give  him  any  account  of  them,  some  one  had  at  last  referred  Mpi 
for  information  to  him,  Sir  John* 

In  these  personages  the  reader  has  already  recognised  John  Torrid 
and  Mufti  (if  by  ehance  he  has  not  altogether  forgotten  them)  ;  and,  not 
many  hotirs  after  the  banker's  return,  John^  who  had  no  other  business 
in  the  world  but  to  watch  for  him,  was  in  attendance* 

The  story  we  liave  already  heard  was  minutely  and  circumstantially 
delivered.  It  carried,  of  course,  the  same  conviction  to  the  mind  of  Sir 
John  Mantell  that  it  must  have  carried  to  that  of  the  reader*  that  Gil* 
be  ft  Oldinixon  and  the  Mr*  Bearcroft  of  Beagal  were  one  and  the  same 
person.  If  not  so,  for  what  purpose  could  so  complicated  and  artificial  a 
tale  have  heen  put  together  ?  There  was  no  doubting  the  plain,  straight- 
forward evidence  of  John  Torrid ;  and  the  worthy  banker  ended  his 
cross- questionings,  and  doubtSi  and  reflections,  by  giving  his  friend's 
address  under  his  new  appellation,  with  the  assurance  that  from  bim  he 
would  learn  all  he  wished  to  ascertain,  and  the  offer  of  money,  whicb  was 
civilly  declined. 

By  the  time  John  Torridi  with  his  fellow  foot- traveller,  arrived  id 
X«ondon,  the  father  of  the  family  had  left  it,  He  lost  no  time,  however, 
in  proceeding  to  his  son  in  Bond  Street  to  whom  he  once  more  recited 
his  clear  but  extraordinary  tale.  The  young  silversmith  was  equally 
struck  with  the  manners,  the  appearance,  and  the  language  of  the  man  ; 
and  bad  any  doubt  of  the  veracity  and  integrity  of  the  traveller  crossed 
his  mind  it  would  have  been  removed  when  he  was  desired  to  read  the 
iDScription  on  the  massive  and  strongly  riveted  silver  collar  round  tbe 
dog^s  throat,  which  nothing  but  the  long  and  laborious  application  of  a 
smith's  file  could  have  displaced.     The  inscription  ran  thus — 

**  Ai  b  watchful  guard,  and  faichftil  rriend. 
Alike  diitingtiiihed  for  courage,  gentleness^  and  sagECltyj 
Tliis  do^,  Mufti,  h  pnofteoted  to 
Ceciliji  Oldmixon  (fornieriy  SilverthongJ 

of  OldmJxon  lialJ,  Devonshire, 

By  one  whose  life  he  has  already  saved. 

By  mm  wbo  euyies  him  his  destined  statioii. 

And  once  aspired  to  perfurm  its  duties," 

The  reader,  if  not  before,  has  now  at  least  a  pretty  accurate  inkling 
respecting  tbe  identity  of  the  middle-aged  stranger  who  cut  so  conspi- 
ctions  a  figure  in  our  early  pages,  but  he^  poor  man,  remains,  until  wo 
choose  to  enlighten  him,  in  a  state  of  the  most  perplexing  bewilderment 
OS  to  the  name  of  Silverthong,  and  the  locality  of  the  well-remenibered 
cup,  and  the  old  high-backed  ebony  chair,  while  all  the  other  parties  (him- 
self excepted)  are  equally  puzzled  to  account  for  his  intimate  acquaint- 
ance  with  the  mysterious  dog. 

The  tale  has  already  extended  beyond  all  reasonable  bounds,  but  the 
whole  must  be  explained ;  and  the  courteous  reader  will  therefore  be 
pleased  to  stretch  his  patience  a  little  longer. 

The  events  which  have  been  recorded  since  we  cjuittcd  the  shop  in 
Bond  Street,  must  be  considered  as  a  sort  of  parenthetical  relatioDi  or  if 


86 


THE  CELLINI   CUF* 


the  classical  reader  pleases^  as  a  kind  of  episode,  to  wbicb  the  beginninf 
and  endiDg  in  the  residence  of  our  young  silversmith  may  be  considered 
as  the  ancient  chorus ;  mid  thus  it  will  appear  that  we  have  not  altoge- 
ther neglected  the  rules  of  an  in  our  aimple  story,  whether  we  refer  to 
those  prescribed  by  Horace,  or  to  his  master  Aristotle. 

We  left  John  Silvertbong  and  his  lovely,  and,  as  some  called  her^ 
invisible  sister,  fite-^-titt  after  their  long  audience  of  John  Torrid,  who 
now  (strange  taste),  bad  resorted  to  the  Italian  Opera  House.  But  tlie 
ballet  was  founded  on  an  Indian  story,  and  that  was  quite  sufficient  to 
account,  amongst  many  other  similar  vagaries,  for  the  peculiar  propcn* 
sity  of  the  familiar  dependent. 

"  An  extraordinary  person  that/'  said  Silvertbong,  as  John  Torrid  left 
the  room  ;  "  as  I  have  often  noticed^  there  is  something  so  peculiar  in 
hit  manner^  and  language,  and  sentiments^  at  certain  moments  when  bis 
energies^  or  some  particular  emotions  are  awakened,  that  1,  at  times,  am 
tempted  to  believe  he  has  once  belonged  to  a  different  class  from  that 
in  which  he  has  made  himself  known  to  us.** 

"  That  is  very  true,"  replied  Cecilia ;  '*  and  I  have  often  noticed  in  his 
address  to  me  a  something  which,  though  never  wanting  in  respect,  has 
carried  with  it  the  air  of  a  monitor  rather  than  that  of  a  dependant.* 

The  subject  of  this  discourse  bad  not  left  the  bouse  many  minutes  1 
fore  the  family  were  startled  by  a  hurried  knock  at  the  street-door, 
whicbi  at  that  liour  of  the  evening,  appeared  to  their  solitajy  habits 
rather  a  phenomenon.  The  lad,  who  was  hastening  to  answer  the  sum* 
moDs,  was  audibly  cautioned  from  the  bead  of  the  stairs  to  ^*  put  up  tb 
chain,"  and  by  no  means  to  admit  any  stranger ;  at  the  same  time  ill 
young  master  descended  to  superintend  the  precjLution, 

The  door  having  been  tbu^s  partially  and  inbospitably  opened^  a  Toiea 
from  without  inquired  for  Mr-  Silvertbong. 

**  What  name  shall  I  say  ?  "  was  the  reply. 

"Say  the  gentleman  who  visited  him  this  morning,  and  who  oncei 
the  owner  of  his  dog,  on  whose  collar  is  inscribed  the  name  of  Mr 
Oldmixon,  earnestly  requests  the  favour  of  a  few  minutes*  conversatioo/ 

"  Open  the  door,  Charles,**  cried  Mr.  Silvertbong,  and  the  Strang 
was  admitted. 

Not  a  thought  of  apprehension  or  imposture  now  crossed  the  mind  ( 
the  young  artist*  Natural  and  ardent  curiosity,  coupled  with  the  < 
tain  conviction  that  the  mysterious  stranger  was  in  some  way  connec  . 
with  his  family,  removed  at  once  hesitation  and  doubt.  He  therefore 
welcomed  his  new  acquaintance  with  the  easy  courtesy  of  a  geatleman, 
and  begged  him  to  walk  up -stairs. 

"  Are  you  alone  ?  **  said  the  stranger. 

"  My  sister  only,  sir — " 

"  Good/*  replied  the  visitor. 

At  this  moment  the  loud  sound  of  the  dog  sniilng  the  air  under  I 
door  which  led  through  the  partition  that  separated  the  private  entrmioe 
from  the  shop,  attracted  the  attention  of  all — a  whine,  and  next  a 
Bcratcbing  at  the  lock  was  heard.  *'  What,  Mufti  I  are  you  there  agatiu 
old  truepenny  ? — ^lie  still,  good  dog,  1 11  talk  to  you  anon — lie  still» 
Mufti,"  said  the  stranger.  The  dog  was  silent  instantly,  nad  the 
stranger  followed  young  Silvertbong  to  the  drawing-room. 

Cecilia,  who  bad  partuken  of  the  surprise  at  so  unusually  timed  a  visit, 

^rtook  also  of  her  brother's  curiot^ity,  and  had  listenud  to  what  passed 

9loWf  until,  hearing  the  tir^t  upward  movement,  fche  retired  to  the  rham* 


THE   CELUm   CXTP. 


ber,  where  she  had  just  reache<l  the  side  of  the  table,  from  which  the  lights 
fell  directly  on  her  face  and  figure,  a^  the  gentlemen  entered  the  room. 

The  stranger  had  advanced  only  a  few  paces,  bowing  to  the  object 

x>re  himr  when  he  suddenly  started  back  with  an  ejacuatton  indica- 
live  either  of  extreme  surprise  or  terror. 

His  bat  and  cane  fell  from  his  hands,  which  in  another  moment  were 
elasped  together,  while  he  stood  for  a  few  seconds  transfixed  like  a 
statue,  and  gazing  with  intense  inquiry  on  the  beautiful  object  before 
him.  At  length,  after  heaving  a  deep  and  long-drawn  breath,  he 
ejaculated  in  a  smothered  tone,  *•  Yes,  yea!  by  G.  1"  and  dropped 
into  a  chair,  where  he  covered  his  face  with  his  handkerchief,  and  gave 
way  to  a  burst  of  powerful  emotion. 

**  The  gentleman  is  ill  I "  exclaimed  Cecilia,  and  flew  towards  the  bell, 

if  to  call  for  restoratives. 

**Not  so*  not  sol'*  hastily  replied  her  brother,  who  now,  for  the  first 
^w/Bf  began  to  entertain  some  indistinct  vision  of  the  truth,  *'  he  will 
recover  presently." 

And  50  he  did :  and  the  first  s«ign  of  his  recovery  was  to  seiie  the 
hand  of  George  Silverthong,  and  to  utter,  though  still  in  broken  accents, 
the  following  words,  *'  I  ask  your  pardon — both  your  pardons  for  this 
intrusion,  and  above  all  for  this  display  of  weakness ;  but  all  is  now  ex- 
plained* I  could  not  rest  in  my  doubts  and  surmises  even  till  to*mor- 
mw.  1  came  to  announce  myself  to  you  in  undisguisged  truth — I  came 
to  seek  for  explanations  which  now  are  no  longer  needed.  The  uner* 
ring  hand  of  nature  inscribes  her  records  in  language  so  universal  that 
the  whole  earth  can  read  them  ;  and  in  facts  so  clear  that  none  but  the 
■imta]ly»  or  wilfully  blind,  can  fail  to  understand  them ;"  then  rising 
horn  his  chair  he  added,  "  if  the  Almighty  stamps  his  works  by  a  legible 
mark,  and  that  mark  has  not  been  subtlely  forged  by  nature,  that  young 
kdj  b  the  daughter  of  Cecilia  Oldmlxon  (formerly  Silverthong),  and 
yon  are  both  her  children/' 

There  was  no  denying  a  fact  thus  solemnly  asserted — there  was  no 
admovledging  it  without  breaking  their  pledge  to  their  father.  Amidst 
tiloiiislimeDt,  not  unmixed  with  awe,  they  both  continued  silent,  and  the 
stranger  resumed, 

**  You  are  both,  no  doubt  amazed,  and  wondering  who  I  am.  You 
have  probably  heard  of  a  madman — an  infatuated  boy — a  young  scoun- 
drel who  merited  the  discipline  of  a  horsewhip,  who  caused  much  sorrow 
to— «]ifi»  indeed^  once  endangered  the  life  of  your  sainted  mother.  You 
have  beard  the  name  of  Charles  Rivers  ?" 

"  I  have,  indeed,  sir/*  quickly  replied  Silverthong.  "  I  have  heard  of 
bmif  but  not  as  you  report  him.  I  have  heard  of  a  wild  enthusiast  of 
thai  namev  of  whom  my  motlier  always  spoke  with  kindness,  and  even 
wiih  ailection,  as  of  a  younger  brother.  She  spoke,  indeed,  of  his  boyish 
foQicia  but  ever  ended  with  a  tribute  to  his  noble  excellence  when  reason 
MMBD^  tlie  poAsession  of  his  mind,  and  induced  him  to  sacrifice  hb 
eOBDlrfind  couoections  in  order  to  insure  her  happiness  and  tranquillity." 

••  Yes  I  Yes,  by  G.,  sir ;  she  was  ever  noble,  generous,  and  for- 
gt^ingt  and  far  more  so  to  me  than  I  ever  deserved,  after  the  frantic 
folUet  with  which  I  persecuted  her." 

**  Yoo,  then,  are  that  — " 

«  Charles  Rivers  I  only  wiser  and  better,  I  hope,  by  some  twenty  years 
odd,  tIliD  when  I  last  behold  that  angel  upon  carlh,  whose  perfect 
comilArpart  I  see  before  mi\** 


88 


THE  UTERARY  CAREER  OF  WILLIAM  ELLERY 
CHANNING.* 


Wr   CHARLBS  WBITBBEAD. 

It  is  not  our  purpose  in  the  brief  notice  we  are  about  to  present 
of  the  distinguisbed  man  whose  name  stands  at  the  head  of  this 
article,  to  enter  into  an  examination  of  hts  religious  character  and 
doctrinei:^  neither  is  it  in  our  power  to  do  more  than  glance  at  the 
effect  his  writings  are  liketj  to  produce  upon  English  literature,  and 
what  is  perhaps  better — ^upon  the  moral  and  social  well-being  of  his 
country  and  of  our  own. 

In  the  year  18:26,  Channing  first  came  before  the  world  as  an 
author,  by  the  publication  of  an  •*  Essay  on  the  Character  and 
Writings  of  Milton."  This  performance  was  soon  followed  by  an 
*'  Essay  on  the  Life  and  Character  of  Napoteon  Buonaparte,"  which 
was  ahortly  succeeded  by  an  **  Essay  on  the  Character  and  Writings 
of  Fenelon." 

These  three  works  found  their  way  to  England,  and  were  highly 
admired  by  the  men  of  judgment  and  reflection  into  whose  hands 
they  happened  to  fall,  not  only  for  their  elegance  of  style,  but  for  the 
elevated  tone  and  noble  spirit  that  pervaded  them*  It  was  seen  that 
no  common  man  had  arisen  to  adorn  literature,  and  to  instruct  and 
benefit  mankind. 

We  do  not  know  whether  it  was  before  or  after  the  able  and  highly 
laudatory  notice  of  Channing  appeared  in  the  *' Westminster/' that  the 
attack  upon  him  by  Hazlitt  was  published  in  the  **  Edinburgh."  That 
attack  we  did  not  see  at  the  time ;  and  we  have  not  since  given  our- 
selves the  pain  of  reading  it.  Channing  calls  it  <*  abuse/*  and  we 
should  have  thought  it  likely  to  be  so,  if  we  had  not  had  his  word  foi 
it.  Hazlitt  created  two  or  three  idols  during  his  life — Buonapartel 
being  one ;  and  he  hated  and  revifed  every  roan  who  would  not  bow 
down  to  them  and  worship  them,  partly  because  such  denial  was,  \ 
he  conceived,  an  insult  to  the  said  idolsi  and  partly  because  the  denie 
presumed  to  ditfer  in  opinion  with  William  Hazlitt.  However  this' 
be,  beyond  the  article  in  the  "Westminster/'  we  believe  that  no  de- 
liberate criticism  of  Channing*8  works  had  appeared  in  an  influential 
review  in  1830,  or  for  some  years  afterwards,  calculated  to  establish 
or  even  to  extend  the  reputation  of  this  author. 

Meanwhile,  his  reputation  was  extending  in  spite  of  the  indiffer- 
ence or  passive  hostility  of  the  English  critics.  His  published  lectures 
on  the  **  Importance  and  Means  of  a  National  Literature,"  on  •*Tem- 
perance/*  on  "Self-culture/'  on  the  *'Elevation  of  theWorking  Classes.** 
on  "  Self-denial/'  and  on  **  War/'  and  his  letters  to  Mr,  Clay,  on  the  An- 
nexation of  Texas  in  1807,  were  imported  into  England,  reprinted  fof 
a  wider  circulation,  and  read  with  avidity  by  thousands,  not  of  the 
higher  and  the  middle  classes  alone,  but  of  the  mass  of  the  people 
And  well  may  the  working  men  of  America  and  of  England  be  gralC 
ful  to  Channing  for  his  exertions  towards  their  moral  and  intellectual 
elevation;  for  an  attentive  perusal  of  his  works — especially  of  such  as 

•  Memoir  of  William  Ellery  Chnnning,  with  extmcu  from  his  CotrMfOII* 
4eDGe  aiit)  M&iiu»cnpti.     3  roh,     London  :  Chapuuio,  1048. 


CHANNINO. 


89 


e  addressed  to  tbem,  will  do  inorc  to  e^ect  that  object  than  the 
writings  put  together  of  all  the  men  that  have  published  in  the  Eng- 
lish tongue  during  the  present  century. 

The  spirit  in  which  he  wrote  may  be  gathered  from  these  words, 
extracted  from  a  letter  to  a  friend.  "  I  honour  those  who  write 
y^r  the  multitude,  in  the  true  sense  of  the  word,  and  should  value  little 
the  highest  labours  of  genius,  did  I  not  believe  that  the  maw,  the 
race,  were  to  be  the  wiser  and  better  for  them." 

We  need  hardly  observe  that  a  man  who  writes  with  this  noble 
object  ever  in  his  view,  is  sure  to  make  enemies,  especially  amongst 
those  who  regard  literature  as  something  that  ought  to  be  directed 
exclusively  to  the  recreation  or  delight  of  a  certain  ch»8s,  or  that 
ought  to  subserve  the  interests  of  a  certain  party,  whether  that  be 
done  by  nominally  enhsting  under  its  banner,  or  by  book  or  pamphlet 
advocacy  of  its  doctrines. 

Accordingly,  we  find  the  Edinburgh  Review,  in  1839,  making  a 
second  attack  upon  Channing,  in  an  article  purporting  to  be  a  review 
of  an  essay  published  twenty-three  years  before,  namely,  the  Essay 
on  the  Character  and  Writings  of  Milton.  It  is  true,  this  effusion 
professes  merely  to  criticise  the  author's  style,  and  to  denounce  his 
bad  taste;  but  the  evident  design  is  to  bring  Channtng's  literary 
character  into  contempt. 

It  is  curious  to  observe  sometimes  how  malignity  defeats  its  own 
object,  either  by  too  great  an  eagerness  to  rush,  however  unpreparedi 
into  the  conflict,  or  by  causing  another  to  do  so,  who  is  still  less  pre- 
pared.    We  must  cast  a  glance  upon  this  article. 

The  reviewer  says :  **  Not  content  with  describing  Milton  as  a 
profound  scholar,  and  a  man  of  vast  compass  of  thought,  and  imbued 
thoroughly  with  all  ancient  and  modern  learning,  Dr.  Ciianning  must 
add  for  effect,  and  in  order  to  say  something  out  of  the  ordinary  way, 
that  he  was  *  able  to  master,  to  moukl,  to  impregnate  with  his  own 
intellectual  power  his  great  and  varied  acquisitions/  Now,  this  is 
saying  not  only  something  out  of  the  ordinary  way,  but  something 
beyond  ordinary  comprehension.  A  man  may  master,  and  he  may 
mould  by  his  intellectual  power, — but  what  is  he  to  master?  Dr. 
Channing  says  *  his  own  actjuisitions  V — as  if  he  had  said,  **  this  man 
is  so  wealthy  that  he  is  about  to  buy  his  own  estate." 

No,  if  Dr.  Channing  had  said  that^  he  would  have  said  nonsense, 
which  it  was  left  to  the  reviewer  to  write.  A  man*s  acquisitions  are 
the  things  he  acquires,  and  who  does  not  know  that  they  may  be 
moulded  and  mastered  ?  Acquire  a  pig  of  lead,  and  it  may  be  mould- 
ed ;  acquire  an  estate  and  you  are  its  master.  The  truth  is,  a  man 
by  Ins  inteliectual  power  can  mould  nothinp  but  his  acquisitions. 

Let  UB  take  another  specimen*  The  reviewer  asks,  "Can  anything 
be  more  useless,  and  le.ss  precise,  or  even  comprehensible,  than  am- 
bitious writing  like  the  following  description  of  Milton's  power  over 
language?  *It  belongs  not  to  the  musical  ear,  but  to  ttie  souL  It  is 
a  giiTtor  exercise  of  genius,*  (as  if  a  man  should  say,  •  that  pound  you 
gave  me  or  spent  for  me,  which  is  quite  the  same  thing/)  "  which  haa 
power  to  impress  itself  upon  whatever  it  touches,  (so  thai  genius  has 
been  turned  from  a  giver  and  an  exerciser,  into  a  die  or  mould/') 

What  idleness  is  this?  Channing  uses  the  word  'gift/  in  one  of 
its  acknowledged  significations,  namely,  that  of  a  quality  conferred 


CHANNINa. 


«Hrktfe»  ^Sm  or  wmM;  cJ 


Wf  it  not  with  propriety  be  mid  that  €km  fiitj 
■fcise  of  it,  has  power  to  ifapcov  hadff     Dom 
He&f  tell  us  further  od,  tJiii  '  ibe  ailMBtMD  of 
Milton  s  poetiy?     Ai  lo  the  Jlifyiw j 
'  clitt  is  worse  than  the  other,  fiir  a  die  or 
f  ^fiitdf  to  impress  Itself  tipoo  aojthiD^ 
vheii  so  mightily  intolerant  of  bad  taoti 
irioeft  very  good  care  that  he  shall  not  be  < 

d  wtalb  wboiB  he  cannot  abide^  the  reviewer  aj 

Hh  a  hiK  g^iberish*  that  "  really,  SwtR  or  Ac 

;  mmsteT  wmdd  iK>t  understand  them.     Here  we  \ 

%  trice  lato  *  both/  and  the  two  '  come  alire.* 

Itf  ^(WW  dam^  hm  *  come  alive'  is  new  to  ui.     Thej 

I  vritersy  that, "  Once  persuade  them 

ttoi  an  essential  requisite  of  diction,** 

*  ahaplkkjr  aod  nature  in  the  ideas  ii 

ECilSk*    Speaking  of  examples  of  simple 

mhs  ihtt  "  ifae  writings  of  the  Greek 

18  the  finest  passages  of  6oCl 

■B  LiTY,  ire  fid  of  similar  instances.** 

t  Cccheiia  three  gentlemen  at  once,  but 

<nilHHB  tufcd  ioi0  twa 

I  «f  tMor  fCHlto*  says  this  denouncer  of  bad 

)m0ed  bj  the  vicious  taste, 

that  den/  themsdvca 

mI  we  hHPt  4»e.  Shewing  us  how  ^  cm 
|K2  «Hb  ^Hftrv  of  Death— by  Milton  first 
RiikMit  mff  mmm  or  la»  iiociitioo — because 
like jiiilwwof a  Arifeii% aad  involved  in  tm- 
far  thii  veiy  reason,  we 
the  gross 


^i^asi 


hf  levering  il  from  an- 
'  \  ahiciiritj,  which 
Mpictare. 

Aaer 


^.%»  m 


yam  tdkr  te^  I  do  not 


i.    Bat  there  is  a 
I  of  the  worUlt  md 


ci  Mt  ii  il  thai  what «  SB 
I^    b»diew4  i  fe^lpii  ii  as  a  iifw  I 

k  »%•**  ^iwaifwi  I  wi  tiBia  ftqtt^    I 
I  ihm  ^ 
^%ai^^ 


SJQfr- 

iar«eMhealiltle  or 
qfia  There  ire  aotae 
i^whh  asa  isiihai  I 


91 


A  WINTER'S  NIGHT  WITH  MY  OLD  BOOKS,  CHIEFLY 


Ip 


CONCERNING  GHOSTS  AND  PRODIGIES. 


BY   AXiBBHT    SMITH. 


Now  that  the  weather  is  cold  and  the  e? enings  at  their  longest — when 
the  day  closes  in  at  half  past  three,  and  one.  dines  early  because  one 
does  not  know  what  else  to  do  j  and  afterwards  piles  up  such  a  fire, 
that,  no  matter  how  many  candles  are  lighted,  the  flashing  glow  on  the 
ceiling,  and  glass,  and  piclure-frames  overcomea  Ihem  -^  at  this  cozy 
season  I  ftometlmes  have  a  small  party.  My  visitors  are  not  numerous. 
They  come  at  the  minute  I  wish  for  them,  and  depart  with  equally 
agreeable  rapidity.  They  do  not  cost  me  anything  to  entertain.  They 
are  not  **  fast "  up-to-the^time  fellows  ;  but  grave,  and  even  shabby  in 
their  appearance;  such  as  many  would  not  like  to  be  seen  in  their 
rooms.  We  have»  however,  been  friends  for  many  years  ;  and  they  have, 
in  times  of  vexation  and  fretting,  given  me  more  consolation  than  seve- 
ral others  upon  whom  I  might,  with  more  plausibility,  have  reckoned. 
In  a  word,  they  are  a  few  favourite  red-edged,  round-corn ered,  musty 
old  books. 

I  have  not  many.  Bibliomania  is  an  expensive  passion  to  indulge  in, 
and  will  a  feet  a  large  income  ;  but  where  that  income  is  fished  with  a 
eteel  pen  from  the  bottom  of  an  inkstand,  with  the  same  slippery  incer- 
titude that  attends  the  spearing  of  eels  in  a  muddy  pond,  the  taste  is,  of 
neecssity,  entirely  kept  down.  And  so  I  am  content  with  a  very  few 
that  have  come  to  me  as  heir-loom!«,  rather  than  purchases,  awaiting 
patiently,  with  the  resignation  of  the  Flying  Dutchman's  wife,  the  time 
when  the  long  expected  ship  ^hall  come  in  that  contains  my  fortune. 

It  HO  happens  that  the  few  old  books  I  have,  treat  almost  entirely 
either  of  ghosts  or  prodigies.  How  our  good  ancestors  contrived  to 
live  in  full  possession  of  their  wits,  in  those  old  haunted- looking  houses, 
with  so  many  accredited  instances  in  their  popular  literature  of  unearth- 
ly visitors  calling  upon  them  at  all  times  is,  in  itself,  a  marvel.  How 
they  ever  found  themselves  alone  in  their  lalt  ghastly  beds,  with  tho 
moon  shining  through  the  muUioned  windows  upon  the  tapestry,  as  she 
rose  over  the  yew-trees  of  the  adjoining  churchyard,  without  dying  with 
fright,  then  and  there,  is  matter  for  serious  discussion.  Now,  it  is 
true,  ghosts  have  somewhat  declined  in  position ;  not  but  that  I  still 
devoutly  believe  in  them ;  but  circumstances  are  not  so  favourable  to 
thek  appearance.  In  the  couutry  they  would  shun  spots  where  tho 
gleam  and  scream  of  the  mail-train  might  disturb  their  importance; 
and  in  London  they  would  hate  the  gas-light  shining  through  the  bed- 
room blinds  ;  the  rattling  of  the  cabs  going  home  with  late  roysterers  ; 
and,  at  this  their  own  season,  the  waits  playing  the  Eclipse  Polka,  as 
well  as  the  cornet-a-pistons  in  the  cold,  can  imitate  the  great  fluttering 
solo  of  KoBuig,  Arban,  or  Macfarlane*  Ghosts  have  never  been  in 
force  in  London.  I  can't  tell  what  you  might  see  if  you  were  shut  up  all 
night  by  yourself  in  Westminster  Abbey  ;  hut  certainly  they  eschew  the 
squares,  and  have  a  horror  of  hotels.  To  be  in  a  cellar  at  midnight  might 
formerly  have  been  considered  a  favourable  position  for  meeting  one* 


WINTER  9    NIGHT  WITH 


Imagine  the  chauce  a  ipectre  would  have  at  12  p.m.  in  the  Cyder 
Cellars  I      But  to  our  subject  more  directly. 

The  sraallGst  of  my  books,  looking  like  a  little  withered  old  gentle- 
man, is  entitled  **  Misi-eUames^  collected  l*j/  J.  Aubrey^  Esq."  Its  title- 
page  of  conlentBj  amongst  which  we  find  "  ApparkioDS,"  *'  Omens," 
**  Voices,*'  "  Knockings/*  •*  Corpse  Candles,"  and  other  "  sbudderisb " 
subjecti^,  bespeaks  its  tendency*  It  is,  1  think,  the  only  published  work 
of  the  author. 

Aubrey  must  have  been  on  excellent  terms  with  ghosts  generally* 
It  ia  somewhat  strange,  considering  the  high  respect  in  which  he  held 
them,  that  none  ever  paid  him  a  visit.  He  has,  however,  no  story  of 
his  own  to  recount ;  but  he  evidently  believes  in  all  the  narrations  as 
though  he  had  been  the  hero  of  them  ;  and  it  was  on  this  account  that 
Gifford,  somewhat  ill-naturedly,  called  hbn  "  a  credulous  fool/'  One  of 
his  notes,  under  the  head  of  Magick^  will  cause  a  smile.  It  runs  as 
follows  : — 

"  In  Flerefordihiret  and  other  parts,  they  do  put  a  cold  iron  bar  upon 
their  barrels,  to  preserve  their  beer  from  being  soured  by  thnnder. 
This  is  a  common  practice  in  Kent*' 

Modern  science  has  attributed  this  remedy  to  other  causes  than 
"  magick  ;"  indeed^,  *•  progress"  has  sadly  upset  the  wizards*  Mephis- 
topliiles  himself,  when  he  tapped  the  table  to  bring  forth  wine  for  the 
students,  would  have  been  quenched  altogether  by  Robert  Houdio  mod 
his  inexhaustible  bottle.     Take  another  ;— 

"  There  was  in  Scotiand  one (au  Obsessus)  carried  in  the  air 

several  times  in  the  view  of  several  persons,  his  fellow -soldiers.  Major 
fienkm  hath  seen  him  carry *d  away  from  the  guard  in  Scotland  some- 
times a  mile  or  two.  Sundry  persons  are  hving  now  (1G71)  that  can 
attest  this  story,  I  had  it  from  Sir  Rabert  Hurkif  (the  son),  who  mar- 
ryed  Major  Ihmiona  widow;  as  also  from  E,  T*  D.D," 

And  next  to  it : — 

**  A  gentleman  of  my  acquaintance,  Mn  — M.  was  in  Portugal t  Anno 
1655,  when  one  was  burnt  by  the  Inquisition  for  being  brought  thither 
from  Goa  in  EaM  India^  m  the  air,  iu  an  incredible  short  lime/' 

Wonderful  as  these  events  must  have  been  at  the  time,  a  shilling  will 
procure  us  a  similar  spectacle  on  fine  summer  Monday  afternoons  at 
[Cfemorne  Gardens^  when  Mr.  Green  not  only  carries  away  one,  but  a 
dozen  with  him  in  the  air.  And  certainly  no  Essex  Inquisition  would 
now  think  of  ccndemniwg  to  be  burnt  all  '*  intrepid  aeronauts,"  who 
came  in  fifteen  minutes  from  Chelsea  to  Chelmsford,  for  which  latl 
neighbourhood  descending  balloons  appear  to  have  a  great  predil 

Following  up  the  **  3/</^/cX,"  we  have  a  less  satisfactory  receipt  ihmfi^ 
that  for  the  thunder. 

**  To  Cure  the  Tkrusfu 

•♦  Take  a  living  Frog,  and  hold  it  in  a  clothe  that  it  does  not  go  down 
into  the  child's  mouth ;  and  put  the  head  into  the  child's  mouth  till  it 
is  dead." 

Il  is  not  here  clearly  explained  whether  the  death  of  the  child  or  the 
rog  puts  an  end  to  the  thrush.  The  following  is  more  simple^  and  at 
l\  «venl«  barmlesd* 


MY    OLD    BOOKS.  93 

«  To  Cure  the  Toothache. 

*  Take  a  new  nail  and  make  the  gum  bleed  with  it,  and  tben  drive  it 
into  ail  mtk.  This  did  cure  WiU'tam  Nval^  Sir  IViUiam  Neaf^  son,  a 
very  stout  genlleman,  when  he  was  almost  mad  with  the  pain,  and  had 
a  mind  to  have  pistoird  himself,'* 

The  cure  that  an  inflamed  gum  might  receive  from  this  rude  lancing-, 
id  not  hinted  at.  Going  on,  we  find  it  clearly  shewn  why  the  steel 
horse-shoe  now  hangs  from  the  glittering  Chatelaine  at  the  side  of  our 
most  fashionable  west-end  helhs,  to  which  enviable  position,  it  will  be 
seen,  they  have  been  promoted  from  tiie  door-steps, 

"It  is  a  tiling  very  common  to  nail  horse-shoes  on  the  thrcaholds  of 
doors  ;  which  is  to  binder  the  power  of  witches  that  enter  into  the 
bouse.  Most  houses  of  the  f«?*^^f-end  of  London  have  the  horse-shoe  on 
the  threshold.  It  should  he  a  horse- shoe  one  finds.  In  the  Bermudas 
they  use  to  put  an  iron  into  the  fire  when  a  witch  comes  in." 

We  do  the  latter  thing  in  England,  on  the  entrance  of  a  friend,  to 
give  him  a  cheerful  blaze.  The  next  receipt,  I  think  I  may  safely 
a^rm^  is  no  longer  practised, 

**  At  ParU  when  it  begins  to  thunder  and  lighten,  they  do  presently 
ring  out  the  great  bell  at  the  Abbey  of  St,  German^  which  they  do  be- 
lieve makes  it  cease.  The  like  was  wont  to  be  done  heretofore  in  HiJt' 
ghire;  when  it  thundered  and  lightened,  they  did  ring  8t.  AMm's  bell  at 
Maimsluty  Abbey,  The  curious  do  say  that  the  ringing  of  bells  ex- 
ceedingly disturbs  spirits/' 

It  certainly  exceedingly  disturbed  mine  when  I  once  lived  opposite  to 
A  country  church  where  the  **  youths"  were  wont  to  ring  ♦*  triple-major- 
bobs,"  or  whatever  they  called  them,  twice  a-week»  The  subject  is, 
bowevcr,  worth  deep  investigation*  Perhaps  by  it,  may  be  accounted 
for,  how  it  happens  always  to  be  such  serene  and  lovely  weather  on  the 
Queen's  festival  days  ;  and  a  new  fact  in  meteorology  opened  to  us. 

As  regards  matrimony,  Aubrey  had  collected  many  secrets,  **The 
last  summer,"  he  says*  '*on  the  Day  of  HLjo/tn  Baptist  (1G94),  I  acci- 
dentally was  walking  in  the  pasture  behind  3/o«/rij7Wf-House,  it  was  xii 
a  clock,  I  saw  there  about  two  or  three  and  twenty  young  women » 
nnost  of  them  well  habited,  on  their  knees  very  busie,  as  if  they  had  been 
weeding*  1  could  now  presently  learn  what  the  matter  was ;  at  least  a 
young  man  told  me  that  they  were  looking  for  a  coal  under  the  root  of 
a  plantain,  to  put  under  their  heads  that  night,  and  they  should  dream 
who  would  be  tbeir  husbands :  it  was  to  be  found  that  day,  and 
hour/' 

Again  > — **  To  know  whom  one  ihail  marry ^  you  roust  be  in  another 
county,  and  knit  the  left  garter  about  the  right  legg'd  stockin  {let 
the  other  garter  and  stockin  alone),  and  as  you  rehearse  these  following 
yerses,  at  every  comma,  knit  a  knot 

This  Knot  I  Unity 

To  know  (tie  thing  I  knmif  not  ^et, 

Thnt  I  may  tee 

The  man  f  woman }  thai  $hetU  my  huitand  (wife)  be^ 

How  he  ff^tf  and  whai  he  weartf 

And  lehat  He  dots  all  the  days, 

**  Accordingly,  in  your  dream  you  will  see  bim  j  if  a  musilian,  with 


A  WTNTEH'S   NIGHT   TITTH 


\  IS 
lug       « 


lute  or  other  instrument;  if  a  scholar^  with  a  book»  &c,  A  gentle- 
woman that  I  knew,  confessed  in  my  hearing,  that  she  used  this  method 
and  dreaiDt  of  her  husband  whom  she  had  never  seen  :  about  two  or 
three  years  alter^  as  she  was  on  Sttnda^  at  church,  u^  pops  a  young 
Oxonian  in  the  pulpit :  she  cries  out  presently  lo  her  sister,  *  This  is 
the  very  face  of  the  man  that  I  saw  in  my  dream/  Sir  tVtlliam  SomUm 
lady  did  the  Hke." 

Under  the  head  of  AppariHoni^  is  the  following  paragraph^  which  i 
perhaps,  better  known  than  most  of  Aubrey's  collection  : — 

"Anno  1670,  not  far  from  Cyrencesiert  was  an   Apparition  :    being" 
demanded  whether  a  good  spirit,  or  a  bad  ?    returned  no  answer,  but 
disappeared  with  a  curious  perfume,  and  most  melodious  twang.     Mr  J* 
W,  LiHy  believes  it  was  a  Farie," 

This  is  certainly  unsatisfactory — the  locality  is  hazily  defined,  and  the 
detail  not  well  filled  up.  But  the  fact  that ''  Mr.  W.  Lilly  "  believed  it, 
to  be  a  "  Farie,"  was  quite  sufficients  Hitherto  we  have  selected  the 
most  ridiculous  of  Aubrey's  miscellanies,  but  we  now  come  to  some 
which,  at  all  events,  are  well  authenticated.  And  first,  under  the  head 
of  Dreanu  :— 

**  Sir  ChrUiopher  HVen,  being  at  his  father^'s  house.  Anno  1651,  at 
Knahil  in  WilU  (a  young  Oxford  scholar),  dreamt  that  he  saw  a  fight 
in  a  great  market-place,  which  he  knew  not:  where  some  were  flying 
and  others  pursuing:  and  among  those  that  3ed,  he  saw  a  kinsman  i^ 
his  who  went  into  Scotlaml  to  the  King's  array.  They  heard  in  Uie 
country  that  the  King  was  come  loto  England,  but  whereabout  he  was 
they  could  not  tell.  The  next  night  his  kinsman  came  to  his  father  at 
Knahill,  and  was  the  first  that  brought  the  news  of  the  fight  at  Wor- 
cester*" 

Sir  Christopher,  in  all  probability,  told  this  story  himself  to  Aubrey : 
at  all  events  he  lived  twenty  jears  after  the  publication  of  the  book. 
The  chronicler  also  received  the  following,  nearly  first-hand.  There  is, 
however,  little  that  is  supernatural  in  it:  but  its  quaintness  is  most 
diverting  :^ 

*'  Dr.  —  Twm,  minister  of  the  new  church  at  Westmin^er,  told  me 
that  his  father  (Dr.  Ttcm,  Prolocutor  of  the  Assembly  of  Divines,  and 
author  of  Vindickc)^  when  he  was  a  scbool-boy  at  IVincke^er^  saw  the 
Phantome  of  a  school-fellow  of  his  deceased  {a  Kakehell),  who  said  to 
him  /  am  damnecL  This  was  the  occasion  of  Dr*  l^wiss  (the  Fatlier  s) 
conversion,  who  had  been  before  that  time  (as  he  told  his  son)  a  very 
wicked  boy.     (He  was  hypochondriacal,)" 

The  one  or  two  more  stories,  that  we  shall  steal  from  Aubrey, 

of  a  serious  character  —really  *'  ghost  stories  '* — well  attested  and  inex- 
plicable. **  Anno  1047,"  he  says,  "  the  Lord  Mtthuns  son  and  heir  (a 
gallant  gentleman,  valtanti  and  a  great  master  of  fencing  and  horseman- 
ship) had  a  quarrel  with  Prince  Gnjfin  ;  there  was  a  challenge,  *and 
they  were  to  fight  on  horse-back  in  C b el sey- fields,  in  the  moruhig ; 
Mr.  Mohiin  went  accordin^rly  to  meet  him  ;  but  about  Eburv-Farm^ 
he  was  met  by  some  who  quarrell'd  with  hiui  and  pistol'd  him; 
it  was  believed  by  the  order  of  Prince  Gnjm ;  for  he  was  sure 
that  Mr-  Moftim^  being  no  much  the  better  horseman,  &c.»  would 
have  killed  him,  had  they  fought.  In  James-street  in  Coveni'^ar^ 
den  did    then    lodge   a  gentlewoman,  who  was    Mr.  Mo/iuns  sweet* 


MY    OLD  BOOKS. 


95 


boarl.  Mr.  Mohim  was  muTtherefl  about  leu  a-clock  in  the  raoniing ; 
and  at  that  very  time,  his  mii*tress  being  in  bed,  saw  Mr.  Mo/tun  come 
to  her  bed-side,  drew  the  cmrtain,  looked  upon  her  and  went  away:  she 
called  after  him,  but  no  aeswer :  she  kjiocked  for  her  maid,  a£k*d  her 
for  Mr.  Mti^iun  ;  she  said,  she  did  not  see  him,  and  had  the  key  of  her 
chamber-door  in  her  pocket*  This  account  my  friend,  aforesaid^  had 
from  the  gentlewoman's  own  mouthy  and  her  maids.  A  parallel  story  to 
thisj  is,  that  Mr,  Bro^^n,  (brother-in-law  to  Lord  Coninf/s^/^i^  discovered 
hi?  being  murthered  to  several.  His  Phantome  appear'd  to  his  sister 
and  her  maid  in  Fleet-street,  ah  out  the  time  he  was  killed  in  Hereford- 
shirey  wbicb  was  about  a  year  since,  1693*" 

In  the  following  is  ground  for  a  good  romance  i- — 

«  Sir  Waiter  Lon^,  of  Dray  cot  (grandfather  of  Sir  Jamet  Ltmg)  had 
two  wives ;  the  first  a  daughter  of  Sir  —  Packinton  in  SV&rcestershire  ; 
by  whom  he  had  a  son :  his  second  wife  was  a  daughter  of  Sir  John 
Thinne  of  Longkat ;  by  whom  be  had  several  sons  and  daughters.  The 
second  wife  did  use  much  artifice  to  render  the  son  by  the  first  wife,  (who 
had  not  much  Promethean  fire,)  odious  to  his  father;  she  would  get  her 
acquaintance  to  make  him  drunk ;  and  then  expose  him,  in  that  condi- 
tion to  his  father ;  in  fine,  she  never  left  off  her  attempts,  till  she  got 
Sir  IVaitCf*  to  disinherit  him.  She  laid  the  scene  for  the  doing  this,  at 
Baih^  at  the  assizes,  where  was  her  brother  Sir  E^rimond  Thinne^  an 
eminent  serjeant-at-law,  who  drew  the  writing ;  and  his  clerk  was  to  8«t 
up  all  night  to  engross  it ;  as  he  was  writing,  he  perceived  a  shadow  on 
the  parchment  from  the  candle ;  be  look*d  up,  and  there  appearM  a  hand, 
which  immediately  vanished ;  be  was  startled  at  it,  hut  thought  it  might 
be  only  his  fancy,  being  sleepy :  so  he  writ  on ;  by  and  hy^  a  fine  white- 
hand  interposed  between  the  writing  and  the  candle  (be  could  discern  it 
was  a  woman's  band)  hut  vanished  as  before:  I  have  forgot,  it  appeared 
a  third  time ;  hut  with  that  the  clerk  threw  down  the  pen,  and  would 
engross  no  more,  but  goes  and  tells  hia  master  of  it,  and  absolutely  re- 
fused to  do  it.  But  it  was  done  by  somebody,  and  Sir  Walter  Long  was 
prevailed  with  to  seal  and  sign  it.  He  lived  not  long  after ;  and  his 
body  did  not  go  quiet  to  the  grave,  it  being  arrested  at  the  church-porch 
by  the  trustees  of  tbe  first  lady.  The  heir's  relations  took  his  part,  and 
commenced  a  suit  against  Sir  Walter  (the  second  son)  and  compeird 
him  to  accept  of  a  moiety  of  the  estate ;  so  the  eldest  son  kept  South- 
Wran Chester,  and  Sir  Walter^  the  second  son,  Dracoty  Cernes,  4^c,  This 
was  ahout  the  middle  of  the  reign  of  King  James  the  First/' 

With  one  more  we  shall  lay  Aubrey  aside:  this  is  the  more  interest- 
ing, as  it  has  relation  to  a  well-known  event  in  our  history  ; — 

**  One  Mr,  Toi^eSf  who  had  been  schoolfellow  with  Sir  George  FiUerB^ 
tbe  father  of  the  first  Duke  of  Buckingham,  (and  was  his  friend  and 
neighbour,)  as  he  lay  in  bis  hed  awake  (and  it  was  daylight),  came  into 
hia  chamber  the  phantome  of  his  dear  friend  Sir  George  Viller».  Said 
Mr.  Towe9  to  bim,  *  Why,  you  are  dead  ;  what  make  you  htTe  T  Said 
the  knight,  *  I  am  dead,  but  cannot  rest  in  peace  for  the  wickedness  and 
abomination  of  my  son  George  at  court.  I  do  appear  to  you  to  tell  him 
of  it,  and  to  advise  and  exhort  him  from  his  evil  ways.'  Said  Mr. 
Tot0eSf » The  duke  will  not  believe  mt-,  but  will  say  that  I  am  mad,  or 
doat/     Said  Sir  George^  *  Go  to  him  from  me,  and  tell  him  by  such  a 


A   WINTER'S   NIGHT  WITH 


token  (soTDC  mole)  that  he  had  which  none  but  himself  knew  of/     Ac- 
cordingly Mr,  Toireft  went  to  the  duke,  who  laughed  at  his  me^sa^^e* 
At  his  return  home,  the  phantome  appeared  again,  and  (old  him  thalJ 
*  the  duke  would  be  stabbed  (he  drew  out  a  dagger)  a  quarter  of  a  jreaf  T 
after;  and  you  shall  outlive  him  half  a  year.     And  the  warning^  thai 
you  aball   have  of  your  de^tli  will  be,  that  your  nose  will  fall  a-hleed- 
ing  :'  all  which  accordingly  fell  out  so*     This  account  I  have  had  (in  I 
the  main)  from  two  or  three;  but  Sir  WiUkim  Dnrp/afe  affirms  what  I  \ 
have  here  taken  from  him  to  be  true,  and  ihal  the  apparition  told  him  \ 
of  several  things  to  come,  which  proved  true  ;  <\(/*,  of  a  prisoner  in  the  I 
Toteer  that  should  be  honourably  di^Uvered.     This  Mr,  TnweM  had  so  I 
often  the  ghost  of  his  old  friend  appear  to  him,  that  it  was  not  at  all 
terrible  to  him.     He  was  surveyor  of  the  works  at  Windsor  (by  favour 
of  the  duke.)    Being  then  sitting  in  the  halU  he  cried  out,  *■  The  Duke  of 
Buckingham  is  stabbed  1*     He  was  stabbed  that  very  moment,** 

Next  to  Aubrey  on  my  shelves — of  the  same  octavo  form,  but  hx 
stouter  in  appearance,  sso  that  the  two  books  louk  like  an  alderman  and 
a  genius  side  by  side — is  Glanvil's  Soduciamiifi  Trinmjt^ainit,     It  differs 
from  Aubrey's  work,  inasmuch  as  the  former  is  merely  a  string  of  col- ■ 
Icctcd  anecdotes,  imperfectly  arranged,  and  printed  one  after  the  other;! 
whereas  Glanvil  devotes  half  his  book  to  ineta[»hysical  arguments  upon 
the  possibility  of  apparitions ;  and  in  his  collection  of  relationst  to  each 
of  them  he  adds  some  comments.     It  is  a  regular,  downright  hair-erect- 
mg  ghost  book ;  one  only  to  be  read,  except  by  strong-minded  persons, 
in  the  day-time,  and  in  company ;  and  even  then  with  the  prospect  of  a 
bed-fellow%     I  was  a  child  when  I  first  read  it,  and  at  that  time  it  wai  i 
the  most  entrancing  book  1  ever  came  upon*     But  I  paid  dearly  for  the 
interest  it  excited.     For  a  long  season  I  used  to  lie  trembHng  in  bed  for 
hours,  as  I  pondered  on    the   awful  stones   it  contained.     They  are 
mostly  too  long  to  extract  here  ;  but  I  remember  the  relation  of  the 
chest  with  the  three  locks,  which  opened  one  after  another  at  the  foot  of 
Mr.  Bourne's  bed,  just  before  he  died ;   and   also  how^  the  Earl  of 
Donegal's  steward,  Taverner,  riding  home,  was  passed  at  night,  on  the 
high  road,  by  the  likeness  of  James  Haddock,  who  had  been  dead  fiv« 
years,  and  who  was  now  mounted  on  a  horse  that  made  no  noise;  how 
this  spectre  wished  him  to  set  a  will  case  to  rights ;  and  how  it  hauDtf4  ^ 
him  night  and  day,  alone  and  in  company,  until  he  did*     There  wai  , 
also  a   fearful  tale  of  the  gashed  and   bleeding  likeness  of  old    Mr* 
Bowes,  of  Guildford,  appearing  to  a  criminal  in  prison,  which  led  Ul  < 
the  apprehension  of  the  real  murderer?,  as  related  by  Mr.  Onslow,  a  I 
justice  of  the  peace  in  the  neighbourhood.     And  another  ghost  (also  at 
Guildford,  of  which  place,  by  the  way,  I  shall  have  to  recite  my  owa 
ghost  story  presently,)  who  got  back  some  laud  to  the  rightful  peopW 
by  appearing  to  the  usurper  at  a  stile,  over  which  he  had  to  pass  one 
evening,  going  across  a  6eld.     This  last  haunted  me  out  of  doors  at 
well  as  within.     There  was  a  wooden  bridge,  with  a  stile  in  the  middlt 
of  it,  over  a  bourne,  in  the  middle  of  the  long,  lonely  fields  between 
Chertsey  and  Thorpe,  which  I  always  associated  with  the  appantioD  ; 
and  when,  as  sometimes  chanced,  I  was  sent  with  medicine  for  somt; 
urgent  case  at  the  latter  village,  and  it  was  growing  dusk  on  my  returOt  • 
my  heart  absolutely  quaked  within  me  as  I  got  near  the  stile.     I  alwayi  < 
expected  to  see  a  grey,  transparent  dead  man  opposing  my  passage  ;  and  i 
this  feeling  grew  upon  me  so,  that  at  last  I  preferred  to  go  round  the 


MT   OLD   BOOKS. 


87 


•  mad-way,  even  skirtiQ^  the  dark  fir  copsea  of  St,  Anne's  Hill  in 
ence;  for  one  might  meet  a  donkey-cart  there  by  chance,  or  haply 

the  postman ;  but  in  Thorpe  Fields,  except  on  Saturday  night,  when 
the  people  came  to  our  town  to  buy  things,  the  solitude  vtas  awfuU  In 
the  latter  case  they  mostly  went  home  •* jolly;"  and  the  walk  on  such 
an  eTening  then  became  a  matter  of  great  glory  to  me.  My  nightly 
iearfy  Ihroogh  reading  Glanvil,  were  equally  acute,  and  they  lasted  over 
i  longer  space  of  time.  The  only  occasions  on  which  I  slept  calmly 
w«re  when  the  people  came  to  brew ;  and  then  the  clanking  of  the 
Milsp  Cbe  chopping  of  wood,  and  the  poking  of  fires,  kept  up  all  night 
loogf  made  it  very  pleasant 

Od©  of  the  most  fearful  stories  in  Glanvirs  book  is  not  in  his  narra- 
tioDfl,  but  in  a  prefatory  letter  by  Dr.  H.  More,  who  edited  the  work ; 
aiid  it  is  well  told  as  follows: — 

"  About  the  ^ear  of  our  Lord  16S2,  near  unto  Chester  in  the  Street, 

Ufnr  lioBd  one  Walker,  a  t^eo  man-man  of  good  edaie^  and  a  tpidowtr^ 

wk&  kad  a  jwi03^  wotimn  to  his  kinswoman  that  kept  his  house^  who  was 

hf  iAe  ne^khouts  suspected  to  be  about  to  become   a  jnotfter^  and  was 

kmarfds  the  dark  of  the  evening  one  flight  sent  away  with  one  Mark  Sharp, 

vl0  Ml#  a  Coiiier^  or  one  t/mt  digged  coals  under  ground,  and  one  that 

had  ^een  born   in  Blakebum-^urtJr^^/  in  Lancashire  ;  a7td  so  she  was 

itetkmrd qfa  long  iimCf  and  no  noise  or  little  was  made  about  it.     In  the 

winter-iime  after ^  one  James  Graham,  or  Grime,  (far  so  in  that  count rg 

Atif  tail  them,)  being  a  Miller,  and  lioing  about  two  vnlesfrom  tlte  jdace 

wiirt  Walker  livedo  was  one  night  almie  verg  late  at  the  mill  grinding 

mm  i  mxd  as,  about  twelve  or  one  o*doek  at  night,  he  came  down  the  stairs 

Jhm  koDimf  Aetn  ptttting  com  in  the  hopper,  the  mill-doors  being  shut, 

Iktrt  9t^od  a  woman  upon  the  midst  ofthefloor^  with  her  hair  about  her 

hmd^  hamming  down  and  all  bloodg,  withfa^e  large  wounds  on  her  head. 

He  &m^  nmch  i^righted  and  amazedj  began  to  bless  him,  and  at  last 

atW  iir  »4o  she  viu,  and  what  sike  wanted  ?     To  which  she  said^  ^  I  am 

tibespirti  of  such  a  woman,  who  lived  with  Walker  ;  and  he  promised 

lo  Mod  me  to  a  place  where  I  should  be  well  lookt  to  until  I  should 

cone  again  and  keep  his  house.     And  accordingly/  said  tite  apparition, 

*  I  wwm  cne  night  late  sent  away  with  one  Mark  Sharp,  who,  upon  a 

MoofT  C^mmimg  a  place  that  the  miller  knew  J  ^  slew  me  with  a  pick  fsurk 

as  mtm  dig  eoah  with  J,  and  gave  me  these  five  wounds*  and  aiWr  threw 

By  body  into  a  coal-pit  hard  by,  and  hid  the  pick  under  a  bank ;  and 

ms  iboei  and  stockings  being  bloudy,  he  endeavoured  to  wash ;  but, 

wmmg  the  blond  would  not  wash  forth,  he  hid  them  there.*     And  the 

wmmrkwm  further  told  the  nidler,  that  he  must  be  the  man  to  reveal  it^  or 

wm  tkat^  mmt  stiU  appear  and  haunt  him*     The  miller  returned  home 

^wmmd  tmd  hmng,  but  spoke  not  one  word  ofwlmt  he  had  seen^  but 

maswid  a§  much  as  he  could  to  stag  in  the  mill  withifi  night  withmst 

wmptmy,  thinking  thereby  to  escape  the  seeing  again  of  that  frightftd 

9ffmiti(m*     But,  notwithstanding^  one  night,   when  it  began  to  be  dark^ 

4f  ^porifian  tnet  him  again,  and  seemed  eerg  feree  and  cruel,  and 

tkmimed  Aiiw,  that  if  he  did  not  reveal  tlte  murder,  site  would  continwiUg 

ff^m^  mtd  haunt  him.     Yetyfor  all  this,  he  still  concealed  it  until  St* 

Uimir*-€CC  before  Christmas,  when  being  soon  after  sunset  walking  on 

^  Us  gardem^  shs  f  ''  again,  and  tfmi  so  threatened  him^  and 

^frigkitdkimt  i^  ht  h/ promised  to  reveal  it  next  morning. 

*  imthe  morning  he  wmi  to  a  mat^istrate^  and  made  th^  whde  mati%T 


16  A  winter's  night  with 

hmmm^  widk  mU  A#  circum^iance^  /  ami  diligent  search  heinp  made,  fX 
ht^moM  /«mmd  tit  a  CKod-piU  K^ith  Jive  wound$  in  th^  head^  and  the  pirk^ 
mmd  ^k§m,  mmd  atteiit^  j^  hloud^t  in  erertf  circumstance  as  the  appari- 
ik€  miUer.  Wherttipon  Walker  attd  Mark  Sharp 
hui  would  can/ess  notkint/.  At  the  ABsiznfi- 
r  (I  iUii  dr  MM  a/  Durham),  the^  were  arraigned^  found  guilfy, 
#,  «iiil  euofted,  bui  I  eimkt  ntver  hear  that  they  con/esied  the 
JmeL  nert  mere  mmut  thai  reparUd  ikai  the  apparition  did  appear  to  the 
Jmift  or  CiW  Fammgm  ^  lAe  Jmjy  (wkc  were  alive  in  Chester  in  the 
Siml  oAoai  im  j«an  a^  as  I  ikave  been  credihl^  informed^}  bui  ^  that 

**  Ihw  mrt  mmt^  permms  yet  ali^  that  can  remember  this  etran^ 
wmrdar  ami  Ike  dmaatryqfii  s  for  it  was^  and  sometimes  yet  is,  a*  mmek 
9f  m  the  North  country^  aa  any  thing  that  almoet  hath  eeer 
I  ef^  amd  the  relaiion  printed^  thottgh  now  not  to  be  gotten.  I 
\  wdl  tit  frmMt  confidence  (thmigh  I  mag  fail  in  some  of  tht 
%)  hatmtm  I  sate  and  read  the  letter  that  teas  tfent  to  Seiyeant 
Hiitloab  ini«  Ihem  ihed  at  Goldsbnigh,  in  Yorkshire, /rom  the  judge 
hqfirs  wikam  Walker  amd  Mark  Sharp  were  tried,  and  bg  teham  thtf 
wm^  tamdkmmtdi  amd  had  a  eepgefii  mniil  e^ui  the  gear  1658,  rim 
I  had  a  mad  miamg  athar  hooks  and  papers  taken  from  me.  And  this 
I  eom/ims  to  bo  one  ^  tho  wsost  conmncing  stories,  (being  qfundottUed 
aonlag,/  Aat  ooer  I  r^^  heard^  or  knew  of  and  earrieth  with  ii  the  mott 
midmi/oreo  to  make  the  mast  incredulous  spirit  to  be  satisfied  thai  then 
mm  fOtSfy  som^mos  such  things  as  apparitions." 

Tlua  homble  story  is  corroborated  further  by  two  of  the  witnesac*  oa 
did  lrml»  men  of  credit,  before  Judge  Davenport.  One  of  them  de* 
posed,  on  oath,  that  he  saw  the  likeoess  of  a  child  stand  on  Walker's 
shoulders  during  the  time  of  the  trial,  at  which  time  the  judge  waa  very 
much  troubled,  and  passed  seotence  that  night — a  thing  never  the  cos* 
Imn  in  Durham  before.  Those  who  have  paid  any  attention  to  theie 
antiers  caay  remember,  in  our  own  time,  that  the  body  of  Maria  Martin 
worn  ftsoovered  in  the  Red  Bam,  at  PoUtead,  in  coQsei|uence  of  her 
appMuing  to  her  pitrents  in  a  dream.  Of  course  this  was  not  mentioned 
at  llie  trial  of  her  murderer*  Corder ;  but  it  was  known  to  have  been 
^hm  ease.  There  appears  something  more  than  nervous  fancy  or  coin- 
flideMe  in  this. 

Tbe  greater  part  of  Glanvirs  book  is  taken  up  with  accounts  of  the  j 
doings  of  witches,  and  of  the  disturbances  in  haunted  houses  ;  but  they  I 
afO  SKMlly  very  silly.  As  regards  the  first,  Lady  Duflf  Gordon's  aday* 
rabla  IraBilatiou  of  "  The  Amber  Witch  **  is  far  more  interesting ;  and,  for ' 
ibt  tecond,  the  most  circumstantial  detail  does  not  impress  you  with 
OttO*hundredth  part  of  the  mysterious  terror  that  Boon's  "  Haunted . 
Hottit**  tailed  forth.* 

*  In  that  (iiie  [Hiem  wara  some  half  dowen  lines  fiin^l&rly^  descriptive  of  i 
fetot,  wtitch,  •otnetime  aftenrands,  the  murder  of  the  Duchesi«  d«  Praaliii,  is 
prated  90  forcibly  on  ibe  public  mind.    I  do  not  think  the  ooincidenoe  wii  i 
ootiottL    They  ran — 

*•  The  llfMir  alone  ratain^d  the  trace  of  guilty 
Those  boarda  obscurely  spotted. 

*^  Obecurely  spotted  to  the  door,  and  thence 
Wtih  nmay  doubles  to  the  grated  casement— 
Oh,  what  a  talc  they  told  of  fear  inteni^ 
Of  horror  aud  aniasement  f 


MY  OLD   BOOKS. 


99 


k 


e  more  Bcmp  from  Glan?il  before  we  leave  him.     Dr.  More  nays 

s  accustomed  to  have  an  argument  on  llie  immortality  of  the  soul 
with  **  an  old  gentleman  in  the  countrey,  an  excellent  justice  of  peace* 
and  a  piece  of  a  mathematician  ;  hut  what  kind  of  philosopher  he  was, 
you  may  understand  from  a  rhjnme  of  his  own  making,  which  he  com- 
mended to  me  on  my  taking  horse  in  his  yard,  which  rhyme  is  this  : — 


*^  Ent  ii  tiochitig  till  senAe  finds  tt  out : 
Smie  enda  in  nothing,  so  ooug:ht  goes  ahnut ; 


which  rhyme  of  his  was  so  rapturous  to  himself,  that  at  the  reciting  of 
ihe  second  verse,  the  old  gentleman  turned  himself  about  upon  bis  toe 
as  nimbly  as  one  may  observe  a  dry  leaf  whisked  round  in  the  corner  of 
an  orchard-walk  by  some  little  whirlwind.*'  And  with  this  qoaint 
anecdote  we  put  Glanvil  by. 

And  from  him  we  turn  to  a  large  folio  of  1649,  teeming  with  excel- 
lent wood*cut3,  whereof  all  the  personages  look  as  if  they  were  ready 
dressed  to  perform  in  **  The  Huguenots,"  and  in  which  the  **  figures, ' 
or  **  effigies  *'  of  the  elephant  and  whale  appear  as  wonders,  although  the 
well-detiDed  tables  of  the  human  blood-vessels  would  scarcely  disgrace 
the  ablest  anatomical  demonstrator  of  the  present  day.  This  large  book 
contains  the  works  of  Ambrose  Par£%  who  was  successively  the  bold  and 
successful  surgeon  to  the  French  kings,  Henry  II.,  Francis  II.,  Charles 
IX.,  and  Henry  HI, — who  dressed  the  wounds  of  the  unfortunate  Coligni 
at  the  time  of  the  terrible  Bartholomew's  Eve;  and  who,  on  the  night 
before  the  massacre  was  locked  up  by  Charles  in  his  own  chamber,  that 
he  might  not  be  m ordered j  albeit  he  was  a  Protestant.  He  says  little 
about  ghosts,  for  a  believer  in  the  supernatural ;  but  his  **  Prtx/i^ies  " 
are  of  the  wildest  order.  He  gives  pictures  of  all  of  themj  which  I  re- 
gret cannot  here  be  reproduced ;  and  he  baa  these  illustrated  from  the 
ftlightest  descriptions.  What  he  would  have  made  of  the  aea-serpent  is 
difficult  to  telL  But  Pont  oppidan  had  not  then  been  bom,  nor  had  the 
Da;dalus  been  launched :  else  wise.  In  hla  chapter  devoted  to  **  the  won- 
drous nature  of  some  marine  things,"  we  might  have  expected  an  ac- 
count as  long  as  its  object.  One  thing,  however,  is  worthy  of  serious 
remark,  in  his  general  "prodigies,"  Many  of  them,  classed  on  a  level 
with  the  rest  in  point  of  the  marvellous,  have  had  their  fellows  in  our 
own  lime.  He  pictures  a  case  parallel  to  that  of  the  Siamese  twins ; 
and  has  also  an  account  of  a  child  with  two  heads,  similar  to  the  infant 
that  died  in  Paris  in  IS29.  He  moreover  pourtrays  a  baby  with  four 
arms,  four  legs,  and  one  head,  a  companion  to  which  died  in  West- 
minister in  1838,  and  an  account  of  it  appears  in  The  Times  of  Sept.  17 
in  that  year.  Now,  if  it  is  possible  for  such  monsters — which  take  high 
rank  amongst  his  prodigies — to  exist,  may  not  the  majority  of  the  rest 
be  also  matters  of  likelihood  ? 

But  to  his  marveh :  and  out  of  compliment  to  the  marine  monster 
quoted  above,  who  has  made  a  little  stir  of  late,  we  will  commence  with 


What  human  creatun)  in  the  dead  of  ntghi 
Hail  coursed  like  liunted  hare  that  cruel  di stance  ! 
M»d  eou^hc  the  door,  the  window  in  the  flight, 
StriTing  for  dear  exiateace  ? 

Whit  ihrieking  spirit  in  lliat  hlcMxly  room, 
Id  niort«l  frame  had  Ttolently  quitted  ?" 


«  2 


100 


l^qNTERS  NtGTIT    WITH    MY   OLD   BOOKS. 


some  of  Ambrose  PartVs  ocean  wonders.  And  first,  of  two  ecclesiail 
prodigies.  **  In  our  iitnes,  saielh  Ronde/^fius^  in  Norwa^t  was  a  monster 
taken  in  a  tcmpesluous  sea,  tbe  wbicli  as  manie  as  saw  it^  presently 
termed  a  monki  and  Anttn  Dom,  1531,  there  was  seen  a  sea-monster  in 
the  habit  of  a  bishop,"  He  also  anlhenticatcs  a  sea-monster,  with  th 
head  of  a  bear,  and  feet  and  bands  of  an  ape:  another,  with  a  lion'l 
head  and  man's  voice  :  and  one  like  a  man,  "  wilb  bis  countenance  com- 
posed to  gravity,  and  bis  hair  yellow,"  but  a  fish  from  the  waist  down- 
wards»  who  came  one  fine  morning  out  of  the  Nile.  Others  are  spoken 
of  as  "  with  the  bead,  mane,  and  breast  of  a  horse : "  and  others  se^renty 
feet  long,  with  beads  like  swinc*8. 

But  in  another  story  he  is  more  plausible,  "  Whitest  in  my  fine- 
yard,"  he  says,  "  that  is  at  Meudon^  I  canssed  certain  bug^e  stones  to  bee 
broken  to  pieces,  a  load  was  found  in  the  mid'st  of  one  of  them.  When 
as  I  much  admired  thereat,  becaus  there  was  no  space  wherein  this  crea- 
ture conld  bee  generated,  increas,  or  live ;  the  Stone-cutter  wished  me 
DOl  to  marvel  thereat,  for  it  was  a  common  thing  :  and  that  bee  saw  it 
almost  cveric  daie.  Certainly  it  may  com  to  pass,  that  from  the  more 
moist  portion  of  stones,  contained  in  places  moist  and  underground,  and 
the  celestial  heal  mixing  and  diffusing  it  self  over  the  whole  mass  of  the 
ifforld,  the  matters  may  bee  animated  for  the  generation  of  these  crea- 
tures/' 

Reporters  who  live  upon  enormous  gooseberries  and  show*er5  of  frogs, 
niigbt  have  amassed  large  incomes  in  bis  lime  ;  for  he  speaks  of  "  great 
and  thick  bars  of  iron  which  fell  from  heaven,  and  presently  tamed  into, 
swords  and  rapiers  i*  and  also  of  a  stone  that  tumbled  from  the  skies 
Htingary,  and  weighed  two  hundred  and  fifty  pounds.     And  we  find, 
three  separate  periods  in  Italy,  it  has  rained  fie^b,  com,  and  milk  m 
oib     If  any  turn  in   the  weather  would  bring  about  a  like   series  rf 
showers  in  Ireland  just  at  present,  what  a  great  thing  it  would  be  I 

Ambrose  Fare's  system  of  surgery  and  medicine  was  wonderfully  sei 
Bible  for  the  time  in  which  he  lived  ;  much  of  his  treatment  would  hoi 
good  at  the  present  day.     Occasionally,  however,  we  may  put  less  trust 
in  him.     He  says,  *'  If  one  tell  an  ass  in  bis  ear  that  bee  is  stung  by  a 
scorpion,  they  saie  that  the  danger  is  immediately  over.*'     But,  he  adds, 
"  oft  times  there  is  no  small  superstition  in  things  that  are  outwardl^^ 
applied,  such  as  to  make  pills  of  one  hanged,  against  the  bitings  ^  j^| 
mad  dog  :  for  any  one  to  bee  free*d  from  the  cough  who  shall  spit  ^^ 
the  mouth  of  a  toad,  letting  her  go  away  alive ;  or  the  halter  wherein 
one  bath  been  hanged,  pnt  about  the  temples  to  help  the  headache.*'     He 
very   properly  deems  all  these  as  **  superstitious  fictions,"    albeit  the 
devil  will  sometimes  make  them  prosper,  to  keep  the  workers  ensnared 
to  hia  service.     There  are  very  many  other  marvellous  histories  in  Am- 
brose Pare,  but  as  they  are  better  suited  to  the  medical  than  the  gesie- 
ral  ear,  they  may  be  passed  over. 

Finally,   1  mentioned  that  I  bad  a  ghost-story,  hitherto  unpublh 
to  tell  about  Guildford,     About  ten  years  ago  my  brother  was  a  ] 
at  the  Grammar- School  in  that  town.     The  boys  bad  been  sitting 
all  night  in  their  bedroom  for  a  frolic,  and,  in  the  early  morning,  one  i 

them,  young  K ,  of  Godalming,  cried  ont,  **  Why  I    1 11   sw<| 

there 's  the  likeness  of  our  old  huntsman  on  hia  grey  horse  going  i   "^ 
the  whitewashed  wallT*     The  rest  of  the  boys  told  him  he  was  1 
and  that  they  had  all  belter  think  about  going  to  sleep.     After  1  ^ 
i  jSu^  a  servant  came  over  from  K 's  family  to  say,  **  that  their  ( 


PHILOSOPHY    OF    HISTORY".  10! 

buuUmaii  had  been  thrown  from  hia  horse  and  killed,  early  that  morn- 
ring,  wliilst  airing  the  hounds/' 

Leaving  the  reader  to  explaia  this  strange  story,  which  may  he  relied 
upon,  I  put  my  old  books  back  on  their  shelves^  and  lay  aside  my  pen. 
For  it  18  very  late :  the  clock  is  ticking  with  a  ghostly  sound,  as  if  it 
was  about  to  talk,  and  the  furniture  appears  positively  to  be  growing 
alive,  whilst  I  cannot  help  thinking  that  whole  hosts  of  spectres  are  be- 
hind the  window  curtains.  The  candles,  too,  are  burning  with  a  most 
uncomfortable  glare,  and  altogether  I  expect,  if  I  do  not  get  to  bed 
whilst  I  can  hear  somebody  moving  in  the  house,  the  first  thing  that  1 
see  when  1  open  the  door  to  go,  will  be  some  dreadful  apparition  stand- 
ing on  the  mat  at  the  bottom  of  the  staircase* 


^ 


THE  PHILOSOPHY  OF  HrSTOKY.— AIACAULAY  S  JAiMES 
THE  SECOND.  • 

It  la  DOW  upwards  of  twenty  years — we  should  be  justified  id  saying  a 
clear  quarter  of  a  eentury-**since  the  English  public  were  first  charmed 
and  dazzled  by  Mr,  Macau  lay 'a  articles  in  the  **  Edinburgh  Review." 
The  new  style,  so  crisp,  so  brilliant,  struck  everybody  with  surprise  and 
delight.  Even  the  more  thoughtful  critics,  who  refused  to  be  blinded 
by  the  glitter  of  the  manner,  acknowledged  the  fulness  to  redundancy, 
of  the  knowledge  displayed  in  these  papers,  and  the  happy  art  with  which 
the  writer  drew  in  from  various  and  distant  sources  his  rife  stores  of  il- 
lustrative matter.  The  prominent  peculiarity  of  Macaulay*s  prose  can- 
not be  more  accurately  expressed  than  in  the  very  words  in  which  he 
has  himself  described  the  leading  characteristics  of  Milton's  poetry. 
**  The  most  striking  cbaracteriatics  of  the  poetry  of  Milton "  [we  arc 
quoting  from  the  **  Edinburgh  Rovicw,"  of  1825],  **  is  the  extreme  re- 
moteness of  the  associations  by  me^ins  of  which  it  acts  on  the  reader. 
Its  eifect  is  produced,  not  so  much  by  what  it  expresses,  as  by  what  it 
suggests,  not  so  much  by  the  ideas  which  it  directly  conveys,  as  by  other 
ideas  which  are  connected  with  them-  He  electrifies  the  mind  Ikroi/gh 
conductors* 

This  is,  OF  was,  exactly  Mr*  Macaulay's  prose.  He,  too,  electrified  the  mind 
through  conductora,  and  in  a  much  more  Btartliag  and  oTifrwhelining  way  th&n 
JUiiton.  With  the  poet  there  wm  a  certain  weight  and  formality,  a  grave  and 
sdiolastic  dijfnity  in  the  leartiing  with  whkh  he  lighte<l  up  his  tlieme,  and  in  tite 
wiiy  in  which  he  made  une  of  it:  witli  the  essayist,  it  shut  up  out  of  the  (iurkiivsK 
like  a  rocket;^  and  fetl  over  hi^  page  in  showen  of  man  y«  colon  red  light.  The  viva- 
city,  rariety,  and  frequency  of  MacaulayV  illtiftratiouA  leave  all  ctmipariMm  in  that 
reepect  at  an  immeasurahte  distance  behind.  He  talks  and  writes  i*  sort  td  flitwer 
liBD^iiage,  full  (rf  symlmla  and  images,  and  faniilinr  nn  well  as  remote  nsst  Hint  ions 
which  seem  to  drop  from  him  hy  an  elementary  condition  of  his  geniuit.  Tlie  nn>- 
ment  he  opens  his  mouth  or  puts  his  peii  on  the  piiper,  pearls  begin  to  How. 

A  style  80  lively  and  effective  was  admirably  adapted  for  the  purp*tsca  of  the 
Efsayistt  whose  province  it  was  to  bring  out  the  sidient  potnti  of  it  anhject  rapidly, 
to  place  them  in  a  strong  light,  and  to  concentrate  and  vivify,  rather  than  develop 
hji  details.  The  question  which  tnntantly  ocirtirred  to  everybody '<*  mind  on  the 
umoimcement  of  Mr,  Macaulay's  History  of  Engkitd,  woa,  how  will  this  illunii- 


*  The  History  of  England  from  the  Accewion  of  James  II.     By  Thurnaa  Bab* 
ingiou  MocBulay,    VoU.  I,  and  II.     London.     Loiigman  aod  €0, 


a 


102 


rniLOSOPHY   OF   HISTORY. 


uat«il  manoer  of  writing  fulfil  the  demands  of  timt  serious  and  rigorovu  trniM  who 
is  traditionally  described  An  Phibsapby  teaching  by  example  ? 

Tbe  6rst  two  volitmea  of  the  work  are  before  us^  aiid  they  answer  the  queitioil 
with  a  csompletenesa  which  kavei  nuthing:  more  to  be  aaid  or  doubted  about  Mr, 
MacauJsy^B  qualiticAtions  for  the  respoDsible  tank  he  has  undertaken.  Our  spacei 
un flirt utiately,  is  very  restricted  ;  and  we  must  content  ourg^elves  with  simply  indi* 
eating  the  main  iioiiits  on  whifh  the  i>ermanent  ftiscination  of  this  new  History  (>f 
Englaud  (new  in  maoy  and   in  the  nnj«t  important  sensea)  will  be  found  to  rest. 

It  posiiL'iiiiPs  ah  thrnughout  the  chunn  of  perfect  clearneu.  The  road  is  light4pd 
up  su  briglntly  that<»  however  quickly  we  journey  on,  we  see  int^  every  nook  and 
cranny.  This  lucid  treatraeiit  of  hi*tori<»l  topics  is  of  infinite  vaJue  to  the  reader, 
who  is  not  always  «  ell  i^uuliBetl  to  soke  obtcnritles,  or  to  supply  defects.  It  has 
also  this  advantage^  that,  instead  of  keeping  history  in  an  upper  region  of  cold  and 
lifeless  forms,  it  brings  it  down  to  the  level  of  our  experience  and  our  sympAthtea. 
The  book  ia  full  of  colour  and  movement.  It  awakens  an  inielligenoe  in  the  reader 
which  lies  dormant  throughout  mott  other  modes  of  history,  compoaed  aa  they 
usually  are  of  facts  and  skeletons  of  systems,  instead  of  brge  and  appreciable  trutha 
and  humanities.  This  ia  the  great  distinction  between  this  history  and  oiher  hl»- 
torieS|.  and  it  deserres  special  notice  and  consideration. 

History  has  hitherto  been  treated  as  a  map  of  lifeless  outlinet.  The  beat  of  all 
historiaiis  hardly  breathed  a  liviug  populaiion  over  the  surface.  Cities,  plaina,  and 
nu^untains,  sieges,  battles,  and  councils  were  merely  the  landmarks  of  erenlSf  md 
reahz43d  to  the  imagination  no  definite  ideas  of  the  vital  struggle,  the  hnnum  iBWJ«it 
tUat  rose  and  fell  through  the  long  ages  of  toil  and  suffering,  sacrifice  and  intrigue, 
progress  and  decay,  represented  on  the  arid  canrat*  In  Mr,  Macau  lay  *t  liiatary, 
pfilitics  and  the  warfare  of  nations,  domestic  and  axtemal,  are  not  deait  with  aa 
the<»retical  abstractions,  or  the  white  bones  of  extinct  spedea,  or  the  dead  tteintfl€ 
ou  old  almauuc.  They  are  called  up  into  the  life,  and  shewn  to  us  warm  and 
pulsing,  surrounded  by  the  costumes,  circumstances,  and  atmosphere  from  whence 
tliey  derived  heat,  shape,  and  cliaracter.  It  may  be  thought  that  all  this  pictu- 
resque combination  of  ccmiemporary  incidents,  this  grouping  o(  heads  and  dieuca, 
this  carrying  of  the  reader  into  the  streets  and  making  him  take  part  in  tlie  popular 
prttcessionsof  the  last  century,  or  the  hurrying  him  away  to  the  camp  at  Htiunslow* 
amongst  the  monk&«  pedlars,  and  orange-girls,  or  the  bringing  him  into  the  houses  of 
people  whose  names  have  hitherto  represented  little  else  to  his  mind  than  stiff 
axioms  or  solemn  ofHces, — it  may  bethotjght  that  all  these^  and  many  other  eqnaily 
dose  familiarities,  wbich  Mr.  Macaulay  takes  wttli  the  austere  muae,  at%  t»nm 
the  trite  phrase,  below  the  dignity  of  history.  But  before  wo  allow  anyhody^ 
right  even  to  dispute  the  assertion,  it  is  indispensable  that  there  should  be  eat** 
blished  a  clear  understanding  of  what  is  meant  by  historical  dignity.  If  it  oncaa 
the  shutting  out  of  the  life  of  the  age  depicted,  the  manners,  arts,  and  traditkMM. 
the  motives  as  well  as  the  acu,  the  domestic  and  secret  as  well  as  the  publie  aad 
visible  influences,  the  personal  as  well  aa  the  party  elements^ — ^then  we  bmve  only 
to  lay,  that  the  sooner  this  historical  dignity  is  shut  out  itself  the  better  it  will  be 
for  the  instruction  of  the  world. 

Tbe  ftiyle  of  the  IxHik — reverting  to  the  point  from  whidi  we  started — Ea  edli|«d 
with  Miigul^''  success  to  Uio  variety  <if  subjects  embraced.  In  the  onwanl  naiivtivv 
Mr.  Macaulay  has  judiciously  reduced  his  brilliancy  to  the  quiet  and  sober  natvre 
of  his  materials  ;  and  it  is  only  when  he  comes  to  draw  a  portrait  or  to  paint  a 
scene  that  he  aasumes  the  vivid'  eloquence  and  oriental  splendour  of  im^ery  end 
diction  for  which  his  critical  etiays  are  so  remarkable.  We  thna  get  the  light  aai 
ahftde»  the  agiution  and  repose,  so  essentiftl  to  the  maintenaaee  of  the  intorat  iM«r 
A  eiun^  eforenia  which,  it  ia  antidpocod»  will  oooupT  bo  leas  than  mvob  wtAamm. 

TiM  period  embiaeed  in  the  present  voltunei  (opeiung  with  a  akacdi  of  ou^*  eu^ 
history  Uko  brief  to  be  satisfactory)  auries  us  from  the  Restoration  to  the  Coraaa 
timi  o(  William  and  Mary.  Fortunately  it  includes  that  reign  which,  above  nQ 
other  reigns  in  our  annalt«  Mr.  Macaulay  might  be  expected  to  treet  with  do* 
qiuencv  and  power« — ^tba  reign  which  suooeeded  to  the  Coounon wealth,  and  whi<d^ 
he  hod  already  deicribfd  as  a  time  '*  never  to  be  rccalied  without  a  bittah,  dii 
d^fi  of  MTvittide  without  lomlty,  and  sensuality  without  low ;  of  dwarfiaii  ttkati 
•*■  g%«ulle  Tieea,  the  ponMiise  of  <x»id  hearts  and  narrow  mindf,  the  goUcfli  ago  if 
the  eovardf  the  UgM^  mad  the  slave."  Il'e  were  curioua  to  aeoenain  bow  tar  the 
««inisioa  of  the  horicofi  which  he  looks  out  upon  frocn  thia  mora  amUtioua  ondor* 
lakl^g^  had  Wd  him  to  con^jin  or  modify  his  uriginat  viewi ;  and  we  find  thaiy 
wilhmit  abaadi<ning  his  general  ithdktmriit  against  the  vices  of  the  court  and  tho 
ptttral  depravity  o£  the  age,  he  oaiisgaaei  hia  opinion  of  Qisrles  IL  lie  thinks 
m  «■•  ft  bettor  ki]|g»  although  a  wotm  mA,  than  hIa  &thor  c  aad  out  of  hi*  verj 


PHILOSOPHY    OF    HISTORY^ 


103 


indifference  to  arbftrarv  power,  exctpt  &i  a  meaiu  of  helping  liiiii  to  m  unrestricted 
sweep  of  libertiubm.,  bis  aversioQ  to  tnisineas,  htM  love  of  pleasure,  and  tbe  fiidiities 
of  hu  diitpoftttion^  he  extnirtA  excuses  for  placing  him  in  a  tolerably  farouratile 
light.  This  is  an  histurical  dilemma  which,  in  the  nature  of  thingik,  miiit  alwavs 
remain  open  to  del>ace.  The  monarch  whose  palace  at  Whiiehkll  **  the  imked 
Venus  Brsit  revealed,"  aud  whose  profligate  example  comipted  the  whole  mass  of 
the  people,  ujuat  always  be  regarded  as  the  warst  of  king^  Uy  those  who  discerti  in 
the  morahi  of  a  tmiwu  tlie  best  guarantees  of  its  isecurity  and  happiness  ;  while 
there  will  ever  be  found  a  brge  dass  of  politicians  ready  to  maint-ain  that  the 
highest  crime  which  a  monarch  oin  commit  is  to  trample  on  liherty  of  eotisdence 
and  popular  rights,  and  who  will  hold  up  Charles  I.  to  the  execration  of  posterity, 
as  the  greatest  of  all  royal  delinquents,  Mr.  Wacaulay's  view  of  the  case  appears 
to  he  that  which,  in  progress  of  litne,  will  be  most  likely  to  gather  ihe  largest 
liunitfer  of  adherents.  As  we  become  more  and  more  inatmcted  in  the  TiJue  of 
ratiunal  freedom  and  representative  inBtitiitionS|  we  trtust  see  more  clearly  the  obli- 
gations we  are  under  tc^  the  Parliament,  and  the  miseries  to  which  we  should  have 
been  duomed,  had  Charles  I.  succeeded. 

The  sketches  of  men  and  manueri  in  these  voltimes  are  amongst  the  happiest  of 
Mr.  Macmt  lay 'a  writings.     He  here  appears  in  quite  a  new  and  unexpected  cha- 
racter ;  neither  ai  a  critic,  nor  as  ao  historian*  nor  as  a  political  advocate  ;  hut  as 
a  painter  of  street  scenes  and  lutenors,  a  reviver  of  old  costumes,  and  a  gatherer 
of  curious  traditions  concerning  the  habits  and  ways  of  life  of  our  great-grand - 
roothen.     The  chapter  in  which  he  describes  the  state  of  England  in  161)5,  upon 
the  accession  of  James,  is  one  of  the  pleasante&t  pieces  of  wise  antiquarian  gossip 
we  have  for  a  Umg  time  fallen  in  witli.     And  it  is  something  better  than  pleasant 
— It  gives  us  a  back  ground  to  the  historical  picture  which  is  of  the  utmost  value 
in  assisting  us  to  a  correct  view  of  the  actual  condition  of  the  people.     It  was 
hardly  uecesstiry  to  apdrigize  for  inierleaving  the  history  of  events  with  occasional 
glimpses  of  the  theatre  on  which  tbey  were  acted  -  und  it  was  scarcely  necessary  to 
urge  the  necessity  of  looking  at  such  events^  not  through  the  medium  of  present 
^^JTumstances  and  associations,  but  tlirough  the  actual  state  of  things  in  the  midst 
of  which  ihey  occurred.     Vet  Mr.  Moeaulay  modestly  explains  why  he  considered 
it  desirable  to  step  in  this  way  out  of  the  beaten  and  bounded  high-road      ^*  If  we 
would  study  with  profit,"  he  observes,  ^^  the  history  of  our  ancestors,  we  must  liO 
constantly  oo  our  guard  against  that  deiuston  which  the  welil-known  names  of 
families,  places,  and  offices  naturally  produce,  and  must  never  forget  Utat  the  coun- 
try of  which  we  read  was  a  very  different  country  from  tJiat  in  which  we  live/'  He 
Ultutrates  this  a  little  farther  on.     **^  Could   the   England  of  I  f>ltA   be,  by  some 
omfical  process,  set  before  our  eyes,  we  sh*juld  not  know  one  landscape  in  a  hun- 
dred, or  one  building  in  ten  thousand.     The  country  gentleman  would  not  reoog* 
nize  his  own  fields.     The  inhabitant  of  the  town   would  not  recognize  his  own 
street*  •  •  2^1  any  thousands  of  square  miles  which  are  now  rich  com  land  and 
meadow,  intersected  by  green  hedgerows,  and   dotted  with  villages  and  pleasant 
country  scuts,  would  appear  as  moors  overgrown  with  furze,  or  fens  abandoned  to 
wild  ducks.  We  should  see  straggling  huts,  built  of  wood  and  covered  with  thatch, 
where  we  now  see  manufacturing  towns  and  seaports  renowned  to  tlie  farthest 
ends  of  the  worid.     The  capital  itself  would  shrink  to  dimensions  not  much  ex- 
ceeding tliooe  of  its  pr^ent  suburb  on  the  south  of  the  Thames.     Not  less  strango 
Co  us  would   be  the  garb  and  manners  of  the  people,  the  furniture  and  Uie  equi- 
pages, the  interior  of  the  shops  and  dwelliiigs,     Such  a  change  in  tlie  state  of  a 
nation  teems  to  be,  at  least,  as  well  entitled  to  the  notice  of  an  historian  as  any 
change  of  the  dynasty  or  of  the  ministry/'     The  way  in  which  Mr,  Ma<»ulay 
iHrndicates  this  new  but  very  important  department  of  history «  will  be  esteemed 
amongst  his  most  suoi-essful   literary  efforts.     His  sketches  of  country  towns, 
watering  places,  itage-coaches^  education,  manufactures,  the  arts,  &Ch.  bring  the 
England  of  the  Liiter  end  of  the  seventeenth  century  before  us  in  a  series  of  out- 
lines which  cnnnot  be  ejcceeded  in  graphic  power  and  fidelity,     if  is  portraits  are 
equally  remarkable  for  breadth  and  distinctness. 

But  we  must  not  run  into  details.  If  the  remainder  of  tliis  work  sustain,  as  no 
doiiht  it  will,  the  promise  of  the  commencement,  no  puhlication  of  its  class  has  ever 
acqiiireil  the  popularity  which  this  History  cannot  fail  to  secure.  To  high  descrip- 
tive talents  it  unites  nound  sense  and  profound  learning;  and  we  should  fait  in* 
fitiiiely  short  of  its  merits,  were  we  to  say  that  it  is  as  fascinating  as  a  fairy  tale. 
Its  tnterest  is  loftier  and  more  absorbing.  The  poetical  lures  of  tlie  most  cxrititig 
romance  are  not  half  so  seductive  as  tlie  realities  of  this  new  ^*  History  of  Kng. 
laud." 


104 


POPULAR  BOOKS  OF  THE  MONTH. 


Nasology;   or,  Hints  towards  a  Classification  of  Noses.     By  Edwin 
Warwick.     London.     Richard  Bentley* 

Coleridge  used  to  leU  ft  story,  tbat  when  he  wiu  a  youtiff  num,  and  a  red-hot  t»* 
piiblican,  a  ftpy  was  &et  upon  hh  actio<ns.  Seated  in  a  field  one  day  with  a  frieod, 
he  began  to  disccfurse  upon  the  doctrine*  of  Spinosa,  when  the  government  ag«ut| 
behind  a  contiguous  tree,  who  was  furuishcd  witJi  an  immense  tijual  promontory, 
thmight  that  the  poet  on  every  repetition  of  the  name  of  the  philosopher,  said,  "  I 
spy  iiosey/^  and  accordingly  took  away  himself  and  his  treacherous  member  with 
precipitation* 

It  strikes  us  that  this  story  must  bare  dwelt  ia  the  mind  of  3fr.  Warwick  dQ 
philoHOphy  and  noses  seemed  to  him  no  such  absurd  conjunctvon,  and  tliai  th«  one 
might  very  litly  be  illiistrated  by  the  other* 

Howerer  this  may  be,  he  has  given  us  a  work  of  »o  much  whim  and  hnmour  and 
•erious  and  tngenioo*  speculation,  and  on  such  a  theme,  that  it  is  one  of  the  mmt 
ori^nal  books  that  ever  fell  under  our  observation*  Laughing,  when  he  would  bare 
us  It  ia  imposaible  to  resist ;  but  sometimes,  when  be  would  not  have  ui  do  •<>)  we 
feel  in  the  predicament  describedi  by  the  poet—' 

'*  To  laugh  were  want  of  decency  and  grace. 
But  to  be  grave  exceeds  all  power  of  face.'* 

Let  the  reader  just  imagine  the  drift  of  a  chapter,  entitled  "  How  to  get  *  op- 
tative nose/'  He  would  not  guess  it  in  f*  a  month  of  Sundays,"'  neither  shall  we 
enlighten  him.  Only  thia  we  wi!l  say,— if,  after  mc<litatlng  upon  that  matter  for  e 
considerable  period^  he  looks  in  the  gta^is  am!  doefi  not  find  the  feature  he  fridts 
himself  upiui  c^onsiderably  altered  for  the  l>etter  or  worse,  there  is  no  truth  in  oof 
author's  theory.  We  could  wish  to  have  seen  amongst  the  portraits  with  which  Mr, 
Warwick  has  adorned  his  work,  a  profile  of  Ovid.  That  poet,  we  all  know,  re- 
joiced in  a  remarkable  nose,  and  it  would  have  been  a  cxirious  speculatiun,  whether  bJt 
poetical  cogitations  did  not  materially  affect  the  shape  and  siae  of  it — whether,  in 
other  words,  tliat  fact — could  it  be  proved  one — would  uot  be  the  moat  extraordi- 
nary of  Ov'idi^a  metamorphosei*  Again^  since  Cervantes  constatuly  writes  to  a 
philusophical  spirit,  and  ha*  a  purpose  in  what  appear  to  be  the  merest  trifles — what 
sort  of  a  nose  was  it  (we  speak  not  of  ita  length)  worn  by  the  squire  of  the  Bachder 
!Sam()sou  Carasco*  which  so  terrified  Sancho  Panza  ? 

But  to  be  serious — ^if  ienousness  can  be  maintained  when  ipeekiJig  of  this  work 
— it  ia  one  of  the  pleasantest  *•  attempts  at  cla«si6cation  "we  ever  lead.  The  fun 
of  the  thing  is  capital ;  but  there  are  matters  in  it  to  suggest  reflectioii  and  eveo  to 
iucite  to  inquiry, 


4 
4 


Forty  Days  in  the  Deiert  on  the  Track  of  the  Israelites.     London, 
Hall  and  Co. 


The 


pkid 


This  is  one  of  the  most  beautiful  books  we  have  seen  for  a  long  time. 
are  exquisite,  and  the  **  getting  up  **  is  superb. 

Let  the  anthor  say  a  few  words  for  himself.  ^^  The  East  must  ever  be  the 
of  the  imftgiuiition,  being,  as  it  is,  the  seat  of  early  fable  and  history  ;  ilie  liirlh^ 
[dace  of  art,  science*  and  poetrj' ;  the  cradle  of  our  religion  ;  and  there  also,  to  add 
to  its  interest,  ttilL  sun'ive  unchanged,  after  the  lapse  of  ages,  maniKu^  feelingi, 
and  usages,  such  as  are  described  in  our  very  earliest  records/* 

The  object  of  the  author  has  been  to  present  distinct  and  graphic  pen  and  peocsl 
sketches  of  the  route  of  the  Israelites  from  Egypt  to  Mount  ^inai,  dwelhng  partiot- 
larly  upun  the  beautiful  oasis  of  Wady  Feiran,  and  the  neighliouring  mountaiii,  the 
Serbal,  wbich  has  been  confidently  prr>nriunced  by  Lepsius,  and  other  learned  nMOif 
to  be  the  real  Sinai.  The  work  also  embraces  notious  of  the  convent  of  St,  Ceth*- 
rine.  Mount  Hor^  and  that  extraordinary  city  of  the  Edomitea,  Petnu 

In  mi  irreverent  spirit  did  our  author  enter  upon  his  journey;  and  the  letwd  laad 
thniugh  which  he  passed  evidently  ao  impressed  his  imaginatiom,  and  entered  into 
bis  Si.ml,  thnt  his  descriptions  are  as  picturesque  as  the  beautiful  illustrations  that 
'  them.    And  for  pictorial  effect,  what  scenes  could  be  more  ' 


Mcotnpany  1 


LITERARY    NOTICES, 


105 


or  mora  various  ?  Well  in  h  said, — «  Tlie  hakiiig  placet  of  the  Israelites,  the 
Gioiintain  of  ibe  law  giving^  die  COMta  of  the  Red  Sea,  the  wonderful  rfx:k  8ic«iiery 
and  e^ccairated  templpii  iiod  Comb*  of  Petrai,  tonibiiiG  xo  present  a  wild  and  ain^^br 
variety  for  illustnitiuiu" 

At  the  condusioii  iif  the  volume  the  anthtir  gives  a  desLTjption  of  Cairo  wliicli^ 
we  thinkj  is  the  liveliest  ihat  baa  yet  btgen  prefteuti»d*  The  %vork,  in  ail  n^[»ectft,  it 
entitled  to  no  common  ahare  of  prajie. 

A  Three  Years*  Cruize  m  the  Mozambique  Channel  for  die  Siippres- 
sion   of  the  Slave  Trade.     By  LieulenanI  Baroard.  London. 
Richard  Benlley, 

liOrd  Dcnman  mtiy  write  his  pamphlet  to  Lord  Brougham,  and  fondly  contend 
thai  the  British  government  (for  it  is  little  aided  by  the  other  CA>ntracti!ig  powers) 
will  at  lleogth  abolish  the  SLuve-trade  ;  but  there  ia  tE)o  much  reaaion  tu  bL4ieve  that 
no  i&muil  amount  of  the  national  money,  and  a  great  many  liret»  of  our  countrymen 
are  annually  sacrificed  in  the  philanthropic  experiment.  If  the  ^lave^trade  has 
been  somewhat  dimiulnbed^  the  horrom  of  the  middle  passage  have  been  frightfully 
aggravated.  Lieutenant  Barnard  dtjes  not  discuss,  nay,  he  tcarcely  enters  upon 
the  question  ;  but  he  lays  before  us  such  facts  as 

'^^  Go  together  with  the  other  proofs, 
And  do  demonstrmte  thickly.*' 

But  hh  work  is  not  made  up  of  ihe!»e  frightful  perelations.  The  book  ia  the  life  of 
a  sailor  for  three  year»  under  very  peculiar  and  exdting  cijtninistaDcea,  and  is  writ- 
ten in  true,  bonestj  sailor*like  fashion,  ih>  that  it  is  as  interesting  as  our  best  naval 
romances*  Having  true  things  to  tell,  and  often,  things  that,  however  told,  must 
rivet  attention,  be  sometimes  rises  into  a  natural  eloquence.  For  instance,  in  the 
pasjvage  of  the  breaker* — '*  There  was  a  crash^  a  crj^,  and  in  an  iustant  we  were 
struggling  with  the  breakers,  and  never  were  men  rescued  from  a  more  hopeless 
situation.  ,  «  ,  .  AU  iejes  were  fixed  on  the  barge  close  to  ns,  and  apprcmching  rapidly ^ 
hilt  every  ntiw  and  then  hid  by  the  overhanging  creat  of  a  wave  which  ingulfed  us 
a  second  aftf  rwards.  l^hc  was  almost  within  our  reach,  when  a  furiuus  breaker 
swept  her  past  us  with  the  speed  of  lightning,  and  burlefl  us  for  scime  seconds. 
I/ote  plainly  I  mw  the/nce*  of  ail  in  tfie  Oarge^  a*  they  passed  us,  pale  as  deaths  their 
eyes  straimng  with  eager  anxiety  !  ** 

VVe  have  seldom  seen  a  book  more  full  of  adventure  |  for  the  author  is  not  a  phi. 
losopher,  a  sentimentalist,  or  a  twaddler ;  but  tells  us  what  he  has  seen,  and  known 
and  felt,  like  a  good,  honesty  manly,  and  withal  gcntlematily  fellow. 


The  Arts  of  Painting  iti  Oil,  Miniature,  Mosaic,  and  on  Glass  ;  of 
Gilding,  Dyeing,  and  the  Preparation  of  Colours  and  Artificial 
Gems.  By  Mrs.  Merrifield*  Two  Vols.  London,  John 
M  urray. 

In  the  autumn  of  18^.^«  Bfrs.  Merrilield  was  commissioned  by  the  Government 
to  pp«ici."ed  to  ttie  North  of  Italy,  for  the  purpose  of  collecting  MSS.  relative  tn  the 
technical  part  of  puinting,  with  a  view  princnpally  of  ascertaining  the  processes  and 
methods  of  oil-painting  adopted  by  the  Italians.  The  authoress  was  also  instructed 
generally  to  endeavour  to  procure  traditional  and  practical  information  on  this  sub- 
ject from  other  sourt^cs. 

The  dtitiea  of  this  C4>romission  were  entered  upon  by  Mrs.  Merrifield  with  the  ut- 
moat  xealf  for  the  occupation  was  one  of  all  otliers  the  most  congenial  to  her  incli- 
nations, and  the  result  is  the  publication  of  several  AISS. — Latin,  Italian,  and 
French  (all  of  which  are  translated)  ^  of  the  utmost  practical  value  and  ini- 
jKirtaiice. 

This  is  a  work  that  may  most  profitably  be  studied,  not  only  by  the  aspirant  ttj 
the  tnumphs  of  high  art,  but  by  him  who  diligently  pursues  tlie  inferior  branches 
of  painting,  and  of  all  who  are  engaged  in  dyeing,  gilding,  and  the  manufacture  of 
artificial  gems. 

Nor  is*  this  all.  There  is  a  great  deal  of  most  curious  matter,  which  will  be  in- 
teresting to  everybody,  and  suggest  or  incite  to  further  inquires.  Tbis  our  readers 
will  at  once  believe,  when  we  remind  them  that  the  work  is  the  production  of  a 
I  lady,  and  when  we  tell  them  that  it  wajj  the  well-known  addktkni  of  ftlrs.  Mcrri- 
fi«fld  to  such  inquiries  that  prompted  Sir  Robert  Peel  to  olFer  her  the  commissioiu 


ummjkMT  KoncBw 


Laodocu       Richard 


fc«] 


idTAV^afa 


>  y  msm  tn  W  w^comtd  by  that  litjg« 

••  Omi  Fan*  **  u  oenaiidy  ihe  mmi 

ihmmm,  iMfciniiig.  «•  it  ilix*,  oaaHf 

bnaA  •£  WnrmMvm — m  veU-mmaged 

I  «f  didtaspfl^  rammtic  liiumtioitf, 

I  or  the  more  qa 
,  to  «  tiook  ' 

A  iliglit  de« 
It  oecHioiMl  iippearmnce 
mmmmmmi  hmt,  aftCTaJIt  tihaemra  recual  exnm 
^  ft  '■  1  wki\ ,  IW  vaiiei  fiartiuMt  oi  the  heroiiw 
f  dbr  fiMR  of  lilt^  loch  grave  and  gay.  Th«w 
■v^  «f  thcaaiiMnM.  who  alternaics  touchea  at 
idk  niBiniie  cfcts.  The  occwional  thifting  of 
Bttmam  tmmmB  eomrihmci  aim  to  direrufy  Uie 
pisni  of  P^rwMi  lile  btipwhi  the  irmTelled 
1 4Ha%  ai  ikii  hmbb  ef  the  year,  a  pleanottr 


^fipv^ihe] 


By   Tliamaa   B.  Shaw,    B.A- 


Wb^i 


iefai 


■iiWBarihe. 


i  4efidnc7  ta  ear  Ktcntare,  which,  jjt 
tmmg  ikmiA  have  to  hmg  oontijiued  lo 
e  ia  the  laiperial  Atezander  Lyoram  ot 
i  «aBt  of  a  eoaoae,  bot  comftthmmf 

^tW  amam»  instraments,  and  nattuv  4t 

what  are  femntd  '  Si:hooJ»of  Wrttinfr**** 

wmUA  pouii  of  rinr.     FiniJy,  the  greet 

~    ~'  ]  tjyai  and  noble  eiprevians  of 

i  thor  tlmei  ^  and^  ieoandly,  hi 

rof  a  DitioiiV  litemture,  rendered 
MaMHali  vithin  the  oompaM  of  a  Toltune  i 
■■lihiB  ia  farve  wflh  akill  and  judgmenL 
>«a  aidaeae  taric  than  diUtauon,  Mr.  Shaw 
■er  ia  ^rhieb  be  has  completifd  the  purvey  of 
er  le  our  QiTB,  Uit  b(M>k  will  be  the  aJaiiNl 
Bt«  while  the  nibjcct  has  at  the  same  time 


Memotr  of  Montague  Sunlej.   A.R.S.A.     By   the  Rev,  D.  T.  K. 
Drummond.     London.     Hamilton^  Adamc,  and  Co. 

M  T.  Stanler  was  bom  at  Dundee  In  1  OC»sl.  Early  in  life  he  aiteted  the  theatrical 
pmfrssion,  wbkh,  at  recently  as  llOSi  he  quitted  frocn  canadentioiu  motiYee.  He 
thi^n  deroted  himfelf  to  teechiD|E  ekvucioci,  but  mofe  particularly  to  painting,  for 
which  he  had  in  youth  indicated  talenta^  and  he  attained  some  nceJIence  in  land- 
lOaM  Minting. 
j  lie  has  lefk  b^ind  htm  a  few  literary  dfuafens,  thoogfa  of  no  very  high  order, 
HMNH  of  which  are  oootained  in  the  preaent  vdume.  Mr  Stanley  did  not  long  sur- 
vive the  change  in  his  career.  His  private  worth  seems  to  hare  been  very  great. 
The  reverend  author  had  access  to  all  the  requisite  materials  for  his  work -^to'pH rate 
il{arl«rs  unci  tetters.  His  btugrsphy^  however,  does  not  possess  any  share  of  public  [m* 
piiftAUrer  indeed,  but  for  the  d rciunatance  of  Mr.  Sstanley  having  abandoned  die 
Mtnf^  as  All  tinrtghtwnis  pnnnit,  ii  i*  probable  that  this  mi-moir  would  nip\vr  have 
Kt'T»  jmlili»h«Hl.  This  Itfta  difordctt  *i^>}»e  f<»r  n-markt  which,  however  well  intended^ 
uill    It  !tv:i5i  to  lIil*  irrexiTeiit,  s4%'our  of  prosJneas. 


LITERARY   NOTICES. 


107 


The  Lancashire  Witches:    a  Romance  of  Pendle  Forest.     By  W. 

Harrison  Ainsworth,  Esq,     Three  Vols.     Colburti* 

Silent  far  some  time,  Mt.  At  as  worth  has  tgain  appeared  in  the  realms  of  ficitou^ 
giving  Miiisfactory  proof,  in  tlie  freshness  and  rigour  of  the  present  work^  that 
nutbin^  of  hit  former  akiU  ii  abated.  We  6ijd,  oti  the  contrury,  in  **  The  L:inca- 
shire  Witchet,"  the  ftame  itirring  interest,  the  iame  powerful  delineation  of  cha- 
racter, and  the  «ame  glowing  beauty  of  description,  with  which  we  have  been 
ciiarmed  in  hia  best  productionti.  ^^  Rookwood  "  contains  nothing  more  itartlin^, 
•*Crichton**  nothing  more  picturesque,  "  Jack  Sheppard  *'  nothinir  more  dramatic, 
than  this  romance  of  Fendle  Forest.  Mr.  Aintworth'a  treatment  of  the  tubject  i»  ai 
masterly  na  his  conception  of  it  is  bold  and  originaK  lie  j^r&pples  at  once  with  the 
^eat  difficulty  which  preiented  iiself  Ut  wht>ever  would  choose  such  a  theme,  and 
nnfalteri  ngly  achieves  his  end.  The  succeftsfni  employment  of  preternatural  agency 
in  of  all  tasks  the  most  difficult  U>  the  writer  of  fiction  ;  but  that  Mr.  Ainsworth  has 
succeeded,  **  The  Lancashire  Witches  '*  triumphantly  witnesses.  For  the  illustra' 
tion  uf  his  purpose,  he  has  selected  two  periods,  the  first  the  necessary  forerunner  of 
the  one  that  follows.  These  periods  are  the  times  of  Henry  the  Eighth  and  James 
the  First ;  the  former,  wild  and  gloomy  as  the  anuals  of  that  bloody  reign, — the 
tatter  a  chequered  scene  of  pleasure  and  pata^  of  hohday  mirth  and  superstitious 
cruelty,  of  J^lay-day  games  and  forest  sports,  of  witches,  salibats,  the  stake,  and 
the  ineri table  flames.  The  memomble  religious  insurrection  of  153G,  known  in 
history  as  '*^  The  Pilgrimage  of  Grace,"  which,  amongst  other  events,  led  to  the 
exeaition  of  Abbt>t  Poslew  and  the  suppression  of  VVhai ley  Abbey,  furnish  the 
groundwork  of  the  introduction  to'*  The  Lancashire  Witches  /'  while  the  violent 
feeltng  which  was  kindled  throughout  the  country  against  witchcraft,  by  the  roya! 
and  p«dautic  author  of  the  ^*  Detuonologie/*  supplied  themoUre  which  pervades  the 
main  body  of  the  rotsance.  It  would  be  be«ide  our  purpose,  as  tt  would  exceed  our 
limits,  tit  give  even  a  brief  annlysis  of  the  story  j  neither  should  we  he  doing  justtce 
to  Af  r.  Ainsworth  to  indicate  by  a  faint  outline  the  picture  which  he  has  composed 
with  so  much  skill,  6lled  in  so  carefully,  and  painted  in  such  vivid  colours,  ^ome 
peculiarities,  however,  we  may  notice,  and  these  are,  the  fidelity  of  bis  h>cai  de- 
scriptions, hii  historicJil  and  antiquarian  accuracy,  and  the  singular  facility  with 
which  he  has  rendered  himself  master  of  a  dialect  as  new  to  us  us  the  occasional 
employment  of  it  is  serviceable  in  marking  the  difference  of  grades.  Like  the  dia- 
Itfct  of  Chaucer,  or  that  which  Scott  made  familiar  to  tlie  English  publiC;^  the 
di^cutty  it  presents  is  only  to  the  eye  while  the  use  of  it  is  eminently  picrurest^ueH, 
atid  imparts  an  air  of  tnith,  which  a  more  refined  style  would  have  failed  to  produce. 
Another  point  we  must  tnudi  upon,  and  that  is  the  variety  that  abounds  in  these 
pages;  at  one  moment  exciting  laughter  by  the  breadth  of  mimoiir  of  its  comedy  ; 
at  another  calling  up  tears  at  the  pathos  and  beauty  of  the  tender  passages  ;  and 
again  awakening  emotions  of  terror  at  the  fearful  interest  with  which  the  tmgic 
actors  in  the  drama  are  surroiiuded.  It  is  frequently  said  of  a  clever  novel  that 
<^  it  is  impossible,  once  hoving  begun  it,  to  lay  it  down  ;'*  with  respect  to  **  The 
Lancashire  Witches,**  our  own  impression  is  that  he  who  hns  once  taken  it  up  irill 
sutler  no  interruption  in  reading  it,  from  ti lie-page  to  colophon. 


Martin  Toutrond,  b  Frenchman  in  London  in  I80L     Benlley. 

This  amusing  volume,  the  appearance  of  which  at  this  cheerful  seoMitn  is  so 
djpropoi,  exhibits  with  considerable  graphic  power  those  whimsical  traits  of  national 
character  distinctive  of  tlie  two  countries,  which  come  out  in  bn»ad  and  ludicrous 
relief  when  assfxriated  and  conirastefl  together.  From  the  skill  with  which 
tins  double  mirror  is  applied,  we  think  we  can  detect  the  quiet  humour  of  an 
author  who  has  long  enjoyed  with  the  public  a  high  reputation  in  this  kind  of 
literature.  But  whoever  he  may  l>e,  he  has  narrated  in  these  pages  with  ext^uisite 
relish  the  odd  mistakes  and  droll  dijiasters  incident  t<i  a  Frenchmiin's  first  visit  to 
EngtancI ;  and  this  he  has  done  in  a  spirit  of  fuirnes-s  and  truth  that  must  he  use- 
ful to  all  his  render*..  There  is  a  species  of  mild  insanity,  called  **  blue  devils/* 
ilie  only  true  cure  for  wliich  (**  none  other  is  genuine")  is  the  stirouhint  of  hmghter. 
Let  all  who  are  luhiiuring  under  this  aHlietioii  procure  ^*  Miirtin  Touirond/' and 
if  he  dc»e8  not  speedily  cxon-iM^  the  foul  fiend,  we  are  no  prttpliet.  Wc  dihould  add, 
that  the  humorous  pjiiits  of  the  book,  both  in  character  and  incident,  are  well 
»iiitaiiied  by  the  illustrations. 


«rF«Bilj  Hi 


^2iB] 


p*  ail,  it  via  fee 
^■■iinayiicA 


it  ■.rlv 


I  mt*iBr  m^tmmd  ■>  ffati^^     Thai 


t; 


iRiaJ  Loni  Bicii.  Cnai 


,Mivk*^W,kitwtfii 


^liidKa^feAt    All 


,  Hi  faaiWr  of  Udljr  Blci^  lUbm  I 


Thsa^ar  tie 


^ka^Et^wil 


.  bdmm  ht  cum  to  i 


«m^  VM  ■MfTiiii  t#  Ac  Iji^  FfxMBB  Hflvsni,  wha^  ■■MJWiiiiiif  in  oUuAif^  m 
Mmam  h^im  k^  ^fiinl  Carr,  E«ri  cf  tii—iipT;  th*  frwoni* td  Juom  L» «ii4 

riT Hi    liiilu  hiAMJl  iW  mm^BtaiSmThammOfmyKrfi  vu  tried  lod 

T Trfni  n|Mr  i^i  iliMgi^MJ  T^ — '  —  ~  -  '-^— *  -^'    |  "  ■"-— ■  *"  *>--  oouatry, 

ktl^-  i^  kairi  ^7  tbe  i^M  ifa  kti  Iwt  kcr  iipuftion  Mi  wdt,  ui4  wham  the 

Fnttbcr,  Su^  Wm^  KMfly»>  fint  £»1  «<^  BafilRuy,  tbe  brother  ol  Lettin 
KBailji,BuxMaii»ter«rtli«ia&aoaA«ife^SoBicrMt.  The  ConaMs  of  Bm- 
InnrpoMMed  tt  linle  rirtiM  as  the  Couadmi  of  Soncnei,  and  almost  immediatclj 
mHtr  the  death  of  her  lord,  married  Lord  Taux. 

Kov,  Lettice  Knollyv  surriTed  all  theae  erenta.    Her  fir»t  huiband,  grav^y  «!«-> 
peetfli  of  beto|p  pioboiusd  bj  her  Mcond,  wh^xn  the  h^iMif  b  pippiaed  lo  haire  puj. 
•ooed ;  her  thinl  faashaod  and  her  ton  dying  under  the  haodt  oi  the  cxecuuotirr ; 
htr  dao^iter.  Lady  Rich,  haTing  lored  Sir  Philip  Sidney,  maldiig  aceuKatiimi 
(0oly  too  true)  a^nit  liendf,  to  get  releaeed  frooi  her  husband,  that  the  mi^ht 
WPmrrf  Montjoy,  who  died  within  thm  months  afherwards  ;  her  grandson  fthune- 
fi^y  wronged  by  a  woman  conrict^  of  murder  ;  her  brother**  nuniage  with  tbe 
giiter  of  her  qu»adam  grand-daughter— alJ  th^se  ctrciimrtaneei  had  Lettioe  KnoP— ^ 
CO  reflect  upon.     Had  the  lived  a  few  year*  longer,  the  Banbury  ca»c^  one  of  tho  ' 
i;rmngest  that  was  erer  made  public^  might  hare  been  added  to  her  meditations* 
Thi«  volume  oontaiiiR  occurrences  and  combinationa  of  so  extraordinary  a  cliane* j 
that  the  most  daring  experimenter  on  fiction  would  shrink  from  portraying  thdr  I 
i.    The  second  rolume  is  not  inferior  to  the  first  in  interest  of  a  &tmiliir  kludff 
]  we  await  tbe  oil»er  volumes  in  anxious  expecutiun,  for  no  man  is  better  ♦ersei  i 
iKli  tart  of  knowledge  than  Mr.  Craik^  and  very  few  are  able  to  present  it  ia  A^ 
c  fonn. 


LTTERiiRY    NOTICES.  109 

We  miiat  flnJ  n  littli*  fanlt,  aft4?r  all.  Rlr.  Craik  knows  perfectly  well,  and  lelb 
us  ftilly,  what  a  wr^fili  wha  Leicester  -  t>iit  the  reading  of  his  will  iiffet'ttt  Kim,  imd 
He  exclarras,  **  Aior  Leicester  !  hh  impi)«aible  to  rend  what  lie  has  tlitis  written 
\TithoiJt  dwp  pity  fnr  liim  nfter  &11.  Whatever  he  had  dantN  whatever  he  hjid  h«hen, 
here  was  at  laat  the  end   come  to  alt  his  greatiiesa,  and  to  all  the  craft   <ir  vrlme 

whereby  he  had  climbed  i>r  fltiwii  bo  hijfh,  and  so  long  kept  hh  pride  of  plnce 

He  wa«  at  the  worst,  like  ev*ery  other  hunian  being,  far  from  being  all  bad.  If  he 
had  committed  all  or  any  of  the  darker  deeds  thtiC  have  been  Inid  to  his  charge,  he 
hitd  the  henvier  burden  to  bear  *  *' 

Now,  an  indulgence  in  this  exoeas  of  human  chart ty  would  go  far  at  last  to 
make  ns  all  ciinfound  the  distinction  between  good  and  eviL  **  Poor  Leicrater  I  " 
Unfortmmte  Thurtell  t  Unhappy  Mrs.  Brownrigg  !   Mlntakeri  Corderl 

]Wr.  Craik  telk  u»  that  when  the  famoii*  revek  of  Kenilworth  took  place,  in 
July  lf>7&,  I/4dcester  had  ecmceived  a  stronger  hoj>e  than  ever  of  raarryiug  Queeu 
Elizabeth,  although  a  connexion  between  him  and  Lady  Essex  subsisted  at  that 
time,  and  wandal  had  Ijegun  to  talk  of  hia  mtimacy  with  Lady  Sheffield.  Our 
anthor  then  goes  on  to  say,  ^^  Let  pot:try  of  matchkit  and  immortal  beauty  vhew 
forth  what  eniiued  :^ 

"  That  very  time  I  saw  (hnt  tlioti  cotildsc  not) 

Flying  between  the  C4»ld  moon  and  the  earth, 

Cupid  all  armed.     A  certain  aim  he  took 

At  a  fair  vestal,  throned  by  the  west. 

And  hxwed  a  lore-shnft  smartly  (row.  hii  bow, 

A»  tt  should  pien^  a  hundred  thousand  hearts, 

IJnt  1  might  see  young  Cupid  *  fiery  shafts 

Qtienched  in  the  chaste  tieam^  of  the  watery  moon  ; 

AimI  the  imperial  votaresii  |>assed  on 

III  maiden  meditation,  fancy  free. 

Vet  marked  I  where  the  bolt  of  Cupid  fell ; 

It  fell  iifMin  a  little  western  flower. 

Before  milk-whtte  i  now  pnrple  with  LoTe*i  womnd. 

And  maidenv  call  it  Love  in  IfUetiegu,* 
"  No  reader,  I  will  venture  swiy,  who  shall  come  to  the  perusal  of  Mr,  Halpin's 
most  ingenJmi*  eisay,  *  Oberon^s  Vi*ion  in  the  Midsummer  Ni|Tlu's  Dream, '  illus- 
trated by  a  comparison  with  Lylie**  *  Endymion,"  with  a  mind  (rati)  from  prepos- 
a^ftsioiiy  and  a  knowledge  of  the  time  sufliciently  familiar  to  enable  him  to  follow 
the  deduction  with  a  full  undpr»tandmg  and  rec^illection  of  its  several  parts,  and 
of  their  bearing  upon  one  another,  will  retain  any  doubt  that  the  pecret  meaning  of 
those  lines  ha*  now  been  discovered — ihat  Cupid  is  Ijcic^ster,  that  the  Moon  and 
the  Vestal  typify  Elizabeth,  that  the  Earth  is  the  Lady  Sbeffield^  and  the  little 
Western  Flower  the  Countess  of  Essex.** 

AVe  should  be  glad  to  read  Mr.  Halpin^s  ingenious  essay,  "printed  for  the  Shakn- 
pefire  Society,  184!i,"  as  Mr,  Craik  tells  us  in  a  note,  tt  is  a  curiosity  worthy  of 
preservation  by  that  Society,  for  the  Kenilworth  revels,  tlie  sentimental  paifsages  in 
which  are  asserted  to  have  been  thus  commemomted  by  the  poet,  took  place  when 
he  was  eleven  veam  and  three  moniha  &ld  !     Shakspcare  having  been  born  in  April, 

iri(f4, 

HaJf-on-honr*'*  research — for  dates  are  important  in  these  matters— wonld  have 
«avefl  fVIr.  Halpin  some  trouble.  His  only  consolation  under  the  »ense  of  his  mis- 
take is,  tliat  Shakspeare  was  not,  as  he  would  have  made  him  out  to  be,  such  a 
gooae  as  to  have  framed  the  ittupid  allegory  be  attributes  to  him. 

The  Czftf,  hi8  Court  and  People;    a  Narrative  of  Travels  in  Russia, 
Norway^  and  Sweden  in  1846-7,     By  John  S.  Maxwell 

Mr.  Maxwell  has  here  presented  u§  with  an  unpretending  volume,  full  of  infor- 
mation (brought  down  to  a  recent  period)  of  the  Ruv^ian  Empire,  interspersed 
with  entertaining  anecdMe  and  incident*  by  the  way.  The  pictures  of  St.  Peters- 
burg and  Moffoow,  of  Kaaan  and  Nischnei-Novogorod,  are  very  interesting.  While 
our  traveller  waaat  Kasan,  a  terrific  fire  took  place»  which  he  has  very  graphically 
iiescriJ>ed;  and  h©  plaoM  vividly  l»efore  us  the  motley  assembly  at  the  fair  at 
Niscbnei-  Novogorod.  Nor  otight  the  sketches  of  Norway  and  Sweden  to  be  passed 
over  without  remark,  nor  the  melancholy  picture  of  PolamL  Tho  work  la 
•specially  valuable,  as  containing  the  latest  account  of  the  important  Empire  of 
the  Cair.    It  forms  the  fifth  Number  of  **  BentleyV  Cabinet  Library/* 


THE  C5RON£H'd  CtKEK-  BY  THE  AUTHOR  OP  "  KXPERIENCES 
OF   A    GAOL     chaplain/' 

WITH    AN    ILLUSTRATION    BY    LEECH, 

GOOD    NIGHT  1       FROM    THB   GERMAN    OF    FAU£R, 

COQUET  SIDE.  A    SKETCH    FROM   THE    NORTH    COUNTRtB.  BY 

IIRS.  WARD,    AUTHOR    OF   "FIVB  TEAKS  IN  KAFPIRLAND/' 

OLD    IfCSlC   AND    FICTCREIJ,      ..... 

MANS  MICHEL;  OR,  A  FEW  OLD  GERMAN  PROVERBS  APPLIED  TO 
NEW    GERMAN    POLITICS,  ,  BY   THE    FLANEUR, 

QCEEN*B    BENCH    SEETCHES.       NO.    IV.  BY    W,    H»    MAXWELL, 

THE  RYE- LANES  AND  DOWNS  OF  ENGLAND,  WITH  TURF  SCENES 
AND   CHARACTERS,  .  .  BY    SYLVANUS, 

A    HOLIDAY   AT    BERLIN    IN    ANCIENT   TIMES,      • 

THE    RAMBLES   OF   DEATH,         .  •  .  .  » 

LIFE  :    A   GOSSIP,        •  .  .BY   ALFRED    CROWQUILL, 

WAYSIDE  PICTURES  THROUGH  FRANCE,  BFXGlUM,  AND  GERMANY, 
XVtJ.      THE   RANCK.  XVIII.     BERTRAND    DU    GU  ESC  LIN. 

XJX.  THE  RUINS  OF  LA  GARAYE,  AND  THE  PRIORY  OF 
LEHON,  ••.... 

MEMOIRS   OF    CHATEAUBRIAND,  •       WRnTEN    BY    HIMSELF, 

POSITION  OF  SIR  JAMES  BROOKE  IN  THE  INDIAN  ARCHEPELAGO, 
BY   JAMES    AUGUSTUS    ST.   JOHN, 

WITH    A    PORTRAIT   BY    FRANCIS    GRANT,   A.R.A* 

THE    CELLINI    CUP,  •  BY    SAMUEL  JAMES   ARNOLD, 

THE    LITERARY    CAREER   OP    WILLIAM    ELLERY    CHANNING, 

BY    CHABLES   WHITEHEAD, 

A  winter's  NIGHT  WITH  MY  OLD  BOOKS,  CHIEPLY  CONCERN- 
ING   GHOSTS    AND    PaODIGIES.         .  BY    ALBERT  SMITH, 

THE  PHILOSOPHY  OF  HISTORY* MACAULAY^S  JAMES  THE  SECOND, 

POPULAR    BOOKS    OF  THE    MONTH,  .... 


57 
66 

71 
83 

68 

91 
101 
104 

Warwick's  N««jfoEy.-^Porly  D»y»  in  the  De*ert  ou  ihe  Track  of  the  Ii»rjielU«Ji. —  Birnarti** 
Thrt-e  Ve»r»'  Cruiic  In  ilii*  M«»«mbn4ac  Clijitiitiel  for  the  Sup|)reaiiiiii  of  ihe  Sljiv«  Ti mle. 
—  MerrllVeld'i  Art>  of  Piltitkr^K  la  Oil,  MtuiAtiin.%  M(;»»ak„  ami  '<n.  Ckt*. — CnnicUo'i 
Clarji  F^iiv. — Shaw'i  0«illlu>e«  af  Englinh  Liferiilart. —  Dnjntinaml'a  Mi^moir  of  MuuUy;<ai' 
SUnrcyj  A.R.S.A. — Ainiwonk*!  LiiDca'>bire  W  Itch  c*.— If  art  in  Tontrnivtl,  «  Frcnchiiiaii 
in  Loadoa  In  1A3I. — The  RoinJiaci'  of  ibe  Pt^«ra;e.— Maiwed'a  C^r,  his  Court  40fl 
People. — Tyoilale'i  lilavd  of  Sardinia.— W ilk IuioaV  DalniKtU  aod  MoQtenv£ro, — Gealc*! 
Nol«t  or  1  Two  Yeiri'  R««Ulenc«  in  tuly. 


NOTE  TO  "WAYSIDE  PICTURES.' 


•^'  Wr  have  been  fsroared  with  a  tetter  from  Jersey,  in  which  the  writer, 
W*  H^  tmdflrtakai  to  correct  tome  errors  mrhich  he  uys  he  Has  detected  in  the  last 
— JH  of  **  Wmjmim  FktarvL"  The  author  of  thoie  tketcbes  must  decline  the 
gimAmmn\  humor.  Mid  rastrict  himself  to  his  facu. 

W.  H.  Mjs,  that  the  iood'.fitttt  mmI  dfkes  roand  Mont  Dol  tn  Brittany,  and 
l^iir  lacal  aitminnrntiirn  aad  gmtrdtawthip,  described  in  '^  Wayside  Picture^"  aie 
■■fwielf  cvaatnres  of  Um  writerV  imagiiiAtioii "  In  the  '*>  Ooide  Pittoresque/*  a 
wmk  got  «p  vtth  gnat  cam  and  dUbovmtiofli^  there  is  the  fotlowiog  account  of  theie 
i— iiitiiy  djkea: — *^C*tU  a  Chdteau-Richeuz  que  commencent  les  diffties  de  Dol 
^  a*teadevt  depn  tnniletl-Richeiix  jasqu*au  paj  au  Bofuf^  en  Ra^sur-Coiie- 
ttM,  c'cA-a^din  ntr  rngfrnm  d'enriran  ^  a  27  kilometres.  Ces  digues  ont  6t^ 
biMB  ioM  rjwtmtiaa  de  inCaniei  les  propri6t^  contenues  dans  un  certain  rayoii, 
fae  t\m  iifeBa  modrnwrn^  4m  uaondations  qui  pourraient  aToir  lieu  a  certaines  ^po- 
fnea  de  raiui^  «C  lots  de  quelfaei  fortes  mar^.  EUes  sent  la  propn6t^  et  Toar- 
rag^  de  tons  «eax  ^  fwmiitnt  dam  Fendare,  lesqnels  ont  M  autoris^  par  ]« 
g&mwmrn&mtnt  a  w  r^msir  en  sfrislinm  ei  a  former  un  petit  £tat  a  ]>art  rdatire. 
■MMI  d  nubdaklimtion.  et  auz  i^gJemwiti  quells  jugeraient  a  propoa  de  faire  dans 
nBldffiid»  IMM.  Les  marait  endavls  e'tendant  deptiis  Chiteau-neof  jnsqa*auprr« 
d»  VmtUmwam,  Dol  se  troaTe  ^tie  le  point  central,  et  rassenibl6e  des  di|pie»  s'y 
r^imit  one  fois  par  an,  a  Teffet  de  roter  le  budget  de  Pann^e,  d 'accepter  ou  de  r». 
j^ter  Tex^cnCMm  des  tra^vix  pevipoida  dans  1  ut^r^t  g«n^rml/'  The  same  autlio- 
rity*  after  speaking  of  the  bridges  over  the  dykes,  thus  refers  to  the  flood-gates  : — 
<^«  L*on  a  prati^n^  sons  lei  v«p4tea  de  oea  poRU  des  portes  faites  de  maniere  k  ce  <|ae 
le  mer,  en  arrirant,  lea  ferme  et  oppose  ainsi  a  elle-meme  un  obstacle  qu'elte  ne 
petit  firanchir  ;  lorsqn'elle  est  retir^,  la  force  de  Teau  dmice,  reteou  derrierc,  lea 
^Idiict  de  s'onrrir  et  de  lui  lirrer  on  paisaffe  6ur  la  ^re.** 

Mont  I>oU  says  W.  H.,  ^*  is  not  at  any  time  of  the  year  either  literally  or  figura- 
tirely  cat  off  friim  the  mainland  and  conrerted  into  an  island ;  in  fact,  the  sea* 
iliore  is  some  miles  distant  from  it,*^ 

**  Le  Mont  Dol,*'  sap  the  *"  Guide  Pittoretqne,^*  *♦  domine  le  marais^  et  s'deve 
i  une  haiiteur  flOii«ddimhle  ;  il  a  enTinm  nne  demi-lieue  de  tour  4  la  base^  et  for* 
nftit  une  ils  ptihdaiit  q^  dutm  rinvaaion  de  la  mer/* 

^  T1i«  «idf  boQdlqg  otl  Mont  Dd,^  lays  W,  H.,  ^^  is  the  tele^^raph  ;  it  is  other^ 
wbt  potlbetly  hara.**  <^A  church  crowns  the  rock,"  says  Bliss  Costello^  ''  which  is 
all  thai  remains  of  the  oaee  celeliraied  monastery."  "  Aloot  Dol,"  says  the 
*«  Qiiide  Pittoresque,"  "  is  a  bourg  of  one  thousand  dght-hundred  and  ^ty-four 
inhabitants." 

W.  H,  thinks  that  an  indignity  hai  becia  east  upon  St.  Servan,  in  speaking  of  it 
at  a  fanbonrg  of  St.  Malo*  "  Faubonrg  Indeed  !  **  says  W.  H.  *'  Saint  Senran," 
tayt  the  ^  Guide  Pittoresqae,**  *'  est  la  partie  continenule  d'une  rille  dont  Saint 
Mtlo  est  la  partia  insulaire.  La  premiere  a  pendant  long-temps  ft^  regards 
enmme  im  f*ulwir|if  de  la  seconde,"  Ac.  '*  Su  Sexran,"  says  M*Culloch  in  his 
•*  0^ii|rraphica]  Dictionary,"  "  is  a  town  and  seaport  immediately  behind  St.  Malo^ 
of  which  town  it  may  be  considered  the  continental  suburb,  though  comprised  in  a 
distinct  commune.*' 

Tbe  floating  dock  or  basin  at  St.  Male,  of  which  W,  H.  appears  never  to  hate 
heard*  was  undertaken  under  a  resolution  of  the  French  Chamber  in  18341  W. 
II,  (s  surprised  that,  residinjr  many  years  on  the  spot,  he  shonU  \ye  unacquainted 
irflb  the  local  facU  stated  in  the  **  \l  ayside  Pictures."  He  need  not  be  jturpnsed. 
II IN  rase  ii  luit  an  unciimmon  one.  Every  intelligent  traTelh^r  has  oliserved  the  ex-> 
g^ririihiary  i^nomnce  sometimes  exhibitcf)  by  English  residents  abroad  of  thif^ 
toiually  Iran  spiring  and  shaping  ihemselves  into  facts  under  their  very  eyes* 


ITiiT  i^rmisakm  to  nie  the  accompanying  engraved  portrait  of  Sir  James 
Hpjfikff,  we  »re  Indebted  to  Mr,  51  urmy,  of  Albemarle  Street,  to  whom  the  plate 
Mi*"!^*'  '*'"'  '"  ^^^'  *^'  ^'  ^^**"*'  ^^'*  eminent  mecsotint  engraver,  who  is  pn^tfie- 
Stir  »i(  thi*  Cll|•^ » V.  ^( ,     Mr.  Ward  will  shortly  pobliih  a  mesaGotint  engraTing  of  tj^^ 


THE    CORONER'S   CLERK. 

BY   THB   AUTUOJt    OF    **  £Xr£RIBNC£S  OF   A    GAOL   CHAPLAIN," 
WJTIl      AN      ILLUSTRATION      BY      LKECH. 


CHAPTER    IV. 

NOT  A  DROP  MORE,  GOOD  GENTLKITRN. 

•*  Poor,  dear,  worthy  mnii,  hia  animinding  and  irretrievable  ittntdeHei  were 
his  rtiin  !'* — Ladv  Mauy  Woktley  Montagu, 

It  was  long  before  I  could  sleep.  The  wine  1  had  drank,  the 
scene  1  had  gone  tbrotigh,  antl  the  painful  insight  I  had  obtained 
into  xny  employer's  principles  combined  to  keep  me  wakeful.  Again 
and  agahi  I  deplored  my  connection  with  him  ;  and  resolved  that  it 
should  terminate  speedily  if  not  amicably.  At  three  I  dozed  off; 
slept  heavily  and  uneasily  ;  and  only  awoke  to  my  horror  a  few 
minutes  before  twelve.  Rapidly  as  I  dressed,  raid-day  had  passed 
before  I  could  reach  the  coffee-room,  I  inquired  for  my  companion, 
and  was  toid  that  he  was  gone! 
^  "Has  he  let't  any  note  or  message  for  me ?  " 
f    "  None  whatever/' 

All  the  information  given  in  reply  to  my  agitated  inquiries 
amounted  to  this — ^that  the  gentlemen  in  No,  ^  had  called  for  hia 
bill ;  settled  it ;  ordered  his  gig,  and  tlriven  off  at  least  three  hours 
ago  ;  where, — was  not  for  the  landlady  to  say, 

A  pleasant  position  mine  I  seventy  miles  from  home ;  a  perfect 
stranger  in  Derby  ;  without  a  friend  or  acouaintance  of  any  kind  to 
repair  to,  or  consult;  ami  tviih  sei'en  pence  halfpefnttf  itt  mif  pocket! 

Why  1  was  turned  adrift  I  readily  understood.  But  not  an  atom  of 
regret  assailed  me  for  the  decision  I  had  adopted,  **  No  success  cim 
dignify  falsehood/'  whispered  conscience,  "Onward!  some  path 
will  open  among  the  liills"  suggested  memory.  While  the  liighest 
and  holiest  of  all  sources  of  consolation  breathed  soothingly,  '•  He 
that  walketh  uprightly  walketh  surely,*' 

After  a  stout  battle  with  pride — that  parasite  who  leaves  us  only 
•with  our  last  breath  I — I  sent  for  the  landlord,  and  confided  to  him 
my  position.  Boniface  listened  with  averted  eye,  and  replied  in 
ungracious  tone; 

*'  Folks  whose  pockets  are  light,  leastwise  such  as  have  no  money 
at  all  in  their  pusses,  shouldn't  go,  according  to  my  idee,  a  triirveU 
Jing !  Want  no  such  customers  to  cross  mj  threshold!  1  *m 
oblidgged  to  pay  mtf  way  ;  always  have;  hope  1  always  shall  ;  other 
fcdks  mun  do  the  same.  The  heavens  above  can  tell — I  can*t — ^who 
you  are,  and  what  you  are.  Never  was  much  of  a  scholard  ;  many 
who  were  came  to  no  good  indittg.  Head,  for  my  share,  nothing  but 
'Pilgrim's  Progress*  and  'Derby  Mercury/  As  for  advancing 
money  to  pay  coach-hire  home,  *cod,  that  is  wholly  agen  reasun.  It 
Ciin't  be  done,  no  how,  by  no  means.  As  for  stopping,  and  having 
'the  run  of  the  house,  tilt  you  've  heerd  from  home, — ^why  parents 
%otnetimes  are  not  agreeable  to  pay  landlord's  charges.     You  may 

VOL.    XXV.  1 


112  THE   CORONEB'S    CLERK. 

have  respectable  frinds ;— never  came  across  a  fellow  who  hadn't 
leastwise  when  he  fcas  at  a  non^plnsh  !  A  walk  won't  harm  ye 
The  distance  is  summat  of  a  stritch  ;  but  you  needn't  hurry  voui 
sen.  Upshot  of  all  is,  an  old  bird  like  I  a'nt  to  be  cotched  with  flj 
water.     I  wish  ye  good  morning." 

The  man's   manner,   look,   tone   were    so   extraordinary  that 
hazarded  the  question  whether  Raffbrde^  previous  to  his  departure 
had  not  made  him  some  communication  respecting  me. 

"  Iss,"  was  the  reply. 

"  What  was  iu  nature?  " 

"  He  kindly  cautioned  me,  cautioned  me  as  a  father,  and  sii: 
that  thou  like  other  lads  wert  very  ready  to  nin  up  scores  wid 
landlords,  but  uncommon  slack  at  dischar^n^  them  ;  and  thit  li 
for  thy  frinds,  one  and  all  had  at  various  times  been  supported  t 
county  charge.     Do'st  take  me?" 

«<  Both  which  lying  statements  he  shall  unsay,"  said  I  fiercdy. 

''  If  thou  get  him  to  sing  or  say  anything  in  thy  favor,  ltd,'tlioi 
art  more  keen-witted  than  I  judge  thee,"  said  Boniface  as  be  witlh 
drew. 

I  prepared  for  my  departure ;  but  before  quitting  Derby  ran  up  u 
the  court-house  and  asked  a  sallow,  half  starved,  clerkling  whetbff 
the  case  of  "  Hushford  versus  Smithers  "  had  come  oflT,  and  in  vUt 
it  had  issued. 

"A  compromise,"  was  the  reply;  "the  court  was  tired;  tbehir 
was  tired:  the  jury  were  tired;  and  so  the  proposed  anangaDOt 
met  with  general  acquiescence.  But  the  knowing  ones  thought  thtf 
RafTorde's  client  ^Smithers)  had  the  greatest  reason  to  concur  in  it.' 

Sadly  I  turned  awav.  ''Again  triumphant!  How  adroitly 'I 
thought,  "t;i  this  life  Mammon  shields  ana  shelters  his  own!" 

I  was  a  pedestrian !  And  my  bent  homewards !  A  pedcstrio- 
With  what  opposite  and  conflicting  associations  is  that  term  linked 
in  different  minds !  With  some  it  is  identical  with  freedom,  adven- 
ture, nivrriment.  With  others  privation,  weariness,  and  suffrrio^- 
With  some  it  is  all  sunshine ;  with  others  all  gloom.  What  more 
inspiriting  than  the  joyous  start  in  early  morning,  the  gay  caroiot 
tlio  bird^,  the  frngrnncc  of  the  hedge  row,  the  luscious  scent  of  tb( 
bonn-fiolcl !  What  more  gladdening  than  the  wild  burst  of  youtfaM 
iiniritji ;  the  eager  expectation  of  adventure ;  the  search  after  noTcHr. 
the  eoinnanionship  of  kindred  spirits  on  the  breexy  moor,  or  oo  tk 
-nriiiK^y  luMther  P  What  prizes  in  aflter  life  are  hailed  more  joyodi 
lliiin  tlioMe  linny  imcs  made  on  the  fishing  excursion,  or  those  Kathcitii 
oni*«  nui  \\x\iivx\  during  the  fowling  match  ?  What  sketch  more  Xx» 
«n)«*<l  ill  filler  %\nys  than  that  of  the  mouldering  arch,  or  topplinj 
^^^\^v^.  ^^\  \\\'  (tdwiuhI  gntcway,  dashed  off  at  mid-day  when  tb 
lin<(pB,iil«  HH.ia  hfiMily  laid  aside;  or  at  sunrise  when  a  merry  day' 
,««fii«h  H^na  hiipi'i'iilly  couinicncetl  ?  And  with  all  this  a  feeling  fl 
ih,M«»ii»)h  iutl«t|i%iii«|,M)ee  and  security  suggested  by  the  presence  of 
,|iM»  I  l««it  ^\  M\\\\^  \\  iiMul  in  the  breast-pocket  in  the  guise  of  a  devcrl 
i-,M^»  i«^l»-»i  •*«*»!  iumlc*iftloly  Ntored  note-case.  Reverse  the  picture,  't 
^\\t\^\\s  Ou  «viki>%>  M\\\  lftb«mr  of  the  pedestrian,  weary,  anxious,  fool 
«oiv  ^^««^  s\\*y\y  u%  si  iut.li ting  under  a  sense  of  injustice ;  faint  ^oi 
i<%liinr«(.*«^  mvi**  s  l*->  oi  ururly  so ;  utterly  uncertain  where  to  Tt 
•M   h.  w   *..j..^**u   ua%>hiiirni  nni  be  procured—is  bitter  pasting 


THE   coroner's   CLERK. 


113 


G(h1  help  the  poor  way-farer   whose   necessities   compell  him    to 

indulge  in  it  1 

I  had  accomplished  about  a  fourth  of  my  distance — the  last  mile 
of  the  fifteen,  at  a  very  halting,  unequal,  staggering  pace, — when  on 
a  sudden  I  felt  myself  dead  beat.  I  fell ;  and  found  on  rising  that 
I  could  walk  no  further,  I  was  compelled  to  give  in.  Nature 
craved  a  respite*  Her  day's  toil  she  deemed  over,  I  stretched  my- 
self beneath  a  hedge-row,  spent  and  exhausted  j  but  yet  resigned. 
An  hour  thus  rolled  away — an  anxious^  weary,  melancholy  hour. 
No  passenger  approached  ;  and  yet  the  hum  of  busy  life  was  borne 
fitfully  on  the  breeze.  A  snug  halting-place  was  unquestionably 
■within  earshot  At  a  little  distance  rose  the  village  church,  with  its 
tapering  spire  ever  pointing  to  the  Unseen,  and  the  Approaching,  and 
the  Enduring,  And  around  it  —  plainly  visible  here  and  there 
throygh  the  low  and  fragile  fence,  —  were  thinly-scattered  tomb- 
stones, themselves  gray  with  years,  and  hastening  to  decay,  frail 
memorials  of  those  who  were  calmly  slumbering  below.  I  listened. 
The  clock  with  feeble  and  hesitating  blow  struck  the  hour:  and 
anon  the  chimes  rung  out  clearly,  soothingly,  and  pleasantly,  in  the 
«til]  evening  air.  It  was  an  old  church-melody,  solemn,  simple,  and 
subduing  ;  and  as  it  pealed  upon  the  ear,  it  awoke  a  thousand  tender 
recollections  —  recollections  of  one  deeply  loved  and  early  lost j — 
whose  seraph  voice  I  had  heard  so  often  sw^ell  the  strain  ;  now 
united  to  a  deathless  choir  above,  and  joining  in  a  nobler  and  cease- 
less melody  before  the  throne  of  God  I 

While  pondering  over  the  present  and  the  past,  a  tall»  ungainly 
figure,  shabbily  dressed  in  faded  black,  drew  nigh.  He  was  bent 
either  with  age  or  sorrow ;  but  his  air  was  that  of  a  gentleman  ;  and 
his  step  firm  and  decided.  Some  absorbing  thought  engrossed  him, 
for  he  mutteretl  to  himself  as  he  walked ;  and  in  a  tone  so  full  and 
strong,  that  as  he  came  up  I  distinctly  caught  the  words  twice  re- 
peated, 

^  Diirate  ;  et  vo«fD«t  rebui  aerrftte  secandii.* 

same  idea  elaewhere^ — yes !  yes  1  clothed  anew,  thought  the  same,— « 

*  HebuB  angnttiD  animosus  ntqiie,'  " 

What  prompted  me  I  know  not^ — perhaps  my  better  genius, — but  I 
instantly  addedj — 
■  .  *^  *■  Fortis  apparo.*  ** 

"    "  Ha  !'*  said  he,  halting  abruptly,  *'  who  are  you  that  quote  Horace 
from  a  hedge- bottom  ?     How  is  this  ? — hey  ? — hey  ?" 

In  few  words  I  explained  to  him  my  position ;  the  scheme  of  my 
principal ;  and  the  punishment  which  had  followed  my  refusal  to 
further  it;  kU  flight  from  Derby ^  and  my  pilgnmagc  homewards. 

'* Never  knew  a  righteous  attorney  yet,*'  was  his  reply,  "The 
system  bad,  vicious,  and  stimulating  ;  soon  ripens  the  trembling  pet- 
tifogger into  the  hardened  rascal.  Attorneys  I  Some  term  them  the 
salt  of  the  earth.  If  so,^ — a  truly  nauseous  salt  they  constitute  ;  for 
they  embitter  every  object  they  approximate,  Heh  !  As  for  you,*— 
why — humph  f — your  looks  confirm  your  story.  May  be  false,  for 
all  that  ]Vlay  be  true,  Hope  the  latter.  One  above  must  judge. 
At  all  events  home  with  me ;  home,  I  say,  at  once^  for  refreshment 
and  for  rest," 

I  8 


ir^ 


THE  coroner's   clerk. 


I  rose ;  but  walked  feebly  ;  and  ere  long  fell. 
'*  Ah  V*  cried  he,  "  are  we  come  to  our  farthest?  Do  we  salute^ 
our  mother-earth  whether  we  will  or  no?  Then  willhig  aid  must 
be  sought  elsewhere/'  He  drew  from  his  waislcoat-pocket  an  i%ory 
call,  blew  it»  and  was  answered  by  the  shout,  or  rather  yell,  of'*  I  'm 
liere^  sir  !"  uttered  by  a  shaggy,  stout,  wild-looking-  retainer,  who  on 
a  sudden  bounced  through  the  hedge.  "  Help  this  poor  fellow  to 
the  Parsonage/*  was  his  order ;  and,  borne  along,  or  rather  carried^ 
by  the  sinewy  aid  of  my  new  attendant,  I  speedily  reached  a  lowly 
cottage  which  fronted  the  church,  and  which  I  rightly  concluded  to 
be  the  old  man's  home. 

*'  Repose  to-night,  converse  to-morrow/'  was  his  sole  remsrlt  cm 
welcoming  me  to  his  little  homestead.  The  sun  on  the  following 
morning  had  been  many  hours  above  the  horizon  before  my  kind 
host  would  allow  me  to  be  di.stiirbed.  **  Rest  V*  was  his  injunction^ 
**  care,  and  sorrow,  and  conflict,  are  before  you  ;  rest,  and  forget  life 
while  you  can.  Nor  affect  surprise  at  my  advice.  Few  have  rough- 
ed it  more  severely  or  continuously  than  myself.  Forty  and  Bvt 
yeara  ago  this  day  did  1  enter  the  Church.  My  reward?  a  manhood 
of  incessant  struggle ;  wound  up  by  an  old  age  of  imminent  wartt, 
I>o  I  regret  my  choice  ?  Sometimes  I  fear  I  do/*  said  he  faintly^ 
"  when  conscious  of  age  and  resistless  infirmity  stealing  on.  Butl 
have  had  glimpses  of  preferment,  too,"  continued  he,  with  a  merr 
laugh  ;  "and  one  or  more  of  them  you  shall  hear,  A  Spa  is  in  our 
neighbourhood;  and  to  it  repair  the  idle,  and  the  dissipated,  and  the 
profligate — those  who  are  really  ill :  and  those  who  fancy  themselves 
80,  Among  the  latter  came,  some  years  ago.  Sir  Horace  G ray bu me. 
Sir  Horace  held  a  Government  appointment :  was  a  fluent  speaker, 
enviably  free  from  prejudice,  and  a  special  favourite  with  the 
chancellor ^ — Lord  Loughborough.  His  lordship,  it  was  underst 
would  always  listen  to  Sir  Horace^s  recommendation  of  some  pauf 
clergyman  for  a  starvation  living.  My  parishioners  learnt  this, 
solved  to  be  *  up  and  doing  "  in  my  behalf^  and  in  great  force  wailed" 
upon  the  diplomatist.  The  wary  baronet  received  them  with  bland 
smiles  ;  replied  to  tJieir  address  in  the  most  honied  accents  ;  talked 
of  principles,  piety,  earnestness,  and  ministerial  responsibility,  till 
the  tears  stood  in  the  eyes  of  some  of  his  simple  listeners,  and  took 
leave  of  them  with  the  assurance  that  he  would  himself  personallf 
judge  of  the  claims  and  abilities  of  their  *  justly-revered  pastor.' 
Chilton  church  one  fine  Sunday  afternoon  he  came  in  state.  I  hi  _ 
notice  of  his  advent,  but  made  no  alteration  in  my  sermon,  its  style, 
or  its  subject,  AH,  I  was  resolved,  should  be  honest  and  straight- 
forward on  mt/  part.  I  preached  on  steadfast  principles  as  the  only 
ones  acceptable  to  God,  or  useful  to  our  fellow  men,  1  thought  the 
chancellor's  crony  looked  rather  odd  and  uneasy  as  I  proceeded  witll 
my  argument ;  but  this  1  attributed  to  the  earnest  gaze  fixed  on  hh 
by  tlie  throng  around  him.  On  went  I,  firmly  and  boldly,  thr 
my  service  and  my  sermon,  heartily  glad  when  both  were 
eluded, 

*'  I  had  barely  reached  home  when  the  leader  of  the  deputmtia 
one  of  my  most  anxious  and  unwearied  friends,  came  up,  with  «  fal 
flushed  with  vexation,  and  eyes  that  sparkled  with  anger. 

*'  *  Well,  you  've  done  for  yourself  now,  utterly  and  irretrievabij 

ns,  I  presume,  you  intended." 


TFTE   coroner's  CLERK. 


TT5 


**  I  looked  AjrhasL 
**  •  It  *s  hopeless  to  attempt  to  serve  you/  continued  he,  mopping 
his  brow :    '  you  've  cut  your  own  throat ;  and  bleed  to  death  you 
will,  whether  or  no  !     What  a  sermon  !* 

•"A  plain  and  simple  one/  said  I ;  '  such  I  meant  it  to  be/ 
**'A  deuced  deal  too  plain/  waa  the  rejoinder;   'that  was  its 
fault;   and  as  for  its  simplicity,  it  was  superb — no  mistaking  it;  all 
must  understand  your  hits/ 

"*  Hits!'  returned  I,  with  genuine  amazement, — ^  what  hits?* 
*'  *  At  Sir  Florace ;  palpable,  repeated,  crushing,  and  each  told. 
What  demon/  he  continued,  'could  induce  you  to  preach  about 
niAead  fastness  in  the  hearing  of  such  a  political  weathercock?  Whut 
■rlj  hits  he  not  joined  and  betrayed  ?  What  principles  has  he  not 
Ivocated  and  repudiated  ?  What,  for  a  consideration,  would  he  not 
jf  or  unsay  ?  Was  be  not  once  ranked  among  the  Prince's  frienda  ; 
and  then,  did  he  not  veer  round,  and  give  in  his  adherence  to  the 
King's  party?  When  the  King  was  in  Willis's  clutches,  did  he  not 
sweAr  by  the  heir-apparent  ?  And  when  the  sovereign — God  bless 
"ira!  —  rallied,  and  sent  Willis  adrift,  did  not  Sir  H,  forget  all  his 
'Garhoa  House  professions,  and  avow  himself  the  King's  faithful  sub- 
ject and  servant  unto  his  life's  end  ?  Did  he  not  repeatedly  speak 
the  Union,  and  afterwards  vote  steadily  for  it?  A  Janus! 
place,  or  power,  or  pension,  in  the  distance,  and  Sir  Horace 
ild  Tote  that  the  devil  was  a  virtuous  character,  and  Absalom  a 
pattern  for  all  dutiful  children !  And  before  this  renegade  you  get 
up  and  preach  lustily  on  the  beauty  and  value  of  steadfast  principles  ! 
Lcmacy  I  stark,  staring  lunacy  !  The  game's  up.  Sir  Horace  would 
•ee  joa  in  a  parish  workhouse  before  he  'd  move  his  little  6nger  to 
•erve  jou.  I  know  the  man.  From  this  day  forth  he  washes  his 
hands  of  you,  and  me,  and  the  deputation  altogether.  You  '11  see 
tktt/ 

'*  My  friend's  augury  was  correct*    The  baronet  sent  quietly  for  a 

■•iliiiDble  member  of  my  flock  ;  overwhelmed  htm  with  courtesy  ;  said 

]"     ;  be  believed  me  to  be  a  worthy,  well-meaning  man  ;  but  that  my 

pfiociples  belonged  rather  to  the  past  than  the  present  age ;  and  that 

— /  Imd  *  hfitrr  remain  where  I  was.' 

**  Wh^i  a  cruel,  cold-blooded  charlatan !"  was  my  involuntary  ex- 
daniation* 

•*  Not  at  all  I "  said  the  old  churchman  ;  "  Sir  Horace  but  carried 
oot  his  own  principles.     For  once  he  was  consistent.     I  blame  him 
And  for  myself  welcome,  say  I,  the  pauper's  fare  in  life,  and 
pauper's  funeral  in  death,  rather  than  preferment,  if  that  be  the 
rard  of  base  subserviency.     Youth,"  cried  he  sternly,  '*  there  nre 
f  ilia  than  poverty  ;  believe  an  old  man  who  says  as  much,  and 
mho  adds,  that  no  price  is  too  costly  for  a  stainless  conscience/* 
"  But  independence  in  the  evening  of  life  is  desirable?" 
*'lf/*  atrudt  in  my  companion, — "  if  attained  without  saeriBce  of 
priodple." 

••  But  the  aged  ecclesiastic  reasonably  expects  it." 

**  And  sometimes  misses  it  as  inadvertently  and  unaccountably  as 

I  did.     Will  the  recital  of  ray  short-comings  amuse  you  ?     Let  me 

aee.     Sofiie  siJt  years  since,  a  lady   and  gentleman  came  to  llkley 

of  the  name  of  Tingcombe.     They  were  both  wealthy.     She 

Fna*  an  hctreia:  and  he  had  succeeded  unexpectedly  to  considerable 


lie 


ftt^  CBinrdi  pr^ 

Dig  WmtW  B^BAfFW 

1^  were  ebildleM ;  h^ 
rigbL  of  patraaage  acled» 
liiile  ¥i(CUMi^  of  no  great 
dllkky.  TlielieveMm 

JSW  4ir  VW  OVBCSt  DICBCftii  VC  flUBC'  CSSOB  QttS  OVtt  SBD  Dl^flBCd  ulCD 

T^^^l!p'^^ 'j.  ~^*'ng"  ^'t  '^  **— -- J-^-*" — 1— ^ -i  >l^ 

MBofexceMk'    IK-Milrf  MM  cJMt  Mi  far  it«  Aarcgfiepfobatioo  ;  iti 

Wf&m  tlie  pmUiv  ^m^dtfioB  and  aearm  to  wbkli  excess  expoaed 
t£e  fanale  iiii  ■jIit.  I  thwghl,  aa  I  pneeeded,  that  Ilr.  Tingcombe 
IfMiinril  Accpiiti  and  iln.  T.  mwrngt.  Theie  waa  •  aoowl  upon  her 
Maple  brow  wliiek  waa  alannii^*  Jforeover  aather  sbe  nor  her 
better  half  woold  return  mj  bow  aa  tfc»  left  the  cbar^  ;  and  there 
were  aniidfy  winks,  and  Mda»  and  mmcb,  among  mj  auditory  as  X 
OQQciiided,  which  were  moat  eonlbaiidii^  However  I  never  heard 
of  ray  itraj  Tiaiton  afain,  «r  of  tben-  wtaai  Hring.  Of  the  nodip 
winka,  eoagbap  mm^  hana,  I  had  aabaeqaenlly  ample  explanatioiu 
^fr.  and  Mra.  UngooDabe  were  a  united  couple.  Tbetr  U«ie9  aasi* 
mLUted*  Each  was  atraoglj  attached  to  the  ocher,  ami  to  a  mutual 
firieDdj  the  bottle.  They  mUttainad  hoapiublj ;  and  Tisitad  about, 
amoog  a  certain  claaa,  jojrontly  and  readilj.  On  one  occaaioci  they 
were  returning  Ute  &Qm  some  festivity,  the  gentlem&n  mounted  on 
a  noble  steed :  the  lady  on  a  piUian  behind  him ;  for  pillions  were 
not  discarded  in  those  days ;  and  ladies  did  not  disdain  to  ride  be- 
hind their  husbands.  Their  road  lay  through  a  warren  of  loose, 
deep  sand,  skirted  br  a  little,  trickling  stream,  which  in  aome  tea- 
sona  overflowed.  The  sitting  had  been  long,  and  the  party  loerrr, 
and  Mrs.  Tingcombe  much  at  her  ease,  very  nappy  and  comfortiible. 
By  some  means  it  happened,  how  was  never  accurately  a^certftined, 
that  the  lady  lost  her  seat,  and  slipped  down  from  the  pillion.  Bfr. 
T.by  some  proceas  equally  inexplicable  never  missed  his  fair  charge, 
or  was  conscious  of  being  alone.  On  he  jogged,  more  indebted  to 
the  instinct  of  the  noble  animal  he  rode  than  to  his  own  reason,  and  at 
length  reached  the  main  entrance  of  his  mansion.  An  expectant 
groom  rushed  out  to  receive  him  and  to  aWat  hia  mistress  to  dis^ 
mount.  But  she  was  nowhere  to  be  seen.  All  the  hiccupping  hus- 
band  could  say  amounted  to  this,  that  his  lady,  when  the  party  broke 
up,  had  mounted  behind  him  and  that  they  had  started  together ; 
and  all  that  the  grinning  servants  could  repeat  was  the  undeniable 
fact  that  their  mistress  was  wanting.  There  was  the  pillion ;  but 
where  wa*  the  lady  ?  Lanterns  were  procured  ;  horses  were  saddled, 
and  grooms  dispatched  in  various  dirt'ctions.  The  search  was  vary 
speedily  succesttfuL  The  missing  fair  one  was  discovered  uninjured 
on  a  soil  bed  of  sand,  near  the  margin  of  the  little  stream,  the  waters 
of  which  had  risen,  and  had  just  reached  her  lips. 

**  Her  voice  guided  those  who  were  in  search  of  her  to  the  spot, 
8he  was  repealing  in  the  most  bland  and  dulcet  tones,  *Not  a  drop 
more  f  I  thank  you  kindly,  good  gentleraen,^ — not  another  drop ! ' 


THE   CORONERS   CLERK. 


117 


"  The  graceless  varlet  who  went  and  raised  her  from  her  recum- 
bent position  roared  till  his  wicked  sides  ached,  for  the  bewildered 
woman  persisted  in  repeating  the  whole  time  he  endeavoured  to  exe- 
cute his  errand, 

** '  You  Ye  very  pressing  I  But  I  W  serious !  Not  a  drop  more^  I 
thank  you  kindly,  not  another  drop  upon  my  solemn  word  I  * 

"  No  wonder/*  concluded  the  old  clergyman,  *'  that  my  dry  homily 
on  the  duty  of  moderation,  and  the  sin  of  excess,  produced  so  many 
wry,  and  so  many  merry  lacesj  at  Chilton*  What  more  unpalatabk 
to  ihirsttf  souls  J'* 


CBikPTEH     Y. 
LUXURY:     AND     A     CHURCH MAK! 


I...„ ^....„. 

P        Times,  that  men  c^uarrel  with  thy  Decaltigue  rather  than  with  the  Creed.    But  the 

L        quairel  that  begins  with  oDe,  generally  ©xtiinds  to  the  othtT." 

^K  Da,  Dote  of  Doncaster^ 

^f  Anothkb  day  elapsed  ere  ray  host  would  permit  me  to  hint  at 
^^  departure* 

'*  I  make  no  apology/*  said  he,  "  for  my  simple  fare ;  that  I  will 
alter  for  no  man  ;  for  debt  I  will  not  incur.  Such  as  it  is,  share  it; 
and  to-morrow  I  will  speed  you  on  your  way/' 

The  following  morning  at  eight,  a  light  dog- cart,  battered  some- 
what by  wear  and  tear,  and  a  **  fast  ponev/*  decidedly  advanced  in 
years,  both  lent  by  a  parishioner,  stootl  at  the  gate.  It  was  to  convey 
me  two-and-twenty  miles  by  various  short  cuts  and  cross  roads 
towards  my  home ;  and  drop  me  at  Swiftstream,  whence  a  walk  of 
eleven  miles  would  bring  me  within  sight  of  my  own  dwelling. 

"  No  thanksj"  said  the  venerable  ecclesiastic  as  I  tendered  xny 
acknowledgments.  *' No  thanks*  You  will  find  in  the  dog-cart 
luncheon,  which  I  enjoin  you  to  take  at  mid-day.  No  man  can  step 
out  well>  fasting;  No  thanks.  But  if  you  are  bent  on  gratifying 
me,  promise  never  to  malign  the  Church !  Her  ministers  have  a 
perpetual  conflict  to  undergo;  daily  and  wearisome  self-denial  to 
sustain;  wanton  and  wilful  misrepresentation  to  live  down.  Recal, 
when  you  find  them  assailed,  the  old  clergyman  at  Chilton;  and 
when  you  hear  them  taxed  with  indolence,  selfishness,  apathy,  and 
unmerited  opulence,  think  of  the  old  man  who  sheltered  and  suc- 
coured you,  and  who  is  cheerfully  wearing  away  Ms  days  on  hiack'^ 
smith*!  mages.     Not  another  wortl !     Farewell !  " 


CHAPTER    VI. 
THB     £ND    OF     A    SUCCE8BFUI.     MAN. 


|._„,..„.„..„^ 

^^■irbo  aweeptt  the  crcwsijigas,  except  that  commaud  of  money  whicb  Fruviilence  ho 
^HSFWd  beatown  upon  the  warthJe^s,  t<i  teach  gwyd  men  how  much  it  ought  to  he 
■        despUed  in  comparison  with  virtue." — Jrtonymoiit, 

What  projects  of  ample  revenge  for  real  or  supposed  injuries  do 
the  young  often  indulge  !     What  scathing  language  do  they  intend 
|io  use  [    What  bitter  comparisons  do  they  purpo&e  to  apply  !     Their 
nagination  teems  with  invective  and  reproach.     As  I   neared  my 
borne,  faint  and  foot-sore^  I  had  arranged  an  elaborate  arraignment 


It  vu  perfect.  All  it  re- 
_  ftuiirfiee.  I  rose  the  last  bill. 
tmpitd  bmnb  my  dwelling:  and  the 
^  of  tbe  ^oiee  flowers  of  rhetoric  with 
Alas !  for  the  next  three 
Mlic  lerer ;  rose  at  length  from 
i  kid  forgotten  ill-treatment  in- 
I  blank.  All  I  retained 
'  afthm  pftK.  A  month  elapsed,  and  I 
Tliere  sat  Mr.  Rafbrde,  cool,  impassi* 
opposite  him  the  pale*  emaciated,  and 
I  to  1mt«  puted  from  them  as  of  yesterday. 
Ki  il^i  II  ipoke  ;  neither  aodced  roe.  A  slight  and  passing  wave  of 
tlK  band  mB  mf  piiwiipal  aiooe  indicated  his  coosciousnesa  of  my 
He  nrvcr  ellnifcil  to  mj  ilhiesa ;  nerer  aaked  me  if  I  was 
'  adverted  to  oor  parting  at  Derby  ;  never  inquired 
>  of  Bj  aiwenee.  Afler  a  brief  interval  he  flung  on  my  desk 
wkhtliis  peodlled  memorandum  appended, — "to  be 
beforr  pooMaaie.''  Further  instruction,  lo- 
,  tiicre  woa  none.  Tillett  was  somewhat  tm 
He  teixed  a  diaengaged  moment  to  whisper,  "  Yui 
1  to  Derby  was,  I  tnuty  prodactive  of  as  much  pleasure 
von  aiiCicipaited  ?  A  jaaot  from  Dome  with  an  agreeable  comj 
18  an  erent  in  a  clerk's  life." 

Feeble  as  I  was,  I  couSd  have  choked  the  fellow  ! 

Other  fedings  were  destined  ere  long  to  ari^e  towards  him.    Over 

the  office  in  waich  the  clerks  wrote,  and  approachable  only  by  a 

iteep,  narrow  staircase,  was  the  iaMcitim  of  Mr.  Raffbrde.     It  was  a 

room  of  considerable  dimensions,  but  gloomy, — having  only  one  very 

narrow  window,  which  looked  into  a  small  paved  courtyard,  Houni 

thia  laiKimm  were  hung  some  coloured  engravings  of  worthies  ii 

whom  Raffbrde  peculiarly  delighted    There  was  one  of  Garrow— ^li 

Bailej  Garrow — an   admirable  *•  felons'  counsel ;"  another  of  Sf 

Vicary  Gibbs ;    the  amiabiiitj^  of  hit  temper  made   him  a  specii 

favourite  with  mj  venerated  master ;  a  third  bore  the  name  of  Mi 

Serjeant  Topping — *'  an  irascible  but  most  persevering  counsel,** 

Quote  Rafforcie's  description ;  a  fourth  was  a  coloured  drawing 

ilr.  Serjeant  Cockle.     This  latter  learned  gentleman  was  depie 

accidentally  or  designedly  with  a  droll  cast  in  his  eye :  the  whole  e; 

pression  of  countenance^  in  fact,  was  what  h  termed  "  knowing/* 

and  in  one  light,  when  you  gazed  at  this  masterpiece  of  art,  the  vcr 

comical- looking  serjeant  seemed  actually  winking  at  you.     All  els 

was  sad  and  dreary.     The  room  was  never,  even  in  the  longest  and 

brightest  days  of  summer,  visited  by  a  stray  sunbeam  ;  very  rarely 

cleaned ;  and    filled    with   dust :    but,  for    its  purpose,  appropriatl 

enough.     In  it  what  nefarious  transactions  had  been  huggesltd,  car 

ried  out,  and  consummated  I     There ,   how  many  an   unsui^pectini 

clodpole  hud  been  ruined  I    What  fraudulent  bankruptcies  had  th 

been  arranged  !     What  convenient  transfers  of  property  had,  on  ttie 

eve  of  insolvency,  been  decided  on.    Could  those  walls  have  spoken, 

what  precious  details  of  villainy,  fraud,  and  perjury,  would  they  not 

«  uisclused  I      What  singular  revelations  had  those  legal  worthii** 

;  wnll  listened  to — the  winking  gentleman  indudetl, — he  nu^ht 

h}k  so  knowing.     In  this  mtwtum,  and  surrounded  by  tiioc 


THE   coroner's   CLERK. 


119 


eminent  mdividuaU^  it  wa«  Rafforde's  custom  to  immure  himself 

when  any  coup-de-grdce  was  concocting. 

The  description  of  this  den  of  villainy  would  be  incomplete  if  no 
mention  were  made  of  a  long  tybe,  or  trumpet,  in  one  corner,  which 
communicated  with  the  clerk's  room,  and  through  which  JVIn  Raf- 
forde  could  issue  his  commands  to  his  satellites  below^  and  receive 
their  replies,  without  moving  from  his  chair. 

One  Thursday  morning,  a  fortnight  after  my  return  to  the  duties 
of  the  office,  I  found  that  a  fire  had  been  lighted  in  the  principars 
private  room,  and  that  he  was  momentarily  expected  there.  The 
weather  was  bitterly  cold  ;  and,  whether  from  that  circurafitance,  or 
from  recent  illness,  I  felt  so  cramped  and  chilled  that  I  could  with 
difficulty  hold  my  pen,  or  maintain  an  upright  position  at  my  desk. 

Me,  RafTorde's  heavy  step  was  heard.  He  came,  passed  by  the 
office-door  without  looking  in,  as  was  his  wont,  and  mounted  the 
Bteep  stairs  to  his  room.  Tillett  followed:  fiyfttUj  I  am  unable  to 
say ;  for  with  pain,  and  cold,  and  weakness,  I  became  drowsy,  and 
gathering  myself  up  into  a  corner,  and  resting  my  oching  limbs  as 
well  as  1  was  able  upon  a  rude  wooilen  bench,  I  fell, — not  much 
against  my  inclination, — into  an  uneasy  slumber.  The  first  thing 
that  roused  me  was  the  door  being  sharply  opened,  and  a  hurried 
survey  taken  of  the  room  by  Rafibrde,  who,  not  observing  my  posi^ 
lion,  and  imagining  the  office  to  be  empty,  locked  the  door  sharply 
on  (he  otdside,  and  again  mounted  to  the  upper  regions.  Next  came 
words  of  strange  import^ — threats  on  one  side,  met  by  entreaties  on 
the  other, — -from  the  room  above.  The  funnel,  near  to  which  both 
speakers  must  have  been  standings  and  which  ran  down  close  by  the 
bench  on  which  I  lay,  conveyed  to  nae  each  expression,  with  pain- 
ful accuracy.  Averse  thus  to  become  privy  to  their  secrets,  my 
first  impulse  was  to  spring,  or  try  to  spring,  upon  my  feet.  I 
was  powerless.  My  former  malady  had  returned,  and  again  held 
me  in  bondage  ;  I  was  a  cripple,  hand  and  foot.  As  a  last  resource, 
and  by  way  of  fair-play,  I  whistled,  then  called  Tillett  by  name, 
then  shouted  as  loudly  as  pain  and  faintness  would  allow  me.  I 
might  have  spared  myself  the  twinges  which  these  exertions  caused: 
the  parties  in  the  room  above  were  too  occupied  and  too  exaspe- 
rated to  attend  to  me. 

*'  So !  you  will  not  complete  this  document  in  the  minute  way 
that  I  describe?  **  said  Rafforde,  in  his  deep,  stern  tones. 

^*  Oh,  I  cannot  f  I  cannot !  '*  rejoined  Tillett,  helplessly.  '*  Every 
hour  I  dread  detection.  Life  is  a  burden  to  me;  yes,  a  bitter 
burden.  Daily  do  I  loathe  and  abhor  myself  for  past  villanies  : 
ask  me  not  to  add  to  them," 

"Coward!"'  observed  R  a  fib  rde,  contemptuously  :  ^' do  as  I  com- 
mand you;  place  the  late  Mr.  Roger  Ottiwell  Alleyne's  signature 
in  full  to  that  parchment,  and  mind  how  you  fling  off  the  light 
flourish  to  the  y,  and  hit' — lor  you  can  do  it — ^the  nice  rounding  of  the 
O,  and  the  freedom  of  the  capital  R.  Old  Alleyne  wrote  legibly  to 
the  last^" 

There  was  a  pause,  and  then  Tillett  exclaimed  huskily,  *^  I  can- 
not ;  I  will  not  add  this  to  former  for — " 

'"  Mind  what  you  say,  young  man  ]'*  interrupted  Rafforde  ;  *'  be 
cautious!" 

•*  Oh  that  I  had  been  so  in  days  gone  by  1  **  shrieked,  rather  than 


CSOEONERS  CLESK* 


a^o  in  engfonn^ 
the  match  is  perleet; 
see  that  your  K^tyf  hai 


tiie  other.    «  Wovtld  to  God  thai  I  had  never  pbced 

power ! " 

'^hat  widh  is  ttttered,  is  it  not,  sofnewhat  Lite  in  the  dty  ?  *  re- 
I  the  elder  gendcmaai,  with  a  sneer.  •*  fiut  come,  time  prtam; 
ink  in  the  metal  standiih  yoii  wiH  find  to  be   the  thing;  U 
cloidj  atthnihites  in  hue  with  that  lu^  jrears  ~ 

the  mortgage  ;  dismiss  all  itmr  aa  that  h 
hatten ;  the  light  will  taii  m  tbortly  t  let 
not  loit  its  cumung :  sign." 

**  Never,"  said  my  fellow-clerk  firmly  ;  **  never !  ** 
'•  Indeed  I  so  determined  I**  said  his  master^  with  a  hollow,  mock* 
ing  laugh.     Then,  in  a  lower  and  graver  tone,  **  Yoo  forgew  I  pw- 
tume,  that  I  can  hang  yoo  ;  that  in  this  desk  there  are  4tHyBWiff 
carefully  treasured  which  would  place  yon  on   the  dron.    A  plci 
aant  sight  truly  would  that  p^ove  to  your  aged  mother.** 
.     *•  Name  her  not  1 "  cried  Tillett,  in  a  tone  of  frenzy. 
n    *<And  an  agreeable  recollection  lor  the  surviving  memben  ^ 
your  family ;  your  sisters^  for  example/  pursued  the  other,  cwn- 
posedly« 

Tillett  was  silent. 

«*  Your  destiny,  and  you  know  it,  is  in  my  hands/'  resumed  lUf- 
f forde :  **  provoke  me,  and  you  perish*" 

**  I  must  deliberate  awhile  on  this  matter,"  was  Tillett's  mufhd 
j  rejoinder ;  and  before  his  ma^er  CK>uId  interpose^  quitted  in  haiHf 
the  apartment* 

Hour  af\er  hour  rolled  away.  At  length  the  dim  twilight  ciBie 
ttealing  in  ;  and  as  I  lay,  helpless  and  almost  motionless,  fancr  ever 
busy,  peopled  the  gloom  with  the  images  of  those  who,  in  days  font 
by,  had  stood^  and  begged,  and  wept,  and  implored  in  that  darkem^ 
and  inquisitorial  chamber.     Foremost  came  the  widow,  pale  with 

i protracted  vigil  and  quenchless  sorrow,  who,  pointing  to  her  father* 
ess  ones,  seemed,  with  frantic  gestures,  to  entreat,  that,  for  tkdr 
9ake$,  some  little  indulgence,  some  slight  favour,  might  be  shewn  her^ 
A  stern  voice  thundered  "  No/'  Next,  from  amidst  a  shrinking  hand 
of  sunpliants,  stepped  a  grey-haired,  tremulous  old  man,  who  oirod 
that  his  ** little  inheritance"  was  in  ple^lge  to  some  covetous  Ahsb; 
repeated,  over  and  over  again,  in  shrill  and  childish  acc^nts^  thi( 
"  %t  tvas  6ni  (t  garden  of  herbs,  hut  precious  to  him,  as  being  the 
bequest  of  his  father;"  that  he  **  was  loth  to  part  from  it ;"    begged 

[  bumblv  i'or  further  time,  and  some  little  abatement,  and  forgiveocsi 
of  the  law  charges,  which  were  "  heavy  aod  hard  to  bear."  A  mock- 
ing Iftiigh  interrupted  the  earnest  pleader.  *'  Foreclosed,"  was  the 
Hole  but  significant  reply.  The  old  man  bent  subniissivelv  his  hoarj 
head,  and  feebly  wringing  his  thin  and  wrinkled  hancls,  tottered 
•lowly  away.    Tnere,  too,  amid  the  gloom,  stood  the  young  heir  widl 

Ifiunhedand  feverish  mien,  and  features,  once  fair  and  noble,  butnov 
marred  with  dissipBtion  and  excess ;  and  there,  with  care-worn  sir, 
the  falherlessand  molhorlesa girl,  with  noble  portion,  on  which  tbelaW 
hiiil  already  fixed  ils  firm  and  unrelaxing  talons ;  and  there  the  j 
and  honest  denier,  surprised  by  sudden  calamity,  who  vehemen 
wnd  vainly  sought  '^'the  boon  of  a  fewdays^andbut  a  few  days' dels; 
and  the  "  postponement  for  the  present  of  summary  measures,**  whii 
would  engulf  him  and  his  in  swift  and  certain  ruin.  Vain !  vai 
Sneers  and  scotls  were  the  response*     Oh^  how  harshly  did  th( 


vauil 


THE   CORONERS   CLERK. 


121 


|ccho  and  re-cho  in  that  chamber  of  denial,  &nd  rebuke^  and  su^ering, 
and  woe. 

The  phantoms  raided  by  fancy  were  atill  weepings  and  imploring^ 
and  struggling,  and  promising,  when  the  shrewd  and  sharp-tongucd 
beldame  who  had  charge  of  the  chambers  burst  in  :-— 

**  Found  at  last,  eh  !  A  weary  search  has  there  been  for  you. — 
What  I  set  fast  by  the  rheumatiz,  eh  ?  Rbeuniatiz  clerks  won't  do 
here,  that  I  can  tell  *ee,  they  don't  pay,  can  neither  tell  lies  nor 
write  'em.  Master  allows  illness  in  none  of  his  people.  Man,  w^oman, 
and  child,  all  must  work ;  ay,  work,  work,  work»  or  tramp  ;  that's 
Raffbrde's  rule.  Yes,  yea !  See  how  it  is,  regularly  sewn  up  ; 
home  's  the  place,  and  home 's  the  word." 

And  the  huge  beldame,  with  the  help  of  another,  and  both  using 
language  anything  but  complimentary,  soon  bore  me  to  my  dwelling* 

Another  six  weeks*  confinement  reminded  me  of  the  pleasant 
results  attendant  on  my  trip  to  Derby.  Tillett's  assurance  was  pro- 
phetic, that  "I  should  have  ample  cause  long  to  remember  it." 

Again  did  I  crawl  down  to  the  office  and  encounter  the  gratified 
gAae  of  my  malignant  master.  God  forgive  me  if  I  misjudged  him. 
But  if  ever  1  saw  pleasure  beam  in  his  malevolent  eye,  it  was  when 
he  saw  me  limp  into  his  presence,  and,  feeble  and  emaciated,  cling  to 
my  desk  for  support,  while  I  endeavoured  to  execute  his  orders. 

During  my  illness,  Oldrich,  a  Suffolk  lad  from  **  Hoseley"  {Hol- 
lesley),  had  been  added  to  the  office.  His  abilities  were  not  brilliant 
and  his  blunders  neither  '^  *€w  nor  far  between."  But  inasmuch  as 
his  bewildered  parents  had  been  mulcted  of  a  respectable  amount  of 
premium,  his  short-comings  were  forgiven;  and  Rafforde  warmly 
commended  him  to  Tillett's  good  offices,  and  bade  him,  with  a  grin, 
forthwith  mend  his  manners  and  his  spelling.  Both,  unquestion- 
ably, were  susceptible  of  improvement.  As  for  Tillett,  his  de- 
meanour seemed  to  have  undergone  an  entire  change.  The  previous 
quietude  and  self-possession  of  his  manner  had  vanished ;  and  he 
bad  suddenly  become  impatient  of  all  contradiction,  waspish,  irrit- 
able, morose.  He  held  no  intercourse  with  human  being  save  that 
which  the  business  of  the  office  rendered  unavoidably  necessary  j 
was  in  a  general  way  moody  and  reserved;  but  upon  the  slightest 
opposition  to  his  wishes  or  opinions  there  lit  up  a  fierce  glare  in  his 
eye  bordering  on  frenzy.  More  tlian  once  was  an  attempt  made  to 
approach  the  subject  of  BIr.  Alleyne's  signature,  and  to  inquire  how 
that  infamous  proposal  had  been  put  aside.  But  his  moody  manner 
repelled  my  advances;  and  at  length  I  chimed  in  with  his  unsocial 
habits.  Our  intercourse,  strange  to  say,  was  fast  drawing  to  a 
close. 

One  memorable  Friday  morning,  Rafforde  came  down  to  the 
office  as  usual,  and,  vexed  at  a  long  array  of  blunders  which  Oldrich 
[had  committed  in  transcribing  some  tedious  affidavit  in  chancery, 
I  fired  off  a  volley  of  abuse  at  the  offender,  and  then  sharply  censured 
Tillett  for  permitting  papers  so  slovenly  written  and  so  inaccurately 
spelt  to  leave  the  office.  Tillett  replied  with  all  humility,  that  he 
**  was  no  schoolmaster ;  and  though  he  would  endeavour  to  give 
Oldrich  an  inkling  of  law,  he  would  not  undertake  to  teach  him 
his  letters;  spell  he  never  would  while  he'd  breath." 

Perhaps  the  Hoseley  boy  was  a  Phomsi  /  Unquestionably  his 
notions  were   peculiar.      He  would  write  occasion  with  two  ks; 


r!* 


i  mm  h^  and  then  finish  It  up 
"  pcmnde  him  that  ''air/' 
;  ^r  in  his  judgment  sufficed 
.  Haflbrd^'ft  wrath  was  not 
■■lb  epithets  escaped  him ; 
th^  the  pspcTB  to  theif 

Tilklt,  with  marked  and 
iilwaire.;* 

»  aeofching  rejoinder  horered 
nt  dlvetted  his  att4rntion^  and 

i  juttA  vented  his  amazement 

■t,"*  said  he^  "  in  Hoseley-hsy  f 

BaUy  aaid  row  in  that  fashion  f 

ttK^  «thks  lUffarde  is  whoUy 

m  bdere  loog,"  added  Tillett, 


[  not  appear  at  the  office.  Clients 
idilf  aaswered.that  be  presumed 
»  had  ooi  seen  him.  He  himaelf, 
ervnos  and  ill  at  ease.  An  odd 
imj^Ms^  if  he  had  received  a  blow  ; 
(  though  his  right  hand 
ay  came.  No  ttdingf  of 
of  letters,  which  none  of 
t  Rplj  tau  A  w«eh,  ten  days,  nearly  a  fort- 
}  BKt^  the  old  beldame  before  referred 
ipile  aC  her  name  I — set  public  corYJeC' 
■St  **  her  dear  master  would  never  be 
( sure  and  certain**  of !  She  ''  had  dream- 
aid  iha  "  «a«ld  like  to  know  when  had  her  dreami  { 
^  His  private  room  was  now  approached.  The  blind 
rvBy  and  ikt  dmr  btMtd  imside^  His  study  at  his  dwell- 
»  ant  eramlned.  All  was  in  perfect  order.  His  papers 
Notiung  had  been,  apparently,  abstract* 
ed.  Wbahad  hist  seen  or  spoken  to  him?  This  proved  to  be 
that  acttte  yavag  gentleman,  Mr.  Or  ford  Oldrich.  He  had  been  with 
lus  employer  aft  six  on  that  memorable  Friday  evening :  and  had  lel^ 
him  "Mwil  smrjuittdr  Raffbrde  had  then  insisted  on  his  buyinj^ 
A  spdling-book,  and  learning  daily  "whole  columns  of  spelling T 
i^fMJ  had  finished  the  interview  by  observing  to  the  incensed  Mr,  Or- 
ford  that  he  **  had  not  lei\  behind  him  a  greater  fool  than  himself  in 
^ic  whole  county  of  SutTolk/*  Mr.  Orford's  indignation  was  so  great 
In  describing  this  interview,  that  the  parties  who  listened  to  liim  , 
were  in  doubt  whether  to  assent  or  dissent  from  Ilaflbrde's  con*  ' 
fusion. 

The  next  morning,  unsummoned  and  unexpected,  pleasant  Kills 
strode  into  the  office.  She  walked  op  and  doT«rn  it  more  than  once, 
slowlv  ^^^  deliberately  J  sniffing  the  air,  and  peering  into  every  nook 
and  corner, — then  marching  up  to  the  desk  where  TiUett,  with 
1 1  ncUcd  features  and  quivering  lip,  was  writing,  she,  bending  her 


THE   spirit's   whisper. 


123 


fc 


a  a-kimbo^  and  approaching  her  face  bo  closely  to  his  that  she 
could  look  into  his  eyes,  and  watch  their  wondering  and  alarmed  ex- 
pression, saiti,  in  low  and  quiet  tones,—**  Death  is  here.  I  feel  his 
presence  ♦  I  cannot  be  deceived,  I  have  seen  him  arrive  too  often. 
He  waves  his  wings  over  this  threshold.     Search  the  room  above/* 

**  Why,"  faltered  Tillett :  his  knees  smote  together  as  he  spoke, 

"  Because/'  returned^the  strange  being,  "the  King  of  Terrors  is 
there," 

Tillett  hesitated. 

*'  Burst  the  door,  and  you  will  find  whom  you  seek/' 

We  did  as  the  advised.  The  process  was  not  an  easy  one,  for  the 
door  was  heavy  and  massive.  At  length  it  was  torn  from  its  hinges. 
There^  leaning  back  in  his  chair,  discoloured,  and  strangely  marked, 
lay  the  mercilesa  RaflTorde.  Surgeons  were  summoned  and  came. 
But  life  had  been  many  days  extinct.  One  leech  affirmed  that  the 
deceased  had  '*died  of  apoplexy/'  Another  **  apprehended  that  the 
cause  of  death  was  water  in  the  chest/*  A  third  averred  that  '■  Raf- 
forde  for  years  had  been  a  gouty  subject,  and  that  gout  in  the 
stomach  might  possibly  have  been  the  fatal  malady/* 

Pleasant  Ellis  shook  her  head  in  dissent ;  and  as  each  doctor  de- 
livered his  dictum^  commenced  anew  an  examination  of  the  dead. 
Pausing,  at  length,  In  her  task,  she  thus  addressed  the  members  of 
the  faculty: — 

"  You  say,  sirs,  do  ye,  that  he  met  his  death  fairly  ,>  /  say  he 
did  not  Look  here,"  and  she  beckoned  to  her  side  some  of  the 
horror-stricken  spectators,  —  '*  don't  shrink  from  the  dead.  Theif 
cannot  harm  ye.  Be  'war  of  the  living.  'Tis  ihcm  that  betray,  and 
sting,  and  ruin.  Look  here  I— observe  well  that  broad  blue  line 
deep,  deep,  around  the  neck.  Bo  ye  catch  the  meaning  of  that 
mark?"  ri^one  spoke,  "Then  let  an  ignorant  woman  tell  ye,*' 
There  was  a  strange  and  revolting  air  of  triumph  in  her  eye  and 
manner,  ill-suited  to  the  hour,  and  which  all  seemed  to  feel  and 
shrink  from,  **  Ay,  let  igfiorafice^  for  once,  speak  and  be  heard.  This 
chamber  has  been  the  scene  of  murder.  He  died  under  the  hand  of 
another.     Let  those  deny  it  whom  it  suits,    Mr^  Rnfforde  has  been 

STOANGLBB  1" 


THE  SPIRIT'S  WHISPER, 

Haste,  hmste  awav  from  die  bntintj  i>f  man  to  the  de»ert  wild  and  free, 

Oh,  fly  the  world,  tta  toili  and  strife,  thou  child  of  mifler)' ! 

I  '11  War  liiee  far  on  the  wings  of  air  to  a  place  of  joy  and  love» 

Where  tlie  jsuobeams  play  through  the  livelong  dny  from  tho  azure  akiei  fthovo  ; 

W«  '11  recJine  on  a  hank  with  flow  Vets  gi^mmed^  in  the  tthade  of  the  fon^t  wide, 

By  tome  rippHop  stream,  with  its  silver  gleam,  as  it  hasteft  to  its  ocean  bride  ; 

From  the  earliest  dawn  till  evening-tide  idl  nature  hushed  »hall  he, 

Save  tlie  ringdove'i  note,  as  she  siiii  remote,  in  \he  waving  linden-tree, 

t>r  the  halmy  hreeze  ai  it  fans  the  air  in  the  fieaceftil  realms  on  high, 

liike  a  paaaing  sprite,  and  »eeras  to  hreathe  for  man  a  gentle  sigh. 

And  when  wft  twilight's  mellow  shades  enwrapped  around  shall  be. 

We  '11  whiMper  vowb  enduring  aye,  of  love  and  constancy, 

The  frowniug  night  appalTd  shall  fly  before  the  morons  cold  light, 

Which  bathes  the  mountain  and  the  plain  in  Hiwda  of  silver  bright: 

Tliere  Philomel  lio  rival  fe»r»,  hut  poors  xinceasingly 

The  hallowed  music  of  the  night,  the  earth's  soft  lullaby. 

Oh^  haste,  then,  haste  from  the  haunts  of  man  to  the  desert  wild  and  free. 

Oh,  fly  th«  world,  iu  toili  and  ttrife,  thou  diild  of  misery  ! 


124 

FRANK   HAMILTON; 

TUE   CONFESSIONS   OP   AN  ONLY   SO,N. 
BT   W.    B.  MAXWSLLj   BBQ. 


CHAPTSA  I. 

*^  JMmKo.    *TU  but  fortune  ;  all  it  {ottane,** 

Tuftlfth  N^t 

^  Btmmtia.    ^Tit  not  unknown  to  yoti,  Antonio, 
How  much  I  hare  disabled  m,f  tttate, 
Br  something  ihewing  m  mta%  swelling  port. 
Than  my  faint  meant  would  grmnt  oontinuance/^ 

Merchanl  qf  FMc^. 

I  ABC  by  birth  an  Irishman,  and  descended  fram  an  ancient  farnHf. 
I  lay  no  Gluim  to  any  connexion  \¥ith  Brian  Boru^,  or  JVIalichi  of  tht 
crown  of  gold,  a  gentleman  who,  notwithstanding  the  poetical  autho 
rity  of  Tom  Moore,  we  have  some  reason  to  believe  during  his  Ion 
and  tllustrious  reign  was  never  master  of  a  crown  sterling.  My  an^] 
cestor  was  Colonel  Hamilton,  as  stout  a  CromweUian  as  ever  led  a 
squadron  of  Noll'g  Ironsides  to  a  charge.  If  my  education  whs  not  of 
the  first  order,  it  was  for  no  lack  of  instructors^  My  father,  a  half- 
pay  dragoon^  had  me  on  the  pig-skin  before  my  legs  were  long  enottglt 
to  reach  the  saddle-skirt ;  the  keeper,  in  proper  time,  taught  roe  to 
shoot :  a  retired  gentleman,  olim,  of  the  Welsh  fusileers,  with  a  single 
leg  and  sixty  pounds  per  annum^  paid  quarterly  by  Greenwood  and 
Cox,  indoctrinated  me  in  the  mystery  of  tying  a  Hy,  and  casting  the 
same  correctly.  The  curate — the  least  successful  of  the  lot,  poor  man, 
did  hia  best  to  communicate  Greek  and  Latin^  and  my  cousin  Con- 
stanoe  gave  me  my  first  lessons  in  the  art  of  love.  All  were  able  pro^ 
fi^aors  in  their  way»  but  cousin  Constance  was  infinitely  the  moat 
agreeable* 

I  am  by  accident  an  only  son.  My  mother,  in  two  years  after  she 
had  sworn  obedience  at  the  altar,  presented  her  liege  lord  with  a 
couple  of  pledges  of  connubial  love,  and  the  gender  of  both  was  iiMi»- 
culine.  Twelve  years  elapsed  and  no  addition  was  made  to  th« 
Ilamiltons ;  when  lo  I  upon  a  fine  spring  morning  a  little  Benjamin 
was  ushered  into  existence,  and  I  was  the  God-send.  My  fnther 
never  could  be  persuaded  that  there  was  a  gentlemanly  profession  in 
the  world  but  one,  and  that  was  the  trade  of  arms.  My  brothers,  as 
they  grew  up*  entirely  coincided  with  him  in  opinion,  and  both  wooU 
bo  sotdters.  William  died  sword  in  hand^  crowning  the  great  breodl 
at  Rudrigo  ;  and  Henry,  after  demolishing  three  or  four  cuiraaaiers  of 
tlie  Imperial  Guard,  found  his  last  resting-place  on  '*  red  Waterloo.'* 
When  they  were  named,  my  father's  eye  w*ouId  kindle^  mod  my  mo^ 
ther*s  be  suffused  with  tears.  He  played  a  fictitious  part,  enactc^d  the 
Roman,  and  would  persuade  you  that  he  exulted  in  their  deaths ;  bu 
my  mother  played  the  true  one,  the  woman's* 

\  was  an  autumnal  evenings  just  when  you  smell  the  firat  mi 


FRANK    HAMILTON. 


125 


*  winter  in  a  ranfied  atmoapliere,  and  see  it  fa  the  clear  curline 
of  tlie  aoioke,  ms  its  woolly  flakes  rise  from  tlie  cottage  chimney^  mm 
gradually  are  lost  in  the  clear  blue  sky,  Altliougli  not  a  eold  evening, 
fl  log-wood  fire  was  extremely  welcome*  My  father,  Heaven  rest 
him  !  had  a  slight  touch  in  tlie  toe  of  what  finished  him  afterwards  in 
the  stomach,  namely,  gout, 

"James/'  said  my  lady  mother,  "it  is  time  we  came  to  some  de- 
cision regarding  what  we  have  been  talking  of  for  the  last  twelve 
months.     Frank  will  be  eighteen  next  Wednesday /* 

*'  Faith  !  it  is  time*  my  dear  Mary  ;  the  premises  are  true,  but  the 
difficulty  is  to  come  at  the  conclnsion." 

**  You  know,  my  love,  that  only  for  your  pension  and  half-pay,  from 
the  tremendous  depreciation  in  agricultural  property  since  the  peace, 
we  should  be  obliged  to  lay  down  the  old  carriage,  as  you  had  to  part 
with  the  harriers  the  year  after  Waterloo." 

That  to  my  father  was  a  heavy  hit,  '^  It  was  a  devil  of  a  sacrifice, 
Mary," — and  he  sighed,  "  to  give  up  the  sweetest  pack  that  ever  man 
rode  t& ;  one,  that  for  a  mile's  run  you  could  have  covered  with  a 
blanket — heigh-ho  1  God'a  wilJ  be  done;*'  and  after  that  pious  adju- 
ration, my  father  turned  down  his  tumbler  No.  3,  to  the  hottonu  The 
memory  of  the  lost  harriers  was  always  a  painful  recollection,  and 
brought  its  silent  evidence  that  the  fortunes  of  the  Hamiltons  were 
not  what  they  were  a  hundred  years  ago. 

"  With  all  my  care,"  continued  my  mother,  "  and,  as  you  know,  I 
economise  to  the  best  of  my  judgment,  and  after  all  is  done  that  Ci\n 
he  done,  our  income  barely  will  defray  the  outlay  of  our  household/* 

"  Or,  as  we  used  to  say  when  I  was  dragooning  thirty  years  ago, 
1  *  the  tongue  will  scarcely  meet  the  buckle,"  "  responded  the  coloneL 

^I  have  been  thinking,"  said  my  mother,  timidly,  "that  Frank 
aight  go  to  the  bar." 

"  I  would  rather  that  he  went  direct  to  the  devil,"  roared  the  com- 
mander, who  hated  lawyers,  and  whose  great  toe  had  at  the  moment 
undergone  a  disagreeable  visitation. 

"  Do  not  lose  temper,  dear  James,"  and  she  laid  down  ber  knitting 
to  replace  the  hassock  that  be  had  kicked  away  under  the  painful 
irritation  of  a  disease  that  a  stoic  couJd  not  stand  with  patience,  and, 
as  they  would  say  in  Ireland,  would  fully  justify  a  Quaker  if  "he 
kicked  his  mother/* 

"Curse  the  bar  I"  but  he  acknowledged  his  lady  wife's  kind  offices 
by  tapping  her  affectionately  on  the  cheek.  '^  When  I  was  a  boy, 
Mary,  a  lawyer  and  a  gentleman  were  identified.  Like  the  army — 
and,  thank  God  1  that  is  still  intact,  none  hut  a  man  of  decent  pre- 
tensions claimed  a  gown,  no  more  than  a  linendraper's  apprentice  now 
would  aspire  to  an  epaulet.  Is  there  a  low  fellow  who  has  saved  a 
few  hundreds  by  retailing  whiskey  by  the  naggin,  who  will  not  have 
his  son  *  Mister  Counseller  O' Whack,  or  'Mister  Barrister  O'Pin- 
iiigan  ?'  No,  no,  if  you  must  have  Frank  bred  lo  a  local  profession, 
make  him  an  apothecary ;  a  twenty  pound  note  will  find  drawers, 
drugs,  and  bottles.  Occasionally  he  may  be  useful ;  pound  honestly 
at  his  mortar,  salve  a  broken  head,  carry  the  country  news  about,  and 
lie  down  at  night  with  a  tolerably  qutet  conscience*  He  may  have 
hastened  a  patient  to  his  account  by  a  trifling  over-dose  ;  but  he  hai 
not  hurried  men  into  villanous  litigation,  that  will  eventuate  in  tlieir 
ruin.     His  worst  olTence  against  the  community  shall  be  a  mistaking 


V2G 


FRANK    HAMILTON. 


of  tuoth-aclie  for  tic-tlouloiirenx,  and  Imnbugo  for  gout,^ — oli,  d — n  the* 
gout!'' — for  at  tliat  jiortioii  of  his  speech  the  poor  colonel  had  sub- 
tainL'd  an  awful  twincre, 

*'  Well/'  continued  tlie  dame,  "  would  you  feel  inclined  to  let  him 
enter  the  University,  und  take  orders?" 

'^  Become  a  churchman  ?"  and  away,  with  a  furious  kick,  again  ^h 
went  the  hossoek.  **  Yon  should  say^  in  simple  Englidi^  moke  hiot  a  ^M 
curate  for  the  term  of  natural  life.  The  church  in  Ireland,  Mary,  is^^ 
like  the  bur,  it  once  was  tenanted  by  gentlemen  who  had  birth,  worth, 
piety,  learning,  or  all  united  to  recommend  tliem  to  promtition*  Now 
it  ia  an  arena  where  impure  influence  tilts  airainsit  nnblushinfr  hy*j 
pocrisy.  The  ritce  Ia  between  some  shuffling  old  lawyer,  or  a  canting! 
saint.  One  has  reached  the  woolsack  by  polttiCcd  thimble  ntrfting,  i 
which  means,  starting  patriot,  and  turning,  when  the  price  is  offered, 
a  ministerial  Iiack,  He  forks  a  drunken  dean,  bis  son,  into  a  Fatber- 
in-Gudship  with  ali  the  trifling  temporalitieii  attendant  on  the  same. 
Well,  the  other  fellow  is  a  '  regular  go- a- head/  denounces  popery,  i 
calculates  the  milleninm,  alarms  thereby  elderly  women  of  both  M?xe$, 
edilies  old  maids,  who  retire  to  their  closets  in  the  evening  with  the 
Bible  in  one  hand,  and  a  brandy-bottle  in  the  other;  and  what  he 
likes  best,  spiritualizes  with  the  younger  ones/' 

**  Stop,  dear  James."     The  emphasis  on  the  word  spirit uallzr  had  i 
alarmed  my  mother,  who,  to  tell  the  truth,  had  a  slight  touch  of  the 
prevailing   maladyj  and,  but  for  the  counteracting  influence  of  tht  ] 
commander,  might  have  been  deluded  into  saintship  by  degrees. 

The  great  toe  was,  however,  again  awfully  invaded,  and  my  father's 
spiritual  state  of  mind  not  at  all  improved  by  the  second  twinge, 
which  was  a  heavy  one. 

*'  Why,  damn  it— ^' 

"  Dun't  curse,  dear  James  *' 

"Curse!  I  will;  for  if  you  had  the  gout,  you  would  swear  like  A 
trooper." 

'*  Indeed  I  would  not/' 

"Ah,  Mary/' replied  my  father,  "between  twinges,  if  yon  koe« 
the  comfort  of  a  curse  or  two — it  relieves  one  so." 

*'  That,  indeed,  James  must  be  but  sorry  consolation,  as  Mr.  Cant 
well  said — '* 

*'  Oh  1  d — n  Cantwell/'  roared  my  father,  "  a  fellow  that  will  tell 
yuu  that  there  is  hut  one  path  to  heaven,  and  that  he  has  diseorered 
it.     Pinh  !  dear  I^Iary,  the  grand  route  is  open  as  the  mail-coach  roftdit 
ami  Papist  and  Protestant,  QuaJcer  and  Anabaptist,  may  jog  along  i '~ 
even  pace,     I'm  not  altogether  sure  about  Jews  and  Methodists.     On 
bearded  vagabond  at  PortsmiiUtb  charged  me,  when  1  was  going  lo  I 
PeniuHuliJ,  ten  shillings  a  pound  for  exchanging  bank  notes  for  specie 
and  every  guinea  the  circumcixed  scoundrel  gave  me  was  a  light  one 
He'll  fry — or  has  fried  already — and  my  pm^r  bewildered  old  aun^ 
under  the  skilful  management  of  the  Methodist  preachers,  who,  for  j 
dozen  years  in  their  rambles,  had  made  her  house  an  inn,  left  the  thr 
thousand  five  per  cents,  which  I  expected,  to  blow  the  gospel- tnimjH't 
either  in  California  or  the  Cape — for,  God  knows,  I  never  particulaulf 
inquired  in  which  country  tLe  trumpeter  was  to  sound  *  boot  and  : 
die,'  after  I  had  asceitiined  that  the  doling  fuol  had  n^ade  a  legal  i 
Itiment  quite  sntficient  for  the  purposes  of  the  holy  knaves  who  huB 
bugged  her.     Cantwell  is  one  of  the  same  crew,  a  specious  hypocrite 


FRANK   HAMILTON, 


127 


u 


would  attend  to  the  f*?llow  no  more  tban  to  that  red-headetl  rector — 
every  priest  h  a  rector  now — who  often  held  wy  horse  at  his  father's 
forge,  when  I  happened  to  throw  a  shoe,  Iiunting,— and  would  half 
break  his  back  in  bowing,  if  I  handed  liim  now  and  then  a  sixpence. 
Would  1  believe  the  dictum  of  that  low-born  doc,  when  he  told  me 
that  in  head- quarters/' — and  my  father  eleviitea  his  hand  towards 
heaven — ''they  cared  this  pinch  of  snulf,  whether  upon  a  Friday  I  ate 
a  rasher  or  red-herring  ?  *' 

Two  episudes  inierrupted  the  polemical  disquisition.  In  character 
none  could  be  more  ditferent-«the  one  eventuated  in  a  clean  knock 
down — the  other  decided  indirectly  my  future  fortunes — and,  in  the 
next  chapter,  both  shall  be  detailed. 


CHAPTER    II. 

*>■  Ant4mia*    Thmi  kuow^C  that  lUl  my  fortunes  are  at  sea  ; 
Nor  hjive  I  maney,  n^nr  commodityji 
To  raiae  a  pri^setic  sum,** 

Merchant  of  Venice, 

The  BohceH  Kistanaugk,  called,  in  plain  EngJishj  the  kitchen  bov» 
had  entered >  not  like  Calibanj  "  bearing  a  hg^*  but  with  a  basket-full. 
He  deposited  the  sopply,  and  was  directed  by  the  commander  to  re* 
plenish  the  fire.  1  believe  that  Petereeine's  allegiance  to  my  father 
originated  in  fear  rather  than  atfection.     He  dreaded 

**  the  deep  damnatioD  of  hii  *  Bah  ! '  " 

but  what  was  a  still  more  formidable  consideration,  was  a  bkck- thorn 
stick  which  the  colonel  had  carried  since  he  gave  np  the  sword  ;  it  was  a 
beautVj  upon  winch  tvery  fellow  that  came  for  law,  in  or  out  of  cus- 
tody, lavished  his  admiration- — a  clean  crop,  with  three  inches  of  at» 
iron  ferule  on  the  extremity*  fily  father  was,  "good  easy  man/' a 
true  Milesian  philosopher— his  arguments  were  those  impresijive  ones, 
called  ad  hmninem,  and  after  be  had  grassed  bis  man,  he  explained 
the  reason  at  hia  leisure. 

Pelereeiiie  (little  Peter),  as  be  was  called,  to  distinguish  him  from 
another  of  that  apostolic  name — who  was  six  feet  two — approached  the 
colonel  in  his  best  state  of  health  with  much  alarm  ;  but,  when  a  ht  of 
the  gout  was  on — when  a  foot  swathed  in  tiunnel^  or  slippered  and 
rested  on  a  liassock,  annoynced  the  anthritic  visitation,  Petereeine  would 
hold  strong  doubts  whether,  had  the  choice  been  allowed,  he  should 
not  have  preferred  entering  one  of  Van  Am  burgh's  dens,  to  facing 
the  commander  in  the  dining-room. 

Petereeine  was  nervous — he  had  over-heard  hia  master  blowing  to 
the  skies  the  Rei^erend  George  Cantwell,  and  the  red-headed  rector, 
Paul  Macrony.  If  a  parson  and  a  priest  were  so  treated  what  chance 
bad  he  ?  and  great  was  his  trepidation,  accordingly,  when  he  entered 
the  state  chamber,  as  in  duty  bound. 

'*Why  the  devil  did  you  not  answer  the  bell?  You  knew  well 
enongh,  you  incorrigible  scoundrel !  that  I  wanted  you." 

Now  my  father's  opening  address  '^vaa  not  calculated  to  restore 
Petereeine  8  mental  serenity — and  to  add  to  his  uneasiness,  he  also 
caught  sight  of  that  infernal  implement,  the  black^thorn,  which^  in 
treacherous  repose,  was  resting  at  my  father's  elbow. 

**  On  with  some  wood,  you  vagabond." 

The  order  was  obeyed — ^and  Petereeine  conveyed  a  couple  of  billets 

VOL.    XXV.  K 


128 


FRANK    HAMILTON- 


gafely  from  the  basket  to  the  g:rate.     The  next  essay,  however,  was  a 

failure — the  third  log  fell— and  if  the  full  were  not  great,  as  it  dropped 
on  the  fender,  it  certainly  was  very  noisy.  The  accident  was  harmless 
— ^for,  according  to  honest  admeasurement,  it  evaded  my  father*B  foot 
hy  a  full  yard — hut,  under  nervous  alarm,  he  swore,  and,  as  troapen 
will  swear^  that  it  had  descended  direct  upon  his  aH3icted  member,  and, 
consequently,  that  he  was  ruined  for  life.  This  was  a  subsequent 
explanution— while  the  unhappy  youth  was  extended  on  tlie  hearth- 
rug, protesting  innocence,  and  also  declaring  that  his  jaw-bone  was 
fractured.  The  fall  of  the  billet  and  the  boy  were  things  simuJtaneout 
^and  while  my  mother^  in  great  alarm,  inculcated  patience  under 
suffering,  and  hinted  at  resignation,  my  father,  in  return,  swore  awftilly, 
that  no  man  with  a  toe  of  treble  its  natural  dimensions,  and  scarlet  as 
a  soldier's  jacket,  had  ever  ]i assessed  either  of  these  Christian  artidei^ 
My  mother  quoted  the  case  of  Job — ^and  my  father  begged  to  inquire 
if  there  was  any  authority  to  prove  thkit  Job  ever  had  the  gout^  In 
the  meantime,  the  kitchen-boy  had  gathered  himself  up  and  departed— 
and  as  he  left  the  presence  with  his  hand  pressed  upon  his  cheek,  loud 
were  his  lamentations.  Constance  and  I,  nobody  enjoyed  the  ridicu* 
loua  more  than  she  did,  laughed  heartily,  while  the  colonel  resented 
this  want  of  sympathy,  by  caUing  us  a  brace  of  fools,  and  expressing 
his  settled  conviction,  that  were  he,  the  commander,  hanged,  we,  the 
delinquents,  would  giggle  at  the  foot  of  the  gallows. 

Such  wm  the  state  of  affairs,  when  the  entrance  of  the  chief  batler 
harbingered  other  occurrences,  and  much  more  serious  than  poor 
Petereeine  s  damaged  jaw.  Wick  Kalligan  had  been  in  the  '*  heaviest" 
with  my  father,  and  at  Salamanca,  had  ridden  the  opening  charge,  side 
by  side,  with  him,  greatly  to  the  detriment  of  divers  Frenchmen,  and 
much  to  tlie  satisfaction  of  his  present  master.  In  executing  this 
achievement,  Mick  had  been  a  considerable  sufferer — his  ribs  having 
been  invaded  by  a  red-lancer  of  the  guard — while  a  chasMeur  d'chet^al 
had  inserted  a  lanting  token  of  his  afft?ction  across  his  right  cheek*  ex- 
tremely honorable,  but  by  no  means  ornamental. 

]\Tick  laid  a  couple  of  newspupers,  and  as  many  letters,  on  the  tmbte 
— but  before  we  proceed  to  open  either,  we  will  favour  the  reader  with 
another  peep  into  our  family  history. 

Mmnifold  are  the  ruinous  phantasies  wliich  lead  unhappy  mortals  to 
pandemonium.  This  one  has  a  fancy  for  the  lurf,  another  palramxet 
the  last  imported  chnrtfpht-e.  The  turf  is  generally  a  settler — the  itagt 
is  also  a  safe  road  to  a  safe  settlement,  and  between  a  riice-horso  lid 
a  danscuse^  we  would  not  give  a  sixpence  for  choice.  Now,  as  hi 
as  horse-ileiih  went,  my  grandfather  was  innocent;  a  pirouette  oz  p^ 
seiil,  barring  an  Irish  jigg,  he  had  never  witnessed  in  his  life — ^bul  be 
had  discovered  as  good  a  method  for  settling  a  private  gentleman*  He 
had  an  inveterate  fancy  for  electioneering.  The  man  who  would  re* 
form  state  abuses^  deserves  well  of  his  country  ;  there  is  a  great  deal 
of  patriotism  in  Ireland;  io  fact,  it  is,  like  linen,  a  staple  article 
generally,  but  still  the  best  paymaster  is  safe  to  win;  and  heDCet 
my  poor  grand  ft* ther  generally  lost  the  race. 

My  father  hioked  very  suspiciously  at  ihe  letters— one  had  his  QWm 
armorial  bearing  displayed  in  red  wax^ — ^and  the  formal  directioo  WM 
at  a  ghince  detected  to  be  that  of  his  aunt  Catherine  —  Catherine  t 
missives  were  never  agreeable — she  had  a  rent  charge  uu  the  property 
for  Q  couple  of  thousands;  and,  like  J^loses  and  Son,  her  sysleni  wei 


PRANK    HAMILTON. 


129 


^ quick  returns/'  and  the  interest  was  consequently  expected  to  tlie 
day.  For  a  few  seconds  my  father  hesitated,  but  lie  manfully  broke  the 
seal — muttering,  audibly,  ''What  can  the  old  rattle-trap  write  about  ? 
Her  interest-money  is  not  due  for  another  fortnight/*  He  threw  liis 
eyes  hastily  over  the  contents — his  colour  heightened — and  my  tiunt 
Catherine's  epistle  was  flung,  and  most  unceremonionsly,  upon  the 

.      ground — the  hope  that  accompanied  the  act,  being  the  reverse  of  a 
benediction. 

^  **  Is  there  anything  wrong,  dear  James?**  inqwired  my  mother,  in 

Iier  usual  quiet  and  timid  tone. 

"Wrong  r*  thundered  my  father;  **  Frank  will  read  this  spiritual 
production  to  you.  Every  line  breathes  a  deep  anxiety  im  old  Kitty's 
part  for  my  st>urs  welfare,  earthly  considerations  being  non-importnnt* 
Read,  Frank,  and  if  you  will  not  devoutly  wish  that  the  doting  fuul 
was  at  the  dev — " 

"  Stop,  my  dear  James.*' 

"  Well — read>  Frank,  and  say,  when  you  hear  the  contents,  whether 
you  would  be  particularly  sorry  to  learn  that  the  old  lady  had,  as  sail- 
ors say,  her  hands  well  greased,  and  a  fast  hold  upon  the  mnon  ?  Read, 
d — n  it,  man !  there 's  no  trouble  in  decyphering  my  aunt  Catherine's 
penmanship.  Her's  is  not  what  Tony  Lumpkin  complained  of — a 
cursed  cramp  hand ;  all  clear  and  nnmistakable — the  f&  accurately 
stroked  across^  and  the  i's  dotted  to  a  nicety.     Go  on — read,  man, 

i       read." 

I  obeyed  the  order,  and  thus  ran  the  missive,  my  honoured  father 

I      adding  a  running  commentary  at  every  important  passage :  we  shall 

I      place  them  in  italics:—^ 

^K    '*  *  My  dear  nephew,'  " 

H    "  Oh, her  ajeetion  I " 

^H    '* '  If,  by  a  merciful  dispensation,  I  shall  be  permitted  to  have  a  few 
P^pi ritual  minded  friends  to-morrow,  at  four  o'clock,  at  dinner^-'* ' 
r  "  Tempt  mi  Ut  aire — thei/  won't  J  nil  you ,  mi^  old  girl" 

I  ** '  I  shall  then  have  reached  on  age  to  which  few  arrive — look  to 

!       the  psalm — namely,  to  eighty — *  *' 
^     •*  She  "s  eight j^-ihree-^** 

^p  " '  I  have,  under  the  mercy  of  Providence,  and  the  ministry  of  a 
^^cbosen  vessel,  the  Reverend  Carter  Kettlewell,  and  also  a  worshipping 
Christian  learned  in  the  law,  namely,  Mr  Selby  Sly,  put  my  earthly 
bouse  in  order.  Would  that  spiritnal  preparations  could  be  as  easily 
accomplished ;  bnt  yet  I  feel  well  convinced  that  mine  is  a  state  of 
grace,  and  Mr.  Kettlewell  gives  me  a  comfortable  assurance  that  in  me 
the  old  man  is  crucified — '  *' 

'*  Did  ifou  ever  listen  lo  mwh  rascally  cant  ?  " 

"  *I  have  given  instrnctions  to  Mr.  Sly  to  make  my  will,  and  Mr. 
Kettlewell  has  kindlj^  consented  to  he  the  trustee  and  executor — *  '* 
** Now  comes  the  vdlanij^  no  doubt" 

^**l  have  devised — may  the  offering  be  graciously  received  ! — all 
that  I  shall  die  possessed  of  to  make  an  addition  to  support  those  de- 
voted soldiers — not,  dear  nephew,  soldiers  in  your  carnal  meaning  of 
the  word — but  the  ministers  of  the  gospel,  who  labour  in  New  Zea- 
land. These  inestimable  men,  whose  courage  is  almost  supernatural, 
and  who— »' " 

"  PUh—whal  an  old  twaddler  t  " 


150 


PRANK    HAMILTON. 


*"AUlimigl*  annuaJlv  eaten  bj  converted  cannibils,  still  press  for- 
wnrd  at  the  trumpet-caSl^ — *** 

*'  I  wonder  uhai  sort  of  a  grill  old  Kate  would  make  f  cursed  ioughr 
I  fancy  " 

*'  *  I  have  added  my  mite  to  a  fund  already  established  to  send  as- 
sistance there — * "  m 

"  Aj^,  to  Chrhiuinise,  and,  in  return^  he  carbonadoed,     I  mUk  I  A^idH 
charge  uf  the  gridiron  ;  I  would  broil  one  or  two  of  the  new  recraiij" 

*-  'I  have  called  in,  uBder  Mr.  Sly^s  advice^  the  mortgage  granted  to 
the  late  Sir  George  O'Gorman,  by  my  ever-lo-be^lamented  huoband^ 
and  the  other  portions  i>f  my  property,  being  in  state  secuntie«,  are 
rcclmniable  at  once.  My  object  in  writing  this  letter  h  to  convey  to  my 
dear  nephew  my  heartfelt  prayers  fur  his  spiritual  amendoient^  and 
ulsu  to  intimate  that  the  2<XM)/. — a  rent-charge  on  the  Kilnavaggart  pr* 
perty — with  the  running  quarter 'a  interestj  shall  be  paid  at  La  Tonche'fl 
to  the  order  of  Messrs.  Kettlewell  and  Sly,  As  the  blindness  of  tb 
New  Zeahinders  h  deplorable^  and  as  Mr.  Kettlewell  has  already  i 
listed  some  gallant  champions  who  will  blow  tlie  gospel-trumpet, 
tfiough  they  were  served  uj*  to  Hupper  the  same  evening,  I  wish  Uiel 
oljji*ct  to  be  carried  out  at  once. — *  " 

'*  Ik'tiuiiful  / ''  said  my  poor  father  mth  a  groan ;  "  where  the  devil 
could  the  mutn't/  be  raised?      You  won't  realise  now  for  a  bullock  what^t 
in  nKit'timej  t/on  would  gel  for  a  calf     Go  on  with  the  old  harridan  wl 
episfle/' 

'^ '  Having  now  gat  rid  of  rtesbly  considerations — I  mean  money  one 
*— let  me,  my  dear  James,  offer  a  word  in  season.     Remember  that  i% 
ec>Ru\s  from  an  attached  relation j  who  bolda  your  worldly  affairs 
nothing — '  " 

*'  /  crtwV  dixpnfe  that,"  said  my  father  with  a  smothered  groan. 

*'*  But  would  turn  your  attention  to  the  more  Important  considera- 
tions of  our  being.  I  would  not  lean  too  heavily  upon  the  brmaed 
reed*  hut  your  early  life  was  anything  but  evangelical — '*' 

Constance  lauglied  ;  she  could  not,  wild  girl,  avoid  it. 

"  *  We  must  ail  give  an  account  of  our  stewardship/  vide  St.  Lake, 
chap,  xvi. — *  " 

**  Slop — Shakspeare's  right ;  when  the  devil  quotes  Scripiure^^ut, 
go  on — Let  \f  have  the  whole  dose." 

"'When  can  you  pay  the  money  in?  And,  oh  I  in  you,  my  dear  i 
nephew,  may  grace  yet  fructify,  and  may  you  be  brought^  even  at  tli^^| 
t^kn'enth  liour»  to  a  blow  conviction  that  all  on  this  earth  is  vanity  anjH 
vexulic^n  of  spirit — drums,  colours,  scarlet  and  fine  linen,  hounds  run- 
ning after  hares,  women  whirling  round,  as  they  tell  me  they  do,  ia^ 
ihiit  invention  nf  the  evil  one  culled  a  wallz^  all  these  are  but  deluiiaili^| 
of  the  eiKMuy,  and  designed  to  lead  sinners  to  destruction.  I  transcribe^ 
a  veme  from  a  moit  affecting  hymni  composed  by  that  gifted 
mm — ' " 

**  Oh,  d — H  the  hymn  /  *'  roared  my  father;  "on  with  tjfuu,  Frank, 
ttnd  mtf  hcnisoH  light  on  Iheannposer  ofii  !  Don't  stop  to  favour  m^  miik 
his  wiiwff ,  and  pass  over  thejilih^  doggreL'* 

I  procec<leil  under  orders  accordingly. 

••  •  Hemendn^r,  James,  you  are  now  sixty -one  j  repent,  and,  even  in 
ihi^  ideventli  hour,  yon  nniy  be  phjcked  like  a  brand  from  the  fiww 
Avoid  nwearin^,  mortify  the  i^v&U — that  is,  don't  take  a  third  tumbler 
tfti^r  dinner^**  "* 


FRANTk"  HAMILTON. 


My  fatlier  could  not  stand  it  longer.  '*  0^,  maif  Cramwelts  cttrxe 
light  upQH  her!  I  wonder  katv  mam/  glasses  of  brand  ff-and-water  she 
sfpaliofpt  at  awning  exercise ^  as  she  calls  ii,  over  a  chapier  of  Timo- 

%?" 

"  *  I  would  not  recall  the  past,  but  for  the  purpose  of  wholesome  ad- 
monition. The  year  before  you  married,  and  gave  up  the  godless  life 
of  soldierinj^,  can  you  forget  that  I  found  you,  at  one  in  the  mornirtg 
A.  M.,  in  Bridget  Donovan's  room  ?  Your  excuse  was,  that  you  bad  got 
the  colic ;  if  you  had,  why  not  come  to  my  chamber,  where  you  knew 
there  was  laudanum  and  lavender  ?  ' " 

Poor  Constance  could  not  stand  this  fresh  allegation  ;  and,  while  my 
mother  looked  very  grave,  we  laughed,  as  Scrub  says,  *'  consumedly/' 
My  father  muttered  something  about  '*  cursed  nouseuf^e  I*'  but  1  am 
inclined  to  ibink  that  aunt  Catbarine's  colic  charge  was  not  without 
aome  foundation, 

'*  *  1  have  now,  James,  discharged  my  duty :  may  my  humble  at- 
tempts to  arouse  you  to  a  sense  of  the  danger  of  standing  on  the  brink 
af  the  flit  of  perdition  be  blessed  I  Pay  the  principal  and  interest 
over  to  La  Touche.  Mr,  Selhy  Sly  hinted  that  a  foreclosure  of  the 
mortgage  might  expedite  matters  ;  and,  by  saving  a  term  or  two  in 
getting  in  the  money,  two  or  three  hundred  New  Zealauders  would— 
and  oh,  James  I  how  gratifying  would  be  the  reflection  ! — ^be  saved  from 
the  wnith  to  come. 

**  *  This  morning,  on  looking  over  your  marriage  settlement,  Mr.  Sly 
is  of  opiuion  that,  if  ilrs.  Hamilton  will  renounce  certain  rights,  he 
can  raise  the  money  at  once,  and  that  too  ouly  at  legal  interest,  say  six 
per  cent,^ — ' " 

Often  had  I  witnessed  a  paternal  explosion  ;  hnt,  when  it  was  hint- 
ed that  the  marital  rights  of  my  poor  mother  were  to  he  sacrihced,  his 
fury  amounted  almost  to  madness, 

**  Damnation  ! "  be  exclaimed;  "confusion  light  upon  the  letter 
and  the  letter-writer i  You! — do  an  act  to  invalidate  your  settle- 
ment 1     i   would  see  first   every  canting  vagabond  in "  and  he 

named  a  disagreeable  locality.  '*  Never,  IVIary  I  pitch  that  paper 
away  :  I  dread  that  at  the  end  of  it  the  old  lunatic  will  inflict  her  be- 
nediction. Frank,  pack  your  traps^you  must  catch  the  mail  to-night ; 
you  *11  be  in  town  by  eight  o'clock  to-morrow  morning.  Be  at  Sly's 
office  at  nine.  D — n  the  gout  I — I  should  have  done  the  job  myself. 
Beat  the  scoundrel  as  nearly  to  death  as  vou  think  you  can  conscientious- 
ly go  without  committing  absolute  niurder ;  next,  pay  a  morning  visit  to 
Kettlewell,  and,  if  you  leave  him  in  a  condition  to  mount  the  pulpit 
for  a  month,  I  *11  never  acknowledge  you.  Break  that  other  seal;  pro- 
baldy,  the  contents  may  |>rove  as  agreeable  as  old  Kitty's*" 

There  were  times  and  moods  when,  in  Byron's  language,  it  was 
judicious  to  reply 

*^  Paslia  I  tfi  kear  is  to  obeVj," 
and  this  was  such  a  period.     I  broke  the  black  wax,  and  the  epistle 
proved  to  be   from  the  very  gentleman  whom  1  was  to  he  despatched 
per  mail  to  qualify  next  nn^ruing  for  surgical  assistance, 

"  Out  with  it !  "  roared  my  father,  as  I  unclosed  the  foldings  of  the 
paper  ;  **  What  is  the  signature?  I  remember  that  my  uncle  Hector 
always  looked  at  the  name  attached  to  a  letter  wlien  he  on  closed  the 
poHt-bag  ;  and  if  the  handwriting  looked  like  an  attorney's,  he  flung 
It,  without  reading  a  line,  into  the  fire/' 


1S2 


FBANK   HAMILTON. 


U 


"TLis  lelter,  sir,  is  subscribed  '  Selby  Sly/" 

"  Dofi't  bum  it,  Frank,  read.  Well,  there  is  one  comfort  that  Selby 
Sly  shall  have  to-morrow  evening  a  collection  of  aching  ribs,  if  the 
Hamiltons  are  not  degenerated :  reud^  man/*  and,  as  usual,  there  w: 
a  running  comment  on  the  textt 

Dublin^ Marchf  iSia 

'*  *  Colonel  Hamilton, — Sir, 

" '  It  is  my  melancholy  duty  to  inform  you — '  *' 

"  That  ^ou  have  foreclosed  the  piorlgage.  Frank,  if^ou  don't  break 
a  bone  or  in^o^  I  *//  never  achwwiedge  i/ou  again" 

"  '  That  my  honoured  and  valued  client  and  patroness,  Mr&  Catbe- 
rine  O'Gormun,  suddenly  departed  this  life  at  half  past  six  o'clock, 
M*,  yt'sterday  evening,  wht^n  drinking  a  glass  of  sherrv,  and  holdii 
sweet  and  spiritual  converse  with  the  Reverend  Carter  ICettlewrell  " 

"  //  's  ail  tip,  no  doubt :  the  canting  scoundrels  have  secured  her — or, 
as  bhckgnard  gaiMcrs  soif,  have  *  made  all  safe* " 

"  *  She  has  died  intestate,  although  a  deed,  that  would  have  inimor« 
taliped  her  memory,  ivaa  engrossed,  and  ready  for  signature.  Witbin 
an  hour  after  she  went  to  receive  her  reward — "* 

My  father  gave  a  loud  hurrah  f  **  Blessed  be  Heaven  that  the  rtmi 
came  before  the  old  fool  covtplcied  the  New  Zealand  business  /  ** 

"'As  heir-at-law,  you  are  in  direct  remainder,  and  the  will,  not 
heing  executed,  is  merely  waste-paper:  buti  from  the  draft»  the  inten- 
tions of  your  inestimable  aunt,  can  clearly  he  discovered.  Although  not 
binding  in  law,  let  me  say  there  is  such  a  thing  as  Christian  equity 
that  should  guide  you.  The  New  Zealand  bequest,  involving  a  dirett 
application  of  10jO(.K)/.  to  meet  the  annual  expenditure  of  gospel«Ml* 
diers — ^there  l>eing  a  constant  drain  upon  these  sacred  barbingeiii  of 
peace,  from  the  native  fancy  of  preferring  a  devilled  mi^isionary  to  A 
stewed  kangaroo — that  portion  of  the  intended  testament  I  would  not 
pre&s  upon  you.  But  the  intentional  hehejits  of  [>00l.  to  the  Rev.  Carter 
Kettlewell,  the  same  sum  to  myself,  and  an  annuity  to  Miss  Grace 
Lightbody  of  50^.  a-year,  though  not  recoverable  in  law^  under  tbiae 
circumstances  should  be  faithfully  confirmed* 

**  '  It  may  be  gratifying  to  acquaint  you  with  some  particulars  of  the 
last  moments  of  your  dear  relative,  and  one  of  the  moat  devout,  nay,  J 
may  use  the  term  safely,  evangelical  elderly  gentlewomen  for  wbooi  I 
have  had  the  hunour  to  transact  business/ ' 

"  JSiojy,  Frank,     Pass  aver  the  detail,     it  might  be  too  affecting,** 

** '  I  await  your  directions  for  the  funeral.  My  lamented  ^end  md 
client  had  erected  a  catacomb  in  the  Siloami  Chupel,  and  in  the  mioi^ 
ter'a  vault,  and  she  frecjuently  expressed  a  decided  wish  that  her  dust 
might  repose  with  faithful  servants,  who,  in  season  and  out  of  sensoOt 
fearlessly  grappled  with  the  mun  of  sin,  who  is  arrayed  in  blacky  and 
the  woman  who  sitteth  ou  the  seven  hills,  dressed  in  scarlet.*" 

"  Hang  the  canting  vagabond —  n'h^  not  call  people  by  their  pr&fter 
titles  ;  name  Old  Nick  at  once,  and  the  ladt/  whose  sobriquet  is  an* 
mentlonahk%  but  «»//o,  report  says,  has  a  imt^n  residence  in  BahyUm^' 

Constance  and  I  laughed ;  my  mother,  as  usual,  looking  demure  aod 
dignified.  Another  twinge  of  the  gout  altogether  demolialiecl  the 
commander's  temper. 

'*  Stop  that  scoundrel's  jargon.  Run  your  eye  over  the  remaiMdcTf 
and  tell  me  nhal  the  fellow 's  driving  at,*' 

I  obeyed  the  order. 


FRANK    HAMILTON, 


133 


*'  Sitnplf ,  iir,  Mr.  Sly  desires  to  know  wbether  you  baFe  any  ob- 
jection to  old  Kitty  taking  peaceable  possession  of  her  catacomb  in  the 
Dublin  giispel'sbop  wbicli  sbe  p^itronized,  or  would  you  prefer  tbat 
sbe  were  *  pickJed  and  sent  liome/  as  Sir  Lucius  says." 

*'  Heaven  forbid  tbat  I  sbunld  interfere  wttb  ber  expressed  wisbe*/* 
said  my  fatber*  "  I  suppose  there  s  *snug  lying'  in  Siloiim  ;  and  there's 
one  thing  certain  that  tbe  company  who  occupy  the  premises,  are  quite 
unobjectionable*  Kitty  will  be  ^fer  there.  Lord!  if  tbegentlenuiEi  in 
black,  or  the  red  lady  of  the  seven  hills,  attempted  a  felonious  entry  on 
her  bivouac,  what  a  row  the  saintly  inmates  would  kick  up  !  It  would 
be  a  regular 'guard,  turn  out  I'  aod  what  chance  would  Kcarlatina  and 
old  clooty  have?  No,  no,  &hell  be  anug  therein  her  sentry-box.  What 
a  blessed  escape  from  ruin  I  Mary,  dear,  make  me  another  tumbler, 
and,  d — n  the  gout!"  he  had  a  »harp  twioge.  •'  I  11  drink  *  here's 
luck  i'  Frank,  go  pack  your  kiL,  and  instead  of  demoliiiliing  Selby 
Sly,  see  Kitty  decently  sodded.  Your  mother,  Constance,  and  myself 
will  rumble  after  you  to  town  by  easy  stiiges.  1  wonder  bow  aunt 
Catherine  will  cut  up.  If  she  baa  left  as  much  cash  behind  as  she  has 
lavished  good  advice  in  ber  parting  epistle,  by — '  and  my  father  did 
ejaculate  a  regular  rasper — "  I  'U  re-purchase  tbe  harriers,  a^  I  have 
got  a  whisper  that  poor  Dick  was  cleaned  out  tbe  last  nieeling  at  tbe 
Currngh,  and  the  pack  i^  in  the  market/' 


CHAPTER    III. 
••^  I  have  tremor  cordis  on  me."      FTirater'*  Tak. 

It  is  a  queer  world  after  aJl ;  manifold  are  its  ups  and  doxvns,  and 
life  is  but  a  medley  of  fair  pronTisej  excited  hope,  and  bitter  disap- 
pointment. 

Never  did  a  family  iiarty  start  for  tbe  metro potis  with  gayer  hearts, 
or  ou  a  more  agreeable  mission.  Our  honoured  relative  {authonlale 
the  Methudist  Magazine)  bad  '*  sbuflled  off'*  in  tlie  best  miircbing 
nrder  imaginable;  before  tbe  rout  bad  arrived,  her  house  had  been  per- 
fectly arranged,  but  her  will,  *' wo  worth  the  day,'*  vvatj  afterwards 
ftmnd  to  be  sadly  informaL  It  was  hinted  that  the  mission  to  Tim^ 
buctoo,  although  not  legally  binding  on  tbe  next  of  kin,  should  beeou- 
isidered  a  sacred  injunction  and  first  lien  on  the  estates.  In  a  religtouf 
light,  according  to  the  Reverend  Mr.  Shurpington,  formalities  were 
unnecessary,  but,  my  father  observed,  itofio  vitce,  in  reply,  and  in  the 
plain  vernacular  of  tbe  day,  what  in  modern  times  would  have  been 
more  figuratively  expressed,  namely,  **  Did  not  the  gospel  trumpeter* 
wish  tbey  might  get  it !  '*  Tbe  kennel,  whose  door  for  two  years  had 
not  been  opened,  wag  again  unlocked ;  whitewashing  and  reparations 
were  extensively  ordered;  a  prudent  envoy  was  despatched  to  re- 
purcha^  the  pack,  wbicb,  rebus  cgenis,  had  been  laid  down,  and  tbe 
colonet  in  his  '*  mind*s  eye,"  and  oblivious  of  cloth  »boes,  once  more 
was  up  to  his  knees  in  leather,*  and  taking  everything  in  tbe  ahape 
of  fence  and  brook,  just  a^  the  Lord  pleased  to  dispose  them, 

A  cellar  census  was  next  decided  on,  and  by  a  stout  exertion,  and 
at  tbe  same  time  with  a  heavy  heart,  my  father  hobbled  down  the 
stone  steps,  and  entered  an  underground  repertorium,  which  once  he 
took  much  pride  in  visiting,  Alas  I  its  glory  bad  departed  ;  the  empty 
bins  were  rtchly  fringed  with  cob  webbed  tapestries,  and  silently  ad- 

•  An  Iriih  l«riu  for  wearing  jockey  twotR. 


rSAXK   HAMILTON- 

!»t  t  iiiii-fcrrrTUunrr  t»t  lifvnjc»  for  past  years.  The  colonel  sigl 
■'s'Sifii  i*i^t^L  !.>  rruj;:fiib«rs  parting  benediction.  Almost  in 
-  r:.u.^i.x^.i  :svt»r  'u\i:.:l  oce  brief  week  had  deprived  him 
vj-vi  :n  uii^  i.  ij*;i?c:  iL  direci  succession  was  thus  created. 
L..11.*  r-.»n  s»r^i.i»il  \»•tt^  uiicxix^ediv  received,  and  although 
£  It.-  i-:.i  Uis  :\»'^r.»er  :Mrri«wfd  hberaily  from  the  night,  it 
.M. t -«•'•.  V  V izi.  ii't  I  rt'iicLfd  their  de>tinjtion. 


r.:  .'  .  rti:  si.—:  '^-^s'  ":-  tnir-io:"  or.  as  sailors  would  >ay.. 
\  ««  ._--. .  :•- ' :  ^I'.ir:."  luL  rfacy  lo  trip  his  anchor.  '*  Uj»  ^ti 
:  ..-:.-  • -..:  i  -.i.-.-L.s-,i  lis-  i.li  butler  to  my  father,  "the  geni 
V  ..   ..-.    .    I:.?::    .:.  : :  lz  L.«ur.  iriory  to  the  Virgin!" 

1    ?;.-.   :::-•  :  -iTf:  i:  \    ••.iLtr'>  dtscriplion  of  the  parting  sci 

}  -  .  n'-  :     :.— • 7'.z  T'.l-v'ws,  tLc  old  man  gasped  hard  fur  bre 

:.:  :.:   t:  .n-.^-:  :*=    .:"  •.>  ^riiidsfii:  appeared  to  rouse  the  donr 

r :    :.»    :   :«.-:i   r  :.-  llI  b.»ij :  Lai  ^although  there  were  consii 

.  .  t  :-:-!.>  -•=:  fs:  eisri  5<i.:*DCr.  Le  thus  delivered  his  valedici 
;.  -  .:-  \.-f:::  I-*  lit  lisptTture  of  C\»mmodore  Trunnion  been 
.-:•-:.  r  cr  .ri   ;.  i:.z  iizr.19^  of  irj  honoured  relative. 

•":_.».  >...-  :ic  ..Id  f.i-lwnier  to  my  father,  •' the  summon 
.'.  I.  r  ..*  ..  -.  _^:-i  :.  Ni»  "wicz  I  waj.  ft  dragoou,  to  '  boot  and  sadi 
1  :..-:.  r  -  .c; .  r  1  -•  .r::.  ;ir-.  tr.^;  c;y  wind  was  touched,  but  he  w( 
i--.t  ::  :.-:  1    . ..%  .7..j  k  -%l>:ltr.** 

eVcr  K^re  pig-skin  on  bis  back,  won't  st 


4~Jk4 


.1..  ''-r'- .«>■*. 

*  1    •".>*  li.c  ::.-:  n-v  c^..r.>w-:ence  is  tolerably   clean.     Widot 
r: ':...:.  1  :  tv^r  v»r..  r -ti  :r.ur.:!i::a'.'.\".  and  the  heaviest  item  bin 

..J..:.*:  :;  1  vt::...:-.  :*  D.ck  S.:::::.er's  death.  Well,  he  thre 
v:-.w-:.:.r.  -*  •...*  :  r.  v«-d  :::-.::  ::;e  iri-I  to  the  satisfaction  of  judtre 
j':ry  ;  ,.:.!  y  .:  kr.. -v  j,:ieT  ii.at,  nothing  but  the  daisy*  would  do 
."...'.-  \.^  :  -.r  :.  :;t>:  'Ae'iir.t  c-rritrs.  and  as  sweet  a  pack  as 
r-:.  .:  :  .  .;  rci  r->c..l  wit:  i.-t  a  check.     Don't  be  extravagant  in 

A::-  :hvr  interru:  t:«  n  in  the  parting  address. 

•  A  :\'.i  heifer.  L.*.lf  a  dozen  shet»p,  and  the  puncheon  of  Rass 
that 'b  in  the  oeliar  untouched,  should  do  the  thing  genteely. 
ui.Iy  a  ci'uple  ot  nights  you  know,  as  you'll  sod  me  the  third  ixion 
l'Mii>ideriiig  that  1  »t<.K>d  two  contests  for  the  county,  an  action 
fai>e  irnpriNOiinunt  by  a  gu-ijier,  never  had  a  lock  on  the  hall  ( 
kept  ten  Li'rM-i  at  r.;ck  and  manger,  and  lived  like  a  gentlem 
tu  tiie  TlIMMi/.  f.T  which  my  ptntr  father  dipped  the  estate  I  have 
after  all  added  1«»,(KK»/.  more,  which,  as  Attorney  Rowland  said,  sht 
that  I  was  a  caiiit  il  nuuiager.     Well,  you  can  pay  both  otf  easily." 

Anniher  tit  «>f  coughing  distressed  my  grandfather  sorely. 

*'  (10  to  the  waters — any  place  in  England  will  answer.  '  If  you 
stand  tallow  or  t<'h:icco,  you  can  in  a  month  or  two  wipe  old  score 
the  shite.  Sir  Roderick  l)'Bi)yl,  when  he  was  so  hard  pushed  a 
be  driven  over  the  bridge  of  Athlone  in  a  cotlin,  to  avoid  the  coron 
did  n't  he,  and  in  less  tb.an  a  twelvemonth  too,  bring  over  a  s 

•  All  Irikh  ^iMitli'iiiun  shot  in  ;i  diifl  in  hut/  >yne^  was  poetically  deMril 
liavintf  lift'ii  left  "  tjuiveriiJ^  on  a  daisy." 

•f-  In  Irelaml  this  functionary^  njicraiions  are  not  confined  to  tlie  dead 
extend  very  di.sagreeably  to  tlic  living. 


FRANK   HAMILTON. 


135 


baker *6  daughteTi  pay  o^  eocumbrances^  and  Ike  and  die  like  a  gentle- 
man as  he  was  every  inch,  1  have  not  much  to  leave  yon  but  some 
advice,  Frank  dearj  and  after  I  slip  my  girths  remember  what  I  say. 
When  you  're  likely  to  get  into  trouble,  always  take  the  bull  by  the 
horn,  and  when  you're  in  for  a  stoup,  never  mix  h'quors  or  ah  with 
your  back  to  the  lire.  If  you  're  obliged  to  go  out,  be  sure  to  fight 
across  the  ridges,  and  if  yon  can  manage  it^  with  the  sun  at  your  back. 
Ugh  I  ugh  I  ugh  1" 

"  lu  crossing  a  country,  choose  the — '* 

Another  coughing  fit,  and  a  long  hiatus  in  valedictory  instructions 
succeeded,  but  the  old  man,  as  they  say  in  hunting,  got  second  wind, 
and  thus  proceeded — 

'*  Never  fence  a  ditch  when  a  gate  is  open — avoid  late  hours  and 
attorneys — and  the  less  you  have  to  aay  to  doctors,  all  the  better — Ugh  I 
Ugh  !  llgh  I  When  it's  your  misfortune  to  be  in  comfmny  with  an  old 
maid, — 1  mean  a  reputed  one — Ugh  !  Ugh  I  always  be  on  the  muzzle 
— for  in  her  next  issue  of  scandal,  she  'II  be  sure  to  quote  you  as  her 
authority.  If  a  saint  comes  in  yonr  way,  button  your  breeches'  pocket, 
and  look  now  and  then  at  your  watch-chain.  I  'm  brought  nearly  to  a 
fix,  for  bad  bellows  won't  stand  long  speeches/' 

Here  the  ripple  in  his  speech,  which  disturbed  Commodore  Trun- 
nion so  much,  sorely  afflicted  mj  worthy  grandfather-  He  muttered 
aometbi ug  that  a  snaflle  was  the  safest  bit  a  sinner  could  place  fciith  in 
—assumed  the  mantle  of  prophecy — foretold,  as  it  would  appear, 
troublous  times  to  be  in  rapid  advent — and  inculcated  that  faith  should 
be  placed  in  heaven,  and  powder  kept  very  dry. 

He  strove  to  rally  and  reiterate  his  counsels  for  my  father's  guidance, 
but  strength  was  wanting*  The  story  of  a  life  was  told — he  swayed 
on  one  side  from  the  supporting  pillows — and  in  a  minute  more  the 
struggle  was  over.  Well,  peace  to  his  ashes  !  We  '11  leave  him  in  the 
fttmOy  vault,  and  start  with  a  party  for  the  metropoUs,  who,  in  the 
demise  of  our  honoured  kinswoman,  had  sustained  a  heavy  loaa,  but, 
notwithstanding^  endured  the  vialtation  with  Christian  fortitude  and 
marvellous  resignation. 

Place  ail  dames,  JVIy  lady  mother  had  been  a  beauty  in  her  day, 
and,  for  a  dozen  years  after  her  marriage,  had  seen  her  name  proudly 
and  periodically  recorded  by  George  Faukiner,  inthethinghe  called  a 
journal,  which,  in  size,  paper,  and  typograpliy,  might  emulate  a  necro* 
logic  affair  cried  loudly  through  the  streets  oi  London,  "  i' th' after- 
noon ^*  of  a  hanging  Monday,  containing  much  important  information, 
whether  the  defunct  felon  had  made  bis  last  breakfast  simply  from  tea 
and  toast,  or  whether  Mr.  Sheriff——  had  kindly  added  mutton-chops 
lo  the  dejeihttr,  while  his  amiable  lady  furnished  new-laid  eggs  from  the 
family  corn-chandler-     But  to  return  to  my  mother. 

Ten  years  had  passed,  and  her  name  had  not  been  hallooed  from 
groom  to  groom  on  a  birth-day  night,  while  the  pearl  neckhice,  a  bridal 
present,  and  emeralds,  an  heir-3oom  from  her  mother,  remained  in  strict 
abeyance.  Now  and  again  their  cases  were  unclosed,  and  a  sigh  accom- 
panied the  inspection — for  sad  were  their  reminiscences.  Olhn — her 
name  was  chronicled  on  Patrick's  night,  by  every  Castle  reporter* 
They  made,  it  is  to  be  lamented,  as  Irish  reporters  will  make,  sad  mis- 
takes at  times.  The  once  poor  injured  lady  had  been  attired  in  canary- 
coloured  lute-string,  and  an  ostrich  plume,  remarkable  for  its  enormity^ 
while  she,  the  libelled  one,  hud  been  becomingly  arrayed  in  blue  bom- 


1»  rULSC   HAJOLTOK. 

xaft  ?wfipniHF?e«x  X3  jrcTirramg' s  piTiif  bcBcdxtioo.  Almost  m  in- 
fmir<-.  tth'Sctht-:  if^^c  wr^'rii  matt  bnf  vvek  liad  depriTed  him  of 
iMca  Tiir«za^  uii  i.  loscfot  ix  cirvcc  lacoejgkn  wms  thus  created.  A 
ill  71  .Tiiiif .>T  fnm  iiSiMiI  -w  xzicx^kkcIt  xceeiTedy  and  although  the 
T  iiijur  JLcr  Liii  'Liit  smzxr  znarvw^td  libenllT  frvm  the  nighty  it  was 
TibiC  sick-inqr  -rii^z  liitr  :«h:2i^  liter  <ieani  111011- 

T!Ld  lui  g*n-:>TT:tT  -«*u  -^  ix  iruKJ»  ;*  or,  as  sailors  would  say,  he 
-rii^  LJPsnxLj  -  i«j<rt  iCMin.'^  isri  *>eiCT  ti>  trip  his  anchor.  "  Up  stalrsy 
jiji^^i^  7ru£. '  ijLLLizzued  liae  4«ni  bcijer  to  my  father,  "  the  general 
■»■-!  :e  li  ieiT-ia.  ii  iiilf  12.  2/kz.  cxcy  to  the  Virgin  !* 

I  sLiZ  sii^rr  f;rric  =it  fuier*  dfscnr-ti^n  of  &e  parting  scene- 
Pr.ccei  :t  iolf  x  Lixi^z  zdjam^  \be  o^d  man  ga»ped  hard  for  breathj 
:•£!  Ill*  i^TiiiLriZiDt  ic  i2»  puk^BK  apr«ared  to  roose  the  dormant 
fuxcCLMZ:^  <c  :•:(!  zL=zii  izd  bscy ;  and  aliboagh  there  irere  consider- 
i^uf  ir^iuju  ':«<rv«£z  eica.  «a2£sce.  Le  thcs  delxTered  his  Taledictory 
AiT^*:^.  Of^  Lu  liie  t^e^an^je  «^  Oxsmodtwe  Trunnion  been  re* 
AkJiC  ;j  3iiesiucT  :  j  i2ie>  .r.*wr^<.>  «c  my  booocred  lelatire. 

-  Fri^.'  nLji  i2ie  «^  5.^x-icsier  to  my  faher,  "the  summons  is 
evGc-.  £s  T^  7;<ei  u  sit  -miits.  I  vu  a  drtgooo,  to  '  boot  and  saddle.' 
I  s^L-i  i:i<e  Ou-ccjc  &  z^.-c:il  1^  t^t  my  wind  was  touched,  but  he  would 
LiTifr  h  liii  I  "wii  v'cIt  s  wiiiiltfr.' 

~~  Tiji  busz  h:nit  il&t  erer  Sore  pi^-skin  00  his  back,  won't  stand 

-  I  :Iiw  G'.c  iLit  ny  oscscfeace  is  tolerably  clean.  Widow  or 
ccr"-:  £"  I  i-eTner  'WTvr.prc'iri^jiiiiccAlIy.  acd  the  heariest  item  booked 
iiTiiz*:  zre  or^rljii.  i$  D:ck  Somster's  death.  Well,  he  threw  a 
ceciztcr.  &s  'w-i*  :r.red  u:o::  ile  trlkl  to  the  satisfaction  of  judge  and 
JTiTT :  izid  y.'j.  £z.:-r  ii*«r  iL&t,  nothing  but  the  daisy*  ii*ould  do.  I 
ie-iT^  ycc  f..-?ir  i.ces:  weiLi  ctrricrs,  and  as  sweet  a  pack  as  erer 
rLn  ir:.^  a  red  riiscil  witrous  a  check.  Don't  be  extraragant  in  mj 
W'ikc." 

Arxther  isterr::rticn  in  the  parting  address. 

"  A  fat  heifer,  hilf  s  doxen  sheep,  and  the  puncheon  of  Ranerea 
thAt  's  in  the  cellar  untouched,  should  do  the  thing  genteely.  It  '1 
only  a  couple  of  nijihts  yon  know,  as  you  'U  sod  me  the  third  morning. 
C\Hi>xdericg  that  I  &t«xxi  two  contests  for  the  county,  an  action  for 
false  imprisonicent  by  a  gua^^er,  nerer  had  a  lock  on  the  hall  door, 
kept  ten  hor^e^  at  rack  and  manger,  and  lived  like  a  gentleman; 
to  the  o.iXX^  for  which  my  poor  &ther  dipped  the  estate  I  hare  ooIt 
after  all  added  lO.iXXV.  more,  which,  as  Attorney  Rowland  said,  shewed 
that  I  was  a  capital  manager.     Well,  you  can  pay  both  otT  easily.** 

Another  fit  of  coughing  distressed  my  grandfaUier  sorely. 

•*  Go  to  the  waters — auy  place  in  England  will  answer.  If  you  will 
stand  tallow  or  tobacco,  you  can  in  a  month  or  two  wipe  old  scores  off 
the  slate.  Sir  Roderick  O'Boyl,  when  he  was  so  hard  pushed  as  to 
be  driven  orer  the  bridge  of  Athlone  in  a  coffin,  to  avoid  the  coroner,t 
did  n't  he,  and  in  less  than  a  twelvemonth  too,  bring  over  a  sugar 

*  An  Iriih  gentleman  shot  in  a  duel  in  lan^  jyiK,  was  poetically  described  as 
having  been  Irft  **  quivering  on  m  dmisy/* 

-f  In  Ireland  this  functionary's  operations  ore  not  confined  to  the  dead,  bat 
extend  very  disagreeably  to  the  living. 


FRANK  HAMILTON. 


187^ 


of  the  Wrongbead  family  to  London — if  I  recollect  the 

imedy  tliat  details  it  correctly — was  effected  without  the 

e  oi  uny  casualty  beyond  ^ome  dyt^peptic  consequencea  to  the 

oTer-eatiug*     Would  that  our  migration  to  the  metropolis 

--  js  fortunately  acci>mplished  I 

^i%rted  early;  and  ou  reaching  the  to^im  where  we  were  to 

r  I  and  exchange  our  own  for  post-horses,  found  the  place  in 

'  excitement >     A  hundred  anxious  inquirers  were  collected  in 

ket-pluce.     Three  hours  beyond  the  usual  time  of  the  mail- 

'  had  elapsed, — wild  rumours  were  spread  abroad, — a  general 

a  Leinster  was  announced, — and  the  non-arrival  of  the  poet  had 

^nous  appearance^  and  increased  the  alarm. 

,^t  burried  over  the  morning  mealj^ — the  horses  were  being  put  to^ — 

\    ^iles  already  in  the  carriage, — when  a  dragoon  rode  iu  at  speed, 

'     Jie  worst  apprehensions  we  had  entertained   were  more    than 

^  by  this  fresh  arrival.     The  mail-coach  had  been  p hindered 

»urned,  while  everywhere,  north,  east,  and  west,  as  it  was  stated, 

^bels  were  in  open  insiirrection^^all  communication  with  Dublin 

^jmt  off, — and  any  attempt  to  reach  the  metropolis  wonld  have  been 

-^an  act  of  madness. 

lother  express  from  the  south  came  in.  Matters  there  were  even 
e*  The  rebels  had  risen  en  masm  and  committed  fearful  devasta- 
Tbe  extent  of  danger  in  attempting  to  reach  the  capital,  or 
"^  rn  to  his  mansion,  were  thus  painfully  balanced;  and  my  father 
t^  iidering  that>  as  sailors  say,  the  choice  rested  between  the  devil 
W^ '  the  deep  sea,  decided  on  remaining  where  he  was^  aa  the  best 
%mm  '^icy  under  all  circumstances. 

Bp^rhe  iucom{»etency  of  the  Irish  engineering  staff,  and  a  defective 
■lA^iiinissariat,    at   that  time  was  most  deplorable ;  and  aithough  the 

k^urn  of was  notorionsly  disaffected,  the  barrack  chosen,  tempo- 

I  i'r jly>  to  accommodate  the  garrison — a  company  of  militia — was  a 
fc*' hatched  building,  two  stories  high,  and  perfectly  commanded  by 
bi^ouses  in  front  and  rear.  The  captain  in  charge  of  the  detachment 
^l^siew  nothing  of  his  trade,  and  had  been  hoisted  to  a  commission  in 
P^eturn  ftjtr  the  use  of  a  few  freeholders*  The  Irish  read  character 
l^^oickly.  They  saw  at  a  glance  the  marked  imbecility  of  the  devoted 
|i^:nan  ;  and  by  an  imposition^  from  which  any  but  an  idiot  would  have 
»^  recoiled,  trapped  the  siily  victim  and,  worse  stilly  sacrificed  those  who 
m*  *  liad  been  unhappily  entrusted  to  his  direction. 

w  That  the  express  had  ridden  hard  was  evident  from  the  distressed 
V  =  condition  of  his  horse ;  and  the  intelligence  he  brought  deranged  mf 
M^  fiither's  plans  entirely.  Any  attempt  either  to  proceed  or  to  return, 
^J  as  it  appeared,  would  be  hazardous  alike;  and  nothing  remained  but 
kj  to  halt  where  he  was,  until  more  certain  information  touching  the 
W  rebel  operations  should  enable  htm  to  decide  which  would  be  the  safest 
W  course  of  action  to  pursue.  He  did  not  communicate  the  extent  of  his 
r  apprehensions  to  the  family, — affected  an  air  of  indifference  he  did  not 
^'  feel,^ — introduced  himself  to  the  commanding  officer  on  parade, — and 
.  retnrned  to  the  inn  in  full  assurance  that,  in  conferring  a  commission 
oil  a  man  so  utterly  ignorant  of  the  trade  he  had  been  thrtist  into  as 

Ci»ptain appeared  to  be,  "  the  King's  press  had  been  abused  most 

damnably.'* 

The  Colonel  had  a  singular  qnality, — that  of  personal  remembrance  ; 
and  even  at  the  distance  of  years  he  would  recall  a  man  to  memory, 


136 


FRANK    HAMILTON. 


bazine^  and  of  any  plumage  reported  from  Araby  the  blest,  was  alto- 
gether innocent. 

A  general  family  movement  was  decided  on.  My  aunt's  demi&e  re- 
quired my  father's  presence  in  the  metropolis.  My  mother'*  wardrobe 
demanded  an  extensive  addition, — for,  sooth  to  say»  her  costume  had 
become^  as  far  as  fashion  went,  rather  antediluvian*  Constance  an* 
nounced  that  a  back-tooth  called  for  professional  interference.  May 
heavf n  forgive  her  if  she  fibbed  I — ftir  a  dental  display  of  purer  ivory 
never  slyly  solicited  a  lover's  kiss,  than  what  her  joyous  laugh  exhi- 
bited. My  poor  mother  entered  a  protest  against  the  "  spes  ultima 
gregisy**  meaning  myself,  being  left  at  home  in  times  so  perilous,  and 
when  all  who  could  elf«ct  it,  were  hurrying  into  garrisoned  towns,  and 
abandoning,  for  crowded  lodgings^  homes,  whose  superior  comforts 
wer<3  abated  by  their  insecurity.  The  order  for  a  general  movement 
was  consequently  issued — and,  on  the  22nd  of  June,  we  commenced 
our  journey  to  the  capital. 

With  aJi  the  precision  of  a  commissary-general,  my  father  had  rejjii- 
lated  the  itinerary.  Here,  we  were  to  breakfast,  there,  dine,  aud  tbii 
hostlerie  was  to  be  honoured  with  our  sojourn  during  the  night*aeasaiL 
IVfan  wills,  fate  decrees,  and,  in  our  case,  the  old  saw  was  realized. 

It  will  be  necessary  to  remark  that  a  conspiracy  that  had  been  hatch- 
ing for  several  years,  from  unforeseen  circumstances  had  now  been  pre* 
maturely  exploded.  My  father,  with  more  hardiesse  than  discretion, 
declined  following  the  general  example  of  abandoning  his  home  for  the 
comparative  safety  afforded  by  town  and  city.  Coming  events  threw 
their  shadow  before,  and  too  unequivocalJy  to  be  mistaken,  but  still  he 
sported  deaf  adder.  In  confidential  communication  with  Dublin  Guile, 
all  known  there  touching  the  intended  movements  of  the  disaffected 
was  not  concealed  from  him.  He  was,  unfortunately,  the  reverse  of 
an  alarmist,  proud  of  his  popularity^ — read  hia  letters— drew  his  infer- 
ences— and  came  to  prompt  conclusions.  Through  Jiis  lawyer,  a  house 
ready  furnished  in  Leeson  street  was  secured.  His  pluteand  portable 
valuables  were  forwarded  to  Dublin,  and  reached  their  destaaatloa 
safely.  Had  our  liearts  been  tvhere  the  treasure  was,  we  should,  at  itt 
prudence  bound,  have  personally  accompanied  the  silver  spoona^-but 
the  owner,  like  many  an  abler  commander,  played  the  waiting  g^uuc 
too  long.  A  day  sooner  would  have  saved  some  trouble— *bttt  my  la- 
ther had  carried  habits  of  absolute  action  into  all  the  occurrenoet  ^ 
daily  life.  Indecision  is,  in  character,  a  sad  faiiuret  hut  his  weak  point 
ran  directly  in  an  opposite  direction.  He  thought,  weighed  matters 
hastily,  decided  in  tive  minutes,  and  that  decision  once  made,  couit  «/«ri 
coule,  must  be  carried  out  to  the  very  letter.  He  felt  all  the  annuy- 
auce  of  leaving  the  old  roof-tree  and  its  household  gods — ^c<»nflicliog 
statements  from  the  executive — fidse  information  from  local  traitors — an 
assurance  from  the  priest  that  no  immediate  danger  might  be  exfiecttni 
—these,  united  to  a  yearning  after  home,  rendered  his  ojieratious  ra- 
ther Fabian,  The  storm  burst*  however,  while  he  still  hesitated,  or 
rather,  the  burnijig  of  the  mail-coaches,  and  the  insurrection,  were 
things  simultaneous^-and  my  father  afterwards  discovered  that  he,  like 
many  a  wiser  man,  had  waited  a  day  too  long. 

H  hether  the  Coionel  might  have  dallied  still  longer  is  mere  conjec- 
ture, when  a  letter  marked  *^ha*fte'*  was  delivered  by  an  ordeTly  dra- 
goon, and  in  half  an  hour  the  **  leathern  conveoicncy  **  was  rumblin 
down  the  avenue. 


FRANK   HAMILTON, 


1S7 


The  journey  of  the  Wronghead  family  to  Londoii — if  I  recollect  the 
pleasant  ccunedy  that  details  it  correctly — was  effected  without  the 
occurrence  of  any  casualty  beyond  Home  dyspeptic  consequences  to  the 
cook  from  over-eat iug*  Would  that  oiir  migration  to  the  metropolis 
had  been  a^  fortuuateJy  accomjdished  I 

We  started  early;  and  ou  reaching  the  town  where  we  were  to 
breakfast  and  exchange  our  own  for  post-horsea,  found  the  pluce  in 
feverish  excitement.  A  hundred  anxious  inquirers  were  collected  in 
the  market-place.  Three  hours  beyoad  the  UJiual  time  of  the  mail- 
delivery  had  elapsed,— wild  rumours  were  spread  abroad, — a  general 
rising  in  Leinster  was  announced, — and  the  non-arrival  of  the  post  had 
an  ominous  appearance,  and  increased  the  alarm. 

We  hurried  over  the  morning  meal,^ — the  horses  were  being  put  to,^ — 
the  ladies  already  in  the  carriage* — when  a  dragoon  rode  in  at  speed, 
and  the  worst  apprehensions  we  had  entertained  were  more  than 
reiilised  by  this  fresh  arrival.  The  mail-coach  had  been  plundered 
and  burned,  while  everywhere,  northj  east,  and  west,  as  it  was  stated, 
the  rebels  were  in  open  insurrection^ — all  communication  with  Dublin 
was  cut  oif, — and  any  attempt  to  reach  the  metropolis  would  have  been 
only  an  act  of  madness. 

Another  express  from  the  south  eame  in.  Matters  there  were  even 
worse.  The  rebels  had  risen  en  masse  and  committed  fearful  devasta- 
tion. The  extent  of  danger  in  attempting  to  reach  the  capital,  or 
return  to  his  mansion,  were  thus  painfully  balanced ;  and  my  father 
considering  that,  as  sailors  say,  the  choice  rested  between  the  devil 
and  the  deep  sea,  decided  on  remaining  where  he  was,  as  the  best 
policy  under  all  circumstances. 

The  incompetency  of  the  Irish  engineering  staflT,  and  a  defective 
oommiBBariat,  at  that  time  was  most  deplorable;  and  altliough  the 
town  of was  notoriously  disaffected,  the  barrack  chosen,  tempo- 
rarily, to  accommodate  the  garrison — a  company  of  militia — was  a 
thatched  building,  two  stories  higb,  and  perfectly  commanded  by 
houses  in  front  and  rear.  The  captain  in  charge  of  the  detachment 
knew  nothing  of  his  trade,  and  had  been  hoisted  to  a  commii!.sion  in 
return  for  the  use  of  a  few  freeholders.  The  Irish  read  character 
quickly.  They  saw  at  a  glance  the  marked  imbeciiitv  of  the  devoted 
man  ;  and  by  an  imposition,  from  which  any  but  an  idiot  would  have 
recoiled^  trapped  the  silly  victim  and,  worse  stiJl^  sacrificed  those  who 
had  been  unhappily  entrusted  to  his  direction. 

That  the  express  had  ridden  hard  was  evident  from  the  distressed 
condition  of  his  horse;  and  the  intelligence  he  brought  deranged  my 
father  s  plans  entirely.  Any  attempt  either  to  proceed  or  to  return, 
as  it  appeared,  would  be  hazardous  alike;  and  nothing  remained  but 
to  halt  where  he  was,  until  more  certain  information  touching  the 
rebel  operations  should  enable  him  to  decide  which  would  be  the  safest 
course  of  actiou  to  pursue.  He  did  not  communicate  the  extent  of  his 
apprehensions  to  the  family,^ — >a^ected  an  air  of  indifference  he  did  not 
feel, — introduced  himself  to  the  commanding  officer  on  parade, — and 
returned  to  the  inn  in  full  assurance  that,  in  conferring  a  commission 
on  a  man  so  utterly  ignorant  of  the  trade  he  had  been  thrust  into  as 

Captain  * appeared  to  be,  "  the  King's  press  had  been  abused  most 

damnably." 

The  Colonel  had  a  singular  quality, — that  of  personal  remembrance  ; 
and  even  at  the  distance  of  years  he  would  recall  a  man  to  memmy, 


138 


FBANK    HAMTLTOir, 


even  had  tbe  former  acquaintatice  been  but  casual.  Passing  tbroupL 
the  inn-yard  J  his  quick  eye  detected  in  the  ostler  a  qnondatn  stable* 
boy.  To  avi>id  the  consequences  attendant  on  a  fair-riot  which  had 
ended,  *'«/  mos  est"  in  homicide,  the  ex-fftooni  bad  fled  tbe  countiTf 
and,  as  it  was  reported  and  believed,  sought  an  asylum  in  the  "land 
of  the  free"  beyond  the  Atlantic,  which,  privileged  like  the  Cave  of 
Ahdnllum,  conveniently  flings  her  Stripes  and  Stars  over  all  that  are 
in  debt  and  all  that  are  in  danger.  Little  did  the  fugitive  groom 
desire  now  to  recall  "  lang  syne,"  and  reneiv  a  former  acquaintance* 
But  my  father  was  otherwise  determined;  and  stepping  caretesslv  up, 
be  tapped  his  old  domestic  on  the  shoulder,  and  at  once  addressed  bira 
by  name- 

The  ostler  turned  deadly  pale,  but  in  a  moment  tbe  Colonel  dlsp^ed 
bis  alarm. 

"  You  have  nothing  to  apprehend  from  me,  Pat.  He  who  struck 
tbe  blow,  which  was  generally  laid  to  your  charge,  confessed  when  dying 
that  he  was  the  guilty  man,  and  that  you  were  innocent  of  all  blame 
beyond  mixing  in  the  aflray/' 

Down  j>op|ied  the  suspected  culprit  on  his  knees,  and  in  a  low  but 
earnest  voice  be  returned  thanks  to  heaven. 

*'  I  understood  you  had  gone  to  America,  or  I  would  have  endeft* 
vonred  in  some  way  to  have  apprised  you,  that  a  murderer  by  report, 
yuii  were  but  a  rioter  in  reality/* 

'"^I  did  go  there.  Colonel,  but  I  could  not  rest.     I  knew  that  I  was 
innocent ;  but  who  would  believe  my  oath  ?     I  might  have  done  well 
enough  there ;  but  I  don't  know  why,  the  ould  country  was  alway*  at 
my  heart,  and  I  used  to  cry  when  1  thought  of  the  mornings  that  I  _ 
whipped  in  the  hounds,  and  the  nights  that  I  danced  merrily  in  thej 
servants'  ball,  when  piper  or  fiddler  came, — and  none  left  tbehi>u«e" 
without  meat,  drink,  and  money,  and  a  blessing  on  the  hand  that 
gave  it*  * 

'^  What  brought  you  here,  so  close  to  your  former  bome»  and  so 
likely  to  be  recognised  ?" 

"  To  see  if  1  couldn't  clear  myself,  and  get  ye'r  honour  to  take  ute 
back.     Ulark  tliat  dark  man  I      He's  owner  of  this  horse.     Go  to  thel 
bottom  of  the  garden,  and  I  'U  he  with  you  when  he  returns  to  the  I 
bouse  again/' 

My  father  walked  carelessly  away,  unclosed  the  garden  gate^  and 
left  the  dark  stranger  with  his  former  whipper-in-  Throwing  himself  J 
on  a  bench  in  a  rude  summer-house,  !je  began  lo  think  over  the  threa«| 
tening  aspect  of  atfairs,  and  devise,  if  he  cmild,  some  plan  to  deliver  I 
bis  fitniily  from  the  danger,  which  on  every  side  it  became  too  evident  J 
was  alarmingly  impending. 

He  was  speedily  rejoined  by  his  old  domestic. 

**  Marked  ye  that  dark  man  well  ?  " 

'*  Yes;  and  a  devilish  suspicious-looking  gentleman  he  is,** 

''His  looks  do  not   belie   liinu     No   matter  whatever  may  oceor 
through  it,  you  must  quit  the  town  directly.     Call  for  post-horseny  nndl 
as  miue  is  the  first  turn,  1 11  he  postilion.    Don't  shew  fear  or  suspicion  J 
—and  leave  llie  rest  to  me.     Beware  of  the  landlord — he  's  a  colonel  of  j 
the  rebels^  and  a  bloodier-miuded  villain  is  not  unhanged.   Hasten  in —  [ 
every  moment  is  worth  gold — and  when  the  call  couies,  the  horses  will 
be  to  the  carriage  in  the  cracking  of  a  whip.     Don't  notice  me.  eood 
or  bad.'* 


PRANK    HAMILTON. 


139 


He  spoke,  hopped  over  the  garden- Hedge  to  reach  the  back  of  the 
stables  unperceived,  whiles  1  proceeded  along  the  walk,  and  when  ap- 
proach mg  the  gfite,  it  was  opened  by  the  host  in  person.  He  started  ; 
but,  wkh  assumed  indifference,  observed,  "  What  sad  news  tiie  dragoon 
ha^  brought  I  ** 

**  I  don't  believe  the  half  of  it.  These  things  are  always  exagge^ 
rated*  Landlord,  I  "11  push  on  a  stuge  or  two,  and  the  worst  that  can 
happen  is  to  return,  should  the  route  prove  dangerous*  I  know  that 
here  I  have  a  safe  shelter  to  fall  back  upon/' 

**  Safe  \  **  exclaimed  the  innkeeper.  **  All  the  rabble  in  the  country 
would  not  venture  within  miles  of  where  ye  are  ;  and,  notivithstanding 
bad  reports,  there  *s  not  a  loyaler  barony  in  the  county.  Faith  \  Ct>- 
lonel,  although  it  may  look  very  like  seeking  custom,  I  would  advise 
you  to  keep  your  present  quarters.  You  know  the  old  saying,  '  IMen 
may  go  farther  and  fare  worse/  I  had  a  lamb  killed  when  I  hetird  of 
tlie  rising,  and  specially  for  your  honour's  dinner.  Jtist  look  into  the 
barn  as  ye  pass*     Upon  my  conscience!  it's  a  curioBity." 

He  turned  back  with  me ;  hut  before  we  reached  the  place^  the  dark 
stranger  I  had  seen  before  beckoned  from  a  back  window. 

*^  Ha  \  an  old  and  worthy  customer  wants  me/' 

Placing  his  crooked  finger  in  his  mouth,  he  gave  a  loud  and  piercing 
whistle.  The  quondam  whipper  appeared  at  a  stable-door  with  a 
horse-brush  in  his  hand. 

"Pat,  shew  hia  honour  that  born  beauty  I  killed  for  him  this 
morning." 

"Coming,  Mr.  Scnlly^ — I  beg  yeV  honour's  pardon — btit  ye  know 
that  businesii  must  he  minded,"  he  said,  and  hurried  off^ 

No  man  assumes  the  semblance  of  indifference,  and  masks  his  feel- 
ings more  readily  than  an  Irishman,  and  Pat  Loftus  was  no  exception 
to  his  countrymen.  When  summoned  by  the  host's  whistle,  he  came 
to  the  door  lilting  a  planxty  merrily, — but  when  he  re-entered  the 
stable,  the  melody  ceased,  and  his  countenance  became  serious. 

"  1  hid  behind  the  straw,  yonder.  Colonel,  and  overheard  every  syl- 
lable that  passed,  and  under  the  canopy  bigger  rillains  are  not  than 
the  two  who  are  together  now,  There*s  no  time  for  talking*— all 's 
ready,"  and  he  pointed  to  the  harnessed  post-horses,  "  Go  in,  keep  an 
open  eye,  and  close  mouth,  order  round  the  carriage— all  is  packed — 
and  when  we're  clear  of  the  town  1 11  tell  you  more/' 

When  Diy  father's  determination  was  made  known,  feelingly  did  the 
host  indicate  the  danger  of  the  attempt,  and  to  his  friendly  remon- 
strances against  wayfaring,  IV I r.  Scully  raised  a  warning  voice.  But 
my  father  was  decisive — ^Pat  Loftus  trotted  to  the  door — some  light 
lyggage  was  placed  in  the  carriage,  and  three  brace  of  pistols  deposited 
in  its  pockets.  A  meaning  look  was  interchanged  between  the  inn- 
keeper and  his  fellow-guest. 

"  Colonel,"  said  the  former,  "  I  hope  you  will  not  need  the  tools.  If 
you  do,  the  fault  will  be  all  your  own/' 

"  If  required/*  returned  my  father^  "  I  '11  use  them  to  the  best 
advantage/' 

The  villains  interchanged  a  smile. 

"  Pat/*  said  the  host  to  the  postilion,  "  you  know  the  safest  road^ — 
do  what  I  bid  ye-^-and  keep  his  honour  out  of  trouble  if  ye  can/* 

"  Go  on,'*  shouted  my  father — the  whip  cracked  smartly,  and  off 
rolled  the  carriage. 


140 


fll4lCIC   HAJOLfOir. 


For  halfmi 


tk«  jitaetMQ 


of  three  raoid^  Loftikt  iMk  tb«  Me  wkich  ttt  1 
not  the  DubHn  ooe.     M jr  hAef  caifled  fl«t  to  stop^  but  die 
harried  on,  until  higK  li«dgc«»  «ad  a  vam  •£  nb  freriM  batli  i 
in  the  fiew.     He  piolled  nil  mddcBlj. 

"  Am  I  0^  ftn  undntifiu  aenmtt  tm  dinabgj  the  ordets  of  »  gaed  i 
mjiftter  as  Mr.  Doghertj  ?  First,  I  hare  not  taken  ibe  mad  lie  reeoia- 
mendiKi — aad^  leoondly,  instead  of  dririag  ibit  dint  into  a  bone's  ing, 
1  hare  carried  it  in  my  pocket,"  and  be  jerked  the  stone  awaf* 

**  Look  to  your  pistol^  Cdlaoet  la  good  old  tinea  joar  arms  I 
BUKpect,  would  buTe  been  fonnd  in  better  order.* 

The  weapons  were  eicantined,  and  eveij  |ioa  bad  been  Mtanlid 
with  water.  "  Never  miod,  I  '11  clean  tbem  wd]  at  ni^:  it  s  not 
the  fi  tnt  time*  But,  see  the  dust  yonder  ?  I  dare  not  torn  back,  and  I  m 
half  iifraid  to  go  on.  Ha — glory  to  the  \^rgtn !  dragoons^  ay»  aiid,  M  I 
tee  now,  they  are  e^scorting  Lord  Arlington's  coecb.  Have  we  not  the 
luck  of  tbousandd  ?  " 

He  cracked  his  whip,  and  at  the  junction  of  i  cros»-road  fell  in  with 
and  joined  the  travellers.  My  fother  was  well  known  to  his  lord-thrp, 
who  expressed  much  pleasure  that  the  journey  to  the  capital  should  be 
made  in  company. 

Protected  by  relays  of  cavalry,  we  reached  the  city  in  safety,  not,  j 
however,  without  one  or  two  hair-breadth  escapes  from  molestation.  I 
Everything  around  told  that  the  insurrection  had  broken  out:  church- 
l>ells  rangj  dropping  shots  now  and  then  were  heard,  and  hoases«  ooC 
rery  distant^  were  wrapped  in  flames.  Safely,  however,  we  passed  through 
manifold  alarms,  and  at  dusk  entered  the  fortified  barrier  erected  on 
one  of  the  canal  bridges,  which  was  jealously  guarded  by  a  comptay 
of  Highlanders  and  two  six-pounders.  Brief  shall  be  a  summarr  « 
what  followed.  While  the  tempest  of  rebellion  raged^  we  remanied 
safely  in  the  capital.  Constance  and  I  were  over  bead  and  ears  in 
love  ;  but  another  passion  struggled  with  me  for  mastery.  Yontb  is 
always  pugnacious  ;  like  Nerval, 

««  f  had  heard  of  hatil^,  and  had  tooged 
To  Mlow  to  the  field  some  vrarlike  ** 

colonel  of  militia,  and  importuned  my  father  to  obtain  a  oommii 
and,  like  Laertes,  '*  wrung  a  slow  consent/*  The  application  waa  i 
and,  soon  after  breakfast,  the  butler  announced  that  my  presence  was 
wanted  in  tlie  drawing-room.  I  repaired  thither^  and  there  found  my 
father,  his  fair  diime,  and  my  cousin  Constance. 

*'  Well,  Franks  1  huve  kept  my  promise,  and»  in  a  day  or  tivn,  I  shall 
have  a  captain's  commission  for  you.  Before,  however,  I  place  myself 
under  an  obligation  to  Lord  Carhampton,  let  me  propose  an  altemalifi 
for  your  selection." 

I  shook  my  head*     **  And  what  may  that  be,  sir  f  * 

"  A  wife." 

"  A  wife  1 "  I  exclaimed. 

*'  Yes,  that  is  the  plain  offer.     Yon  shall  have,  however,  a 
liberty  of  election  :  read  that  letter." 

I  threw  my  eye  over  it  hastily.     It  was  from  the  Lord  Lieutemint'i 

retaryi  to  say  that  his  excellency  felt  pleasure  in  placing  a  eumpaoy 

the  —  militia,  at  Colonel  Hamilton's  disposal.     **  There  is  the  rtisd 
trust.     Come  hither. 


ame  open 


turn  pi 


FRANK    HAMILTON.  141 

h  the  alternative/'  She  looked  at  me  archly,  I  caught  her  to  my 
heart,  and  kissed  her  red  lips, 

"  Father  I" 

"  Well,  Frank/' 

"  Yoti  may  write  a  polite  letter  to  the  Ca&tlej  and  decline  the  com* 
mission/' 


p 


Half  a  ceatnry  has  passed,  but  ninety-eight  is  btill,  hy  oral  com- 
munications, well  known  to  the  Irish  peasant;  and  would  that  its 
hornira  carried  with  them  salutary  reminiscences !  But  to  my  own 
Btory* 

Instead  of  futtening  beeves,  planting  trees,  clapping  vagalKjnds  "i' 
th'  stocks/'  and  doing  all  and  everything  that  appertaineth  to  a  coun- 
try gentleman,  and  also,  the  queen^s  poor  esquire,  I  might  have,  until 
the  downftil  of  Napoleon,  and  the  reduction  of  the  militia,  events  con- 
temporaneous, smelt  powder  in  the  Plicenix  Park  on  field  days,  and 
like  IludihraSj  of  pleasant  memory,  at  the  head  of  a  charge  of  foot. 
*'  rode  forth  a  coloneling/'  In  place,  however,  of  meddling  with  cold 
iron,  I  yielded  to  *'  metal  more  attractive,"  and  in  three  monthii  be- 
came a  Benedict,  and  in  some  di»zen  more  a  papa. 

In  the  meantime,  rebellion  was  bloodily  put  down,  and  on  my  lady's 
recovery,  my  father,  whose  yearning  for  a  return  to  the  old  roof-tree 
was  irresistible,  prepared  for  our  departure  from  the  metropolis. 

Curiously  enough,  we  passed  through  Prosperous,  exactly  on  the 
anniversary  of  the  day  when  we  had  so  providentiidiy  effected  an  eva- 
sion from  certain  deiitruclion.  Were  aught  required  to  elicit  gratitude 
for  a  fortunate  escape,  two  objects,  and  both  visible  from  the  inn  win- 
dows, would  have  been  sufficient.  One  was  a  mass  of  blackened  ruins 
— the  scathed  walls  of  the  barrack,  in  wliich  the  wretched  garrison 
bad  been  so  barbarously  done  to  death  :  the  other  a  human  he^d  im- 
paled upon  a  spike  on  the  gable  of  the  building.  That  blanched  skull 
liad  rested  on  the  shoulders  of  our  traitor  host^  and  we,  doomed  to 
"  midnight  murder,*'  were  mercifully  destined  to  witness  a  repulsive, 
but  just  evidence,  that  Providence  interposes  often  between  the  villain 
and  the  victim. 

I  am  certain  that  in  my  physical  construction,  were  an  analysis 
practicable,  small  would  be  the  amount  of  heroic  proportions  which  the 
most  astute  operator  would  detect.  I  may  confess  the  truth,  and  say, 
that  in  *'lang  syne,"  any  transient  ebullitiun  of  military  ardour  va- 
nished at  a  glance  from  Constance's  black  eye.  The  stream  of  time 
swept  on,  and  those  that  were,  united  their  dust  with  those  that  had 
been-  In  a  short  time  my  letter  of  readiness  may  be  expected  ;  and 
I  shalt  in  nature's  course,  after  the  last  marchj  as  Byrou  says^  ere 
long 

'« Take  my  rc«t/* 

And  will  the  succession  end  with  me  ?  Tell  it  not  to  Malihus,  nor 
whisper  it  to  Harriet  Marti neaii.  There  is  no  prospect  of  adver- 
tising for  the  next  of  kin,  i.  e.  if  five  strapping  boys  and  a  couple  of 
tbe  fair  sex  may  be  considered  a  sufficient  security. 


"  Wbmt  a  confoanded  bore  this  diseoludcm  h,  driving  men  out  of 
towD  just  no w  ! "  exclaimed  Lord  Forsyth  to  Hugh  Suunlon,  as  they 
together  entered  the  rcm/Mf  of  a  carriage  on  the  North  Western. 
"Every  soul  in  the  country  gone  election  mad.  What  oa  earth 
can  one  do  with  oneself  till  one  gets  on  the  moors  ?  ** 

**  For  my  part,'*  replied  his  friend,  "  I  only  long  to  know  my  bo- 
rough is  safe,  that  1  may  take  a  little  time  at  home  to  refrei^h  myself," 

"  It 's  a  capital  neighbourhood  about  you,  is  it  not  ?  You  've  no 
notion  what  a  slow  set  our shire  people  are," 

**  Why,  r  shall  feel  tolerably  independent  of  neighbours  at  present, 
as  mnae'of  Emilv's  family  are  with  us ;  then,  there  '&  that  little  rogue 
Hogb^  whom  1  have  not  aeen  for  a  months  we  have  no  end  of  fi 
together." 

'^It's  all  very  well  for  a  married  fellow  like  you,  but  think 
sitting  down  day  after  d»y,  with  only  a  series  of  Barons  Forsyth  to 
grin  at  one  from  the  walls,  and  with  nothing  but  flowers  and  foun* 
tains  outside.  I  could  swear  ihey  savour  of  the  mob  at  a  horticul* 
turaiyc/c," 

"  A  very  hard  case  indeed,**  observed  Staunton,  laughing ;  '*  but 
if  marriage  makes  everything  comltmr  de  rote  why  have  yon  not 
turned  Benedict  long  ago,  as  aU  the  world  says  you  ought  to  have 
done  ?" 

**  I  sometimes,  do  you  know,  ask  myself  the  same  questian ;  but 
after  fooling  so  long  with  the  girls^  upon  my  life  I  should  not  know 
how  to  make  them  believe  me  in  earnest !  unless,  indeed,  I  were 
spooney  myself,  and  that  I  have  not  been  since .  Do  vou  re- 
member poor  Margaret  ?  She  is  gone,  and  I  have  been  tolcf,  but  I 
hope  it  i^  not  true,  that  she  spoke  of  me  as  she  was  going.  If  I  had 
thought  that  she  really  cared  so  much  for  me,  I  would  have  had  her, 
I  would  indeed.     What  a  fool  I  was  to  be  bullied  out  of  it  J  ** 

Grave  thoughts  had  chased  his  reckless  mood,  and  his  friend  left 
him  for  a  while  to  his  own  reflections,  remembering  the  aphorism  of 
Rousseau,  "  Que  dans  les  severes  afflictions  la  tristesse  et  le  silence 
le  Bont  vrai  langage  de  Tamitie/' 


A  fortnight  had  elapsed  since  the  above  conversation  took  place* 
EngUnd*s  worthy  representatives  had  cmnvassed  and  contested,  and 
her  worthy  freemenhad  been  bribed  and  hocussed,  when  Lord  Forsyth 
reached  Thornhurst,  on  a  visit  to  Mr.  Staunton,  just  as  the  bell  pfv> 
monished  of  approaching  dinner.  It  was  not  then  till  the  good 
things  of  which  it  babbled  were  actually  served  that  he  came  in  ocNi* 
tact  with  any  of  his  fellow-guests,  and  his  appearance  in  the  draw* 
ing-room,  diverted  the  course  of  many  a  fast  flowing  discourse,  causing 
several  pairs  of  bright  eyes,  that  had  been  uplifted  in  patient  attcn* 
tJon,  to  droop  listlessly,  or  turn  hurriedly  towards  the  door.  Tlie 
twilight,  though  not  favourable  to  minute  scrutiny^  enabled  Lord 


THE  roup's  choice. 


143 


h 


'orsyth  to  ascertain  that  the  party  comprised  one  woman  at  lea^t  of 

riking  beauty, 

**  You.  know  Lady  Anna  Bellairs,"  observed  his  hostess,  as  though 

answer  to  his  glarice,  and  with  a  mup^-on  of  archness  nhich   im- 
lied  she  was  very  well  aware  he  did  not ;  recalling  for  the  first 
rae  to  Lord  Forsyth's  mind,  his  conversation  with  her  husband  in. 
the  railway. 

'*  Just  like  those  married  men/'  said  he  to  himself,  "  to  tell  their 
ives  everything.  She  is  an  uncommonly  fine  girl,  however,  the 
very  one  loo  that  St»  John  raves  about/'  And  he  chuckled  at  the 
thought  of'*  taking  the  wind  out  of  his  friend's  sails/'  His  prospective 
triumph  coat  him,  however,  a  present  disappointment,  no  less^  than 
seeing  Lady  Anna  led  off  by  an  aspiring  officer  of  dragoons,  whilst 
he  was  left  to  the  Hobson'e  choice  of  a  companion  whofce  appearance 
scarcely  qualified  her  in  his  opinion  to  the  honor  of  leaning  on  an 
arm  so  distinguished  as  his  own.  Lady  Anna  was  seated  at  dinner 
nearly  opposite  to  him,  and  though  he  had  the  satisfaction  of  trac- 
ing in  her  countenance  the  reflection  of  his  own  disappointment,  it 
was  in  no  very  amiable  mood  that  he  apph'ed  to  his  neighbour,  the 
routine  of  questions  with  which  young  ladies  are  on  such  occasions 
usually  entertained,  '^  Did  she  play,  did  she  sing^  did  she  <Jraw,  ride, 
valse,  and  polk  ?*'  She  stood  this  test  bravely  ;  and  when  he  had 
extorted  from  her,  that  in  her  whole  life  she  had  spent  but  one 
fortnight  in  Town>  and  that  passed  in  sight- seeing,  her  assertion  by 
no  means  assumed  the  tone  of  a  confession.  Whatever  had  been  the 
amount  of  Lord  Forsyth's  curiosity  it  now  seemed  satisfied,  nor  was 
the  fair  Lady  Anna  long  in  discovering,  that  he  was  occujiied  in 
observing  her.  Whereupon  the  subaltern  found  himself  very 
severely  snubbed,  a  proceeding  which  startled  the  youth  no  less  than 
her  previous  gracious  affability  had  flattered  him. 

When  the  dining-room  restraint  was  at  length  withdrawn,  Lord 
Forsyth  and  Lady  Anna  availed  themselves  largely  of  drawing, 
room  facilities  to  improve  their  mutual  acquaintance ;  an  arrangement 
with  which  no  one  seemed  disposed  to  interfere.  Air,  Staunton 
passed  by  the  former  in  summoning  recruits  to  the  whist  table;  and 
Lady  Pockleton  flushed  with  delight  at  her  daughter's  evideiit  suc- 
cess, 

**  I  always  told  you^  chtld^  that  cMse  became  you,''  she  said  as  she 
wished  her  good  n ]g  h t. 

But  if  Lady  Anna  reposed  that  night  in  perfect  self-complacency, 
Buch  comfortable  feelings  hy  no  means  predominated  in  the  bosom 
of  her  admirer.  We  shall,  therefore,  favour  our  readers  with  a  few 
of  his  lordships  nocturnal  cogitations. 

"  i  am  not  in  love ;  were  I  still  a  boy,  I  might  fancy  myself  so ; 
my  Lady  Anna  may  he  quite  sure  that  I  am  ;  hut  my  heart-stringa 
have  been  so  long  on  the  stretch,  that  they  have  lost  their  tone  ;*  I 
have  talked  sentiment  so  often^  that  my  lips  seem  like  some  piece  of 
mechanism  to  be  wound  up,  and  go  of  themselves.  Yet,  when  I 
look  inwards,  and  such  reviews  come  more  frequently  than  they 
were  wont,  I  find  there  a  something  that  might  even  now  be  fairly 
won,  some  remains  of  a  better  self,  one  spark  of  purity  that  has  sur- 
vived the  taint  of  all  that  1  have  been  ;  and  Iter's  is  not  the  breath 
that  could  kindle  it  into  flame.  She  is  very  brilliant,  very  attrac- 
tive, but  she  has  been  too  much  trained  to  captivate,  her  asipirations 

VOL.    XXV.  i> 


Ui 


THE   R0U4*S   CHOICE. 


to  tlie  coronet  are  too  evident,  they  have  pot 
brought  my  okl  callous  feelings  back  again, 
but  I  could  never  ask  her  to  be  my  wife,'* 


on  niy  guard,  and 
She  is  a  charming  J?ir<. 


A  seat  at  the  break  fa  at- table  next  lo  Lady  Anna  had  been  reli- 
giou&ly  respected  by  all  comers,  the  dragoon  officer  included;  and 
when  Lord  Forsyth,  on  his  entrance^  found  out  another  vacant  chair. 
Lady  Anna  dropped  successively  six  lumps  of  sugar  into  her  cup  of 
tea,  and  she  felt  that  the  bridal  wreath  of  her  midnight  vision  sat 
less  firmly  on  her  brow. 

"  Pray  who  was  my  companion  at  dinner  yesterday — now  talking 
to  your  little  boy?'*  was  Lord  Forsyth'i  first  observation  to  Mrs, 
Staunton. 

•*  O  !  that  is  my  cousin  Agnes  Bouverie,  she  has  quite  fascinated 
that  little  gentleman  ;  and  she  remains  here  on  his  express  invitation. 
Came,  Hugh,  hand  round  your  basvket  of  peaches,  they  are  not  all  for 
Agnes/' 

**  If  the  peaches  were  minv^  I  should  give  them  her  every  one,  she 
is  such  a  dear  kind  girl,*'  whispered  the  young  enthusiast,  as  he 
paused  a  moment  by  his  mother *s  chair. 

Lortl  Forsyth's  mysterious  secession  from  Lady  Anna's  side,  de- 
ranged the  tactics  of  some  members  of  our  party.  The  subaltern 
lounged  round  the  table,  to  where  she  sat,  and  ventured  upon  one 
of  his  choicest  guard-room  anecdotes,  pressed  her  hand  very  cor- 
dially on  taking  leave,  and  hoped  he  might  have  the  pleasure  of 
sending  her  a  ticket  to  **our  ball"  on  the  10th;  '^a  capital  affair  I 
assure  you  ;  our  colonel  knows  so  well  how  to  get  up  those  kind  of 
thintjs,  and  we  have  the  finest  brass  band  you  ever  heard." 

Whether  the  gallaut  lieutenant's  mustachioed  comeliness  had  ac- 
tually gained  some  favour  with  the  lady,  or,  that  she  hod  nicely 
calculated  how  far  pique  was  likely  to  cause  reaction  in  another 
quarter,  is  not  for  us  to  <let ermine ;  certain  it  is,  that  she  received 
these  daring  advances  more  condescendingly  than  was  quite  consis* 
tent  with  the  haughty  character  of  an  aristocratic  beauty.  On  the 
strength  of  which,  by  the  way,  our  young  soldier  swaggered  at  naws 
to  an  inordinate  extent.  "  Mi^  girl 's  a  regular  smasher^  she  '11  wipe 
the  eye  of  all  your  belles,  I  can  tell  you/' 

"Anna,  my  love,"  exclaimed  her  alarmed  mother,  **  I  have  some- 
thing to  say  to  you," 

Now  Lady  Fockleton,  in  thus  addressing  her  daughter,  had  em- 
ployed an  expletive  which  appealed  to  her  hearer's  feelings  in  • 
manner  quite  different  from  what  might  appear  to  good,  simple* 
minded  persons,  like  you  and  me.  This  high-born  dame  was  i 
the  habit  of  mingling  in  famihar  discourse  vulgar  terms  of  en 
raent.  Whilst  their  occasional  use  was  consiilered  by  her  family  equi* 
valent  to  an  oath  from  the  lips  of  her  lord,  and  betrayed  as  much  ex» 
citement  of  an  unpleasurable  kind  as  might  be  exhibited  in  dviliaed 
society.  It  was,  therefore,  with  the  same  guilty  feelings  with  which 
a  boy  quits  his  form  at  a  signal  from  the  magisterial  ferule,  that  the 
Lady  Anna  followed  the  Countess  to  her  chamber,  who  Uiere  assail* 
ed  her  with  remonstrances  on  her  past  deportment,  and  adroonitioDs 
for  her  future  guidance. 

"You  are  really  such  a  giddy  girl  ;  when  everything  has  befo 
done  for  you.     The  cards  were  actually  put  into  your  hand,  and 


THE    roup's   choice,  145 

then  to  throw  them  tlown>  as  you  have  done;  it  is  really  too  unduti* 
fyL  Besides  Dora  must  come  out  next  year.  You  know  very  well  I 
have  kept  her  back  two  seasons  already.  I  give  you  one  more  day, 
and  if  you  do  not  exert  yourself  to  do  better,  Sir  James  Spratt  shall 
be  written  to;  and  when  your  father  has  once  made  up  his  mind  to 
the  match,  it  will  be  a  settled  thing.  Now  Anna,  tell  me  all  that 
pasBed  Itist  evening  between  yourself  and  Lord  Forsyth." 

For  a  more  lively  representation  of  the  original  dialogue  than  was 
elicited  by  this  inc|uiaition,  J  refer,  gentle  reader,  to  your  own  agree- 
able reminiscence  of  fiuch4ike  scenes. 


k 


This  day  passed,  as  summer-days  will  pass,  where,  "with  all  ap- 
pliances and  means  to  boot/*  youthful  lords  and  Indies  fair  devote 
themselves  in  earnest  to  the  murder  of  Old  Time.  There  were  ponies 
and  boats,  cricket  and  billiards.  Lady  Anna  did  '*  exert  herself;"  her 
laugh  never  sounded  more  joyous,  nor  her  voice  more  Bprightly, 
though  the  threat  of  a  bridegroom,  gouty  and  asthmatic^  might  have 
seemed  the  sword  of  Damocles  suspended  over  her  head.  On  this 
flay  Lord  Forsyth  listened  to  her  singing,  admired  her  drawings^  and 
paid  herein  short,  that  amount  of  attention  which  is  understood  by 
men  of  fashion,  amongst  themselves  at  least,  to  mean  nothing. 

Shortly  before  post-hour  a  warm  discussion  took  place  between 
Lord  and  Lady  Pockleton  in  the  dressing-room  of  the  former.  The 
secrets  of  that  council-chamber  did  not  transpire,  but  a  mandate  was 
thence  issued  that  the  trunks  should  be  packed,  and  the  earl's 
carriage  in  readiness  by  nine  on  the  morrow.  The  necessity  of 
their  immediate  departure  waa  thus  publicly  bewailed  by  hady 
Pockleton, 

'*  One  of  those  tiresome  county  meetings — they  will  insis-t  on  Lord 
Pockleton'*  taking  the  chair,  and  he  can't  get  off.  So  extremely  un- 
fortunate! My  dear  Mrs,  Staunton,  I  would  have  given  anything  to 
have  stayed  for  your  little  archery.  Poor  dear  Anna,  too  ;  it  is  a  sad 
disappoint  men  t  to  her/' 

Her  ladyship's  acknowledgment  of  Lord  Forsyth's  salutation  that 
evening  was  not  particularly  courteous.  "  Poor  dear  Anna,"  how- 
ever, looked  wonderfully  forgiving,  all  things  considered.  Poor  girl, 
indeed,  she  was  used  to  it* 

*'  I  am  sRfe  out  of  that  business,"  observed  Lord  Forsyth  to  him- 
self. Hut,  if  the  nobleman  meant  to  congratulate  his  fancy  on  being 
free,  he  was  not  quite  candid  with  that  familiar  spirit,  for,  truth  to 
tell,  thoughts  the  least  invoked  at  that  very  time  haunted  his  imagi- 
nation, and  he  discovered,  greatly  ti>  his  own  astonishment,  t!iat  they 
assumed  the  form  of  Agnes  Bouverie>  There  was  much  in  her 
character  that  perplexed  him,  and  that  interested  by  its  novelty.  She 
was  neither  overawed  by  his  superiority,  nor  flattered  by  his  atten- 
tion* He  had  observed  in  her  remarks  to  others  proofs  of  a  richly- 
cultivated  mind,  freshness  of  observation^  and  judgment  beyond  her 
years,  com  hi  tied  with  unassumed  modesty,  and  a  total  absence  of 
display.  Yet,  whenever  he  attempted  to  draw  from  her  the  expres- 
sion of  an  opinion,  his  progress  was  checked  by  a  reserve,  which  the 
steady  dignity  of  her  manner  allowed  not  to  be  interpreted  as  caprice. 
He — the  sought  and  courted  of  fashionable  throngs,  to  be  set  at 
nought  by  a  rustic  1     It  mattered  little  what  she  thought  of  him  I 

L  2 


146  TIJK    UOUfe's  CHOICE- 

Still  however*  these  questions,  "  Why  am  I  repelled  ?     Why  do 
heetl  it }"  alternated  in  his  mind. 


**  Bttter  trust  lUl  ami  Im  dfceived. 

And  weep  that  trust  and  tbat  decoiTiiig  i 
TKan  doubt  one  bejirt,  that,  tf  believed , 
Hftd  blrssed  one't  life  with  trtie  believtng. 

**  Oh  !  in  this  mocking  world  too  fast 

The  doubting  fiend  o'ertakcs  our  ymtih  : 
Better  be  cheated  to  the  lost. 

Than  Jose  ihe  blessed  hope  of  truth.*** 

** Agnes,  dear,  I  have  finished  my  lessons;  and  now,  please,  miy 
I  look  at  your  drawings  }"  cried  little  Hugh,  as  he  entered  the  mom* 
li^  ro(iB»  where  Miss  Bouverie  was  writing. 

•"Yea*  dear  child  ;  if  you  will  promiiie  to  put  them  all  back,  ind 
mt  i»  wok  anjr  questions  whilst  I  am  busy." 

Tbe  mi  J  w«tl  was  passed,  and  Hugh  had  just  succeeded  In 
fimam^  ^m  gnat  portfolio  to  his  satisfaction  on  two  chairs,  wba 
mmHkmt  rmot  intefposed, — 

^Aiqri  MlBt  Bou^^erie,  may  I  be  suffered  to  share  the  ^me  prif 
1^^  Ml  onlbr  conditions?" 


**  llj  akrtdtn  were  not  intended  for  exhibition,   Lord  Forsyth] 
^  m»  W^mat,  bowever,  is  granted  "  1 

Half  tm  hour  elapsed  before  Miss  Bouverie  rose  from  her  desit 
TW  b(iy .  with  child^h  volatility »  had  been  attracted  to  the  window  ; 
hm  liord  Kortyth  still  renai&ed  by  the  portfolio,  attentively  ( 
lUktim  «oe  of  ker  drowiii^  _ 

*^M^y  I  taqfolvi^  Mm  Bouverie,  if  you  are  no  longer  busy,  whe* 
llMr  jpoo  look  tlib  sketch  on  the  spot  ?'' 

«  woodland  scene,  containing  an  Elizabethan 

its  neigliboorhood  to  a  church,  might  be  the 

,     - 1^  wmmt  SMWienti  before  she  answered, —  * 

*1m:  liiti 

^AmI  iktt  thmmmmrt  friecids  of  yours?'* 

^lbi|pttt  D«iio«B  ni  ny  best — ^my  earliest  friend." 

**  A«4  wtkm^*  aMod  Lerd  FWsyth,  in  a  subdued  tone. 

WlHii  ^^m  wmtmi  her  «?os»  they  for  the  first  time  met  his,  wit) 
m  Mk  of  kMoaaa,  afaoMa  tt  oompassion.  Then  were  the  hearts  fl 
lk»  gi|y  won  of  iko  w^orkL  snd  of  ike  quiet  country  girl  stirred  will 
m  kMtoi  onMdon.  Lord  Phm^rlk  ootitiAoed, — 
fcTT^!*  ^^  ^'•<>^  «»  tlofy.    Ym^  I  toe  you  have  already 

d  Agnaa^  gravely,  "till  I  leom  how  you  m»y  be  , 
^^    ^^-         ►  '  know  tkal  poor  JJargant's  dying  words  were  tru 
8ho  mM  11  oonM  ncvor  be;  tkat  yoar'a  was  not  the  fklse,  the  he 
liii  COiMhMt  Aal  it  aatmod.- 

«  UM  ^^J^  tkaft^  fWoiiMi  on  hiUt  foimory,  and  on  you,  I 
mmai^i^  Uk»  ii  b  an  awM  lkii^,tkla  voieo  from  the  grave  !  Na 
witl  nol  MgH iiil  my  tkmh by  ottoawning  to  extenuate  iL  1  «ii 
littjtoiiof  ii»fc»%^viatMiloypBJ^  to  the  match,  and 
^  iifHaiffPli  lb«i  naad  In  bwloto  wo  to  break  off  my  ani 
nil  ibH  %htf  mmm  maA  wiekiii  now.  Yal,  if  tke  w«ar.„  ,^ 
l%Uf4  mhmy  «C  yiw^— if  tko  bmafMaa  of  present  contrttiotf'  \ 


OUR   LADY  S   WELL. 


147 


expiate  tbe  past,  then,  indeed,  is  her  spirit  avenged  of  its  wrongs. 
How  strange  that  all  this  never  struck  me  before  as  it  does  at  this 
moinerit  I" 

"Less  strange  than  sad,  that  men  who  live  with  men  should  judge 
of  woman  from  themselves  ;  that  whilst  they  hurry  through  the 
world,  perpetually  vibrating  between  business  and  pleasure,  with 
scarce  breathing-time  for  a  moment's  reflection,  ibey  should  forget 
that  she  lives  in  a  sphere  of  thought ;  that  Memory  is  her  most  con- 
stant companion  ;  that  feelings  which  evaporate  from  his  mind  sink 
ever  deeper  and  deeper  into  her*s  ;  and  that  what  he  has  brought 
himself  to  view  as  the  pastime  of  bygone  hours,  form  still  the 
freshest,  the  most  earnest  passages  of  her  life."  Agnes  paused^ 
blushing  at  her  own  enthufiiasra,  which  bad  lighted  her  expressive 
countenance  almost  into  beauty.  "  But  I  did  not  mean  to  read  you 
a  lecture  on  woman's  weakness  and  man's  ingratitude/' 

*'  Say ,  rather,  woman*s  constancy  and  truth  ;  but  in  this  instance 
my  preceptress  has  not  an  ungrateful  pupiL  Would  that  your  sex, 
Miss  Bouverie,  instead  of  fostering  the  vanity  of  ours,  by  ac- 
cepting the  frothy  homage  of  mere  »nd miration,  w^ould  always  claim 
from  us  the  reverence  that  is  their  due,  and  *  teach  how  divine  a 
thing  woman  may  be  made.'  Now,  will  you  allow  me  to  retain  your 
precious  sketch  in  remembrance  of  this  my  first  lesson,  and,  as  an 
earnest,  1  trust,  of  many  future  ones?" 

"  You  may ;"  and  there  was  no  trace  of  former  coldness  in  the 
voice  of  the  speaker.  ^ 

**  Well,  who  is  for  the  moors  ?"  exclaimed  Mr,  Staunton  that  even- 
ing ;  **  the  break  must  be  off  at  six,  to  meet  the  Express,  Forsyth,  I 
know  you  are  booked." 

"  Why,  no ;  I  believe  I  shall  take  the  night-train,  I  am  expect- 
ing letters  that  I  must  wait  for," 

Reader, — ^are  you  surprised  that  the  heart  of  Agnes  Bouverie  beat 
quickly  as  he  spoke ;  or  that,  when  the  12lh  of  August  had  come  and 
gone,  Lord  Forsyth's  gun  had  not  been  heard  upon  the  hills. 


OUR    LADV8    WELL. 

BY   Wn,LlAM   JOKES. 

OuB  Lady*!  WvM  !     It  was  of  old 

A  aweet  and  sainth  pluce, 
Whcr<«  pilgrimji  oft  their  iK&adi  huve  t<4d, 

And  tiufptiant  prayed  for  grace  ! 
MNiere  Kings  have  laid  aside  dieir  crown. 
And  jtrostnite  with  the  serf  knelt  down. 

The  many  charms  that  hound  ihtt  atretuii. 

Once  itimpfe  hearts  could  say  ; 
Though  Uifw,  *ti8  but  h  pteaaing  dream 

or  Mgcs  putt  away  ! 
The  faith  is  past — hut  fair  and  lone 
The  hallowed  waters  fttUli  i^ovvr  «ju  I 

So  Memory,  though  it  cannot  bring 

Departed  timett  again, 
To  thoughts  they  leave  behind  can  ding. 

And  gild  with  joy  their  wans  ; 
And  Fancy  weave  around  a  spell 
Like  that  which  ilirined  Our  Lady's  Well ! 


148 


THE    HEADSTRONG    PHRENOLOGIST. 


A  FANTASTIC  TALE  OF  FEELING. 


BY   BQRACE    IIAYHSW. 


Kabl  ton  Wassebgruell  was  a  very  dinple  fellow*     More  than 
Uiis  he  xi'OA  u  phrenologist — -a  confirmed  one.     He  not  only  believed  in 
the  sciencej  but  he  took  it  about  with  him  everywhere^  like  a  magic 
rule,  with  which  be  mea&ured  the  intellect  of  all  nien^  women,  and 
even  little  children.     It  was  his  caduceus,  his  divining-rod,  \m  tunii 
Ibrkj  his  stethoscope,  his  counter,  on  which  he  rung  every  piece  of  h 
man  ooin,  hia  seventh  bullet  that  was  sure  to  bring  down  everythii 
be  aimed  mt.     If  Karl  wanted  a  pair  of  boots,  he  would  luok  at 
^bootmaker's  bead,  most  scientifically,  two  or  three  times  before  be  at 
itkoned  courage  to  put  his  foot  into  the  bootmaker's  hands. 

He  would  not  engage  a  servant  without  first  convincing  himself  that 
she  hud  the  requisite  number  of  moral  bumps. 

He  slkot  a  favourite  dog  onee^  because,  on  scratching  its  head^ 
{bund  that  the  bump  of  secretiveness  was  much  larger  than  it  ahottl 
have  been  u|Hjn  any  canine  occiput. 

Before  gettinj:  into  a  ruilwaiy,  he  would  take  a  most  careful  sonrc] 
[nf  the  stoker.  If  he  saw  an  alarming  rise  on  the  man*s  skull,  be  woui 
I  tliapc  it  at  once  eitlier  into  a  big  stone,  thut  would  be  sure  to  force  i\ 
ijKigitie  off  the  ruils,  or  into  a  monster  bubble  that  must  infallibly  bl 
|ilie  boiler  up,  and  he  would  sooner  furfeit  his  ticket  than  risk  his  net 
ll|Hui  such  a  fancied  train  of  accidents* 

Tbia  ooBstant  application  of  the  same  test  to  all  things  played  Ki 
{iilae»  tta  ma?  be  easily  imagined,  on  several  occasions.  He  had  throi 
Up  A  Ytlumble  appointment — worth  at  least  two  hundred  guldens  a  yi 
— beeaUM  he  could  plainly  ssee  that  the  Over-Superintendant-CH  , 
Magistrate's  •Deputy- Head -Clerk  (the  reader  will  willingly  excuse  us 
^r  not  giving  the  ^*^rd  in  German)  was  a  vindictive,  ill*disp<ised,  souf^i 
mail,  *'  He  was  not  going  to  stop  with  any  man  to  be  quietly  doiflH 
Awaj  with,**  PenoQS  laughed  at  Karl,  and  bis  relations  blamed  hiil|^ 
Willi  lU  the  freedom  for  which  relations  are  generally  notorious,  for 
being  M>  stupidly  blind  to  his  own  interest ;  but  Karl  was  coldly  in- 
different to  all  the  sar^ms  and  jokes  that  were  poured  in  streams  <4 
frtmi  a  sliower-b.ith»  upon  him,  and  only  shook  his  head  and  locked 
wise.  Tbe  result*  however,  prox'ed  for  once  that  he  was  wrong.  The 
p^Kir,  libelled  Over-Superintendant-Civil-Magistrate*s-Deputy*Head*  J 
Clerk  was  a  good,  harmless,  creature, — and  wiihout  a  single  vreiikiittiv 
excepting  a  cbildish  aHTection  for  sour  krout,  which  he  would  eat  fur 
dinner,  brenkfust,  lunch,  and  supper,  and  whenever  he  could  get  it : 
and  as  fur  his  entertaining  a  desire  ''to  do  away**  with  anybody^  he 
died  himsrlf  shortly  afterwards  of  the  measleSj  and  was  univeraally 
respecl<'d  bv  a  large  circle  of  domino- pi  avers. 

But  Kurl  was  not  iu  the  lea^t  daunted,  and  remained  as  faithful 
his  favourite  science  as  before,  though  it  bad  so  publicly  jilted  bii 
He  continued  precisely  the  same  to  display  his  phrenological  kni 
ledge,  and  would  repeatedly  play  a  voluntary  upon  the  organs  of 
I  aequuintances,  whether  they  liked  it  or  not.     The  consequence 
lie  often   got  a  rap  over  the  knuckles,  by  way  of  accompi 


THE  HEL^DSTROXG    PHRENOLOGIST, 


149 


i)r  Lis  amateur  playing.  Gentlemen  do  not  like  liaving  hard  truths 
token  upon  their  heads  in  public.  On  one  occasion,  we  recollect,  nn 
Lustriiiu  officer  thought  himself  grievously  insulted — and  it  is  a  serious 
lut'Stion  whether  there  was  not  some  jast  cause  for  his  indignation — 
ecaiise  Karl  confidentially  to!d  him,  without  the  officer  in  the  least 
soliciting  the  confidence^  that  he  had  the  most  perfect  head  of  a  mon- 
key that  Karl  J  in  all  his  experience,  ever  recollected  seeing,  A  chal- 
lenge ensued,  and  as  our  young  enthutiiast  had  certain  objections  to 
fighlint^j  the  duel  was  compromised  on  the  spot  by  a  good  thrashing, 
and  the  officer  proved  to  his  friends  that  he  had  not  "the  head  of  a 
monkey  "  by  breaking  several  billiard -cues  over  tlie  back  of  the  person 
who  liad  diired  to  state  it-  Karl  was  the  only  person,  who,  in  his 
heatt,  still  doubted,  though  it  pained  him  severely  at  the  time  to  con- 
fess he  was  convinced  of  his  error,  for  what  science,  however  strong  in 
itself,  can  stand  up  long  against  a  succession  of  blows?  Phrenology 
fell  for  the  moment  under  the  savage  attack,  though  it  rose  again  the 
minute  afterwards,  and  Karl,  far  from  being  converted  was  only  stun- 
ned, and  comforted  himself  under  hh  many  kicks  with  the  consolHtiou 
that,  even  supposing  he  was  conventionally  wrongs  at  all  events  lie  was 
organically  right. 

Karl's  faith,  in  fact,  was  something  like  a  Bavarian  pancake — the 
more  it  was  shaken  and  tossed  about,  the  firmer  it  became. 

It  did  not  lose  any  of  its  consistence,  either,  if,  now  and  then,  it  fell 
into  thi*  fire,  and  was  hauled  over  the  coals.  Karl  always  hud  at  hand 
fine  infiillible  ointment  for  he  art- burn  8,  sores,  bruises,  and  that  was 
Vanity,  There  m  certainly  no  ointment  like  it,— especially  when  laid 
©n  rather  profusely. 

Karl,  in  all  his  troubles,  had  never  fallen  in  love,  and  simply  because 
he  had  never  met  with  a  head  that  had  gone  to  his  heart.  At  last, 
however,  such  a  prize  turned  up.  People  declared  it  was  a  blank — 
that  it  was  as  empty  as  the  Heidelberg  Ton,— that  the  person  holding 
it  never  had  a  grain  of  sense  in  her  life^ — that  she  was  a  perfect  Vien- 
nese in  intelligence,  and  could  not  tell  without  counting,  whether  she 
had  more  fingers  thim  toes ;  but  Karl  knew  better,  his  darling  science 
had  never  cheated  him  yet,  and  he  could  not  be  well  deceived  on  t/tat 
htjadl  nay,  it  had  every  good  organ,  intellectual  as  well  as  moral — he 
wna  convinced  of  it.  Often  and  often  hnd  he  scanned  it  with  his  loving 
eyes.  Gull  himself  would  have  worshipped  it — Spurzheim  would,  he 
was  sure,  have  given  his  own  head  for  it.  It  is  true  that  at  times  a 
doubt  would  steal  into  the  very  heart  of  poor  Karl's  strongest  convic- 
tions, and  make  him  tremble*  His  beloved  Wilhelmina  had  fivery 
possible  perfection,  but  (how  cruel  that  humim  perfection  should  be 
drowned  so  fre<|uently  iu  a  but !)  her  beautiful  silken  ringlets  would 
lash  him,  as  he  lay  awake  on  moonlight  nights,  into  a  state  of  the 
wildest  despair.  He  would  have  given  one  of  his  fore- fingers  to  have 
removed  his  agonised  doubts  with  one  touch — to  have  convinced  him- 
self, by  a  single  manual  experiment,  that  there  was  nothing  false  under 
that  lovely  bank  of  golden  hair, 

Wilhelmina,  however,  was  rich  and  gay,  and  had  no  metaphysical 
ear  for  abhtractions,  or  vulgsr  feeling  for  poetry,  and  Karl  unfortu- 
nately had  very  little  else,  beyond  his  meerschaum*  Nevertheless,  he 
courted  her  at  all  the  public  balls,  waltzed  madly  with  her,  wrote 
phrenological  sonnets  "  to  the  n*08t  sublime  head  in  Germany  j"  and 
»4;renaded  her  on  the  coldest  night«»  but  it  made  no  more  impression 


1M 


WSEMmTKfSO   PHKEXOLtKlISrr* 


Mmmm] 


■p  vkclhlie 


■d  been  Ibe  original  lay-ligiiiii| 
of  finluoa^  and  exhitiited  » 
plitai'k  churchy  at  Vienna, 
iiijgc  be  bad  leftp  and  iritb  i 
,  ftaited  cm  his  traTels*  But 
t  bad  Hed  from  bis  heart* 
beaten  fcfr  throwing 
no  sense,  no  conseinus- 


^  i  bat  bk  ihaent  Wilhelmina.  The 
110  ia  IMag  jewels — the  stars  would  trace 
aa ilJBff  af  bo*  br%rht  features — the  birds 
hmcc  tbc  hrrr srs  did  nathiug  but  steal  her 
L ;  mmd  mo  tbe  in  lettas  be  crushed  und«;r  bis  feet, 
aad  tba  ibmi  htfli  tiMt  tiaklad  m  the  distance,  and  the  dancing 
mtmamm  ^1  babbted  jajliallT  ta  tbcy  baunded  like  children  orer  the 
saekip  an  praltlad  iht  aaaie  ikieet,  aU  mag,  with  variations,  the  same 
lalody^^— aP  saake  te  Un  ia  aeoeata  af  lore  aad  piercing  mockerj  of 
^'    »  bloiC  hmg4a^  •^  Wilbalvtika.** 

At  laat  be  reacbad  Egypt.  Tbia  bad  long  been  one  of  his  bdj 
daj-diaaiii^  He  itoad  bmre  tbe  Sphinx— that  time-stained 
wbidi  be  bad  paated  for  ycara  to  aolTe  He  jumped  for  joj, 
ejret  bofvped,  like  a  bird,  mm  one  part  to  another  of  the  statue's  mi 
siYe  beaiL  He  endearoured  to  mount  it<  After  many  tumbles  on 
stinging  sand,  which  made  him  painfully  sensible  how  hard  it  is  to 
climb,  be  succeeded  in  reaching  the  grand  summit*  One  loud  shnek 
attested  bis  buoyant  rapture ;  the  sound  resounded  far  across  the  plain, 
and  awoke  the  sleepy  echoes,  and  startled  the  drowsy  camels,  and 
brought  into  the  immediate  neighbourhood  a  ruliure,  of  the  lar]gest 
sixej  and  the  mo^sX  famished  physiognomy,  that  kept  whirling  and  e' 
dying  in  the  air  only  a  few  Tarda  above  Karl's  shoulders,  where 
seemed  strongly  inclined  to  alight,  and  would  probaUIy  have  made 
Its  resting-place,  if  a  passing  caravan  had  not  momentarily  di: 
it«  Eighty  attention. 

But  our  hot-headed  Karl  was  quite  unconscious  of  the  danger  that 
momentarily  hung  over  him*    What  cares  he  for  outward  objects  ?     H< 
is  conversing  with  Cheops— he  is  nodding  with  the  Egyptian  kin^ 
he  is  shaking  hanrls,  one  after  another,  with  all  the  Plolemys— and 
laying  his  hands  on  this  mighty  mound  of  stone  ha;)  magically  I 
two  thousand  years  back  into  the  darkness  of  Posterity,     But  what 
he  doing?    watch  him  well.     Behold    him    sitting   ai*ide  that  a! 
Rebus  of  our  earliest  forefathers!     His  long,  spidery   Hngers  travel 
from  the  front  to  the  hack,  and  dance  from  feide  to  side,  and  then  run 
down  the  middle  and  back  again-     These  eccentric  movements  coi 
tinue  for  many  an  anxious  hour.     What  can  he  liis  object?      Why, 
is  feeling  the  Sphinx's  head — he  is  examining  each  granite  organ- 
is  manipulating  the  past — he  is  anxious  to  penetrate  into  the  hi 
mystery,  whether  tbe  ancients  ever  felt  the  blessings  of  phrenoli 
whether  that  science   was  ever  numbered  with   innumerable 
which  have  since  grown  into  lusty  manhoodj  or  ripened  into  gi 
woman ho(Kl,  from  huving  been  originally  nursed  in  Egypt,  that  " 
of  the  Fine  Arts/* 

There  he  remains  perched  for  hours,  the  scorching  heat  of  the  d 

sun  attesting  the  ardour  of  his  pursuit*     What  is  the  result  of 

i»uching  inquiries?  that,  alas!   is  a  mystery  from  which  no  man 


THE  nEADSTRONO   PHRENOLOGIST. 


151 


bet  wil1idra\«Ti  the  curtatn.     His  portfolio  alone  clasps  tLe  secret.    Go, 

reader,  a»k  the  Sphinx, 

Ascent!  to  the  tup,  and  voii  will  see  its  surface,  like  railway  England^ 
cut  up  with  innumeriibie  lines.  It  is  phrenolo|^cally  mapped  out,  and 
each  divisfon  is  numbered,  like  our  police  force.  It  was  the  hand  of 
Karl  vou  VVa&sergriiell  that  did  it ! 

We  must  now  welcome  our  poor  wanderer  back  to  his  native  villaj^e. 
He  u  as  sanguine  as  ever.  Enthusiasm  with  many  people  is  a  plant 
that  dies  as  soon  i%s  it  is  blown,  and  with  others  it  is  an  evergreen :  In 
Kurl's  boaom  it  ilourinhed  as  strongly  as  ever,  and  had  struck  such 
deep  root  into  his  nature,  tlvat  to  attempt  to  tear  it  out,  would  have  at 
once  turned  the  fair  garden  of  bis  hopes  into  a  wilderness.  Wilhel- 
tn  in  a,  the  brightest  flower  in  that  garden,  still  bore  her  blunhing  beauty 
as  modestly  as  a  rose.  She  was  a  few  days  older  perhaps,  ^  but 
what  of  that  ?  who,  in  lotiking  at  a  lovely  nosegay,  ever  inquires  its 
age  ?  She  was  richer,  too,  than  before,  —  guldens  bloom  when  other 
beauties  fade.  Her  lover  was  not  insensible  to  this  charm, — hut  her 
divine  head  took  the  largest  sliare  in  his  thoughts. 

Since  his  travels,  Karl  had  become  a  great  man.  He  wa«  invited 
to  every  little  official's  house  to  recount  over  the  dinner,  or  the  supper- 
table,  the  wondrous  things  he  ha«l  seen  in  distant  lands.  Karl  was  not 
destitute  of  imagination^^ he  cuuid  colour  an  invention  with  the  nicest 
touch  of  probability,  so  as  to  make  it  pass  for  a  fact— and  he  had  the 
good  sense  never  to  stray  too  far  beyond  the  truth,  when  another  travel- 
ler, who  had  been  over  the  same  ground  as  himself,  was  present.  The 
consequence  was,  he  always  had  more  dinners  lying  on  his  mantlepiece 
than  the  greatest  lion  that  Fashion  ever  gave  a  mane  to,  could  pussibly 
devour  in  a  month.  But  Wilhelmina's  father  always  commanded  the 
eloquent  talker  at  a  day's  notice-  No  sweet  cakes  were  so  sweet  as  Wil- 
helmina's I  No  "  IMay-drink  "  possessed  so  many  fragrant  herbs  in  it  as 
Wilhelmina's  I  No  Christmas  tree  bowed  its  head  so  gracefully  under 
the  weight  of  crackers  and  Imuhms,  or  burned  so  brilliiintly,  as  the  one 
that  was  trimmed  by  the  fair  hand  of  his  only  love  1  Tben  of  an  even- 
ing they  would  retire  to  the  sill  of  the  garden- window,  and,  seated 
side  by  side,  she  would  knit  as  he  smoked.  Whilst  she  was  busy  with 
the  worsted  skeleton  of  a  stocking,  he  would  ]niW  out  little  wreaths  of 
▼erses  as  they  came  curling  up  from  the  slumbering  fires  of  his  recol- 
lection, that,  once  fttnned,  would  light  afresh  all  the  poetry  that  every 
Grerman  youth  either  learns,  or  writes,  when  he  is  a  boy.  At  such 
moments  Wilhelmina  was  supremely  happy,  and  proud  of  her  Karl. 
She  loved  to  drink  in  his  sweet  mysticisms,  and  to  follow  the  plan  of 
the  gorgeous  cantles  he  built  in  the  air.  She  never  tired  of  tilling  his 
beloved  meerschaum.  As  the  sun  was  setting,  she  would  lay  down 
ber  unfinished  stockings  and  watch  with  a  childish  pleasure  the  va- 
poury chiuds,  as  they  rose,  Venus-like,  from  the  "froth  of  the  sea/* 

It  was  on  one  of  those  delicious  evenings  which  our  readers  may 
probably  recollect  graced  the  autumn  of  last  year  that  our  two  lovers 
were  seated  as  usual  on  the  sill  of  the  garden- window-  Karl  was 
smoking — in  his  right  band  he  held  the  bowl,  and  his  left  was  circled 
round  the  waist  of  VViiheluiina.  Both  were  silent — tliere  was  a  pause 
— a  long-drawn  sigh  of  happiness.     It  \iras  broken  at  least  by  Kail, 

'*  Wilt  thou  grant  me  one  favour,  my  blest  Wilhelnnna?" 

A  kiss  waa  her  aifcclionate  reply. 


te  aodo  thin  envious 
ie«f  Ukj  Aoving  hair." 
iw  9mA  iwked  fbadlj  into  Iiit 

e  aat  imwm  liu  bammg  pip^i 

I  Am  ink  W  wbs  aboul  to  reo- 

«£  lifttid  kur  tli«t  fell  like  a 

H«  ticB  tamed  np  bis  wrist- 

iii|;er«  over  the  several 

•r  Kril,  of  ber  Ikir  bead — 

the  «Uj  one  in  the  wbde 

■■il  <P>*h'  wiflt  W  wss  suffenng  witbin. 

^■^^  dbMft  acMii  Im  ckceks»  and  illumine 

^idefiHvliodingly  orerhii 

lui£Ke,  like  a  mankj 

b«  taiv  mwmf  lij  ike  merest  toucJi 

%m  mm,  whu  is  tbe  matter  witli 

shakes  from  bead 

Hf  Mb  nde.     Qoick — give  bim 

paaeJesaon  tbe  wi 

Ihnai' 

kr  hia  tide^  and  ligbts  bi&  pipe 

fentJcally  to  hU  feet  89 


N 


i  WmUA   wm  fS'VlMI  if 


Tcry  inomeQt— 

"  Surdf  tboa 

^  bid  her  face  with  her 
I  dreamed  tbou  wert  n 
§m  dap*  and  Wmik  watehfal  oi^bts,  to| 
i  k  tke'lored  dwcfliti^|ilace  of  all  tba 
ihsBRJbi  it  wna  the  maiiaaon  of  aD^V| 
t'a  mmd — the  beaveii  that  arched  over  a 
iakfhmi.  af  iMiPWgi  ud  Btamxj.    Fool  that  1  hare  been  to  dispel 
the  chm  1"*  mmi  he  saate  hit  lirakead  TiolentJy  for  minutea. 

**  Wi&fdauael'*  he  iwcd  wamw^  "^  I  baire  pinned  mr  destioj  to  tbe 
infidlihilit  J  of  one  nebk  icience.  Phieooiogr  contains  tru  tbs  so  tmerr* 
mg  that  it  wnald  he  Bedaev  to  dottbt  them.  Its  lav^s  are  so  sure  tbal 
certain  poatshmeiit  hJh  on  bim  who  has  tbe  temerity  to  break  tbem* 
1  hare  weighed  thj  head,  Wilbelmina,  in  its  bslaoce,  and  bsve  found 
it  wanting.     It  is  written  on  tbr  skull  that  we  meet  no  more.'' 

"Impossible!"  shrieked  tbe  oiicoiisolateyraM/eifi,  tbrowing  herself 
round  bis  stubborn  neck. 

"  It  must  be  so — for  learn,  and  tremble,  tbou  bast  tbe  fierce  organ  of 
De*trucuvene«s.     How   my   poor   heart   knocked  against   the  bump 
when  first  mv  fingers  discovered  it;  it  will  never  survive  the  blow/ 
And  he  sobbed  aloud. 

**  KatI,  tl)is  is  weak — this  is  unmanly.     Tboa  abalt  not  leave  me***  i 
*'  S/tfilt  not!"  and  be  stamped  tbe  floor,     **  Why,  I  tell  tbeej  tbo 
bast  the  organ  of  Combuliveness!'* 

"It  CHUuut  be  1 "  purried  tbe  poor  defenceless  girl^  too  auxioui  ti 
\yff  i'very  cruel  tbruat  that  her  lover  was  making  i 


THE   HEADSTRONG    PHRENOLOGIST. 


ifid 


**  Ay  !  and  most  largely  tleveloped  too*     It  would  be  instant  death 
tiny  one  to  live  with  ihee/' 
'^ Mercy  I" 

**  Mure  tljan  tbis^ — tliou  liaijt  no  seat  whatever  of  Itleality," 
"Spare  me« — " 

"And  of  Benevolence  tliou  hast  not  an  atom — wliilst  thy  Acquisi- 
l     tiveness  is  mast  fatally  lurge — '* 
I  *'  Oil  I  this  is  too  nmch^" 

^^  "And  thy  Alimentiveness  and  Amativeness  are  larger  still — '* 
^H  *'  It  Chinnot  be — thou  art  too  headstrong — " 

^^  "And  thy  Destructiveness,  once  more  1  tell  thee,  is  so  prominent, 
so  fearfully  determined,  that  it  is  nut  safe  for  any  one  to  remain  near 
thee.     Let  me  go  this  instant,  I  say.'* 

"Oh!  Kiirl,  Karl,  this  u  most  cruel/'  she  saidj  Btruggling,  and 
clingtng,  as  fur  her  lifej  to  him.     **  Thou  wilt  drive  me  to  confess  most 

EhorriblL'  things." 
p    "  Confess,  then,"  he  shouted- 
f    "  It  is  all  false — I  a.sjiure  tltee,  it  is  all  false," 
It  was  a  superhuman  effort  for  Karl  to  control  his  passion* 
"Thou  dost  judge  me  harshly — on  my  word,  thou  dost,  Karl — I  am 
not  the  vile  creature  thy  science  would  make  me  out  to  be." 
He  ground  his  teeth  audibly*  with  suppressed  rage. 
I    "No,  Karl,  thou  art  deceived,  basely  imposed  upon." 
I    "What,  woman?  dost  thou  dare  vilify  my  science,  as  well  as  cajole 
pne.     This  is  too  much — away  V* 
He  was,  in   his  rabid    fury  at  the  desecration  of  his  whole  life's 
worship,  about  to  strike  the  poor  trembling  girl,  when  she  darted  from 
,       him,  and,  drawing  herself  up  with  all  the  wounded  dignity  of  an  in- 
jured woman,  she  stilled  him  with  one  look.     He  was  spell-bound, 
I      and  gazed  in  speechless  awe.     She  fell  on  her  knees,  and,  with  her 
j       forefinger,  sent  him  an  airy  kiss,  as  much  as  to  forgive  him  for  the 
deep  injuries  he  had  inliicted  upon  her,  and  then  exclaimed,  '*■  Thou 
furcest  my  to  do  this,  Karl^ — I  will  now  lay  bare  to  thee  what  I  have 
never  yet  revealed  to  mortal  man.     Let  the  blame  fall  on  thy  head, 
and  nut  on  mine.     I  will  convince  thee,  Karl,  tliat  thy  charges  are  all 
false- — as  faUe  as  thy  vows — as  false  as — " 

She  paused,  but  he  spoke  not  a  word.  His  lips  were  conscience- 
locked.  He  fullowed  with  staring  eyes,  each  of  her  movements.  With 
her  right  hand  she  slowly  lifted  up  her  lovely  cluster  of  golden  ringlets. 
There  was  a  spasm  in  her  frame — a  burning  blush  on  her  maiden 
cheek — you  heard  a  shudder — and  the  next  minute  she  stood  disclosed 
before  her  lover,  bold,  erect,  with  a  spirit  of  defiance  breathing  io  her 
whole  body*  and  her  head  uncovered,  as  bald  as  a  billiard  bali. 

One  rapid  survey  of  that  shining  head  convinced  Karl  more  than  the 
strongest  proofs  could  have  done,  how  much  he  had  wronged  his  fondest 
Wilhelmina.  He  recognised  at  once  the  object  of  his  earliest  love,  it 
was  too  truly  the  selfsame  head  he  had  so  madly  worshipped  before  he 
went  to  Egypt*  He  ran  his  fingers  wildly  over  the  ditferent  organs, 
Deistrucli/eness,  CombativenirsSi  and  all  the  evil  humps  he  had  basely 
pot  upon  her,  crumbled  into  so  mtich  dust  beneath  his  convincing  touch. 
In  less  than  a  second  he  was  cured  of  his  foJly  —  and  too  joyful  re- 
turned to  reason.  All  was  smooth  again.  He  knelt  before  Wilhel- 
mina, — and,  crying  for  the  first  time  since  he  had  left  school,  begged 
to  be  forgiven. 


154  Assirs  xhlajojs^  1848. 


UL  mto  eaA  tnhtsr'i  amsy  and  iingled  their  t%lis  and  tears. 
"  Dui  I  Qiit  t^  duK.  K.irL  it  was  all  £&Iae  ?  * 

'^  'Pioa  diiisc  1"  imi  he  preaaed  h^e  to  his  biieoai.  ^  It  is  plainl  j 
£ilae,  aptm  the  hiead  *ii  itJ*  vui  he  east  an  ere  t^wiurda  the  ringlets  that 
w«K  na  che  iiwr. 

'^ThxML  diiisc  one  kaaw^  whin  dbm  wert  &r,  te*  aw»T.  that  thj  Wil- 
hfl"*TnA  li]«c  3iHn  iiririfw  all  her  Liir.  She  had  not  the  eonrage  to 
teiL  thee.  KjtL  sTich  lew  ta  oinfes  ti»  thee  that  ahe  wore,  as  thoa 
^■it  iu»^  «ee.  an  XxroiiiMe  Pis«ke.  The  homps  than  felt  were  not 
those  4t  31T  head,  hoc  'IoIt  the  cussii  of  as j  ^ri^."* 

Bo'  viHce.  fcnnoe  ti  my.  did  not  E^Iter  in  the  Irant  aa  she  confisMed 
f^ait  hiKirbte  trxtiia.. 

*^  F>Niu:»h  thLs^ '. "  Win  the  hoj\  eniaptnied  anawer,  **  With  a  head 
Ae  thzise,  I  shiKLld  have  lnvvd  thee  all  the  more." 

Wilhidaixaa  sad  Ksri  were  aHnied  shootl  j  afterwards,  and  they  are 

saw  the  hopciesc  pair  «c  hessdis  that  phzenoioCT  ever  hamped  tocetbcr. 

Bis  Ii»ve  3US  nther  screscthened  than  diminished— and  to  this  daj  he 

^gSl  not  iHaw  hb»  ^rifi»*s  hair  to  grow,  so  the  prettj  Wilhehnina  ttifl 

wcor^  a''  Lady's  ml  heodsf  hair,*  nnlnB^perhapa,  it  ia  ^  a  gentleman's." 

His  jereascBt'cajoyBient  is  to  look  at  her  head,  which  he  will  do  for 

ViaiSy  and  the  Uoger  he  looks  the  fbiider  seemingl j  he  grows.    She 

iccnnu  ha  U>Te  a  handrcdHnild ;  sad  when  he  Icctwea  on  the  snhliiBe 

tgntha  of  Phieoaiogy^  she  sStendK  and  lenda  her  head,  heantifoUj 

^iinrd  o«t  in  red  and  hine  i>r  the  occasion.     What  atronger  piosf 

^fold  woman  poesbir  give  to  the  man  she  hyved  of  her  devotion? 

We  are  glad  to  see  in  the  Leipsie  catalogne,  a  hook  annoonoed  with 
1^  sdcntidc  name  of  KaH  torn  WassergriUli.  Its  title  is  "A  Fern 
UtMU  om  the  Pkremaio^icai  JUrihit€s  o/ike  Spkimx,  as  compared  wiik 
tkote  of  H  oMtfa.'*     It  u  in  tw^Ire  Toknmes,  Quarto. 


ANNUS  MlRABILISs  \94S. 

CoSTrL*io«  ruck'd  ihy  cndk,— and  thy  um 

War  UizunA  oa  dx«,  and  scepim  wrench'd  from  kings  ! 
Thv  talk  wa»  p«ae — bul  tuiiie  and  war  thy  joys. 

And  th^Hi  did«t  nuke  wild  mirth  of  hallow'd  things ! 
Lie  HewuW.  the  serpniU  tkou  didst  gn»p. 

And  tbT  tvtf!r«  months  had  laboors  like  to  his ; 
For  all  thin^  withered  in  thy  deadly  das|>, 
And  scarce  ct  au^ht  that  wtms  lesu  aught  that  u  / 

But  thov.  West  land  !  the  Israel  of  thy  God, 

Strong  in  His  strength,  securely  dost  thou  stand  ! 
Oh  mav  He  still  avert  the  arenging  rod. 

And  hide  thee  in  the  " holkiw  of  hU  hand"  ! 
Fair  rises  vet  the  pillar  of  ihy  sUte, 

And  Virtue  on  its  summit  sits  enthroned  ; 
Thou  hust  not  felt,  like  them,  oppression^  weight, 

Then  be  bv  thee  their  anarrhy  disowned  ! 
Be  wise,  as  threat  !-iefonn  and  yet  pi^esenre ; 

Willi  cauti.m  tread— thy  paths  shall  be  secure; 
Preimre  ft»r  war,  yet  dread  from  peace  to  swenre  ; 

Who  roost  amend  must  yet  some  ills  endure. 
Because  some  stains  of  time  our  walls  incnist, 
&^  w^dd  ye  lay  them  level  with  the  dust  \ 


ISfi 


THE  KING  WHO  BECAME  YOUNG  AGAIN l 


A  TALE  TO  BE  PUT  TO  THE  WORLD. 


BY   ALFR£II   CBOWQUJLLr, 

Humdrum  was  a  wise  king.  He  was  born  to  a  kingdom  already 
cut  antl  dried,  and  the  taxes  not  settled,  which  was  greatly  to  the 
advantage  of  the  magnificent  Humdrum,  who  always  tcM>k  what  he 
wanted ;  and  if  he  did  at  times  cause  internal  grumbling  by  taking 
a  little  too  much  in  the  estimation  of  \m  people^,  they  were  pleas^ed 
when  be  screwed  tbera  the  next  time  because  he  look  less.  Thus 
be  charmed  them  with  his  moderation,  when  he  had  it  quite  in  his 
power  to  be  otherwise,  for  those  were  the  halcyon  days  for  kings, 
when  they  had^  as  some  poet  found  out,  some  imaginary  •*  hedge 
about  them/*  which  defended  them  from  the  intrudoii  of  the  com- 
mon herd. 

Humdrtim  was  a  philosopher;  he  knew  that  when  a  line  breaks, 
or  a  delusion,  it  is  very  difficult  for  it  to  have  the  same  power  again. 
He  was  therefore  determined  that  his  line  should  remain  unbroken, 
and  accordingly  bought  wives  by  the  dozen,  who  soon  made  a 
pretty  coil  in  the  harem,  by  producing  for  hia  paternal  blessing  a 
host  of  chubby  little  things^  with  terrible  twittts,  that  made  the  con- 
tinuation of  a  strong  and  powerful  line  certain. 

After  having  them  nuirked  off  in  dozens,  he  put  a  distinguishing 
mark  upon  the  certified  eldest  son,  as  being  the  "  first  come'*  was  to 
be  **  first  served/*  This  boy  was  to  be  a  prodigy,  of  course  ;  mas- 
ters from  far  and  near  were  brought^  with  their  loads  of  heavy 
learning,  to  cram  the  young  prince,  who  soon  talked  thing*  which 
he  did  not  understand,  and  used  his  memory  instead  of  bis  brains. 

Humdrum  was  in  a  deuce  of  a  hurry.  Never  thinking  that  pick- 
ing open  the  buds  of  a  flower,  was  the  way  to  destroy  the  blossom. 
Nature  would  not  be  hurried  although  Humdrum  was  a  king  ;  and 
a  very  good  king,  too,  a  little  too  fat  perhaps.  But  this  was  the 
jashion  of  the  day. 

Humdrum's  kingdom  was  in  the  Ea&t ;  blessed  with  a  nice  warm 
climate  and  plenty  of  slaves,  and  a  population  in  that  delightful 
state  of  control  and  obedience,  that  no  one  exception  could  be  found 
of  an  individual  who  was  insane  enough  to  suppose  that  the  head 
which  he  carried  about  all  day  on  his  shoulderSj  and  laid  upon  his 
pillow  at  night,  was  his  own  private  property.  No  such  thing;  he 
looked  upon  it  as  merely  a  loan,  to  be  asked  for  and  immediately 
rendered  up  when  required  by  the  great  one  at  the  head  of  afiliirs. 
This  kind  of  tribute  was  notj  however,  very  often  exacted,  except 
indeed  when  Humdrum  was  troubled  with  indigestion,  or  had  been 
vexed  by  one  of  hiis  three  hundred  wives,  when,  it  roust  be  acknow- 
ledged, he  carried  off  his  humours  by  carrying  off  a  head  or  two  of 
any  unfortunate  devils  who  happened  to  come  across  him. 

But  yet  his  courtiers  said  that  he  was  the  sun  of  the  universe!  a 

sword  to  the  strong !  a  staff  to  the  weak  I  the  fountain  of  truth, 

continually  playing  with  wisdom,  with  a  hand  as  open  as  the  day, 

I  but  whether  to  give  or  receive,  they  did  not  venture  to  aay.     There 


THE   KING   WHO  BECAME   YOUNG    AGAIN* 


being  no  newspapers  in  those  days,  of  course  there  was  no  one  to 
contradict  the  favourable  advertisement,  so  nem,  con,  he  was  the 
very  best  of  kings,  although  he  did  frequently  vote  himself  supplies. 
He  had  no  commons  to  apply  to  ;  he  knew  better,  and  thus  avoided 
short  commons ;  and  when  you  take  into  consideration  his  five  hun- 
dred ribs,  and  their  five  hundred  tittle  books  of  sundries  every 
week,  why,  a  married  man  with  a  single  wife,  is  often — ^but  it  is  na 
use  writing  down  what  everybody  knows.  Humdrum,  I  dare  say, 
had  enough  to  do* 

He  had  a  prime  minister ;  I  may  say  a  very  prime  minister,  fof 
he  never  contradicted  him,  and  the  only  advice  he  ever  gave  him 
was  to  take  his  own,     Mysti  Figh  had  been  minister  to  Humdrum** 
father,  who,  poor  man  !  knew  very  little  of  arithmetic,  being  SAtis-^ 
fied  at  finding  it  was  always  addition  with  him,  he  never  thought  of 
looking  after  the  subtraction  practised  by  the  underlings.     There- 
fore the  minister  got  fat.     The  king  got  contented,  and  the  peop] 
got — ^no  more  than  people  generally  get  under  such  circumstances. 
Humdrum  liked  old  Alysti  Figh  ;  he  had   flattered   hira  in  hi 
youth,  for  he  had  said,  in  a  moment  of  confidence,  that  '*  he  was 
wise  as  his  father/'  which  was  the  truth.     And  when  the  oUi  king] 
did  abdicate,  by  giving  up  the  ghost,  the  new  monarch  took  hiivj 
into  his  especial  favour,  which   he  took  care  to  maintain   by  never; 
contradictirg  him,  and  smoking  more  pipes  in  silence  by  his  si' 
than  any  other  man  was  capable  of  doing  in  the  whole  empire. 

He  always  was  an  advocate  for  peace  at  home,  which  he  mail 
tained  by  oaving  a  little  war  kept  up  on  the  frontiers,  of  sufficiei 
magnitude  to  nibble  up  a  few  of  the  surplus  population,  and  stArr 
on  the  road  to  glory  a  few  unruly  spirits,  who,  if  they  had  stayed 
at  home,  would  have  had  iheir  brains  knocked  out  in  a  less  honotir'> 
able  way. 

Such  a  king,  such  a  minister,  and  such  a  people,  could  not  b« 
matched.     Happy  golden  age  !   when  the  head  st«x»d  upon  the  body* 
Now,  alas!  everything  has  had  its  reverse,  and  things  have  ' 
upset,   that  everybody  seems  to  be  turned  upon  the  head, 
most  enigmaticHlly  brings  them  to  a  stand  still. 

With  such  a  father  to  rule  him,  and  such  a  minister  to  rule  hti 
father,  did  the  little  prince  Quitadab,  grow  from  a  funny  child, 
eyes,  to  a  youth  all  legs.  He  was  as  proud  as  Lucifer;  for  it  had 
been  continually  instilled  into  his  mind  that  he  was  a  prince,  ani" 
more  than  that,  a  number-one  prince.  Yet  he  was  good-natun 
because  nothing  was  ever  refusied  him.  He  was  generous^  because 
he  did  not  know  the  value  of  anything  ;  for,  strange  to  iay,  tl»c 
value  of  anything  is  its  scarcity. 

I  will  make  him  as  wise  as  myself,  thought  the  King  Humdrum. 
as  he  winked  to  himself;  this  was  taking  a  liberty  with  himself 
from  the  force  of  circumstances.  His  dignity  placing  him  so  far 
above  everybody  else  that  he  dared  not  have  committed  such  a  con- 
descension with  another,  without  breaking  through  a  barrier,  whirh 
would  let  in  such  an  ocean  of  indignities,  that  might  have  «v 
the  indiscreet  king  from  his  throne ;  therefore,  as  I  have  writtti^  ;.t 
winked  to  himself,  which  act,  under  any  other  circumstances,  might 
appear  as  a  positive  piece  of  egotism. 

Accordingly  he  upon  every  opportunity  gave  the  prince  long- 
vinded  orations^  shewing  his  own  wisdom  and  knowledge  by  warn- 


I 


liti      I 

all 


THE   KING   WHO   BECAME  YOUNG    AGAIN. 


157 


ing  his  promising  scion  against  vices  of  which  he  had  no  knowledge, 
expecting  to  frijrhten  him  by  the  wholesome  horror  he  expressed 
against  vices  which  he  himself  had  long  forsaken. 

Tablets  in  letters  of  gold  were  taken  down  by  scribes  from  the 
royal  lips  of  Humdrum,  and  hung  round  the  neck  of  the  prince  that 
they  might  be  continually  before  him^  that  through  his  dark  eyes 
they  might  enlighten  his  brain. 

But,  as  a  faithful  historian,  I  grieve  to  say  that  the  young  prince 
was  often  found  knocking  about  his  father's  philosophy  in  the  shape 
of  a  bat»  at  the  childish  sport  of  shuttlecock  or  balL  Upon  these 
discoveries  the  parent  shewed  sadly  the  want  of  that  philosophy 
which  he  wlslied  so  much  to  inculcate,  by  condescending  personally 
to  lay  violent  hands  upon  his  truculent  pupil. 

Thus  time  went  on  with  leaden  wings,  to  the  impatience  of  the 
young  Quitadab,  every  day  finding  the  parent  labouring  at  that 
often-tried  failure,  of  sticking  an  old  head  on  young  shoulders,  and 
wondering  at  his  want  of  success.  The  labour  of  these  philosophic 
attempts  (one  trial  will  prove  the  fact)  was  found  so  completely  to 
put  his  pipe  out,  that  at  last  he  threw  himself  down  upon  his  mus- 
nud  in  despair,  calling  upon  the  prophet  to  make  his  son  of  a  size 
to  receive  the  greatness  of  his  wisdom . 

He,  however,  remained  still  at  a  loss,  fur  no  prophet  appeared* 
Quitadab  became  a  young  man,  and  like  most  young  men  shewed 
his  consciousness  of  the  fact  by  the  little  coxcombries  so  natural  to 
that  epoch.  The  early  down  of  a  promising  beard  might  be  seen 
in  a  favourable  light,  like  a  sofl  shadow  obscuring  the  ivory  white- 
ness of  his  skin,  and  his  gazel leglike  eye  sought  at  every  turn  the 
mirrors  which  adorned  the  walls  of  his  father**  pal  ace »  even  his 
inanimate  turban  seemed  to  have  suddenly  put  on  an  air  of  defiance 
and  self-esteem. 

Humdrum,  philosopher,  king  and  father,  found  the  reins  very  dif- 
ficult to  hold,  and  he  consequently  pulled  the  harder;  for  he,  in  the 
innocence  of  his  heart,  believed  his  son  still  to  be  a  boy,  therefore 
still  to  be  tutored,  and  felt  cons  icier  ably  shocked  by  his  continued 
lessons  being  received  by  his  promising  scion  with  a  most  undigni* 
fied  gape.  The  indignity  was  too  much  to  bear.  He  ordered  the 
recreant  to  be  confined  to  his  apartments  until  he  was  brought  to  a 
proper  sense  of  the  enormity  of  his  crime.  He  deserved  the  bow. 
string,  to  gape  at  highly -seasoned  morality  and  golden  rules,  from 
the  mouth  of  a  king,  and  that  king  such  a  king. 

Humdrum  knitted  his  brow,  and  summoned  his  councillor  and 
friend  Afysti  Figh,  who  came  laflen  with  wisdom  to  throw  at  the  feet 
of  his  king.  They  talked  whole  vokiraes  of  such  infinite  wisdom 
that  a  self-satisfied  calm  fell  over  the  spirit  of  the  incensed  father,  as 
he  gave  a  nod  of  positive  self-esteem  at  the  conclusion  of  his  four- 
teenth pipe  ;  for  he  flattered  himself  that  he  had  found  out  the 
remedy.  Foolish  king  I  he  did  not  know  the  cause.  Quitadab  was 
a  young  man.  He  was  an  old  man  who  had  forgotten  that  he  once 
was  young,  and  thought  that  his  experience  would  exactly  fit  his 
growing  son.  He  did  not  l^now  that  experience  meant  a  man's  own 
knowledge  of  the  thing,  and  that  Quitadab  would  not  have  looked 
more  ridiculous^  sporting  his  talher^s  old  clothes,  than  affecting  to 
wear  the  wisdom  of  his  parent*s  age.  Some  sage,  who  must  have 
lived  soon  after  the  world's  creation,  thereby  having  the  first  oppor- 


158  THE   KINO    WnO    BECAME  YOUNG   AG  AW. 

tunity  of  finding  out  so  astountfing  a  truth,  spoke  like  aii  oracle 
when  he  said,  "  Boys  will  be  boys."  Ah  I  these  ancients  had  all  the 
luck  of  it,  for  then  everything  was  new  under  the  sun*  and  ShaJt- 
speare  and  Joe  Aliller  were  not  born.  Quitadab  felt  that  he  waa**m- 
jyred  ninocence,"  and  wished  hh  father  farther. 

Rulers  are  all  very  well ;  but  they  should  not  be  always  drawing 
lines  for  other  people  to  go  by. 


Humdrum  sat  with  his  legs  and  his  purposes  crossed.  He  found 
it  easier  to  alter  his  own  will  than  that  of  his  san.  Perverse  boy  !  to 
shuthler  at  the  bitter  draught.  He  foolishly  longed  for  the  sweeta. 
Humdrum  once  did  so  hinif^elf ;  but  he  had  grown  old,  and  he  saw 
the  folly  of  such  wishes.  **  The  steam  of  a  kitchen  is  offensive  to  a 
tiiBn  who  has  dinei!/* 

Humdrum  had  determined  to  be  firm,  which  is  a  word  much  in 
use  with  nig- headed,  obstinate  people,  not  only  in  the  east,  but  in  &U 
parts  of  the  globe ;  for  he  feared  that  yielding  was  like  owning  him- 
self in  the  wrong,  und  where  a  man  is  supposed  to  be  infallible*  tb€ 
thing  cannot  for  a  moment  be  entertained  ;  so  he  made  up  his  mi; 
by  hook  or  by  crook — which,  by  the  %vay,  is  an  expression  which 
have  borrowed  from  the  poetical  easterns,  who  do  more  in  that  Wi 
than  any  other  nation, — to  carry  out  his  point.  No  more  fn 
for  Quitadab  ;  no  more  stopping  out  late  ;  no  more  anything  fo? 
pleasure  and  solace,  but  such  as  were  fit  and  proper  in  a  prince  wil 
such  a  virtuous  and  wise  father. 

This  wise  King  spre.id  his  iine  person  upon  the  luxuriant  cushions 
of  his  musnud,  and  closing  his  eyes,  fell  into  a  most  gratifying  iclf* 
complacent  train  of  thought  just  as  he  had  nearly  flattered  hituielf 
into  a  dose.  A  voice  of  a  presumptuous  shrillness,  being  so  close  to  tht 
royal  person,  struck  upon  his  startled  ear.  Offended  dignity  sb< 
him  in  an  instant  wide  awake,  and  he  glared  round  for  his  vi' 
When  he  did  discover  him — for  his  diminutiveness  made  that  at  fii 
some  difficulty, — he  saw  a  pigmy  coxcomb,  dressed  in  a  bright^grt 
Persian  robe,  and  an  Astracan  cap,  put  on  after  the  most  approvi 
mode,  of  the  most  unmatchable  fineness.  His  little  beard  was 
med  to  an  exactness  perfectly  enviable,  as  black  and  as  shining 
raven's  wing.  His  sword,  glittering  with  gems,  was  of  hardly  a 
span's  length.  This  he  leant  upon,  as  he  gazed  with  his  luslr^ 
eye*  upon  the  startled  King. 

Humdrum  was  startled,  without  the  slightest  doubt*  and  his  ri 
wrath  was  swallowed  up  in  his  astonishment,  which  was  not  lesi 
ed  when  the  minute  man  addressed  him  in  the  following  fre€ 
easy  manner. 

**  If  vou  are  fully  awake,  Humdrum,  listen  to  me.  I  am  the  gen! 
Kno  Hing.     I  come  to  give  you  a  lesson ;  the  book  of  life  is  full 
them,  if  mortals  would  but  use  their  eyes,  and  be  only  anxiotu 
turn  over  a  new  leaf     Vanity  alone  shuts  it,  and  obstinacy  fatti 
the  clasps.     You  are  last  approaching  to  that  is  tat  e  whicii  bringj 
man  to  the  finis  without  his  having  perused  the  rest  of  the  lea? 
That  you  may  not  die  in  your  ignorance,  I  wil]  give  you  the  pa 
of  reading  again   the  pages  you  forget,  and  are  obscured  by  y( 
overweening  vanity.     For  as  many  hours  in  the  day  or  night  aa 
pleases  you  shall  you  become  young  again*  that  you  may  be  able 


IM 


mSSG  WHO   VBCAMR  TOCTKQ   AOAIK. 


L  tbe  doar  b^iad  her  tnstrcss,  and  ^praadied  Uie 

I,  vk»  pvoid  the  gold  nto  lier  rbooj  palm. 

1  ImIbbbs  grin,  amd  smd,  **  Strmngcr^  vhat  b  your 

'  vko  is  ibai  lorelj  rose  oi  Shajoii } 

i  im  tht  pcxrl  of  the  house  of  Il&med^ 
,  watd  bejml  price*   Rest  ooDteDt ;  she 

p  hcUMiel^  mad  he.     *'  I  am  alniost  is 
flB  deep  IB  his  councils  —  his  friend. 
vTBth;  gaadc  me,  that  I   maj  see  her 
iifilj,  and  1KB  liBMS  whai  I  hsre  giTen  jou  shall  he  your's." 
The  old  ilBir  pasoedz  ii  vbb  obIj  lor  a  moiDent. 
-K^r  — wwd  shew  *«1  dsK  not  for  ray  life.     If  I  did  so,  It 
^ewU  he  «KieHt»  Ibt  her  jooag  hud  of  a  hem  is  gooe^  to  one  eve 
IbbAmbmt  thBB  jmtL.    She  ha*  aeen  and  spoltea  with  him,  imkiioi 
tm  her  6th^;  tftot  w2l  he  a  hBrrier  tor  ercr  between  yoti  and  you 
vidhe%  fiir  with  wnfin'a  hearts  go  their  ejes.  Tbey  are  blind  to  i 
Blhm>  h«i  thor  heartTs  wxmtrmrr 

The  raoee  BBwiHiBg  tne  shire^  the  more  importunate  became  the 
jBB^K  old  raflBBTch.  To  he  deaied  the  gratificatioa  of  a  wiab  was  a 
■owi^  to  haa^  amd  its  fiilfihaeiit  a  thooaoDd  times  more  desired. 
HaviBg  a  pane  of  ejtUausdiBary  lei^gth  and  depths  he,  however* 
IbsI  eaoMT  a»  in  her  priee.  Svcry  one  has  a  price ;  and  if  er 
mmm  were  fi«cied  il  vonld  asee  many  mistakes,  and  bargains  of  thtt' 
^ad  QonU  he  omm  laliafactiirily  settled  in  this  saleable  world.  It 
was  saan  Tsn^rd  that  Homdntm  was  to  take  advantage  of  a  laddsr 
winch  was  to  he  h»nesed  for  the  girfs  eicpected  loirer,  as  soon  as  ths 
MliBg  twilight  gaasalmil  sa^Cj  for  the  daring  attempt.  AAer  whic'  ~ 
ha  W9m  to  oaranHid  himself  to  the  prophet,  and  take  the  luck 
il  plnaed  hcaien  to  send  him.  The  faithful  old  slave  vani&he 
Hamdnwi  was  kft  alone^  tft>  watch  nith  what  patience  he  best! 
the  rising  of  the  evening  star* 

I  do  not  pretend  tei  say  that  laaie  iKght  twinges  of  consdenoe  i 
not  dkstarh  the  expert  ant  desire  of  die  late  respectable  philo^opbe 
A  whole  string  of  lat^^engendered  moralities  seemed  to  be  tuggin 
at  the  skiru  of  his  discrccioQ ;  aad«  really,  at  one  time  the  remem* 
hrance  of  his  soa»  and  the  great  object  of  his  wonderful  change*  had 
nearly  ntade  him  turn  tail  and  iy.    But  those  provoking  eyes  I     lie 

waald  only  jtist  see  them  again*  and •     The  end  of  the  silks 

laddtr  fell  at  bis  feet.     His  philosophy  was — no  matter  where  ; 
he  was  in  at  the  lattice- window  wtih  all  tlie  ardour  of  his  pr 
natural  youth.   A  hand  placed  upon  his  led  him  into  a  curtained 
cove»  from  which  he  gmsed  opoo  the  unveiled  beauties  of  the  girlil 
hoari*  who  sat,  unconscious  of  observers,  making  her  ivory  j 
murmur  beneath  the  velvet  touch  of  her  Utper  fingers. 

Humdrum  was  all  rv  e^   It  had  been  better  for  him  had  be  been  i 
ears,  for,  as  he  sti^,  more  like  a  sUtue  than  a  man,  entranced  by  I 
beautiful  object  before  him,  a  sliadow  darkened  the  window  at  wl 
lie  had  entered,  and  a  youth  sprang  into  the  chamber,  and  was  ^ 
!v>nie<i  by  the  voung  timid  creature  in  a  way  that  perfcctlv  ma  ' " 
t  t>nced*  king.    Another — another.     Confusion  I    this  was 

I ,  lU  for  a  philosopher.    He  tore  down  the  curtains  Like  a  kii 


THE  KING  WHO   BECAME  TOCX6  AGAIX.  161 


forgetting  that  he  onl  j  wore  die  appeamee  of  a  joang  an 
some  caTalier. 

"  \Ue  slave!"  exdaimcd  he,  m  a  choked  Tosoe,  ^tehear.  That 
loTelj  hoari  is  mine.  I  am  thj  king-  Tooch  her  not  with  thj  de- 
filing hands — or — " 

He  had  proceeded  most  splendidlj  as  far  as  die  "  or.*  vhcn  he 
came  to  a  sodden  panse,  for  in  the  sorprised  jovdi  he  behdd  die 
scapegrace  Qoitadih.  He  positiTeij  bloshed.  forgetting  that  his  soa 
could  not  rect^niie  him,  not  having  had  the  pSea§iire  of  his  aapoint- 
ance  when  he  was  at  the  time  of  life  he  then  represented. 

As  the  two  yoong  sparks  stood  gazing  at  eadi  other,  for  the  ladr 
and  slave  had  fled.  A  scnfie  oatside  the  chamber  £icncfaaated 
them,  and  bade  them  seek  their  safety  in  flight.  Tbev  strag^ed  ann- 
foUj  for  the  precedence;  bat  Qnhadab  giving  poor  Homdram  a 
swinging  blow,  laid  him  prostrate  ;  then  springing  firom  the  window, 
descended  in  nfetj,  leaving  his  rival  to  the  teller  mercies  of  Ae 
incensed  merchant,  and  the  stout  end^^  of  the  slaves,  which  were 
most  satisfiictorilj  bestowed  opoo  his  vnlncky  carcase.  After  thej 
had  had  enough,  and  he  more  than  enough,  he  was  thrust  into  the 
street,  ami<lst  the  jibes  and  jeers  of  Ae  merchant's  slaves. 

Here  was  a  precious  dileiuma  :  philosophy  piaiing  the  IboL  He 
arranged  his  turban,  and  cursed  his  lack,  for  lie'feh  his  cheek  stiil 
tingling  from  the  mighty  blow  of  his  first-born.  He  wandered  in  his 
diagrin  he  knew  not  wberc^  until  he  was  roused  by  loud  voGces 
issuing  firom  a  dark  gateway,  which  srrnsed  to  be  in  uproarious 
mirth.  He  listened  for  a  moment,  far  he  feared  to  enter.  His  %m, 
adrenture  had  been  anything  but  pleasing,  and  here  there  seemed  zm 
temptation  for  so  young  a  man  as  he  then  was. 

As  he  stood  hesitating  bctueen  curiooty  and  prudrncr,  a  slave 
attempted  to  pass  him  with  a  pitcher  on  his  head  ;  he  looked  for  a 
moment  upon  the  curious  stranger,  then  beckoned  him  to  foiknr. 
He  drew  his  dagger,  and  did  so.  At  a  given  signal  a  ride-door  was 
opened,  and  he  entered  into  the  midst  of  a  crew  of  revellers,  for  he 
found  he  had  fidlen  upon  one  of  the  secret  wine-houses,  where  Ae 
wild  and  boentious  met  to  pass  away  the  night  hours^ 

Fatigue  and  chagrin  soon  made  bam  a  partaker  in  their  draughts, 
and  he  was  the  gayest  of  the  gay.  The  night  wore  on,  and  itili  he 
moved  not.  The  cup  was  preaacd  to  his  Kp  with  all  the  zrdaar  of 
his  youth,  and  it  was  not  until  some  alarm  broke  the  party  up,  that 
he  found  himself  again  in  die  still  atreetSL  But  what  per|]dexing 
power  ruled  ins  course^  at  least  aigaagged  it,  for  his  strong  aiection 
for  the  walls  soon  besmirched  his  rich  &nam,  and  put  Ub  into  a 
pitiable  plight.  Ever  and  anon  he  daoetd  from  firantic  delight.  At 
last  he  laid  himself  quiedy  down  upon  the  mudsidr,  with  a  positive 
bdief  that  his  slaves  would  tuck  him  up. 

Humdrum,  Humdrum — thou  wert  drunk  * 

A  benevolent  stranger  passing  on  his  way,  beheld  the  disgrace  to 
his  country  and  religioo,  wallowing  in  the  gutter;  at  ^r^  he 
thought  him  some  unfortunate  that  had  been  snin,  but  the  farrago 
oi  nonsense  which  issued  out  of  his  wine-ttained  mouth,  soon  coo- 
▼inced  him  of  who  was  die  slayer.  He  raised  him  with  pity  from 
his  unenviable  position  on  die  earth,  and  attempted  to  find  out 
where  he  was  suying,  for  he  saw  by  his  dress  that  he  was  a 
stranger  to  the  capltaL     But  all  he  could  get  in  reply  was  a  dis- 

s  t 


16S 


TUB  wrsn  WHO  Bee  A  ME  ycrvo  again. 


«ICT^ 


ftnee  ■btwii  bcin^  tulun,  or  some  such  folly  which  omy 
mrmm^gct  langli-  Some  of  the  night-guiirds  passing 
m  VM  hHMfed  over  Uk  ibeir  care  with  a  voice  of  camman 
sUrUcd  poor  Hnvdmni.  The  respect  with  which 
r"t  orders  were  obeyed,  iitade  him  endeavour  to  get  rid 
tbe  waim,  of  wins  vhicb  cnrcrpowered  bis  senses,  to  see  who  h 
friesd  wfet.  It  wMi  Qoit^dab  gv^ingr  home  sober,  and  ordering 
damMf  di^fvised  Iktber  to  be  t^ken  into  the  giiard-rnona  of 
palattV  whSdk  wm  t!hm  in  ^hm  vidnitjr,  that  he  might  not  be  rohbed 
bj  «BTof  tbe  Biirht  plimderera  th^t  prowled  the  itreets  oa  the  look- 
iMU  lor  prcj,  ev  m  iQ  that  well -governed  dty* 

He  was  §m  to  aabnut,  but  he  shook  bis  head  at  himself  in  th 
BMat  reproTiBgnsBiier. 

H«  soon  fcMaMi  bsmadf  carefoUy  put  up  in  the  gnard-house,  wil 
m  icrstdked  facse  and  a  disordered  dress.     But  not  before  youfl 
Qnifwfait  had  diaeoTtred  ibe  features  of  his  rival,  whose  unc 
amiiMfl  cBtfiee  bad  diatnrbrd  him  with  hi^  mistress.     He 
ffnialaied  biiwtf  «poii  baving  him  safe  under  lock  and  kej, 
um  the  iaofttfai|  would  diaoiiver,  when  he  had  come  to  hia  sober 
aenses,  who  the  mtrnder  waa. 

Poor  Humdrum's  fears  aooti  begmn  to  dispel  the  fumes  of  ^ 
iiqaor;  what  was  be  to  do?  He  must  change  himself,  or  wh 
wovld  be  ibe  ocMiaeqiieiice ; — but  baw  >  He  cauld  not  get  out,  j 
to  be  fboDd  a»  himself  at  morning's  dawn,  would  have  bern  tui| 
thing  but  pleesant*  He  was  in  a  pretty  dilemma,  for  his  confu^ 
emaea  <lid  not  allow  him  to  remember  the  magic^  word.  A  C€ 
fierapiration  bedewed  hi«  limbs,  for  he  remembered  th;it  he 
struck,  in  his  night  adventure,  the  heir  apparent!  and  if  he  coul 
AQt  make  it  apparent  that  he  was  his  parent,  he  should  most  iucofl 
trovcrtibly  lose  his  head.  Faint  visicms  of  his  late  highly  i 
philosophies  kept  rushing  through  his  brain  ;  in  vstin  be  tried  to  1 
them  for  his  solace  and  support*  His  change  to  youth  had  mad 
the  thoughts  of  his  old  age  indistinct,  and  he  became  tantalized  i 
bewildered  to  find  that  he  could  not  see  them  in  their  full  fofO 
Of  course  he  could  not,  poor  victim  1  he  saw  them  now  through  1 
medium  of  his  magic  youth,  and  its  consequent  passions.  Yet 
was  still  the  Sultan  Humdrum «  and  conscious  of  his  wonderf^ 
chnnge,  and  astonished  to  Bnd  his  mind  continually  framing  encua 
for  hiR  peccadilloes  of  the  nighty  not  so  much  repenting  their  ra  " 
nesa,  as  the  unfortunate  result  of  them.  All  that  did  remain 
himself  was  perfectly  abashefl  at  finding  it*.elf  put  quite  at  a  no 
plus  by  the  overpowering  arguments  of  the  borrowed  youthfulnc 

His  meditations  were  cut  short  by  the  first  peep  of  day,  which,  i 
if  not  satisfied  at  the  peep  that  it  got  at  the  unfortunate  prisone 
soon  proceeded  to  a  broad  sUre,  and  intruded  itself  into  every  cof^ 
ner  of  the  nparlment,  pointing  out  to  the  wretched  Sulun  hts  torn 
robes  and  mud-stained  garments. 

Fear  and  grief  overcame  him,     "Oh!"  eiclaimed  he,  ••  why  l 
I  leave  the  refuge  of  age,  which  protected  me  from   evil  imd 
temptations?     Why,  when  I  had  passed  over  the  troubled  oce«B 
life,  did  I,  in  the  pride  of  my  strength,  throw  myself  again  into 
waves,   only  to  find  them  engulf  me*     IC  ever  I  regain  my   ci 
f«irm  and  my  own  kingdom,  1  pray  that  I  may  not   forget  in  til 
change  the  wholesome  lesson   which  1  have  learned,  that  1 


THE    KING    WHO    BECAME    YOUNG    AGAIN. 


16:j 


tnake  allowances  in  the  strength  of  my  age  for  the  weakness  of 
youth,  and  not  pride  myself  in  my  power  of  governing  the  passions 
and  tbllJes  which  no  longer  exist/' 

What  more  his  fear  and  repentance  might  have  made  him  utter, 
no  one  can  ever  know,  for  a  whispering  sound  seemed  to  be  aroynd 
and  aboot  him,  getting  every  moment  more  distinct,  until  he  made 
out  by  slow  degrees  the  syllables  of  *' Ektheuneraengelecthusr* 
Blessed  sound  !  he  leapt  and  danced  for  very  joy,  and  the  thankful 
tears  rushed  down  his  cheeks  as  he  kept  repeating  the  welcome 
word.  His  saltatory  feats  were,  however,  very  suddenly  put  an  end 
tt>,  for  in  his  excessive  jr>y  the  wonderful  change  of  the  youthful  to 
the  old  Humdrum,  had  for  a  while  insensibly  taken  place,  until  the 
old  Humdrum  found  that  it  was  not  in  his  power  to  indulge  in  such 
feats  of  agility,  for  his  old  legs  had  returtied  to  him,  and  he  was 
fain  to  stand  still,  and  thank  Mahomet  for  his  wonderful  deliver- 
ance. 

Footsteps  were  heard  fast  approaching.  The  door  was  unclosed, 
and  one  of  the  black  guards  appeared  to  summon  the  stranger  be- 
fore the  Prince.  But  when  he  saw  the  terrible  figure  of  the  8ultan 
hia  capacious  mouth  opened  until  it  extended  to  his  jewelled  ears. 
The  words  intended  to  be  addre«ised  to  the  vile  drunkard,  quivered 
on  the  tip  of  his  tongue^  then  with  admirable  didcretion  bolted  back 
and  were  cptickly  swallowed. 

Humdrum  himself  felt  a  little  awkward,  for  the  slave  might  take 
him  for  some  evil  spirit  of  the  jin  tribe,  and  dash  his  brains  out 
on  the  spot  for  presuming  to  take  the  form  of  his  celestial  master. 

He  accordingly  cleared  his  throat  with  a  powerful  **  Hem  1"  pre- 
paratory to  addressing  the  black  statue  of  wonder  before  him.  That 
single  word  disenchanted  the  slave,  and  he  turned  and  fled,  making 
the  passages  re-echo  with  his  yells  of  terror. 

Humdrum  taking  advantage  of  the  ojien  door,  soon  made  his  way 
into  the  palace.  But  before  he  reached  a  place  of  safety,  Quitadab, 
who  had  been  informed  of  the  wonderful  change  which  had  taken 
place  in  his  last  night's  prisoner,  met  his  honoured  sire  sneaking 
into  the  women's  apartments. 

Quitadab  wavered  for  a  moment  between  kicking  and  embracing. 
For  there  stood  the  form  of  his  much  loved  parent;  but  oh!  sad 
sight,  he  had  somehow  found  the  black  eye  which  the  prince  had  so 
liberally  bestowed  upon  the  stranger  in  the  last  night's  Fcuffle,  and 
the  consequence  of  kis  vinous  prostrations,  shewed  very  visibly  in 
tinbecoming  scratches  traversing  the  bridge  of  his  august  no^e. 

The  eyes  which  had  hitherto  been  supposed  capable  of  staring  a 
lion  out  of  countenance,  sank  abashed  before  the  scrutinizing  gaze 
of  the  prince. 

Humdrum  signed  him  to  follow  him.  What  he  said  to  him  is  of 
no  consequence.  The  prince  never  betrayed  hin  confidence^  but 
from  that  eventful  morning  he  became  the  friend  of  his  son  and  his 
confidant. 

The  merchant  in  good  time  prostrated  himself  in  the  divan  with 
bis  fair  daughter  in  his  hand,  loo  proud  to  bestow  her  upon  so 
amiable  and  talented  a  prince  ;  and  Htnndrum  looked  upon  them 
with  a  smile,  dictated  by  the  philosophy  of  hia  age. 


164 


THROrGH 

FRANCE,  BELGIUM,  AND  GERMANY, 


JOL—TBE  VALLEY  OF  THE  FOUNTAIX.  —  THE  BALLS. 
OF  DINAN. 

In  speaking  of  social  Dinan,  I  must  be  understood  to  refer  ta 
period  before  the  last  Revolution,  or  revolutions,  for  there  seem  ( 
have  been  several  revolutions  shut  up  in  each  other  like  rings  j 
a  Chinese  puzzle.  Whether  Dinan  has  been  very  social  fiince  i 
doubtful.  That  it  was  very  social  then,  in  spite  of  its  little  sec 
bickerings  and  jealousies,  so  indispensable  to  the  comfort  of  the  En 
lish  abroad,  I  can  gratefully  answer  for. 

At  that  dnie  there  were  two  hundred  and  fifly  English  residents  J 
and  about  the  town,  and  the  average  annual  mortality  amongst  the 
was  three.  This  fact  was  assumed  a^  a  conclusive  proof  of  the  ^alubrid 
of  the  place.     There  is  no  doubt  that  Dinan  is  healthy  ;  but  the  lol 
rale  of  mortality  amongst  birds  of  passage  can  hzirdty  be  accepted 
as  a  satisfactory  evidence  of  it.    It  is  worthy  of  special  remembranc 
that  the  English  do  not  die  abroad  if  they  can  help  it.    They  alwa| 
come  home  to  die,  if  they  have  notice  enough. 

The  climate  is  light  and  genial,  and  the  situation  picturesque;] 
happy  combination  which  always  makes  it  a  pleasure  to  live, 
enables  us  to  fill  life  with  all  the  pleasures  within  reach-     And  i 
we  found  it  at  Dtnan,  where  we  lived  in  an  incessant  round  of  seaso 
able  delights.     Amongst  the  greatest  charms  of  the  place  the  Fouii 
tain  is  entitled  to  special  distinction. 

This  Fountain  is  a  mineral  spring  which  rises  in  an  umbrage 
dell  close  to  the  town,  and  is  reached  by  a  pathway,  thickly  plaiill 
and  ahaded,  down  the  side  of  the  mountain.     It  is  about  haU  a  id3 
from  the  gates,  and  makes  a  delicious  evening  walk  for  the  inhab 
tauts.     Dinan  is  surrounded  by  bowery  promenades,  but  this  ii  T 
most  agreeable  of  all.     When  you  get  down  into  the  valley  it  ctos< 
resembles  Schlangenbad,  wanting  only  that  profound  Etillness  wl 
18  not  to  be  found  elsewhere*     Having  zigzagged  your  way  " 

depths  of  the  valley,  you  cross  a  little  rustic  bridge  and  aud 

find  yourself  in  a  handsome  promenade  marked  out  by  long  rowt I 
trees,  and  so  smothered  up  in  foliage  that  the  sun  at  its  roerid' 
height  cannot  penetrate  the  cool  retreat.  The  rippling  of  a  tii 
stream  reminds  you  of  the  bridge  you  have  crossed,  and  looking 
few  yards  onwards  you  discern  a  mill  through  the  woods,  a  solii 
mill!  with  its  wlieel  plashing  in  the  water,  and  giving  an  ar  ^ 
impulse  to  its  course.  One  is  often  struck  in  remote  country  ] 
by  the  loneliness  of  the  dwellers  in  them,  especially  millers  an 
tivaiors  uf  the  earth,  who  sometimes  live  at  such  a  distance  from  i 
community  on  whose  consumption  they  depend,  that  it  is  diflicultj 
understand  how  they  contrive  to  carry  on  their  affairs  at  a  i 
Now  this  miller  of  the  Fountain,  who,  by  the  way,  made  ao  sign! 


FHANCE,  BELGIUM,  AND   GERMANY. 


16^ 


bis  crafl  except  his  wheel's  turning,  had  evirlently  selected  thig 
sequestered  spot  for  his  business,  on  account  of  the  running  stream, 
which,  although  its  vohjme  is  scanty,  rewarded  his  confidence  by 
the  fidelity  of  its  services;  this  rivulet  beinf?  honourably  disting-uishetl 
by  never  running  entirely  dry,  so  completely  h  h  sheltered  and 
shut  in  from  all  droughty  influences.  Yet  with  all  bis  water  advan- 
tages, one  still  wonders  how  the  miller  manages  to  carry  on  hi?^  inter* 
course  with  his  customers,  for  although  he  is  only  half  a  nrjile  from 
Dinan,  his  way  to  it  is  beset  with  difliculties.  How*  does  he  get  his 
corn,  for  instance,  through  the  entangled  passes  of  these  mountain 
defiles?  And  when  be  has  converted  it  into  flour,  how^  <loes  he  con- 
vey it  away  ?  Up  the  hills  on  donkeys,  for  they  are  the  only  living 
things  that  could  carry  burdens  up  these  close  steeps?  or  down  the 
valleys,  and  so  round  about  the  country,  on  the  backs  of  goats,  to 
"whose  curious  feet  alone  the  broken  fragments  of  rocks  and  the  nar- 
row slippery  paths  present  no  impediments?  But  let  the  miller  get 
rid  of  his  flour  how  he  may,  and  it  is  to  be  hoped  he  has  a  merry 
life  of  it,  nobody  can  deny  that  he  has  pitched  his  tent  in  a  most 
charming  spot.  His  white  gate  and  adjolnini^  wall  seem  to  be  shoul- 
dering the  rivulet  in  sport  out  of  its  channel. 

A  building  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  promenade,  half  way  bc- 
tw^een  the  mill  and  the  bridge,  suggests  a  different  train  of  reflections. 
The  Dinanaise  are  a  gay  people.  They  are  fond  of  dancing  above 
all  things,  and  no  matter  what  awkwardnesses  fall  out  in  the  way  of 
international  politics,  they  are  particularly  fond  of  English  girls  for 
partners.  They  used  to  have  their  regular  assembly  balls  through- 
out the  summer;  on  Tuesdays  at  the  Mairie,  and  on  Fridays  at  the 
Fountain.  The  latter  were  called  the  Fountain  balls,  and  much  to 
the  surprise  of  strangers,  they  take  place  about  three  o'clock  in  the 
afternoon.     The  building  before  us  is  the  ball-room. 

The  picturesque  effect  of  these  Fountain-balls  is  something  quite 
out  of  the  common  route  of  one's  travelling  experiences.  That  little 
building  with  a  thousand  names  and  souvenirs  scratched  on  its  walls 
is  the  ladies*  robing  or  unrobing  room,  where,  casting  away  their 
cloaks,  scarves  and  bonnets,  they  prepare  their  simple  demi- toilets 
for  the  dance.  That  light  sheltered  place  in  the  middle  of  the  walk, 
looking  very  much  like  an  aviary,  is  the  place  for  refreshments  and 
for  drinking  the  mineral  waters  of  a  morning.  If  the  reader  will 
have  the  goodness  to  collect  aH  these  particulars  clearly  before  him, 
and  bury  them  in  a  chaos  of  foliage,  he  may  form  an  accurate  notion 
of  the  Fountain. 

Formerly  the  balls  took  place  in  the  morning;  but  that  arrange- 
ment interfered  so  injuriously  wMth  the  interests  of  the  tradespeople 
in  the  town  that  it  was  abandoned-  The  three  o'clock  arrangement 
had  an  equally  disturbing  effect  upon  the  English,  The  choice  was 
to  dine  before  three  o'clock,  or  to  postpone  dinner  indefinitely  till 
the  conclusion  of  the  entertainment,  w^hich»  including  the  walk 
home,  rarely  terminated  before  nine  o'clock,  and  sometimes  even 
later.  Dinner  is  an  important  affair  with  everybody ;  it  is  the 
gravest  of  all  affairs  to  an  Englishman;  but  to  an  Englishman  on 
the  continent  it  is  the  whole  business  of  life.  It  fills  up  his  entire 
day.  He  opens  the  morning  with  an  excursion  to  the  market,  where 
he  surveys  and  prices  the  supplies;  the  remainder  of  the  morning 
is  dedicated  to  the  busy  idleness  of  household  preparation.     Then 


166 


WAYSTDE   PICTURES 


comes  the  dinner  iUelf,  which  absorbB  not  so  much  specific  time,  as 
the  sense  and  end  of  all  time ;  and  then  the  evening  with  ]t«  drowt 
flreamS;  and  luxurious  memories  of  the  feast,  to  which  the  noble 
passing  realities  are  utterly  incomparable*  When,  therefore, 
three  o'clock  edict  was  issued  by  the  authoritie:^^  various  were 
rumours  and  mysterious  hints  that  agitated  the  heretofore  happ 
valley.  But  the  Dinanaise  and  the  dance  would  wait  for  no  man's 
dinner,  and  so,  with  much  reluctance,  and  after  a  fruitless  resistance* 
the  point  was  given  up.  The  Fountain  balls  thenceforth  began  in  the 
daylight  and  endeil  with  it. 

The  ball  was  organized  by  subscription.  There  were  stewardi 
and  a  master  of  the  ceremonies,  and  nothing  more  than  an  introduce 
tion  was  necessary  to  secure  admission.  It  may  help  to  shew  bow 
cheaply  the  pleasures  of  life  are  transacted  in  France,  when  we  ob- 
serve that  the  subscription  to  these  balls,  including  both  the  Fountoia 
and  the  Mairie,  was  only  eight  franco  for  the  whole  season  !  Yet } 
was  found  to  be  quite  practicable  at  this  small  cost,  which  tnti  _ 
greatly  perplex  and  disgust  my  respectable  countrymen,  to  realise 
a  great  deal  of  innocent  and  satisfactory  enjoyment. 

The  effect,  as  I  have  mentioned,  is  singularly  picturesque.     Tb6 
ditting  of  the  dresses  in  and  out  through  the  trees,  and  the  occasiaDai 

^lapsing  into  still  groups  in  the  intervals  of  the  dance,  bring  out  a 

^  iaokau  vivanl  after  the  manner  of  Watleau.     When  the  ball  is  overj^ 
the  partners  break  off  gradually,  some  wending  away  with 
watchful  guardians,  who  think  that  they  have  already  stayed  out  I 
enough,  and  others  straggling  off  with  evident  symptoms  of  fatig 
The  return  lies  up  the  winding  path  through  the  trees  on  the  side  t 
the  hill,  and  here  the  careful  managers  of  the  entertainment  have 
garnished  the  track  with  hanging  lamps,  just  close  enough  toge  ' 
to  guide  the  steps  of  the  clamberer,  keeping  him  all  the  way  in 
pleasant  state  of  twilight  uncertainty,  and  sufficiently  far  apart 
prevent  the  possibility  of  any  vulgar  reminiscences  of  such  places  i 
Vauxliall.      When  this  path,  winding  along  the  shadowy  hill-aiif 
becomes  crowded  with  happy  girls,  in  the  exuberance  of  youth  i 
open  air  enjoyment,  their  ringing  laughter  or  low-voiced  joy  sii 
gesting  a  hundred  little  dramas  of  the  heart  and  the  animal  spirits  i 
they  ascend  to  separate  for  their  homes^  the  scene  becomes  anil] 

[  into  a  living  romance* 

But  we  must  not  <]utt  the  weird  recesses  of  the  Fountain  witliooi 

^  following  the  stream  till  it  conducts  us  to  the  beach  of  the  river,  where 
we  find  ourselves  upon  the  port  at  which  we  disembarked  from  llie 
St,  JVIalo  steamer.  This  comes  upon  us  as  a  surprise,  for  it  is  Uie  last 
spot  we  should  expect  to  find  ourselves  on  in  emerging  from  tb«  hiU  ~ 
The  walk  through  the  valley  is  like  a  dream,  full  of  lingering  < ' 
dows  and  sweet  lulling  sounds.  It  runs  all  along,  in  and  out,  i 
and  down  by  the  stream  and  through  the  woods,  occasionally  as  wfl 
and  rocky  as  a  Swiss  gorge,  and  sometimes  softening  awa^r  intA  1 ' 
of  pastoral  fields,  and  green  slopes,  and  quiet  open  nooks  stre 
over  with  broken  light.  A  painter  with  an  easel  in  his  hand  mifik 
loiter  here  with  delight  through  many  a  long  summer  day,  T| 
sunsets  in  this  valley  are  exquisite. 

The  ball  at  the  Mairie  is  as  characteristic  of  our  social  Dlnan  i 
the  alfresco  at  the  Fountain.  It  is  held  in  a  tolerably  large  and  YmMi\ 
some  room,  which  on  these  occasions  is  well  lighted  up  and  profit 


THROUGH    FRANCE,    BELGIUM,  AJTO   GERMANY- 


167 


ly  decorated  with  flowers.  The  managers  of  the  ball  are  always  very 
prdite  to  strangers^  and  generally  issue  in  vitntions  lo  visitors  of  whom 
they  happen  to  have  any  knowledge.  Young  ladies  are  chaperoned 
as  at  other  public  asserablies,  and  the  utmost  formality  prevails 
throyghout  the  evening*  When  a  gen  tit-man  is  introduced  to  his 
partner,  he  attempts  ranch  the  same  sort  of  smnll  talk  (in  rather  a 
more  serious  tone)  n»  prevails  elsewhere ;  but  the  want  of  conimon 
topics,  the  tolal  ignorance  of  the  finesse  of  fashionable  life,  of  which 
this  same  small-talk,  scientifically  considered,  is  an  essential  element, 
and  the  innate  modesty  inseparable  from  the  primitive  modes  of 
these  Dinanaiae  people,  have  the  effect  of  reducing  their  scraps  of  con- 
versation to  the  simplest  and  quietest  forms.  It  is  in  the  dance  the 
soul  of  the  gentleman  comes  out  in  all  its  French  gallantry  ;  but, 
the  moment  the  dance  is  over,  he  retreats  into  his  original  stillness, 
hands  the  lady  to  a  seat,  bows,  and  retires.  I  ara  here  chiefly  speak- 
ing of  the  nature  of  the  intercourse  which  used  to  take  place  at  these 
assemblies  between  the  English  ladies  and  the  gentlemen  of  Dinan : 
it  was  something  too  remarkable  to  escape  observation.  The  preva- 
lence of  this  custom  had  the  strange  effect  of  leaving  the  ladies  eft- 
sanhk  at  the  end  of  each  dance,  so  that  we  missed  altogether  that 
coquetting  promenade,  enlivened  with  sundry  eye  intrigues  for  the 
next  polka,  which  forms  so  prorainenl  a  feature  in  the  enjoyments 
of  an  English  ball-room.  The  gentlemen  of  Dinan  are,  undoubted- 
ly, a  very  inoffenisive  race  ;  and,  whatever  may  be  thought  of  them 
in  other  respects,  there  is  no  denying  to  them  the  merit  of  unexcep- 
tionable decorum,  and  a  respectful  reserve  towards  our  Englitih 
ladies,  which  entitles  them  to  the  best  acknowledgments  of  all  anxious 
fathers  and  mothers^  who  settle  down  in  Dinan  for  a  few  years  of 
economy. 

These  reunions,  cheap  and  simple  as  they  are,  shed  a  permanent 
charm  over  the  town-  What  would  Dinan  be  without  its  balls? 
There  is  a  tradition  in  Dinan,  well  remembered  by  many  of  its  pre- 
sent residents,  that  once  upon  a  time  several  young  men  came  here 
from  Cambridge  and  Oxfcird  for  the  purpose  of  study  during  the  va- 
cation ;  but,  being  tempted  out  of  their  scholastic  resolution  by  the 
fascination  of  these  balJs,  they  invited  the  whole  town  to  a  grand 
rout  at  the  Rlairie,  by  way  of  testifying  their  sense  of  the  hospitality 
with  which  they  had  heen  treated.  Of  course,  the  enlertairnnent 
was  a  splendid  affair*  The  English  reputation  for  munificence  was 
at  stake,  and  the  ball  was  accordingly  got  up  on  a  scale  of  commen- 
surate liberality.  The  Dinan  gentlemen,  determined  not  to  be  out- 
stripped on  their  own  ground  in  a  matter  so  congenial  to  their  taste, 
gave  a  ball  in  return  to  the  students.  This  was^jete,  such  as  Dinan 
had  never  witnessed  before*  People  say  that  the  air  of  the  room  was 
similar  to  the  sort  of  atmosphere  you  might  expect  to  find  if  you 
were  nestling  amongst  the  petals  of  a  moss  rose  ;  that  ffowers,  and 
festoons,  and  draperies,  and  lamps  dispersed  in  the  most  cunning 
ways  through  forestt*  of  laurels;  in  short,  there  was  no  end  to  the 
beauty  and  variety  of  the  scene.  It  is  one  of  the  great  memories  of 
Dinan  that  the  French  carried  the  day  (or  night  rather)  in  this 
s«>cial  rivalry  ;  not  because  their  /e^e  was  more  expensive  than  that 
of  the  English,  for,  in  fact,  it  cost  a  great  deal  less,  but  because  they 
knew  belter  how  to  set  about  it,  and  threw  more  imagination  into 
their  arrangements.     The  distinction  is  worth  noting,  expressing 


WAYSIDE  PICTUEES 

as  it  «loes  a  distinction  between  the  two  national  characters  which 
reaches  to  higher  points. 


XXL^ENGLISH  AND  FRENCH  IN  DINAN  BEFORE  THE 
REVOLUTION, 

Although  Dinan  presents  many  temptations  to  the  English  tet** 
tier  in  the  way  of  scenery  and  economy,  it  is  not  a  very  agreeahl 
residence  in  other  respects.     It  is  one  of  the  dullest  spots  in  th( 
world  for  people  of  pleasure,  and  quite  as  dreary  for  people  whoi 
enjoyment  lies  in  art  or  literature.     It  has  no  theatre,  no  cqfh^  m 
billiards — none  of  the  usual   escapes  for  idlers  which  you  find  il. 
most  continental  towns ;   and  its  little  circulating  library,  stirpri»* 
ingly  well-stocked  for  such  a  place,  is,  nevertheless,  a  miserable  re- 
source for  any  one  already  tolerably  accorapli>hed  in  books^     In 
fact,  if  you  want  a  book  out  of  the  ordinary  routine,  you  must  is»U€ 
a  special  order  for  it,  and  wait  at  least  ten  daj's  or  a  fortnight  before 
you  can  get  it,   for  the  librarian  must  send  to  his  corre.«^pondent  ii| 
Paris,  who  must  6nd  out  the  publisher,  and,  as  the  traffic  which  th\ 
said  correBpondeot  carries  on  with  Dinan  is  too  languid  to  inspire 
him  with  much  activity,  you  may  be  quite  sure  he  will  not  put  him- 
self to  much  trouble  for  the  sake  of  expediting  the  commis^oD. 

The  only  alternative  left  is  society:  you  find  this  out  very  toon 
in  Dinan.  Society  is  really  the  essential  thing  here ;  and  here,  as  in 
all  small  communities,  society  (pleasant  enough  in  its  shut-up 
coteries)  is  convulsed  by  scandal.  The  English  are  not  satisfied  to 
be  preyed  upon  by  the  cupidity  which  tbeir  own  foolish  ostentation 
creates  about  tUem,  but  they  must  turn  round  and  prey  upon  ead 
other.  While  you  are  yet  fresh  in  these  porcupine  circles,  you  ^ii 
be  Btunned  by  mysterious  hints  and  inuendoes,  and  kindly  w; 
inga  against  all  the  people  you  meet,  one  after  another,  so  that, 
you  credit  only  the  half  of  what  you  hear,  you  will  be  compelled  l< 
arrive  at  some  very  uncomfortable  conclusions*  But  you  get  ui 
to  this  in  time,  and  begin  at  last  to  understand  that  the  good-natui 
ed  friend  who  admonishes  you  is  as  bad  as  his  neighbour. 

The  state  of  society  amongst  a  handful  of  English  in  an  inland 
French  town,  is  not  more  striking  than  thatof  their  relations  wiih  the 
native  inhabitants.  Their  national  peculiarities,  independently  of 
_pther  consiileralions^  are  not  calculated  to  render  them  very  popular. 

II  the  tleep  prejudices  of  home  are  transpilanted  in  complete  flower 
Into  these  little  settlements — you  have  the  family  pride,  the  0OQsI 
dijitinclions,  the  hauteur^  the  cold  mannerism,  the  struggling  poinp» 
and  unbending  stillness  in  full  efflorescence.  Five  hundred  «-yc! 
iu  ^uch  places  as  Dinan,  performs  the  aristocratic  r6le  of  high  bl 
and  thousand !i  at  home.  All  this  is  felt  keenly  by  the  Freucl 
Our  insensibility  perplexes  them ;  our  habitual  disrelish  for  fi 
intercourse  wounds  their  vanity ;  they  cannot  comprehend  our 
incapacity  for  ndaptntion  ;  they  wonder  at  our  formality  jind  fri- 
gidity ;  they  frrcpienlly  pity  us — occasionally  despise  us — and  some* 
times  hate  U)i.  There  are  other  points  in  our  associations  with 
them  which  toucli  them  still  more  vexaliously.  We  bring  up  the 
price  of  provintoivM,  and  accuse  them  of  cheating  us.  Let  us  conij* 
tier  this  lor  a  moment. 

It  is  an  univi  r.v;d  complaint  amongst  the  English  in  these  cheap 


OfN^H 


THROUGH  FRANCE,    BELGIUM,    AND    GERMANY-        169 

places,  that  living  is  exorbitantly  dear,  and  that  they  are  over- 
charged by  the  French.  Everybody  has  heard  the  cry»  even  in 
merely  travelling  through  the  country,  that  the  French  have  two 
prices — one  for  themselves  and  another  for  us.  It  is  asserted  as  a 
positive  fact,  that  at  the  same  tahte^d'hoie  where  the  Englishman  is 
charged  three  francs,  the  Frenchman  sitting  next  to  him  h  charged 
only  two,  or  one  and  a  half,  before  his  eyes.  Such  assertions  are 
common  enough;  and  all  that  can  be  reasonably  expected  of  tour- 
ists is,  that  they  should  speak  honestly  out  of  their  own  experience. 
For  my  part,  I  have  traversed  a  con:iiderable  part  of  France,  by 
diligence,  by  post- car riuge,  and  private-carriage,  have  lingered  in 
some  places,  and  passed  rapidly  through  others,  during  many  visits 
to  the  country ^  and  I  never  saw  an  instance  of  that  glaring  nature. 
That  the  English  are  overcharged^  is  perfectly  true;  but  it  must  be 
Bet  down,  along  with  many  other  antagonisms,  to  their  own,  purse- 
proud  bravado,  and  real  economising  meanness.  Mi  ior  Anglais  is 
expressly  the  ^'^man  made  of  money.'*  He  wears  the  badge  of  gold 
upon  his  sleeve  for  rogues  to  peck  at.  He  invites  the  imposition  he 
denounces.  He  would  not  be  content  unless  he  was  made  to  pay 
higher  than  other  people,  and  he  glories  in  the  excuse  it  aflrt>rd3  him 
for  letting  out  his  wrath  upon  the  French.  The  contradiction  is  not 
in  the  two  prices  of  the  French^a  trade  chicanery  which  is  to  be 
found  all  the  world  over,  in  various  masks  and  disguises— but  in  the 
pitiful  absurdity  of  the  English,  who  expect  to  get  everything  at 
the  lowest  charge,  while  they  are  shaking  their  purses  in  the  face 
of  the  vendor,  and  insisting  upon  having  homage  rendered  to  their 
superabundant  wealth. 

This  absurdity  is  bad  enough  in  tourists  who  go  abroad  for  a  few 
months,  and  have  really  plenty  of  money  to  spend;  but  economic 
sers,  who  settle  down  with  their  families,  have  no  excuse  for  not 
making  the  best  of  their  position.  It  would  be  impossible  to  dis- 
cover what  these  people  want.  They  are  not  satisfieil  with  obtain- 
ing provisions  on  an  average  at  about  half  the  price  they  would  pay 
for  them  in  England^  but  must  needs  cry  out  that  they  are  cheated* 
Indeed,  they  confidently  assure  you  that  the  place  is  quite  as  dear  as 
England,  and  that  the  notion  of  coming  into  France  for  economy 
is  a  delusion,  while  they  are  all  the  time  buying  chickens  for  two 
francs  the  pair,  antl  a  quarter  of  lamb  for  twenty- five  sous.  They 
not  only  insist  upon  their  right  to  grumble,  but  insist  upon  it  with 
the  greater  vehemence  in  proportion  to  the  unreasonableness  of  the 
occasion. 

Is  it  very  surprising,  under  such  circumstances,  that  the  French 
flhould  regard  our  lUieapside  countrymen  w^ith  a  little  distrust  and 
no  great  good  will?  In  addition  to  other  reasons,  there  is  the  cer- 
tainty that  as  sure  as  the  swallows  bring  summer,  the  English  bring 
high  prices.  The  moment  they  appear  the  markets  go  up.  The 
sun  has  not  a  more  decisive  effect  upon  the  thermometer.  An  in- 
habitant of  Dinan  could  formerly  live  comfortably  {in  the  French 
sense,  and  quite  equal  to  French  desires)  on  1200  francs  per  annum, 
and  keep  his  servant;  but,  after  the  English  had  swarmed  into  the 
town,  he  was  oblige<l  to  dispense  with  his  servant,  and  relinquish 
numberless  little  indulgences.  Formerly  he  led  a  gayj  careless, 
easy  life  ;  after  the  English  came,  he  led  what  is  called  a  hard  life. 
Formerly  he  had  enough,  and  leisure  to  enjoy  it;  nfler  the  English 


17U  WAYSIDE    PICTURES 

c&rse.  be  va$  ground  dovn  into  all  sorts  of  shifts  and  expedients, 
azyi  c-bli^ed  to  work  double  tides  to  keep  himself  secure.  Surely 
h  i*  'XtcTT  nondertul  that  he  should  be  a  little  out  of  humour 
«-:m  ihe  :r.:erlopers  «ho  have  brought  all  this  upon  bim,  espe- 
cLL'.T  vben    he  hears   them  perpetually  abusing  him  for   taking 

N:r  rr.u?t  it  be  cor.cea!ed  that  the  French  are  no  longer  so  ami- 
ab!*  ml  ic.erar.t  ot  the  angular  peculiarities  of  strangers  as  they 
tt«^:  ;•?   r*,     3Ijch  ot  their  cheerfulness,  and,   with  it,  much  of 
liiir  irxcir-szc**.  his  departed.     They  have  had  their  vicissitudes, 
ar-i  ijve  erevn  :*  "sisirle  in  the  gloom  which  has  fallen  upon  them. 
Tr.*f  >^r?cir.e  >£•£=:?  to  have  passed  away   and  left  them  in  shadow. 
A.l  lix:   r€c:Li-?  o:'  ibeir  national  vivacity  and   fickleness  is  the 
jms  :!'  wl'xrz^e:  tley  are  changed  in  everything  except  that.     But 
iTrtir  «cr::!il  =:rc:-:^-   :*  quite  enough  to  keep  open  a  wide  gulf  be- 
ivefT.  T^iTTz  irl  ihe  £ci:I:sh  in  the  social  relations  of  small  towns, 
I:   ui*   Fr^r.ciir:!^  is  neither  so  gay  nor  so   brilliant  as   he  was 
•»f-":T  TfXTj  i^."».   there  is  still  enough  of  mercury  in  his  veins  to 
rrx:  e   iiizi  :o  iisi.rb  the  sluggish  temperament  of  the  English. 
He    rxrr.c    rz^^ke    his  appearance  in  an    English   house,  without 
tLr.-^irx  ibe  w^h^'.e   nz\.':£f  into  confusion.     He  talks  too  fast^ 
r^f-ifr  sttTs  sr'.l  for  three  rcinutes  together — is  for  going  here  and 
£■.:•■  T^  ;be-r*.  a»  if  there  'wa*  nothing  else  in  the  world  to  be  done  or 
ih»-"'^"t  V  :* — ar.i  shitter*  an  entire  family  with  such  an  explosion  of 
resc!  i-ssr.es*.  thi:  :heT  are  ^'.id  to  shut  themselves  up  again  when 
be  is  jT-^:^.  :r.  the  hvr>e  ot  tTideavouring  to  recover  their  nerves. 
Tr.e   kTsv:':  cf  Frtrvih  i-^tcrc^-rse,  waged  in  this  way  against  the 
jc.v  i  rrti>:i-.c?f  jf  Er^l.sh  sxe-d  habits,  should  be  seen  in  detail  to 
Nf  t.^.-r.-^^r/.y   jr.ifT>:>.>J.     The  £3gli>h  have  a  distinct  view  to 
prrrj^LTcrc}   jlt..:  the  l-ijre  ia  everything  they  do:  they  are  for 
ecc..-r.->   a- A  *«r:'.ir*:  their  children,  and  they  consider  regularity 
c*'  ^v~.- -r:  is  :hc  n-.ichirery  by  which  alone  useful  results  can  be 
*..-»..vr.'v >*>.=*.:  ;    sjbs^iTtri*.   dini^.ers   and   solemn   tea   are   amongst 
ihf-r  jLr.j^s.   of  z^i'.'r.:    ir.A   rurs.  carpets,  curtaimc,   closed   doors 
1-,:  sr.iifrs.   se-^.-o-./.   £re  anj   pokers,  are  indispensable  to  their 
th<*.*r>  .:  '.rV      Tr.e   Fr^T.ch.  on  the  contrary,  exhaust  the  fugitive 
y  ris..r=*  *f  ;re   h.-.;r.  ir.i  licn't  care  a  rush  for  posterity;  they 
sper.i  'whjL;    :>.c-\    >-:>i:.  ::r..:  leave  the  law  to  take   care  of  their 
c'.\irf~.    i'-i    ^-*-\;    .^*    *o.  i   think   of  saving   money    to    build 
chi^^rvhi*,  i*  oi  >jbr/::::  ^  their  cenius  to  a  regularity  of  any  kind; 
ih  c }  cji:-  n . :  k e ^  p  :  h  -. :  r  li  ^v  - < .  t%  inu o ws.  or  n: uu th s  shut;  they  can- 
x>oc  trejLt  .^  kiirrer  ^::h  Oirtr..or.:o!i5  gravity,  or  Mt  after  it,  and  they 
al'hor  tea  ;  r.x:uTc>   cu-^*b  ^irJ*.  comforts,  are  representative  agonies 
lo  them  :  they   ry  :p.st:r.ci:vely    from  all  monotonous   forms,  fling 
themselves  into  a  }>erpe:uai   whirl,  and  after  an  incredibly  short 
sleep,  ihev  >urt   up  a!i  a": ve  a^rain.  and  ready  to  shake  the  tran- 
quillity of  the  world  fVr  another  unbroken  round  of  about  nineteen 
hours  out  of  the  four-ax;d. twenty. 

XXll.-THi:  M.WOR  S  HEAD.-THE  SED.\N  CHAIR.- 
MIXED  ANTIQL'ITILS. 

*•«*  is  a  pity  that  French  taste  shews  itself  so  vilely  in  all  matter* 
;teil  with  local  hero-worship.    Dinan.  in  the  midst  of  its  grand 


TTTROUOH    FRANCE,    BELGFUM,    AND    GERMANY*        171 


scenery  and  stupendous  architecture,  is  deformed  by  an  intrusive 
apparition  of  a  tall  pillar,  with  a  head  on  the  top  of  it,  in  honour  of 
JVK  Pmot,  a  mayor,  to  whose  munificence  the  town  is  indebted  for 
the  charming  promenade  which  clasps  its  walb,  and  who  was,  there- 
fore, really  entitled  to  a  graceful  and  appropriate  tribute  from  the 
inhiihitants* 

The  reader  should  be  informed  that  the  town,  which  stands  on 
the  crown  of  a  hill^  is  enclosed  in  mnssive  walls,  flanked  by  towers 
of  prodigious  size  and  strength.  From  these  walls  ihe  descent  into 
the  neighbouriiig  plains  and  woods  was  formerly  precipitous.  The 
Burrounding  country  is  studded  with  points  from  whence  military 
positions  used  to  be  taken  up,  and  as  these  points  are  distant  and 
elevated,  it  is  evident  that  the  valley  which  intervened  must  have 
been  of  considerable  extent,  M.  Pinot,  who  was  a  wise  man  in  his 
generation,  and  who  was  clearly  of  opinion  that  the  delights  of  peace 
are  preferable  to  the  devastations  of  war»  and  w^bo  siispected*  more- 
over, that  we  had  reached  a  period  in  the  workrs  history  when 
Dinan  would  cease  to  want  fosses  and  scarps,  bethought  himself 
how  he  might  turn  this  open  hollow  to  a  pleasanter  purpose  than 
that  of  a  siege,  and  accordingly  raised  an  artificial  terrace  of  hand- 
8ome  dimensions  round  the  town,  planted  it  liberally  with  trees,  and 
thus  converted  into  a  grateful  shadowy  promenade,  the  idle  valJey 
which  had  hitherto  shut  up  the  merry  songs  and  voices  of  the  people 
within  the  walls  of  the  town. 

Now  this  was  a  thing  worthy  of  being  remembered.  It  be* 
queathed  a  more  agreeable  memory  and  a  more  available  good  to 
succeeding  ages,  than  all  the  heroism  of  the  Beaumanoirs,  all  the 
duels  of  the  Dii  Gucsclins,  and  all  the  combats  of  all  the  Thirty's 
added  together.  It  was  really  a  thing  to  be  comtnemorated  in 
Dinan  in  the  noblest,  and  purest,  and  least  affected  manner.  But 
there  is  only  one  way  in  France  of  commemorating  all  great  people 
indiscriminately — generals,  poets,  founders  of  hospitals,  musicians^ 
kings,  and  king's  mistresses  ;  and  so  there  was  nothing  to  be  done 
in  honour  of  M.  Finot^  but  to  put  up  a  statue  to  him.  The  site 
selected  was  a  conspicuous  spot  on  his  own  terrace,  where  stood  for- 
merly a  lolly  tower,  whose  debris  forms  a  sort  of  table-land  for  the 
pedestal  of  a  tall  column,  on  the  top  of  which  is  perched  an  un* 
lightly  piece  of  sculpture,  intended  to  represent  the  head  of  the 
worthy  mayor*  The  day  of  the  inauguration  of  this  pillar  might 
have  been  mistaken  for  one  of  the  high  festivals  of  the  Church.  The 
town  was  summoned  at  break  of  dawn  by  drum  and  trumpet;  the 
people  assembled  by  thoui^ands,  and  the  authorities,  as  usual,  were 
ni  their  places,  making  an  infinite  show  of  mock  heroic  dignity  and 
pantomimic  fustian.  Previously  to  the  commencement  of  the  pro- 
ceedings, the  top  of  the  pillar  had  been  covered  with  a  napkin,  and 
nobody  was  supposed  to  know  what  was  concealed  beneath;  for 
Surprise,  which  is  regarded  by  good  critics  as  rather  a  low  and 
mean  source  of  interejst,  is  held  in  all  public  exhibitions  in  Catholic 
countries  to  be  the  grand  element  in  the  production  of  effect.  Con- 
ceive, then,  the  thrill  of  the  multitude  when  this  napkin  was  unex- 
pectedly snatched  away  !  The  ceremonies  had  gone  forw^^ird  nc- 
cording  to  a  regular  programme  previously  arranged  and  duly 
announced  ;  the  band  had  played  at  stated  intervals,  and  the  lapses 
ill  the  music  had  been  filled  up  with  the  dumb-show  movementa  of 


WAYSIDE   PICTURES 


ottcia)  men,  who  looked  unutterable  things,  and  then,  all  of  a  sud- 
den, at  a  preconcert eil  signal^  a  cannon  Mas  fired^  the  napkin  wai^ 
whisked  off  into  the  air,  as  if  by  magic,  and  the  features  of  M. 
Pinot  were  suddenly  disclosed  to  the  astonished  crowd  below,  who 
rent  tbe  heavens  with  their  shouts,  Wst  as  naturally  as  if  they  had 
oot  had  the  slightest  suspicion  of  what  was  coming. 

There  is  no  town  upon  which  meretricious  finery  of  any  kind  sits 
more  awkwardly  than  Dinan,  The  streets,  houses,  habits,  dresses, 
sre  strikingly  antique  in  appearance.  Modern  frippery  would  be 
as  much  out  of  place  in  Olnan,  as  a  knot  of  gaudy  ribbons  upon 
the  bead  of  a  marble  horse*  Even  its  deficiencies  and  inconve* 
nkfices  are  in  strict  keeping  with  the  tone  of  life  suitable  to  its 
qaaint  arcades,  and  one  would  be  sorry  to  purchase  more  comfort 
for  oneself  at  the  risk  of  interfering,  however  slightly,  with  the 
primitive  style  of  the  place.  For  instance,  there  are  no  carriagei 
for  hire  at  Dinan*  That  is  a  luxury  to  come.  But  you  would 
rather  dispense  with  so  desirable  an  accommodation,  than  spoil  the 
aspect  of  the  streets  by  driving  a  handsome  voUure  through  them. 
Yet,  w  here  are  carriages  so  obviously  required  as  in  a  town  which 
you  must  clamber  up  a  hill  to  reach,  and  down  a  hill  to  leave?  I 
believe  there  is  such  a  thing  as  a  voilure  somewhere  locked  up  in 
Dinan.  I  have  heard  of  it,  as  you  hear  of  a  ghost,  to  which  people^ 
have  testified  who  have  told  it  to  other  people,  who  have  told  itH 
again  to  you  ;  but  1  am  not  sure  that  I  had  the  information  from  i 
any  person  that  ever  saw  a  carriage  hired  in  Dinan.  At  all  events* 
it  IS  quite  certain  that  the  carriage  is  not  the  established  mode  of 
locomotion,  and  that  the  duties  of  fashionable  transport  are  usually 
uerformed  by  donkeys  and  sedan-chairs,  which,  strangely  maunder* 
ifig  and  jerking  through  the  town,  harmonize  a  thousand  times 
better  with  its  old  gables  and  dark  passages. 

The  sedan-chairs  are  pictorial  curiosities   in  their  way.     They  j 
look  as  if  they  had  belonged  to  the  age  of  Louis  XIV.,  and  had  been  hi 
transmitted,  not  very  carefully,  to  the  present  time,  with  the  traces  ^ 
of  the  royal  painting  and  gilding  still  upon  their  panels.     The  chair 
is  fantastically  shaped,  and  not   untastefully  decorated  and  embel- 
lished  ;  but,  eatcept  as  a  matter  of  necessity,  an  English  lady  would 
Hardly  venture  into  so  craxy  a  contrivance.     She  has  no  choice, 
however,  and  accordingly,  into  this  box  she  is  compelled  to  crush  her 
silks  and  velvets  when  she  is  going  out  for  the  evening,  or  has  ta^ 
pay  a  visit  on  a  wet  morning.     As  there  are  no  lamps  in  Dinan,  ilB 
la  necessary  to    be  accompanied  at  night  by  a  lantern,  which  is^^ 
supplied  and  carried  by  an  old  woman  in  advance  of  the  sedan. 
Fancy  what  sort  of  a  cortege  this  is  wending  its  way  on  a  dark 
night   through   the  narrow  smoky  passages  of  Dinan !     The  old 
woman  with  her  lantern  in  fV'ont»  and  the  fantastical  sedan,  with  a 
lady  in  a  cv>nsiderable  state  of  trepidation  inside,  borne  along  by 
two  lumbering  men,  whose  gaunt  shadows  are  ever  and  anon  cast 
into  gloomv  entries  and  porticoes,  as  they  are  suddenly  lighted  up 
by  the  feeble  gleams   of  the  lantern*     Considering  tlie  scantiness 
of  the   demand    even    for   this   accommodation,  inconvenient  as  it 
ii,  and  the  number  of  persons   required   to    keep  up   the   supply  J 
of  such  an  establishment — no  less  than  three  being  indispensable  J 
for  cjch  journey — it  might  reasonably  be  supposed  that  the  service] 
o4'  the  acilan  would  be.  comparatively^  rather  expensive;  yet  yoal 


THROUGH    FRANCE,    BELGIU3f,   AND    GERMANY. 


173 


may  be  thus  conveyed  in  pomp  across  the  town  to  your  destination, 
wherever  it  may  be,  and  your  chair  will  call  for  you  and  convey 
you  home  aj^a.m  at  night  in  the  same  ceremonious  processioQ,  for  the 
moderate  charge  of  three  francs  I 

The  streets  of  Dinan,  picturesque  as  they  are,  must  not  be  looked 
upon  with  confidence  as  perfect  reliques  of  the  Middle  Ages.  In 
fact,  there  is  a  great  deal  of  patch -work  here,  although  the  dark- 
ness of  the  njaterials  and  the  rudeness  of  the  workmanship  im- 
presses you  at  a  little  distance  with  a  conviction  of  the  antiquity  of 
the  place.  The  mass  of  buildings,  the  ^rreat  walls,  the  large  towers, 
the  narrow  porticoes  and  arcades,  sustained  by  clusters  of  columns, 
and  the  dim  houses,  bracketed  and  embellished  all  over,  present  to  the 
Lcye,  at  first  sight,  a  mass  of  seemingly  pure  antique  outlines,  which, 
fB,  closer  examination  enables  you,  without  difficulty,  to  assign  to 
different  periods ,  Thus,  in  front  of  many  of  the  houses,  are  porti- 
coes supported  by  numerous  pillars,  bearing  highly  ornamented 
capitals,  evidently  the  work  of  the  Middle  Ages,  and  intended  for 
buildings  of  considerable  magnitude,  while  the  poverty  of  the 
bouses  themselves  must  be  referred  to  more  recent  times.  In  some 
places,  too,  columns  are  to  be  s^en  side  by  side,  which,  upon  in- 
spection, are  found  to  belong  to  various  ages.  Thus  the  church 
of  St.  Sauveur,  the  facade  of  which,  covered  with  bas-reliefs,  pro- 
duces an  imposing  effect  at  a  distance,  loses  much  of  its  interest  as 
you  approach.  The  door  and  the  south  wall  of  the  nave  are  all  that 
can  be  traced  to  the  original  structure.  The  remainder  of  the 
building,  which,  from  the  mingled  richness  and  vigour  of  the 
sculpture  seems  very  ancient,  is  undoubtedly  of  more  modern  dale. 
^lerimee,  who  was  employed  by  the  French  Government  some 
years  ago  upon  a  tour  of  monumental  inspection,  ascribes  the  rest 
of  the  church  to  the  fifteenth  century,  and  says  that  it  is  '"  d'un  style 
mesquin  et  sans  grace." 

The  apparent  boldness  or  rudeness  of  the  sculpture,  by  which  you 
are  bo  agreeably  deceived  at  a  distance,  may  be  attributed  to  the  na- 
ture of  the  material  out  of  which  the  additions  vLiid  repairs  have  been 
made.  It  is  a  sort  of  granite,  which,  from  the  softness  and 
coarseness  of  its  grain,  ts  wholly  unfit  for  works  that  require  minute 
or  careful  embellishment  This  crumbling  stone  is  composed  of 
a  very  hard  sand,  which,  instead  of  cutting  in  the  usual  way,  runs 
Into  dust  at  the  touch  of  the  scissors.  This  very  peculiarity,  how^- 
ever,  renders  it  susceptible  of  singularly  large  and  picturesque 
effects,  from  the  breadth  of  hand  it  demands  of  the  artist,  and  the 
care  requisite  in  handling  details  over  ao  treacherous  a  surface. 


XXIIL— BBNNES. 

Tmk  distance  from  Dinan  to  Rennea  is  thirty-five  miles,  over  a 
capital  road.  The  transition  from  old,  close,  dingy,  picturesque 
Dinan  to  the  fine,  open,  Nourishing  city  of  Rcnnes,  offers  as  complete 
a  contrast  as  a  peasant  of  the  middle  ages  and  a  modern  beau  ;  and 
the  difference  is  much  of  the  same  kind. 

Rennes  is  a  very  ancient  city,  or  rather  waa  a  very  ancient  city 
until  the  beginning  of  the  last  century,  when  a  great  part  of  the  old 
town  was  burnt  down*  The  new  town  which  has  sprung  up  in  its 
place  is  one  of  the  handsomest  in  France  ;  and  you  are  afforded  an 


'WAYSIDE    PICTURES. 


excellent  means  of  appreeiatinj^  its  advantages  by  the  imniediati 
contiguity  of  what  is  chilled  the  lower  town,  where  the  houses  are  as  ' 
incommudiouSj  and  the  streets  as  narrow,  dirty  and  irregular,  as  If 
the  time-honoured  Gauls  still  dwelt  in  them. 

The  fir6t  thing  that  strikes  the  tourist  upon  entering  this  new 
town  is  its  extraordinary  cleanline«sj»  quietude^  and  airiness.  You 
will  hardly  believe  yourself  in  France  as  you  move  up  one  of  these 
8]>acious  well-paved  streets,  which  are  laid  out  with  a  magnificence 
and  regularity  very  rare  indeed  in  this  country.  The  houses  are 
lotty,  and  of  proportionate  dimensions*  and  the  |f  rey  stone  of  which 
they  are  built  gives  them  an  imposing  aspect  of  sombre  elegance* 
The  public  squares  and  buildings  are  on  a  similar  scale  of  ma^^itude. 
The  cathedral,  erected  on  the  site  of  the  old  churchy  where  the 
counts  and  dukes  of  Brittany,  after  spending  a  whole  night  in  vows  ^ 
and  prayers  before  the  altar,  received  the  crown  and  sword  from  tht  fl 
hands  of  the  bishop,  is  a  structure  of  considerable  splendour  in  th« 
en.^emUe,  but  of  the  most  singular  taste  in  its  details.  The  facade  is 
decorated  with  a  succession  of  columns  in  no  less  than  four  orders  of 
architecture,  Tuscan,  Ionic,  Corinthian,  and  Composite,  The  effect 
of  this  confusion  may  be  readily  conceived.  The  interior  is  vast, 
and  by  its  grandeur  and  simplicity  makes  some  amends  £or  the  c!uiot 
on  the  outsiile. 

The  Bihiioth^que is  one  uf  the  best  in  France,  rich  in  rare  aiwl  ex- 
pensive works,  and  ancient  Breton  jVISS*  If  we  may  judge,  also,  by 
the  great  number  of  book-shops  and  read! ng-room$^,  the  people  of 
Rennes  cultivate  literature  assiduously.  But  we  cannot  say  so  much 
for  their  taste  in  the  fine  arts.  The  collection  of  paintings  at  the 
Museum  is  below  mediocrity.  We  find  the  names  of  Vandyk,  Paul 
Veronese,  and  Rubens,  in  the  catalogue,  but,  with  the  exception  of 
half-a-dozen  pictures,  there  is  scarcely  a  single  work  worth  the  tim^" 
expended  on  a  visit  to  the  gallery.  Tire  Museum  ought  to  be  vi sited j| 
however,  for  the  sake  of  a  picture  which  is  ascribed  to  the  go 
King  Rene,  who  sought  in  his  pallet  consolation  for  the  loss  of  ei 
pire-  The  subject  of  this  antique  piece  is  Death,  very  oddly  treated  \ 
and  executed  in  the  crudest  manner ;  but  curious  from  age  and  asaci- 
ciation,  and  from  the  scarcity  of  similar  specimens. 

The  |>romenades  of  Rcnnes  are  the  attractions  upon  which  the  in- . 
habitants  rest  their  principal  claim  to  the  gratitude  of  strangen.! 
That  which  is  called  the  Mall,  runs  upon  a  jetty  between  two  canaliJ 
and  is  charmingly  sequestered   under  the  shadows  of  over-archini 
trees.     Here,  when  the  weather  ia  fine,  the  people  swarm  in  thi 
evenings,  and  linger  long  after  dark   to  enjoy  the  solitude  of 
place,  which,  considering  the  nature  of  the  locality,  is  dismal  Enough 
in  certain  seasons  of  the  year.     In  summer  the  canals  dry  up,  aad 
their  slimy  deposits  infect  the  air  ;  in  winter,  the  cold  of  this  «p<it  ii 
intense;  but  in  the  autumn  and  spring  it  is  impossible  to  resist  theaal 
secluded   allies.     The  upper  promenade  on  the  heights  is  thSckll 
planted,  and  of  great  extent.     It  makes  a  grand  sweep  on  the  hillj 
is  everywhere  covered  in  with  foliage,  and  commands  several  fin#l 
views.     There  is  a  sLitue  of  Du  Guesclin  (who  was  born  here)  on  ihf  1 
platform  close  to  the  promenade  of  le  Thabor,     It  reprefients  him  ail 
a  thick-set,  stout,  ill-favoured,  but  resolute  man.     All  statues  and^ 
pictures  of  the  Breton  hero  agree  in  these  points* 


176 


THE    BYE.LANES   AND   DOWNS   OF   ENGLAND, 

WITH 

TURF    SCENES    AND    CHARACTERS, 
BY   SYLVANUS. 


CHAPTER    III. 

Cottttge   Illanijon. — Amusement  before    Erenkfii«t.~.The  Bt&liling,  ftnd  Fold- 

Vard.— The  Lady  of   the  Houm^ An  'MHd  Miiict  1  ** — A  Gentle   Yeomaii» 

—Racing",  its  Pros  and  Coiiii* — The  '^*  hcg^*  en  voyaffe,^DepAtiun  fur  New- 
market. 

After  passing  the  sobstantkl  mansion  of  **  Old  Kit  Wilson,"  the 
then  existing  "father  of  the  turf/'  encountering  hy  the  way  the  ve- 
nerable sire  of  iport,  mounted  on  a  stveet-gtepping  cob^  and  having 
Harewuod  Bridge  on  my  right  hand,  in  the  course  of  half-an-hoiir'* 
ride,  1  diverged  from  the  main,  yet  scarcely  to  be  called  ptibltc,  road, 
j*nd  entered  one  of  those  short  private  lane  routes  which  Jead  so 
■frequently  to  the  houses  of  those  of  our  gentry  who^ — thrice  happy 
lot  i — take  station  between  the  t>quire  and  farmer. 

The  lane,  probably,  some  quarter  of  a  mile  in  length,  sound 
and  carefully  tended,  with  deep  borders  of  short  verdant  sward, 
hedges  trimmed  to  a  twig^  and  cleaned  at  root  from  every  weed, 
bwith  Houriihing  young  elms  and  beech  shooting  at  intervals  of 
liwenty  yards  from  the  line  of  hawthorn,  led  to  the  small,  yet 
aluable,  domain  of  my  friend,  and  was  finally  closed  by  a  hand- 
"iorae,  yet  simple,  white  farming  gate,  that  swung  at  the  slightest 
touch,  and  refa?tened  itself  with  a  musical  click,  denoting  the  mas- 
ter-hand in  this  trifling,  yet,  to  the  horseman,  most  essential  and 
gratifying  matter. 

The  lane  aides  were  beautified  by  a  countless  variety  of  spring 
flowerets,  and  had  more  the  appearance  of  a  carefully  tended  plea- 
aure-ground, — as  it  fvas   in  fact   a  ''pleasure-ground,"  we  opine, 
'       somewhat  difficult  to  excel,^ — than  a  mere  bye-lane. 

The  primrose  and  violet  were  in  such  profusion,  that  you  ima* 
ginetl  them  to  have  been  planted  by  the  gardener,  rather  than  by 
the  lasty,  bountiful  hand  of  nature;  but,  in  the  deep  rich  soil  pecu- 
liar to  this  rural  and  picturesque  district,  every  inch  teems  with  her 
incense  and  beauty  ♦     On   passing  through  the  en  trance- gate,  I  in- 
stantly encountered  my  friend  Dallas,   in  the  midst  of  congenial,  if 
unusual,  occupation,  and  was  greeted  by  a  halloo  J  as  hearty  as  it 
was  melodious, 
E^    He   was  in  the  act  of  personally  bridling  a  strapping   colt  by 
^V*  Gladiator,"  having  the  graceful,  curveting  creature  circling  to  hit 
^^■ye  and  hand,  occasionally  bounding  in  the  air  like   a  mad  thing, 
^Knd  needing  all  the  strength  of  tlie  amateur- breaker  to  maintain  his 
^Booting  in  the  equestrian  studio. 

IP  It  was  a  scene  truly  yeoman- like  and  pleasing,  thus  to  behold  the 
owner  of  the  fair  estate  habited  in  stout  laced  boots  and  rough 
shooting  costume  contrasting  with  hia  handsome,  refined  ca»t  of 
features,  marking  as  they  did  in  every  line  the  gentleman — ^amusin^ 
himself  in  this  wise  before  break  fast ,  by  adrainistenng  l\\e  ?it*\.  t\i- 

VOL.    XXV.  14 


BTE-^L^MES  AKD 


rrf^^ 


he  had  bred  from 
I  ere  while  to  see  strug- 
i^m^  of  the  race* 
■m1j«  if  rdactanllj^  relinquished  the 
i  lit  eolt,  tv  «  itoot,  middie-jiged,  re- 
mA^  ciothgd  in  leathern  gaiters  and 
lalf  keeper,  half  stad-groom,  in  the 
idly  fpwmg  a  farewell  touch  with  hit 
beaatf,  en  he  delivered  the  needful 
tmdf  wd  hade  him  *'  give  him  aoother 

^■■■ii  «C  any  saddle,  and  walking  bjr 
ae  hf  m  near  cut  through  the  planting 
L*  to  the  back  of  the  house,  and  soon 
ittrge  of  Hildebrand^  cautioning  hlni  to 
«r  dTdie  Lcger  of  teasi,  an  hit  peril  and 

Ihr  hamer,  tean,  and  blood-horse,  with 
t  m  die  cenUe,    This  last  was  walled 
r  pool,  eorered  from  the  diluting 
niiw  ^ad  vat  terj  diflerentlj  arranged  from 
i^hciiJ  CMColida  to  a  farm-yard.    Vou  got  to 
Itf  «#  SB  aiiqhawgiag  l^cdge,  and  found  a  good 


i|pi*  quarters  were  eaailf  discernible 

hj  "  phtnr '  of  winners  of  the  Derby 

gvetf  fseet ;  gifts  doubtlessly  from  the 

i  ^m  laeky  animals  who  had  won  them 

■tffei^MNB,  with  an  adjoining  building 

§at  fteamiDg  potatoes  and    canine 

red  ill  the  ouler  department  of  mj 


efthe 


*Mi  aTthe 

Ota  th#  t^ht 


BfliiBes  a  stout  door  opened  into  the 
■  whaiicn  a  path,  feoced  by  espaliers,  led  to  the 
,  thfBii^h  a  shrubbery  again  a  little  on  its  left 
imd  to  the  extreme  front,  paddocks  and  ^^"'^ 
graattda,*  mid  were  naturally,  as  well  as 
lMH|7hiiiFTlT'  hr  m  WWfe,  whose  heather-unged  waters  ili. ^ .  . 
Ar  hiV«  ade  or  to  ia  a  straight  ecNirse^  and  opportunely  midr  a 
dMmr  «o  fei  to  fiwai  asi  elbow,  and  completely  moat  and  divide  the 
latoli  hmm  tht  nqghbatii^  more  extensive,  and  equally  beautiful 

The  pfoattect  from  the  weU*kept  lawn  was  rich  and  varied,    'fhe 
aitrel  and  roododettdrcm  ahoC  up  to  the  height  of  forest  trees,  whiUt 
the  Itlact  them  in  hlo«Dt  towered  in  the  back-ground  of  the  sihrub- 
herief.all  rvitlencing  the  luxuriance  ol  the  soil  and  climate  in  ^ 
they  flourt^ed  so  gigantically  and  gaily.     We  found  Miss  Da 
the  break fast<^t>om  presiding  at  the  hissing  tea-urn,  ready  t 
pen^  the  duties  and  courtesies  of  lady  of  the  house,  and  nii 
ihns  early  to  the  comfort  of  her  brother  and  his  guests. 

She  welcomed  me  with  genuine  frankness  and  hospitality,  tn 
thaiigh  it  was  many  years  since  I  had  last  seen  her,  assumed 
«fectedty  a4id  kindly  all  the  manner  of  an  old  acquaintance. 


DOWNS   OF  ENGLAND* 


177 


Cate  Dallas  was  what  the  young  misses  and  unfledged  heroes 
erm  an  *^  okl-maid/'  she  having  just  passed  the  mystic  age  of  thirty 
-infra  dhf.  and  un gallant  as  it  may  seem  to  Bpecify  so  pointedly. 
5he  was,  nevertheless,  just  as  bonny  and  blooming  a  woman  as  eye 
ever  rested  on;  and  was  natural  as  the  light  of  day.  With  a  medi- 
tative, deep  grey  eye,  luxuriant  brown  hair  that  struggled  beneath 
the  meshes  of  her  pretty  morning  cap,  a  bust  of  living  alabaster, 
full  and  round  as  a  Hebe,  and  delicately  turned  hands  and  feet,  this 
"old  maid,"  attired  in  chaste  simplicity,  presided  at  her  brother's 
.table,  and  poured  out  the  fragrant  tea, 

I  Recommend  me  to  such  *'old  maids  S"  was  the  inward  grace  I 
uttered,  and  as  fervently  repeat.  George,  with  his  stalwart  frame, 
and  noble  brow,  slightly  moistened  by  the  effects  of  early  out- door 
exercise,  was,  as  we  have  previously  said,  some  ten  years  the  senior 
of  his  sister,  and  appeared  to  my  eye  the  very  beau  ideal  of  a  gentle 
English  yeoman  ;  for  I  am  one  of  those  who  dispute  the  fact  that 
this  sterling  British  title  appertains  solely  to  the  boor,  labourer,  or 
spade  husbandman. 

The  **  yeoman  *'  I  take  to  be  a  man  living  on,  and  farming,  his  own 
acres — few  or  many — ready  and  willing  to  boot  and  sadille  in  the 
service  of  his  queen  ;  capable  of  mental  enjoyments,  as  well  as  ecjual 
to  all  the  duties  of  his  farm  ;  and  I  look  upon  him  as  the  main  but- 
tress to  our  religion  and  constitution,  and  the  genuine  staple  of  our 
^firitish  Jsles, 

The  old  commissary's  ancestors  were  for  some  centuries  of  tliia 
fade  of  life ;  and,  taking  into  consideration  the  ample  education 
fcnd  fortune  possessed  by  his  son,  together  with  his  agricultural  occu- 
pation, it  is  not  going  too  far  to  claim  for  the  latter  the  title  of  a 
"  Gentle  Yeoman,"  preferring  it,  as  I  do,  and  yet  trust  to  persuade 
rour  smaller  landowntTs  and  gentlemen- farmers  to  prefer,  to  the 
Ifpurious  title  of  "  esquire/'  a  title  prostituted  to  the  lowest  stage  of 
|jin posture,  and  amenable  to  nought  but  ridicule. 

But  as  Dallas  would  *'  none  of  this,"  and  did  not  rank  with  grand* 
jurymen  !  or  take  precedence  with  the  *' county  men;  "  being  nei- 
ther a  renter  of  land,  nor  trader,  what  was  he  but  a  yeoman  ?  And 
his  sister,  a  handsome  country  lassie,  well  taught  in  accomplish- 
ments, yet  a  housewife,  and  premature  matron  in  thought  and  heart, 
though  unmarried,  what  was  she  but  a  yeoman's  sister?  or  iit  to  be, 
but  a  getiik  yeoman's  wife  ? 

I  love  this  word  I  and  will  yet  try  to  revive  its  prestige  with  our 
tountry  folks  o£  descefil,  if  humble,  untitled,  and  unpretending,  but 
Df  ancient  reputable  name,  however  moderate  their  fortune  and  at- 
inments. 

1  can  imagine  no  life  more  enviable  than  the  cultivated  denizen 
^  his  own  few  Helds  ;  farming  in  a  morning,  reading  at  night,  and 
Bated  to  a  woman  like  Kate  Dallas. 
Such  were  the  brother  and  sister ;  such  their  abode  and  circum- 
ances.     And  it  was  this  man,  reader,  who  had  formed  a   **  busi- 
ness-like" connexion  with  the  turfl     What  he  had  to  gain^  and 
what  to  lose,  we  shall  see  as  we  proceed  with  our  narrative. 


The  whole  appointments  of  the  breakfast-room,  our  host's  snug- 
gery, in  fact,  savoured  of  the  putBuit  to  which  he  was,  unfortunate- 
Ay,  addicted,  or  rather  wedded.    A  fine  painting  of  the  deiMi-\\^TBkX 


178 


THE   BYE-LANES 


between  *'  Cadland  "  and  the  **  Colcmel  "  for  the  Derby >  hung  ove 
the  raantel-piece  ;  others  of  "  OM  Touchstone,"  his  sire  "  Camel,* 
**  VelocipeLle/'  **Old  Bees-wing;"  and  '' St,  Giles/*  garnished  the 
vails*  A  book-cai^e,  all  but  filled  with  racing  calendars  and  other 
i  sporting  works,  occupied  one  niche  in  the  room ;  the  one  parallel 
to  it  being  filled  by  a  gun- rack,  containing  an  assortment  of  the 
be«t  doubles  and  singles  that  London  could  produce. 

The  window,  a  large  bow,  or  bay,  opened  on  a  lawn,  on  which 
some  taine  pheasants  disputed  the  walk  with  a  beautiful  breed  of 
bantams,  not  larger  than  a  partridge.     A  brace  of  spaniels  recline" 
on  the  hearth,  and  an  old  superannuated  setter  flattened   his  no 
against  the  window-panes  from  without^  wagging  bis  tail  wittliillj 
and  begging  to  be  admitted. 

After  the  first  salutation  had  passed  between  the  fair  mistress 
this  cottage-mansion  and  myself,  we  set  down  to  breakfast ;  whei) 
it  is  superfluous  to  add,  that  my  early  ride  from  Thorp-arch  ha 
inclined  me  to  do  full  jy slice  to  the  ample  Yorkshire  meal  that  im- 
mediately made  its  appearance. 

A  racing  sheet-calendar  and   several  letters  lay  on  the   tabic  at 

George'^  elbow%  which   having  glanced  at,  he  threw  aside,  and  said, 

'So  you  passed  over   Langlon  Wold,  old  fellow,  eh?      Did  you  ice 

''Meteor'  out? — was  *Attila' in  work?"   with  many  hurried  quei^ 

;  lions  having  reference  to  Scott's  horses,  and  particularly  his  Derby 

•'lot,'*  evidently  denoting  the  fixed  bent  of  his  earliest  and  latest 

'  thoughts.     Having  answered  these  rapid  queries  to  the  beit  of  tny 

scanty  lore,  my  host  gave  me  to  understand  that  in  a  few  daf      ~ 

furthest,  he  purposed,  if  agreeable  to   myself,  to  shew   me 

market  Heath,  and  a  bit  of  turf  life;  being  quite  willing  to 

any  mode  of  travelling  the  most  pleasant  to  me, 

The  very  name  of  Newmarket,  methought,  paled  the  sister's 
cheek,  and  called  the  slightest  perceptible  sadness  to  her  eye,  u  >be 
exclaimed »**  So  soon,  George!  Do  those  hateful  races  commeoee 
so  early  ?  1  fancied — nay,  I  hoped,  they  were  not  yet  near  at  band  ; 
or  that  you  had  given  up  the  idea  of  going  to  Newmarket  for  the 
future,  f  know  not  how  it  is,"  continued  she,  **  but  the  rume  (  ' 
tliat  racing- pi  ace  always  makes  me  anxious  for  many  an  hour  af 
I  hear  it.  Oh  i"  concluded  poor  Kate,  **  da  endeavour  to  persua 
my  brother  not  to  go  this  time*  but  to  take  me  for  a  month  to  II 
rowgate  instead  ;  1  i»hall  be  so  lonely  w  hen  you  both  leave  me*'* 

'*  Poo!i,  pooh  1  Kale,"  retorted  Dallas,  taking  iiis  eye  from  a  j 
whic  bciiing-hmk^  to  look  affectionately  on  his  sister,  and  reassure" 
ner,  '*  We  shall  be  back  immediately  after  the  '^Two  thousand* 
are  over,  and  will  not  leave  you  again  till — Chester  !"  laughed  he  il 
good-natured  perplexity.  '*  Our  friend  here  mmi  sec  the  *  Fin 
Spring  Meeting/"  added  he,  considerately  making  me  into  the  ( 
venient  scape-goal,  and  getting  me  a  thousand  pages  into  the  lady 
**  black  books,"  as  I  doubted  not. 

"  You  did  not  hear  whether  *  Meteor'  had  been  doing  good  work 
from  any   of  those  accomplished  scoundrels  the  *  louu/  you  we 
sure  to  fall  in  with  on  the  Wold  }**  recommenced  DaJlas;    '•  1  h« 
laid  heavily  against  him  for  both  his  races,  and  fancy  his  pins 
not  stand  much  of  a  preparation." 

"  I  saw  him  gallop,"  1  replied,  "  and  thought  he  went  remtrkaK^ 
well ;  but  the  other  horse  you  named^  *  Attila/  a  bay,  with  «  i^W 


DOWNS   OP   ENQLAiro. 


179 


blaze  in  his  face,  is,  in  my  htiinble  opinion,   in  out  ward  appearance 
and  aclionj  a  race* horse  all  over/' 

"But  pray,  Miss  Dallas/'  said  I,  trying  to  re-assure  her  equally 
with  her  brother,  *'  why  are  you  so  seriously  averse  to  racing  ?  It 
IS  surely  a  glorious  pastime,  and  of  great  service  to  an  immense 
number  of  persons  who  are  absolutely  maintained  by  the  breeding 
and  training  of  race-horses,  as  well  as  benefited  by  the  many  indi- 
rect channels  into  which  the  money  spent  in  the  pursuit  eircuJates.' 
**  1  do  not  deny  anything  you  assert  in  its  favour  on  this  score," 
replied  the  young  lady,  **  for  I  am  unable  to  refute  or  gainsay  your 
argument.  1  only  kiiow  that  George  leaves  me  gay  and  in  health  in 
spring  for  this  hateful  Newmarket;  and,  excepting  the  short  inter- 
val between  the  Goodwood  and  Doncaster  meetings,  is  absent  from 
his  home  for  many,  many  weeks  together,  returning  at  length  anx- 
ious,  aged  in  appearance^  and  altogethor  quite  a  different  man  to 
what  he  was  when  he  commenced  the  *  season/  as  it  is  called,  I  be- 
lieve. His  very  voice  and  eye  seem  changed,  after  participating  in 
this  Tsporl  *  for  any  length  of  time." 

**  Pshaw,  pshaw,  Kate  \ "  exclaimed  the  brother  rather  testily,  and 
rising  from  the  table  at  the  same  moment,  *'this  is  preaching  too 
early  and  too  solemnly,  especially  on  the  advent  of  an  old  school- 
fellow. We  will  all  walk  out,  or  drive  to  Bolton  Bridge  and  then 
return  to  dinner  ;  and,  if  '  Meteor*  loses  the  two  thousand,  I  will 
atand  treat  for  a  fortnight  at  the  '  Dragon/  if  they  wnll  receive  such 
plain  country-folks  as  the  yeoman  and  his  sister.  Allom  /  let  us  to 
the  stables,  and  have  a  squint  at  the  stud,  whilst  Kate  puts  on  her 
shawl  and  bonnet,  and  recovers  her  temper." 

And  away  we  went,  just  in  lime  to  encounter  in  the  stable- yard  a 
man  of  mid<ile-age,  and  that  flashy,  offensively-familiar,  bedfeUow- 
like  air,  that  so  distinguishes  the  lower  dramaiis  permfiw  of  the  turf. 
This  worthy,  dressed  in  a  gay  cutaway  coat  and  blue-spotted  cravat, 
with  one  of  those  atrociov»s,  glistening,  hellite  hats,  surmounting  a 
countenance  redolent  of  cunning  and  late  hours,  and  riding  a  hired 
back,  accosted  Dallas  with, 

"Good  morning,  good  morning,  Mr.  Dallas!  how  goes  it,  eh? 
Just  returning  from  Tom  Dawson's,  and  thought  you  would  be  glad 
to  have  the  last 'office'  from  Middleham.  Tom's  team's  got  the 
'doldrums,'  as  usual,  and  isn't  worth  a  bimch  of  cat's-meat.  /  can 
lay  a  thousand  to  twenty  agamst  anything  he  has  for  the  Derby, 
though  I  want  to  back  'Meteor/  /or  a  frkndy  lor  the  two  thousand, 
for  a  rouleau,  or  fifty,  by  the  way,  if  it  suits  you,"  concluded  the 
red-taced  audacious4ooking  man  in  the  blue  cravat  and  overgrown 
Ihat. 

I  thought  that  Dallas  seemed  somewhat  annoyed  at  my  being  thus 
*  witness  to  this  unexpected  interview  ;  and,  without  calling  a  ser- 
I  vant,  requested  the  intruder — for  I  can  call  him  by  no  other  name— 
:  to  put  his  hack  in  the  stable,  and  then  to  take  a  turn  with  him  in 
'the  shrubbery,  begging  me,  by  way  of  an  excuse,  to  ask  them  in  the 
house  to  get  some  lunch  set  out  in  the  "  gun-room  /'  for,  if  **  Jack 
Ketch  "  had  called,  he  would  not  have  been  sent  empty  away- 

I  found   Kate  all  ready  for  a  stroll,  and  shortly  informed  her  of 
four  temporary  detention,  giving  her  brother's  message,  at  the  same 
time,  for  a  "  tray"  and  bottle  of  sherry  to  be  produced. 

Looking  from  the  window,  she  quickly  observed  the  **t.^^\wX' 


!••♦  3TI-li3:i5   A^Z    ZCrS*  or   EXGLAXD. 

-sz-nffl. '  TIT  r  i^  le-'.-lifs  :j  nssir^c  ^  ^«^:<e  the  sad  fact,  thit 
ri-TTTi  T-ir  z:;^r  I  :''  im*  ic  ^itt  fnz«:ir:T.  v a! king  slowly  and 
KJizTi::z'z  :cr=;^i\iiiiL..-^  zi  -le  imiiitici  ji-tii^jf  the  outer  garden. 
Iri  ns=:::^  -ai-n  aie  d^aiimti.  "  TiMtrt  i*  -hit  horrible  person 
itf-jn  In.  ▼;••  ▼-I1  117  incusT — biw  .-^u  be  associate  with 
fiin  Viang  ?uz43ii=iiiL:-  le.niiii*  la  -r?-*  rre:iLi:;d  man  ?  He  swears 
ifciLr*  «*.  mu  ir!ii=  sun  iziiirsfeaizca  :c  iii^z  and  Tulgarity,  that  I 
jiisr  ▼•-:  r"i  ■=='.!:  "U   117  i^iar-  i:-  I  i:>  wbea  I  know  that  George 

'  ~*^I7  *  '"i'liie*:  n  •  diir  ii£:rjxisz^  -be  became  acquainted  with 
»>"jr-i-  i.:ra»fv  LfiT- — Z  ^iiiiTi  i£  YinL.  rrjci  harisi.  as  he  says,  once 
jea  .c  wr-i:^  -;  11:21  ji  ri"nz^  2j=i  *ocie  inuxmation  on  racing 
3uiC!fr&  .'n  zzis  le  prasiTnww  imi  r^ies  up  to  our  gate  as  if  be 
-ms^  217  iriciifr  i  f-:  la^  in  ^ir:2.  i::ii  eijLcaifxi.  I  fear  more  than 
Z  lar^  S17  fir  I  un  r-ni  ^-Jiii^i  -»:  fzcd  cm  abide  in  a  heart  whereof 
iuin  L  sn^-^cfr  i^::c^rs:^i^EL  :c  :±i:xr«  x=ii  ru£.&2-':ke  manners  are  too 

I  rjii.ii  SIT  isLci^-'.x  I'l-  b;ce  liit  cy  friend's  natural  acuteness 
i3ii  i:xi:  w  e:x^  :c  ii:r^:»  -vjn^'i  xm  :o  ceutralise  any  attempts  to 
iejsi "f .  :r  -i  L.-:ii»fr  1:111  .  s:  litiLe  iid  I  kzow  of  the  craft  and  sub< 

"tbe  rViil:  V  -mi*:  Zshi  XT-Tin  cax^e  foe  this  short  dialogue,  after 
'  I  ri-'  -■£  1:1c  i:..?iij:;c  ne  rirciJe  ^f  sherry,  and  trying  Dallas  with 
scmif  zirt-wiL.  --ifiir  ^c  x  r«.  li^tid  x  ci^ar,  mounted  his  sorry  hack, 
xIa:  r:f~*i^j'i  lt  tiie  r=ter--z:.  azi.  Heaven  be  praised!  departed; 
jiz.  nr:.  :x  -:•;'•£  :-  ii«  sa-i-ile  a:  the  gite,  and  shouting  something 
jJti.c:  -  Z'.cc  _-;^  i^e  Crick.'  a:: J  ••  coccparing  "  at  Newmarket ! 

I>ilai  -wi*  >.  i.-.z  ir.i  ihcczh^f-l  f»Jr  a  short  time  after  this  scene 
ci:?s<v: .  Jea-i  .r;£  r:ji  ?el:'  iz  chj.;  with,  and  willinj^ly,  if  I  could,  am  ate 
his  i:*Ci!:  jc  :  Ir  *tV.\-  bjihebvinks  of  the  Wharfe.  By  way  of  essay, 
hove-t^r.  I  r::«'::e'i  ricir^  ar.d  all  allusion  to  it  to  the  devil  and  hit 
an^l* :  T-<  r«~.t~.  Ic^:  wi$  rorjotten. — Newmarket  was  not  for  the 
t:=e  recie=:--ered. — Gevr^e  recovered  his  spirits.  We  dined.  My 
h<:$t  ir.i  I  «Iii<:^$^d  a  s:r.^Ie  bottle  of  exquisite  port  after  Kate  had 
left  u«  to  opec  her  piAT.o.  and  prepare  tea,  during  which  congenial 
hour  we  conversed  of — '-.:.-i.v;  .'  for  DaLas  could  neither  speaJ^  nor 
think  of  aught  besides  '. 

In  a  couple  of  day«,  during  which  we  made  our  excursion  to  the 
sweet  ruin  at  Bolton,  and  enjoyed  ourselves  as  old  friends,  of  equal 
age  and  congenial  Lisies,  should  do  in  a  comfortable  country-houae, 
our  portmanteaus  were  packed  in  the  dog-cart,  and  driven  by  a 
groom,  with  orders  to  precede  us  a  stage  ch  route  towards  the 
Eastern  Counties.  We  then  mounted ;  bade  Kate  farewell !— for 
a  short,  short  time,  we  reiterated  in  her  ear,  as  she  accompanied 
us  sorrowfully  to  the  end  of  the  sweet  lane  I  have  described ;  and 
after  a  day  or  two's  riding,  we  dismounted  in  the  stable-yard  of  my 
friend  the  Duke  of  Limbs,  to  introduce  whom  I  shall  indulge  my- 
self and  readers  with  a  fresh  chapter. 


181 


THE     WATCHMAN! 


B7   LORD    HAIDSTOMK. 


"  Watchman  I  wbat  of  the  uigUt  ?     Watchman  I  what  of  the  night  ?  " 

While  men  rest,  of  cares  regardless,  lightly  slurabVing  out  tlieir  fill, 
Sits  a  Warder,  late  and  early,  watchiug  by  the  beacon  hilL 
Watchman  trusty,  Watchman  sleepless  1  reader  of  the  signs  of  night  I 
Strain  thine  eye-balls  through  the  darkiiesa  I    comes  the  storm  ?    or 
breaks  the  light  ? 

All  around  is  mirk  and  dreary — rack  and  storm  are  driving  past  I 
Blacker  than  Egyptian  darkness  sits  to  windward  on  the  blast, 
To  the  North  I  hear  them  stirring  through  the  primal  forest-wild, 
Nations  in  their  new- bom  earnest,  restless  as  a  fractious  child  I 
Where    the  great  Teutonic    brethren   prick'd   critsadtiig  through   the 

waste, 
And  the  Pagan  hordes  retreated  by  the  glorious  Cross  displaced. 
Till  the  deadliest  swamp*  and  ombrage  of  the  deepest,  sternest  wood, 
Only  gave  precarious  shelter  to  the  native  warriors'  brood  J 
Where  in  pride  of  Bastile  grandeur  Teuton  Magdeburg  looks  down 
On  a  mighty  subject  river,  and  a  fretftil  servile  town  1 
rElbe  and  Oder — from  your  waters  surge  a  mighty  pcople*s  throes, 
I  Pedant  Fritz's  smooth  descendant,  late  empyric,  quacks  their  woes* 
From  their  souls  they  rend  the  fetters — royal  rivets^hollow  words  I 
As  strong  Sampson  in  his  waking  burst  the  sevenfold  toil  of  cords. 
Hoar  they  like  the  maddned  Aurochs,  as  he  snuffs  the  tainted  air, 
When  a  mighty  rival  Urns  crushes  forward  to  his  lair  I 
Stamping,  pawing  in  their  anguish'd,  energetic,  fierce  disdain. 
That  Convention's  law  should  bind  roan,  soul  and  body,  in  her  chain. 
Through  such  weary  nights  of  ages — profitless  as  MaraVs  spring  1  — 
Where  the  people  is  the  shadow,  and  the  substance  is  the  king  ] 

Watchman  f  is  it  sooth  thou  sayest  ?     Look  again  into  the  night ! 
Further,  furtber  througb  the  darkness !     Seest  thou  there  no  coming 
light! 

Northward  still,  I  see  a  mighty  swarm  of  Nations  stand  array 'd, 
Arm'd  and  ready  for  the  struggle— -yet  none  bares  his  battle  blade  I 
Myriads  from  the  frosty  Zero — myriads  from  the  fertile  plains, 
Where  the  sober  blood  discreetly  saunters  through  Slavonic  veins. 
Myriads  from  the  Don  and  Volga — shepberd-dogs  of  Russia's  tribes  I 
i  Bitter  as  Darius*  Scythians,  with  their  lances  and  their  jibes  I 
Tunguse  archers  from  the  Lena,  where  primtcval  mammoths  freeze  I 
Hardy  Fins,  aud  dwindled  Lapona— Tartars  from  the  Chersonese. 
From  the  flat  which  once  was  Poland  comes  a  melancholy  crew  I 
From  Prometheus'  icy  prison  stalk  Circassians  captives  few  I 
Looming  in  their  front  a  presence  noble  as  the  shade  of  Saul, 
Towers  in  autocratic  grandeur  head  aud  shoulders  o'er  them  all. 
He  the  master— he  the  mover — holding  by  a  viewless  band, 
The  sixth  part  of  men  dependent  in  the  balance  of  his  haivd  I 


:..u    m  Air. J   .cap*. 


-".•?•  —  T— •-.    -•-':   -till    ao  :oining 


.-.in. 
.•1:  "!u«i  ? 
-  It-  *.ifa«L 


•  :ea> 


*t;ra  M    I  ♦••..t...:«*r  i  ''i  «•....«".  >.i.:   :-•  ::    .it-    .-•  .* ::...:     .iif. 
I>am.  'h^^n,  V,  .-*v  r  ^»>  ir..:  M-'>-r — i-.Lm  -j  '.*«;  aJ-:  i^r^  ic*i.ii. 

lehnuiiir   U  it  ^'yvrh  rhou  My.»sr. .'     Lo*:*   .cce  mo.-»»  .3:0  rho  night— 
rer,  ii«ir*r  in  the  riarIir.<wM  !     Seei§:  t1:i:u  cr.ert?  no  ooniinij  light? 

rer  ttili  I  .<*^ft  a  pfrople  ^rver  i'^ving"  r.uiioca  *:ra::j:o  ; 
»-biiiMin;f,  n#'ftr  onipk-tinj^  ; — t'xitbdil  uf  |.erpciual  ci;aiigf  ! 
!  Ky  th#;  fr-alhcr  Olory — vasiaN  of  a  dtad  maif*  namo — 
»'trou.4  knave  cajoles  them,  with  his  greeu  wood  AmoLe  t'ur 
e* 


THE   WATCHMAN. 

Ttttlers,  talkers,  busy  mockers,  poets,  theorists»  and  thieves  I 
Each  prescribes  in  jest  or  eanrest,  while  ihe  social  body  grieves. 
Each  in  glorions  sounding  phrases  to  his  fellow-qwacks  proclaims, 
That  the  World  h  looking  on  them—  Yes,  thtnr  house  has  been  in  flames. 
Each  may  lead  a  captive  audience,  if  he  leaves  the  beaten  track, 
Careless  (so  he  win  their  plaudits)  in  what  plight  the  fools  come  back- 
Blan^juist,  Moutaguard,  Icarian  !— levellers  of  every  grade, 
Wander  up  and  down  complaining  in  the  waste  themiselves  have  made. 
But  the  burgess,  heavy  laden  with  Democracy's  arrears, 
Sighs  at  home  for  something  stabler  than  the  empire  of  his  peers. 
Foxy  words  and  jugglers  shuffling — I  ricks  that  age  right  seldom  mends, 
Win  no  favour  from  a  people — coin  no  treasure — make  no  friends. 
Hulers  throwing  glamour  over  simplest  rules  of  right  and  wrong  ; 
Prove  **a  windfall  on  the  sudden  ''—Cunning  never  prospers  long. 
That  found  he,  the  roan  of  wandVmgs,  who  so  lately  shrunk  aside, 
Un regretted,  half  forgo tten^^//o«//w/7  iV,  with  sword  urtlried  ! 
That  found  he  I  but  leaves  behind  him  grievous  store  of  weightier  things 
Than  the  maintenance  of  systems,  or  the  dechefaice  of  kings* 
Anger,  hatred,  bankrupt  coffers,  fear,  and  jealousies,  and  spite  t 
Military  rule  before  her  1 — From  our  neighbour  comes  no  light. 

Watchman  1  yet  once  more  I  call  thee  I      Look  again  into  the  night  I 
Haply  from  yon  Western  ocean's  El  Dorado  springs  the  light. 

Gold  is  there,  and  lands  for  asking,  younger  energies  than  ours  I 
W'ond'rous  plants  cnamerd  brighter,  fertilizM  by  milder  ihowers. 
Wilder  talk,  and  quainter  phrases,  ready  symbols  of  new  things, 
Which  severe  discoverers  founded,  flying  from  our  Stuart  Kings. 
Mightier  floods  and  longer  causeways — forests  measured  by  degrees, 
Holiing  pastures  more  unbounded,  feLirier  islands,  purpler  seas. 
Much  ado  about  republics,  much  conceit  of  cnterprize, 
Much  abuse  of  elder  failings,  few  of  Old  World  synipathiea  ; 
Yet,  withal,  a  sterUng  venture  from  our  Anglo-Saxou  stock  I 
Unincumber'd  with  the  trappings,  Crown,  and  Peers^and  debt  the  rock. 
Man,  laborious  source  of  i^elfare,  thither  teeming  Europe  sends  j 
Elbow-room  for  countless  myriads,  makes  light  taxes  atid  fast  friends* 
Thither^  fruitful  source  of  discord,  tyrant  Libya  ships  the  slave  ! 
\  Little  light  that  sorts  with  Honour  travels  from  the  Western  wave. 
I'hey  are  young,  and  we  are  aged— ours  are  habits  cherish'd  long  I 
Twined  and  twisted  as  the  grain  that  makes  our  hedge-grown  oak  so 
strong. 

[  T  is  not  every  sand  that  *»  golden,  every  sea  that  groans  with  ice  1 
I  Nor  dpes  every  seaward  gale  from  biest  Arabia  teem  with  spice  I 


[In  this  world  wide  Consternation,  in  the  fall  of  States  and  Thrones — 
I  Midst  the  din  of  arms  and  tumults-woman's  wail,  and  w  arrior's  groans ; 
I  W^hile  the  **  stars  are  falling"  round  thee,  and  the  **  sun  and  moon  are 

blood  ! " 

I  And  the  ^'  sea  and  waves  are  roaring,'"  as  they  roared  in  Noah's  flood! 
I  Strong  in  self-humiliation,  sorrowful,  but  nothing  scared, 
\  With  thy  loins  for  action  girded,  oh,  my  Country  I  watch  prepared  I 


IM 


A  BAFS  GCXNING  IN  NEW  JERSEY. 


Oftbei 


I  oaeied  tlir  Atlantic  mr  mind  fall  of  red  men, 
ia^  wmd  tai^ifMsng,  md  I  longed  to  enjoy  thtj 
d  to  bikaU  the  Unpaidous  scenery  of  which 

'iM  Mamwt  of  Ike  forest,"  the  city  of  Ken 

imiJm3[f^amd  loii  no  tine  in  making  acquaint 

ti^g  mtm  lending  «t  tbat  place,  to  whom  1  ha 

tkat  I  wmB  jaal  m  time  for  woodcock-shooting^ 

IB  tke  ''Ibutii  of  July.*"     3Iany  affairs  ofroa^^ 

eaJcigaiad  in  history  through  Jonathan's 

f  of  "Thofe  U-nited  States." 

TW  v«Btka>  was  infcqiKiigly  hoi,  bnt  I  was  too  keen  a  aports- 

baTio^  made  my  arrangements,  and 
I  to  a  certain  fanner- Col  one!  Zedekiah 
\  aefenty  miles  in  the  interior,  I  proceeded 
pfteoMU'es  of  the  road  I  shall  make  no  ob'^l 
aie  thtti  iiolgw  a  nati  be  double-jointed,  he  had  bettefV 
not  iCIiEBBpl  to  timYcl  oirer  a  corduroy  road  in  New  Jarsay^ 

I  aniftU  M  mj  ilettiiiatjoii  late  in  the  evening,  and  finding,  afler« 
wtmA  veafientiflBp  that  aU  afiplication  of  this  kind  was  of  no  avail,  J 
tiedl  wt^  hant  to  a  ttak^  entered  the  dwelling,  and  found  the  whol^ 
fcanaehold  seated  at  a  locir  table*  on  which  were  piled  enurmouf 
masMS  of  pork,  suppotted  by  heaps  of  cranberry  jam^  and  hug 
bowls  of  Ixftfiian  aoppane,*  and  milk.  So  intently  were  the  famil| 
eag^ed  in  cramnaing  Ittmpa  of  meat  into  their  mouths,  and  forcing 
Ibe  nimr  dtrwn  tbeir  tbroats  with  gulps  of  milk  (for  mastication, 

~ ;  too  mack  time,  and  was  quite  an  unnecessary  reiinc- ' 
t)»  dMt  my  enunee  waa  not  at    first   noticed,    I   therefore 
femed  mymf  to  the  ^der  of  the  family.     The  old  man  harcUf 
raiatd  Ids  boidy  and,  wilb  his  mouth  full  of  cranberry  jam,  hisied 
forth  an  inritatioD  for  me  to  be  seated  and  to  partake  of  the  meal 

I  sood  found  it  was  of  no  use  to  wait  for  further  formalities  :  it  was 
dear  if  I  did  not  help  myself  I  should  not  get  any   of  the  vast 
masses  o£  food  now  fast  disappearing ;  but  although  my  long  drift 
had  given  me  a  most  keen  appetite,  I  was  no  match  for  these  "go-a*| 
heads,"  and  long  before  I  had  satisfied  ray  cravings,  pork,cranberr]fJ 
jam,  and  suppane,  had  vanished. 

All  then  led  the  house,  each  man  having  a  cigar  on  one  sideof  htl 
mouth  and  a  quid  of  tobacco  sw  elling  his  cheek  on  the  other.  I  non 
again  addressed  the  Colonel,  who  had  seated  himself  outside  tlic 
house,  and  was  blowing  fortli  such  clouds  of  smoke  as  made  him 
nearly  invisible*  The  Colonel  read  my  letter  of  introduction,  pre- 
sented me  with  a  cigar,  and  then  appeared  lost  in  thought ;  at  last  he 
ttdd: 

"  Well,  now,  I  rather  con-^rm-plate  you  are  one  of  thera  Britisher 
I  have  heard  tell  un,  who  still  hold  to  the  smooth  bore  atid  snjaH 

Porridge  made  of  liidiati  meal. 


, — irliere 

Why,  de 

im  grf«t 

(lebil  to  fit! 

Britisli   dn* 


r  ^t  I  Md  ^e  Col«iiiel  Ubed  im 

mwmj  JOB  kttow»  wa,  down  bt 

^   ^   i4t  BHtkberi  were  o>flr«M 

t  Agjjaaa^  4at  they  wooM  Imitd  asni 

~  de  re^  of  6e  i 

r  n»  Mv  iMovetl  to  ( 

de  eountiy, 

I  had  jii«t  pall 
1 1  leed  a  tel  twarm  of  bosU  «  m 

Apolla»  bjrdt 

filM  GolMid  QlMMBah 

hm  «wriit  nfe  would  get  de  oeCter  of 

«id  €ttt  to  pieces  all  de  Door   nltgnidcd 

:  I  beaid  m  wort  fr—f  iiw  irtn^,  «<>  I  tips  oq 

^  >•  «  Mttnff  pcppe-^  liid  ao  n»tek ;  the  Cokiifed  b  m  poandm 
{ntonMlL^    <Licwrw  li»K*  wd  nnmift:  'ColooelOhii. 

was  always  a  fmt  wamor/    We21«  sar»  toon  ater  dts  I  aeed  i 
koTM  a  comirig,  ami  1  knowed  it  ti>  be  our  nure  ^  Qear  Gnt,** 
I  p0d  de  Colooel  oo  her,  a  ridrng  like  nad ;  den  I  terd  de  *  Forked 


t  M«  »  ei  laal^  »  voo,  roe  ^ 
oft  ft»  de  km^  «mL  smld  I» 


Wi 


ahlniiigs*  a  cutting  al<iiig,  and  de  red  coated  dragooorra  a  p^raMOjl 
[  a  terantiDg  aboot*  and  now  and  den  one  of  dem  a  foUIng  olT  km 
f  %0C^-     *  Ah,  Gosh/  said  I,  'dont  you  wt^  yoo  had  nebber  a  tstad 
t  fittio  with  our  Golwel  Obadiah.*     Well,  sar,  predenly  the  fire  waMlH 
quite  so  titw^  and  I  seed  de  Colonel  a  coming  on  **  Clear  Grit,**  dMI 
giare^  sar,  was  a  going  li*te  a  streak,  and  behind  the  C-olonel  was 
nbout  twenty  dragoosiers.    Lord,  lar,  how  beautiful  the  Colonel  waa 


A   DAYS   GUNNmO   IN   NEW    JEHSEY. 


186 


shot,  and  go  a  bird-gunning.*  Well,  *tis  strange,  it  beats  nil  natur, 
and  I  cuiii't  no  bow  make  ye  all  out.  You  Britishers  whipped  all 
the  world,  and  so  in  course  you  must  be  raytber  a  smart  nation^ 
that  *s  reasoning.  Well,  now,  you  see  we  whipped  the  Britishers, 
and  if  your  notion  an't  so  sharp  as  we,  why  you  must  be  pit-yed,  I  sup* 
pose,  and  that 's  all  1  can  make  of  it*  But^  how  on  earth  can  a 
cretur  with  common  sense  go  on  btrd-hunts,  and  tbrow  away  a  good 
charge  of  powder  on  a  darned  miserable  feathered  cretur  not  two 
mouthful*,  when  the  same  charge  would  put  a  fat  moose  into  his 
bouse,  and  feed  all  hands  for  a  week  ?  Well,  strannger,  w  ell !  it 's 
no  use  bothering  one'&  head,  but  if  you  are  bound  on  a  bird-hunt  T 
must  do  the  best  1  can  for  ye,  only  don't  mention  it  to  my  boys, 
they  W  larf  at  ye,  and  not  a  one  stir  on  such  a  frolic*  But  there  *s 
my  old  nigger,  Apollo,  be  does  at  times,  when  he  can,  get  the  miser- 
able mites  in  a  grist  and  bring  down  a  hul  swarm  on  them  ;  he 
knows  all  their  haunts,  you  had  better  speak  to  him.'* 

And  the  Colonel,  appearing  to  be  fatigued  with  so  long  a  discourse, 
fell  back  in  his  seat,  and  with  his  feet  placed  well  against  the  rail, 
much  higher  than  his  head,  gave  himself  up  to  contemplation. 

Upon  my  applying  to  the  old  nigger  he  gave  me  to  understand  he 
knew  a  swamp  **  chock ful  "  of  woodcock  ;  I  herefore  bade  him  call 
me  early,  and,  fatigued  with  my  journey,  I  retired  to  rest. 

Rest  /  Oh  f  treacherous  memory  !  the  remembrance  of  that  night 
was  engraven  on  my  body  in  blood.  Bleep  overcame  me,  and  I 
dreamed  of  woodcocks.  Thousands  upon  thousands  methought 
filled  the  air;  I  was  tired  of  their  slaughter  ;  when,  with  one  ac- 
cord, they  turned  anil,  darting  at  me,  pierced  my  body  in  every 
direction  with  their  long  bills*  With  a  yell  of  anguish  I  awoke,  and 
found  ray  whole  person  covered  with  corpulent  blood- sucking  mus- 
quitoes.  To  sleep  under  such  persecution  would  have  been  to  rival 
the  martyrs  of  old,  who  slept  under  the  tortures  of  the  rack.  I 
therefore  spent  the  rest  of  the  night  in  doing  battle  with  my  relent- 
less tormentors,  and  at  last,  just  as  the  first  ray  of  light  appeared, 
worn  out  with  fatigue,  I  dropped  of!  into  a  dreamy  dose  from  which 
1  was  startled  by  the  voice  of  the  old  nigger,  *'  Golly  i  how  massa 
do  sleep  dis  pine  morning*"  This  was  the  knell  to  my  little  hopes  of 
repose,  I  therefore  dressed  and  descended  to  the  open  air. 

The  pure  breeze  of  the  morning,  balmy,  and  scented  with  the 
fragrance  of  the  magnolia,  the  cedar,  the  shumac,  and  sweet  hay,t 
cooled  my  fevered  lips ;  a  bath  in  a  bright  stream  near  the  house 
soothed  my  poor  swollen  body;  and  I  found  myself,  after  a  frugal 
breakfast  of  Indian  suppane  and  milkj^  refreshed  and  eager  for  the 
iport  of  the  day. 

Apollo  now  appeared  €n  cost  it  me  for  the  chase,  and  his  toggery 
certainly  rather  startled  me,  neither  did  my  appointments  seem  to 
give  him  less  surprise;  but  this  I  did  not  much  wonder  at,  as 
I  should  have  been  much  disappointed  had  not  my  pfrfect  equip- 
ment created  some  admiration  in  the  unsophisticated  minds  of  the 
backwoodsmen. 

•  Yearn  pasc^  ih©  backwoodsmen  held  in  great  conterript  those  who  used  ihrtt 
and  kilkd  birdij  th«  rifle  uid  ball  bein^  tbtnr  weapon,  nnd  tle^r  ami  liear  their  game, 
Tbese  men  have  passed  away,  and  tiieir  descendnnis  are  &b  eager  bird  gunneri  a» 
any  Britiidier. 

f  A  wild  gratx,  whlchj  when  going  to  seed,  hai  a  muit  frugrant  o^mui. 


186 


A  DAY  8   GUIff^TN-G 


]My  coat  was  of  the  latest  London  cut,  and,  to  suit  the  heat  of  the 
weather,  of  gauze  like  material,  lower  garraent  to  match,  shoes  of 
the  thinnest,  and  with  ray  superbly- finished  double  gun  siting  over 
my  arm,  I  felt  my  vast  superiority  over  the  poor  old  nigger,  who 
was  clad  in  a  thick  leather  skirt,  which  reached  to  his  thighs,  and 
was  there  met  by  an  enormous  pair  of  strong  boots;  he  was  ajined 
with  a  murderous-looking  Queen  Anne's  musket;  he  muttered  at 
starting  something  about  "  A  little  too  tin  for  de  swamp."  On 
the  way  I  endeavoured  to  draw  Apollo  into  conversation,  and  I  was 
soon  convinced  he  could  be  as  garrulous  as  the  rest  of  his  race. 

The  nigger  had,  it  appeared,  been  brought  up  by  the  father  of  his 
present  master,  one  Colonel  Obadiah  Faithful^  wbo^  in  his  opinioQ} 
was  the  model  of  a  hero, 

•'  Golly,  sar  !"  said  Apollo,  "  Colonel  Obadiah  was  a  great  man. 
You  know  the  Colonel,  sar?  Not  know  Colonel  Obadiah, — where 
'bout  you  come  from>  you  no  know  dat  great  soldar?  Why,  de 
Colonel  was  de  berry  moa  atrordinary  man  ob  de  day,  sar ;  im  great 
sporteraraan,  great  rider,  and  at  fittin',  Lord,  sar,  im  a  debll  to  fit! 
Why,  sar,  I  saw  de  Colonel  heat  a  hul  swarm  of  British  drft- 
gooners." 

*'  Ah  I  how  was  that^  Apollo  ?  "  _ 

"  Why^  dis  away,  sar.  You  see  dat  I  and  the  Colonel  libed  on 
de  banks  of  de  Potomac  riber,  dareaway  you  know,  massa,  down  by 
Washington.  Well,  sar,  we  had  heard  dat  de  Britishers  were  off  de 
cost  in  dere  big  ships,  and  dat  dey  sane  dat  they  would  land  and 
burn  Washington  city  ;  so  Colonel  Obadiah  and  de  rest  of  dc  ma* 
litia  genetrtls  dcy  had  a  mitiin,  and  it  was  put  to  wote  and  car* 
ried,  dat  de  Britishers  shouldent  be  no  how  allowed  to  come  ashore, 
not  no  how  ;  so  all  the  raulitia  was  camped  about  de  country,  and 
ready  to  bust  wid  tie  fittin  dat  was  in  dem.  Well,  sar,  one  morning 
berry  early  I  went  down  to  de  riber  to  fish,  ami  I  had  just  pullecJ 
up  one  d — d  big  cat-fish,  when  I  seed  a  htil  swarm  of  boats  a  mak- 
ing for  de  shore.  Oh,  said  I,  dare  you  is  at  last,  is  you,  you  tarnal 
warraints ;  so  I  ups  kiHuck,  and  offs  to  de  house,  and,  said  I,  *  Co- 
lonel, der  a  coming/  *  Is  dcy/  said  de  Colonel  ;  '  den,  Apollo,  by  de 
blessing  ob  'eaven  we  will  show  dem  glory/  Well,  sar,  our  missus 
was  in  a  most  awful  squ alteration,  certainly,  when  Colonel  Obadiah 
go  tlown  to  deriber  with  his  '  Washington  Forked  Lightning  Riftet,' 
and  our  missus  was  afeard  his  awful  r^ge  would  get  de  better  o( 
im,  and  he*d  oiaMseker  and  cut  to  pieces  all  de  poor  misguided 
Britislirrs,  Berry  soon  1  heard  a  most  tarnation  firing,  so  I  ups  on 
de  top  ob  do  house,  to  see  de  fun.  *0,  Golly-gosh,  missus/  said  I, 
'  tfiry  >c  agniing  pepper,  and  no  mistak  ;  the  Colonel  is  a  pounding 
ihtm  into  simaKh/  '  In  course  he  is/  said  missus;  '  Colonel  Oba- 
biah  was  always  a  great  warrior/  Well,  sar,  soon  ater  dis  I  seed  a 
home  «  coming,  and  I  k  no  wed  it  to  be  our  mare  **  Clear  Grit," 
and  lie  (/olonrl  on  her,  a  riding  like  mad  ;  den  1  seed  de  *  Forked 
lii^htninj;;*'  a  cutting  along,  and  de  red  coated  dragoon ers  a  perancing 
and  a  teranting  about,  and  now  and  den  one  of  dem  a  rolling  off*  his 
htW*e,  *  Ah,  (»o»«h/  said  I,  'ilon't  yon  wish  you  had  nebber  a  tiied 
l^ltin  with  our  t\>h>nol  Obadiah/  Well,  sar,  predenly  the  fire  wasent 
q^iti?  no  irong,  and  I  seed  de  Colonel  a  coming  on  "Clear  Grit/*  dat 
l^arVt  *^Vt  WiiH  a  going  like  a  streak,  and  behind  the  Colonel  was 
*U,v»it  «^«iMity  dragoourrs.     Lord,  sar,  how  beautiful  the  Colonel 


4 


TN   NEW   JERSEY. 


lar 


I  nding ;  how  he  did  grind  m  de  spurs  &nd  lay  on  with  bis  sword. 
You  see*  raasiwi,  I  knowd  the  Colonel  (who  was  a  great  racer  tnan)i 
liter  he  had  beat  de  Britisherg,  was  a  habbing  a  race  wid  de  dra- 

E:r8,  so  I  hollared  to  missus  and  told  her  she  needent  be  no  more 
d  dat  de  Colonel  would  hurt  de  poor  critters  any  more,  but  he 
I  trying  it  on  at  a  quarter  spurt,  and  was  a  winning  like  no- 
Molly-gosh,  sar,  how  dat  Colonel  did  ride !  It  no  use  for 
de  dragoooers  to  race  agin  "Clear  Grit,"  She  waa  a  Wirginna 
bred  mare,  sar,  and  had  taken  de  track  from  all  de  best  critters 
in  dat  location^  and  so  de  darned  wannints  seemed  to  tink^  for  when 
dey  found  dey  could  not  catch  de  Colonel,  dey  began  a  fifing  at  de 
mare,  sar.,  Wam't  I  just  riled  :  so  I  hollared  out  to  de  dragooncriy 
mi  dey  went  past  de  house,  dat  firing  warn't  fair  play,  when  de 
spiteful  warmints  slaped  two  shota  right  at  my  head.  But  de  fiirder 
the  Colonel  went,  de  farder  de  dragooners  were  behind,  I  knowed 
It  wamt  no  uif;e  to  try  a  racing  or  a  fittiu  with  our  Colonel,  and  &o 
1  told  missus.  The  Colonel,  aar,  galloped  right  slap  up  to  de 
'Stmmp  and  Go  Roarers,'  and  dis  redgemen  seeing  de  drag6anen 
■  coming,  cleared  de  course  ;  on  went  de  Colonel  over  de  hilt  andoot 
tot  ught ;  and  dat 's  de  way  I  saw  de  Colonel  heat  the  Britisher*,  tar." 
I  WAS  rather  amused  at  the  old  nigger's  description  of  the  £r^* 
Itah  troops*  landing  on  the  Potomac,  and  the  conceit  with  wbkb  ht 
turned  the  retreat  of  Colonel  Obadiah  into  a  race. 

We  had  now  arrived  at  the  cedar  swamp,  and  having  loodeil*  I 
setit  forward  the  dogs,  but  Apollo  told  me  to  call  them  in,  "Iky 
critT'  ^-  Tx«i,|,^r  pind  woodcock  ;  leab  old  niggur  to  pind  tlie  bud." 

i  Ng  tiie  covert  I  soon  found  the   use  of  ApoIWi  tKck 

'^  '  .%ever«  in  all  my  experience,  had  I  seen  anytbiag  to  Mnl 

•^nrsa  of  this  thicket,  or  the  size   and   sharpnaw  flf  ife 

* Ij  gauze-llke  coat  was  soon  in  ribbons  ;  dij  ejm  ^m}^ 

ay  face  in  streams  of  blood  ;  this,  added  to  ffe  ^^^ 

'  •  at,  made  my  position  anything  btit^ 

itd  not  as  yet  seen  a  single  cock 

'-.d  ohtmU  peering  into  the  trees  in  a  ^m^ 
J  r  e!**  vmI  I  was  upon  tlie poiBl ^ i 


i^mt 


ih 


I 


188 


A   DAY  S   GUNNIKO 


njassa  !  look  under  dat  shumac  bush,  just  by  you  poot;  dare  and 
tandering  big  chap." 

Nearly  deprived  of  motion  by  fear,  I  saw  close  to  my  foot  th^ 
venomous  reptile, 

'*Let  us  leave  this  dreadful  place^  Apollo,"  said  I. 

"  What,  before  we  find  de  woodcock,  sar  ?  " 

"J> — n  the  woodcock  !"  said  I,  now  losing  all  patience,  and  de» 
termined,  if  possible,  to  put  an  end  to  my  disagreeable  situation. 

Apollo  leu  the  way  sulkily,  and  I  followed,  walking  as  though  ij 
w^as  treading  on  red-hot  ploughshares,  expecting  each  moment  ta] 
have  a  black  snake  round  my  neck,  or  a  copper-head  on  my  leg- 
All  at  once  I  observed  Apollo  raise  hrs  gun;  slowl}'  and  with  great 
care  the  old  man  took  his  aim,  and  at  last  his  musket  poured 
forth  its  contents.  The  nigger  darted  forward  and  seized  his  prize, 
which,  with  a  mouth  extended  from  ear  to  ear,  he  proclaimed  to  be 
**  one  berry  pine  woodcock." 

"  IViMxfcock,  you  grinning  old  idiot;  that's  not  a  woodcock,  that'i 
a  wooii pecker  /  "  * 

"  Im  may  be  not  Britisher's  woodcock,"  said  Apollo,  putting  the 
bird  in  his  pocket,  and  looking  at  me  whh  the  utmost  contempt. 

It  was^  indeed,  a  woodpecker,  called  here  the  hio,  which  is  often 
eaten  by  the  country-people,  and  the  old  nigger  had  supposed  I  wm 
in  search  of  this  bird. 

We  soon  came  to  the  outside  of  the  covert,  when,  wearied,  torn, 
and  disgusted^  I  ea&t  myself  on  the  ground  under  the  shade  of  « 
friendly  beech,  and  as  Apollo  appeared  sulky  at  my  sneering  At  hia 
prowess,  I  dismissed  him,  aflcr  receiving  some  instructions  ta  to 
my  road  homeward.  After  resting  myself,  I  looked  about  me  and 
discovered  I  was  on  a  well-cultivated  grass  farm  ;  I  then  "  hted  '*  my 
dogs  forward,  and  commenced  beating  the  fields,  and  to  my  great 
delight  I  found  both  quail  and  woodcock  in  reality. 

The  fields  being  fresh  mown  there  was  no  lay  for  the  birds,  but 
to  my  a  all. •»  fact  ion  1  saw  that  the  quail  mostly  flew  to  a  piece  q£  long 
grass  in  the  centre  of  the  meadows  which   was  left  unmown.    1 
therefore  beat  all  round  this  and  drove  the  game  into  iu     Having^ 
accomplished  my  umlertaking,  I  entered  the  grass  which  was  thickl 
and  up  to  my  waist.     Quail  after  quail  arose,  and  as  often  fell  tomyf 
gun,  and  I  became  so  elated  with  my  success  that  all  thought  of  pain,  I 
fiiligue,   black  snake,  or  copper-head,  was  gone,  and  though  I  diclj 
now  and  then  hear  a   rustling  in   the  grass  which  made  me  start  I 
when  1  picked  up  a  shot  bird,  I  was  much  too  delighted  to  heed  such] 
trifles.      My    pockets    were   getting  heavy,  and  I  was  in  the  veryl 
centre  of  tlie  grass,  when  I  heard  a  shout  from  a  hill  at  some  dis- 
tance, and  looking  up»  I  saw  a  person  who  by  his  gestures  appeared 
to  be  in  the  highest  state  of  excitement. 

Now  I  had  hitherto  always  found  it  to  be  the  best  practice^  when 
challenged  afar  off  by  enraged  farmers  or  their  servants  as  a  tres- 
passer, to  be  both  blind  and  deaf  until  the  persecutors  approach^ 
during  which  time  one  may  either  quietly  make  off,  or  feign  igno^i 
ranee  of  any  improper  intentions.     The  sport  at  this  time  waa  tooj 

*  Not  many  years  ago  tlie  CDuniry  people  of  the  Unlt«d  State*  wens  quit*  iKiM>«i 
iot  of  tlie  vtilue  of  a  wiMKlcock,  and  Vfjry  few  would  ««t  the  iiird.  Woodcodu  w«r«^ 

nirc4*f  but  since  the  country  has  become  w>  highly  cuItivatiHl.  thew  birds  hire  «|^  i 

''ffared  in  great  aumbers,  and  thousands  ore  wui  into  market  by  the  oountff  I 


IN    NEW    JERSEY. 


189 


goodt  and  cost  too  much  labour,  to  be  easily  gfveti  up,  and  although 
1  heard  the  fellow  bellowing  at  the  top  of  hla  voice,  and  saw  him 
running  as  fast  as  his  legs  could  carry  him,  1  still  continued  shoot- 
ing.    At  last  he  was  near  enough  to  make  himself  heard. 

'*  Holloa  I  there,  you  twrnation  fool !  come  out  of  that  long  gr^isx  /" 
**  O  yes/' thought  I,  '*  seed-ground  very  likely,  but  hie  on,  good 
dogs,  we  may  get  a  brace  of  birds  before  his  short  legs  can  reach  us." 
**  Come  out  of  that  long  grass!'*  again  rang  in  my  ears, 
'* Not  till  I  can't  help  it,  my  lad,"  thinks  I;  '*hie  on  there,  we 
have  a  dozen  bevies  if  we  have  one  in  this  piece  of  stuff  yet/' 

'*  Oh  I  you  contancrtrous  varmint !     Come  out  of  that  hng  grass  !** 
The  enemy  'a  close  upon  us ;  one  shot  more,  and  then  to  close 
quarters. 

**  By  the  eternal  t  be  you  mad,  or  be  you  deaf?  "  cried  the  man, 
now  at  the  edge  of  the  grass,  and  in  an  agony  of  excitement:  "  dwe 
you  wish  to  be  a  dead  man?     Come  out  of  that  ioffg  grass,  1  say." 

His  last  words,  spoken  with  great  vehemence,  made  me  pause ; 
steel- traps  and  spring- guns  came  into  my  thoughts, 

•*  Come  out,  come  out,  of  that  /opig  grass,  or  by  the  et/irnal  you  are 
a  gone  sucker  ;  almighty  smash,  don't  you  know  that  is  ray  snake 
grass  ?  come  out,  you  tarn^Jtion  fool." 

'*  Snake  grass,"  said  I  in  a  low  tone,  raising  myself  on  tiptoe, 
and  standing  on  the  very  smallest  space  of  ground*  "Snake  grass^ 
sir;  what's  snake  grass?  " 

"Come  out,  I  say,  and  if  you  get  away  witliout  death  in  your  car- 
case, which,  by  the  immortal  pumkin,  I  rather  guess  you  never  will, 
I  'II  ted  you  what  snake  grass  is/* 

Trembling,  I  crept  out  of  the  grass,  and  approached  the  farmer, 
who  stood  wiping  the  perspiration  from  his  head, 

"Well,"  said  he,  "I  have  heard  tell  on  darned  fools  that  go  on 
bird-hunts,  but  may  I  be  obsquatilated  ctcrnolyt  if  I  ever  thought 
a  feller  was  fool  enough  to  go  into  a  piece  of  Jar  say  snake  grass^ 
al\er  a  poor  miserable  quail/' 

"  Pray,  sir,  what  do  you  mean  by  snake  grass  ?  " 
*'  Not  know  what  snake  grass  is  ?  Well,  1  might  have  seen  by 
your  out*ards  that  you  wern't  of  this  location.  But  don't  you  know 
these  here  clearings  are  chockful  of  all  kinds  of  varmint  snakes. 
When  we  mows  we  leave  a  piece  of  long  grass  for  the  tarnation  rep- 
tiles to  go  into,  and  when  the  grass  gets  dry,  you  see,  we  sets  fire 
to  it,  and  burns  all  the  venomous  varmints,  and  so  makes  kind  of  a 
clearance  of  the  snakes  every  year.  Lord  a  marry  1  when  I  seed 
you  in  my  long  grass — ^which  ought  to  be  choke-full  of  coppers — I 
thought  you  must  be  a  gone  sucker  ;  and  how  on  arih  you  eiicaped, 
is  beyond  all,  and  that  *a  a  fact/' 

I  felt  sick  and  faint,  and  leaned  upon  my  gun  for  support  Mv 
escape  had  been  miraculous.  Thanking  the  farmer  for  his  kintl- 
ness  in  warning  me  of  my  danger,  and  declining  his  invitation  to 
partake  of  refreshment  at  his  abode,  I  made  the  best  of  my  way  to 
Colonel  Obadiah's, 

On  my  arrival,  I  found  that  the  whole  male  household  was  in  the 
fields  at  work  ;  I,  therefore,  left  my  thanks  for  the  Colonel,  and 
having  put  to  my  horse,  I  drove  off  towards  New  York,  contrasting 
all  I  bad  heard  and  read  of  the  **  Wild  Sports  of  the  West,"  with  the 
pleasures  of  my  first  day's  gunning  in  New  Jarsay. 


THE  SWEDES  IN  FUNEN  IN  THE  SUAIMER  OP  184&* 


BY    B,  C*  AKDSRaBN, 


I  MOST    now  tell  yau  a  little  about  the  Swedes  in  Funen. 
i^v  their  festive  reception  in  the  small  towns,  the   waving  Aagi^ 
nd  jojoiis  faces.       For  miles  around   in    the  country   crowds  of 
peaaants  stoMl  by  the  wayside,  old  and  young,  and  asked,  with 
tof^ging  expectalion,  *  Are  the  Swedes  now  coming  ?  *    And  on  their 
■rrivdl  tliey  were  recei%'ed  with  a  welcome  shaking  of  hand^.  witi 
flirwers,  and  with  food  and  drink.     They  were  hearty  men  and  we 
dfacipKned  aoldiers ;  and  their  morning  and  evening  devotion  w^ 
h%h^  aiecting,  «$  well  as  the  church  service  every  Sunday  und«l 
Ibe  open  CHiopj  of  heaven,  according  to  the  old  martial  custom  froa 
^m  dMe  of  6ti«tavus  Adolphus. 

IKviae  service  was  performed  on  Sundays  at  the  old  manor 
IbiMBe,  wberr  one  of  the  chief  commanders,  with  the  officers  and  i 
btfid  of  the  reifiiDent,  waa  quartered  ;  the  troops  marched  with  full 
mmmc  IrIo  the  Urge  square  court-yard,  and  ranged  themselves  here 
w^A  the  ofteeri  in  front,  when  they  sang  a  psalm  accompanied  by 
niiaie^  The  ctersrinan  now  stepped  forward  on  the  broad  steps 
IffliiHg  ftom  the  house,  the  high  stone  balustrades  of  which  wen  ~ 
e&wmm  wkh  a  Urge  carpet.  I  remember  the  last  Sundaji 
Ylvidtty  ;  domg  the  service  the  weather  waa  stormy  ;  the  clergy 
ke  abeill  the  «ngel  oi*  peace  that  descended  like  the  miti.^ 
i  of  the  AlmurhtT,  and  as  he  said  it,  the  sun  accidentalifl 
broke  fbfth  and  illfiBiined  the  shining  helmets  and  devout  face«  m 
the  wmrror  boeti 

Yet  the  mcamog  and  evening  devotion  on  the  open  high  roaJt 
Wis  the  moA  eolemn  ;  here  the  different  companies  stood  in  ranks, « 
•tthetdinaie  eficer  raid  a  short  prayer,  and  then  they  all  commenc 

«nf  their  |Malms>  vithoot  music,  after  which  a  deep  'God  #ao 
%yf  *  ionaded  throughout  the  whole  ranks.  I  saw  many  a 
our  eU  pceiwmtt  ttand  by  the  ditch,  and  behind  the  hedge,  witI 
Mdfd  hendt:  they  too  attended  divine  service  in  silence.  AC\6 
the  etml  delly  exercise*  the  Swedish  soldier  went  with  his  host  an 
Mttiled  hioi  faithfully  in  his  Ubour  in  the  fields,  harvesting  tUi 
rich  product  of  the  year.  There  was  life,  bustle,  happy  facei| 
end  good  filing.  At  the  manor-hooie,  where  the  band  of  th 
refHment  Uy,  they  played  every  afternoon  until  sunset;  the  loi^ 
uVnues  of  the  garden  were  filled  with  people  from  the  surroundind 

rut.  fto  that  it  waa  every  day  like  a  festival.  The  Swedish  vjaliol 
»iHiiukd  until  late  in  the  evening  in  the  servants*  hall,  and  tho  dance 
went  mrrrily  on  to  the  general  amusement.     The  Funen  pca'iant  and 
the  Swedish  soldier  smm  understood  each  other's  language  ;  it 
ft  pleasure  to  see  how  the  heart *s  feelings  came  mutually  forth,  hof 
every  one  giive  with  a  good  will  to  the  best  of  his  abilities, 

Thr  re««pf'Ct.  the  friendship,  and  the  good  understand  in  j:^  whieli 
)  rxisted  between  Sweden  and  Denmark,  * 

i  -cr  members  of  the  community  in  the 

timti**,  havr,  by   the    stay   of  the  Swedish  army  in  Funen, 
tutut  amottgHt  thousands  of  the  people  themselves.     What  i 


EL    DORADO. 

Punen  peasant  and  common  man  know,  or  what  did  the  Swede 

know  how  near  we  neighbours  stood  to  each  other  in  language, 
loiod,  and  heart?  The  Dane  will  not  for/^et  the  noble  Swede;  we 
have  heard  and  felt  the  beatings  of  his  heart, 

The  Swedes  departed  from  Denmark ;  but  in  tlie  peasant's 
cottage,  in  the  parsonage,  as  in  the  manor-house,  there  was  many  an 
eye  in  tears  on  taking  leave  ;  at  the  embarkation  of  the  troops,  under 
the  waving  flag  of  the  north,  many  a  mutual  visit  was  spoken  of  and 
determined  for  the  coming  time  of  peace.  The  nations  in  the  north 
have  learned  to  understand,  value,  and  love  one  annthcr ;  and  during 
this  summer  these  feehngs  have  been  strengthened  and  multiplied  ; 
this  result  will  long  be  spoken  of  under  Norway's  lofty  pines,  and 
nnder  Sweden's  fragrant  birches.  May  this  spirit  of  concord  and 
love  hover  over  all  lands  !     ' 


EL  DORADO. 

That  wonderful  year  of  184B,  from  which  we  have  just  emerged, 
kept,  like  a  good  story-teller,  the  greatest  of  its  wonders  for  the  lasL 
The  golden  land,  the  theme  of  so  many  songs,  the  dreuni  of  so  many 
visionaries,  is  revealed  I  The  shade  of  Rahigh  is  avenged,  the  truth 
of  the  old  Indians  vindicated,  and  a  region  teeming  with  gold  i^  dis- 
covered, surpassing  all  the  wihle&t  fictions  that  were  ever  founded 
on  tradition.  Mr.  Stevens,  in  his  travels  through  Central  America, 
speaks  of  a  belief  current  amongst  the  Indians  of  that  land,  that 
there  exists  among  them — embosomed  in  deep  woods,  surrounded 
by  almost  inaccessible  mountains — a  mysterious  city  of  exquisite 
beauty  and  vast  proportions,  hermited  from  the  rest  of  earth.  So 
jealous  arc  its  unsocial  citizens  of  their  individuality  or  their  w^calth, 
that  they  put  to  death  every  stranger,  that  they  keep  their  rocks 
underground,  and  cut  the  tongues  out  of  all  their  donkeys  in  order 
to  prevent  their  existence  being  betrayed,  or  even  crowed  or  brayed 
about  We  are  almost  led  to  believe  in  this  strange  story  ;  the 
Indians  are  not  an  imaginative  people,  and,  in  the  absence  of  all 
written  history,  remain  very  faithful  to  tradition.  On  such  evi. 
dence  as  this  Columbus,  Cortes,  and  Pizarro,  travelled,  conquered, 
slaughtered,  in  search  of  the  golden  fields  that  now  lie  open  to 
the  world.  On  such  evidence  as  this»  the  honour,  the  reputation, 
and  the  life  of  the  illu^^trious  Baleigh  were  sacrifjced.  Now  are 
explained  the  almost  fabulous  reports  of  Mexican  magnificence; 
and  we  ourselves  may  see  the  day  when  our  own  culinary  imple- 
ments may  be  made  of  the  once  most  precious  metal.  From  its  ex- 
quisite ductility,  tenacity,  and  strength,  gold  appears  peculiarly  well 
calculated  for  suspension  bridges,  and  we  can  imagine  the  smooth 
waters  of  the  Avon  or  the  Menai,  spanner  I  with  a  glittering  path* 
way,  suspended  by  bright,  aerial  chains  of  eternal  strength  and  du- 
rability, as  delicate  as  beautiful. 

Seriously,  if  the  report  of  Colonel  Mason  be  true*  there  appears  to 
he  no  limit   to   the   golden  harvest   now  gathering  by  sackful s  in 
j  California,     If  that  report  be  not  exaggerated  beyond  all  official  \>re- 
|cedent,gold  is  at  once  dethroned  from  its  pTc»emmeti\c;e  &n\Qt\^<9X^^ 

VOL.  XXV,  o 


m 


EL  DOEADa 


■  bong  tlie  bat  stmidarcl  of  wealili, 
Alifrfj  ve  bmve  seen  6ve  guineas' 
of  0old  (an  — ce  wad  m  tttlf)  giren  for  a  box  of  seidlita 
"  '  mU  for  §rc  pence;  twentj  pounds  given  for  a 
rf"  biiMfcit^,  aa^  Cwdfe  for  a  knife.  In  addition  to  these  signi- 
;  rtjitblieaj  vc  bcve  bend  Cltai  eotm  tracts  of  a  wide  connCry 
ir  in  foil  bearing  of  a  ploitilal  bart^st,  baa  been  abandoned  I 
Tbe  oaltrvatan^  bind,  ploaghman,  and  proprieta 
I  vidi  ibcir  impleacnia  and  boraes  to  tbe  auriferod 
tbe  real  wvahb  nf  Batons  m  search  of  its  mc 
Yet  tbe  oumnoB  eoiigrallon  h  only  jti 
:  or  five  tiw «— m1  gold-gatberers  are  scattered  over" 
m  exact  af  umntkMj  akaoct  at  lar]ge  at  Irdand  ;  for  the  present  work- 
ing togdber  amieablj,  boocftlj,  and  in  good- u  ill  towards  one 
anotber.  It  does  not,  bowavcr,  require  a  prophet  to  foretell  that 
ibis  atate  of  tbnigp  Ctfmot  laii  kxig:  nerer  can  a  Golden  Age  be  en- 
jjtjwd  upon  a  folden  aaiL  Ifaanton  is  no  god  of  peace.  It  seems  a 
Ycrj  doobtlul  yeition  wbetber  this  di<corerj  will  add  to  the  pro 
noi^  or  tbe  bsppincsi  of  AnieHca.  Her  apparent  riches  will 
doubt  be  cnomKMislj  increased,  if  she  can  contrive  to  tarn  all  this 
goblen  ore  into  golden  coin,  and  stamp  her  **  stripes  and  stars"  upon 
ne  OaUforaian  tpoiL  Bat  bar  real  ^mlth,  her  labour^  her  indostrj, 
ber  eeonomical  Mbita  mast  saffer  proportionately. 

_  It  beeoQies  a  nioce  seriooi  sobject  for  reflection  as  to  how  this  new 
discovery  will  aflect  ourselves  To  us.  no  doubt,  the  splendid  evil 
will  come,  hot  in  a  mitigated  form.  Kank  gold  will  come  filtered, 
and  ennobled  through  the  medium  of  commerce,  and  the  great  i 
will  be  gradoai.  Still,  the  great  change  must  come,  and  the  i 
position  of  debtor  and  creditor  will  be  materially  affected.  OnC 
giiine  and  imaginative  American  asserts  that  their  lies  sufficient  go 
on  the  surface  of  California  to  payoff'the  National  Debt  of  England 
the  greatest  magnitude  of  amount  yet  known.  Whether  it  would  be| 
mode  of  payment  satisfactory  to  the  fundholders  is  another  questia 
In  the  country  we  speak  of,  the  Indians  already  are  glad  to  sell  ] 
for  its  v«  eight  in  diver  coin,  and  among  the  various  usurpatii 
our  time,  we  may  see  stiver  assume  precedence  over  its  yellow  I 
nay,  cowries  themselves  may  come  into  circulation  amongst  mf 
vendors  and  '*  tatoes-all-hot ! "  men. 

There  are  grave  questions  for  political  economists  and  financial  re- 
formers now  to  speculate  upon,  concerning  this  matter.  One  thiuf 
seems  certain,  that  England,  as  she  contains  more  of  money's  worth 
than  any  other  country,  has  less  to  fear  from  the  threatened  glut  of 
gold.  Her  iron  and  her  eoals^  her  railways,  docks,  factories  ;  abova 
all,  her  native  industry  and  energies  are  sources  of  real  wealth  that 
can  never  be  radically  affected ;  they  may  temporarily  languish^  b<«t 
can  never  fail. 

To  the  philosopher,  the  political  economist,  the  geologist,  however, 
this  golden  land  becomes  of  as  deep  interest  as  to  the  miser, 
sudden  revelation  has  taken  the  world  so  much  by  surprise  that  ev 
our  wide- grasping  literature  fails  to  supply  our  demand  for  infoi 
tjon  on  the  subject.     We,  therefore,  very   cordially  hail  a  faitlil 
and  unpretending,  but  most  interesting  little  book  by  Mr.  Brii 
**  What  he  8aw  in  California"  is  exactly  what  we  want  to  f 
knaw. 


193 


SCHILLER  AND  HIS  CONTEIMPOR ARIES.* 


BY     CHARLSS     W»ITEHSAD« 


WITH     A     PORTRAIT, 

CHEiSToru  Fried  RICH  Von  Schiller  was  born  in  Marbacliy  a 
amall  town  in  Wiirtemberg^  on  the  lOih  of  November,  1739.  His 
father  had  been  a  surgeon  in  the  Bavarian  army,  and  had  seen  service 
in  the  Netherlands  during  the  War  of  Soccession.  On  his  return  to 
Wlirtemberg,  Ire  abandoned  his  profession,  and  the  duke  gave  him  a 
commission  of  ensign  and  adjutant.  Eventually,  having  been  ad- 
vanced to  the  rank  of  captain,  he  was  employed  by  hi*  prince  in  the 
laying  out  of  the  pleasure-grounds  of  Ludwigsburg  and  the  Solitude. 

From  Moser,  pastor  and  schoolmaster  in  the  village  of  Lorch, 
Schiller  received  his  earliest  instruction,  and  it  would  seem  that 
whilst  he  was  with  this  person  he  conceived  the  idea  of  devoting  him- 
self to  the  clerical  profession.  However  this  may  be,  he  studied  at 
Ludwigsburg  with  tfiis  view,  and  for  four  years  underwent  the  annual 
examination  at  Stuttgard,  to  which  aspirants  to  the  chyrch  are  sub- 
jected. 

But  hh  father*s  patron,  the  Duke  of  Wiirtemburg,  having  founded 
\  a  free-school  at  Stuttgard,  pressed  him  to  permit  his  son  to  avail  him- 
self of  its  advantages.  He  knew  not  well  how  to  refuse  the  offer, 
and  accordingly,  young  Schiller,  in  1773,  was  enrolled  in  the  Stutt- 
gard  school,  as  a  student  of  the  law.  Here,  however,  a  military  sys- 
tem of  drilling  had  been  established,  which  was  carried  out  during 
hours  of  recreation,  —  a  circumstance  which,  we  can  readily  be- 
lieve, disgusted  Schiller.  Neither  had  he  any  strong  inclination 
towards  law,  the  study  of  whicli,  after  two  years,  he  abandoned, 
passing  to  that  of  medicine,  which  was  scarcely  more  to  his 
mind.  This  is  not  surprising  when  we  are  told  that  he  had  begun  to 
devote  his  secret  hours  to  Plutarch,  Shakspearc,  Klopstock,  Lessing, 
Herder  and  (loethe.  Of  the  "  Gotz  von  Berhchingen  '*  of  the  last 
poet— a  wild  but  vigorous  picture  of  rude  times  and  manners — he  had 
become  an  ardent  admirer;  and  to  the  influence  exercised  upon  him 
by  this  performance  do  we  ascribe  the  composition  of  **  The  Robbers," 
which  he  wrote  in  his  nineteenth  yean  The  publication  of  this 
tragedy  created  an  extraordinary  sensation.  The  character  of  Karl 
%'on  Moor  is  well  calculated  to  excite  pity,  but  it  excites  terror  too,  and 
his  feelings  and  his  fate  are  not  such  as  to  induce  any  one  in  his  senses 
to  seek  a  realization  of  them  in  his  own  person.  The  stories  that  a 
young  nobleman,  and  that  some  students  of  Leipzig  betook  ihemselvea 
to  the  forests  to  commence  opera! ion&.as  banditti  are  false. 

The  Duke  of  Wiirtemberg  was  doubtless  a  very  correct  man,  and 
one  who  had  a  due  respect  for  the  world's  opinion,  and  that  world 
liad  decided  that  the  play  of  **  The  Hobbers'*  was  injurious  to  mo- 
rality. Previous  to  its  publication,  Schiller  had  been  appointed 
surgeon  to  the  regiment  Auge,  in  the  Wiirtemberg  army,  which  pro- 

^^k  •  Correjipflndence  of  Sthillcr  with  Konier,  comprising  Sketches  and  AuecdatrB  of 
^H  Ooft^the,  the  Sddi'gfls,  Wiikiid,  &c«  Tranislateti  bv  Leoourd  Sim^^on.  T^iwXft'^. 
^M    184{). 


O^ 


^ 


lUkL 


^pdM< 


■  ITSt. 


of  Dallierg, 

i  in  Oct4iber^ 
il4>  take  up  his 
Here*  vithiQ  a 
Ltfire/  vhich  were 

^of  hisTmiui 

t  lie  WM 

oTllM 

lllie«T1ii]iar 

lofabriir 


nvdi 


efvl 


Lecteriy*  vMcli  coouio 

id  the  Duke  of  Sale 

Baft  a  csrcuoMliance  roofv 

1^  increicd  the  ha|i|Miie«s  of 

if  this  period.     He  received 

two  of  which  Here  of  Ttn: 

hj  a  letter  IB  which  the  stmn^'trs 

ihetr  admiralioii  of  his 

Theoe  inaiifiers  were 

Theodore  Kamer,  the 

never  rose  to  emin^ioe^ 

i  of  ao  ooioeBt  engrsf  er  of  Leipzig — 

oC  wao  about  to  be  mairied 


iwdy  rtipopdtd  9m  tidt  BppeaJ,  and  a  eorrespotideiioo 
Umwrnm  him  aad  Kiiracr,  whieh  was  continued  till  th4 
death  of  the  poet,  and  which  ia  eeriandjr  aa  iateresttng  a  collection  i 
letten^  lor  rcaiaai  wfaich  we  ahall  giwe  preeentljr,  as  ever  was  published 

At  the  presstng  bricatioii  of  his  Leipaig  Irieods,  he  \efi  Mannheta 
for  that  city,  where,  howerer,  be  did  not  long  remain.     Kamer  havin 
settled  at  Dresden,  he  took  up  hia  residence  at  his  house,  and  com^ 
picted  ''  Don  Carlos,**  which  was  published  in  178G.     *'  I  was  born  a 

et,  and  I  shall  die  a  poet,"  sajs  Schiller,  in  one  of  hin  letteri  to 
Liimer.  *'  Don  Carlos  *'  was  the  first  play  that  made  his  title  to  thst 
name  unquestioned.  Several  of  his  beautiful  lyrical  poems  were 
written  about  this  time;  and  shortly  afterwards  he  began  his  **  Geist* 
rrseher  **  (Tlie  Ghost-seer),  a  romance  which  want  of  money  indue 
him  to  attempt,  but  which  bean  evident  marks  ofgeuius* 


SCHILLER. 


195 


N 


I 


However,  lie  conceived  a  distaste  of  tliis  class  of  writing,  and  pro- 
doced  his  **  History  of  the  Revolt  of  the  Netherlands/"  and  the  6rst 
volume  of  a  **  History  of  the  most  Remarkable  Conspiracies  and  Re- 
volutions in  the  Middle  and  Later  Ages,*'  which  appeared  in  1787. 

It  was  in  this  year  that  he  first  visited  Weimar,  wliere  he  was  intro* 
duced  to>  and  soon  became  intimate  with,  Herder  and  Weiland,  His 
intimacy  with  Goethe  began  later^  that  poet  being  tlien  in  Italy,  aod 
avoiding  him  in  his  return,  for  reasons  he  afterwards  offered  in  print, 
but  did  not  sufficiently  explain.  Nevertheless,  the  friendship  of 
these  two  great  men  at  length  became  close  and  tasting,  and  we  bc^ 
lieve  on  both  sides  sincere* 

A  vacancy  having  taken  place  in  the  Professorship  of  History  at 
Jena,  Goethe  recommended  Schiller  to  Amalie,  Regent  of  Saxe 
Weimar,  as  a  fit  person  to  fill  the  chair,  which  was  ofTered  to  him; 
and  he  went  to  Jena  in  1789,  In  the  February  of  the  following  year 
he  married  the  Frauiein  Lengefeld,  an  accomplished  and  most  ami- 
able woman,  of  whom  he  speaks,  in  his  letters  to  Korner,  in  terms  of 
the  most  devoted  affection. 

Occupied  with  history  as  his  profession,  he  applied  himself  to  the 
composition  of  a  **  History  of  the  Thirty  Years'  War,"  which  is  by  far 
his  best  production  in  that  department  of  literature,  and  which  waa 
published  in  1791*  But  his  healthy  which  seems  never  to  have  been 
good,  and  which  no  doubt  he  bad  injured  by  close  study  and 
unremitting  labour,  now  began  to  fail,  A  disorder  in  the  chest, 
which,  although  many  times  overcome,  never  entirely  left  him,  and 
killed  him  at  last,  would  not  permit  him  to  deliver  his  lectures,  and 
compelled  him  to  suspend  his  historical  studies.  At  this  juncture, 
the  Duke  of  Holstein  Augustenburg  of  Denmark,  and  Count  Scldm- 
melman,  conferred  on  Inni  a  pensioi>  of  a  thousand  crowns  for  three 
years,  that  he  might  be  released  from  the  necessity  of  literary  labour, 
and  have  time  lo  recruit  his  strength— *  a  noble  act,  and  worthy  to  be 
recoTdcd  in  honour  of  the  worthy  and  generous  Danes,  and  of  the 
virtuous  and  affiicted  poet. 

Before  he  had  well  recovered,  Schiller  turned  his  attention  to  a 
new  channel  of  speculation,  which  was  the  likeliest  in  the  world  to 
prevent  his  recovery — the  study  of  the  Kantian  philosophy,  and  he 
produced  many  treatises  in  which  he  set  forth  his  views,  A  great 
poet  was  Fried  rich  Schiller,  and  a  great  dramatist;  but  how  much 
greater  as  both,  had  he  not  thought  himself  a  great  metaphysical 
philosopher  I 

The  Xenien — a  collection  of  epigrams,  written  in  conjunction  with 
Goethe — a  sort  of  German  Dunciud — is  the  most  noticeable  work  upon 
which  he  was  employed  between  his  Kantian  speculation  and  the 
production  of  his  greatest  work-=Walieiistein — which  appeared  in 
1797.  This  magnificent  performance  was  translated  into  English  by 
Coleridge,  in  a  manner  beyond  all  praise. 

Having  removed  to  Weimar,  he  shared  with  Goethe  the  task  of 
superintending  the  theatre,  and  in  1800  produced  his  fine  play^ 
*•  Mary  Stuart."  In  1801  "The  Maid  of  Orleans  "  was  published; 
in  180^  his  **  Bride  of  Messina;'*  and  early  in  the  following  year 
"  William  Tell,"  a  play  only  second  to  the  **  Walleusteln." 

It  was  on  his  return  from  Berlin,  where  he  had  been  lo  witness  the 
performance  of  **  William  Tell,*'  that  he  experienced  a  viqWv^v  liWsjtcV 


196 


STANZAS- 


of  his  former  complaint;  but  it  abated,  and  he  resumed  bis  laboQi 
He  was  eogaged  upon  a  play  founded  on  the  attempted  imposture 
Dinutri  of  Russia,  two  act*  of  whicli  he  had  trni^hed,  and  had  sketched' 
the  plot  of  Perkin  Warbeck,  when  the  cold  spring  of  1605  brought 
back  his  complaintp,  whicli  was  no  louger  to  be  subdued.  He  sank 
under  it,  and  expired  on  the  evening  of  the  5th  May  1805,  in  the 
46th  year  of  his  age>  leaving  a  widow,  two  sons,  and  two  daughters. 

The  lives  of  literary  men  of  genius  rarely  contain  many  eventi 
in  them  to  engage  the  attention  of  the  reader,  and  those  eventii 
commonly  bear  a  certain  similarity ;  but  they  are  perused  w  ilh 
avidity,  as  records,  however  incomplete,  of  those  who  have  ennobled 
our  feeUogs,  quickened  our  understandings,  and  brightened  our  per- 
ceptions of  the  beautiful  and  the  true*  But  we  want  to  know-  more 
about  them.  We  have  the  immortal  part  of  them  in  their  writings^ 
it  is  true ;  but  who  is  to  form  more  than  a  vague  notion  of  an  author 
from  his  writings  ?  Let  one  man  remember  only  the  comic  character! 
of  Sbakspeare,  and  another  forget  all  but  Othello^  Macbeth,  and  Lear, 
and  then  let  them  compare  their  ideas  of  the  prevailing  character  of 
the  mind  and  manners  of  the  dramatist.  Now,  if  his  confidential 
letters  had  been  preserved  to  us,  we  should  have  been  able  to  gletn 
a  tolerably  accurate  knowledge  of  his  idiosyncracy.  Gray  was  not 
the  greatest  of  poets,  neither  was  Cowper;  but  how  much  more 
interesting  are  they  as  poets  when  we  have  read  their  letters. 

But  what  makes  Schiller's  correspondence  with  Korner  so  singularly 
attractive  is,  that  the  two  men  were  bound  together  by  ties  of 
the  strongest  and  purest  friendsship,  so  that  Schiller  pours  out  to  the 
other  every  feeling  of  his  heart  and  every  thought  of  his  mind,  not 
only  without  reserve,  but  witli  a  yearning  desire  for  sympathy  and' 
encouragement.  Nor  is  Karner  incapable  o(  understanding  and  fully 
appreciating  every  sentiment  of  Schiller's  soul,  and  every  opec&tioQ 
of  his  noble  intellect.  Perhaps  his  affection  for  his  iViend — which  was 
as  sincere  and  cordial  as  man  ever  felt  fur  man — quickened  his 
perceptions  by  heightening  the  necessity  he  felt  of  knowing  what  wai 
passing  in  the  breast  and  brain  of  the  poet;  but  his  tetters.  At 
eifusions  of  the  heart,  are  fully  equal  to  Schiller's;  while  the  twaj 
together  form  as  beautiful  and  affecting  a  picture  of  human  frien  * 
ship  as  was  ever  presented  to  the  world. 


4 


STANZAS     TO     C.  W.   N. 


Wmek  fir*t  tlty  glance,  bo  bright  uad 
kindf 

Met  mine,  witli  )ovt*-iiJMpiring  ray, 
What  hl'ins  around  my  pJitliway  twined  1 

I  never  wm  mora  bJythc  and  ^y. 
We  have  known  honn  of  sadness^  lave, 
But  many  more  of  gladness,  love  ; 
Mny  thotte  which  to  us  yet  remain, 
Be  full  of  joy  and  free  horn  paiu  I 

Stern  care  had  chained  the  vng^rant  amilcj 
And  »orrow  i]iread  her  darkest  lutrht, 

Opf»re*ied  with  souUcouiiuiijing  ttii?, 
1  iurned  to  thee  and  all  was  light. 


I  ble««  tliat  merry  heart  of  thine. 
Which  hade  my  awn  it4  load  resign » 
And  drove  old  care  to  rcftlmi  mSmr, 
And  stayed  the  rage  of  aofTOifli  w»r. 

But  now,  the  lord  of  that  fond  hMtft, 
I  will  not  deem  that  grtef  can  •ImJ» 
*Tw]xt  two,  whom  life  nor  deatJi  caui 
part, 
We  dial  I  no  more  of  torrow  feel ! 
We  have  known  houn  of  sadiMMi,  lovfv 
But  ntany  ntore  of  gladness  love; 
J^Iay  tluwi*  w  hkh  to  ut  y*l  remain, 
lie  tall  uf  joy  and  free  Iroui  pitUi  t 

W.  Law  G^ye. 


**1VIy  reLellimis  bchflviour  to  Lticile*»  governesses,  proiluceil  iiptm 
my  parents*  mind  a  most  unfortuniite  impression  of  my  disposition, 
and  my  subsequent  conduct  with  one  of  my  playfellows  decided  tlieni 
in  forming  a  still  \vor*e  opinion  of  me.  My  uncle^  M.  tie  Chateau- 
briand, resided  at  Saint  Malo,  as  well  as  his  brother;  like  him,  he  had 
four  daughters  and  two  sons,  Pierre  and  Armand,  my  two  cousins,  were 
my  companions  for  a  short  time ;  but  Pierre  soon  became  page  to  tlie 
Queen*  and  Armand  was  sent  to  college,  being  destined  for  the  church. 
When  the  pages  were  discharged,  Pierre  went  into  the  navy,  and  was 
afterwards  drowned  off  the  coast  of  Africa.  Armand  remained  many 
years  at  college,  and  served,  with  the  mo2>t  nntlinching  courage,  during 
the  emigration.  He  made  at  least  twenty  voyages  to  the  coast  of 
Bretagne  in  a  small  sloop,  and  at  length  died  in  the  King's  cau^e  upon 
tlie  plain  of  Grenelle,  on  Good  Friday  1810. 

"After  the  departure  of  my  cousins,  I  endeavoured,  by  forming  a 
new  acquaintance,  to  compensate  myself  for  tlie  loss  of  their  society. 
The  second  floor  of  the  hotel  in  which  we  lived  was  inhabited  by  a 
gentleman  called  GesriL  He  had  one  son  and  two  daughters.  His 
boy  was  treated  very  differently  to  me.  He  was  a  thoroughly  spoilt 
child :  everything  he  did  and  said  was  charming ;  he  delighted  in 
£ghting,  and  in  fomenting  quarrels,  and  of  these  he  would  always 
constitute  himself  the  judge.  Then  he  would  play  all  sorts  of  tricks 
upon  the  nurses,  who  were  sent  lo  walk  out  with  their  little  charges. 
He  was  considered  the  most  mischievous  boy  in  tlie  place,  and  many 
of  his  misdemeanours  were  converted  into  grave  faults.  The  fatlier 
winked  at  the  various  complaints  which  were  made  against  him,  and 
still  continued  to  indulge  all  his  whims.  Ge^iril  became  my  most 
intimate  friend,  and  soon  obtained  a  surprising  influence  over  my 
character.     Under  this  judicious  preceptor  1  nuide  considerable  pro- 

fress,  though  in  disposition  we  did  not  at  all  resemble  each  other, 
preferred  quiet  am  ua  em  cuts,  and  never  wished  to  quarrel  with  any 
one.  Gesrih  on  the  contrary>  enjoyed  noisy  pleasnres,  and  was  never 
more  happy  than  when  he  was  creating  some  disturbance.  He 
delighted  to  be  in  the  midst  of  a  tumult.  If  a  boy  in  the  street  spoke 
to  me,  he  would  exclaim  :  *  What  I  will  you  allow  it?'  I  immediately 
felt  that  my  honour  was  compromised,  and  proceeded  to  thrash  the 
impertinent  fellow  ;  my  friend  would  stand  by  and  applaud  my  spirit, 
but  would  never  offer  to  render  me  any  assistance.  This  propensity  of 
Gesril,  to  drive  others  into  a  quarrel  while  he  remained  a  qniet 
spectator,  seemed  to  indicate  an  ungenerous  disposition ;  yet»  in  after 
life,  on  a  smaller  scene  of  action,  he  almost  surpassed  the  heroism  of 
Begulus — he  wanted  only  Rome  and  Titus  Livy  to  make  up  the  sum 
©f  his  glory.  He  became  an  olBcer  in  the  navy,  and  was  taken  prisoner 
Ht  Quiberon.  The  English  continued  to  (ire  cannon  upon  the  repub- 
licans,  after   the    action   was    over.      Gesril  tbrew  himself  into  the 

•  In  the  preceding  pan  of  iliese  Memoirs,  which  appeared  in  the  Jmwum^  wmv^t 
l^l  thifl  M«g3u&ine^  page  1Q^  line  17,  the  reader  is  ?e<\uciteA  \o  wiXi*\\XMA»  wwi*  ^«»Tt 


I 
I 


I 
t 


198 


MEMOIRS   OF    CHATEAUBRIAND. 


sesj  and  swam  towarda  tlie  alii  pa,  called  Ufwn  I  lie  English  to  cease 
tiring,  and  announced  to  them  the  misfortune  and  capiLuliition  of  the 
emi^^rantsi*  They  wished  to  save  hini,  and  threw  out  a  cord  to  hinij 
entreating  him  to  come  on  board.  *  I  am  prifjoner  upon  parole !'  he 
tihouted  from  the  midist  of  the  waves,  and  immediately  swam  back  to 
land*  He  was  &hot  with  Sombreuil  and  his  companions.  Ge«ril  wa« 
my  first  friend.  Equally  misunderstfiod  in  childhood^  we  instinctively 
drew  towards  each  other,  as  if  we  were  conscious  that  we  should  be 
both  dilferently  estimated  in  after  life.  Two  adventures  put  an  end 
to  thk  early  part  of  my  history,  and  produced  a  complete  change  in 
the  plan  of  uiy  education.  We  were  once  walking  on  the  shore,  near 
the  Porte  Saint  Thomas^  along  the  Sillon ;  where  large  stakes  were  driven 
into  the  sand,  to  protect  the  walla  from  the  inroads  of  the  sea-  We 
were  in  the  habit  of  climbing  to  the  top  of  these  stakes,  in  order  thtt 
we  miglit  watch  t!ie  waves  rushing  between  them.  The  places  were 
taken  as  usual ;  several  little  girls  were  there,  hi^sidea  boys,  I  wat 
seated  nearest  to  the  sea,  and  had  only  a  pretty  little  niiaid  in  front  of 
me,  Hervine  Mugon,  who  altirnately  laughed  and  cried  with  fear  or 
joy*  Gesril  was  perched  on  the  other  extremity  of  the  bank ;  the 
wave  itpproached,  and  as  it  was  very  windy,  the  nurses  cried,  *  Come 
down,  young  ladies  I  come  doivii,  young  gentlemen  I*  Gesril  waited 
for  a  huge  billow ;  when  it  dashed  between  the  stakes  he  pushed  the 
child  nearest  him,  causing  it  to  tumble  against  the  next,  till  at  length 
tijey  ail  fell  one  after  the  other,  like  a  pack  of  cards;  although  none 
of  them  were  thrown  over,  for  they  supported  each  other.  But  the 
poor  little  girl  who  was  seated  near  the  edge,  and  against  whom  I  was 
preei[Utatedj  fell  over,  and  was  instantly  carried  away  by  the  tide. 
Then  the  nurses  screamed  and  scolded,  drew  their  clothes  around  them 
and  ptiddled  into  the  water,  after  bestowing  smart  blows  upon  their 
respective  cliurges.  Hervhie  was  rescued,  hut  she  declared  that  it  was 
Francois  who  had  pushed  her  over ;  the  nurses  darted  upon  me. 
I  escaped  from  them,  and  tmdc  rufuge  in  a  cellar  of  our  hotel,  but  the 
female  army  continued  to  pursue  me.  Fortunately  my  father  and 
molher  were  not  at  home,  and  La  Villeneuve  gallantly  aefended  the 
entrance  to  my  place  of  shelter,  and  drove  back  the  enemy.  The 
real  author  of  the  mischief,  Gesril,  at  length  came  to  my  assistance. 
He  went  into  his  own  house,  and  with  his  sisters'  help,  threw  out  of 
the  window  jugs  full  of  water  ajjd  roasted  apples  upon  the  assail  an  ti» 
The  siege  lasted  till  night,  when  the  enemy  was  compelled  to  retire; 
hut  the  news  soon  spread  through  the  town,  and  the  Chevalier  de 
Chateaubriand  was  considert^d,  at  nine  years  old,  to  be  a  perfect 
monster — a  remnant  of  tliose  pirates  vvhom  Saint  Aaron  was  supp^Rsed 
to  have  expelled  from  his  rock.  The  following  adventure  quite 
decided  my  parents  in  pursuing  an<>ther  course  towards  me,     - 

**  I  often  went  with  Gesril  to  Saint  Strvan,  one  of  the  suburb*  of 
aSaint  iVIulo,  and  only  sepamted  from  it  by  the  Merchants'  Wharf. 
*' In  going  to  this  place  we  were  obliged  to  pass  over  little  strejimi 
of  water  upon  narrow  bridges  of  stones,  which  the  tide  frequently 
washed  away.  The  servants  who  accompanied  us  remained  some  dis- 
tance behind  us.  We  soon  )>erceived  at  the  extremity  of  one  of  thene 
bridges  two  cabin-boys  coming  towards  us.  Gesril  exclaimed, '  1  woo- 
der  if  those  fellows  intend  to  let  us  pass ; '  and  then  shouted  lil  the 
lo[t  of  his  voice,  '  Into  the  water,  ducks,  in  an  instant  V  The  cabin* 
boys  did   uot  appear  to  understand  this   raiileryi  and  gradually  ap* 


MEMOIBS   OF   CHATEAUBRIAND. 


199 


proached  us*  Gesril  drew  back ;  we  placed  onrselires  at  the  end  of 
tiie  bridge,  and  Uiok  up  a  boudful  uf  pebbles  aud  threw  at  their  heads. 
They  ttpratig  upon  us  and  obliged  ujs  to  abandan  our  posit  ion  >  for  they 
armed  tliem selves  with  large  stones  and  drove  us  back  to  our  reserve- 
guards,— namely^  to  our  servants.  I  did  nut  receive  a  blow  in  the  eye 
like  Horatius^  but  a  stone  struck  my  left  eiir  so  violently,  that  it  waa 
almost  separated  from  my  head^  and  half  hung  down  upon  my  shoulder* 
I  did  n«it  think  so  much  of  the  pain  I  endured,  as  of  the  manner  in 
which  I  should  be  received  on  my  return  home*  When  my  friend 
happened  to  get  a  black-eye  or  torn  coat,  he  was  pitied,  coaxed^  luid 
caresaed,  and  re-clothed  ;  in  a  similar  case  I  was  well  punished.  The 
blow  which  1  had  received  was  really  dangerous,  but  still  La  France 
could  not  persuade  me  to  go  in  doors^  for  I  dreaded  to  see  my  parents. 
I  oooceuled  myself  in  the  second  floor  of  the  hotel  with  Gesril,  who 
bound  up  my  bead  with  a  napkin.  This  napkin  brought  other  ideas 
into  bis  mind;  it  reminded  him  of  a  mitre:  he  transfonned  me  into  a 
priest,  and  made  me  sin^;  high- mass  with  his  sisters  till  supper-time. 
The  pontiff  was  then  obliged  to  go  down  Btairs.  I  felt  my  heart  beat : 
at  lh«  aight  of  my  disordered  countenance  my  mother  uttered  a  shriek, 
but  my  father  did  not  say  a  word.  La  France  told  my  pitiful  story» 
maJting  all  kinds  of  excuses  for  me^  still  I  did  not  escape  chastisement : 
mj  wounded  ear  was  dressed^  and  Monsieur  and  Madame  de  Chateau* 
bnaod  resolved  to  separate  me  from  Gesril  as  soon  as  possible- 

«« J  luive  given  this  slight  sketch  of  my  childhood,  because  I  believe  it 
pmciiBcd  a  material  influence  over  my  character.  Whether  the  severe 
nature  of  my  education  was  good  in  principle  I  cannot  pretend  to  assert ; 
bat  the  treatment  I  received  from  my  parents  was  not  intentionally 
dengoed  by  them,  but  arose  naturally  from  the  peculiarity  of  their 
dMfMieilion.  But  from  whatever  cause  it  originated,  it  produced  a 
decided  effect  upon  my  future  opinions,  and  made  me  often  appear 
diflereut  from  other  men ;  still  more  certain  is  it,  that  mv  mind  became 
in  consequence  slightly  tinctured  with  melancholy.  This  seemed  to 
grow  with  me,  perhaps  because  in  childhood,  generally  so  free  from 
c»re  and  so  full  of  glee,  I  had  been  repulsed  and  treated  with  harsh- 
nnmt      I  did  not,  however,  conceive  any  dislike  to  my  parents  in  cunse- 

Suenee  of  their  severity  tuwards  me  ;  on  the  coutritry,  in  after  years, 
learned  to  respect  them  for  it.  When  my  father  died,  my  comrades 
In  the  Navarre  regiment  witnessed  my  deep  sorrow  for  his  loss.  To 
my  mother  I  owe  the  consolation  of  my  life ;  for  she  it  was  who  in* 
•uUad  into  my  mind  the  tir^t  principles  of  religion.  Possibly  my  intel- 
l«CMifll  faculties  might  have  been  farther  developed  by  earlier  cultiva- 
lioot  yet  I  am  almoist  inclined  to  imagine  that  the  solitude  in  which  I 
was  educated  was  more  suited  to  my  tiatural  disposition*  The  fact  is, 
tbat  no  system  of  education  in  itself  is  preferable  to  another  system, 
I}o  children  of  the  present  day  feel  greater  love  to  their  parents  because 
lliej  do  not  fear  them — beoiuse  they  are  treated  with  greater  famili- 
arilr^  Gesril  was  spuiled  in  the  same  house  in  which  I  was  cunti- 
anally  reproved ;  we  were  both  in  reality  good  fellows,  and  affec- 
timaie  and  dutiful  sons.  Some  particular  things  which  you  think  are 
tojufioBS  to  your  child  will  frequently  lead  to  the  discovery  of  his 
tHlffOtl ;  and,  on  the  contrary,  the  very  thing  which  you  imagine  will 
be  natf^  to  him  may  have  the  precise  effect  of  smothering  these  talents* 
Ood  orders  all  things  aright ;  providence  guides  us  wherever  it  des- 
timm  na  to  perform  a  part  on  this  world's  stage. 


200 


MEMOIRS    OF    CHATEAUBRIAND. 


*'My  mother  could  not  help  wishing  that  I  might  receive  a  cldssica) 
education*  *A  sailor *s  life/ she  observed,  *  would  not  perhaps,  aflar 
all,  Knit  my  tatite/  At  any  rale,  it  njipeared  desirable  to  her  that  I 
shituld  be  titled  for  following  another  path  if  I  preferred  it,  Ifer  piety 
induced  her  to  hope  that  I  might  like  to  enter  the  church*  She 
proposed^  therefore,  thai  I  should  be  sent  to  a  college  where  I  should 
he  instructed  in  matbeumtic^,  drnwiugj  the  English  language,  and  ia 
military  science  ;  she  did  not  dare  to  speak  of  Greek  njid  Latin  for  fear 
of  startling  uiy  father^  but  she  re^iolved  that  I  f^huuld  learn  these  Itin- 

fuages  at  first  secretly,  and  openly  when  I  had  made  some  progresj*. 
ly  father  agreed  to  her  proposition*  and  accordingly  it  was  arranged 
that  I  should  be  sent  to  the  college  of  Do].  The  preference  \v&&  gireii 
to  this  town  because  it  wha  situated  on  the  road  between  Saint  iMalo 
and  CoDiboiirg.  In  the  course  of  the  very  severe  winter  which  pre* 
ceded  my  departure  from  home  the  hotel  in  which  we  lived  took  fire, 
and  1  WHS  rescued  from  the  dames  by  my  eldest  sister.  JVL  de  Cha- 
teaubriand was  at  hia  chateau^  and  requested  his  wife  to  join  him 
there.  We  were  to  go  to  hira  in  the  spring.  Spring  in  Bretagne  is 
more  balmy  than  in  the  suburbs  of  Paris,  and  commences  three  weeks 
earlier,  '1  he  Hve  birds  which  announce  its  approach,  the  swallow,  the 
loriot,  the  cuckoo^  the  quail,  and  the  nightingale  make  their  appear* 
ance,  with  the  soft  winds  whicli  harbour  in  the  gulfs  of  the  Armorican 
peninsula.  The  earth  is  soon  covered  with  daisies,  punsies,  jonquils, 
narcissuses,  hyacinths,  ranunculuses,  and  anemones,  like  the  deserted 
spaces  which  surround  Saint  Jean-de-Latran  tvnd  Saint-Croix  de  Jem- 
salem  at  Rome.  Some  of  the  glades  begin  to  be  streaked  with  tall 
and  elegant  ferns.  The  strawberry,  raspberry,  and  violet  grow  thick  It 
along  the  hedgeSp  These  are  interspersed  with  the  white^thorn  ancl 
the  honeysuckle.  Everything  swarms  with  trees  and  birds:  at  each 
step  children  are  attracted  by  a  nest  or  a  cluster  of  bees.  In  sonie 
sheltered  spots  the  myrtle  and  tlie  rose- laurel  grow  in  the  open  air  as 
in  Greece:  every  apple- tree,  ivith  its  rich  pink  blossoms,  looks  like  a 
large  bouquet  for  a  village  bride. 

**  Even  to  this  day  the  country  retains  some  of  the  chief  features  of 
its  origin ;  it  is  broken  up  into  woody  dells,  and  looks  at  a  distance 
like  one  continual  forest,  reminding  you  forcibly  of  England.  Theii 
there  are  narrow  valleys,  which  are  watered  by  small  rivers,  but  not 
navigable:  these  valleys  are  divided  by  large  moors  and  knots  of  old 
timber,  entwined  with  holly.  Along  the  cua^t  there  is  a  succession  of 
light-bouses,  watch-towers,  Roman  remains,  ruins  of  castles  of  the 
liliddle  Age,  and  steeples  in  the  style  of  the  rtmtuxance :  the  sea 
borders  the  whole.  Pliny,  in  speaking  of  Bretagne,  calls  it,  '  Thepe- 
ninsuhi,  which  is  spcctatrix  of  the  ocean.'  One  of  the  most  glorious 
spectacles  in  Bretagne,  is  the  rising  of  the  moon  over  the  earth,  and 
her  setting  over  the  sea.  God  has  constituted  her  queen  of  the  deep  ; 
she  has  her  clouds,  her  vapours,  her  beanis,  and  casts  her  shadows 
like  the  sun  ;  but  she  does  not,  like  the  sun,  retire  alone ;  she  \%  at- 
tended by  a  host  of  htars.  As  she  descends  beneath  the  clouds,  upon 
my  native  shore,  her  solemn  silence  seems  to  increase,  and  she  C4>m* 
municales  it  to  the  sea.  Presently  she  falls  below  the  horizon,  only 
half  of  Iier  silver  and  beauteous  front  being  visible  to  the  eye  ;  this  la 
soon  cnidted  in  sleep,  and  she  gradually  sinks,  till  she  is  completelf 
buried  in  the  soft  rippling  waves. 

**  The  stars,  her  traiu-ia*arers,  seem  to  pause  a  moment  ere  ibey 


MEMOIRS   OF   CHATEAUBRIAND. 


join  their  queen*  and  sparkle  ainids^t  the  waters,  a  light  breeze 
iprings  up  as  soon  ss  the  moon  is  set,  and  sweeps  away  the  image  of 
the  eonstellatious»  just  as  torches  are  extinguished  after  a  solemnity. 

*'  It  was  arranged  that  I  should  go  with  my  sisters*  to  Comhourg. 
Accordingly,  we  set  out  the  first  fortnight  in  May.  We  left  St. 
Halo  at  sunrise ;  my  mother^  my  four  sisters,  and  myself,  travelled 
together  in  a  huge  old-fashioned  berlio,  mth  double-gilt  panels, 
steps  outside,  and  purple  tassels  at  the  four  corners  of  the  imperial. 
We  were  drawn  by  eigbt  horses,  harnessed,  like  the  mules  in  Spain, 
\rith  bells  to  their  necks  and  bridles,  and  cloths  and  fringes  of  ditfe- 
rent  metals.  While  my  mother  highed,  my  sisters  chattered,  without 
giving  themselves  time  to  breathe ;  I  stared  with  both  my  eyes,  and 
listened  n^th  both  my  ears;  I  was  astonished  at  all  I  bebeld.  Mine 
was  OS  tha  tin»t  step  of  a  wandering  Jew,  who  was  never  afterwards 
tti  retx»8e. 

"  We  stopped  to  rest  our  horses  at  a  fishing  village  upon  the  coast  of 
Cancale  ;  afterwards  we  crossed  the  marshes  to  the  unbealthy  village 
of  Dul,  passed  the  door  of  the  college  whither  I  was  shortly  to  re- 
litni,  and  then  plunged  into  the  interior  of  the  country.  For  four 
trdiuus  hours  we  saw  only  furze  bushes,  un ploughed  fields,  and  mise- 
rahle  ^^tunted  shoots  of  black  corn  ;  coal-heavers  leading  rows  of 
.  with  drooping  and  entangled  manes  ;  peasants,  with 
sed  in  loo^e  coats  of  goat-skin,  driving  lean  oxen,  en- 
o  II  with  noisy  shouts,  while  they  themselves  walked   at 

111  i.^h's  tail,   like   toiling    Fauns.     At  length  we  came  in 

„  j".    .:  .1  V  u  ey,  at  the  bottom  of  which,  and  not  far  from  a  pond,  we 
1    the  spire  of  a  village  church;  and  the  towt^rs  of  a  feudal 
ide  their  u[»pearaQce  amidst  a  belt  of  trees  tinged  with  the 
•  I'ltniLJ  Hun- 

i>f  the  hill  we  forded  a  stream  ;  in  half  an  hour  we 
_  irul  tliH  rirrjri'*'-    ^ajte^d   tlown  an  avenue  of  elm- 

r  t  >rmed  an  arch  over  our 

it    !  -""^^mher  the  exquisite 

I  t_\  ijcious  shade  ;  after 

Miove  through  a  fore- 
ii^tf  ^^^^^^^^^^^fett^fward  ;  then  we 

ard,  called  the 

a  clubter  of 

^  trees.     At 

\  to  rise,  and 

^visible;  its 

tr,  which  a 

Irtain  con- 

I  aize ;  the 

ted    by   a 

ew  grated 

nd  a  stiff 

ancient 

iiated  in 

-of-arms 

thich  the 

fe  carriage 

►  meet  us. 

soften  his 


S02 


MEMOmS   OF   CHATEAUBRIAND. 


disposition,  and  he  received  us  very  kindly.     We  went  up  the  step 
and  entered    a   ve^stibule    havjug  an    arched   ceiling  with    projecting 
mouldings.     After  we  left  the  vestibule,  we  came  into  a  small  iniie 
court. 

"  At  length  we  reached  that  part  of  the  building  which  fiiced  tlie 
aouth   find  the  pond,  and  which  united  the  two  small  towers.     The 
ckMeatt  louked  exuctly  like  a  four-wheeled  chariot ;  on  the  same  Hmir 
we  found  ourselves  in  an   apartment  which  was  formerly  called  salle 
des  gardes;  there  was  a  window  at  each  extremity,  and  two  at  th^ 
side.     To  enlarge  thet^e  windows  it  had  been  found  necessary  to  exc 
vate  the  walls  four  or  five  feet  deep;  two  corridors  issued  frum  the  oute 
angles  of  the  apartment,  and  led  to  the  little  towers.     In  one  of  the^ 
towers  was  a  winding  stair-case,  which  connected  the  salle  des  gardes 
with  the  upper-story.     That  portion  of  the  building  within  t\i^ J'aqadt 
of  the  high  and  the  large  tower  looking  to  the  norlh,  and  on  the  aide 
of  the  cour  verte^  contained  a  kind  of  square  dormitory,  which 
very  dark,  and  was  used  as  a  kitchen  ;  in  addition  to  this,  were  the  ve 
bule,  the  Hight  of  stops,  and  a  chapel,  the  salon  des  archives^  or  des  at 
moiries,  or  des  otseaujCj  or  des  cheva Iters ^  so  called  because  the  ceihna 
was  decorated  with  coloured  escutcheons,  and  paintings  of  birds.     Tbj 
enbrasnres  of  the  narrow  and  trefuiled  windows  were  so  deep  that  the 
formed  complete   rooms,  and   were  enclosed   by  a  bench  of  granite 
Add  to  the  apartments  which  I  have  already  desicribed,  secret  stair 
and  passages,  donjons,  and  a  labyrinth  of  covered  and  open  galleries  ifl 
different  parts  of  the  building,  besides  subterranean  vaults,  the  ramifi«4 
cations  of  which  were  unknown,  and  everywhere  obscurity,  and  a  pr 
found  and  marble  stillness,  and  you  will  then  have  a  complete  idea  < 
the  chateau  of  Coinbourg. 

**  Supper,  which   was  served  in  the  salle  des  gardes,  where  I  «t«^ 
without  constraint,  ended  the  first  hap|>y  day  of  my  life.     True  happi 
ness  costs  little!  if  it  is  dearly  bought  it  is  not  genuine.     As  so*m  i 
I  was  awake  the   next  morning  I   went  to  look  at  the  grounds 
the  chateau^  the  flight  of  steps  faced  the  north-west*     When  seated  ' 
the  top  of  these  steps,  you  saw  before  you  the  cour  verte ;  beyond  th 
coMT,  a  kitchen-garden,  situated  between  two  forests  of  trees*    The  oo 
on  right  of  the  avenue  by  which  we  entered  was  called  the  pelii  maxli 
the  other,  on  the  left,  the  grande  mail;  these  last  consisted  of  uu' 
beech,  sycamore,  willow  and  chestnut  trees.     Madame  de  Sevignf,  i 
her  time,  extols  thi^se  venerable  shades  ;  since  that  period  four  hun 
dred  years  had  increased  their  beauty.     On  the  opposite  side^  towards 
the  south  and  east,  the  country  presented  a  very  di^Ferent  landscape  to 
the  eye;  from  the  windows  of  tlie  grand  salle  you  beheld  the  houiies 
of  Combourg,  a  pond,  the  bank  of  this  pond,  over  which  the  high»ro*' 
from  Rennes  passed,  a  water-mill,  a  meadow,  dotted  with  cows,  an 
separated  from  the  pond  by  the  bank.     Along  the  borders  of  thin  mc« 
dow  stretched  a   little  hamlet,   in   the  gift  of  a  priory,   which  wu 
founded  iu  1149|  by  Rivallon,  8eigneur  de  Combourg,  where  n  l 
ment  of  him  in  knight's  armour  might  be  seen.     The  ground      _ 
rise  gradually  from  the  pond  till  it  formed  a  complete  amphitheatre  i 
trees,  through  which  peeped  at  intervals,  village-spires,  and  the  i 
towers  of  country-seats-     Wouid  an  artist  be  able  to  make  a  skt 
the  chdleau  after  the  minute  description  I  have  given  of  it  ?     II 
not ;  and  yet  it  lives  so  diistinctly  in  m?  memory  that  I  see  it 
uiy  eyes.  Such  are  the  impotoucy  of  words  aud  the  force  of  recoUe 


MEMOIRS   OF    CHATEAUBRIAND. 


203 


*  My  first  stay  at  Combnurg  wan  of  sliort  duration*  I  was  tltere 
scHTcelj  more  than  a  fortnight,  when  the  Abb«  Porclier,  head-master 
"  the  college  of  Dol,  cume  to  fetch  me.  I  was  placed  in  his  cliarge, 
tmd.  in  spite  of  my  tears^  I  was  obliged  to  return  with  him.  I  wait  not 
Buite  a  stranger  at  Do),  for  my  father  was  canon  in  right  of  being  the 
Descendant  and  representative  of  the  house  of  Ouillanme  de  Chateau- 
ibnand.  Sire  de  Beanfort,  who  founded  in  1529  the  first  stall  in  the 
choir  of  the  cathedral.  The  Archbishop  of  Dnl  was  M-  de  Herce,  a 
friend  of  my  family  and  a  prelate;  he  was  shot  with  his  brother,  the 
Abbe  de  Herce^  at  Quiberon  in  the  Champ  du  Martyre.  As  soon  as  I 
[•rrired  at  the  college  I  was  placed  under  the  particular  care  of  the 
Abbe  Leprince,  professor  of  rhetoric  and  geometry.  His  countenance 
WW  striking  and  handsome,  and  he  was  very  clever  and  posseRsed  great 
tajite  for  the  arts,  and  considerable  ^kill  in  painting  portraits.  He  took 
the  trouble  upon  himself  of  teaching  me  my  Bezuut,  The  Abbe  Egault 
became  my  Latin  master.  I  studied  the  mathematics  in  my  room^ 
tnd  Latin  in  the  common  hall. 

It  re<|uired  some  time  to  accustom  an  urchin  like  myself  to  the  re- 

Itraint  of  a  college*  and  it  was  long  befure  I  couM  isubmit  to  regulate 

my  movements  by  the  sound  of  a  bell.     I  had  not  those  rt  ady  friends 

whom  fortune  always  brings  about  its  possessor,   for  what  was  to  be 

[  ^ned  from  a  poor  youth  like  me,  who  had  not  even  'a  weekly  alk^v- 

rince  of  pocket-money?     I  hated  to  be  patronized,  so  that  I  did  not 

Lleek  the  protection  of  those  who  exerted  the  most  influence  among 

[the  boys.     I  never  attempted  to  take  the  lead  in  any  game,  norwi^uld 

7  sulfer  myself  to  be  led^  for  I  was  not  suited  to  play  tbe  tyrant  or  the 

'are. 

**  I  became  very  soon,  however^  a  centre  of  riunion^  and  I  afterwards 

exercised  the  same  influence  in  my  regiment:  tliongh  I  was  only  plain 

■Q|>-lieutenant,  all  the  old  officers  npent  their  evenings  with  me>  and 

"erred  my  room  to  the  caj^,     I  do  not  know  exactly  how  to  account 

sr   tb»v   except  that  perhaps  it  might  result  from  my  readiness  in 

"^titenng  into  the  pursuits  of  others  and  in  adopting  their  habits.     I 

Itked  bunting  and  racing  as  much  as  reading  and  writing.     It  is  still 

eqnolly  indiiferent  to  me  whether  I  chatter  about  the  most  ordinary 

thing*  or  discuss  subjects  of  the  greatest  importance.   I  care  very  little 

Ux  biimour ;  indeed,  it  is  almost  repugnant  to  me,  though  I  do  not  know 

it   I   am  particularly  dulJ  in  comprehending  it.     Few  faults  offend 

except  self-sufficiency  and  idle  jesting,  and  these  I  can  with  diffi- 

I  ttilty  restrain  myself  from  resenting*     1  always  find  that  others  are 

inperior   to  me  in   some  things,  and  if  by  chance  I  discover  thut  I 

ponseu  an  advantage  which  they  have  not,  I  feel  myself  almobt  euibar- 

mated. 

"Those  qualities  of  my  mind  which  had  been  allowed  to  slumber 

during  the  early  years  of  my  childhood  were  roused  into  activity  at 

colliege.     3Iy  quickness  in  learning  was  remarkable,  and  my  memory 

really  extraordinary.    I  soon  made  considerable  progress  in  nmthe- 

mutic*,    and  surprised  the  Abbe    Le prince   by   my  clearness   of  in- 

e   in    this   study.      I   shewed,  besidesj  a   decided    taste   for 

4  languages.     I  longed  impatiently  for  the  hour  of  my  Latin 

I      <  i  -,  OS  a  sort  of  relaxation  from  mathematics*     My  Latin  phrases 

'        iirularly  transformed  themselves  into  pentameters^  so  that  the 

A\^-  *  bestowed  upon  me  the  niime  of  EMgiatjttet  which  appeU 

Ltii  Vied  to  be  given  me  by  my  school-fellows." 


20+ 


POPULAR  BOOKS  OF  THE  MONTH. 


What  I  saw  in  California  in   1846  and  1847-     By  Edwin  Bryant,  late 
Alcalde  of  St,  Francisco.     Benl!e/s  Cabinet  Library. 

We  should  Iw  paxzled  to  find  a  more  attractive  title  for  a  new  hix>k  at  the  pn 
sent  moment,     Kveryliody  wjints  to  know  whnt  i*  to  be  sieen  in  Califomio ; 
everybody  may  he  safdy  referrtfd  to  tiiis  sensible  and  practical  volume  far  the  { 
Ecation  of  his  curiij&ity,  _ 

Mr,  Bryant  is  an  American.     In  common  with  thousands  of  hit  conntrymeiiv  lh#  ^ 
wah  induccKl,  fiome  two  or  three  years  ago,  to  tindcrtake  the  land  expedition  acroai 
the  Uocky  Mountains  to  the  shore*  of  the  Pacific;  and,  unlike  most  other  emi- 
grants in  that  direction,  he  accuroplished  the  mute  without  a  solitary  aocident,  Al| 
things  considered,  and  intimate  as  we  are  with  the  di»a»ter»  wliich  have  ifiraria"_ 
marked  the  truck  of  American  emigration  in  Oref^jn  und  California,  we  caimot  help! 
thinking  that,  interesting  an  Mr.  Bryant's  book  is  in  other  resp^^cts,  thin  it  the  i 
remiirkable  fact   it   contains.     Even  the  ordinary  inconveniences  of  the  joun}e|^| 
scarcely  affecteil  J^lr,  Brviint^s  fonuniite  party.     At  first  they  had  loiiie  dti$cult]rl 
with  the  cattle,  Tphith,  in  »pite  of  all  their  precautions,  would  stray  away ;  but  tlie 
bad  hardly  any  trouble  in  recovering  the  stragglers,  atid  lost  none  of  them, 
oourse  they  were  exposed  to  the  usual  hardships  of  people  who  travel  with  wa^^n 
and  sleep  in  the  open  air  ;  but  all  in  a  mitigated  degree.    They  now  and  then  suifered  ' 
undi^r  the  annoyances  of  excessive  h^l  and  great  thirMt,  hut  were  seJdom  ex|jim«Ml 
to  the  mi»ery  of  want  of  water  ;  they  met  loose  parties  of  Indians,  but  non^  td 
them  were  hostile;  there  was  a  little  illneti  In  the  cDinp  occasionally,  hut  it  never 
retarded  their  progress;  and  they  had  the  rare  satisfaction  of  arriving  at  the  cod 
of  their  journey  in  high  health  and  spirits,  without  having  incumfd  a  single  Ims 
except  that  of  a  poor  animal,  which,  m  Mr.  Bryant  diaructensticaily  expresses  it, 
**  gave  out  from  fatigue,  and  was  left  on  the  road,'* 

This  renders  I\Ir.  Bryant's  journal  singularly  clicerful^     You  may  almost  fane 
that  you  are  reading  an  account  of  a  passage  throtigh  a  charming  cTuntry,  natufi 
ly  fertile  and  picturesque^  and  slightly  populated  by  scattered  pastoral  rac««'     V'r 
will  not  often  be  reminded  that  crowds  of  human  beings  have  endured  incrrdih 
toils  and  privations  along  this  very  track  ;  that  there  are  tribes  of  howling  i 
clo^  upon  you  on  all  i^ide^j  ready  to  take  advantage  of  your  isolation  ^    that  I 
are  fevers,  and  agues,  and  cramps,  and  rheumatisms,  lurking  in  the  dreary  swatnpe  ' 
which  you  are  compelled  to  cross,  or  to  pitch  your  awnlngt  in  ;  that  if  you  are  for- 
tunate enough  to  escape  death  from  disease,  there  is  a  considerable  chance  that  yon 
will  fall  under  the  arrow  or  the  tomahawk,  and  almost  a  certainty,  should  fm. 
reach  your  destination  alive,  that  you  will  l)e  broken  down  by  fatigue,  and  fv!ni4i- 
in  cotiMtltutiun.     lilr.  Bryant  is  a  happy  exception.     He  survived  all  his  perils. 
appears  to  have  enjoyed  them.    But,  well  aware  of  the  singularity  of  his  suoceaa,  t 
relates  some  instances  of  miserable  failures,  whicJi  shew  the  reverse  of  tlie  pictui#| 
in  colours  so  revolting  as  to  detract  materially  from  the  temptations  held  out  by  1 
own  experience.     In  his  case,  the  whole  party  arrived  safely  and  soundly  in  Call, 
fornia;  to  other  cases,  of  which  he  gives  us  harrowing  dt'tails,  the  wretched  emi* 
grants,  wandering,  without  fiKtd, in  the  dismal  recesses  of  the  mountani«.  an/l  cK  inir 
off  from  day  to  day  of  actual  starvation,  were  reduced  to  such  cit 
few  who  lived  ottt  to  the  laU  were  sustained  by  feeding  on  the  dr  l 
companions.  The  particulars  of  this  nature  which  Mr.  Bryant  ha*^ 
to  us  to  tie  too  horrible  for  belief  t  and  we  hope,  for  the  sake  oi 
bis  inform&niM  have  exaggerated  the  facts.     Be  tlits  as  it  miiy,  tl)«'  npute  u*  \  an- 
fomia  by  the  Roiky  Mountains  is  beset  with  such  bazardu  »»  to  mnke  any  rational 
man  he^situte  before  he  ventures  upon  it ;  a  eonsideration  of  little  moment,  perhat« 
in  America,  where  individual  life  la  by  no  meant  prised  bo  highly,  or  preserved  i 
carefully,  na  in  England, 

Mr,  iVy ant's  party  left  Louisville  on  the  IHth  of  April,  lfi4G,  and  arrived  it  In 
do|>enderireT  Missouri,  the  siartiug-point,  *m  the  1st  of  May.     On  the  5th  of  ^P«l 
U!ml>rr  they  reached  the  valley  of  the  Sacramento  (where  the  gold-mines  were  Utely 


POPULAR  BOORS  OF  THE  MONTH. 


205 


dfftpovered)  in  Upyn^r  California.     The  whole   distance  from  IndepCTiHence  to  llie 
valley  is  estimated  ait  2091  miles,  occupying  three  months  in  the  performance. 

The  party  with  whom  Mr,  Bryant  *tftrted  c^Whistecl  of  nearly  three  hundred 
persons,  inchuling  women  and  cliildrcn  ;  hut,  Bndiiig  this  made  of  travelling  slow 
and  tedious,  he  &nd  eight  other  genilecnen  ««panited  from  the  camp  at  Port  X^a- 
ramie,  oiid  excliAnging  iheir  wagf^ons  and  mcen  for  Mexican  miilea,  of  whose  ex- 
train-dioary  endurance  he  speaks  in  the  highest  termt,  they  proceeded  at  an  accele- 
rated rate  for  the  reiuninder  of  the  journey.  In  thiJi  way  they  followed  the  trail 
for  a  distance  of  nearly  lives  hundred  miles,  when  tl^ey  resolved  to  try  a  new  route 
to  the  south  of  the  Salt  Lake,  by  which  they  expected  to  sluirteu  the  journey  from 
one  hundred  and  fifty  to  two  hundretl  miles.  In  this  expedition  they  were  en- 
tirely tiucce&»ful|  hut  it  was  not  accoropli^^hed  without:  great  faci^^ue  and  suffering. 
In  one  day  they  perfonned  seventy-five  miles  ;  a  feat»  we  helieve,  unparalleled  in 
these  re^ons.  This  line,  however,  ia  quite  impracticahle  for  large  emigraut 
parties, 

Mr*  Bryant  record  n  the  incidents  of  the  journey  minutely.,  and  always  with  a  view 
-.So  practical  results.  He  is  too  ohaervant  a  traveller  not  to  seize  upon  the  points  most 
ravailahle  for  the  information  and  guidance  of  futvire  emigrants,  and  hi»jnurual  ac. 
[  cordingly  pr^ents  luch  an  nccumte  view  of  vicdssitudes  and  adventures  on  the  road^ 
as  tn  become  a  complete  handbook  to  this  savage  tour*  It  i«  as  go<id  in  its  way  as  the 
^  best  of  Murray's,  The  intelligence  is  undoubtedly  of  rather  a  different  complexion. 
Instead  oftheluxurinns  and  extravagant  acc^immodations  of  the  Drei  Kunige  on  the 
t  banks  of  the  Rhine,  or  the  Belle  Vue  at  Bni5sel;i,  we  have  a  dark  ntxik  under  the 
I  locks,  or  the  grassy  terrace  of  a  lake,  where  we  set  up  for  the  night,  and  ctMjk  our 
jAwn  suppers.  There  are  no  attendant //a rfonjr,  with  snow-white  napkins  under  their 
Inarms,  tripping  up  behind  our  chairs  to  change  our  plates  with  perplexing  rapidity; 
[Jiere  every  man  is  his  own  (/ar^im^  and  miitit  get  his  rations  as  he  can  and  where  he 
lean,  and  l>e  grateful  if  the  want  of  attendance  he  not  supplied  by  a  descent  of  naked 
1  Indians,  prepared  with  m(?st  wolfish  appetites  not  only  for  his  supper  hut  himself. 
[  The  route  taken  by  Mr,  Bryant  is  hy  no  nieans  settle^l.  Single  men  travelling 
I  by  mules,  with  light  stores  and  baggage,  will  find  their  advantage  in  shortening  the 
I  «>ute  by  the  Salt  Ltike,  but  waggons  and  oxen  can  never  uike  that  line.  The  emi- 
l^nint  who  risks  the  trackless  desert  will  often  find  Islmself  brought  to  a  dead  stop, 
land  muft  go  forward  hy  the  aid  of  such  gticss  work  as  his  experience  and  sagacity 
^may  suggest.  In  cases  of  this  kind,  the  example  of  others  who  have  taken  the  same 
Ifouteis  of  incakulahle  value  ;  and  Mr.  Bryant^s  acC'Ount  of  false  movt»s,  of  steps  re- 
I  traced^  of  ground  lost,  and  new  paths  and  escapes  discovered,  cannot  be  estimated  toct 
I  bighly  by  all  who  are  concerned  in  the  cari^f  of  this  wild  regiim.  For  the  indifTerent 
reader  who  investigates  such  matters  at  his  leisure,  and  explores  the  world  in  his 
I  easy  chair,  the  narrative  possesses  the  excitemtents  of  a  romance. 

An  interesting  practice  prevails  amongst  the  emigrant  companit*  on  the  trail, 
by  which  they  are  sometimes  enabled  to  keep  up  a  sort  of  poat'Office  commnnica. 
tion  with  each  i»ther.     Whatever  information  they  wish  to  transmit  to  others  fol- 
lowing on   ihe  same  track,  is  written  on  hufliilo  skulls,  or  on  strips  of  smooth 
planks,  or  in  a  letter  which  is  inserted  in  a  split  on  the  top  of  a  stake  driven  into 
'  the  ground  close  to  the  trail.     The  intelligence  received   in  this  way  is  devoured 
'  with  as  much  eagerness  as  an  English  newspaper  by  John  Bull^  after  he  has  been 
I  mme  months  out  of  the  wnintry  without  hearing  the  echo  of  his  vernacular,  or 
iceing  its  familiar  characters. 

One  of  the  most  extraordinary  scenes  along  this  diversified  line  of  country  i« 
the  desolate  plain  of  the  Great  Salt  Desert,  which   the  party  reached   on  the  3rd 
J  August,     Mr,  Bryant's  picture  of  the  out-stretched  valley  is  perfectly  startling. 
.  ile  rises  from  his  hivouac  at  half  past  one  in  the  morning  to  survey  tfiis  strange 
[sight.     The  moon  is  large  and  as  red  as  a  hall  of  fire^  and  its  hermtiful  light  ii 
litruggUng  down  through  a  curtain  of  vapour  that   hiings  over  a  high  ridge  of 
Cmountains  to  the  west.    This  ridge,  stretching  far  to  the  north  and  souths  is  com- 
I  posed  of  dark  rugged  peaks,  exhibiting  misshapen  outlines,  or  towering  upwards  in 
.a  variety  of  architectural  forms,  representing  domes,  spires,  and  turreted  fortifica- 
tions.    The  American  imagination  cannot  make  much  of  such  forms,  the  charm 
of  which  depends  upon  poetical    and   traditional   associations  ;    and   that  which 
struck  Mr.  Bryant  more  forcibly  than   the  castled  crags,  and  which  muat  be  ad- 
mitted to  iie  more  grand  and  imposing,  was  the  vast  extent  and  solt^mn  stillness  of 
the  scene,  lying  in  a  tranre  under  the  red  light,    "*  Our  encampment."  he  tells  um, 
*'  was  on  the  slope  of  the  mountain,  and  the  valley  lay  spread  out  Bt  our  feet,  il* 
luminated  suiBdently  by  the  red  glare  of  the  moon,  and  tlie  more  pallid  odul^fi^tte 


m 


POPULAR  BOOKS  OF  THE  MONTH* 


of  the  Btars,  to  display  imperfectly  lu  broken  and  frightful  barrenacw^ 
solemn  desi)Iati«in.  No  life,  except  in  tbo  little  ouAis  occupied  by  oof  csmp, 
dampened  by  the  nhiggi.Hh  itream,  eidiited  ai  far  as  the  eye  could  peneirate  ow^ 
tiiounuin  and  plain.  There  was  no  voice  of  animal,  no  hum  of  tntect,  ditta 
the  tomb-like  solemnity.  All  waA  ttilence  an<l  death.  The  atmoftphere^  chill  i 
frosty^  seemed  to  s^Tn^iathize  with  thi«  sepulchral  stitlneu.  No  wailing  or  i 
pering  jioiind»  sighed  throug:h  the  chaams  of  the  moniitaios^  or  over  the  gulfy  4 
waterlesa  ravines  of  the  valley.  Like  the  otber  elements  sustaiuing  animal  and 
vegetable  life,  the  windn  aeemed  staf^rmnt  aod  paralysed  by  the  anirertal  dcftl^ 
around.**  The  style  haa  a  smack  of  the  New  World,  but  the  picture  ii  viiid  and 
evidently  faithful. 

Tbe  lir$t  point  reached  in  California  was  the  valley  of  the  Sacnifx}ent%  »*m1 
from  thence  Mr.  Bryant  crossed  the  country  to  San  Fraudsco.  a  distance  of  dOO 
miles  farther  on,  Avkhin  ^ve  mile.^  of  the  Pacific.  The  position  of  this  onintry  on 
the  map  may  be  thus  descrilMsd  :  It  lies  south  of  Oregon,  and  north  of  I^iower  Cali- 
fiirnia,  with  the  Rocky  Mountaini  to  the  east,  and  the  Pacific  Ocean  to  the  west.  lu 
extent  from  north  to  south  is  about  7^0  miles,  and  from  east  Co  west.,  about  GOO  or 
UOO  ;  only  that  small  portion  of  the  whole  which  rune  idoug  the  border  of  the  icft 
being  fertile  or  inhabitable.  The  rest  is  barren,  consisting  of  impractica 
tains,  barren  valleys,  and  arid  »ands.  Towards  the  c\me  of  1840,  thia 
paiiaed  by  right  of  arms  under  the  possession  of  the  Uuited  States.  Wh 
Bryant  was  at  a  supper  party  at  San  Frandsooi  he  could  hardly  persuade 
but  that  he  was  still  in  New  V^ork.  The  faces  around  the  table  recalled  {rnnilk 
memones ;  song,  sentiment,  story,  were  all  American  ;  and  every  Americwi  who 
was  present  considered  himself  trading  on  hts  own  soil.  Not  very  long  aftervafds 
Wr.  Bryant  liad  further  reasons  for  considering  himself  at  home,  when  one  morn- 
ing he  was  waited  upon  by  some  people  in  aulbority,  who  re<]ucsted  him  to  a<!cept 
the  olhce  of  alailde,  or  chief  magistrate  of  the  district. 

It  seems  very  clear  from  our  alcalde's  incidental  descjriptions,  that  A  lettler  Ul 
California  ought  to  speak  Spanish  fluently,  and  ite  well  ac(|(ia]nted  with  Blexioan 
habits  and  iustitutioiis.  California  may  change  hands,  hut  it  cannot  ao  eadly 
change  usages.  Wherever  1^1  r,  Bryant  went,  the  stamp  of  the  mixed  Spaniah  and 
Mexican  customs  w»s  apparent  in  town  and  randio.  The  agricultural  settiec  00*^ 
also  make  up  his  mind  to  the  predatory  incursions  of  the  htistile  Indians,  wlu>lhttl« 
Iwnefi ted  just  enough  from  their  contuet  with  civili%atioti,  to  enable  them  to  eoim- 
mit  plonder  adroitly.  Horses  and  cattle  are  constantly  stolen,  and  the  unlbftn- 
nate  colonistt  can  never  establish  himself  in  security  until  after  he  has  Uterailj 
fought  his  way  into  a  fortiiication.  All  these  points  are  of  grave  consideradoa  to 
emigrants* 

Its  soil  and  climate  are  favourable  to  a  high  state  of  cultivation.  G rapes  if* 
grown  in  great  profusion^  and  the  countr}'  boasts,  accordingly,  of  its  own  wineDSfuul 
brandies.  r^Ir.  Bryant  does  not  seem  to  be  very  critical  in  such  matter*,  and  we 
tuspect  that  the  Californitin  vineyards  will  buifer  in  comparison  with  those  of  Bar* 
gundy  or  Bordeaux.  Wheat  is  said  w  he  produced  and  reproduced  in  almost  incredi* 
ble  quantities,  without  irrigation  ;  and  Ijeef  is  not  only  tine,  but  to  be  had  in  abun- 
dance. But  the  enjoymentis  of  the  table  form  a  trifling  item  in  the  Caiifoftiiaa 
theory  of  pleasure.  Like  his  ancestor,  the  Mexican,  the  great  delight  of  the  CaU<^ 
forniau  is  to  he  on  hors^diack.  He  has  the  moat  perfect  saddlei  and  the  longoitapear 
in  the  world  ;  he  loves  Bnery  of  appearance,  like  tite  Indian,  whose  bkiod  ia  tnisMd 
in  hh  veins  with  that  of  the  proud  Spaniard ;  and  he  barters  the  whole  pradiioe  of 
his  lauds  at  an  enormous  loos,  to  ohiain  the  scraps  of  jewellery,  and  coloured  clotlii 
and  tissues  he  so  much  covets.  Hides  and  tallow  constitute  the  grand  resomtvaof 
tlie  country,  in  the  way  of  export ;  a  statistical  fact,  from  which  the  chieC  < 
pations  and  mode  of  life  of  tlie  people  may  be  readily  inferred. 

It  is  curious  to  trace  in  tbe  Cidifomiani  the  old  elements  of  charuster  still  i 
viving,  which  distinguished  the  stock r  from  which  they  sprang.  Alihon^ 
Colifornian  is  perfectly  satisfied  with  his  piece  of  heef>  so  far  as  creature 
are  concerned,  and  is  content  with  his  horse,  and  his  blanket,  and  his  trftp, 
for  personal  display,  his  thirst  for  pleasure  is  insatiable  ;  and  the  pleasures  he  Umim 
indicate  at  once  the  direction  of  ins  tastes.  He  lovea  the  fandango,  moiita,  hiict»> 
racing,  bull 'baiting  ;  he  is  a  desperate  gambler ;  and  he  brings  into  these  enllUm 
amusements  all  tlie  passions^  intrigue,  and  insincerities,  which  dJsdnKiiiabed  hi* 
progenitors.  In  these  phases  of  Californian  existence  and  Califomiandikarftot«r  yon 
might  fancy  the  expedition  of  Cortez  revived  before  your  eyes,  and  the  riddili  ad- 
.  ronturous,  wild  splriu,  fresh  from  the  cities  of  Old  Spoin^  rising  np  Afoutid  yon  i 


POPtTLAR   BOOKS  OF  THE    MONTff. 


Wl 


^mhlemhtlc  action,  fliuginjf  the  lasso,  casting  the  dice,  rmttling-  the  caistJUiet»,  and 
dAAnng*  with  tipsy  and  riotous  glee. 

Surh  hTv  the  people  np*m  whtwe  territory,  in  this  very  valley  of  the  Snemmentfl, 
frovenkedl  hy  Mr.  Brji'iinc,  has  lately  beeu  discovered  h  new  F»ctohiN^  Bcfori*  the 
diacf»very  at  these  gulden  sasdii,  ttic  minerul  richen  of  CaHAjniia  tvere  uiid<fnittMMt 
to  he  oonsiiierable,  although  the  state  of  the  MeKic-tii  law  made  it  the  jjolitT  of  ttte 
ffiriitmaf  mine^f  to  conceal  them  as  much  m  p4.«»ible.  There  is  now  no  dunUt  i!iut 
Californta  po6se»iea  fiilrer,  quicksilverj  lead,  iron,  gold,  and  cupper  ;  and  that  brim- 
Urnie,  t^ltpetre,  muriate  and  carbonate  of  Mwla,  and  bitumen^  are  abunduiit.  The 
Hches  of  the  valley  of  the  Sacramento  came  to  light  8iib!ie<|uenily  to  Mr,  Bryaut*s 
visit;  but  a  poattcript  to  him  work  comprise*  the  whole  history  of  the  gold-findings 
m  th&C  wetilthy  district. 

It  ta  impindble  to  form  any  calculation  yet  of  the  effect  which  the  quantity  of  ^nld 
likelv  to  be  Lbrowm  into  circulation  by  this  immense  and  »udden  acoei»Kion  of  bullion 
vill  liav«  upon  the  comment  of  the  world.  That  it  will  have  a  disturbing;'  effect  is 
plain  enough,  and  the  direction  in  which  the  disturbance  will  ojierate  is  equally  clear. 
The  tncreue  o(  the  precious  metals  must  at  once  bring  up  the  price  of  provisions. 
Idimey«  by  becoming  more  abundant,  will  increase  the  demand  fur  productiunt, 
rhidi  iDttst  be  followed  by  a  k  'U\g  advance  of  prices.     This  will  net  inju- 

nouil^  upon  fixed  inomiea  ar>  i  opercie.^.  A  hundrii'd  pounds,  for  iniitaiu^, 

is  mof^  TaJuable  now,  before  l... i.l  gold  haa  inundated  the  exchangei  of  the 

world,  than  it  will  be  by  and  by;  the  extent  of  depredation,  of  cotune,  being  ooo- 
tiiifent  ou  the  extent  to  which  tbe  circulating  medium  may  be  incre&ied  from  time 
lotime.  In  the  same  way  contracts  will  be  aeriotisly  alfected  ;  he  who  has  made 
his  Usripin  to  receive  a  htmdred  pounds,  will  f^iid  hereafter^  to  his  cost^  that  the 
mm  iloe»  not  intrini.ii!aUy  repre^eut  the  amount  for  which  in  reality  he  stipu luted. 
Bui  to  the  masses  this  coming  iuflux  of  gtdd  will  be  a  signal  boon.  Industry  will 
Ur  ^i'-rt^w  r.^i*,..,L.j  ^  •"C^iusc  therc  will  l«?  more  means  afloat,  and  in  the  ordinary 
a;  'as  of  life,  there  will  be  more  energy  and  activity,  and  m 

Tlie  «3,i»irjice  of  giflden  rivers,  and  ravines  choked  up  with  auriferous  depositii 
4ofii  not,  however,  warrant  the  mania  which  has  set  in  for  experimental  emigra- 
Tirnia.  The  speculation  is  already  overdone  ;  and  the  splendid  visions 
inonthi  ago  lured  tens  of  thousands  of  |>eople  not  only  tlirough  the 
ui  wilt?  Kocky  Mountain:),  but  round  Cape  Horn  and  acrous  Panama,  are 
>  bc^nningto  be  transformed  into  scones  of  brutHnUtruggleund  despair,  A 
la  more  of  the  lantern,  and  the  whole  valley  of  the  Sacramento  will  be 
iverted  into  a  scene  of  lawless  outrage  and  ruin.  In  the  meanwhile,  Govern- 
nt  will  step  in  and  secttre  ibe  harvest  of  gold  for  which  the  impatient  cupidity 
'  iB^rash  avarice  of  desperate  men  ihjJt  have  vainly  sacrificeil  so  much  bunmu  life, 
Tb  rage  for  forming  companies  at  the  first  indication  of  El  Dorado^  in  whuiewr 
^^i-i^r  they  appear,  is  an  old  £ngH&h  weakneASk.  But  the  railway  terrors  of  11145 
'i-u- '  .1  reteQt  not  to  have  left  some  fear,  if  not  a  little  prudence,  behind.  We 
-  nnt  muoh  apprehension  about  Califurnian  companies  and  shtps^  hut  it  is  right, 
I ^cvirtbeleai,  to  keep  the  real  state  of  facts  before  the  public.  The  gold-diggers 
■iilbcTCBaiig  hourly  by  hundreds  and  thousands;  and  droves  and  compHuies  of 
|iBli,wciizieii,  and  children,  armed  with  spades,  and  pitchforks,  and  huakets^  and 
iJ^aiid  wliatever  else  in  the  way  of  implement  they  can  procure,  are  pouring 
ivtotbt  gohien  valley ;  fields  and  shops  are  deserted  ;  millers  abandon  tbeir  mills, 
|V^in  udr  crops,  artizans  their  labour  ;  food  is  becoming  scarce,  hy  and  hy  there 
\  tin  be  uutkM  :  a.iid  here  is  a  population  increasing  at  a  ratio  which  baffles  all  calcu- 
ines  to  be  fed  from  day  to  day,  and  which  must  inevitably,  in  a 
ow  the  means  of  sustentatiou.  ]f  in  this  state  of  things^  there 
>!  lor  justifiable  speculation,  it  is  certainty  not  in  the  article  of  gold, 
Tid  necessaries.  A  great  trade  is  no  doubt  to  be  driven  here  ;  and  the 
v-jMT  mjtn  will  find  his  advantage,  not  in  digging  gold  out  of  the  sa,iids,  but  out 
^  ills  pftpfhtt  anil  pockets  of  the  myriads  who  are  employed  in  looking  for  it 


tOh.  xxr. 


POPITEAR   BOOKS  OF  THE  MONTH. 


The  Saxon«  in  England.  A  History  of  the  Eoglisli  Commonweal  til 
tiU  the  Period  of  the  Norman  Conquest.  By  Joha  Mitchell 
Kemble,  M.  A.     6ro.     2  volt.     Longmans. 

Tbeve  is,  psriwps,  no  ftaiod  ni  EogHih  kiatory  whieh  excitei  so  peculiar  an  id- 

irait  in  oar  mio^  and  vbidl  ham  baeo  thm  wk^wt  of  lo  uracil  profntind  reae^rdti^ 

I M  tlkai  during  widA  tbe  Anflo-SaxOTi  wmoB  remaJiied  ptire  (or  nearly  pure)  imder 

I  Hi  otro  kings.     It  is  a  period  to  vhicli  we  mi9  nxnitomed^  aud  with  reawm,  to  look 

I  §or  the  foandation  of  cDOst  that  is  ir«liuble  ia  oar  ooanitution,  in  our  lang^nage.  and 

j  In  our  oaticmal  character;  and  it  takes,  perhapa,  an  additional  ifiterrflt  from  the 

l^rcomttanee  that  it  it  more  stricclj  defined  within  marked  HmttA  than  the  analo- 

IfooB  periods  o£  other  eountriea.     In  France,  the  trantitiofi  from  Franks  to  French 

Ibmii  was  gndtial,  sad  it  is  dKHkult  lo  say  where  one  ends  and  this  other  hcgim ; 

I  iho  isiifce  may  be  said  oTOemtaiiy  aiid  Italy  ;  but  in  our  own  f»uiitry  wo  can  place 

I  oor  hand  on  a  definite  point  and  say,  here  8axon<England  ends  and  Normaa-En^ 

1  lend  eommence».     It  is  this  definite  character  of  the  subject,  combined  with  m 

r  popular  behef  that  modem  England  is  SajEon-Eaglandf  raiittig  its  heail  Cram  tbe 

I'Oppression  of  Norman  En^^and,  that  has  girea  a  more  pointed  interest  to  the  bis^ 

f  lory  of  «nr  Anglo-Saxon  forefathers,  than  Is  generally  posBcsaed  by  the  history  of 

i^bm  ¥tmnk*f  or  the  Lombards,  or  of  other  nations  of  the  same  age. 

I      lo  loo  many  instances^  howerer^  this  subject  has  been  taken  up  by  writers  who 

IliaTe  treated  tt  in  a  superficial  manner,  without  any  adequato  knowledge  of  tlie 

l-BiaCerials.     Tbe  new  light  that  noight  be  thrown  upon  it  was  first  shewn  lo  the 

^  world  by  one  of  our  best  historical  antiquaries,  Sir  Francis  PaJgrave.     The  Anglo« 

L  Saxons  hare  since  been  treated  learnedly  and  fuliy,  by  a  distinguished  Ovnaan 

'  historian.  Dr.  Lappenberg  of  Hambni^h,  whose  History  of  the  Anglo-Saxons  has 

been  |nven  to  the  public  in  an  English  rersion  by  one  of  our  best  Anglo- Saxonists, 

jUr.  Thorpe.     The  work,  the  title  of  whicli  is  given  above,  comes  from  another 

i  geDtleman  well-known  to  Anglo.S«ixon  tclioLars  by  his  edition  of  tbe  Anglo-Ssioa 

poem  of  Beowulf,  and  by  his  still  more  extensive  publication  of  the  original  texts 

of  Anglo-Saxon  Charters.       Mr,  Kemhle  has  imbibed   largely  the  more  ge&enl 

Tiews  of  the  German  antiquaries  on  the  earlier  history  and  character  of  the  greot 

Teutonic  race,  of  which  the  Anglo-Saxons  formed  a  very  important  branch  ;  and, 

I  by  applying  these  general  viewi  to  the  particular  instance,  aided  by  his  own  Imttoun, 

t  has  thrown  much  light  on  many  parts  of  Anglo-Saxon  history  which  were  bitl 

nperfectly  understood  l>efore.     There  are  parts  of  the  subj«^  which,  wo  lwUiv«, 

Imlt  of  still  further  light,  atid  tooie  of  these  hare  been  not  unsuooessinlly  Ireaetd 

,.  by  the  English  antiquaries  of  the  present  day  ;  but  as  the  space  which  we  cj^n  d«- 

*roie  to  a  work  of  this  class  will  nut  allow  us  to  enter  critically  into  a  subject  which 

iuvdves  so  much  learning,  we  shall  content  ourselves  with  giving  a  slight  g«Mnl 

view  of  its  con  tents. 

Those  who  expect  in  Mr.  Kemhle's  hook  a  history  of  the  Anglo-Saxons,  as 
A  people,  will  lie  mintaken.  It  is  his  object  to  treat  historically  the  great  chaia^ 
terifttics  uf  the  constitution  of  the  Au^lo-^axons  as  a  race,  and  as  a  great  oompottsiit 
pui't  of  the  English  people.  The  subject,  therefore,  admits  of  two  greai  divisiofiS! 
the  condition  u(  the  Saxons  at  the  moment  they  transferred  themselvei  frooi  their 
original  seat  on  the  continent  nf  Europe  to  their  new  settl«nnent  on  the  English 
Ikii) ;  And  the  condition  of  the  same  pec»ple  after  it  had  been  fully  developMi  in 
England.  Uur  only  knowledge  of  the  first  is  derived  from  conjecture,  from  a  com- 
r  parison  of  scattered  facts,  from  the  exphinati on  of  various  customs  and  traditiont  «^ 
a  later  date,  and  from  tlie  analogy  of  other  branches  of  the  Oermanic  mce ;  tke 
si'coikI  rei.'eives  fuller  illuBiration  from  extensive  documentary  evidence.  To  se^k 
of  thewe  brandies  of  the  subject  has  Mr.  Kemble  devoted,  severally,  ooo  of  Mi 
vohiroea. 

In  the  first  volume,  after  treating  hriefiy  of  tbe  historical  traditioas  of  the  |90 

N,  Saxon*  and  Welsh,  and  shewing  how  little  of  historical  truth  is  contataod  in 

ur  eoiamon  historica  of  thu  Saxon  iiiA-aAions,  Mr.  Kemhle  tronts  of  the  Saxons  as 

•  u....  f..i.r^()  when  they  first  sctiied  in  this  island.     When  they  came  from  Qm» 

iuvaders  were  divided  into  mimerou!*  clans,  or  sepu,  or  families,  as  irt 

^  i>^  nuMt  other  peoples  in  a  similar  state  of  civiliKatJOiiy  who,  ou  extmonll- 

nary  oc<r4UJonii,j dined  together  under  one  head,  although  usually  they  asserted  thdr 

vfk  independence.     Ir^  settling  in  a  new  locality,  each  of  these  SMiita  obtalnod  ils 

1  allotment  of  territoryi  which  had  its  exact  and  acknowledged  bottndarisa,  of 


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209 


P 

^L  ace 


'*  inarku,*'  and  was  known  by  the  name  of  the  *ept  which  held  it,  and  this  was  the 
commencement  of  lix'al  name*,  a  Lirpe  iuiml>t'r  of  those  given  by  our  first  Saxon 
forefathers  beinj^:  to  he  trueeii  in  die  oaroe^  of  places  in  England  at  the  present  day. 
In  war  many  septs  placed  theraipieke&  under  one  leader,  but  in  peace  the  mutual  iu- 
lercourse  between  septs,  the  reli^ous  wornhipy  and  the  udminiBtratiun  of  jiiBtirei 
was  reguiated  and  secured  by  tbe  cotifedenicy  of  several  «?pt9  together  ,  from  the 
fornier  case  jfradually  arose  the  kingly  power,  while  the  latter  gave  birth  to  hun- 
dreds, and  ahiren,  and  such  like  jiidicicil  diviftions  of  territory^  As  the  *epta  beaune 
larger,  or  obtained  greater  extent  of  territory,  their  chiefs  beeame  naturally  more 
.powerful  and  iuflueutialf  and  thi^,  in  course  of  time,  gnve  ritie  to  the  distinctions  of 

biiity  and  rank.  In  a  scenes  of  succeasii^e  chapters  J^lr.  Kemble  treats  of  the 
5*  mark  "  or  boundary  of  the  territories  of  the  septs ;  of  the  ^rf,  as  it  was  called ,  or 
'  ire,  the  federal  union  of  several  septs ;  of  rank  as  it  wa»  then  regulated  by  the 
•ccoiinC  of  landed  poftsessino  -,  of  the  distinction  betweeti  the  mere  freeman  aud  the 
noble  ;  of  the  king  ;  of  the  noble  by  serrice,  who  soon  followed  die  estabhshment  of 
royalty  ^  ajid  then,  descending  to  the  bottom  of  the  social  scule^  of  the  serf,  or 
iheow.  He  then  proceeds  to  the  ccJitaideration  of  the  judicial  diviijions  of  ihe 
tithing  or  hundred  ;  of  the  feud,  or  right  of  private  warfure,  and  the  wergild,  or 
oninpensation  for  the  slaughter  (if  individunk,  wlilch  was  the  usual  means  of  paci- 
fying the  feud  ;  of  the  ternire  uf  laud,  folcluiid,  btH?:klaud,  &.c-  ;  and  C4>ncludes  the 
Tolume  with  a  long  cliapter  under  the  title  of  *"  JJeatheudem/*  on  the  religious 
ceremonies  and  hehef  of  the  Saxons  before  their  conversion  to  Christianity. 

An  we  have  already  8tat4?d,  the  8t*cond  volume  of  Air,  Kemble^s  bcwk  refers  to  the 
condition  of  the  Anglo- Sax  on  ft  at  a  later  period,  when  theircouiititutional  forms  and 
principlet  were  fully  develo|>ed.  Tins  volutno  is  similarly  divided  into  chapters,  of 
which  the  firal  treats  of  the  growth  of  the  kingly  power  from  the  petty  toparch 
who  called  himseHf  a  king,  through  the  various  plhiiie«  iif  divided  royalty,  until  the 
whole  people  bo^ved  the  neck  to  one  monarch.     The  following  chtipters.  tr<  at  of  the 

rions  attributes  which  were  gradually  developed  around  royalty, — of  the  regalia 

rights  of  the  crown  ;  of  the  constitution  of  the  royal  court  and  household  „  of  the 
various  ranks  and  olfices,  ealdomtan  or  duke,  and  g^r^fa  or  reeve  ;  of  the  witeoa- 
ijffmot^or  pvrliament ;  and  of  the  rouditiou  and  position  of  the  towut,  an  element  of 
Society  which  did  not  exist  among  the  Faxons  in  their  original  state,  and  one  to 
Hrhidi  we  think  Mr.  Kemble  has  hardly  given  its  true  importance.  For  it  was 
""  rough  the  town*  first,  which   preserved  the  Roman  municipal  constitution  and 

unicipal  munnera,  and  the  Christian  cJergy  afterwards,  that  the  Anglo-Saxons  re- 
sived  the  cmnmuuication  of  the  civilijtiitioa  of  the  Koman  world.  The  latter  ele« 
lent,   Christianity,  occupies  the  remainder  of  the  second  volume,  and  naturally 

kes  the  place  occupied  by  '^'  Heathendom  "  in  the  first.  The  rem  wining  chapters 
t  respectively  of  the  bishop  ;  the  clergy  and  monks  ;  the  sources  of  the  income 
ivcd  by  the  clergy  ;  and  the  poor,  the  provision  for  whom  lay  especially  with 

e  clergy. 

Without  entering  further  into  the  numerous  BubjectR  treated  of  in  these  volumrs, 
we  will  only  add  that  they  contain  a  great  mass  of  very  valuablo  and  interesting 
inatter,  mid  that,  although  there  may  be  room  in  some  instances  for  differing  with 
|he  author  in  his  concJusions,  we  cannot  but  £ickttowledge  that  they  exhibit  great 
and  much  paiieot  thought. 


The  Bird  of  Passage;  or,  Fljing  Glimpses  of  Many  Lands*    By  Mri, 
Homer,     Bentley. 

For  a  hmg  time  tales  have  been  at  a  discount.     Writen  of  fiction  i«em,  as  if  by 

pnimon  aix-ord,  to  bend  their  necks  to  the  thraldom  of  the  three  volume  tyranny. 

. !  how  often  have  we  »ighed  over — ^nay,  drowsily  nodded  over,  the  nine  buu* 

pages,  which,  if  they  had  been  broken  into  fragments  of  diversified  interest, 

night  have  suctseeded  in  arresting  our  attention.     Is  it  that  the  rec^jillection  of  the 

'Sketch  Br»ok**haa  deterred  modern  writers  from  venturing   in  the  track  of  its 

Enfted  author?  or  ia  it  that   the  potentates  of  Burlington  and  Marlborough  lind^ 

'  that  the  public  appetite  partakea  more  of  the  glutton  than  of  the  epicure,  and  that 

therefore,  even  at   the  risk  of  creating  satiety  or  indigestion,  ibey  |»ersist  in  in- 

Hiding  the  three  cut5  from  the  same  joint,  when  the  iilenticul  <)uantum  of  food, 

varied  by  the  interspersioti  of  lighter  aliments,  would  aiford  a  more  pif^uant  and 

l|uit«  as  healthful  a  repast  T 


sto 


POPULAR   BOOKS   OF   THE   MONTH. 


TW  vack  aov  bcfbtv  ns,  w«  Isei  ntldled,  will  oontroTcn  bocli  of  ihoce  error*. 
Tim  power  «#  foteioJUioti  b^r  detacbed  tele*  has  not  expired  with  the  d«li|rhtful  pro- 
dftiom  ef  Washiiiftoii  IrVinir :  and  w«  think  thai  Mr.  Bentley  will  find  th»t  the 
pabik  will  appi«ciale  and  rduh  thit  deriatioo  from  the  too  rigorouily  observed 
rule  we  han  allnJed  «e. 

Mff«.  Romer,  afier  m  nlenoe  which  we  hmve  thouf^t  too  prolonged,  tuie  produced 
WBtmit  dkmnaMogrammaamee^  e(  tordga  travel — ^^Kiyitig:  Glimp«i%«  of  Many  Landu*' 
^^wUdi,  ff  fliepi,  ntikT  be  more  correctly  termed  pictures  of  nstioaal  customs  and 
than  talei  of  imagination.  It  ii  evident  that  tlie  auihoriE«a  ha* 
L  of  that  of  whkh  the  writea^  for  there  ii  a  graphic  power  and  truthful* 
nmm  in  her  elEeicliee  that  bnaf^  home  to  the  reader^a  mind  the  scetiea  which  she 
jMetrajv  with  artislic  skill.  Her  isles  are  cahitiet  picturfs,  ratJier  than  skeiehiik 
so  minute  mre  they  in  their  details  :  hypereriticism  would  perhaps  oltject  that  t 
ate  tt»  hifbly  finiabed  ;  but  yet  there  is  nothing  laboured  in  their  executio 
ifcat  at  it  may«  as  the  *^  Bird  at  Passage'*  skims  with  light  pinion  over  i 
peiafojof  0nDs«  the  reader  deligbtedly  follows  its  aery  flight,  now  perching  i 
on  U»e  snowy  sammit  of  Lebanoo,  now  upon  the  burning  tands  of  Nubia,  i 
among  the  wild  sierras  of  iSpain,  or  in  the  enchanted  gardemt  of  a  Russian  pala 
and  then  familiarly  aHghtinif  upon  the  roof  of  some  gay  Parisian  hotel,  or  upon  the 
lowly  thaich  of  an  Irish  cabin. 

Extracts  from  tales  so  short  would  only  mar  their  interest ;  howciver,  as  a 
nmide  of  Mrs.  Homer's  descripciye  powers,  we  shall  giro  this  picture  of  a  Nubian 


*^  Those  who  hare  dwelt  only  beneath  the  opaque  skies  of  the  North,  can  scaroaly 
picture  to  themselres  the  Kpleudours  of  a  Nubian  suoiet ;  compared  with  it  evej 
the  glowing  ootouring  of  Claude  appears  pale  and  cold.  8uch  is  the  purity  of  i  * 
transparent  atmosphere,  that  as  ibe  sun  sinks  behind  the  fantastic  mo«^c«iles  i 
the  Libyan  desert,  luminous  radii^  emanating  from  its  disk,  like  the  ^lory  th 
»iiri\ninds  the  head  of  a  pictured  saint,  shoot  athwart  the  heaven*,  and  appc«r  1 
intersect  them  with  the  effulgent  rays  of  a  gigantic  star.  Long  '  ~  ~  ^  lana 
luminary  has  disappeared,  those  rays  continue  brightly,  distinctly  >  >a  i 

Western  horizon,  as  it  gradually  assumes  every  magioiJ  irartcty  ui  .. 
ing  i'rysoUte  to  tender  opal ;  and  it  is  only  when  the  deep  sapphire  tint, 
the  colour  of  night*s  starry  mantle  in  thoee  elimea^  has  spnsad  from  east  I 
that  they  melt  into  indistinctness." 

To  this  glowing  picture  of  the  lonely  desert  we  shall  only  add  one  more  exti 
which  will  aliew  that  Mrs«  Romer  is  as  iuooestful  in  portrait  painting  ai  abe  J 
the  delineation  of  landscape. 

'*  The  Emperor  Nicholas  was  then  in  his  fortieth  year,  and  in  the  very  a 
of  his  unrivalled  beauty.  Of  a  stature  so  lofty  that  he  towered  above  all  who  i 
proached  him,  he  united  to  that  commanding  height  a  symmetry  of  form  and  a 
graceful  bearing  which  are  seldom  the  diaracceristics  of  ver^'^  tall  men.  Ills  face 
was  faultless,  and  striking  as  his  form  ;  the  features  cast  in  that  pure  mould  if  bid 
the  sculptors  of  Aucient  Greece  lopcd  to  bestow  upon  their  marble  gods ; 
countenance  bright  and  inteliectuaU  but,  like  those  antique  masterpieces,  boce  I 
tme^  of  human  passion  or  human  weakness ;  its  expression  was  that  of  monil 
stn^ugth  secure  in  its  own  power.  The  £mperor*s  whole  person  presented  iha 
most  perfect  type  o€  royalty  ;  without  a  shade  of  haughtiness  on  his  brow,  he  ita< 
pres«ed  the  beholder  with  the  idea  o^  one  bom  to  command  ;  aud  every  gesture 
was  imbued  with  an  innate  dignity,  whitb  waitld  have  led  the  moat  cantaM  tllh 
servers  to  exclaim,  even  though  his  rank  bad  been  unknowtt,  and  hJi  peraott^** 
guised.  *  What  a  princely -looking  creature  !  * " 

We  cannot  take  leave  of  these  sparkling  volumes  without  an  ohserration  whfeb 
we  tnist  the  acetimpli^hed  uutboreMs  will  take  in  good  part,  aiid  which  is  no  ' 
mcjiiit  to  detract  from  her  merits, — we  wish  that  Mrs,  Romef  was  not  <2*u**  < 
tnigiiul  in  Iter  denoiiemenSf  and  that  either  she  would  render  her  heroines  less  ii 
teresling,  or  ilmt  %hv  would  be  more  merciful  to  tbem.  Scariely  one  <«cspfis  wif 
life  out  of  her  bands ;  if  they  do  not  die  on  the  sc^ne,  either  by  the 
iiiiturc  or  of  it  broken  heart,  ibe  sack  and  the  bowstring  are  clnme  at  hand  to  4 
their  terrible  duty.  We  wish  that  Mrs.  Homer  dfpart«Ml  oftener  rhnn  thrt  d<S 
from  the  {leitbetifT  tone  in  which  she  excels,  we  sliould  almost  say  Jl 

—  wt'ne  it  not  for  tome  line  touches  of  quiet  humour  that  ooc.t 
thciu&clveft)  fur  instance,  in  the  tale  cdled  *^  The  Blue  FJacre,*-  auu  sim  monpi 


POPULAR    BOOKS   OF   THE    MONTH. 


Ill 


frnm  nmny  fordble  insiarn*!**  of  tlie  vU  comica  in  former  writing*  of  Mrs,  Romer^ 
we  might  siipp<i»e  that  the  g^ifted  lady  had  but  one  chord  to  her  lyre — thai  of 
pnthoa.  But  a»  we  know  such  ifi  not  the  CA^e,  wc  ah  all  Vfn.turti'  to  entreat  of  her 
sometimes  to  discard  the  mehmcholy  vein  with  which  she  dehghta  to  awaken  a 
sympathetic  sadness  in  the  hearts  of  her  readersy^-and  w*j  laktj  our  leave  of  her  in 
tne  language  of  Shakspe^ire^s  C'c]>liiiH, 

*'  prithee,  Rosalind^  sweet  iny  cos,  be  merry/* 


^ 


Tlie  Cossaclts  of  the  Ukraine.     By  Count  Henry  Krasinskl     Post 
8vo.     Partritlge  and  Oakey. 

This  work  is  n  rapid  and  interesting  sketiJi  of  the  History  of  the  Ck»siicks,  com- 
prising  hiographiea  of  Ulcizeppa,  and  of  other  c«*Iel)i-»ted  Cossack  chiefs.  The  author, 
who  is  a  Pole,  looks  fonvurd  with  ardent  hope  to  the  day  when  Poland  sduill  re- 
gain her  Jf!reedom.  We  are  not  eiirpriiiedl  that  he  hnds  himself  opposed  in  opinion 
lo  the  majority  of  hia  countrymen  on  the  quesition  of  their  government^  in 
case  of  such  a  result,  for  Count  Krasinski  13  favouriihle  to  h  monnrchy,  hut 
thinks  that  the  King  should  be  chosen  from  the  English^  Swedish,  German,  Ser- 
vian, or  Italian  nobility*  The  author  gives  a  ver)' in teresting  sketch  of  the  his- 
tory of  the  Priticess  Tarakanoff,  the  granddaughter  of  Peter  the  Great,  who  was 
married  lo  Alejty  OrloflF.  OrlofT  married  her  vilely  with  the  view  of  betraying  her 
into  the  hands  of  Catherine,  and  his  treachery  excites  the  greatest  iudignatiofi  in 
Count  Kmitinski^  who  describes  him  as  a  man  ^*  in  whuse  heart  were  the  ructle- 
tjiake,  the  foam  of  a  mad  cat,  and  the  Idle  of  seven  jealous  furies."  Not  less 
amusing  is  the  sketch  of  an  Ukrainian  lady.  Miss  Konteniowakii,  who  is  consitlered 
by  our  author  to  be  a  sort  of  Polish  iU*s  Agnes  Strickland.  This  yining  lady  was 
accustomed  Co  go  into  society  witli  a  pencil  and  note<bo4ik,  and  would  dot  down 
anything  which  was  said,  of  which  she  was  previously  ignorant.  We  are  quite 
sure  that  the  author  of  *^  The  Queens  of  England  "  wouhl  Uf)t  be  guilty  of  such 
display  of  her  thirst  for  knowledge.  The  notes  abound  with  anecdote,  and  alto- 
gether we  have  been  very  much  amused  by  Cuunt  Krasinski's  bouk. 


I 


Shiik*ipere ;  the  Poet,  the  Lover,  the  Actor,  the  Man.     A  Romance 
by  Henry  Curling. 

In  choosing  so  lofty  a  theme,  the  author  has  indeed  "  shewn  a  motiuting  spirit." 
To  write  a  romance  in  which  ShakApere  plays  the  mi»st  prominent  part  threugh- 
out,  is  a  liold  undertakini^,  from  which  noany  would  shrink  in  dismay.  Con- 
sciousness of  imaginative  power,  combined  with  intimate  knowledge  of  the  |;ioet's 
immortal  works,  and  of  the  times  and  circumstances  in  which  he  YiYed^  are  essen- 
tiaJs  without  which  it  would  be  rash  to  make  such  an  attempt.  The  work  Ijefore 
lis  w«  think,  proves  31  r.  Curling  to  be  possessed  of  these  «jualifit^tions.  He  has 
ima^Jied  with  skill,  and  poiiirtruyed  with  verisimilitude,  the  dawning  c-areer  and 
early  associates  of  Shakspere,  amongst  whii>m,  doubtless,  existed  the  types  of 
many  of  his  remarkable  characters,  especially  tho»e  iiiustrating  the  domestic  hatati 
and  familiar  life  in  England  in  the  days  of  Elizaiieth.  He  has,  also,  happily  con- 
trived to  catch  the  spirit  of  the  age,  when  n»tionat  hostility  to  the  Spaniard,  qua- 
lified with  a  growing  relish  for  buccaneering,  and  trregul»r  military  adventure, 
isofubined  to  give  a  martial  ardour  and  a  bold  pi»rt  to  the  male  population  generally, 
a  spirit  that  was,  however,  tempered  and  relined  by  active  interiHjurse  with  the 
great  commercial  cities  of  Italy,  throu|i?h  which  our  ancesttors  became  gradually 
acquainted  with  the  arts,  literature,  and  civilisation  of  that  cla,iisic  land. 

The  personal  histJjry  of  Shakspere,  in  spile  of  the  diligent  researches  of  scholars 
aiid  dei'otees^  forms,  un  fort  una  t  el  y>  but  a  meagre  chapter  in  biography.  The  facts 
gathered  with  so  much  zeal  and  enthnsinstic  eiidearour  are,  indeed,  <'  few  and  far 
between."  Much  of  the  interest  all  of  us  must  feel  in  the  subject  is,  therefore, 
chilled  by  the  want  of  continuity  in  every  authentic  sketch  o(  his  life.  Conjecture 
being  thus  exeite<l,  tt  is  left  to  the  romancist  to  conceive  and  embody  the  generally 
adopted  views  and  opinions  of  those  competent  to  give  a  direction  to  inquiries  un 
the  subject.  It  is  on  tbis  groimd  especially  that  we  are  gnitefnl  to  the  author  of 
this  work, — if  he  has  not  u]dield  the  great  poet  all  ihriiugh  his  rontaiice  according 
to  lUe  reader*s  beau- ideal,  lie  has  certuinly  broyglu  liim  forward  to  **  the  tuiu4'<& 


SIS 


POPULAR   BOOKS  OF  THE   MONTH. 


eye**  MKV  viri'If  t3kaii  we  cooJd  hare  oooceired  it  poMiblo  in  m  vork  of  llim 

MaBf  gmt  priiiiMi^ini  ui  Eiiglisli  liittonr  are  made  to  figure  in  thi»  ronunoe, 
mmi  ape  ikcaikeA  wiiA  ntrit  ami  truth.  Leioeit^ir,  Kaitfigh,  Eascx^  Bacun,  aad 
tk«  aBHAem  ^^Mo^  tifHMf  vith  ilia  magnate  of  Siiak»p«re%  own  county — fcba 
tmcfK  ite  CkfiaB  tesily,  and  tbm  Ardeme*,  ar«  among  the  dramatU  prrjMuiw 
TW  dkaiBkfli  «f  ^Tg*****  accaery  with  which  the  work  abiitmdft,  not  onJy  prowa 
tkm  Mmntmij  ai  ibe  aalKarV  local  koowladge,  but  iudicate  the  potaeuion  ik  roach 


Cotiar  Moskal  Alcmmac  for  I84U. 

ll  vaa  aA  orlgjail  idea  to  unite  with  an  almanae  a  Goroplete  mnffical  handbook, 
vkkk  abaald  tmMamt  OBaeioBaa  of  music  asd  mttaieal  men,  their  birtha  and  itfihi 
RMiged,  cririrhnf  upon  their  wurki,  and  valuable  informaliiM 
omfial  aociatioij  *-****r*^  publication*,  Ac     The  manner  iu  whidi 
I  oBt  IB  Tory  baprj;. 


Sketches  of  Rerolutiaoarj  Paris.     2  vols.     Blackwoods. 
The  Lilj  of  l^iri*.    3  rols.     BeDtley. 

Wo  hacwm  pkoed  thew  two  works  together,  becauie,  proceeding  from  tho  pfQ  i 
ttia  —a  aiKlfcor,  thoy  pfeiiLiiut  a  toosiewhat  unmuaj  incident  in  literature.     Mr. 
riilgian  Sfaapaoa  lmi»  with  remarkahle  facility  and  felicity,  brought  his  unpit  ^ 
mmm  of  hiitonGal  leandig*  and  hii  keen  obserration  of  existtfig  object*,  ioto  a  - 
fHBliaMioa,  from  which  ho  has  deduced  two  entirely  distinct  and  remote  rceultai  J 
iHbooaly  in  ^kmr  wicicow      On  the  one  hand^  he  has  wovpn  in  the  materiala  da* J 
itwd  from  hia  mtimate  aoq;aal&tance  with  ibe  htatorir,  actual  and  legendary,  of  \ 
moBi  iaimeiriiM  eoyital  in  Europe,  into  oue  of  the  most  cbarmtng  of  romaneeai 
whilOk  on  the  ouor,  aisd  with  a  rapidity  which  seems  to  render  the  acramplishmenfi 
abuml  samttkaiMOua^  ho  has  availed  himself  of  the  s^ime  imimacy,  extended.  hLiw*! 
OfW»  and  ovriod  down  into  a  cirde  of  new  creations  and  assoctatinns.  to  skei^l 
mmi  oalMir  m  acrioa  of  hrilliant  memorials  of  a  still  more  storm-fraught  period  thi 
that  of  his  fiotioi^     The  quatil&aitions  which  alone  could  enable  one  writor  toj 
mtiifTi  two  miska  ao  dimimilar,  are^  at  leasti  as  rare  as  the  effort  to  perform  them. 

rial ■ilidfwifirismiipmi the  fint  nf  rlirinirnrkiiTirinilfltifi  mirirlirrrt   It  had  iucirigin 
ao  wo  afo  ioloMed,  in  Mr.  Palgrare  Sim^kson^s  being  entrusted,  by  the  conductorta 
onrlondisj^JoanialfWith  the  task  of  transmit dng  from  Paris,  where  he  was  reaidin 
PMh  infoiiooiiiai  sm  to  tho  progremt  symptoms^  and  phenomena  of  the  last  revoliul 
tio«fe  M  he  mifht  diOB  would  be  aoec|»tahle  to  the  English  reader.     How  My  bo] 
pfftemod  ihie  duty  muat  bo  fredi  in  tho  reonllection  of  everylfody,  for  the  strlaiitf 
mid  effsotiro  aoriea  of  lottors  which  appoated  tn  the  7^m€M,  during  the  evoat^ 
MrM  i«  quoatioa,  wort  the  thomo  of  conrenation  in  every  club,  "^^  at  good  monll 
Mutt**  at  the  dreside.  and  ^'^in  the  mart  where  merchanu  **  (and  more  espodaUf  i 
•mk-morchanU )   **most  do  oongrc^te."       But   the   two   rolumes  are  not    ft] 
aieco  reprint,  or«  indeed,  a  reprint  at  all.     Mr.  Simpson  has  re-cast  the  whole  of  | 
his  ooniributions  to  tho  Tlaus*  has  re^written  much  of  the  mam.  and  haa  addod^,| 
elucidated,  and  oompletod  the  record,  justifying^  by  appeal  to  results,  what  wm  at 
firic  but  shrewd  sunntse.  counecting  the  threads  of  incidenti  and  illustrating  pn>* 
feflsiou  by  subsequent  performatioe.     In  effect,  the*e  volumes  offer  a  spirited,  soc* 
oinet,  and  fniihfut  haiid-botik  of  the  February  Revolution.    Of  Mr.  Palgrave  8imp<^ 
eon's  (HHruliar  fitneis  for  the  preparntiim  of  such  a  memorial,  the  work  aflnrds 
abundattt  internal  evidence  ;  but  to  those  to  whom  this  point  may  not  have  oo- 
currod,  it  may  be  well  to  mention  tbut  Mr.  Palgr&ve  i^impson,  a  ineml«er  of  a 
distiiiguiihed  Norfolk  family  (honourably  known,  also,  in  literary  fidds^  {or  it 
daim*  mnitug  itM  allies  the  gifted  and  amiable  authoress  of  ''*'  Letters  from  the 
Baltic,"  Mh%  Higby,  and  the  celebrated  antiquarian,  Mr.  Dan-son  Turner),  b  aa 
hafiituc  of  U»e  very  best  sodety  in  Paris,  political  and  otherwise  influeoUoli  aM* 
cousc'iueuily,  eujoyod  the  amplest  opjrartunities  of  understanding  the  r«al  aa  veU 
as  tlie  avowed  Mprui((»  of  action  which  prodoced  recent  events  there.     His  pOfSOiaBi 
iuLimiiciy  with  tlie  heads  of  the  various  opposing  porties  in  tho  Fnmch  capittti  ta  aa 
additions]  voucher  Cor  the  punctilious  accuracy  of  his  uarmtive. 


POPULAR    BOOKS   OF   THE   MONTH- 


Of  the  **  LiJyof  Piris  ;  cir^  the  King*B  Nurse/*  even  fewer  iv^rds  of  introdtiction 
are  nec««»ary.  Indeed,  introiluctioii  at  all  is  almomt  siiperfliioua  the  vohime* 
hATii]^  iilready  worked  out  their  own  §ucces&  in  the  dtreetious  in  which  a  novtshst 
eUtefly  looki  for  his  himour^i.  And  tbis  is  not  KtirpriMitifj;^,  for  the  menta  of  the 
hook  are  not  only  high,  but  of  an  yon»ual  cUias.  A  paitisti*king  student,  wirk 
ktifficient  conHtmctive  tibihty  to  racon/cr  tolerably,  may  pot  forth  a  very  readable 
romanoe,  where  his  material  is  rich.  He  miist  Im  a  bungling^  painter  indeed,  who 
csannoC  exhibit  an  effective  picture,  after  witneMing  tlie  complicated  gronpingi^ 
the  Intense  animation,  and  the  plctnrejiqiie  details  of  o  bsittle-field — -such  a  field  as 
the  fifteenth  century.  But  a  transcript  is  one  thing,  and  a  creation  la  nnother. 
The  real  artist  is  seen  in  his  power  of  mingling  fact  and  fittion,  in  hia  not  stnmb- 
ling  over  the  former,  to  the  hindrance  of  his  progress  (as  is  tbe  fate  of  most 
romanc-er*)  or  indulging  in  tbe  latter  to  the  extent  of  losing  the  local  and  tempo- 
rary colouring  of  the  times  he  describes.  Here  Mr  Simpson  is  singtilarly  fortu- 
nate, he  grasps  an  historical  event  with  a  fearless  hand,  and  with  a  foil  compre- 
hensiun  of  its  bearing  upon  society.  Hence  the  incidents  of  fiction  which  he  de- 
duces frora  it  are  so  probable  and  natural,  as  to  lack  only  the  authenticity  of  eyU 
deuce  to  prove  their  connexion  with  the  facts  with  which  they  are  naturally  and 
aniatically  amalgamated  by  tbe  author.  The  dark  history  of  Cborles  VL  of 
Fran ce»  and  tbe  murderous  **  faction  fights  **  between  the  parties  of  D'Armagnac 
and  Burgundy,  lend  the  writer  htf^  manHy  scaffoblirig^  tbe  edi^ce  of  love,  and  hate, 
and  intrigue,  and  sorrow,  which  he  has  raised  upion  it,  being  in  every  way  worthy 
of  the  preparation*  Gracefully  and  elegantly  written,  and  breathing  at  once  a 
high  and  elevated  tone  lioth  of  sentiment  and  moral,  the  tiook  is,  nevertheless,  so 
cbwely  identified  with  the  habits  of  thought  and  action  of  the  period,  thai  tbe 
reality  of  its  painting  is  sometimef  almoat  pre  tern  a  tu  rally  vivid.  It  is  one  of  those 
narratives  whicli  arrest  the  leait  imprei^  ion  able  reader,  and  detain  him  until  he 
fairly  yields  to  the  spell. 

Blr.  Palgrave  Simpson,  who  has  now  first  given  his  name  to  the  public,  made 
his  dthtit  In  literature,  if  we  remember  aright,  through  the  portal  wbit-h  bus  ad- 
mitted so  many  of  our  best  men — the  n^ngar.ines.  Having  grndunted  at  Corpus 
Cbristi  College.  Cami>ridge,  he  became  a  traveller,  and  visited  almost  every  part  of 
Europe,  including  districts  little  kno%vn  to  the  ordinary  routine  voyager.  Some 
articles  in  our  leading  miscellanies  (to  our  own  be  has  been  long  one  of  its  moit 
valued  coiuributors,  under  the  designation  of  the  Flaneur)  vrere  so  well  received, 
that  Mr,  Falgriive  i^impson  put  f<irth  the  strength  that  was  in  him,  and  in  two 
detightfnl  novels,  "  Gisella,"  und  *^  Snecond  Love,**  and  in  a  cbarming  colltjction  of 
**  Letters  from  tbe  Danube,  '*  written  during  a  summer's  journeying,  for  tbe 
fi>urtb  time^  and  consequently  with  a  considenible  Ktore  of  experience,  in  Hungary, 
— a  oimiitry  at  all  times  iniereating  fnjm  its  ptH^uhur  tone  of  romance,  and  latterly 
lo  intimately  interwuven  with  the  political  and  hist^irical  events  of  Efi stern  Europe, 
— commenced  in  earnest  the  career  of  whiiJi  he  has  just  most  happily  completed  a 
double  record,  and  in  which  U  would  be  unjust  affectation  to  hesitate  to  predict 
hli  briUiam  lucoeu* 


Raphael;    or.  Pages  of  the  Book  of  Life  at  Twenty.     By  Alphonse 
de  Laniartine.     J.  W,  Parker,      1849. 

This  work,  we  are  told,  has  been  translated  with  the  sanction  of  the  author,  and 
we  believe  it  has  never  before  apppjired  in  an  English  dress.  It  is  a  fragmentary 
composition,  full  of  sentiment  carried  to  excess,  and  somewhat  reminds  us  of 
*'  The  Sorrow  s  of  Weriher,"  and  Mackenzie's  almost  forgotten  **  Man  of  Feel- 
ing.'* Tbe  author  endeavours  to  represent  the  passion  of  Ra|>h&el  for  JtiHe  as  of 
tbe  purest  description;^  and  it  is  his  honest  intention  to  make  the  reader  think  so  ; 
but  there  is  a  tie  by  which  Julie  is  boun^,  which  throws  an  air  of  suspicion  over  the 
spiritual  interc«mrse  of  thcide  two  interesting  beings.  This  high- flown  literature, 
however  sincerely  designed  to  purify  the  s*»ol,  enervates  the  moral  *«ense,  and 
paves  the  way  (perhaps  as  a  certain  place  is  said  to  be  paved)  for  pHS«i<»n.  It  is  a 
book  which  teaches  n<\  lesson,  and  inculcates  no  duty.  It  does  not  affect  the  feelings, 
and  cannot  improve  the  heart. 

Still,  it  is  the  work  of  a  man  of  genina,  and  contains  aome  beautiful  thoughts 
and  delicate  sentimenta,  as  every  one  will  believe  who  hns  read  any  one  work  «f 
Lamartine.  The  elegance  of  this  authorls  style  is  not  easiiv  transferred  Ui  another 
language  ^  hut  the  transUlion  la  a  whole  has  been  admimluy  done. 


2U 


POPULAR  BOOKS  OF  THE  MONTH. 


fTlie  Closing  Scene.     By  the  Rev,  Erskine  Neale.     Second  Series. 


Although  we  are  not  prepared  to  adopt  all  the  author's  rii*wa  in  his 
on  the  eminent  men  of  whom  he  write:^  (mrhich  are  char^icUfristidf  in  our  opinia 
by  too  ^reat  severity),  yet  the  subjecu  themselves  are  so  iitteresting,  ttut 
work  cantint  Tail  to  he  welcomt'.     Wu  have  Beckford,   of  FonthiU,  as  the  mail 
t(iste ;    Kev.  Charles  Simeon,  ALA.,  the  spirituul  futher  of  many  an  earnest  paator;" 
Thi&tlewoc^,  the  traitor^  aNHassia,  and  avowedly  the  determined  infidel;  John 
Fiister,  of  Bristol,  the  retired  student ;  Miraheau,  the  revolutionist;  Jane  Taylor, 
the  artist  and  poetess  ;   Richard  and  Bridget  Smith,  deists,  and  devoid  of  natural 
affertiuti  ;  Edward  Colion,  of  Bristol,  the  merchant  prince  ;  Earl  Ferrers, 
of  furiouA  passions   and  fullering   creed  I    Mrs.  Partis,  of  Bath,   the  ma 
diurch  wotnan  ;  Ijord  Camclford,  the  duellist ;  Dr,  Corrie,  the  missionary  I 
Talleyrand,  the  diplomatist  and  di>sembler ;  the  late  Earl  Spencer,  a  stall 
without  f^ile ;  and  Elixiiheth  Fry^  the  helper  of  the  fallen. 

The  sketch  of  Bet^kford  is,  on  the  whole,  written  in  an  impartial  spirit ; 
writer'**  remarks  with  rej^rard  to  his  emplo3niient  of  the  immense  revenues  he  pos- 
ftessed<,  smaLk  of  har^ihness.  and  uncliaritahleness.  It  is  true  he  did  not  spend  his 
wealthy  like  Mrs.  Partift,  in  erecting  hosptUils  and  other  good  works  of  that  kind^ 

but  be  encouruged  art  and  gejiiust  wherever  he  could  find  it,  and  did  not  dis»|mt« 

his  fortune  at  tlie  gam inj?- table,  the  race-course,  or  in  *■*  riotous  living.**  As  to  hi^^l 
religious  opinions  he  was  very  reserved,  and  knew  the  world  too  well  to  enter  (W^| 
such  subjects  with  everybody  who  might  approach  him  with  leading  «|uestions.  Wr^^ 
will  never  believe,  however,  that  the  man  was  not  deeply  impressed  with  religious 
truth  who  c<»uld  produce  such  p*XHry  as  this  : — 

•►*  Like  the  low  murrnnr  of  the  forest  stream. 

Which  thrifugb  dark  alders  winds  its  sbadcrl  way« 
My  suppliant  voice  is  heard  j  ah,  do  not  deem. 
That  in  vain  toys  1  throw  my  hours  away  1 

**  In  the  recesses  of  the  forest  vale. 

On  the  wild  mountains— on  the  verdant  sod 
Where  tlie  freiih  breezes  of  the  mum  prevail, 
1  wander  lowly  communing  with  God. 

*<  When  the  faint  sickness  of  a  wounded  heart 

Creeps  in  cold  shudderings  through  my  sinking  fnune, 
1  turn  to  Thee  ; — that  holy  peace  impart 

Which  soothes  the  invokers  of  Thy  awful  name. 

'*  O,  all  pervading  Spirit ! — Sacred  beam! — 
Parent  of  life  and  light  J — eternal  Power  • — 
Grant  me  through  obvious  clouds  one  transient  gleam 
Of  Thy  high  essence  in  my  dying  hour." 

Of  Talleyrand,  Mr.  Neale  says,  ^^  concede  to  hiro  all  that  his  admirers  rlaim 
him  ;  admit  tliat  his  advantages  of  raind  and  person  were  many  and  striking ;  thi 
he  had  a  noble  and  dignified  air,  a  grave  and  manly  voice;  that  his  temper  i 
esEcellent,  hii  views  clear ;  that  he  posaeaaed  unruffled  suavity  of  manner  ;  tktl  1 
wit  wtis  brilliant,  and  his  repartees  were  nsady  and  sparkling.  Against  the 
A  set-iiff ,  hh  inordinate  and  unbhishjng  selfishness,  which  makes  our  VV'alpolel 
•nintly  and  disintere^ited  ;  his  licentiousness^  in  which  he  rivalled  Dubois  ;  i  _ 
cunning,  in  whidi   lie  KurpaKsed   Aluxarin.     In   |)erfidy  be  had  no  superior* 
which  of  htK  masters  was  he  true  1     Who  of  his  day  apprtwcluHl  him  tn  flrxibiUt] 
phancy,  and  self-possession,  and  in  eagk  ri*ton  to  bis  own  advantage  ?     Do  t 
he  bad  the  scent  of  a  vulture  where  booty  was  to  l>e  obtsined.     Silence  best  1 
comes  us  as  to  the  future  of  a  man«  who^  through  a  long  life,  exhibited  no  i 
ahame,  no  regard  for  truth,  no  notion  of  friendship,  no  abhorreooe  «d  I 
a  man  who  was  at  once  a  renegade  aristticrat  and  an  apostate  priest^ — m  Ifchar  ef 
religion,  without  belief  in  a  Redeemer  ;  and  a  minister  who  spurned  live  w&roiiifi 
of  conscience,  and  laughed  at  the  suggestions  of  principle."     Bui  surely  even  wilJn 
Talleyrand   it  was  not  all  bbick !    no;  even  he  may  he  painted  with  tooj 
severity  -,  and  we  think  the  picture  here  drawn  greatly  overcharged.     It  is  I 
now  to  aacertain  accurately  miiny  of  the  eventful  paasages  in  the  life  of  ihi«^ 


POPULAR   BOOKS  OP  THE   MONTH 


218 


affdinary  man,  bat  we  thaO  certainly  hesitate  before  we  venture  vith  Mr.  Neale 
(on  such  authority  as  Buonaparte  and  Savary,  fortooth  I )  to  cbar^  Talleyrand  with 
being'  the  murderer  of  the  Duke  d*Enghien  ! 

As  fpedniens  of  tlie  wU  and  quickness  of  repartee  of  Talleyrand,  take  iHe  fol- 
lawtng.  MTien  LouU  XVII  I., on  the  Restoration,  mmplimented  him  on  his  talents 
aod  iufluexioe,  while  modestly  disdaiminf;  the  compliment,  TalleiiTand  rf^phVd, 
•*  Y«»,  there  it  some  inexplicable  thing  al»out  rae.  which  prevents  any  fiovemment 
ffom  prasperiog  that  attempts  to  do  without  me."     At  once  a  hint  and  n  threat. 

On£  day  a  banker,  with  whom  he  was  well  acquainted,  waited  n|>on  htm  to  asrer- 
tain  the  truth  of  a  rumour  of  the  death  of  George  III*,  which  wa*  experietl  lo 
affiect  the  price  of  the  stoeka.  The  banker,  of  course,  anxiously  apologrir^d  to  the 
minister  for  this  intnisioni  and  for  the  extraordinary  nature  of  his  request. 
^  How  ?*•  exclaimed  Talleyrand,  with  the  imperturbable  ifravity  peculiar  to  him, 
**  There  Is  no  harm^ — no  indiscretion  whatever^  I  shall  be  delifrhted  if  the  inform- 
sdoa  I  hare  to  Rive  is  of  any  use  to  yfm.*-  The  banker  was  prnfune  in  his  acknow- 
Itd^ftmta.  "Well,  now,  I  must  tell  vou,"  continued  Talleyrand,  with  an  air  of 
nyitarioas  oonfidence.  *^5ome  say  the  Kin^  of  Kn^rland  it  dead  *  others  that  he  is 
Mf  dead ;  for  my  own  part,  I  believe  neither  the  one  nor  the  other.  I  tell  you  this 
!;  bnt,  for  beaven^s  soke,  do  not  commit  me  I" 
i  tbe  firit  consul  enquired  one  day  how  he  became  so  rich  ?  lie  replied  by  a 
npliment,  *'  I  bought  stock  the  day  before  the  18th  Brumaire.  and  sold 
\  the  next  day,^ 
one  asked  him  the  address  of  the  Princesse  de  Vaudemont.  ^'  Rue  St, 
lAaucw"  he  replied  ;  '*  but  I  have  really  forgotten  the  nnmWr.  Yon  have  only  to 
adc  tlie  fif^t  poor  person  you  meet  I  they  all  know  her  hotise,'^ 

On  one  occasion  the  SpaniRh  ambassador  complained,  jmintedlv.  to  Talleyrand, 
that  one  of  his  dispatches  had  been  unsealed.  *><  Sir."  returnmi  the  miniMter^  ^'lio 
bid  listened  with  an  air  of  profound  (rravtty,  "  I  will  wa«rer  I  am  i,nip«^*.  lunv  the 
ikiBfp  has  happened.  I  am  convinced  that  your  dispatch  has  Wvn  inn^nt'd  by  some 
vat  vhti  desired  to  know  whai  tras  insifle  ?**     Very  satisfactory,  no  doubt. 

One  day  being  at  the  Tuilenes,  when  several  ladies  were  to  take  an  oath  of  fidelity 
between  the  hands  of  the  Emperor  in  their  new  appointments,  he  particularly  no- 
tikid  tbe  benntifnJ  Madame  de  IVf  ounier,  who  wore  remarkably  short  petttcoats,  in 
flritr  to  shew  the  delicacy  of  her  foot  and  ankle.  Some  one  present  asked  Talley- 
rvid,  what  he  thouf^ht  of  the  ioul  en*€mhk»  *-^  T  think,"  said  the  merciless  jester, 
'tiiat  her  dress  is  too  short  to  take  an  oath  of  fidelity." 

In  tesdnony  of  his  services  Bonaparte  created  him  Prince  de  Beuevento,  n  di|?- 
ruiy  wbidl  be  treated  with  indifference.  To  those  who  obsequiouily  foaer  a  tainted 
^be  uiawcred,  <'  Go  to  Madame  de  Talleyrand,  and  address  your  compliments  to 
^1  wmen  are  always  delij^hted  at  becoming  princesses." 

Fhai  the  fortunes  of  Napoleon  were  declining,  and  ho  saw  no  safety  cm  that 
****.  ht  paiicd  cntvr  to  the  other.  His  perfidy  beini;  suHpected,  BuDnapnrtP  bmdexi 
^n  with  raprandiei,  which  he  received  with  imperturbable  comp<isure.  When  lus 
Ulioiofauiil  vinfe  appeared  at  the  first  lev^e  after  the  return  of  the  Emperor,  the 
'•<«« OOkloMd.  ••  What  came  ye  here  for  ?^to  exhibit  your  ingratitude  ?  I  have 
*Wwd  ynn  with  honour*,  that  people  mi^ht  not  see  von  were  tbe  moat  dospicabte 
»»jwb  m  my  empire.  Yon  affect  to  be  of  the  Opposition.  Yon  think  if  I  fail  you 
'^  T,'  ii  tlie  head  of  the  Re^ncy !  If  I  were  dangerously  til,  I  solemnly  declare 
1.,  t  li  jt  y<ni  should  die  before  me."  With  jjl  the  ifrace  and  gentleness  of  a  cour* 
i^rrewiviog  new  favours,  the  Prince  of  Benevento  replied,  ^'^  Sir^  I  did  rial  need 
^  iwniiwjar  to  address  my  moti  ardent  prayers  for  the  prokngtng  of  jfonr  Ma- 

When  the  fatal  bulletin*  announdngr  the  disasters  of  the  Russian  campaign  ar- 
"TttI,  and  it  was  reported  that  the  whole  army  was  annihilated — men,  bora^^s,  and 
'^ttafce-,  he,  with  the  other  dignitaries,  was  attending^  the  Empress  at  tbe  Tnileries* 
thinner  tiif  conference,  Maret,  die  Duke  of  Bassano,  arrived,  and  was  announced 
i"*laria  Umtsa.  *^  Only  see  how  tbey  exaggerate/*  said  Talleyrand,  "here 
«  Marrt  fetumed^  and  they  said  ati  the  baggage  was  loet." 


216  POPULAR   BOOKS   OP   THE  MONTH. 


An  Essay  on  the  Comparative  Intellect  of  Woman,  and  her  well 
recognised  but  resistless  Influence  on  the  moral,  religious,  and 
political  Prosperity  of  a  Nation.     By  Mr.  Reeve,  M.  C.  P. 

It  18  questionable  whether  oar  lady  readers  will  feel  under  obligation  to  the 
writer  of  this  treatise,  the  object  of  which  is  to  prove,  that,  with  an  education 
similar  to  that  of  men,  women  would  become  as  powerful  in  intellect  as  the  ^  lords 
of  the  creation.*  The  manners  of  modern  English  society  are  certainly  much  more 
refined  than  those  of  a  former  age,  bnt  that  is  not  because  women  hare  become 
more  masculine  in  their  pursuits,  but— precisely  the  reverse— because  they  cul- 
tivate with  such  exquisite  taste  those  accomplishments  which  throw  around 
omr  homes  a  grace  unknown  to  our  forefathers.  The  gentleness  of  woman  is  the 
peculiar  charm  conferred  on  her  by  Nature,  by  which  she  more  prevails  than  by 
the  assertion  and  ostentation  of  intellectual  powers,  and  which,  indeed,  are  out  of 
her  proper  and  assigned  sphere.  Some  of  the  instances  of  female  celebrities  intro- 
duced by  this  author  are  unfortunate  ;  but  it  is  singular,  in  a  work  purporting  to 
give  an  'account  of  female  worthies,  to  find  such  names  as  Lady  Fanshawe  and 
Mrs.  Colonel  Hutchinson  omitted.  These  women  did  honour  to  their  country,  and 
to  the  age  in  which  they  were  bom. 

On  Trees,  their  Uses  and  Biography,  &c.     By  John  Sheppard. 

This  little  work,  the  substance  of  lectures  delivered  at  the  Frome  Institution 
and  in  Bristol,  commends  itself  to  a  large  circle  of  readers.  It  is  a  deli^tful 
country  companion,  and  contains  a  mass  of  highly  instructive  and  entertaining 
matter,  very  modestly  introduced  to  us.  It  is  illustrated  by  representations  of  Sir 
Philip  Sidney's  oak,  the  date  palm,  the  banana,  the  baobab,  the  talipot  palm,  the 
bamboo,  the  cocosruut  tree,  the  Fortingal  yew,  cedars  of  Lebanon,  the  oak  of 
AUonville,  the  Ankerwyke  yew,  and  Queen  Elizabeth  oak.  We  are  incidentally 
reminded,  while  the  author  is  discussing  the  subject  of  papyrus,  that  no  less  than 
1800  manuscripu,  dug  out  of  Herculaneum,  are  of  papyrus !  The  spirit  in  which 
this  fascinating  little  book  is  written  is  admirable,  and  will  make  it  generally  wd- 
come.  The  author  classifies  the  uses  of  trees,  as  ministering  to  human  comfort 
and  progress  in  the  provision  of  foods,  beverages,  and  medicines ;  of  clothing  and 
shelter,  of  fuel  and  furniture ;  of  materials  for  arts  and  manufactures  ;  on  hidden 
agency  on  the  atmosphere  ;  arid  of  the  means  of  communication  through  the  world; 
and  iutersperses  the  whole  with  pleating  anecdote  and  reflections. 


♦,♦  We  postpone  a  notice  of  M.  Ouizot^s  admirable  tremdie  on  «'  Democracy  in 
France,"  that  we  may  have  an  opportunity  of  commenting,  at  the  same  time,  upon 
the  answers  to  it,  which  may  be  expected  from  M.  Prudhon  and  others. 


217 


THE  NOTE-BOOK  OF  A  CORONER'S  CLERK. 

BY    THK     AUTHOR     OF     **  BXrBRIBNCES     OF     A     QAOh     CHAPLAIN/* 
WITH      AN      ILliUaTEATION. 


chaptbh  VII. 

THB   SHADOWY    VISITANT    WHOM    NO    DENIAX.S   CAN    EXCtUDB. 

^^  'Ti»  ever  lhu« — dark  ocean ^ a  breast — 
The  rippliniij  lake — ^the  rtilliDg  river— 
Bluy  bid  their  troubled  wuturs  rest. 

But  tuun'M  worti  h«art  is  trtiiiquil — never  I 
Jlift  duyH  paM  on  tci  valii  endeavour 
TJr'  liostim**  Jfiword  strife  to  qu^U* 

Till  death  has  Utiftbi^d  iu  throbs  for  ever, 
In  that  dark  home  where  iaII  must  dwell." 

W.  Reynolds. 

Wondrous  is  the  change  consequent  on  the  arrival  of  Death  iii 
the  dwell ingr  of  that  dependent  being  Man  !  What  predictions  it 
falijfiesl  What  false  views  does  it  correct  I  what  revelations  does  it 
disclose!  We  gaze  on  him  now  cold,  «tark,  and  motionless^  who, 
but  a  few  daya  or  bonrs  since,  was  animated,  scheming,  dominant, 
ambitious;  and  can  scarce  realize  to  ourselves  the  utter  extinction 
of  strength p  the  entire  surrender  of  wijl,  the  cessation  of  thought, 
the  prostration  of  plan,  and  project,  and  hope.  Marvellous  specta- 
c]e  1  The  powerful,  powerless  ;  the  eloquent,  silent ;  the  scheming, 
baffled ;  and  the  grasping,  satisfied.  Is  it  not  a  mere  phantasm  of  the 
itn agination  ?  Can  the  change  be  real  ?  Even  to  those  whose  earthly 
destiny  h  decided^ — on  whom  the  shadow  of  the  grave  has  fallen— 
to  those  who  are  doomed  to  die — something  of  the  same  feeling 
presents  itself  During  the  reign  of  Lord  Sidmouth,  that  ally  of 
Jack  Ketch, — that  cordial  advocate  of  capital  punishment.^when 
executions  were  rife  at  the  Old  Bailey,  and  when  the  merciful 
notion  obtained  singular  favour  that  the  crime  of  forgery  could  be 
stayed,  and  eventually  eradicated  by  the  unlimited  sacrifice  of 
human  life; — a  young  creature  of  eighteen  said,  the  day  before  her 
execution,  to  one  who  visited  her  in  the  cell,  **  /  feel  life  so  strong 
within  me,  that  I  cannot  beiiete  thai  this  time  to^ffiorrow  I  am  to  b^ 
dead!" 

But  art  thou  not,  O  despot,  at  times,  a  liberator?  Dost  thou  not 
rescue  the  suffering  from  pain — release  the  servile  from  slavery ,« — 
put  an  end  to  the  flatteries  of  the  parasite,  and  relieve  from  fawning 

^^        the  interested?     Even  Thou — ^dreaded  as  thou  art— hast  a  boon  to 

^B       bestowj  Ol  stealthy  and  inevitable  visitant! 

f  tol 


¥ 

» 


CHAFTBR     VIII. 
8TAMAfINQ. 

Although  th«  Devil  be  the  fmther  of  lioa^  he  seemi,  like  other  great  inventor*, 
to  have  hiat  much  of  his  reputation  by  the  ooudnuiif  improvementa  thjit  luive  bet?n 
made  upon  him***— D^an  Swtift, 

When  Pleasant  Ellis  had   given   utterance  to  her  agreeable  im- 
pressions,  the   doctor Bj  one   and   all,   denounced  Uet    'wwV  «l  V1^^* 

VOL.    XXV.  It 


THE   NOTE-BOOK 


A  female  latmAer  on  the  medical  preserve  was  intolerable.     How 

'*  dared*'  the  ** give  sn  opinion  ?"  asked  one.    '*  What  could  she  know 

of  disease  and  iu  results?"  inquired  another.     "  Old  women »  espe- 

^jciallT,  if  tainted  with  quackery,  were  intolerable  nuisances  all  the 

.  over,"  was  the  gsJUnt  remark  of  a  third.     And  then  arose  ihe 

'chorus  —  re^rd  being   had   to   the   parties,    it  was   swelled  with 

rondrous  unanimity — '"  the  deceased  died  from  natural  causes  ;  and 

it  is  at  once  presumptuous^  highly  impertinent,  and  wholly  unwar- 

stable  in  any  ignorant  bystander  to  assert  the  contrary/' 

Ttua  burden  was  chaunted  by  the  faculty  present  with  becoming 

"  ardour  ;  in  fact,  Mr.  Orford  Old  rich  averred,  in  Sufolk 

'phrase,  that  the  doctors  *' regularly  b ul locked "  the  old  girL     But 

she  held    her  course.     Sparing  reverence  had   she  for  those  who 

flouted  her.     Honouring  each  professional  with  a  passing  glance  of 

scorn,  she  snatched  a  hasty  pinch  of  snuff  from  some  hidden  recep- 

^tacle  in  the  ample  folds  of  her  attire,  and  then  briskly  renewed  tne 

Faitack. 

'Natural  causear'  poogh!  ye  must  be  notldies-^naturally  so, 
and  from  the  both — to  say  as  m  uch.  Look  there ! "  and  she  patted  the 
corpse  with  careless  and  revolting  familiarity — "  eyes  ready  to  start 
from  their  sockets — ^neck  rimmed  round  evenly  as  if  with  a  broad 
black  riband  —  skin  discoloured,  blue,  purple,  and  crimson,  like 
the   rainbows-fits  1    apoplexy !    faugh !    it 's   murder   and   nothing 

Her  energy  told  on  the  gradually  accumulating  tlirong.  The 
words  were  at  6rst  whispered,  and  then  repeated  once  and  again,-' 
•*  Coroner,**  "  Inquest,"  "  Examine  the  body/'  Meanwhile,  it  w«§ 
^  suggested  by  a  thoughtful  looker-on  that  the  pockets  and  private 
desk  of  the  deceased  should  be  rigidly  scrutinized.  Recollecting 
Rafforde's  menace  to  Tillett,  founded  on  the  contents  of  that  mys- 
terious depository,  I  quailed  before  this  mention  of  the  desk,  and 
prepared  myself  for  the  abrupt  departure  of  the  dejected  confi- 
dential. 

The  supicion  did  him  injustice.  He  met  the  suggestion  at  onci, 
and  remarked,  in  tones  firmer  than  his  wont — "By  all  meani:  W 
course  more  proper/' 

To  all  outwara  appearance,  precisely  as  life  had  left  him,  so  htd 
Hafforde  been  found.  No  part  of  his  dress  seemed  to  have  been  dis- 
turbed. His  pocket-book,  purse,  signet-ring,  watch  and  seals,  mtrt 
on  his  person.  His  desk  was  duly  locked*  The  small  key  which 
opened  it  hung  appended  to  his  bunch  of  seals — its  usual  receptacle. 
Nothing,  however  trivial,  was  missing.  The  ebony  desk  was  opened 
Money  was  found  in  it,  some  silver  and  some  gold,  a  two  pound 
Bank  of  England  note,  and  some  stamped  receipts  in  blank.  It  itti 
crammed  certainly ;  but  jagged  strips  of  parchment^  waate-pspcr, 
old  newspapers,  mainly  formed  its  contents.  There  was  nothutg  in 
it  that  could  interest  or  criminate  anybody  I 

I  watched  Tillett  narrowly,  whife  the  search  was  going  forward* 
He  looked  on  unconcernedly  enough :  but  as  it  closed  there  was  » 
visible  expression  in  his  countenance  of  thaukfulnesa  and  menlAl 
relief. 

**  An  extraordinary  collection  this  ! "  said  a  county  magistratej  mfm 
hjul  watched  attentively  the  latter  part  of  the  proceedings — "an 
extraordinary  collection  for  the  private  desk  of  sucna  practitioner  ai 


OF  A  CORONERS  CLERK. 


219 


I 


Haforde.  I  don't  quite  understand  it.  There  must  be  an  inquest. 
That  h  a  matter  of  course;  and/'  addressing  the  surgeons,  ^*  a  post 
mortem  examination  would  be  desirable:  the  sooner,  from  the  ap- 
pearance of  the  body,  that  is  commenced  the  better :  let  me  beg  you 
will  all  assist  at  it," 

*'  Yes  I  yes  I  and  remember/'  shrieked  Pleasant  Ellis,  in  her  most 
discordant  tones,  and  she  brought  her  rasping  voice  to  bear  fully 
on  the  magistrate — "remember  that  Mr»  Oldrich  was  the  last  that 
saw  him  alive,  and  spoke  to  him.  The  last,  the  very  last ;  and  high 
words  passed — yes — yes:  very  high  words — that  I'H  be  sworn — for 
I  was  below — and  over- heard  them," 

The  magistrate  paused — then  whispered  to  a  hawbuck  near  him. 
By  and  by  a  constable  came  panting  up  the  stairs — and  in  a  few 
minutes  Mr,  Oldrich  received  a  gentle  intimation  that  nothing  dis- 
agreeable was  intended  him,  but  that  he  "must  for  the  present  con- 
sider himself  under  surveillance,*' 

The  Suffolk  youth  looked  around  him  like  one  in  a  dream,  and 
then  uttered  the  soh'tary  ejaculation^ — "  Stammino  f " 

"  Anan  I  "  cried  the  constable,  whom  the  phrase  seemed  consider- 
ably to  gravel,     "  What  say'st  thou  ?  " 

•*Say!**  rejoined  the  Suffolk  youth,  dejectedly;  "that  I'm 
itammcd — regularly  and  thoroughly.  Here  's  a  wrinkle  I  I  never  J^rc 
■uch  a  fancy  !  Precious  tidings  these  for  Bawdsey  Ferry  and  Ilo'aely 
Bay  I     What  would  Dr.  Bacon  Frank  have  said  were  he  alive  ?  '* 

Meanwhile,  the  search  among  Rafforde's  crowded  repositories  was 
continued.  No  will  was  forthcoming  ;  and  his  heir-at-law,  a  cousin, 
wa«  sought  out  in  London,  and  produced  at  Stanton.  Mr.  Hussey 
Raffbrde,  the  personage  in  question,  held  an  appointment  in  a  go- 
vernment office,  and  might  be  called  a  young  man  upon  town.  His 
nonchalance  was  superb;  and  his  disgust  at  the  entire  proceedings 
avowed  and  hearty.  By  one  canting  bystander — they  abound  at 
luch  seasons:  are  "filled  with  horror,  and  pity,  and  astonishment, 
and  regret:"  overflow  with  cheap  commiseration:  and  are  crammed 
with  moral  apothegms- — his  reply  was  unexpected  enough,  Mr, 
Bullboddy,  the  Paul  Pry  of  the  district,  in  dolorous  tones  and 
with  lugubrious  visage,  thus  addressed  the  young  Admiralty 
clerk : — 

<(  Yon  are  anxious,  sir, — very  anxious,  I  dare  say,  as  to  the  result 
of  this  truly  painful  inquiry  ?  " 

**  Tut !  What  I  'm  anxious  about  are  the  assets :  they  make  me 
somewhat  thoughtful.  What  miy  be  their  probable  amount ;  where 
invested;  and  how  they  can  be  quickly  realized: — these  are  the 
points  of  moment," 

Mr,  Bullboddy  thought  this  cool ;  considered  it  in  the  light  of  a 
jrebufiT,  but  proceeded: — 

"  You  will  take  a  last  look  of  your  ill-fated  relative  ?  He  lies  very 
calm  and  pleasant  in  his  coffin/* 

**  Not  I,  I  have  steered  clear  of  him  in  life ;  why  should  I  gaze 
upon  him  in  death  ?  " 

**  But  "^ — persisted  the  persevering  Bullboddy — "you  will  follow 
him?  and  as  chief-mourner?  W^e  most  have  a  chief  mourner, 
'Twill  be  an  imposinfz  funeral^  and  most  numerously  attended/* 

The  wretch  here  chuckled,  and  rubbed  his  hands  with  hilarity, 

*' Follow  him  to  the  tomb  1  must,"  rejoined  the  oXU«it  '^wvOcv  ^ 


220 


THE   NOTE-BOOK 


"  'tis  the  law  of  natii 


jcceed  the  oUl.    But 


yawn;  "'tis  trie  law  ot  nature.  The  young  sue 
on  this  occasion  as  chief- mourner,  or  as  mourner — no.  The  heart- 
less curmudgeon  never  aided  me  with  a  shilling  when  I  was  strug* 
gling  for  a  bare  subsistence ;  nay,  when  ray  mother,  his  nearest 
relative,  implored  some  temporary  succour  from  hira  during  the 
first  week  of  her  widowhood,  his  help  was  given  in  the  guiae  of 
coarse  advice:  *  You  are  young  and  good-looking  ;  look  out  far 
another  helpmate,  and  hleed  him  in  your  courting  dajfs  1  *  A  mourner ! 
Weill  I  am  such!  I  shall  miss  Ronzt  de  Begnis  benefit;  and 
Madame  Fodor's  ^Susanna;*  and  the  droll  JMarchesa  Zucchi'i p^<** 
souper  ;  and,  worse  than  all,  Lady  i^Iexborou^h's  fancy  ball.  These 
are  matters  to  be  deeply  mourned ;  and  I  do  deplore  them  accord- 
ingly/* 

IVIr.  Bullboddy's  stolid  countenance  betrayed  his  irrepressible 
astonishment:  loth  to  retreat,  he  drew  a  deep  breath  and  re- 
sumed:— 

"  But  a  monument,  worthy  sir,  a  monument,— a  broken  column^ 
^a  weeping  figure, — a  funereal  urn, — a  marble  tablet  ?  " 

**  No  monument!  "  said  the  young  man,  sternly  ;  ''no  commemo- 
rative tablet  of  any  description  !  The  sooner  his  deeds  and  sayings 
are  forgotten  the  better.  Bury  him  decently,  and  lay  him  down 
deep  in  his  grave;  cancel  to  the  last  fraction  every  debt  he  owes; 
and  where  he  has  inflicted  evident  and  grievous  wrong,  offer  repi^ 
ration,  if  practicable:  but  no  monument ;  no  humbug ;  no  recording 
of  his  many  virtues ;  no  addition  to  the  many  churchyard  lie^  already 
rife  amonggt  us — nothing  of  that  farcical  nature,  if  you  please^  g<>^ 
and  LharitdUe  I^fr.  Bullboddy/* 

The  intruder  was  tor  once  fully  and  finally  silenced. 

All  which  interlocutory  remarks  were  faithfully  repeated  to  the 
fretted  and  feverish  Mr.  Old  rich. 

**  He's  'a  wonder!'"  was  the  Suffolk  youth's  conclusion*  **I 
never  see  such  a  fancy!  I  '  fare*  I  don't  know  how,  when  I  dwell 
upon  this  business,  ft 's  '  wholly  surprising.'  And  to  iircute  MS, 
because  my  master's  evil  conscience  made  him  lay  hands  on  himself 
— the  moment  1  begin  to  think  that-a-way  I  *ra  wholly  liammed*' 

And  so  it  seemed  were  the  jury  ;  who  sat  hour  after  hour  •'  a  con- 
sidering of  this  mysterous  affair."  They  declared  that  the  evideote 
of  four  medical  men — "all  differing" — ^completely  **  xfnoik^red  'era/' 
They  "couldn't  see  their  way  out  on  it"  at  all!  The  room  WM 
locked;  locked  from  the  inside;  and  the  key  was  inside;  and 
"  within  the  room  the  lawyer  chap  was  found  dead ;  all  the  doctofs 
said,  fits  or  no  fits,  that  he  did  not  strangle  himself:  that  was  a  aaiv 
sartaiuty  :  who  did  then^  if  so  be  as  how  he  wor  strangled  ai  aHf 
But  ivor  he  ?  " 

"  He  was"  said  a  deep,  mellow,  manly  voice,  with  somen bal 
startling  firmness.  '*ile  was;"  and  the  speaker  turned  a  face  ftir- 
roweil  with  thought  on  his  brother  jurymen.  All  heeded  him* 
Religious  even  to  sternness  in  his  religious  view8,**at  heart  be  was  a 
Swedenborgian, — punctual  and  precise  to  a  proverb  in  his  deallnff^ 
— and  a  niggard  in  his  speech, — Zichor  Wawn's  opinions  had  weigbt 
in  our  little  community 

**  Pursue  the  matter,"  continued  he,  in  his  rich,  donorous  toneat— 
''  pursue  the  matter  no  further*  The  doer  of  the  deed  ta  &otaiii#* 
nable  to  us.     The  mystery  will  remain  such  in  this  life/ 


OF   A   CORONER  S   CLERK* 


221 


'It  won%  though  !'*  shouted  Pleasant  Ellis  with  the  softness  of  a 
raven  from  a  distant  corner,  where,  screwed  up  into  close  corapa&Sj 
she  had  drank  in  every  syllable  that  had  been  spoken  ;  *'  you  will 
live  to  see  it  out:  and  so  shall  !♦" 

The  coroner  roused  from  his  doze, — he  was  fat  and  very  lethargic, 
— said  crabbedly,  **  Silence,  woman,  silence  I  I  can  have  no  inter* 
ruption  here.  The  jury  must  not  be  disturbed*  This  is  a  very 
iolenin  court." 

"  We  wish  to  be  apart/'  said  Zichor  Wawn  with  dignity  ;  and 
rising,  the  jury  in  a  body  followed  him  to  the  further  end  of  the 
apartment,  wherCj  comparatively  free  from  observation,  he  addressed 
tliem  soito  voce, 

*'  Few  words  are  requisite/*  Wawn  began.  '*  Punishment  has 
overtaken  the  guilty.  Rafforde's  principles  and  practice  are  but  too 
notorious.  His  cup  was  full.  The  tale  of  his  evil  deeds  was  com- 
plete; and  the  master  whom  he  served  claimed  him.  Return  an 
open  verdict.     Word  it — '  Found  dead.*  " 

"  Butj  hia  clerk/'  suggested  another,—*'  his  clerk,  Oldrich,  with 
whom  he  quarrelled  on  the  last  night  of  his  life,  and  whom  he  ve-» 
bemently  th reat e ne d — ' * 

"  Wants  brains,  and  is  quite  harmless :  his  examination  proves  it  : 
nothing  conclusive  can  be  drawn  from  i7,  or  him.  Decide  as  you 
will ;  my  voice  is  for  an  open  verdict," 

Meanwhile  the  youth  so  flatteringly  described  remained  under  the 
tender  care  of  the  parish- con  stable. 

**  Would  to  heaven  T'said  he  of  Ilo'sely, '*  that  the  late  magistrate 
of  our  district  were  here  to  have  advised  me.  He  would  soon  have 
set  'em  to  rights:  not  only  knew  the  law,  but,  on  a  pinch,  adminis- 
tered it/' 

"  As  how  ?"  said  the  other,  inquiringly. 

"  You  shall  hear/'  replied  Oldrich.  "  On  an  October  morning,  in 
one  of  his  early  walks,  the  doctor  burst  upon  a  fellow  busily  en- 
gaged  in  snickling  a  bare.  *  Miserable  culprit ''  said  the  doctor 
grandly,  *  your  hour  of  detection  has  arrived  !'  The  olTender  wink- 
ed wickedly  with  hia  eye,  but  took  no  further  notice. — *  Fellow!* 
cried  the  doctor,  *  do  you  know  who  I  am  ?  I'm  Dr.  Bacon  Frank.' 
— '  Well!  and  what  follows  upon  that?'  was  the  pert  rejoinder, — 
*  This/  returned  the  doctor  quickly  :  and  he  knocked  the  poacher 
down.  Beautiful!  beautiful!  Soraelhing  like  a  justice !  A  man 
of  deeds  as  well  as  words  !" 

"Hof  hah  I  Justice,  pleesemafi,  parson,  all  in  one!"  was  the 
quaint  summary  of  the  other, 

'*  Parson  !  say  rather,  a  pillar  of  the  church  !"  cried  the  Ho'sely 

youth,  exulUngly :  **  the  proverb, '  poor  as  a  church  mouse/  wouldn't 

apply  to  him.     He  never  quitted  his  home  but  in  his  carriage  and 

four ;  quite  a  treat  to  see  his  four  glossy-black  tits*     They  became 

I  him.     He  looked  the  palmy  and  flourishing  churchman;  always  on 

jhis  mettle,  and  never  off  his  guard.     One  night,  on  his  return  from 

I'ustice  business  severe  weather  came  cm,  and  when  miles  from  home 
lis  carriage  became  embedded  in  a  snow-drift.     To  return  or  to 
I  proceed  was  alike  impossible.     Says  the  doctor,  *  This  is  a  perilous 
•eason  for  me.     1  must  pass  the  night  in  my  carriage  on  the  moor. 
It  behoves  me  to  bestir  myself,  and  to  act  with  energy  and  caution, 
.He  then  desired  bis  second  postilion  to  take  the  ftlrotv^efeX  Wt^t  ia^ 


SOTC-BOOK 

*as  «K  zi  r.iitf  Ervezj  luosf  far  awMlanre ;  to  deliTer  a  note  which 
m  wmst  31  Ttsitzl.  "ir  2i»  3ira»»ccper :  and  to  bring  back  with  him 
-nac  nuc  :ziii2  fotK^^i  b  =i£.«cKn3able  for  that  drearj  night's 
T-jcL      ""•"liir  III  7  :iL  "^"^V  tie  w*f  r" 

'  r^is  ^ftSiir  f  :•:•;£  iff  5eTjoT^.  berood  donbt,"  said  the  official. 


*  JL  nmrniuL  re  2u£  TTiHfyin,  mJ  modier  of  brown  sherry,"  re- 
jiiwL  r'i:r-.i::i  *  ^iisse  wire  ficE.^  tj  h£zi.  by  his  express  order,  from 
ne  :«*^.n^  zj  wrj  z£  ^rczpEZj  d-ring  the  snow-storm ;  and  with 
aeae  iis  za^^^enl  zztt  ±^x^t.'  A:  rHe  in  the  morning  a  party  of 
jiuvii?*s9  icT-.^^i.  jmf  2a*  wjj  ixroct  fresh  as  a  four-year  old.  That 
I  rjiLii  se  Tm  br:  :cak  st:r«  I  Oh  1  he  war  a  pattern  churchman, 
ami  1  suiR  r^fgiars.LTug  Siiz.  .'^ 

*  H»  w:r  *  risfcccdei  :±*  cccstab!e  humbly. 

PSTiiriia:  rt2$  rjc-rfrscSrc  izk  crcceedings  elsewhere  came  to  a  close. 

*  "STf  x-i  iicrsf-d  ni  rirr  TTRriftt."  saiJ  the  foreman. 

*  Frtcni  3«jii    "  st-i  Z^A:t  Wawn  solemnly. 

ITnf  ^JTTir^r  wii*  i-  iiiri  r>x3-feamocr:  he  should  reach  home  in 

•At  ccwh  ird  ir«*:criiis  Terdict,""  said  he,  with  returning 
s^iiiTrn-.  •*isfc:ie^  :i*:c>-tx — crejud^es  nothing — good — very  good. 
Gfni-t^zAT.  j:*^z  czviz.zrj  i*  izidebced  to  you.  Sign  your  names,  and 
tie  iirifr  is  eoie-L"' 

•"r  r-x/  -":r  :i,'  r'/.v^»:. 

T^e  :ir*£r-±I  jo^sfei  cf"  quietly.  The  business  was  sold.  The  pnr- 
c^.x:s«r  wts  xrjrLs^J.  xzo  visely.  thit  the  confidential  clerk's  services 
were  hsii^p^riijLrl*  :,"  5-c>k*s.'  ^  He  knew,"  and  the  assertion  wm 
weL-f^'.-sied.  •  R±£:rie*5  cl:e2.t5  to  a  man;  had  mastered  their 
a'fr^ — ibefr  di jp:*:ii :  r  *. — cheir  political  bias, — their  petty  quar- 
relsw — thieir  {>frsoc:il  e=:=i:Ies  : — at  any  cost  TiUett's  adherence  must 
be  secured,  if  R&rorde's  coccexion  was  to  be  preserved.**  The  subtle 
a=d  aspirirf  clerk  susrected  this,  and  was  proportionably  distant 
a^id  c.^y.  A:  length  he  consented  to  be  managing  partner  in  the  new 
£rm  of  -  Rasper  ani  Tillett."  It  was  a  rise  for  him  ;  and  yet,  those 
who  faccied  that  his  former  anxious,  tremulous,  ill-assured  manner 
would  va&ish  with  amended  circumstances,  were  deceived.  He 
looked  as  dependent,  care-worn,  and  depressed,  as  ever. 

Jlyself  he  shunned.  I  could  never  see  him  alone.  A  private  in- 
terview he  systematzcjLlIy  and  successfully  avoided.  By  note  he 
intimated  to  Oldrich  and  myself  his  regret  that  new  arrangements  no 
longer  \efi  him  at  liberty  to  offer  either  of  us  a  desk  in  his  office:  IB 
other  words,  we  were  to  seek  our  fortunes  elsewhere. 

My  route  farewell  of  him  was  taken  as  he  dashed  past  me  in  his 
smart  dennet^  drawn  by  a  showy  horse,  and  attended  by  a  knowing 
groom.  Apparently  the  world  prospered  with  him.  Did  it !  Whence 
then  the  apprehension  and  disquiet  imaged  forth  in  that  gloomy  and 
downcast  eye  ? 

Let  no  vicious  man  hug  himself  in  the  thought  that  be  can  m 
with  impunity,— that  there  is  this  attainable  result^-^nrrcer«/W/  aad 
Mtunspecled  crime.  Nemesis  tracks  his  footsteps.  Above  lum  is  a 
ftem  Observer.  Around  him  are  invisible  witnesses.  Behind  him 
homes  Erinnys,  his  inseparable  attendant  during  life ;  his  tjrnumiad 
mofiitor  in  the  bitter  hour  preceding  death.    The  sting  of  the  sooi^ 


OF  A   coroner's   clerk. 


22S 


pion  is  not  fabulous*  It  ia  realized  in  onrepented  transgres&ion. 
The  only  recipe  for  a  clear  conacience,  anti  a  calm  brow,  for  an 
honoured  life  and  a  pcaceftil  age,  is  that  traced  in  the  pages  of  a 

^ Record  that  cannot  lie, — "  Keep  inn ocency  :  and  hold  unto  the  thing 
which  is  right*" 
yoti! 


CfiAPTEB     IX. 


MEMORIALS     OF     THE     DEPARTED, 


^^  In  thu  old  Church  of  St.  Alichael  tbiA  quaint  memorial  to  the  memory  of  a 
ycmng  Aih  whileom  gladdened  the  eyes  of  the  roving  aEitiquariai]. 

»»-""«»'     I      A^l^lit. 
Anna  Filia  Richardi  Ash,  /Etatis  sua;  Tertio, 
Obiit  Vke»Bimo  quarto  die  Mali, 
A,  D    1645. 

(Below  ihh  came  a  d«ver  representation  of  an  a&h-tree,  cat  off  in  tlie  centre}:  and 
then  followed  the  distich.) 

An       }     « ,,      f    in  Male      I        .   ,  4    Sprouts  the  aame  daie, 

Thi,    I  ^'^    \    was  then    J   ""  d"»°   (    Yet  live,  for  aie." 

Topographical  Ptep  ai  Bristol, 

What  a  curious  Chapter  might  be  written  on  Monumenti — the 
strange  and  sordid  motives  in  which  very  many  have  originated  ;  the 
reluctance  with  which  not  a  few  have  been  erected ;  and  the  readi- 
ness with  whichj  on  second  thoughts,  no  small  number^  eagerly 
projected,  have  been  quietly  and  finally  abandoned. 

I  remember,  when  a  boy,  waiting  for  my  Confirmation  ticket 
in  the  vestry  of  a  church  belonging  to  a  much- frequented  watering 
place*  The  incumbent,  an  aged,  gentle,  retiring  old  man,  was 
pouring  forth  kindly  counsel,  when  interrupted  by  the  entry  of  a 
gentleman,  who  hurriedly  asked  him  the  probable  fee  for  leave  to 
erect  a  large  monument  to  bis  **  dear,  dear  wife,  in  the  south  tran* 
sept/'  He  described  the  projected  memorial  with  considerable 
minuteness.  There  was  to  be  a  full  length  figure  of  Religion, 
encircled  with  emblems  of  grief  j  there  were  to  be  weeping  cherubs^ 
a  medallion  bust  of  the  departed,  and  an  elaborate  inscription ; 
the  whole  designed  by  an  eminent  sculptor;  and  to  be  executed 
instunier.  The  old  churchman  bowedj  listened  musingly,  and  then 
said  :<— 

''  I  fear,  for  a  monument  of  this  siase,  I  can  name  no  less  a  fee  than 
fifteen  guineas ;  that  amount  may  appear  large  to  you  ;  but  the  space 
which  the  monument  would  occupy-^" 

''Leads  me  to  think  your  proposal  moderate — raost  moderate," 
interrupted  the  widower.  "  Consider  it  as  at  once  acceded  to  ;  as 
for  myself,  inconsolable  as  I  am  and  ever  must  be,  rest  will  never 
visit  my  eyes — ^never — never — ^till  I  have  recorded  on  marble  the 
peerless  virtues  of  that  angel  w*oman." 

He  coughed  violently ;  put  his  handkerchief  to  his  eyes ;  waved 
his  left  hand  once  or  twice  distractedly  ;  and — withdrew. 

The  vicar's  warden  made  his  appearance, 

*' A  painful  interview,  beyond  doubt/'  said  he,  turning  to  the  old 

clergyman;  "Mr. is  a  most  exemplary  widower :  never  long 

away  from  the  subject  of  hid  irreparable  loss;  alwa^%--ttXv»^^%  %aA 


^24  THE  KOTE-BOOK 

—  hoverer.  ihe  projected  moDument  will  be  an  ornament  to  our 
ciiardi ;  and  permit  me  to  congratulate  jou  on  your  prospective 


'*  Which  I  fthal]  nerer  see/'  said  the  vicar  calmly ;  "  nor  you  the 
nxvaoiDent :  nor  the  sculptoi  his  handy- work ;  nor  either  of  us  the 
widower  cm  ikis  nthjrci  again." 

*'  Ah  !  I  think  I  uDder>tand  you,"  said  the  warden,  with  a  face 
indzcaxiTe  of  the  most  profound  compassion ;  "  your  conviction  is 
that  that  aiTertioinate.  inconsolable,  devoted  creature  will  speedily 
ftXiow  his  incomparable  wife.  It's  not  improbable;  never  did  I 
witness  prief  so  overwhelming,  so  absorbing !" 

*'  The  furthest  cor.clusion  ft*om  my  thoughts,"  returned  the  other 
quick'.y.  -*  Such  grief  is  too  violent  to  last:  will  very  speedily  be 
c\nso  eJ  ;  and  the  monument  forgotten.  Call  me  a  cynic,  if  it  be 
rtberwise." 

"  1  never  bandy  assertions  with  my  minister,"  said  the  warden, 
w  :th  mir.iied  deference  and  seif-respect. 

The  observant  churchman  was  right.  Within  three  months  from 
tha:  dav  the  widower  was  an  engaged  man ;  and  a  Benedict  within 
6\e^  "the  south  transept  remains  without  either  cherubs  or  full- 
length  figure :  and  the  deeply-regretteil  wife's  grave  n'iikout  a  head' 

Occasionally,  too.  Epitaphs — and  heavy  ones — are  constructed 
amid  scenes  the  most  incongruous  and  ungenial. 

In  the  parish  church  of  How  den — a  noble  pile— raised  mainly  by 
the  munificence  of  Walter  Skirlow,  a  former  bishop  of  Durham^- 
there  will  be  found  a  cumbrous  monument,  with  an  inflated  inscrip- 
tion to  the  memory  of  a  Capuin  Jefferson.  It  originated  in  a  scene 
where  it  is  presumed  few  epitaphs  have  been  written — ike  Italian 
Opera  House;  and  was  penned  by  the  late  Mr.  Becher,  canon  of 
S-juthwell. 

He  was  wont  thus  to  describe  its  execution :— 
"I  was  musing  between  the  acts  of  ** Semiraraide,"  when  an 
acquaintance— one  of  Jefferson's  executors,  let  me  premise — accosted 
me  with  :  *  Becher,  you  're  lost  in  reflection ;  come,  help  me  out  of 
a  difliculty.  I  want'a  long-winded  epitaph,  for  a  man  who,  through 
life,  was  a  nonentity.  And  yet  lots  of  verbiage  must  be  employed— 
lots — lots— for  there's  money  bequeathed  for  his  monument,  and 
monev  apportioned  for  his  epitaph.  Pray  attempt  it.' 
•IVotl!' 

••  •  l}oi  pray  d.i:  1/  's  a  rasper  ;  but  you  can  top  it' 
«•  •  The  difficulty — where  does  it  lie?' 

'**Here:  the  man  walked,  and  Ulked ;  ate,  drank,  and  died! 
Now  turn  him  into  a  personage  of  superior  worth ;  singular  energy 
of  character ;  and  profuse  benevolence.' 

**  1  accomplished  the  feat  in  less  than  twenty  minutes,"  said  the 
canon,  exultingly ;  '*  for  the  deceased  had  good  points,  which  onbf 
metdfd  ampUJicalion,  The  inscription,  drawn  out  in  pencil,  was 
cordially  adopted:  but  the  money  I  declined  accepting.  The 
esecutors  sent  me  some  plate — a  coffee-pot  ^which  I  use  to  this 
hour.- 
Amplification  indeed ! 

But  in  that  church,  large,  sombre,  and  fast  hastening  to  decay — 
led  by  crumbling  arch  and  toppling  pillar— frail  memenUM 


OF  A  cx)RONEb's  clerk.  225 

of  former  magniOoence — there  slumbers  one  of  ancient  lineage*  and 
princely  mind  —  whose  heart  was  as  free  from  selOshness  as  his 
principles  were  from  taint;  who  never  turned  from  a  poor  man's 
prayer,  flinched  from  a  promise,  nor  forgot  a  friend. 

Of  Uiose  who  knew  him,  how  few  can  recall  to  this  hour,  without 
emotion,  the  memory  of  that  model  of  the  English  Gentleman— the 
late  Philip  Saltmabshb,  of  Salimarshe/  His  life  shed  lustre  on 
his  lineage.    No  cause  had  he  to  shrink  from  Shirley's  verse — 

<^ When  oar  louli  shall  lemre  thii  dwelling, 

The  glory  of  one  fair  and  Tirtuoiii  action 
li  above  all  the  acntcheons  on  our  tomb. 
Or  silken  banners  over  us  !'* 

Time,  with  its  ever-varying  train  of  events,  rolled  by.  Fresh 
bereavements  were  wondered  at.  Fresh  sorrows  were  wept.  Raf- 
forde's  ill-name  and  end  were  less  frequently  mooted  by  the  masses, 
when,  in  the  grey  of  evening,  bv  a  new-made  grave  in  the  thickly- 
tenented  cemetery,  a  female  form  was  seen  to  linger.  It  was 
Pleasant  Ellis :  and  Twang,  the  sexton,  annoyed  at  her  visits,  asked 
her  impatiently  if  "  she  were  making  a  charm  there?" 

"This  grave,"  she  remarked  quietly,  and  without  apparently 
heeding  his  inuendo,  "  is  not  sodded,  and  pared,  and  trimmed  like 
the  rest ! — for  why,  Mr.  Twang — I  say,  for  why  ?" 

"No  orders  to  that  effect,"  responded  the  sexton,  crabbedly: 
"  no  orders  to  that  effect  from  nobody  !" 

"  Do  it  for  the  sake  of  decency  and  goodwill,"  urged  the  old  crone, 
beseechingly  ;  endeavouring  the  while,  but  unsuccessfully,  to  give 
to  her  natural Iv  harsh  voice  a  tone  of  entreaty. 

*'  No ! "  replied  the  other,  savagely.  "  No-~I  work  for  bread,  not 
words.     What  I  want  is  pay !  " 

"  The  cost  ?  "  said  the  aged  woman,  quickly. 

"  More  than  you  can  well  spare,"  was  the  reply ;  "  the  best  part 
of  a  crown." 

"  It  is  there,"  was  the  reply  ;  and  she  handed  him  the  perquisite. 

"  Keep  it,  woman,"  ejaculated  the  other ;  "  you  are  ailing,  and 
helpless,  and  feeble.  Keep  it  for  sickness  and  old  age.  Besides," 
added  he,  with  a  fierce  expression  of  hatred,  "you  know  what 
grasping  villain  lies  mouldenng  there,  if  there  he  be  ?  " 

Twang  indulged  in  a  detestable  chuckle. 

"  He  was  not  all  evil,"  returned  the  woman.  "  When  my  poor 
Susan  was  laid  low  by  typhus,  without  stint  or  measure  did  he  send 
her,  morning  by  morning,  costly  wine :  his  hope  was  to  raise  her. 
No !  he  was  not  all  evil ! " 

**Ugh !"  ejaculated  Twang,  with  an  air  of  deep  disgust. 

"He  could  be  kind,"  persevered  the  other;  "and  me  he  more 
than  once  befriended.  Shall  all  who  have  ate  of  his  bread  and 
drank  of  his  cup— shall  all  desert  him  ?  " 

Again  she  laid  the  fee  with  a  determined  air  before  the  sexton, 
and  would  permit  no  refusal. 

*  Sir  Lionel  Saltmarshe  lived  in  the  time  of  King  Harold.  He  did  homage  to 
Wiffinn  the  Conqueror,  and  was  knighted  by  him  at  the  Castle  of  Knore,  where 
the  king  gave  him,  under  the  royal  letters  patent,  the  lordship  of  Soltmarslie. 
Arthur  Mtmaishe  lived  temp.  Ric.  I.,  and  went  with  him  to  the  Holy  Land,  was 
)  of  Acre,  and  there  knighted  with  the  other  warriors. 


L*  aid  die,  turning  tlowly 
at  rest!" 
i  to  thy  lovingy 
'  against  provocation 
like  that  of  difldhood  is  thy 
vish  a  SBoile;   and  bitter 
and  onsaspected  tear. 
:  iz<anr  flerx  and  exaoiiig  jokefdlow  a  patience, 
'mw^LL'T  fir  is  jcimd ;  and  proof  against  reverses, 
narr  qok  suil  mwr  mn,  wt±,  a  Ivre  vidd&  iliall  endore  beyond  the 


7EX     :KSZCXI.K     ASyriTASCT. 

■**  ITf  dunr  mcimif  ie  znt  quieE  nziaep-CErTeKX  «f  ii'iwi  ■ :  that  flow  oa  in 
■IiBm  auc  fivB.  rnicw  •  turn  nt  «inwiir»  ommB  )q3  ti*  uasiiT  of  milierijig,  and 

T£Z  £rn:  of  B^sper  and  TiZks  baring  repadiated  my  services,  I 
bac  U'  wek  &  ix-v^  empilw'yer.  HEn  I  foand  in  the  person  of  Mr. 
HarrcT  BieSsrmiiZiZr— >&  eerei^tmBiwha  bad  **an  unmitigated  horror 
of  tbe  qcirk^  £=i£  rlScsneics  of  Lif  profcsBon ;"  who  regarded  "  law 
as  a  jCTfivy  meriiir^  ^^rurof'd  fcsdr  fnian  its  own  intrinsic  excel- 
jf-Dcv."  asc  V  bc>  W3iaxd  U'  be  -'coDcerDed  only  for  men  of  honour  and 
izsep-hr.''  Wiih  -^  wbu  wa»  V^r  ^^  base,  and  mean  **  he  had  no 
srmpE'ij.  *-  Genfiekss  pr<oc7«ssoc  towards  perfection  was  one  of 
the  ^wi'cif  ibe  I>:tii?e«ic«QocsT-  Would  his  unworthy  life  be  length- 
ertt-i  i:;  Me  thai  f.J£ljcd  is  the  prcifessioa  so  dear  to  the  aspirations 
of  h5*  Tosib  r  " 

A   £oe£t  tslker,  if  doh  a  fsiih/al  doer,  was  Mr.  Harvey  Bie- 

A^d  msTT  did  be  bepdle ! 

His  bland  xnaiiser. — rf'Cfa,  me^iow  voice. — frank  and  cordial  ad- 
dress^-open,  m&nlj  brow, — ^hearty  and  winning  sympathy  with  the 
woes  or  wtl^ti^  of  his  clients,— ooocillated  many  and  opened  to  him 
the  purses  of  more.  A  consummate  actor,  he  was  well  up  in  hit 
pan.  No  detail,  however  minute,  had  been  forgotten.  His  attitude, 
toDe.  and  gesture  would  haie  borne  comparison  with  the  most 
finished  performers  at  St.  Stephen's  in  the  great  council  of  the 
nation ;  and  it  vas  rare  sport  to  those  who  had  fathomed  his  cha- 
racter, to  see  him  throw  back  the  facings  of  his  faultless  coat,  place 
his  hu>d  upon  his  brosd  snowv  vest,  look  up  to  heaven  with  an  air 
superbly  ingenuous  and  confiding,  and  in  mellow  tones  thus  enun- 
ciate *'  the  governing  principles  of  his  life :  I  pursue  my  profession 
from  no  personal  views — from  no  idea  or  expectation  of  individual 
aggrandizement ;  but  from  an  intense  and  deepening  hatred  of  in- 
justice, and  a  burning  desire  to  benefit  my  fellow  man." 

Generous  and  disinterested  being ! 

There  was  one,  however,  whom  all  his  professions  and  plausibility 
ftjWd  to  mystify,  and  yet  with  whom  it  was  most  important  he  should 
l^..a  wealthy  and  impracticable  old  lady  of  the  name  of 
me.    This  venerable  spinster,  who  '*  hated  those  selfish  and 

monsters    the  men,'  and  who  daily  "blessed  God  that 

ah0  h«d  mcrcifrilly  escaped  all  entanglement  with  any  ime  of  them," 


OF   A   coroner's  clerk. 


was  his  near  kinswoman,  and  the  godmother  of  his  Jmbectle  sister^ 
Zara ;  her  the  old  lady  had  more  than  once  designated,  to  Bieder- 
man's  inconeeivable  chagrin,  aa  the  "  probable  heiress  of  the  bulk  of 
her  property," 

This  was  disagreeable  and  unexpected.  It  was  more.  Biedermann 
regarded  it  as  "a  palpable  injury."  The  '•  IViend  of  his  race"  re- 
doubled his  assiduities.  He  soothed  the  scofBng  spinster ;  flattered 
her  ;  adopted  her  line  of  politics ;  asked  her  counsel  and  abided  by 
it ;  uttered  his  newest  platitudes  ;  revealed  his  latest  scheme  for 
**  benefiting  his  species,"  and  "  elevating  the  moral  character "  of 
man- — all  to  no  purpose.  Mrs.  Clarissa  Kempthorne  gravely  heeded 
his  elaborate  sentences,  and  when  the  last  had  glibly  rolled  off  his 
tongue,  briskly  replied,  '^' Drat  the  fellow!  he*B  as  hollow  as  the 
rest  of  *em  !  " 

At  the  age  of  seventy-seven  Clarissa's  vigorous  constitution 
exhibited  sudden  and  decided  symptoms  of  decay.  She  noted 
them,  and  immediately  set  about  arranging  her  affairs.  Prior  to  the 
final  disposition  of  her  property,  she  called  Zara  to  her  side,  and 
with  unab&iedjterit'  of  manner  observed, — 

"  I  h.ive  left  you,  as  far  as  was  in  my  power,  mistress  of  your  own 
destiny*  Take  my  advice:  live  single  and  independent,  1  Ve  had 
many  escapes  from  those  monsters — the  men*  All  sorts  of  fine 
things  have  been  said  to  me;  and  all  sorts  of  fine  verses  have  been 
sent  to  me^ — flames — and  darts — and  despair — and  quenchless  love- 
but  catch  a  weasel  asleep  I  I  knew  their  business  too  well !  Pirates 
and  swindlers  the  whole  generation  of  'em  I  Heed  the  dying  advice 
of  your  wary  old  godmother.  Men  are  much  the  same  all  over  the 
world.  They  are  all  selfish — all  exacting^ — ^11  false—all  tyrannical 
— they  are  all  at  heart  '  lovers  of  their  own  selves.'  Trust  none  of 
them.  But  if  after  all  you  will  mate, — {f  ,you  unll^-^choose  a  soft 
ONR,  and  then,"  added  the  old  lady  with  bitter  emphasis,  *'you  can 
trample  upon  him/* 

It  was  at  this  juncture  that  1  had  the  happiness  of  forming  a  con- 
nexion with  the  philanthropic  Mr.  Biedermann. 

"  He  was  in  immediate  want," — I  give  his  own  words,^ — *^of  a 
confidential  clerk, — one  in  whom  he  could  implicitly  rely, ^to  whom 
he  could  delegate  his  most  pressing  duties, — who  must  be,  in  fact, 
his  '  alit:r  esro'  His  time  was  no  longer  his  own,  A  near  relative 
was  dying;  and  his  present  occupation  was  the  truly  mournful  one 
of  watching  the  last  hours  of  that  incomparable  woman." 

Such  was  Clarisiia's  present  appellation.  Six  weeks  afterwards  it 
underwent  a  slight  change.  7'hen  she  was  spoken  of  by  the  injured 
Biedermann  as  that  "^implacable  and  narrow-minded  being,  his  late 
kinswoman/' — the  "slave  of  prejudice,"  and  '*a  bigot,  of  whom  the 
world  was  well  rid." 

To  be  sure,  Miss  Kempthome's  observations,  to  the  very  last»  had 
little  in  them  of  a  complimentary  description*  She  had  an  unac- 
countable  habit,  after  each  of  ray  principars  visits,  of  insisting  on 
the  doors  and  windows  of  her  apartment  **  being  instantly  opened,  to 
dispel  a  very  perceptible  impregnation  of  brimstone ;"  and  once, 
when  that  worthy,  with  lugubrious  visage,  brought  her  a  book  of 
devotion,  and  proceeded  to  open  it,  the  sarcastic  inquiry  ensued,^ — 

**  To  be  read  by  you  ?  No— no  I  That  were  too  broad  a  tkrce  to 
be  performed  in  the  chamber  of  a  dying  woman  1" 


THE   NOTE-BOOK 


Sn  wcdtt  ftllerwflrJs  Btedennaiin  spoke  of  her  with  ft  sigh,  and 
liacflited  iicr  as  *^  a  lapsed  and  decided  heathen  V 

But,  beathen  or  no^  she  fulfilled  her  protni&es.  Her  imbecile  god^ 
child  WM»  amply  provided  for;  and  the  will  by  which  she  had 
guarded  Zara  from  the  frauds  of  her  brother,  and  the  privations  of 
poverty,  was  long^  stringent^  and  well  considered*  To  the  fair  but 
feeble- minded  girl  was  secured  an  annuity  of  six  hundred  per  an- 
num ;  payable  to  her  o^i-n  signature  alone ;  *'  free  from  the  debts, 
liabilities,  or  engagements  of  any  future  husband;"  and  wholly  be* 
yond  the  control  or  direction  of  her  brother. 

To  him  Mrs.  Clarissa  bequeathed,  by  way  of  remembrance,  as ''aa 
apprcvprtate  mark  of  her  regard/'  a  superbly  bound  copy  of  Mack- 
Uo's  «  i^Ian  ot  the  World." 

I  have  my  doubts  whether  this  latter  legacy  was  ever  claimed. 

But  the  most  melancholy  result  of  Miss  Kempthorne^s  bequest 
was  the  separation  it  created  between  brother  and  sister.  Thence* 
Ibrth  their  interests  were  no  longer  identical. 

The  feeling  represented  in  Biedermann's  everted  eye  and  gloomy 
brow  might  be  thus  resolved  : — '*  My  x£r/rr  is  independent.  /  must 
toil !  The  caprice  of  a  vindictive  old  woman  has  given  to  her  wealth, 
and  left  me  to  ward  off — if  I  am  able — penury.  And  she,  the  pre- 
ferred and  favoured  one,  an  imbecile,  —  ignorant  of  the  value  of 
money, — unable  to  make  the  roost  of  the  advantages  which  it  con- 
fers,— and  perfectly  indifferent  to  the  luxuries  which  it  commands. 
How  unjust  and  injurious  a  preference  T' 

But,  the  feeling  was  not  reciprocated.  Zara  loved  her  brother ; 
loved  him  earnestly,  devotedly,  disinterestedly.  If  her  intellect  on 
aoroe  points  wavered,  her  affections  were  firm.  These  pointed  fondly 
and  exclusively  to  her  natural  protector.  , 

'*  We  are  alone  in  the  world,  Harvey,  alone — alone/'  was  her  oft*  I 
repeated  declaration, — "let  us  be  true  to  each  other:  where  can  love  ' 
be  expected,  if  orphans  cherish  it  not  ?" 

"  Undoubtedly — undoubtedly  it  is  the  grand  cement  of  society," 
said  the  philosopher,  with  a  sort  of  flourish,  *'  the  bond  which  should 
unite  all  is  love.  It  is  an  essential  attribute  in  the  character  of 
The  UNivBRaai*  Father." 

"Oh  !  speak  not  so  sternly,  and  look  not  so  coldly,  Harvey,"  said 
the  other,  shrinking  from  his  frigid  gaze ;  *'  tell  me  that  I  am  as  dear 
to  you  as  ever;  I  have  no  other  friend/*  added  the  poor  girl  sadly. 

*'  You  will  have  them  shortly  by  shoals :  your  means  will  attract 
them,  lure  them,  enchain  them, — as  firmly,  ay,  as  firmly  as  the  glit-   J 
tering  stakes  on  the  hazard*table  hold  in  thrall  the  desperate  game-   ' 
aier.     You  are  rich^  Zara,  rich^  and  your  gold  will  gather  around 
you  friends." 

"  1  care  but  for  one,"  said  the  devoted  girl,  with  an  affection  that 
beamed  from  her  soft,  dove-like  eye,  and  a  sincerity  that  spoke  irre- 
fistibly  in  her  clear,  low-toned  voice, — *'  I  care  but  for  one,  and 
tbou  art  be*  Love  me,  dearest  Harvey, — love  me,  as  you  were  wont 
1o  do.** 

4^u..  turned  towards  him  as  she  spoke,  with  a  mute  gesture  vitn* 
nt.  expecting  for  it  the  ready  and  joyous  welcome  of  days 

It  r>v  ;  but,  rejecting  her  proffered  caress,  Biedermann  waved  her 

^,1,   him  with  the  abrupt  remark,  **  Y'ou  must  insure  your  life 
isure  it  at  once ;  for  a  large  sum  ;  and  in  a  first-rate  office/* 


OF    A    CORONERS  CLERK ^ 


It  was  some  moments  before  wotinded  feelings  allowed  the  affec- 
tionate girl  utterance.  When  that  waa  granted,  the  shattered  intel- 
lect prompted  the  confused  reply. 

** Insure  my  life  !  How  can  I?  No  one  can  do  that.  No  f  no  I 
Tkai  our  old  clergyman  ha*  told  ii3  many  a  time.  It  can't  be  in- 
sured for  an  hour:  any  more  than  our  health*  Alas  I  no  I  There  *« 
no  insuring  of  life:  that  I'm  quite  clear  about!" 

"  The  fool  !**  murmured  the  brother,  in  a  low  voice,  **  The  hope* 
less  and  incyrable  fool  I  And  this  idiot  to  have  means — ample 
means^ means  at  her  own  absolute  control,  while  a  lot  slightly  re- 
moved from  begf^ary  is  mine." 

The  disappointed  man  ground  his  teeth  bitterly  while  he  vented 
his  murniurs. 

*•  I  would  willingly  lusure  my  life/'  continued  Zara,  eagerly — 
apprehending  qtiickly,  from  her  brother's  glance,  that  &he  had  un- 
wittinirly  ofrended  ;  '*  if — if — ^it  can  be  done  without  offendinj^  HiAi 
on  High,  and  if  you  will  promise  me  that  it  shall  all — all— be  passed 
with  you  ?  " 

'*  It  can  be  done :  and  it  must  be  done/'  returned  Biedernianni 
impatiently ;  "  and  forthwith/* 

*'  Then,  Aon?  lou^  have  I  to  Uve  ?"  was  the  imbecile's  next  question; 
"how  long,  Harvey  dear ?— answer  me ?  " 

It  was  a  strange  question — ^asked  in  a  silly,  hesitating,  childish 
tone ;  but  it  seemed  strangely  to  move  him  to  whom  it  was  addressed. 

"What  mean  you?'*  said  hej  hoarsely;  then  recovering  himself 
with  visible  effort,  he  exclaimed  with  forced  gaiety  :  **live?  live 
till  you're  a  grandmotherj  Zara-  Live  till  you  're  tired  1  Live  till 
life  becomes  wearisome  as  a  twice-told  tale/' 

"  That  it  cannot  be ;  if  passed  with  you, — Harvey/' 

"  With  me  ?     Oh  I  I  've  no  home.     1  'm  a  beggar/' 

"  Hardly  that,  dearest,  when  all  that  I  have  is  yours/'  cried 
Feeble-mind,  upbraid in^ly.  Then,  with  a  bound,  she  darted  towards 
hei:  brother,  encircled  him  with  her  snowy,  polished  arras,  and  kissed 
hlra  fondly  and  repeatedly.  He,  on  the  other  hand,  seemed  em- 
barrassed by  this  burst  of  tenderness.  No  return  had  he — cold  and 
calculating— to  offer.  Freeing  himself,  with  freezing  courtesy,  from 
the  embrace  of  the  fair  girl  who  doated  on  him — 

*'  We  will  talk,"  said  he  *' neither  of  death,  nor  of  life  ;  this  only 
will  I  add^a  long  and  happy  future  is,  I  trust,  before  you/* 

**  The  future !  ah,  a  common  word^ — but  I  understand  it  not/*  said 
the  imbecile,  sorrowfully.     *'  Is  it  a  bundle  of  to-morrows  ?  " 

*(  Nothing  more,"  said  the  brother  with  a  wearied  air. 

"But  our  old  clergyman  tells  us  oflen  '  we  know  not  what  shall 
be  on  the  morrow  ? ' " 

"  Yes,"  said  Biedermann,  as  he  withdrew ;  "  clouds  and  darkness 
rest  upon  it/' 

And  mercifulii/. 

What  a  boon  is  our  ignorance  of  futurity  !  How  compftsBionately 
does  The  Supreme  veil  from  us  coming  events  I  What  agony  is 
thus  spared  us  I 

Rest,  Zara,  rest  in  blissful  unconsciousness  of  impending  evil. 
Rest — reposing  on  thy  brother's  love !  A  dark  and  dreary  future  is 
before  thee.  Give  credence  whilst  thou  canst,  to  dreams  of  future 
happiness.  Thou  believest  thy  brother  true  to  thee  ?  Guileleaa  and 
confiding  being  I     Yet  awhile  that  fond  delua\(H\  laa.^  \>e  ^KvcvO• 


230  THE  KOTB-BOOK 

OHAPTBB  XI. 
THE     8TANPIBLD-HALL     MURDERS. 

^  Hats  is  of  lU  thingi  the  mightieft  divider,  nay,  is  division  itself.*' 

Milton *8  Prase  Works, 

So  £ar  had  I  proceeded  in  my  task  of  resuscitating  past  events  in 
a  •drringlife,  wtien  a  young  acquaintance,  who  confesses  to  "having 
«n  appetite  for  the  horrible/'  approached  my  hermitage,  for  the 
pyrpoae  of  disburdening  his  impressions  of  late  events  at  Stanfield 

Yftma  his  manner  and  replies,  I  gathered  that  he  had  known 
penopaUy  both  the  murdered  parties ;  and  had  been  present  at  more 
dun  one  examination  of  the  accused. 

*■  The  mystery  whidi  hangs  over  the  whole  affair,  adds/'  said  my 
iwaag  aoqaamtance,  '*  to  its  horror.  The  hold  which  Rush  seemed  to 
livre  orer  the  elder  Mr.  Jenny ;  the  pecuniary  assistance  which  he  suc- 
oi«idi(d«  after  ^ross  misconduct,  in  j^rocuring  from  him  ;  the  manner 
HI  wlndi.  durmg  Mr.  Jermy's  lifetune,  he  addressed  him  ;  and  the 
fimidkini  of  his  access  to  the  hall,  early  and  late,  favour  the  conclusion 
<(mi<d  at  by  many,  that  Rusk  was  muck  more  cloithf  al&ed  to  Mr, 
Jum%  than  that  gentleman  chose  to  acknowledge,  or  wished  the 
w^andl  to  DelieTe. 

If  M<  the  violent  antipathy  entotained  by  Mr.  Jermy,  jun.  towards 
At  |«i9>Mi«r.  and  by  him  fully  reciprocated,  admits  of  easy  exp]ana« 
CM.  Then*  again,  there  is  unaccountable  mystery  enveloping  the 
«i%ia  a^il  ccnnexions  of  the  party  first  called  the  *'  Widow  James  /' 
sdl«fi)iftetitlT  styled  ^  Emily  Sandford ;"  and  who,  it  is  believed,  has 
a»  «mk4i  ri^t  to  the  one  appellation  as  Uie  other.  Her  education 
Kvsskl  haT«  been  of  no  ordinary  kind.  The  skill  and  legal  tact  with 
^hwh  the  ^w^sed  deeds  were  engrossed — ^prepared  by  her,  'tis  true, 
unAnr  the  dimctMns  of  Rush — ^would  not  have  disgraced  a  London 
Arvk  The  inuh  with  which  they  were  executed;  the  pains  which 
hail  Wm  Kentowed :  and  the  attention  ffiven  to  the  most  minute 
ftffticifehtrt.  wifest  have  been  seen  to  be  dul^  appreciated.  The  en- 
giMtiiiisiy  W9i»  v>f  itHfif  ^iirstf-r«/r.  She  is  said  to  be  a  clergyman's 
jb/H^htifr  ;  and  her  bearinf^  appearance,  and  language  did  not  dis- 
<t^r^  the  SMMUttDiMn.  In  watching  her  demeanour,  and  weighing 
h«  vhrcWatkwis  aurinc  her  diffierent  examinations,  thejnrogress  of 
hitr  i^<f£bM  li^wanib  l^ush  was  distinctly  discernible.  F^rst  of  all, 
h«  iNftS^aNe  int«ntk>n  was  to  screen  him.  Her  hope  then  was  that 
he  nui||:ht  eT»ea|NN  A$  the  &ther  of  her  diild,  the  wish  was  pardon^ 
sMiK  ;^hM>)ttetitly  there  was  a  perceptible  change  of  fading,  and  a 
^*^sfcKl  ahaiKk^nment  of  his  cause.  This  prompted  the  late  but  frank 
Jfcw>>wiiT»  <Ml'  the  rtmarkable  interview  whidi  took  place  between 
^hima  %i«  Rush's  nrtum  to  Potash  Farm  on  the  evening  of  the 
sMat>krk 

The  »»t<tn<ii»  with  which  the  suspected  man  addressed  her  in  her 
^a*^  »\aaiiinatH>n»,  ami  the  effrontery  with  which  he  tried  to  crush 
hfet<MiMMtt\«  wert^  il  can  use  no  milder  term)  brutaL  Her  per- 
aiMJI  sff#ow»c»  is  in  her  favour.  She  is  a  pretty  looking,  and 
a^^W^hiit  hMly4ike  woman :  her  age  about  six-and-twenty :  there 
is  *  |W|"»s>eiaing  air  of  frankness  about  her ;  and  her  Yoice  is 

IMMMI  «m1  lUtelY  uHMlttlated. 


OF  A  C0BONER*S  CLERK.  231 

"  And  the  bntler*"  said  I,  "  what  of  that  very  coarageous  peraon* 
age,  who  retreated  lo  prudently  to  his  pantry  ?  " 

'*  That 's  another  of  the  perplexing  and  unaccountable  circuni« 
stances  which  surround  this  frightful  tra^^r.  James  Watson,  a 
alight  and  slim  personage,  and  young  withal  for  a  butler,  is  not 
very  wise:  and  not  very  brave.  A  glance  at  his  stolid  countenance 
would  convince  you  that  his  first  thought  would  be  touching  the 
safety  of  Number  One,  and  his  next,  the  due  custody  of  his  spoons 
and  salvers.  He  permitted,  strange  to  stay,  the  murderer  to  pass 
him  in  the  hall  without  attempting  to  apprehend  him.  Nay  more, 
he  saw  the  pistol  pointed  at  Mr.  Jermy,  jun.,  heard  it  fired,  saw 
his  young  master  fall,  and  then  went  back  into  his  pantry. 
All  which  is  inexplicable,  save  on  the  principle  that  each  man 
having  only  one  life  to  sport  with,  it  may  be  as  well  to  be  specially 
careful  of  it.  Another  point  seems  nearly  to  the  full  as  strange — 
the  corpse  of  Mr.  Jermy,  sen.,  was  overlooked  and  allowed  to  lie  in 
the  porch  half  an  hour  before  any  steps  were  taken  to  remove  it,  or 
to  ascertain  whether  life  was  wholly  extinct.  In  fact,  the  body  of 
the  ill-fated  gentleman  was  only  accidentally  discovered  by  the  hght 
from  the  lamps  of  a  gig  which  had  driven  up  to  the  door." 

"  You  knew  both  the  deceased,  personally  ?  " 

"  Yes :  and  saw  them  after  death.  They  were  little  altered.  The 
younger  looked  completely  himself.  He  had  again  and  again 
warned  his  father  against  the  accused  man.  Rush,  towards  whom  hia 
dislike  was  invincible:  and  it  is  noticeable  that  another  sufferer, 
Mrs.  Jenny,  had  more  than  once  expressed  her  great  objection  to 
Rush's  being  permitted  to  enter  the  house  through  the  glass-door, 
without  either  knocking  or  ringinff;  and  at  any  hour  ie  pleased. 
Nay,  more,  she  avowed  her  decided  disapprobation  of  the  same 
party  'a  being  allowed  to  come  to  the  house  late  at  night.  Her  hus- 
una,  too,  was  known  to  have  said  only  a  few  days  before  the  catas- 
trophe, *'I  don't  believe  my  father  to  be  in  any  way  in  Rush's 
power— indeed,  I  am  quite  persuaded  he  is  not— but  the  inference 
other  parties  may  draw  from  his  being  allowed  to  haunt  the  pre- 
miiei  as  he  does,  must  be  unfavourable,  iio  good,  I  am  persuaded, 
CIO  come  of  it." 

**And  the  cause — ^the  origin  of  all  this?" 

''The  old  story  :  disputed  rights  to  certain  property.  So  true  it 
ill  that '  a  man's  life  consisteth  not  in  the  abundance  of  the  things 
vhich  he  possesseth.' " 

*'And  Rush  himself?" 

"  The  most  daring,  audacious,  and  dauntless  of  prisoners.  His 
cnna-ezamination  of  the  witnesses  brought  against  him  was  cunning, 

Ml  able,  bullying,  not  manly ;  and  his  anathemas  against  his  unborn 

<tid,  brutal  and  appalling  in  the  extreme.    These  the  unhappy 

vonan  (Sandford)  seemed  deeply  to  feel.     Her  the  world  affecu  to 

c>U  a  govemness:  if  so,  she  is  the  most  free  from  *Uhe  governess 

^"—native  to  the  race— of  any  I  ever  saw  so  unenviably  circum- 


"And  the  poor  girl,  Ghesney  ?" 
,  "  Ah !  that  is  one  of  the  saddest  features  in  the  whole  affair.    She 
tt  t  girl  of  excellent  character,  and  evinced  considerable  courage, 
fte  was  the  man  of  the  family.    The  instant  she  heard  the  screams 
^  her  mistreas,  careless  of  consequences,  she  rushed  to  her  assist- 


232 


THE   NOTErBOOK 


ance.  She  joined  Mrs,  Jerray  in  the  haU  ;  anil  there  poor  Chetney 
received  the /o«r/A  and  last  fire  of  the  asaasstn.  She  is  an  intelHgent, 
earnest-looking  girl,  with  a  good  deal  of  mind  in  her  countenance. 
Supposing  life  spared^  which  is  doubtful,  she  can  never  know  health 
again*  But  no  description,"  pursued  my  informant,  '*  can  do  justice 
to  the  panic  which  prevailed  at  the  hall  on  that  fearful  evening,  and 
ta  the  state  of  dense  stupefaction  in  which  the  other  servants  of  the 
establishment  moved  about,  and  essayed  to  do  as  they  were  bidden. 
Nor  shall  I  ever  forget  the  appearance  of  the  drawing-room,  a  couple 
of  hours  after  the  event ;  the  apartment  where  Mr.  Jermy,  jun,  was 
lying  in  the  stillness  of  death.  Everything  seemed  to  be  just  as  Mrs. 
Jermy  had  left  it,  when  hearing  the  noise  of  fire-arms  she  rushed 
into  the  hall  to  receive  the  assassin's  third  shot,  as  she  bent  over  her 
dying  husband.  The  piano  was  open  :  and  music  lay  strewed  upon 
it;  and  fresh  flowers  were  there;  and  on  the  mantel-piece  lay  post* 
letters,  addressed  both  to  the  elder  gentleman  and  his  son.  and 
destined  never  to  be  opened  by  either: — ample  evidence  was  there 
around  of  luxury  and  wealth — and  the  heir  lay  in  the  midst  of  this, 
•ilent,  forlorn,  and  helpless.*' 

"  You  speak,"  said  I, '» of  Rush's  ^cunning,*  and  of  the  frequency 
with  which  it  was  developed  during  the  examination  of  the  wfu 
nesses  against  him/' 

**  r  do ;  and  to  it  I  ascribe  the  hold  which  he  exercised  over  thote 
whom  it  was  necessary  he  should  control — the  puppets^  in  fact,  of 
his  cumbrous  machinery*  Take*  for  instance,  his  young  house- 
keeper, Emily  Sandford.  She  wrote,  transcribed,  and  engrossed,  at 
Kis  instance,  certain  lengthy  deeds ;  and  then  affixed  to  them  certain 
signatures  which  she  well  knew  to  be  forgeries :  her  feelings  all  the 
while  revolting  from  her  employ ment,  and  her  conscience  telling 
her  at  each  stage  of  her  progress  that  she  was  engaged  in  an  enter- 
priae  having  for  its  issue  a  most  nefarious  result.  She  remonstrated, 
pcmnudly  and  by  letter,  not  once,  but  often.  Vet,  in  spite  of  her 
tnresentations  and  reluctance  —  bear  in  mind  she  wat  in  education, 
hJhits,  and  ear^  traimng,  infinitely  superior  to  her  employer  —  Rush 
carried  his  point.  The  documents  were  duly,  carefully,  and  ably 
executed.  Then,  again,  with  regard  to  that  paragon  of  acute  servings 
lads,  Solomon  Savory.  You  should  have  witnessed  his  dihut  before 
the  coroner  ;  the  manner  in  which  he  tumbled  up,  and  grasped  the 
book  like  a  pitchfork,  before  he  was  sworn;  the  way  in  which  he 
rolled  his  eves  over  the  crowded  assemblage  collected  at  the  inquest; 
the  sheepish  manner  in  which  he  gave  his  evidence ;  and  the  pro* 
longed  stare  of  measureless  wonderment  with  which  he  noted  the 
rapid  manner  in  which  that  evidence  was  recorded.  Quickly  com* 
bining  these  circumstances,  you  would  have  said  off-hand  that  Solo- 
mon, in  spite  of  his  name,  was  one  living  lump  of  stolidity  ;  that  all 
he  said  must  be  credited  ;  that  it  could  neither  literally  nor  %ura- 
tively  be  false,  for  that  he  had  not  the  abiUitf  to  deceive.  Have  a  care ! 
Clod  knows  what  be  '»  about.  Clod  is  playing  his  part,  Cloil  has 
not  lived  at  PoUsh  Farm  without  having  one  part  of  his  education 
completed.  Clod  is  bent  on  screening  his  master ;  is  under  that 
master's  influence  ;  ami  his  evidence  is  already  mightily  perplexing 
more  than  one  t>f  the  iury. 

**  He  slates,  *  1  am  in  the  service  of  James  Blomfield  Rush.  I  saw 
him  last  Tuesday  aftcnmoii  —  tlie  day  of  the  murder,     I  saw  him 


OP   A  CORONERS    CT.ERK- 


23S 


•bout  half^pajt  six  o'clock.  He  spoke  to  me*  I  saw  him  agsdn  be- 
tween seven  and  half- past  seven.  He  came  to  the  door,  and  »poke 
to  me,  and  went  in  again,  I  never  saw  him  ai\er  that.  He  had  his 
In-door  dress  on.  He  pulled  off  his  boots  when  he  came  home, 
and  put  hifk  slip-shoes  on.  It  was  his  usual  habit  to  do  so  when  he 
came  home.  I  cleaned  his  two  pair  of  boots  that  night  between  five 
\  and  six  o'clock,  the  same  boots  he  had  worn  on  that  day  t  I  put  them 
to  the  fire  to  ilry.  He  did  not  put  thvm  on  antf  mare  that  night  ;  I  put 
them  awa^t  locked  the  duor^  and  put  the  keif  in  mtf  jxtcket,  I  saw  him 
hate  the  xlin-shotM  on  his  feel  next  morning.     I  went  to  bed  between 

eight  and  nine  o'clock  on  Tuesday  night I  saw  the  boots  the 

next  morning.     The  side  next  the  fire  was  dry,  and  the  other  side 
was  not.     1  did  not  leave  a  very  large  fire.     /  never  saw  but  ttvo  pair 
of  boots  belonging  to  Mr.  Rush  at  the  Pot- Ash-Farm,     I  cleaned  both 
pairs,  and  set  tlicra  at  the  fire  to  dry.     There  was  one  pair  heavy, 
and  the  other  lij^ht.     I  would  know  thera  both  if  I  were  to  see  them/ 
**  The  gist  of  this  evidence  was  to  prove  that  Rush  had  but  two  pairs 
of  bootB:  that  both  these  had  been  by  the  kitchen-fire  all  Tuesday 
— ikf  fatal  Tuesday — night;  that  this  kitchen  had  been  locked  up 
by  Solomon  himself,  who  had  the  key  in  his   pocket;  and,  conse- 
quently, that  Rush  had  never  left  home  during  that  memorable 
night.— or  that,  if  he  had,  he  must  have  proceeded  to,  and  returned 
from  Stan  field  Hall,  barefooted.     Solomon  deposed  positively  that 
during  the  whole  of  that  eventful  night  his  master's  boots  were  in 
his  custody, — he,  Solomon,  le(\  them,  when  he  went  to  bed,  by  the 
kitchen-fire ;    by   the  kitchen-fire  he  found  them  when  he  arose. 
Thii  evidence,  sheepishly  but  steadily  given,  raised  a  presiimptioii 
in  Rash's  favour,  and  bothered  many  of  the  jury.     But  ere  long  this 
|>oint  was  more  closely  investigated.     It  was  found  that  a  small,  but 
'       ly-contrived  wooden  wed^e  had  been  inserted  under  the  lock, 
_an»  of  which  the  kitchen-door  could  be  opened  by  a  party  on 
Uic  outside,  and  quietly  closed  ;  so  that  any  article  might  have  been 
ttkfn  from  the  kichen,  and  replaced  during  the  night  of  Tuesday— 
'      L're  the  key  in  Solomon's  pocket,  and  the  care  with  which,  on 
ig,  he  had  locked   up  the  kitchen*     This  wedge,   too,  upon 
J  recalled  and  re-examined,  turned  out  to  be  by  no  means  new 
:n,     He  was  aware  of  its   having  been  *  somehow  put  there.' 
'       Solomon  !  Solomon  !  thou  art  not  near  so  wise  as  tho^i  ou^ht- 
'    be  ;  aa  thy  master  intended  thee  to  be ;   or  as  some  of  the  jury 

rt'  <i  be.  Thy  addled  wits  have  belied  thy  honoured  name  I  " 

well!"  said  I,  interposing,  *' remember  the  relative  po- 
•itiou  ut  these  parties,  and  the  amount  of  influence  which  an  em- 
ployer must  always  exercise  over  a  dependant/' 
*' But/*  resumed  my  informant  briskly,  **  the  owner  of  Stanfield 
ni  not  a  dependant  of  the  accused,  and  yet,  somehow  or  other, 
Rufh  seems  to  have  had  him  in  subjection.  What  are  the  facU? 
M^^'r  yf  ■^:}^  had  outwitted  IMr.  Jermy,  had  tricked  him  relative  to 
'-  ^eof  an  estate;  had  literally  supplanted  him  ;  had  obliged 

,  e  recourse  to  litigation,  in  order  to  recover  his  rent;  and 
I     I   ,  -ed  and  annoyed  him  in  a  variety  of  ways,  he  extracts  a 
Mr*  Jerray  of  no  less  a  sum  than  five  thousand  pounds  ; 
tpiteof  his  misconduct,  access  to  the  hall  and  its  master  at 
Nay,  further.     Some  six  weeks  before  his  death — so 
fement  positively  made  and  generally  credited, — an  inti* 

■ v.  8 


2U 


THE   NOTE-BOOK    OF    A    CORONERS  CLERK. 


mate  friend  venturetl  to  remonstrate  with  the  owner  of  St«n field  on 
the  manner  in  which  he  permitted  Rush  to  address  him,  to  approach 
him,  and  t