IIARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. No. XXXI,DE4JEMBER, 18~.YOL. VI. A SKETCH OF WASHINGTON CITY. BY ANNE C. LYNCH. AS a nation, we are generally, and with truth, considered a vain rather than a proud people, morbidly sensitive to the opinions and criticisms of our European neighbors; the distinction be- tween vanity and pride being, that while the one restlessly desires and seeks the good opinion of the world, the other is satisfied with the con- sciousness of deserving it. But, more than else- where, at our seat of government, the true American finds his national vanity elevated into national pride. It is true, he may miss the mag- nificence of European capitals, the conventional elegance of European courts; but he walks through the wide avenues and the spacious edi- fices of Washington with a feeling of possession and ownership that could be felt in no other country, although he may not claim the title- deeds to an acre of the broad lands of which it is the centre. When he enters the legislative halls, where the talent of the country, from Maine to California, is assembled, to execute the will of that body of which he forms a part, that hack- neyed phrase, the sovereign people, assumes a new significancea majesty that reflects directly upon himself, and he feels a new consciousness of the dignity of his manhood and of the respons- ibility of his position as an American citizen. And well he may; for in our country a new field opens, and humanity here takes a new stand, fettered by no antiquity, borne down by no reditary aristocracy. While other nations have gradually emerged from barbarism, ours has be- gun her career in the meridian sun of European civilization. With the broadest principles of freedom for the foundation of our government with a magnificent country, whose shores are washed by the great oceans, whose lakes are seas, whose rivers are the most majestic that water the earth, whose commerce whitens every sea, whose railroads and canals, like great arte- ries, intersect its whole surface, and carry life and activity to its remotest corner; whose mag- netic nerves, with the rapidity of thought, bear intelligence to its distant extremities; with a people springing from the fusion of many races, and whose energies are as inexhaustible as the resources of the country they inhabit, it would seem that here the human mind is destined to develop its highest powers, and that, while on one side its influence will roll back upon the tot- tering monarchies of Europe, on the other its advancing tide of freedom and civilization will stretch across the Pacific, to the shores of Asia, VOL. VINo 31.A and pour upon them its fertilizing flood. What the Roman empire was to the ancient world, our Republic seems destined to become to the mo- dern; and well may the American citizen emu- late the Roman in his patriotism; well then may he be proud, for with so noble a country national pride is neither a weakness nor a fault. The capital of our country is often singularly misjudgedboth by foreigners, who contrast it with the centralized capitals of Europe, and by ourselves, to whom its magnificent distances seem to imply an absence of the enterprise and commerce which constitute the life of all our other cities. But the great founders of our Re- public wisely designed it only for the political centre of the country, to be far removed from the disturbing influences that agitate great capi- tals abroad; and growing, as it necessarily must, only by the reflected growth of the whole coun- try, it may be considered a type of the Union in the grandeur of its plan and the incompleteness with which it is as yet carried out. In Penn- sylvania Avenue, the main artery of the city, now crowded w~it~ continuoas blocks of build- ings, fifty years ago the sportsman started the p~.Lridge and woodcock from a swamp overgrown with underbrush, and the fifty years to come will kubtless make far greater changes than the last in the. external aspect of the city. Like America. Washington must be judged only by looking to its futurethat great future which we of this generation are destined to see only with pro- phetic eyes. 2 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. It is a singular circumstance, that on the ground now occupied by the city of Washington, the neighboring Indian tribes formerly met to delib- erate, and here the flame of their council-fires ascended as they unsheathed their war-knives or smoked the pipe of peace. It is also an histori- cal fact, that as early as 1663 the city was laid out and called Rome, and the little stream that flows at the foot of Capitol Hill still retains its classical appellation of the Tiber. When the seat of government was removed to Washington, in the year 1800, only one wing of the Capitol was built, and the whole surface of the city was covered with trees ; yet the discern- ing eye could not fail to mark its great natural advantages of position, climate, and scenery, and to admire the wisdom that selected it for the capital of our Republic. Now, while each year adds to its stability by new structures and noble monmnents, it adds also to its historical associa- tions, and renders less probable the sacrilegious i~lea of its removal. Standing on the shore of the broad and beau- tiful Potomac (or River of Suans, as the name signifies in the original), surrounded by an am- phitheatre of hills, luxuriant with every variety of foliage, there are many points from which Washington presents the most picturesque views, and its sites for suburban villas are unsurpassed even by those on the banks of the Hudsoii. About six miles from the city is Riversdale, the seat of Charles Calvert, Esq., the lineal de- scendant of Lord Baltimore; and nearer is Kal- orama1 built by Joel Barlow, after his return from France in the year 1805. Here he com- pleted and first gave to the world his Columbiad, at that time the most elegant volume that had ever issued from the American press, and now the only American poem that aspires to the dig- nity of an epic. Here also he devoted himself to the collection of materials for a history of the United Statesa department in which he would doubtless have been more successful,. having himself been an actor in the scenes of the Revo- lution; but in the midst of these pursuits he was appointed minister to France, and died, as is well known, on his way to visit the Emperor. His house at Kalorama, the grounds he laid out, and the trees he planted, remain a pleasing mon- ument to his memory. Arlington, the seat of G. W. P. Custis, Esq., occupies an elevation of about three hundred feet above the river, on the Virginia side, and commands a view of Washington, Georgetown, and the whole surrounding country. Mr. Custis himself, the last survivor of the family of Wash- ington, seems to form a connecting link between the past and present. It is an event in ones life to have seen and spoken with a man who has sat at the feet of Washington, and listened to his voice as it spoke to him in the familiar tones of family intercourse, and whose mind is stored with incidents and anecdotes of the great men of the great age. Mr. Custis has great dramatic power in conversation; and in describing so vividly the scenes and actions that have made our history illustrious, he carries us back to them more nearly than any written narrative, even by him- self, could do. The plate of ~ashington, and many curious and interesting relics, are in the possession of Mr. Custis. Among them is a pic- ture, designed and executed by the wife of the first embassador from Holland, and presented by her to General Washington. The scene repre- sents the cave of the Fates, who are weaving the thread of the heros destiny. As Atropos ap- proaches with her fatal scissors, Immortality descends, and seizir~ the thread, bears it awny to distant ages. The lines accompanying this ingenious design, also by the same lady, are the following: In vajn the Sisters ply their busy care, To reel off years from Glorys deathless heir: Frail things may passhis fame can never die, Rescued from Fate by Immortality. Mr. Custis has also in his possession a model of the Bastille, carved from one of the stones, after its destruction, and sent a present to Wash- ington by Lafayette; and accompanying it was the veritable key of the Bastille which still hangs in the hall at Mount Vernon, calling up, in the sanctuary of freedom, dark pictures of the mys- tery, the crime, and the suffering that it locked in the cells and dungeons of that stronghold of tyranny. Many anecdotes told by Mr. Custis, of Wash- ington and of his father and mother, seemed al- most to bring us into their august presence. Of the theory that the character of the child depends mainly on that of the mother, the history of Washington affords a striking illustration; and who shall say that if more American mothers made his mother the model of their lives, Amer- ican sons would not more resemble hers l The mingled reverence and love with which she inspired all who came within the sphere of her influence, the blended dignity and grace of her manner, the firm will and the mild expression of itabove all, that elevation and nobility of character, that circumstances could no more give than they could take awaythe possession of all these qualities rendered her fit to be the mother of such a son. Having been separated from her during the whole period of the war, after the surrender at Yorktown, he hastened to join her at Fredricksburg. She received him with that calm approval that expressed no sur- prise at hig splendid career, but which conveyed the far higher praise of his having only fulfilled her expectations. Lafayette said of the mother of Washington, that she belonged to the Roman matrons of the best days of the Republic. On his first presentation to her, he found her in her morning-dress attending the flowers in her gar- den; but with the air of one conscious that her dignity did not depend on her garments, she advanced to meet him, and said: Marquis, I wish not to pay you the poor compliment of making my toilet before I bid you welcome to my house. The public buildings, of course, constitute one of the most important external features of Wash- SKETCH OF WASHINGTON CITY. 3 ington; and it is to be regretted, as much on the whose sovereignty is constant and unchange. score of convenience as of effect, that they are able. But what manifestation have we of their so scattered and often on such ill-chosen sites. power, written in that eternal alphabet of stone Through a wholly mistaken economy, the Cap- and marble, which has preserved the memory of itol and almost all the public edifices are built Egyptian kin~,s and Roman emperors? Where of a sandstone found in the vicinity, which is are the resplendcnt temples in which thcir re- incapable of resisting the action of the atmos- presentatives make the laws and their judges phere, and the cost of the paint required to administer them? Where are the magnificent preserve it equals that of erecting new walls balls in which their youth are instructed under cvery thirty years. The error has been at last the tutelary care of the state? Where the spa- perceived, and the wings to the Patent Office, cious galleries of art maintained by the public and the additions to the Capitol now being erect- treasure for the public good? Where are the ed, are of pure white marble, parks as spacious as those of London, the fount- As the puhlie taste improves, more liberal ains as superb as those of Versailles? Are kings ideas direct the legislation which has hitherto to have their pleasure-grounds an(1 palaces, and seemed to reverse the principle that prevailed not the people theirs also? Before many years in the Republics of Greece and Rome, where, have passed away these questions may he in according to Gibbon, the modest simplicity of some measure answered; and we may point to private houses announced the equal condition the Capitol enlarged and beautified, to the Na- of freemen; while the sovereignty of the people tional Park, and to the Monument, higher than was represented in the majestic edifices destined the pyramids, as at least more in accordance for public use. One of our own writers on this with the dignity of the nation, and more worthy subject says With us it is the Ileople alone of its capital. TH1~ CAPITOL. The Capitol of the United States stands on and offered by him after forty designs had been an eminence, about one mile east of the Poto- rejected. It represents the Genius of America, mac, overlooking the whole surrounding coun- attended by Justice and Hope, bearing the scroll try. The corner-stone was laid in the presence of the Constitution. Two statues, nine feet in of General Washington, in the year 1793. The height, representing Peace and War, stand in building was suspended during the war of 1812, the niches on either side of the entrance. The at which time both wings were destroyed by the east and west fronts both lead to the Rotunda, enemy; and at was not entirely completed until which occupies the whole centre of the building, 1827. The length of the building is three bun- and is nearly one hundred feet in height, and dred and fifty-two feet, and it covers an area of of the same diameter. The panels of this mag- one and a half acres. The columns of the east- nificent hall are appropriated to historical paint- em front compose a portico of one hundred and ings, and four sculptures in bas-relief, which 51 .. y feet in length, surmounted by a tympanum were executed by pupils of Canova. The paint- embellished wiih a colossal group of statuary, ings by Colonel Trumball are remarkable for their designed by John Quincy Adams, then President, historical accuracy. The artist, as is well kiiiwn. HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. was aid-dc-camp to General Washing- ton, and afterwaTd deputy-adjutant- general, under General Gates. He early resolved to cultivate his talents for painting, in order that he might become the delineator of the heroic scenes in which he took part. After the close of the war he continued his studies abroad; and on his return, he visited various parts of the country from New Hampshire to Carolina. and completed his collection of portraits and views of places. In 1816 Con- gress passed a resolution authorizing him to paint the four pictures that adorn the walls of the Rotunda, and which ~trathe Declaration of mdc- pcndcncc, the Surre der of Bargoyne, the Surrender of Cornwallis, and the Resignation of Washington. The heads in these pictures are mostly from life. There are besides these, three other picturesthe Embarkation of the Pilgrims, by Weir the Baptism of Pocahontas, by Chapman; and the Landing of Columbus, by Vanderlyn. The House of Representatives, oc- cupying the south wing of the Cap- itol, has the distinction of being the most badly constructed hall for public speaking known in any country. At certain l)oints, a whisper scarcely audible to the ear into which it is breathed, is distinctly heard at some remote extremity, while, at others, the voice of the loudest speaker seems lost in vacuum. Po- litical and other secrets are thus discovered, and eloquence is often wasted on the empty air. The CLOCK IN THE HOUSE OF REPRESENTATIvEs STATUE OF wAsHINOTON. hall is built in the form of the ancient Grecian theatre, with the dome, which is sixty feet in height, supported by columns of variegated mar- ble. Above the Speakers chair is a colossal figure of Liberty, and in front and immediately over the entrance is a beautiful statue in marble, representing History, in a winge(1 car, traversing the globe, on which are figured the signs of the zodiac, and the wheel of the car constitutes tlm~ face of a clock. The whole design is full of sig- ruificance, the visible personification of a great truth. While the hours roll on, History, in her winged car, is indeed there, to record the thoughts that are uttered, and to boar them over the world that listens for them anxiously, but with hope and faith. The Senate Chamber, which is in the north wing of the Capitol, is poor and meagre in design, and although in some respects similar to the House of Representatives, is of much smaliem dimensions. The galleries are accessible only through dark and narrow passages, and are wholly destitute of elegance, comfort, and ventilation. Beneath the Senate Chamber is the Supreme Court room, an apartment entirely inappropriate to the dignity of this high tribunal. The Con. gressional Library, consisting of fifty thousand volumes, recently destroyed by fire, occupied the western front of the main body of the Capitol, and afforded one of the most pleasant resorts in the city. The first Library, selected under the direction of Mr. Gallatin arid others, was burned by the English during the late war. Mr. Jeffer- sons library, afterward purchased, formed the nucleus of the one lately destroyed, and his ar- rangeaient of the books was still preserved. SKETCH OF WASHINGTON CITY. Among thcse many valuable works, there were ate to its original size, woulU still less accord few that can not be replaced; but the new books with its increased dimensions~ The open waste, and the new apartments, like new friends, will therefore, lying between the Capitol, the Presi- lack the charm of association, and thus fail dents house, and the Potomac, is about to be wholly to supply the places of the old ones. converted into a National Park, u on a plan The proposed addition to the Capitol is to be proposed by Mr. Downing, to whom we already in the form of wings, north and south, project- owe such a national debt of gratitade for the ing both east and west beyond the main building taste and elegance he has introduced into the and connected with it by corridors, the three architecture of country residences. His name is other sides of the wing being surrounded by a synonymous, not only in this country hut abroad, colonnade of a corresponding style of architecture. with whatever is tasteful, enutiful, and correct The new House of Representatives and Senate in landscape gardening and rnral architecture, Chamber are each to be in the form of a paral- and the country can have no better guarantee lelogram, which has been found best adapted to of the excellency of the plan than to know that halls for public speaking. The work is under he conceived and is to execute it.* The area the direction of Mr. Walters, an able architect, contains about one hundred and fifty acres, an(l and when complete the whole building will cover the principal entrance is to be through a superb four acres and a quarter. At present, the Cap- marble gateway, in the form of a triumphal arch. itol is inclosed within an area of forty acres. In which is to stand at the western side of Penn- the centre of the space on the eastern side stands sylvania Avenue, and which will form one of the the colossal statue of Washington, by Green- ough. This is a mag- riificent work of art, and not unworthy of any age. It is purely clas- secal in its design, and hence it finds little favor with the strict admirers of modern art. The figure, which is in a sitting posture, erect would be twelve feet in height, an(l is represented as holding a Roman sword in one hand, and pointing up- ward with the other. The design is not in- tended to commemorate any single action, but to express in marble the energy, the fortitude, the integrity, and the devotion of which tbe character of Washing- ton was the embodi- ment and realization. The other sculptures of the Capitol have been executed by for- eign artists; but the names of(Iireenough, of Powers, of Crawford, of Mills, and a long list of ENTRANCE PUBLIC GROU~D5; others, both in painting and sculpture, indicate that the day has gone most strilting features that meets the eye of a by when we must depend on Europe for our works of art. As wealth, intelligence, and re- * Since this paragraph was written, a ftightful calam- finement become more and more diffused among ity, so fresh in the minds of the community that it need not he designated, has deprived the country of the loyal- the people, they demand a more liberal expend- nable services of Mr. Downing. Standing, as be did. iture from their representatives, as is seen by the alone in his profession, without a rival or acoinpetitor, large appropriations made at the last session of his death, at the early age of thirty-seven, has left a Congress for the enlargement of the Capitol and vacancy Ihatwe seek in vain to fill. Although so young, he has exerted an unbounded influence on the public the extension of the public grounds. taste, and there is scarcely a town orNi1It~e in our conm The grountls about the Capitol. disproportion- try that has not some nonument of his g~nius. 6 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE stranger on entering the city. From this en- trance a series of carriage drives, forty feet wide, crossing the canal by a suspension bridge, will lead, in graceful curved lines, beneath lofty shade trees, through the whole park to the gate at the other extremity. The carriage drive, go- ing and returning, will give a circuit of between five and six miles. The park will include within its area both the Washington Monument and the Smithsonian Institution, which, with its fount- ains, pavilion, and summer-houses, will give it an architectural and picturesque interest, apart from its silvan and rural beauties. Besides the most effective groupings of trees and shrubs, be- sides the smooth lawns, embowered walks, and artificial lakes, Mr. Downing proposes to intro- duce another and higher feature in the National Park; this is an arboretum, or scientific collec- tion of trees, forming a kind of boundary plant- ation to the whole area, where will be assembled at least one specimen of all the trees and shrubs that will grow in the climate of Washington. It is especially his intention to plant specimens of every American tree that belongs to our widely extended silva; and each, marked with its pop- ular atsd scientific name, and the part of the country from which it has been obtain2d, will thus be made to convey instruction in a form as novel as it is agreeable. To enliven the winter landscape, the park will be largely planted with evergreens. The transformation of this marshy and desolate waste into a National Park, has been already begun, but it will probably not be com- pleted for four or five years to comeeven with all the aid that the advanced science of the day affords for preparing the soil, and transplanting nearly full grown trees. After the Capitol, the next object of attention is the Presidents mansion; and to not a few of our aspiring fellow citizens it has even a higher interest. It is about one mile west of the Cap- itol, forty or fifty feet above the level of the Po- tomac, which spreads out its calm waters before the southern front. The east room, the prin- cipal apartment, is magnificent in its propor- tions, and, like the other parts of the house, is not wanting in mere furniture; but the entire absence of all works of art and taste, gives to the whole house more the air of a ~reat hotel, than of the residence of the chief magistrate of a nation whore painting and sculpture are beginning to be appreciated and encouraged. * * 1he following extracts front the letters of Mrs. Adams, the wife of the first President of that name, give a pic- ture of the White House in the year 1800. Mas. ABIOAIL ADAM5 TO teas. SMITH. WAssncsoToco, Nov 8 21, 1800. In the city are buildings enough, if they were compac and finished, to accommodate Congress and those attached to it; but as they are, I see no great comfort for then. The river, which runs up to Alexandria, is in full view of my window, and I see the vessels as they pass and repass. The house is upon a grand and superb scale, requiring about thirty servants to attend and keep the apartments in proper order, and perform the ordinary business of the house and stables; an establishment very well proportioned to the Presidents salary. The lighting the apartments, from the kitchen to the parlors and cham- bers, is a tax indeed; and the fires we are oblied to keep, to secure us from daily agnes, is another very cheering comfort. To assist us in this great castle, and render less attendance necessary, bells are wholly wanting, not one single one being hung throubh the whole house, and promises are all you can obtain. This is so great an in- convenience, that I know not what to do or how to do. The ladies from Georgetown and in the city have many of them visited me. Yesterday I returned fifteen visits; but such a place as Georgetown appearswhy, our Mil- ton is beautiful. But no comparisons if they will put me up some bells, and let me have wood enough to keep fires, I design to be pleased. I could content myself al- most any where three months; but surrounded with for- ests, can you believe that wood is not to be had, because people can not be found to cut and cart it! Briesler en- tered into a contract with a man to supply him with wood. A small part, a few cords only, has he been able to get. Most of that was expended to dry the walls of the house before we came in, and yesterday the man told bins it was PREStOENTs HOUSE. SKETCH OF WASHINGTON CITY. I ~ EQUESTRIAN STATUE OF JACKSON. The only work of statuary to DC seen here is impossible for kim to procure it to be cut and carted. He has had recourse to coals; but we can not get grates made and set. We have indeed come into a new country. You must keep this to yourself, and, when asked how I like it, say that I write you the situation is beautiful, which is true. The house is made habitable, but there is sot a single apartment finished, and all withinside, ex- cept the, plastering, has been done since Briesler came. We have not the least fence, or yard, or other convenience without; and the great unfinished audience room I make a drying room of, to hang up the clothes in. The prin- cipal stairs are not up, and will not be this winter. Six chambers are made comfortable; two are occupied by the President and Mr. Shaw; two lower rooms, one for a common parlor, and one for a levee room. Up-stairs there is the oval room, which is designed for the drawing- room, and has the crimson furniture in it. It is a very handsome room now; but when completed, it will be beautiful. If the twelve years, in which this place has been considered as the future seat of government, had been improved, as they would have been if in New En- gland, very many of the inconveniences would have been removed. It is a beautiful spot, capable of every improve- ment, and the more I view it, the more I am delighted with it. a bust placed conspicuously in the entrance hall, but whom it is intended to immortalize no one appears to know. Our leg- islator~ do not apparently re- member that it is the arts, not less than the arms, the laws, and the institutions of a country, that make it illustrious. Phidias and Praxiteles have added a lus- tre to the glory of Greece not less than Solon, Lycurgus, and Aristotle ; and the creations of Da Vinci, Michael Angelo, and Raphael would, of themselves, make Italy immortal, had she no other remembrances of the past. Take from her the spleri- dor that the arts shed upon her, and her glory would be depart~ ed. In the open square, oppo- site the Presidents house, is about to be placed the eques- trian statue of Jackson inbronze. This, work is remarkable not only for its excellence, but from the fact that it is the first piece of statuary of any magnitude, in this material, that has ever been cast in this country. The artist, Mr. Mills of Charleston, previously known only as the sculptor of a bust of Mr. Cal- houn, and some others, when applied to by the committee to furnish a model for this work, declined to do so, feeling himself incompetent to the task, having never even seen an equestrian statue. But, haunted by the idea he commenced the design, and after some months of la- bor, submitted a model to the committee, which was at once adopte~1. It was said by all connoisseurs that Mits. AOAM5 TO Mas. sMITit. WAsiuNeToN, November 21, 1800. .... Two articles we are much distressed for; one is bells, but the more important one is wood. Yet you can not see for trees. No arrangement has been made yet, but promises never performed, to supply the new coniers with fuel. Of the promises, Briesler had re- ceived his full share. lie had procured nine cords ol wood; between six and seven of that was kindly burni up to dry the walls of the house, which ought to have been done by the conimissioners, but which, if left to them, would have remained undone to this day. Congress poured in, but shiver, shiver. No woodcutters or carters to be had at any rate. We are now indebted to a Penn- sylvania wagon to bring us, through the first clerk in the Treasury olilce, one cord and a half of wood, which is all we have for this house, where twelve fires are constantly required, and where, we are told, the roads will soon be so bad that it can not be drawn. Briesler procured two hundred bushels of coals, or we must have suffered. This is the situation of almost every person. The pub- lic officers have sent to Philadelphia for woodcutters and wagons The ladies are impatient for a drawing- room; I have no looking-glasses but dwarfs for limit house nor a twentieth part lamps enough to light it. / HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. it would be impossible to cast such a statue in this country, and the price offered by the corn- mittee did not warrant its being done abroad. Mr. Mills, nothing daunted by the difficulties in his way, with true American enterprise and en- ergy, set about removing them. He remembered that when a boy, he had seen a heavy iron chain melted when by accident exposed to the heat of a coal-pit, and on this suggestion he constructed a furnace, and found it entirely successful. With less than half a cord of pine wood he melted sixteen hundred pou ds of metal. Leaving his valuable invention to be perfected at some future time, he has gone on with his work, which is now nearly completed. The whole group is en- tirely sustained by the two legs of the horse upon which it rests, an experiment which has never before been tried in any similar work. The figure of Jackson in this statue, if erect, would be eight feet in height, and the whole is cast of the bronze of condemned cannon. This productio.n of Mr. Mills, executed under so many disadvantages, as well as many other works of our native artists, indicate that a talent for sculpture is one of the peculiar gifts of our countrymen, and that the time is not far distant when our public edifices and squares will be peopled by these bronze and marble resemblances our great and good, which, though mute, will yet speak and awaken in the youth of our coun- try a purer patriotism and a hi~her virtue ural faults and its unfavorable position, from its extent and the beauty of its ionic columns, had an imposing air, which has been wholly de- stroyed by the paint with which it has recently been defaced, which, instead of being of one uniform shade, is of three distinct and inappro- priate colors. The General Post-office is a spacious and well-proportioned edifice of white marble, in the Italian style of architecture, and the Patent Office, in the Grecian Done, is unsurpassed by any of the public buildings. Here are deposited all the models for which patents have been granted, the original Declaration of Independ The Departments of State and nf War, near the Presidents house, are wholly unworthy of notice in any architectural point of view, and not being fire-proog they wait only the accident of being burned down, as the other Departments have successively been, with all their valuable records, in order to be substantially rebuilt. For the members of the cabinet the government has as yet provided no residences, and as the privats houses of Washington are generally very small, they afford the most inadequate accommodations for the entertainments these officers are expect- ed by the public to give, and convey the idea of national poverty not at all belonging to the country. But what Congress has failed to do, the public spirit of a citizen of Washington is about to effect. Mr. Corcoran, the banker, se well known for his extensive charities and his liberal patronage of the arts, has proposed to build a certain number of residences for mem- bers of the cabinet, in keeping with the dignity of the office, and to transfer them to the govern- ment at their actual cost. Should this proposal be accepted, this very desirable work will be soon accomplished, and the time seems to have come when it can not longer be delayed. Every year Washington is becoming more an intellect- ual and scientific, as well as a political centre, and its improvement and embellishment is now an object of national interest. The Treasury, notwithstanding its architect- ence, the camp-chest and a part of the wardrobe of Washington, the gifts presented to our naval and civil officers by foreign powers, pictures, busts, Indian portraits, the collections of the National Institute, and all the treasures of the Exploring Expedition under Commodore Wilkes. The National Observatory recently establish- ed, and now under the able superintendence of Lieutenant Maury, is not less creditable to the country in a scientific point ef view, than useful fof~ the attainment of astronomical information. Besides the various instruments for determining the latitude and longitude of the stars there is a ge transit instrument which, in connection iREASURY. SKETCH OF WASHINGTON CITY. 9 with the magnetic telegraph, will afford the readiest means of ascertaining the exact longi- tude of any point, thus greatly increasing the accuracy of geographical knowledge. The prin- cipal object of interest, however, to the unsci- entific observer, is the great equatorial telescope, arranged under the dome of the building, which moves with the slightest force, and enables the observer to turn the instrument in any direction. In one apartment of the Observatory all the chronometers are tested that supply our national vessels, and their exactness, when ready for use, has done much to render navigation more secure. A small equatorial instrument is mounted in the open air, and two comet-seekers are kept con- stantly employed in clear weather, watching for the apprcach of these wandering eccentricities. A meteorological register is kept with great minuteness and accuracy, and every thing re- lating to astronomical science receives its full share of attention. About one mile from the Capitol, on the east em branch of the Potomac, is the Navy Yard, probably the most complete and extensive in the United States. Here chains and anchors are made for the largest ships, and a foundry has lately been erected for the heaviest castings necessary for government use. The Arsenal is at the junction of the eastern branch with the Potomac, surrounded on three sides by water. Hcre are foundries, workshops, magazines, laboratories, and every thing necessary to the preparation of the implements and munitions of war. PATENT OFFICE. GENERAL POST-OFFICE. HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE; Not far from the Navy Yard is the Congres- sional Burying Ground where are many monu- ments inscribed with names familiar to us on the page of history. Over the remains of every member of Congress is erected a plain white monument of peculiar form, and cvery ycar they dot more thickly the green foliage of this beau- tiful spot. This cemetery is indebted to nature only for its picturesque beautyand art will have much to accomplish before it will compare with Mount Auburn, Greenwood, or the beauti- ful cemetery on the heights of Georgetown which has just been completed at a cost of fifty thou- sand dollars, and presented to the city by Mr. Corcoran. This lovely dell is wooded with native forest trees and laid out with great skill and taste; an entrance lodge and a small stone chapel add much to its beauty. Near the Capitol is the office of the Coast Survey, one of the most important of the govern- ment works. The project for the survey of our thirty thousand miles of coast, which has been in operation since 1832, is probably more per- fectly organized than that of any other country. The object is to form accurate maps of our ex- tended sea-board, to ascertain the latitude and longitude of the principal points, the topography of the country parallel to the coast, the nature of the bottom of the sea accessible to the sound- ing line; the position of bars, harbors, and channels; the direction and depth of currents; the declination of the magnetic needle, and every particular connected with the improvement of navigation and the defense of the coast. Upon their observations the most correct geographical maps are constructed. The charts exhibit the foundation of the bottom of the sea, specimens of which are collected, and which not only serve as indications to the navigator, but are also of ~,reat interest to the naturalist, as they are found to contain organisms of great variety and minute- ness, showing that at different depths of the sea as on land, distinct species have their places assigned them. The development of the laws which govern the distribution of these infusoria, by which an elevation or depression, however gradual, may be detected, will be found of great importance to the geologist. The charts of the Coast Survey, invaluable to our commerce, are copied by an ingenious application of the electro- type to the original plate, which remains almost unimpaired, and immediately furnished to the public at a low cost. Among other discoveries that have signalized the progress of the coast survey, is that of a new channel, more straight and deep, into the harbor of New York; sunken rocks have been indicated, the Gulf Stream, that remarkable phenomenon of our continent, has been explored, and new investigations made on a point of great scientific interest, the determin- ation of a degree of latitude on different parallels, and deducing from this the figure of the earth. These and other observations have given to experimental science an impulse it has never before received; and, under the able superin- tendence of Professor Bache, whose eminent at- tainments and discoveries have enabled him to introduce improvements into every department of the work, it is still going on with energy and success, creditable alike to himself and his corps, and useful to the government and the nation at large. Our revenue, as is well known, is de rived mostly from merchant ships, and the loss of the duties upon four of them would actually cover the whole amount of the yearly appro- priation for the Coast Survey, to say nothing of the loss of life, or the loss of time by ships having no accurate charts, being obliged to wait for pilots. In 1829, James Smithson, Esq., a descendant of the Duke of Northumberland, died leaving to the United States, the sum of more than half a cONCSIEssIONAL aUavINu-GaoUNn. SKETCH OF WASHINGTON CITY. 11 SMITHSON million of dollars, to found, under the name of the Smithsonian Institute, an establishment for the increase and diffusion of knowledge among men. Mr. Smithson was a gentleman of retired and studious habits, who devoted his attention to the sciences, particularly that of chemistry, and among his personal effects pre- served at the Patent Office, are many small ves- sels for experiments upon the most minute scale; one of the subjects of his analysis having been a ladys tear. By a law enacted in 1846, the President, cabinet, and some other officers of the government, to have perpetual succession, constitute the Smithsonian Institute, the imme- diate superintendence being given to a Secretary. By the authority of these officers, constituting the Board, a picturesque and stately pile has been erected, of red freestone, in the Norman or Romanesque style of architecture, comprising a library, lecture-room, museum, laboratories, and galleries of art. Its length is four hundred and fifty feet, and its breadth one hundred and forty. The office of the Secretary is to take charge of the property of the Institution, to superintend its literary and scientific operations, and to give an annual report to the Regents. By a skillful management of the funds, the original amount not only re- mains unimpaired, but is con- siderably augmented, and the Regents have resolved to divide the income into two equal por- tions, one to be devoted to the encouragement of original re- search, and the other to the foundation of a Library, Muse- tim, and Gallery of Art. Under the first head several valuable works have already appeared or are now in press, and the library numbers about ten thousand vol- umes. The gallery of art con- tains the choicest collection of engravings and books on art in the country, comprising some of the best works of nearly every engraver of celebrity, such as the engravings of Albert Durer the etchings of Claude Lorraine Rembrandt, and others. Professor Henry, who holds a position of the highest eminence in the scientific world, has filled the office of Secretary of the Institution since its establish- ment, and it is gratifying to know that it could not be more ably filled. In his researches on the subject of electro-mag- netism, he was the firrt to de- velop the principle of immense magnetic force, and to apply it to the moving of a ma- chine. In his experiments on the transmission of electrical currents through long wires, he pointed out the applicability of the result to the telegraph, and the publication of these papers in this country and in Europe were the imme- diate precursors of the invention of the present system of telegraphing. Professor Henry has constructed a thermal telescope, by which the heat of bodies may be made perceptible at the distance of miles, and he has discovered that two rays of heat may be so combined as to produce a diminution of temperature or comparative cold. His experiments on the phosphorogenic emana- tion of the sun, or that which produces the glow of the diamond in the dark, after its exposure to the solar rays, and on the heat of the spots on the sun, are of the highest interest. Professor Jewett, the Assistant Secretary of the Institution, has in his last .report submitted to the Board of Regents a plan for forming a general catalogue of American libraries, which promises to lead to very important results. As most libraries are constantly increasing, the con- tinual re-arranging and reprinting of the cata- logues becomes at last, even in our national establishments, an intolerable burden, and all the large libraries of Europe have been driven to the necessity of printing none at all. Professor 77 /3 32 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. Jewett proposes to stereotype all titles separately, and to preserve the plates in alphabetical order, so as readily to insert additional titles in their proper order. By these means the great cost of republication, that of composition, revision, and correction of the press, would be avoided, and difficulties that have discouraged librarians, and involved such enormous expenses, would be overcome. The importance of the Smithsonian Institution in the centre of our country, and the benefits it will confer, have not yet been truly estimated. Science, literature, and art will con- centrate here; and in the enlightened encour- agement they will receive, they will diffuse their radiance over the whole length and breadth of the land, and the political centre of our country will thus become, as it should be, the seat of learn- ing and the arts. It is a significant fact that a descendant of one of the most renowned families in England should have chosen this country as the field wherein his great idea should germin- ate and expand, and it was in a prophetic spirit that he has somewhere expressed his belief that his name would be remembered when that of the Percys was forgottenr Their conquest was on the field of battle; those won by his munificence will be in the regions of thought, of wisdom, and of beauty; their victories were for one gen- eration, these will be for all time. About midway between the Capitol and the Presidents house, stands the national monument erected to the memory of Washington. As yet it has only reached the elevation of about one hun- dred feet. It is to be constructed of granite encas- ed in marble, ~nd the height to be six hundred feet. 9 The base is to consist of a grand circular tem- plc, two hundred and fifty feet in diameter and one hundred in height, from which springs the obelisk, seventy feet square at the base, and five hundred in height. The spacious gallery of the rotunda at the baseof the column is designed to be the Westminster Abbey, or the National Pan. theon, to contain statues of the heroes of the Revolution, and pictures to commemorate their victories, while the space beneath is intended as a place of burial for those whom the nation may honor by an interment here; and in the centre of the monument are to be placed the remains of Washington. Each State has been invited to furnish a block of native marble with the name and arms of the State inscribed upon it. The temple-base, in the plan of the monument, has been objected to by artists and architects, and it is possible that the design may be somewhat modified. The whole cost of this structure, it is estimated, will not much exceed one million of dollars, and this is to be collected by the volun- tary gift of the people for the erection of the noblest monument ever raised by the gratitude of man. It will exceed the Pyramids in height, as it will far transcend them and all the monu- ments of antiquity in the moral grandeur of the sentiment that rears it, and the character ii commemorates. The Hon. Robert C. Winthrop. in his address on the laying of the corner-stone. in 1848, says, Build it to the skies, you caa not outreach the loftiness of his principles; found it upon the massive and eternal rock, you can not make it more enduring than his fame; con- struct it of the peerless Pariart marble, you can SMITHSONIAN INSTITUTE. SKETCH OF WASHINGTON CITY. 13 not make it pur- er than his life; exhaust upon it the rules and principles Qi ancient and modern art, you can not make it more propor tionate than his character. At present there are some fears ~xpressed that the contribu- tions will not he sufficient to car- ry on the work, and that to an- 3ther genera- tion will belong the glory of completing it. About four- teen miles from XVa shin gt on, washed by the waters of Po- tomac, is Mount Vernon, the Mecca of the New World; a spot ofprofound interest not on- ly to every American, but strangers from all parts of the world turn a- side to visit the hallowed ground, and ships from for- eign lands rev- erently lower their flags as they pass by. The shadow of the departed whose ashes repose here seems to lie on all around; a spirit whispers in every breeze, and a spell is written on every leaf. The house itself is a vestige of former days, and its wainscoted halls, its spacious and hospitable dining-hall, the library, and every object within and around is instinct with the noblest associa- tions. Here is the bust of ~vVashington, cast from the living model by Houdon in 1785, and although smaller than those usually seen of Washington, it is by far the most majestic bead that art has preserved. Mount Vernon was built by the elder brother of Washington, and named by him after Admiral Vernon, under whom he had served. It is beau- tifully situated on the banks of the Potomac, the lawn before it sloping gradually down to the river, the bank of which is densely wooded with venerable trees, except an occasional opening, where, through the green vistas, the broad and shining river is seen flowin~ beneath. Not many rods from the house is the tomb in which stands the sarcophagus containing the remains of Washington. It is simple, and almost with out inscription ; but the inscription is written on the hearts of his countrymen, and We read his history in a nations eyes. The society of the City of XVashington has peculiar features which distinguish it from that of any other in the Union. It is certain that, whatever the political institutions of our country may be, its social organization is far from being democratic. Every town and village has its exclusive circle, composed of those who frcm wealth, family, or fashion, assume, with more or less absurdity, to be the aristocracy of the place. WASHINGTON MONUMENT. II Y,, 14 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. towers above another, is the. result of native superiorit) alone, and not of artificia props. As a natural conse quence, character soon finds its level, and receives its just appreciation. The fact that one is a governor, a judge, a millionaire, or a leader of fashion, at home, where these qualifications give him standing, avails him nothing here, and he inevitably falls into the place which naturep and not adventitious circum- stance, assigns him. It is found, that this peculiar at- mosphere of Washington af- fects astonishingly all who come under its influence: and the magnate of the town or city, at home so unap- proachable and so tenacious of his position, here, finding how little his factitious ad- vantages avail him, suddenly becomes affable, genial, and courteous to all. Hundreds of people, not only members of the Government, but tempo- rary residents, thus brought together from all parts of the BUST OF WASHINGTON. Union, and tried by this new At Washington, on the contrary, the President standard, can not fail to compose a society of the and officers of the Government, holding their most striking and original elements, and incom- position directly from the people, owe, even to parably superior to any other that our country the humblest of them, a certain allegiance, and affords. In this social collision, sectional preju it is the tacit admission of this that gives to the dices wear off, and the East and West, the South society of the capital such entire freedom from and North thus brought into closer intimacy, all constraint and formality, and renders it the become cemented by more enduring ties. As only truly and practically democratic city, not the king never dies, so the Government never only in the Union, but in the world. In the ceases, but it is constantly changing its officers, capitals of other countries the stranger is impressed only with the power and the majesty of the Government, every where forced upon him by the pomp and cir- cumstance with which it surrounds itself, and the deference it de- mands; while in that of our own he feels only the sovereignty of the people, of whom the Govern- ment is absolutely and literally the servant. In other cities in our own country, the best soci- ety, as it is called, and often justly, is hedged round by so many conventionalties that it is almost inaccessible to those who are without its charmed circle; but here, the President and Cab- inet open their doors to all, and all meet on the same social plane; not that distinctions are not felt here, more, perhaps, than elsewhere, but the distance with which one WASHINGTON S TONG. SKETCH OF WASHINGTON CITY LTi and it is this perpetual change that gives to Washington all the gayety and abandon of a great watering-place, without its accompanying frivolity. Another characteristic feature of social life in Washington, is, that here men and women take their proper places as leaders of society, while in our country generally, it is mostly given up to the young and unmarried of both sexes, the fathers often absenting themselves entirely, and the mothers merely fulfilling the duty of matron- izing their daughters. This circumstance alone would give a higher tone to society here, even if it were not, as it is, composed of the most brilliant talent in the country. The Presidents reception or levee, which takes place one evening of every week during the sea- son, is open to all, and the President and the ladies of his family, after receiving their guests, mingle with them in the drawing-room. In this promiscuous assemblage, we meet with represent- atives from every class of society, and every State in the Union; with foreigners, titled and unti- tled, citizens distinguished and undistinguished, and with characters, manners, and toilets equally diverse. In such a gathering one can scarcely fail to find amusement and interest. The hours of reception are limited from eight to ten oclock, and no refreshments are offered, the Chief Mag- istrate thus setting an example of true repub lican simplicity. The members of the Cabinet also receive in the same general and unostenta- tious manner, although they are expected by the public to give other and more substantial enter- tainments, such as dinners and evening parties, and otherwise to maintain tbe dignity of the office, in a manner not at all warranted by the salary; and hence, without an income independ- ent of that, a man can scarcely afford to accept a seat in the Cabinet, however he might desire the honor. The resident foreign Diplomatic Corps consti- tute another interesting element in the society of Washington. Adopting the maxim of doing in Rome as the Romans do, they open their doors with little exclusiveness, and their enter- tainments are always the most brilliant of the season. In conclusion, it may be repeated, that it is only here that the great principles upon which our government is founded, are fully and practi cally carried out in social life. Like the high offices of State, the high places of society are open to all; and while ttie Government has solved the great political problem, and dem- onstrated that men are competent to govern themselves, society has solved the great social problem, and shown that there is no natural or necessary alliance between democracy and vul- garity. MOUNT ~E~NON. HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. .A.~RI~i~RZ~I C~,w~~AI 130 I joo STTZZITIiIiZ~ M~lozZ1c~T ------.------~.~ balllllrJt 2JCtI72CeL47~ RPENTA1RIA l~d~yI n~pir:I-~ N 0 R T H ~ E TA II~ I t5ff2~rd13 U S T~ SOUTH AUSTRALIA ~ j~ ~ ~ ~ 4 Z~atl~u7~~ ~ -.RY/eorye: ~ ..& Zziwol,~ olanyllay ~\Z?Jdieafes. gold.Dz,mncr.r KANOASSO oYcaZ~f.Afi1ea eliline .~.5~on,PI AUSTRALIA AND ITS GOLD. BY ALFRED 11. GUERNSEY PHYSICAL CHARACTERISTICS. A USTRALIA*~~~the Southern Landis the name now given to that greht island-Conti- nent formerly Called New Holland, lying be- tween the parallels of 100 and 400 south lati- tude, and those of 1120 and 1540 east longitude from Greenwich. The extreme length of the island from east to west is about 2500 miles, and its utmost breadth from north to south i~ about 2000 miles, the mean length and breadth being each some 500 miles less. The coast line is indented upon the north by the deep Gulf of Carpentaria, and upon the south by the great Australian Bight. The distance between the northern and southern shores at these opposite indentations is something more than a thousand miles. The whole island has a superficial area of between three and four millions of square miles; and may be stated, with sufficient accu- racy for general purposes, to be equal in extent to the United States or the whole of Europe. For a great part of its circumference the island is surrounded by almost continuous ranges of mountainis or highlands, in no place attaining a very considerable altitude, and for long distances consisting of elevated plateaus or table-lands, with isolated peaks and detached chains spring- ing above the general level. There is, however, along all these chains a continuous height of land orwater-shed which is never broken through, and which never recedes to any very great dis- tance from the coast. The habitable portions of the island are limited to the slopes of these mountains and the space between them and the coast. The width of this habitable belt, in those parts which have been explored and settled, is from two to three hundred miles; but is proba- bly much less in the remainder of the island. The interior consists wholly of an immense de- pressed plain, more hopelessly barren and unin- habitable than the desert of Sahara. Australia therefore presents a smaller proportion of habit- able territory than either of the other great di- visions of the globe. This great interior desert has probably never been traversed by the foot of man; and only two or three expeditions have ever penetrated far into its depths. The farthest point attained was by Captain Sturt in 1844. He made his way some four hundred miles beyond the hab- itable limits, which brought him very w into the geographical centre of the island. Thts he found occupied by an immense plain covered with ridges of drifting sand, often rising to the height of eighty or a hundred feet, and stretch- ing away in either direction as far as the eye could reach. In isolated spots grew a few soli- tary tufts of grass, the necessary moisture for whose sustenance was supplied by infrequent thunder showers. Permanent water there was none, and the sand was heated to such a degree that a match dropped upon it became instantly ignited. The thermometer on one occasion rose to 1530 in the coolest place to be found. In the midst of this sterile tract was a desert of still deeper gloom, which was traced for a dis * From Auster, the South Wind, the South, Australia, Southern.

HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. .A.~RI~i~RZ~I C~,w~~AI 130 I joo STTZZITIiIiZ~ M~lozZ1c~T ------.------~.~ balllllrJt 2JCtI72CeL47~ RPENTA1RIA l~d~yI n~pir:I-~ N 0 R T H ~ E TA II~ I t5ff2~rd13 U S T~ SOUTH AUSTRALIA ~ j~ ~ ~ ~ 4 Z~atl~u7~~ ~ -.RY/eorye: ~ ..& Zziwol,~ olanyllay ~\Z?Jdieafes. gold.Dz,mncr.r KANOASSO oYcaZ~f.Afi1ea eliline .~.5~on,PI AUSTRALIA AND ITS GOLD. BY ALFRED 11. GUERNSEY PHYSICAL CHARACTERISTICS. A USTRALIA*~~~the Southern Landis the name now given to that greht island-Conti- nent formerly Called New Holland, lying be- tween the parallels of 100 and 400 south lati- tude, and those of 1120 and 1540 east longitude from Greenwich. The extreme length of the island from east to west is about 2500 miles, and its utmost breadth from north to south i~ about 2000 miles, the mean length and breadth being each some 500 miles less. The coast line is indented upon the north by the deep Gulf of Carpentaria, and upon the south by the great Australian Bight. The distance between the northern and southern shores at these opposite indentations is something more than a thousand miles. The whole island has a superficial area of between three and four millions of square miles; and may be stated, with sufficient accu- racy for general purposes, to be equal in extent to the United States or the whole of Europe. For a great part of its circumference the island is surrounded by almost continuous ranges of mountainis or highlands, in no place attaining a very considerable altitude, and for long distances consisting of elevated plateaus or table-lands, with isolated peaks and detached chains spring- ing above the general level. There is, however, along all these chains a continuous height of land orwater-shed which is never broken through, and which never recedes to any very great dis- tance from the coast. The habitable portions of the island are limited to the slopes of these mountains and the space between them and the coast. The width of this habitable belt, in those parts which have been explored and settled, is from two to three hundred miles; but is proba- bly much less in the remainder of the island. The interior consists wholly of an immense de- pressed plain, more hopelessly barren and unin- habitable than the desert of Sahara. Australia therefore presents a smaller proportion of habit- able territory than either of the other great di- visions of the globe. This great interior desert has probably never been traversed by the foot of man; and only two or three expeditions have ever penetrated far into its depths. The farthest point attained was by Captain Sturt in 1844. He made his way some four hundred miles beyond the hab- itable limits, which brought him very w into the geographical centre of the island. Thts he found occupied by an immense plain covered with ridges of drifting sand, often rising to the height of eighty or a hundred feet, and stretch- ing away in either direction as far as the eye could reach. In isolated spots grew a few soli- tary tufts of grass, the necessary moisture for whose sustenance was supplied by infrequent thunder showers. Permanent water there was none, and the sand was heated to such a degree that a match dropped upon it became instantly ignited. The thermometer on one occasion rose to 1530 in the coolest place to be found. In the midst of this sterile tract was a desert of still deeper gloom, which was traced for a dis * From Auster, the South Wind, the South, Australia, Southern. AUSTRALIA AND ITS GOLD. 17 tance of eighty miles in one direction, and thirty- five miles in the other. Its surface was paved with a solid bed of dark ironstone, upon which the horses hoofs rung as upon a metallic floor, but left not the least impression, and in which not the slightest trace of Water or vegetation was found. Mr. Leichardt, a German naturalist, succeeded in penetrating from the settlements on the eastern coast through the unexplored interior to the northern side of the island; but his course only led him along the skirts of the great central desert; yet more than once even here he was saved from perishing from thirst by following the flight of the bronze-winged pigeon directing its course to some solitary water-hole. In 1846 he set out on a new journey intending to pass from the east through the central desert to the little colony on the western shore. The journey was expected to occupy two and a half years. In April, 1848, a letter was received from him written upon the verge of habitation, since which time his fate is unknown; but he doubtless per- ished long ago in the great desert. When it was ascertained that no rivers from the interior reached the sea-coast it was sup- posed that a great inland lake existed which re- ceived the central waters; and that navigable streams would be discovered, leading into the interior. This opinion was apparently supported by the fact that one river at least, the Victoria, poured a large current directly into the interior but Captain Sturt traced its course, and instead of augmenting in size, it decreased as he followed it down, dwindling into a succession of water- holes, and was finally lost among the barren sands. The mountain chains of which mention has been made, constitute the leading feature in the physical geography of Australia, determining as they do the character of its river-system, and consequently the whole character of the country. rhe principal of these ranges runs in a general north and south course along the eastern shore of the island. The name of the Australian Cordilleras has been proposed for this whole chain; but at present it is known by different names in dilThrent parts of its couise. It attains its greatest altitude near the southern extremity, where Mount Kosciusko, the highest peak, rises to the height of 6500 feet, an elevation equal to that of Mount Washington in our White Mount- ains. This part of the range is called the White Mountains, and though not covered with per- petual snow, is elevated enough to feed the affluents of the Murray River, almost the only Australian stream, which has running water at all times. As this range of mountains goes northward toward the equator, its height dimin- ishes until at its northern extremity it is merely a chain of slight hills. This great eastern chain is not, however, a continuous, ridge, but for a considerable part of its course a succession of broad plateaus and elevated table-lands, from which spring separate peaks and minor ranges, sometimes running parallel to and sometimes at VOL. VINo. 31.B various angles with its general course. There is a well-defined height of land or water-shed, which is nowhere broken through, and main- tains a nearly uniform distance of eighty or a hundred miles from the shore. Great spurs frequently shoot out from the main range, run- ning down to the sea-coast on the one side, or striking off toward the interior on the other. Farther west a smaller chain leaves the south- ern coast, but after a course of a few hundred miles is lost in the central desert. The western and northern shores are in like manner furnished with chains running parallel to their course, as laid down on the map. These, however, are less elevated than the eastern chain; but like that present a continuous water-shed at no great distance from the coast. The southern coast only is destitute of this bounding ride and here, for a great portion of its extent, the great central desert appears to extend down to the sea- shore. As the mountains in which the Australian streams take their rise are so near the coast, the rivers have but a short course, and are mostly incapable of navigation. Few of them, indeed, are navigable twenty miles from their mouths And as the mountains mostly fall far below the line of perpetual snow, the rivers are fed merely by the rains, and consequently vary greatly in the amount of water. The large maps of Aus- tralia are marked with a network of rivers, con- veying the idea of a country abundantly watered. But there the actual presence of water is not at all essential to the existence of a river; all that is involved is, a channel down which water has flowed, or may flow. A river, except in seasons of flood, is generally a mere succession of water- holes, at the bottom of a deep ravine, sometimes connected by a scanty stream, and sometimes entirely isolated; and in times of drought even these disappear altogether. So too what are laid down on the maps as lakes, are but val- leys filled with soft mud, growing more and more moist toward the centre, where water may perhaps exist. SOiL, CLIMATE, AND PRODUCTIOT~5. The settled portions of Ausralia occupying the same general position in south latitude that we do in north, their seasons are the reverse of our own. New Years day falls in midsummer, and the Dog-days come at Christmas, to the great detriment of young Australian poets, who can make no use of the stock phrases Qf rosy May, bleak December, Christmas fires, and the like. The latitude of the colonies corresponds to that of Florida, the Carolinas, and. Virginia, but the temperature and productions are varied more by position and elevation than by latitude. The daily range of the thermometer is greater than with us: but the annual range of the mean tem- perature is much less. Thus, at Sydney, though the thermometer sometimes rises to 1180 the mean temperature during the summer months is but 670, and that of the winter months is 57O~ In this respect the climate approximates to that 18 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. of Italy. The climate of Australia is beyond all doubt one of the most salubrious and healthful in the world, and is extremely favorable to physi- cal and intellectual vigor. Owing to the dry- ness of the atmosphere, the absence of marshes, and of rank vegetation, those intermittent fevers and agues are utterly unknown, which do so shake from their propriety the settlers in most new countries; and the inhabitan~s sleep in the open air with the most absolute impunity. The soil presents some singular anomalies,. especially in respect to the distribution of the fertile portions. In other countries the fertile tracts lie usually in masses, and generally along the courses of the rivers. In Australia they occur in isolated patches, and most frequently upon the sides and summits of the hills. These fertile tracts are continually intersected by broad plains, the soil of which is too light for cultiva- tiQn, though forming the most admirable pas- turage in the world, or by barren tracts furrow- ed by ravines, and clothed with scrub, entirely destitute of value. The best authorities assure us that of the land worth occupying, not more than one-third is fit for cultivation; the remain- ing two-thirds being only available for pasture- grounds. The productiveness of the land adapted for agricultural purposes is very great, and the range of available productions is wide. With few exceptions the trees, fruits, vegetables, and cerealia of the temperate zone flourish, besides many of those belonging to those tropical regions farthest removed from the equator. This is the more remarkable, because every thing of the kin.l is exotic. When Australia was taken possession of by the European race, scarcely half a century ago, it was by far the most destitute of natural pro- ductions of any habitable land on the globe. No species of grain was known to the natives; not a single fruit worthy of notice grew wild; not an edible root of any value was produced. The only game was the shy kangaroo, and a few species of birds; domestic animals were un- known; and the only carnivorous animal was the dingo or native dog. In some districts, especially upon the seaward slope of the hills, where there is an accumulation of moisture, the forests present something of a tropical character; lofty trees spread their um- brageous branches about, with great cable-like creepers climbing from tree to tree, forming an almost impervious mass. But the prevalent native tree is the gum-tree. These trees usually stand wide apart, their bare stems covered with ragged bark like worn-out matting. The leaves are few and scattered, so that they afford but little shade. They spread over the most barren and rocky ground, where there is apparently not a particle of soil. The ground is destitute of underbrush, but scattered around en the brown surface are old decayed branches and trunks often blackened by fire, with which also the still living trees are frequently scarred. This is the Bushthe scene of so much wild romance and startling adventure in the early days of\the cob ony. But the Plains are the characteristic feature of Australia. These are open park-like inter- vals, where the gum-trees stand singly or in clumps, and the undulating ground is covered with rich and luxuriant grass. These plains sometimes stretch away for hundreds of miles, over the broad plateaus and table-lands, or are broken. by rocky ranges, and. end in deep gullies. Over these plains the stockman drives his herds, or the shepherd his flocks, for days or weeks, without meeting any serious interruption to his progress, or without failure of the pasturage ex- cept in seasons of drought. These plains are the feeding-places of those mighty herds of cattle and horses, and those vast droves of sheep, of noble race, whose feetso runs the old Spanish saying turn all they touch to gold. Those plains are the sources of wealth to Australia, more permanent, and perhaps not less valuable than her new-found gold-deposits. COLONIZATION AND sETTLEMENT. Captain Dirk Hartog, of the good ship En- dracht, of Amsterdam, landed upon the western shore of Australia, Oct. 25th, 1616, as we learn from an inscription upon a plate of pewter which was found on the spot in 1801. This, as far as is certainly known, was the first time that any European had set foot on the Island. The Hol- landers took the lead in exploring the shores, and gave to the island the name of New Holland; but the expedition sent out by the Dutch East India Company to examine the country, with a view to colonization, reported that it was the abode of howling evil spirits, a country of barren coasts, shallow water, islands, thinly peopled by cruel, poor and brutal natives, and of very little use to the Company. Subsequent navigators of all nations concurred in this evil report of the land, and the tide of emigration was directed toward America. The colonization of Australia by the British stands in close connection with that war which lost them the Thirteen American Colonies. That outlet fo.r the banishment of their criminal popula- tion being closed, it became a great problem how to get rid of the annual accumulation of roguery Cook had recently made some explorations in Australia, and it was finally resolved to make the island a penal colony. The first convict fleet sailed on the 13th of May, 1787, and reach- ed Botany Bay, which had been selected as the site for the settlement, on the 2.0th of the follow- ing January. This goodly company of patriots who left their country for their countrys good, consist- ed of 565 men, 192 women, under the charge of a military force of about 200 men, with whom were 40 women, the wives of the soldiers. It was at once found that Botany Bay was an un- suitable place for the settlement, and it was formed at a distance of about 18 miles, upon the spot where now stands the city of Sydney. Bot- any Bay, however, long continued to be the pop. ular name given to the whole penal colony. AUSTRALIA ~ND ITS GOLD If) The colony commenced under most unfavora- ble auspices. No agriculturist had been sent to teach the cultivation of the soil to those Lon- don pickpockets whose only harvest-field had been the pockets of their neighbors. The very supply of mechanics was left to the chances of the previous pursuits of the criminals; and as it happened, there were in all but a dozen carpenters, and but one bricklayer; and not a single mechanic. with skill enough to erect a corn-mill. Such were the Pilgrim Fathers of Australia. Their weapons were the club, the spear chey do not seem to have been acquainted with the bowand the boomerang. This last weapon is peculiar to the aborigines of Australia, and its mode of action is a puzzle to mathematicians. It is simply a crooked piece of hard wood, three feet long and thrree inches broad, pointed at each end, the concave side a quarter of an inch thick, the convex side made sharp. The native takes it by one end, and flings it sickle-wise with his hand, when it of course revolves as though upon an axis. If he wishes to strike an object at a distance, he flings it toward the ground, as a boy does a flat stone upon the water, to make it skip. And just so the boomerang goes skip- ping to its mark. If he wishes to thiow it so that it shall fall at his own feet, he flings it at a particular angle up into the air; away goes the boomerang whizzing and whirling in ascending curves, until all at once it turns short round, an) flies back directly to its master. And so, by altering the angle at which it is thrown, the weapon strikes at any point behind him. In like In one thing they were fortunate. If the is- land was destitute of natural productions, there were also no warlike natives to dispute the poe.- session with them. The aborigines were few; they cultivated no soil, built no huts, possess- ed no ornaments of gold and silver, and knew not the use of metals. Their dwellings consist- ed merely of a few bits of thick bark peeled from the trees and set upright, as a protection from the wind; a fire was built in front of the open side, and their habitation was complete. Such a hut was called a gunyali. manner, the boomerang may be thrown around an intervening object, actualizing, in a fashion, the old joke of the crooked gun to shoot around a corner. The weapon is useless in the bands of a European, being quite as likely to strike the thrower as the object aimed at; but in the hands of a native it is a formidable missile, striking from the most unsuspected direction, in spite of any defense. You sit unconcernedly behind a rock or tree, thinking yourself safe from an attack in the rear; but the boomerang doubles the corner, and is upon you. That innocent- looking native, walking off with his back to you, may be at the instant taking aim at you with the inevitable back-flying boomerang. It doubt- less originated from the necessity, in hunting the kangaroo, that the shy animal should not see his assailant; but it is singular that so bar- barous a peoi le should have invented such a weapon. The aborigines of Australia possess a physical appearance different from any other race; or rather compounded of many. To the black color AUSTRALIAN ABORIGINES UNDER GUNYAII. 20 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. of the African, they add the straight silky hair of the Malay, and the lean, long limlis of the Hindoo, while their language bears a remark- able affinity with that of the North American Indians. They seemed to be entirely destitute of any form of government or chieftainship, and to be merely an aggregation of separate families. Though possessing no fixed habitations, their inigrntions were confined within narrow limits, no family apparently exceeding fifty or sixty miles in their wanderings. Their numbers were small, never probably amounting to more than a hundred thousand souls. This paucity arose less from wars among themselves, than from the incapacity of the country for their support. No- thing came amiss to their omniverous appetites; worms and slugs were as little distasteful to them as oysters and shrimps are-to us; and the larvte of insects constituted a dainty dish. So feeble a race, of course, melted away before the rough convicts and settlers, wbo shot them down with as little scruple as so many kangaroos; and they are now almost extinct. The few attempts made to instruct them in the arts of civilized life, have proved utter failures. The colony, at first, was unsuccessful enough; and was move than once reduced to the verge of starvation, being dependent for food upon sup- plies from the parent country. About six months after the first settlement, it is recorded as a great calamity, that two bulls and four cows, the major part of the stock of neat cattle, had es- caped into the 1~ush, and could not be recovered a loss, however, which subsequent events proved to be an immense gain. We can not detail the miseries of the first few years of the colony; and of its moral and social state it is sufficient to say that, eighteen years after its first foundation, the current coin of the capital was rum, and that of the births two- thirds were illegitimate. The government was conducted at the Colonial Office in England with that blundering, official stolidity, which has al- ways been characteristic of British administration abroad; the result of which has been, and will be, that no sooner does a colony begin to feel its strength, than it seeks to become independent of the parent state. In the mean time free settlers began to arrive in Australia, to whom grants of land and convict laborers were made, in propor- tion to-the amount of capital they brought with them; these convicts being fed and clothed by the Crown. - We must, however, glance for a moment at the system pursued in reference to the public lands, as this furnishes the key to the whole character of Australian emigration. In 1831 the free grants of land were discontinued, and the landswere ordered to be sold. The price was at first fixed at five shillings an acre; and a con- siderable body of emigrants were attracted, of that class who were desirous of living upon their own land. These, of course, brought their fam- ilies, and scattered themselves over the colony, wherever they could find land upon which to settle. In ~he course of time, the theory was pro- pounded that it was desirable to concentrate the population, and to effect this the price of land was raised to a minimum of twelve, and subse- quently of twenty shillings an acre; and the quantity put up for sale at a time largely in- creased, with the avowed object of preventing the purchase of land by any persons except large capitalists. A further object was to keep the great body of emigrants in the condition of labor- ers and servants, in order that by competition the price of labor might be kept down. This is per- haps the solitary instance in moderA times when legislation has been framed with the avowed ob- ject of reducing the price of labor. A portion of the sum derived from the sale of lands was appropriated to giving a free passage to emi- grants, who were approved by the Colonial Of- fice at home, and whose competition in the labor market, on their arrival in Australia, would tend to keep down the price. Thus the landholder. who paid an exorbitant price for his land, had the sum refunded to him by way of cheapened labor. But it was soon discovered that the great body of land in Australia, though not adapted to cul- tivation, was the finest in the world for pastur- ing cattle and sheep. We have mentioned the grief occasioned by the loss of a great part of the cattle, in 1788. Seven years afterward it was reported by the natives that cattle had been seen grazing on the plains in the interior; an expedition was sent to investigate the matter; and sixty animals were found feeding in a single herd, the produce of the lost beasts. This was the origin of the immense herds of cattle which now cover the Australian plains. Abowt the same time John MArthur, who had come out as an officer in the army, happened to observe that the hairy wool of a few Indian sheep which had been imported, became much finer among the rich pastures of the plains. He was a man of far-reaching views, great energy, and indomitable courage. The discovery did not lie idle, and he devoted himself, in the midst of the ridicule of the colony, to improving the breed of sheep. At this time the exportation of me- rinos from Spain was strictly forbidden, and severely punished; but in 1803 MArthur visited England and succeeded in obtaining a few pure merinos from the flock of George III. From these have sprung those countless flocks of sheep which in less than half a century have made Aus- tralia the greatest wool-growing country in the world. The introduction of flocks and herds was des- tined to effect - a great change in Australian so- ciety. The saying of one of the early governors, that there were only two classes of inhabitants in Australiaconvicts, and those who ought to have been convictedhad ceased to be true. The number of free emigrants greatly exceeded that of the convicts; and of the emancipists not a few retrieved their characters in the new circumstances in which they were placed. The British Government, with its usual wrong- headedness, set itself seriously to work to nen AUSTRALIA AND ITS GOLD. 21 tralize the blessings which na- ture, ever bountiful, was so free- ly proffering to the superabund- ant agricultural population of the mother country. The price which had been fixed upon land, was of course far beyond its value for pastoral purposes. But to reduce the price would put it in the power of large numbers of persons, with limited means to purchase. Amost complicated system of leasing the grazing lands was then adopted, by which persons of considerable capital only could occupy the lands for pasturage. These pas- toral occupantsin Australia called squattersin course of time became the leading inter- est in the colony; and gradually absorbed a great share of the labor, in the shape of shepherds and stockmen. In the eyes of the new aristocracy, the great end and aim of the Australian colonies was to produce cattle and sheepthe character of the men and women produced was of no importance. Their beau ideal of a laborer was an able- bodied, unmarried man, from an agricultural county, humble, ignorant, and strong, and the Colonial Office adapted their measures to supply just this class of emigrants. The consequence was that oxcept the utterly destitute among the laboring classes, few went to Australia, and the befter classes of emigrants made their way to America. Emigration by families, in particular, was strongly discouraged. The consequence was what might have been anticipated. From the original constitution of the colony as a penal settlement, there was of course a large preponderance of males. The new emigration kept up this disproportion by bringing over only single men, and married couples without children. In the course of time a great demand sprung up for female servants; and this was sought to be met by sending over shiploads of young women, who were landed at Sydney, unprotected and without means of find- ing their way to those rural districts where their labor was required. Thus, by a complication of errors, Australian society was undergoing a two- fold process of demoralization. In the rural dis- tricts the men ~were lapsing into barbarism from lack of female influence, and in the cities the female population were falling into ruin for want of protection. Government, of course, had quite other things to attend to than to attempt to remedy a social evil like this. And it was reserved for a private individual, and that a woman, to develop a scheme of colonization adapted to Australia. We will therefore devote a few paragraphs to the career of this benefactor of this colony. * Sometime in the early years of the present century, the home of William Jones, a sturdy Northamptonshire yeoman, was gladdened by the birth of a daughter. The girl grew up tall and vigorous, with that fine physical develop- ment in which our American women are so de- ficienta sound mind in a sound body. At the age of twenty she was married to Alexander Chisholm, an officer in the East Indian army, whom two years after she accompanied to India. Here her sympathies were aroused by the con- dition of the daughters of the soldiers, exposed to the twofold pollutions of the barracks and of heathendom. Feeling with her was the parent of action, and she proceeded to establish and superintend a school of Industry for their benefit, which has grown up into an extensive orphan institution, though her own labors were transfer- red to a wider sphere. In 1838 the health of her husband became impaired, and he was advised to visit the more genial climate of Australia, with his wife and young children. The colony was now passing into the second stage of its development, and from a penal settlement becoming a colony of freemen. The attention of Mrs. Chisholm was soon directed to the unhappy condition of the young women whom Government had sent out. as emigrants; who in a strange country, ignor-- ant and unprotected, were exposed to the most? deadly perils. But the little that she could per~ sonally do for their benefit only showed her how much remained to be done. What could she do a woman and a stranger Yet the work was CAROLINE CHI5HOLM. 22 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. forced jipon her by influences from without and impulses from within. When I heard, she writes, of a poor girl suffering distress, and losing her reputation in consequence, I felt that I was not clear of her sin, for I did not do all I could to prevent it. Now came the solemn season of Lent, when the Catholic church, of which she is a member, so affuctingly commemorates the voluntary hu- miliation of him who though he was rich, yet for our sakes became poor ; and the associa- tions of the season pressed her task upon her s~ind. At length came Easter Sunday, when her church celebrates the finished work of re- demption; and upon that day, she writes, I was enabled upon the altar of our Lord to make an offering of my talents to the Lord who gave them. I promised to know neither county nor creed, but to try to serve all justly and impartial ly. J asked only to be enabled to keep these poor girls from being tempted by their need to mortal sin; and resolved that, to accomplish this, I would in every way sacrifice my feelings surrender all comfort, and wholly devote my- self to the work I had in hand. For all the encouragement and support she at first received, she might as well have been a prophet in the old Hebrew times. But though wearied she was not disheartened. The co-op- eration of Government seemed essential to any effectual result. Sir George Gipps, the Governor, was an obstinate, self-conceited haughty man; yet not without certain personal good qualities: the very counterpart of those colonial governors who drove our fathers to insurrection. At last, after repeated and urgent solicitations he was induced to grant an interview to Mrs. Chisholm. I had expected, he afterward said, to have seen an old lady in white cap and spectacles, who would have talked to me about my soul. I was amazed when my aide introduced a hand- some stately young woman, who proceeded to reason the question, as if she thought her reason and experience worth as much as mine. The Governor was slow to be convinced even by the arguments of a handsome stately young wo- man ; but upon receiving a guarantee that Gov- ermnent should be put to no expense, he grant- ed her the occupancy of a little wooden building, used as a government storehouse. She soon found that to exercise any adequate superin- tendence over the charge which surrounded her, she must herself occupy the premises. Her husband had been meanwhile recalled to India, but had feared to take with him his young fam- ily; and she took possession of a vacant room, seven feet square, infested with rats. Sickness among the emigrants compelled her to send her own three children away; but she courageously kept her post. It was no part of Mrs. Chisholms plan to found an alms-house. When she opened her Home of Protection there were at Sydney 600 young women unprovided with work; while all through the colony there was the most urgent demand for their labor; but those who wished to work, and those who desijed their labor were at a distance from each other. Her purpose was simply to make herself acquainted with both parties, and to bring them together. Having, by means of circulars, ascertained the locations where labor was wanted, she undertook to con- voy parties to these places. Her plan succeeded. Journey after journey added to her means of information. The settlers in the Bush came to her assistance, and supplied sustenance and transport for her parties. The public inns re fused pay for shelter for her charges and food for herself; so that her personal expenses dur- ing her journeys, for seven years, were actually less than ten dollars. It was not long before she saw that it was not necessary to confine her services to female emi- grants. Fathers, husbands, sons, and brothers asked to be allowed to accompany her parties; and thus her journeys became longer, and her parties larger, until on one occasion a company of 240 persons were under her charge, bushing it, some on foot, some in drays, she herself leading the way on horseback, acting as guide, purveyor, and director. One of these expeditions occupied five weeks, of which three weeks were spent in the Bush. Emigrants often arrived ignorant of the man- ners and customs of the colony, liable to imposi- tion from their own ignorance or the trickery of employers. F-or their benefit she opened a reg- istry-office for servants and laborers, with a printed forn~, specifying all the essential points of agreement, to be signed in duplicate by each party. Employers were frequently unwilling, to advance the sums necessary to transport the emi- grants to their fields of labor. In hundreds of cases, Mrs. Chisholm advanced the needed sums, sometimes amounting to 40 for a single party; and all that she ever lost by this means was 16. During the seven years which she spent in the colony she was thus the means of settling 11,000 individuals. A scheme of colonization gradually grew up in the mind of Mrs. Chisholm, based upon a keen insight into human nature, and a thorough knowledge of the wants of the colonies. All experience has shown that it is not good for man, or woman either, to be alone; and that a vir- tuous society can be reared only upon the basis of the family state. Her published reports con- tai~ many instances, half-sad, half-ludicrous, of the anxiety of the better part of the settlers for virttious wives, and of the impossibility of their obtaining them. The anxious question of the stockman, When they were to l~ave a Governor who would attend to matters of importance like that ~ embodied more wisdom than the Colonial Office was aware of. Something else is requisite for a flourishing state than fat cattle and fine- wooled sheep. With practical good sense Mrs. Chisholm thus hits the nail upon the head: To supply flockmasters with good shepherds is a good work; to supply those shepherds with good wives is a better. To give the shepherd a good wife is to make a gloomy, miserable hut a cheer- AUSTRALIA AND ITS GOLD. BUSHING IT. ful, contented home. To introduce married fe- as what to do atA how to do it. The Society males into the interior is to make the squatters undertook to charter ships, see to it that the ac- stations fit abodes for Christian men All commodations and supplies were of a proper the clergy you can dispatch, all the schoolmas- character, and that the emigrants should be so ters you can appoint, all the churches you can brought together in groups, before setting out, build, and all the books you can export, will that th y might render each other mutual aid never do much good, without Gods police and assistance. I his scheme was brought for- wives and littl children. But seeing all this, ward in May, 1850. In September of that year she also saw that sending out female emigrants, th first ship was dispatched by the Society, which as Government had done, like so much mer- has since been followed by four others, convey- chandise to supply the matrimonial market, would ng more than a thousand emigrants. Besides not remedy the evil. The only feasible means superintending all these outfits, Mrs. Chishoirn of removing the disparity between the sexes, has corresponded with and advised more than was to send out emigrants in families. To or- twenty th usand persons upon the subject of ganize a scheme of family emigration, Mrs. Chis- emigration. Her husband has recently talten holm, accompanied by h r husband, who had now passage from Australia, to open an office for the rejoined her, and family, left Australia for En- advice of emigrants upon their arrival, where gland, in 1846, bearing with her the warmest they can at once receive information as to the good-will of colonists of every class, most advisable places of location, and thus not Immediately upon her arrival in England, she be left to wander aimless and hopeless in the set herself resolutely to her task. The modest streets of the sea-port where they first land. To house which her circumstances allowed her to this woman then belongs the merit of having de- select for a home was crowded by those seeking veloped the only means by which the superfluous for information on the subject of emigration. mass of human life, which is now heaped up and Government even so far relaxed from its official stagnates upon the narrow rim of overcrowded dignity as to ask information and advice from Europe, may be spread abroad, blest and bless- her. In the course of a year or two she had ing, over the broad uninhabited regions crying organized her plan, and had enlisted powerful out for human inhabitants; fields which no plow support in its favor. This plan was to establish has furrowed, so wide that their gleanings would a Family Colonization Loan Society, the object feed the pent-up starving millions of Europe. of which was to assist families of good character PAsTONAL LIFE. to emigrate. If necessary, the Society undertook Poets have contrived t~ throw a coloring of - to advance a certain portion of the requisite ex- romance over the most prosaic and monotonous pense of passage; but the main assistance ren- mode of human life. Sentimental readers of (bred was that more needed than money, advic.u Virgil and Florian picture a shepherd as a rosy HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. checked youth reclining upon a bank of flowers children, they perform among them the duties of under a shady tree, with nothing to do but to hut-keeper. Each of the shepherds has charge watch his fleecy flock und make music on the of a flock of sheep, which are driven in opposite oaten pipe. Pastoral life is anything but ro- directions by day, but at night are folded to- mantic in Australia. Any man can be a shep- gether close by the hut. The shepherd rises at herd who has a tolerable pair of eyes; a wooden break of day, makes his breakfast of mutton, leg is no special objection, provided the owner unleavened bread baked in the ashes, known as can stump along at the rate of about a mile an damper, and tea, made in Bush fashion by hour. Hence it is a ready resource, everything boiling the Chinese leaf in an open kettle with else failing, of all those who pefer working to sugar and milk. Our Australian Corydon now stealing or starving. The future shepherd takes takes his pipenot the poetical instrument so service with some of the great squatting aristo- called, but a blackened dudheen redolent of fra- c. acythe grazing grandeesthe magnates of grant negro-head and pig-tail, and drives his the Bushwho count their flocks by tens of flock a-field. But, alas for the dreams of flowery thousands, and their pasture-lands, leased of the banks and cool shades, the best pastures only Crown, by scores of thousands of acres. He is produce grass without flowers and gum-trees then dispatched on foot to the station in the which cast no shade. The flock feed walking Bush, a distance of probably two or tlir~e hun- and it is the shepherds duty to keep with them, dred miles. If he have a wife and childrena letting them go where they pfease, unless they consummation most devoutly to be wishedthey approach too near the scrub, when he must are sent on by a bullock-dray. The station head them off. By the time the sun has reached consists of a hut designed for two shepherds and mid-heaven, he turns them toward some creek a hut-keeper, who takes charge of the hut, cooks or water-hole, where after they have drank they for the shepherds, and watches the sheepfold by camp down in a ring, with their heads turned night. If one of the shepherds have a wife and socially toward the centre. This is the time when an Arcadian shepherd would tune his pipes; his Australian brother, if of a musical turn, solaces the hour with a Jews-harp, or an accordeon. These instruments accordingly fig- ure largely in the list of imports, five hundred of the latter, and fifty gross of the former, being no ~xtravagant vent re y a single vessel; and a shepherd has been known to walk a couple of hundred miles to purchase one of these solacers of his weary hours. As evening approaches, he drives his flock homeward, shuts them in the fold, and delivers them to the charge oil die hut- keeper. He then makes his supper o~ the un- varying mutton, and damper, and tea and his days work is done. If the night is clx~ar, as it usually is in Australia, the sheep need i~o watch- ing till midnight, at which hour the watch takes his post near the fold. If the ni~ht is stormy it invites the attacks of the dingo, or native dog, and the watch must walk about his woolly charge. The wages of the shepherd, previous to the dis- covery of gold, were from GO to I 00 dollars a A iHEPHERD i HUv. AUSTRALIA AND ITS GOLD. 25 year, with abundant tations of meat, flour, tea, and sugar; what further luxuries he wishes, he provides for himself. If a man were an oyster, no pleasanter life could be asked. For months at a time he may not see a single human face by daylight; and by firelight only those of the companions of his hut. Even the busy times of shearing and washing do not disturb the mo- notony of his life; for these more active oper- ations are usually performed by itinerant pro- fessors, who travel from station to station, busy- ing themselves during the remainder of the year in other occupations. A strike among the tailors in London, some years since, and the consequent emigration of many of the craft, furnished Aus- tralia with a number of amateur shearers, who wielded the blades as deftly upon the fleece as they had been wont to do upon the web. For the more stirring and adventurous spirits among the colonists, the care of cattle affords a more congenial occupation. The Australian stockman is a sort of Europeanized Tartar. He lives on horseback, and scarcely enters a hut except to sleep. His food is beef and dam- per ; his pride is his horse; he scorns those who plow and sow, and, above all things, de- spises a crawling shepherd. As for the crawlers themselves, as he contemptuously denominates the sheep, he regards them as did that good old hater, John Randolph of Roanoke, who declared that be would go an indefinite dis- tance out of his way to kick one. In his run the stockman is a king: his cattle are his sub-. jects; his saddle is his throne; his sceptre is the stock-whip. This is a thong of leather twelve or fourteen feet long, weighing a couple of pounds, thick at the belly, and tapering to the end where it is finished off by silken cracker, and attached to a handle not more than eighteen inches long. Bearing this official sceptre, the stockman from his saddle-throne keeps watch over his pasture-ground. Woe to the unlucky beast who attempts to stray beyond the limits,; the stockman is upon him at once, with his whip, each blow of which, from a practiced hand, cuts through hide and flesh to the very bone. Dexterity in the use of this weapon can be acquired only by long practice; and the young stockman expectant devotes all his leisure to .its acquirement, with the grave devotion and per- sistence of a juvenile practitioner on the violin or French horn; and makes quite as much noise in attaining a respectable proficiency. At noon, the herds are assembled at the camping- ground, close by a water-course, if possible, where they lie chewing the cud. It takes a year or two to teach a new herd to betake them- selves to the spot at the proper hour. The stockman trains them to this by riding about and flogging every beast found straying at camp- hours. In the course of time the whole herd get so trained that at the cracking of the whip, which rings like a musket-shot, they gallop spontaneously to camp. The life of the stock- man has at times the excitement of a bull-fight. Once a year the cattle are mustered for inspec tion and branding, and a maddened bull not unfrequently breaks away from the yard and heads back for the bush; a stockman gallops after him, and cuts his flanks with the terrible whip.; the beast turns when his pursuer is close beside him, and, unless both horse and rider are wary, the steed is impaled on the horns of the infuriated bull. But, sooner or later, the bull- ock is subdued, and makes his way back to the yard, his hide covered with mingled blood and foam, his eyes glaring, and tongue protruding with agony and fear. The bullock-driver is a sort of necessary me- diator between the city and the pastoral regions. He conducts the enormous carts, with their load~ of wool, to market, and brings back the annual returns of stores, and articles of luxury and necessity. His slow journey sometimes occu- pies two or three months, up the steep mount- ain side, over apparently impracticable roads, through heat and dust, rain and snow. During the whole time he does n6t probably once enter a human dwelling, sleeping in his vehicle, while his dog keeps charge over his bullocks turned out to gather their food. The setting out and return of the dray are the great annual events in the lives of the settlers in the Bush, for they are almost the sole links which bind the soli- tary inhabitants to the great world beyond. A FEW STATISTICS. Those portions of Australia which have been settled by emigrants from Great Britain are comprised in three principal colonies. The statistics given are from the census of March,, 1851, the last which has been taken. The total population at that time, it will be seen, amount- ed to 322,000. The discovery of gold has given a great impulse to emigration, so that the popu- lation at present probably numbers 450,000. We have tables in detail respecting the popula- tion of only New South Wales, where the adult males amount to 60,500, while the adult females number only 33,700; the adult males number- ing almost twice as many as the females. The proportion in the other colonies is probably about the same. The colonies are I. Ne~w South Wales, situated upon the east- ern shore. Founded in 1787, as a penal settle- ment. Population, 187,000; sheep, 7,026,000; cattle, 1,360,000 ; horses, 111,200 ; exports, 1,990,900; imports, 1,670,300. Sydney, the capital, has 60,000 inhabitants. II. Victoria, ,situated at the southeastern an- gle of the islan4. First settled in 1835,; cut off from New South Wales and erected into a separate colony in 1841. Population, 78,000; sheep, 6,033,000; cattle, 346,500; horses, 16,- 743; exports, 1,041,796; imports, 744,295. The capital is Melbourne, having a population of 25,000. This has been by far the most flour- ishing of the Australian colonies; and the rich- est deposits of gold have also been discovered here. III. South Australia, lying on the southern shore of the island, immediately west of Victo- ria. Founded in 1835. Population, 67,000; 26 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. sheep, 1,200,000; cattle, 100,000; horses, 6000; exports, 571,000; imports, 887,000. Adelaide, the capital, contains 14,000 inhabitants. This is less a pastoral colony than either of the others, the principal article of export being copper. It has suffered very severely from speculations in copper mines, and, on the whole, has not been successful. The discoveries of gold in the neighboring colony of Victoria, have likewise proved injurious to South Australia, drawing away a considerable share of its population. It is not known that any gold has been discovered in this colony In addition to these colonies, an attempt was ihade in 1829 to found the colony of Western Australia or Swan River, on the western shore. There are said to be some ten thousand inhabit- ants in this unfortunate district. The name of Northern Australia has been vaguely bestowed upon the whole central and northern parts of the island; but no permanent settlements have as yet been formed there. NATURAL HI5TORY OF GOLD. Long agoso long that we have no numerals to express either the date or the duration of the periodthe layers which compose the superficial shell of our earth were slowly deposited around a still older rocky nucleus. This was the period of these shell-fish, and lizards, and huge mon- sters whose fossilized remains are disinterred by geologists, deposited in museums, and labeled with names as long and uncouth as themselves. Generation after generation, species after species, of these animals lived and died, and were buried, and the rock deposited from the surrounding waters was formed around their remains. At length the inner core, which lay below all organ- ized life, and whose structure at once suggests the idea that it was formed in fire, was thrust up, by some force, the present existence of which is hinted to as by volcanoes and earthquakes. Through and among the aqueous rocks the fiery intruders made their way, overturning and dis- placing the quiet strata above, filling them with cracks and fissures, and in some cases giving them a semi-igneous character. Into many of these fissures the molten rock found its way, forming when cooled veins and dykes running in every direction. The most frequent of these intruding rocks was quartz, either alone, or in connection with other kindred rocks. It is almost exclusively in the quartz veins thus forced up among the more ancient species of the aqueous rocks, that gold is found; not that it is always found there, but it is rarely found any where else. How the gold made its way there geologists no more know than thick-lipped and thick-headed King George knew how the apple got inside of the dumpling; but there it is, sometimes in lumps and veins, sometimes in flakes and spangles, and sometimes scattered through the whole mass of quartz in grains so minute as to be invisible to the naked eye. In the course of ages this aqueous shell, with the intruding gold-bearing quartz, was again and again sunk beneath the sea, and elevated above it. Thus every portion of the earths sur- face has been exposed to the action of tides and currents and waves, similar to those which now waste away our sea-shores. The waters wore away and broke off portions of these rocks, pounded them into boulders and pebbles, crush- ed them into gravel and sand, ground them into mud and clay, and spread the fragments out in broad alluvial tracts, deposited them in narrow patches, or heaped them up in hollows and de- pressions. The various substances swept along by these currents would be gradually dropped, according to their size and specific gravitythe larger and heavier portions first reaching the bottom. If these currents acted upon gold-bear- ing quartz, the portions of precious metal, being some seven times heavier than its stony matrix, would be deposited sooner than fragments of quartz of similar size and shape. But larger fragments of stone and smaller ones of gold would be deposited together; while the finer por- tions of the stone would be borne farther than any part of the metal. But though gold and quartz were deposited together, the agitation of the current would in the course of time sink the heavy metal to the bottom of the boulders and pebbles, till it rested upon a solid bottom of rock or clay; and if the bottom were tolerably soft clay it would even become imbedded for a short distance in that. In case, there were any cracks or crannies in this bottom, they would become filled with the metal, forming what miners call pockets. So too in case the bottom was crossed by a bar or obstruction of any kind, as was frequently the case, the gold as it was swept along would be arrested and accumulated upon the upper side of the bar. Wherever, in short. the current was in any way obstructed, the de- position would be more rapid. In all these cases the heavy gold would slowly but surely make its way through the lighter matter deposited with it, till it rested upon a solid bottom. But though gold is usually found in the beds of rivers, we must not infer that it is our present rivers whose waters have broken down and swept away the stony matrix, liberated the gold, and sorted and sifted it for the digger. Our rivers have flowed but a few years, geologically speak- mg; but they would naturally for the most part follow the channels worn through countless ages by the ante-diluvian and pre-Adamic currents. It sometimes happens that the ancient channel of a river has become filled up and obstructed, so that it has taken another course. If the old channel passed through a vein of auriferous quartz, the gold would be deposited in the old bed, and buried beneath the matter which choked it up. These deposits in ancient water-courses, now dry, are what are known as the dry dig- gings, while those in the bed of a running stream are the wet diggings. The nature and composition of a gold-field re- sult from the manner of its formation. The larger lumps of gold, which the current can carry but a short distanee, are first deposited. In Au. stralia these are called nuggets, and are usually A~TRALIA AND ITS GOLD. 2? and to complete the work, the gold-digger merely imi- tates on a small scale the processes which Nature has been carrying on for leagues and ages. These processes are too simple and too well- known by this time to de- mand more than a passing notice; and they are now ad- verted to merely to point out their analogy with those em- ployed by Nature. The cra- dlevery similar to the nurs- ery article of the same name is but a contrivance to produce an artificial current ofwater; the cleets across its bottom answer to the bars and obstructions in the bed of the river, which catch the gold drifting down. The river, in fact, is but a gigantic cradle, or the cradle but a miniature river; while the washing-bowl is neither more nor less than an arti- ficial pocket, from which all but the gold has been swept away. So well has Nature performed these pre- liminary operations that, ex- cept in the rarest instances, goid-mining can never be come profitable until after the washings have been exhaust- found near or upon the surface of the ground; edwhich is riot likely to happen in our day. For for the lighter materials have been mainly swept to say nothing of the fact that the auriferous further onward. These nuggets occur in masses sands must be richer than the rock from which from the weight of a ew grains up to that of the they are derived, because a greater proportion of great lump, the largest ever discovered, which weighed more than a hun- dred pounds. Further down the stream are deposited the smaller flakes and grains of gold, together with boulders and pebbles; still further down are borne the fine dust and invisible particles. Nug- gets are thus found sparing- ly, and only in the close vi- cinity of the original spot where they originated. As a general rule, the less rapid the current, the smaller the particles deposited, and the more evenly are they distrib- uted. Almost all the gold in cir- culation has been obtained ny washing these alluvial sands. Nature has here done all the crushing and grind- ing. and a great portion of tbe wa hirig and sifting; T1{I~ WASHING-BOWL aOCKING THE CRADLE. 28 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. the rock than of the gold has been washed away such a form that it can be separated only by compli- the action of the rollers and stamping-mill pulver- cated and expensive chemical processes, instead izes the gold as well as the quartz, and leaves it in of the cheap and simple operation of washing. It was not from lack of abundant indications of their existence that the goldcn treasures of Australia remained so long unknown, and that the shepherds and stockmen and bush-rangers were ignorant of the wealth which lay beneath their feet. A quarter of a century ago a convict was found in possession of a nugget of gold, which he professed to have found in the neigh- borhood where gold has since been discovered. His story was disbelieved, and he was soundly flogged, on suspicion of having obtained the gold by robbery, and of having melted it down in or- der to destroy the evidence of its identity. At occasional intervals gold was offered for sale to the jewelers of Sydney; and one old emanci- pist named MGregor gained some notoriety as a gold-finder; though it was shrewdly suspected that the real source of his findings was the pockets of unwary travelers. The old clans- mans prospecting, however, does not seem to have been over-successful, since at the outbreak of the gold-fever, he was confined in Sydney for debt. A party of speculative miners paid his debts on condition that he should give them the sole benefit of his gold-hunting experience. But it is ill bargaining with rogues: MGregor took the earliest opportunity of cutting loose from his benefactors, and picking up a companion more to his liking, made his way to his old haunts, and lay by on his own account. Science also pointed to the probability of the existence of gold in Australia. Humboldt had announced the d priori probability that moun- tains of the general geological character of those of the Australian Cordilleras, especially if run- ning north and south, would be found to be auriferous. In 1841, and subsequently, Mr. Clarke, a colonial geolog~t, affirnied that gold in considerable quantities existed in certain Australian rocks. In 1844, and afterward, Sir Roderick M~irchison, the eminent English geolo- gist, expressed the same opinion, which he based upon the resemblance between the Australian Cordilleras and the Ural Mountains. In 1848, he wrote to Earl Gray, the Colonial Minister, urging measures to facilitate the search for gold. But that wise functionary shook his head, and declined interfering, on the ground that the agitation of the discovery of the precious metals would prove injurious to an agricultural and wool-growing community. In 1848 one Mr. Smith produced a piece of gold imbedded in quartz, which he stated that he had found, and offered to disclose the spot to Government for a reward of 800. But Sir Charles Fitzroy~ the sporting Governor, sus- pecting the lump to be a plant on the Dous-~ terswivel plan, and that its true origin was Cali- fornia, refused to give the reward in advance; but promised that if the disclosure should prove valuable, the discoverer should be liberally re- warded. But Mr. Smith would no more trust the Government than the Government would trust him. And thus he lost the chance of immortal- GOLD-lAGGiNG IN AUSTRALIA. AUSTRALIA AND ITS GOLD.. 29 izing himself as the Mr. Smith who discovered proposition of Government, and proceeded to the the gold mines of Australia places which he designated, in company with the Government geologist. The first place where search was made was at Summerhill Creek, near the town of Bathurst, on the western side of the mountains, 150 miles from Sydney, the very district where old MGregor professed to have found his nug gets. in May the discov~ry began to he bruited abroad, and by the 19th of that month hundreds of persons were digging at Summerhill Creek, to which they gave the name of Ophir. Three days after this, the Government issued a proclamation claiming as the property of the Crown all gold found in its natural place of deposit, whether on public or private lands; forbidding all per- sons to dig or search for gold on Crown lands, without previously procuring a license; and settling the amount of the Royalty to be paid by those obtaining gold on their own lands. By the first of June the current had set strongly toward the gold diggings. Sydney assumed a new aspect. Blue and red woolen shirts and California hats became the show-goods in the fashionable streets from the stock of cradles displayed for sale, a stranger would gain an alarming impression as to the sudden increase of the infantile EDWARD HAReRAvEs. population of the colony. Water proof tents, quicksilver for amal- irut the Hour and the Man were at hand. gamating gold soil, preserved provisions, spring- ~nong those persons whom the gold-fields of carts for the diggings, cradles and prospecting- ~iifornia had attracted from Sydney, was Ed- pans, became the leading featui~s of newspaper ward Hargraves. Emigrants from the penal advertisements. The booksellers found their colony were not in the best odor in the new trade limited to Diggers Hand-books and State; the severe code of Judge Lynch began to Gold-diggers Guides. Conversation took a be applied to them, sometimes by way of pre- golden turn: Have you been to the diggings ~ caution rather than of punishment, with very Are you going P Have your servants gone uncomfortable stringency; and hints which ad- yet ~ were the standing questions. The sud- mitted of no misunderstanding were given that den intrusion of gold, disturbed society as much their presence could very well be dispensed with. as the obtrusion of the igneous gold-bearing Mr. Hargraves seems to have been an honest and quartz had long ago disturbed the quiet aqueous honorable man, and we are not informed whether rocks. The man inured to toil, for a time at or no the suspicious place from whence he came least, was the equal of any one. Tradesmen, bad any thing to do with his want of success mechanics, and servants, who a week before had for unsuccessful he was. He returned to Syd- stood cap in hand before their employers and ney with little gold, but with some valuable ex- masters, now flashed their ~independence in perience; and immediately began a series of their faces. Every body who could go to the explorations at home. mines prepared to do so. The rugged defiles of On the 3d of April, 1851, he made a communi- the Blue Mountains were crowded with drays cation to Government, stating that, as the result and ox-carts, piled with stores and mining uten- of two months search, he had discovered valuable sils, and escoi~ed by long lines of travelers on deposits of gold, which he offered to make public horseback or a-foot, all in search of the new for a consideration. To this offer an answer was Ophir. returned similar to that given to the communica- It was soon discovered that gold-mining was tion of Mr. Smith, three years before. Mr. Har- no childs play. The work was of the hardest a graves, wiser than that gentleman, accepted the man can perform, the fare of the roughest, ai~d 30 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. the company with whom the miner found him- templated at a distance. Nuggets were like self none of the most select. To dwell in tents angels visits, few and far between. Rocking was hardly as poetic as it had seemed when con- the cradle was quite a different thing from the DINNER AT THE DIGGINOS COINO TO THE DICOINOS. 4 AUSTRALIA AND ITS GOLD. 31 same interesting performance at home. To breakfast at daybreak in a tent or gunyah crowd- ed with a mass of unwashed human beings in calico shirts, then work till mid-day in the water, snatch at noon a hasty meal of mutton, damper, and Bush tea, without even stopping for ablution, and back to the mines till dark, was something that many had not bargained for. Besides, for- tunes were not to be made in a day. Of the thousands at the mines, the Government Com- missioner reported that about two-fifths were making five dollars a day; about the same pro- portion gained from fifty cents to a dollar and a half; and the remainder earned nothing. By the first of Julythe Australian mid-wintera reaction had taken place. The weather grew cold and stormy; the river was flooded, so that no work could be carried on at the wet-dig- gings, and the miners were reduced to the al- ternative of lyin,, idle, or going prospecting in search of dry-diggings, carrying their imple- ments and stores as best they might. Many sold their implements and stores for a trifle, and made their way homeward, pursued by the jeers of the passers-by, and met every where by the taunting question, Have you sold your cradle ~ Just at this time was found the famous Hun- dred-pound Lump, whose history would furnish materials for a romance. A native in the ser- vice of a certain Dr. Kerr, was lounging along, hatchet in hand through a sheep-run where he had walked a hundred times before. His eyes caught something yellow upon the surface of a block of quartz; and a blow with his hatchet revealed a mass of gold. He hastened ba~k to his master, who took horse and rode, to the spot. The largest block weighed 75 pounds, and by its side were two fragments, each of ahot. half the weight, which had apparently originally formed part of it. Like the man who drew an elephant in a lottery, the doctor was at a loss how to dispose of his prize. At last he con- cluded to break it up, put it in a pair of saddle- bags, and convey it home on horseback, a ride of many hours. As he was compelled to halt at some human habitation for refreshment, he would lift the saddle-bags, with forced indiffer- ence, and fling them carelessly over a rail-fence. It seems heavy ~ some suspicious-looking bystanderperhaps stockman, perhaps bush- ranger would remark, interrogatively. Oh yes, the doctor would answer, endeavoring to allay suspicion by an apparent jest, full of gold, of course ! When the gigantic nuggets came to be weighed, they were found to contain a little more than a hundred pounds of pure gold, worth, as metal, more than twenty thousand dollars. But now the thought flashed upon the doctor that, had it remained unbroken, it would havebeenwortb much more as a spec- imen; what a fortune might have been made by exhibiting it; and the poor practitioner began to look upon himself, and tobe look- ed on by his neigh- bors, not as the lucky man who had made twenty thousand dol- lars by a single days ride, but as the un- fortunate individual, who had lost ten times as much by a few blows of a hatchet. But the misfortunes of the lump did not end here. The mer- chant who bought if had taken his passage with it from Bathurst to Sydney, when he was stopped by an officer of Government, who claimed the prize as the property of the Crown the doctor had not taken out a license to search for gold. The astounded merchant re- fu~sed to stand and deliver, but it was of no avail; the officer took possession of the prize. Arriving at Sydney it was restored to the poor merchant on condition of his paying a Royalty of ten per cent., and an additional percenta,,e for its safe conduct by Government from .Bath. urst. To avoid all further chance of accidents, it was shipped by its harassed owner for Eng- land on the very day of its arrival in Sydney, with strict orders that it should be consigned to the melting-pot immediately on its arrival in England; in order that its identity might be destroyed. And so Hie hat de Mdhr em Ends, COINS PROSPECTINS. 32 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. des ist der Nibelungen LiedHere ends the story of the Australian Nibelungen Treasure. The discoveries of gold in New South Wales were soon thrown into the shade by still more astounding discoveries in the Colony of Victoria, made about six weeks later. We have before us a print of the curious volcanic hill of Bunin- yong some fifty miles from Melbourne, as it ap- peared in 1850. A fine sweep of pastoral land- scape, shaded here and there by a solitary gum- tree occupies the foreground. Over this a flock of sheep are wandering under the care of a soli- tary shepherdsheep and shepherd alike uncon- scious that they were walking over a golden pavement. In the background the volcanic hill of Buninyong rears its conical head in the dis- tance. Here were the famous diggings of Bal- laratfamous for a few weeks, that is, till they were eclipsed by the still more famous ones of Mount Alexander. The deposits here were of richness unexampled. The Governor of the co- lony once saw eight pounds weighttwo thou- sand dollars worthwashed from a couple of pans-full of clay. In a fortnight after the dis- covery of the Ballarat diggings Melbourne was deserted. The mechanic left his work-bench, the carman his team, the servant his knives and forks, for the diggings. The tradesmen and mer- chants were forced to followfor what was the use of their staying when their customers were gone What an overturn there was! How gold levels distinctions! A flannel shirt, California hat, and unshorn chin became emblems of nobility, and took the front rank every where. A sad case was it for poor helpless mortals who had been accustomed to be waited upon. Governor and Bishop presented a sorry spectaclethe former must groom his own horse, and the latter must black his own shoes. The gouty Judge could get to court only by being wheeled by his own sonslet us hope that these modern Biton and Cleobis will not fail to get their reward. My good fellow, said a spruce new-coiner to a.rough looking fellow, carry this bag, and you shall have a shilling. The other coolly transferred a quid of tobacco from one cheek to the other, as he placed a cow-hide-shod foot on a conve- nient stone, with the words, Here my fine lad, tie my shoe and heres a half crown for you.~~ And so on ad infinitum. Twenty thousand thirty thousandforty thousand diggers were vibrating from Ballarat to Mount Alexander, from Mount Alexander to Bendigo Creek, from Bendigo Creek to Fryars Creek. All had heard of extraordinary yieldsof gold by the pound, of nuggets by the quart, but when the first excite- ment was over it was seen that few had met with any such luck. One by one the disappoint- ed diggers slunk back to their former posts. The Governors horse rejoiced in the care of his old groom. The Bishop grew fat and rosy in the performance of his spiritual functions: his ancient groom blacked his shoes once morefor a reasonable advance on his old wages. The dutiful sons of the Judge were released from the task of wheeling that gouty minister of the law; and at the latest dates society had fallen back much into its ancient routine. Yet not wholly. Taking one with another, fifty thousand diggers were earning each at the rate of a thousand dollars a year; mechanics commanded two or three dollars a day; and shepherds who were leaving the mines, returned to their pastoral pursuits, their Jews-harps and accordeons, at a salary of one hundred and fifty or two hundred dollars, besides unlimited rations of mutton and damper. One years experiment of the Australian gold mines has added to the stock of precious metals the amount of twenty millions of dollars; while for the later portions of that time, which may be assumed to present a fair average of the yield for a year to come, the production has been at the rate of fifty mill ions of dollars a year. Divide this among fifty thousand miners, and make allowance for the increased expense and decreased comfort of liv- ing at the mines, and it will present the fair average of what one miner with another may hope to gain. The shrewd and forecasting Yankees, of whom some five thousand have gone there, will exceed the average, while some other classes of emigrants will fall as much be- low it. NAPOLEON BONAPARTE. BY JOHN S. C. ABBOTT THE IMPERIAL THRONE. T HE conspiracy of the French princes for the assassination of Napolectn, roused republican France to increased efforts to consolidate the new government. The execution of the Duke dEnghien, a prince of the blood-royal, exasper- ated the feudal monarchs of Europe, and in- spired them with additional hostility against the supremacy of the people. The royalists con- sidered Napoleon, with his almost superhuman energy, as the only obstacle to their projects. They were ready, at every hazard, to strike him down. The people of France, profoundly ad- miring the wisdom and efficiency of his govern- ment, were grateful for the harmony which he had restored to the republic, and for the abound- ing prosperity with which, by his labors, it had been crowned. Immediately, in the legislative bodies, in the streets of Paris, through all the principal towns in the departments, and in the camps distributed along the coasts, all tongues were busy in pleading that the crown should be placed upon that brow, on whose safety reposed the destinies of France. It was declared that experience had abundantly proved that repub- licanism was not adapted to the genius of the French people; that the object of the revolution was accomplished, in reforming abuses, in abol- ishing the old feudal system, and in limiting the royal authority; and that now the dignity and the safety of France required that Napoleon should be invested With regal power, that he might thus be on a level with surrounding mon- archs.

32 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. des ist der Nibelungen LiedHere ends the story of the Australian Nibelungen Treasure. The discoveries of gold in New South Wales were soon thrown into the shade by still more astounding discoveries in the Colony of Victoria, made about six weeks later. We have before us a print of the curious volcanic hill of Bunin- yong some fifty miles from Melbourne, as it ap- peared in 1850. A fine sweep of pastoral land- scape, shaded here and there by a solitary gum- tree occupies the foreground. Over this a flock of sheep are wandering under the care of a soli- tary shepherdsheep and shepherd alike uncon- scious that they were walking over a golden pavement. In the background the volcanic hill of Buninyong rears its conical head in the dis- tance. Here were the famous diggings of Bal- laratfamous for a few weeks, that is, till they were eclipsed by the still more famous ones of Mount Alexander. The deposits here were of richness unexampled. The Governor of the co- lony once saw eight pounds weighttwo thou- sand dollars worthwashed from a couple of pans-full of clay. In a fortnight after the dis- covery of the Ballarat diggings Melbourne was deserted. The mechanic left his work-bench, the carman his team, the servant his knives and forks, for the diggings. The tradesmen and mer- chants were forced to followfor what was the use of their staying when their customers were gone What an overturn there was! How gold levels distinctions! A flannel shirt, California hat, and unshorn chin became emblems of nobility, and took the front rank every where. A sad case was it for poor helpless mortals who had been accustomed to be waited upon. Governor and Bishop presented a sorry spectaclethe former must groom his own horse, and the latter must black his own shoes. The gouty Judge could get to court only by being wheeled by his own sonslet us hope that these modern Biton and Cleobis will not fail to get their reward. My good fellow, said a spruce new-coiner to a.rough looking fellow, carry this bag, and you shall have a shilling. The other coolly transferred a quid of tobacco from one cheek to the other, as he placed a cow-hide-shod foot on a conve- nient stone, with the words, Here my fine lad, tie my shoe and heres a half crown for you.~~ And so on ad infinitum. Twenty thousand thirty thousandforty thousand diggers were vibrating from Ballarat to Mount Alexander, from Mount Alexander to Bendigo Creek, from Bendigo Creek to Fryars Creek. All had heard of extraordinary yieldsof gold by the pound, of nuggets by the quart, but when the first excite- ment was over it was seen that few had met with any such luck. One by one the disappoint- ed diggers slunk back to their former posts. The Governors horse rejoiced in the care of his old groom. The Bishop grew fat and rosy in the performance of his spiritual functions: his ancient groom blacked his shoes once morefor a reasonable advance on his old wages. The dutiful sons of the Judge were released from the task of wheeling that gouty minister of the law; and at the latest dates society had fallen back much into its ancient routine. Yet not wholly. Taking one with another, fifty thousand diggers were earning each at the rate of a thousand dollars a year; mechanics commanded two or three dollars a day; and shepherds who were leaving the mines, returned to their pastoral pursuits, their Jews-harps and accordeons, at a salary of one hundred and fifty or two hundred dollars, besides unlimited rations of mutton and damper. One years experiment of the Australian gold mines has added to the stock of precious metals the amount of twenty millions of dollars; while for the later portions of that time, which may be assumed to present a fair average of the yield for a year to come, the production has been at the rate of fifty mill ions of dollars a year. Divide this among fifty thousand miners, and make allowance for the increased expense and decreased comfort of liv- ing at the mines, and it will present the fair average of what one miner with another may hope to gain. The shrewd and forecasting Yankees, of whom some five thousand have gone there, will exceed the average, while some other classes of emigrants will fall as much be- low it. NAPOLEON BONAPARTE. BY JOHN S. C. ABBOTT THE IMPERIAL THRONE. T HE conspiracy of the French princes for the assassination of Napolectn, roused republican France to increased efforts to consolidate the new government. The execution of the Duke dEnghien, a prince of the blood-royal, exasper- ated the feudal monarchs of Europe, and in- spired them with additional hostility against the supremacy of the people. The royalists con- sidered Napoleon, with his almost superhuman energy, as the only obstacle to their projects. They were ready, at every hazard, to strike him down. The people of France, profoundly ad- miring the wisdom and efficiency of his govern- ment, were grateful for the harmony which he had restored to the republic, and for the abound- ing prosperity with which, by his labors, it had been crowned. Immediately, in the legislative bodies, in the streets of Paris, through all the principal towns in the departments, and in the camps distributed along the coasts, all tongues were busy in pleading that the crown should be placed upon that brow, on whose safety reposed the destinies of France. It was declared that experience had abundantly proved that repub- licanism was not adapted to the genius of the French people; that the object of the revolution was accomplished, in reforming abuses, in abol- ishing the old feudal system, and in limiting the royal authority; and that now the dignity and the safety of France required that Napoleon should be invested With regal power, that he might thus be on a level with surrounding mon- archs. NAPOLEON BONAPARTE. 3 Never was the impulsive character of the French people more conspicuous than on this occasion. Fouch6, in the ardor of his zeal, was the first to approach Napoleon, with an expres- sion of the universal desire. In reiterated inter- views, he represented the necessity of putting an end to the anxieties of France, by returning to that monarchical form of government, which might appease the hostility of the surrounding nations, which would invest the person of Na- poleon with new sacredness, and which would consolidate the work of the revolution. A blaze of enthusiasm flamed over all France at the idea of investing the First Consul, the friend of the people, and the idol of the people, with imperial dignity. Addresses were now poured in upon Napoleon without number, imploring him to ac- cept the crown of France. The First Consul sent for Lebrun and Cambaceres, to confer with them upon the subject. Frankly he avowed that he wished to ascend the throne, stating that it was manifest to every one, that France desired a king; that every day she was receding farther from the wild excesses of the revolution; that the adoption of the forms of monarchy would be an act of conciliation to the rest of Europe, and would enable him, with less opposition from abroad, to promote the popular interests of France. Napoleon, with his accustomed prudence, im- mediately sent to most of the governments of Europe, to ascertain if the change would be ac- ceptable to them. France was at war with En- gland, consequently the consent of that power was out of the question. The hostile attitude which Russia bad recently assumed, rendered it a point of dignity not to address her. Prussia, Austria, Spain, and the minor powers were con- sulted. As it was now generally esteemed im- possible throughGut Europe that the Bourbons could be restored, all the courts experienced much satisfaction at the idea of having the repub- lic abolished in France. The King of Prussia, wrote, with his own hand, to his minister in Paris, in the following cordial terms: I un- hesitatingly authorize you, to seize the earliest possible opportunity to make known to M. Tal- leyrand, that after having seen the supreme power conferred for life upon the First Consul, I should see, with still greater interest, the pub- lic order, established by his wisdom and his great actions, consolidated by the hereditary es- tablishment of his family; and that I should not hesitate to acknowledge it. This letter, written but about a fortnight after the execution of the Duke dEnghien, seems to indicate, that however deeply that event might have been de- plored by the courts of Europe, the exasperating circumstances which led to the reprisal were fully appreciated. The Emperor Francis of Aus- tria promptly assured Napoleon of his readiness to recognize that change in the government of France which could not but be acceptable to the surrounding monarchies. This was the general sentiment throughout all of the courts of Europe. Bourrienne, in conversation with Napoleon VOL. VINo. 31.C one day, remarked that he thought that it would be impossible for Napoleon to get himself ac- knowledged emperor by the old reigning fam- ilies of Europe. If it comes to that, he re- plied, I will dethrone them all, and then I shall be the oldest sovereign among them. The Senate of France, by unanimous acclam- ation, without a single dissentient voice, passed the decree, That Napoleon Bonaparte be named Emperor, and in that capacity invested with the government of the French Republic. The Sen- ate, in its enthusiasm, resolved to go in a body to St. Cloud, to present the decree to the First Consul, and to salute him as Emperor. It was the 18th of May, 1804. The fields were green, the trees in full foliage, and the bland atmos- phere of the most lovely of spring mornings exhilarated all spirits. A long procession of carriages, escorted by a brilliant guard of caval- ry, conveyed the senators to the rural palace of St. Cloud. Napoleon, with that perfect tran- quillity of spirit which seemed never to forsake him, was ready to receive them. Josephine stood by his side, flushed with agitation, trem- bling in anticipation of the future, yet gratified at the new honor about to be conferred upon her husband. Cambaceres, the President of the Sen- ate, bowing profoundly before his former col- league, now his new sovereign, thus addressed him: Sire. Four years ago the affection and the gratitude of the French people intrusted the reins of government to your Majesty, and the constitutions of the state had already left to you the choice of a successor. The more imposing title which is now decreed to you, therefore, is but a tribute that the nation pays to its own dig- nity, and to the necessity it experiences of daily offering you new proofs of its daily increasing respect and attachment. How, indeed, can the French people reflect, without enthusiasm, upon the happiness it has experienced since provi- dence prompted it to throw itself into your arms Our armies were vanquished, the finances in disorder, public credit was annihilated; the remnants of our ancient splendor were dis- puted by factions; the ideas of religion, and even of morality, were obscured. Your Majesty appeared. Yo~i.recalled victory to our standards. You restored order and economy in the public expenditure. The nation, encouraged by the use you made of them, took confidence in. its own resources. Your wisdom calmed down the fury of parties. Religion saw her altars raised again. Finallyand that is doubtless the great- est of the miracles worked by your geniusthat people, whom civil ferments had rendered indo- cile to all restraints, and inimical to all authority have been, by you, taught to cherish and respect a power exercised only for its repose and~glory. The moment these words were concluded, the cry of Vive lEmpereur resounded, in tones of deepest enthusiasm, throughout the palace. The multitude, drawn by the occasion to the court- yard and the gardens, caught the cry, and re- peated it with reiterated and ~o.yful & houts~ Xe M HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. loon as silence was restored, Napoleon briefly replied, in the following terms: Every thing whichvan contribute to the weal of the country is essentially connected with my happiness. I accept the title, which you believe to be useful to the glory of the nation. I submit to the people the sanction of the law of hereditary succession. I hope that France will never repent of the honors with which she shall invest my family. At all events, my spirit will no longer be with my posterity on that day when it shall cease to merit the love and confi- dence of the grand nation. Cambaceres then addressed a few words of congratulation to the Empress Josephine, to which she replied only by her tears. Napoleon, desirous of surrounding the newly established throne by all those influences which could give it stability, resolved to have himself crowned by the Pope, in Paris. It will be remembered that Pope Pius VII. was the personal friend of Na- poleon. He felt grateful for the favors which the First Consul had conferred upon the Church. Never before had a Pope condescended to leave Rome, to place the crown upon a monarchs brow. Pius VII., however, promptly yielded to the wishes of his illustrious friend. It was now the month of May. Napoleon wishe,d, before the coronation, to accomplish his projected at- tack upon England. The preparations were finally so matured, that even Napoleon became sanguine of success. He immediately visited all the camps upon the coast, and inspected them with the utmost care. He even examined the flotilla, boat by boat, to see if every order had been strictly attended to. Every thing was in accordance with his wishes. A magnificent spectacle was arranged, in the presence of the English squadron, for the distribution of the crosses of the Legion of Honor. Napoleon was seated upon a throne, constructed on the brink of the ocean, with his magnificent army assembled, in the form of a semi-circular amphi- theatre, around him. The shouts of a hundred thousand men filled the air. The explosion of thousands of pieces of artillery, of heaviest cali- bre, sent their reverberations even to the shores of England. The impressive scene filled all THE FETE T BOULOGNE. I7~~ I NAPOLEON BONAPARTE. hearts. In the midst of the imposing spectacle, a division of the flotilla, from Havre, approaching Boulogne, was attacked by the English squadron; in view of the countless multitude surrounding the Emperor. Napoleon, in the midst of the solemnities of the occasion, from time to time turned his telescope, to watch the pro~ress of the fight. The gun-boats entered the harbor in safety, thus crowning the festivities of the day. A short time afterward Napoleon had another opportunity of witnessing a battle between the flotilla and the English ships. It was the 26th of August, at two oclock in the afternoon, Napo- leon was in the roadstead, inspecting the line of gun-boats. The Engli h squadron, consisting of twenty ships, was moored at some distance from the shore. A ship detaching herself from the main body approached the French line, to reconnoitre and to discharge some broadsides. A few gun-boats immediately weighed anchor, and bore down upon the ship. Seeing this, the En,,Iish sent a reinforcement of one frigate and several brigs, to attack the gun-boats. The Em- peror was in his barge with Admiral Bruis. 1-le ordered his barge to be steered into the midst of the boats that were fighting, and to advance full sail for the frigate. He was aware that the sailors and s Idiers, who admired his fearless- ness upon the shore, sometimes asked them- selves if he would be equally daring upon the sea. He wished to enlighten them upon that point. The imperial barge, brilliantly decorated with banners, rapidly approached the frigate. She, suspecting the precious freight it bore, re- erved her fire, that with one crushing broadside she might annihilate her audacious foe. The Minister of Marine, trembling for the fate of the Emperor, seized the rudder~ and was about to alter the course of the barge. An imperative gesture from Napoleon arrested the movement, and the barge held on its course. Napoleon was examining the frigate with his telescope, when suddenly she discharged her broadside. The tempest of iron was hurled around them, lashin0 the water into foam, yet no one was in- jured. The rest of the gun-boats rapidly came up. and assailed the English with a shower of balls and grape-shot. Soon the frigate, seriously damaged, was obliged to stand out to sea. The brigs soon followed, s riously battered, and one so riddl d that she was seen to sink. Napoleon, delighted with the result of the bat.- tle, wrote to Marshal Soult: The little battle at which I was present, has produced an im- mense effect in England. It has created a real alarm there. The howitzers, which are on board the gun-boats, teil admirably. The pri- vate information that I have received makes the loss of the enemy, si ty wounded, and from twelve to fifteen kill . The frigate was much damaged. The loss of the French was but two killed, and seven wounded. England was now thoro~sghly alarmed. It was evident to all, that Herculean as was the enterprise of invading England, Napoleon had accumulated materials commensurate with the undertaking. All France was in a state of the highest enthusiasm. The most magnificent prep- arations were being made for the coronation. The rumor had spread abr ad that the Pope wa~ PIlE GUN-BOATS AND THE FRIGATE. 3*; HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. coming to Paris to crown the Emperor. The devout population heard the news with wonder and admiration. Opposition, however, arose in the Council of State. Many arguments were urged against receiving the crown from the Sovereign Pontiff, which was in reality con- ferred by the will of the nation and the exploits of the army. Napoleon was as powerful in the cabinet as on the field of battle. His arguments were as decisive as his bomb-shells. He ter- minated the discussion by this pointed question: Gentlemen, you are deliberating at Pari~ at the Tuileries. Suppose that you were in Lon- don, in the British Cabinetthat you were the Ministers of the King of England, and that you were informed that at this moment, the Pope crosses the Alps to crown the Emperor of the French. Would you look upon that as a tri- umph for England or for France ~ This set- tled the question beyond reply. Napoleon justly considered that the benedic- tion of the Pope, would, in the eyes of Catholic Europe, be a seal qf his legitimacy as a sove- reign, which nothing else could supply. His letter to the Pope ivas thus expressed: Most Holy FatherThe happy effect produced upon the character and the morality of my people by the re~establishmejt of religion, induces me to heg your Holiness to give me a new proof of your interest in my destiny, and in that of this great nation, in one of the most important con- junctures presented in the annals of the world. I beg you to come and give, to the highest de- gree, a religious character to the anointing and coronation of the first Emperor of the French. That ceremony will acquire a new lustre by be- ing performed by your Holiness in person. It will bring down upon yourself and our people the blessing of God, whose decrees rule the des- tiny of empires and families. Your Holiness is aware of the affectionate sentiments I have long borne toward you, and can thence judge of the pleasure that this occurrence will afford .me, of testifying them anew. We pray God that he may preserve you, most Holy Father, for many years, to rule and govern our mother, the Holy ChurchYour dutiful son, Napoleon. The Pope was not insensible to ridicule. The nickname his enemies gave him, of Chaplain to iV~apoleon, wounded him deeply. And though the Pope for a little time hesitated, he at length fielded himself entirely to the wishes of the Em- peror. Josephine trembled in view of the height to which her husband had attained. Rumors still filled the air that state necessity required that Napoleon should be the founder of a new dyl nasty, that he should transmit his crown to his d,iscenuants, and t~iat di~orce was essential, that he might be blest with an heir. She ardently desired that she might be crowned with her hus- hand, for it would be a new tie to bind Napoleon to her, and a new guarantee against that divorce which ever haunted her with the most fearful forebodings. Napoleon loved her tenderly, and vet was deeply impressed with the apparent pol icy of entering into a new nuptial alliance. A scene occurred at this time between them, when Napoleon was so much overcome by the fearful apprehensions, the love, and the grief of his wife. that, in a sudden outburst of affection, he threw his arms around her, pressed her to his heart, and assured her, that whatever policy might re- quire, he never could gain strength to separate from one whom he loved so dearly. He declared that she should be crowned. with him, and that she should receive, at his side, and from the hands of the Pope, the divine consecration. It was now the last of November. Every thing was in readiness at N6tre Dame. Pius VII. commenced his journey from Rome to Paris. He was every where received in France with the highest marks of respect and attention. As the pontifical corhige arrived at the Palace of Fon- tainebleau, Napoleon, on horseback, with a mag- nificent retinue, met the Pope. Alighting, the Emperor embraced the Holy Father, and the two sovereigns entered the carriage together, the Em- peror courteously assigning the right side to the Head of the Church. At the rural Palace of Fontainebleau, he was received with a degree of splendor, which both delighted and amazed him. The mild and benevolent countenance, and the dignified manners of Pius VII. won all hearts. After three days of repose, the Emperor and the Pope, entering the same carriage, pro- ceeded to Paris. The Pope was lodged in the Pavilion of Flora, in the Palace of the Tuileries, which had been sumptuously prepared for his reception. With ,a delicacy characteristic of Napoleon, the Pope found his apartments fur nished, in every respect, precisely like those ho had left in the Vatican. Thus the aged prelate truly found himself at home. The populace of Paris daJy crowded beneath the windows of the Tuileries, soliciting his ap- pearance. The fame of his benignity had spread through the capital. Pius VII. frequently pre- sented himself at the balcony of the Tuileries, always accompanied by Napoleon, and was sa- luted with most enthusiastic acclamations. The vast throng threw themselves upon their knees before him, and implored the pontifical benedic- tion. Strange inconsistency! But ten years before, the populace of Paris had hunted the priests of Rome through the streets, and had shot them down without mercy. It will be remembered that at the time of the marriage of Napoleon and Josephine, all relig- ious ceremonies had been abolished, and they were only united by a civil bond. Napoleon had endeavored to reform this state of things, and upon the marriage of his sister to Murat, he insisted upon their receiving the nuptial bene- diction of the church. Josephine immediately interceded with the P6pe, to secure for herself the blessing of a religious sanction upon her union. With deep emotion, and heartfelt delight, on the very night preceding the coronation, the marriage between Napoleon and Josephine was secretly celebrated in the chapel of the Tuileries. Upon this occa NAPOLEON BONAPARTE. took it in his own hand, and placed it himself upon his head. This character- istic act produced an inde- scribable effect upon the assembly. Napoleon then took the crown prepared for the Empress, and ap- proaching Josephine, as she knelt before him, with visible tenderness and af- fection placed it upon her head. Josephine for a mo- ment gazed earnestly, with swimming eyes, into the face of her illustrious and idolized husband. Napo- leon with a recognizing glance of love returned the aze. Josephine, entirely overcome, bowed her head and burst into tears. An en- thusiastic shout of Live the Emperor, burst from every lip, and resounded through the arches of N6tre Dame. The thun- ders of innumerable can- non reverberating through the streets of Paris, an- nounced to all the inhab- itants of the metropolis, that Napoleon was the consecrated Emperor of France. The shades of evening had fallen over the thronged city; and ______________________________ the Palace and the Garden ~iTIli ~~~ ~ of the Tuileries were blaz THE POPE AT TIlE TUILERIES. . . . . ing with illuminations, sion Josephine was perfectly overcome with eino- when the Emperor and the Empress returned tion. On the following morning, her reddened to their imperial abode. Josephine, overwhelmed eyes still testified to the tears she had shed. with the intensest emotions which the scenes of Sunday, the 2d of December, was a clear, cold the day had excited, retired to her chamber, and, winters day. All Paris was in a state of the falling upon her knees, implored the guidance highest enthusiasm to witness the coronation of of the King of kings. Napoleon, who person- the Emperor. The Church of N6tre Dame was ally disliked all pomp and parade, and who decorated with surpassing magnificence. The arranged these scenes of grandeur only to im- most gorgeous drapery of silken velvet orna~. press the minds of the multitude, hastened to mented the walls, descending from the roof to his room, and exclaimed, impatiently, to an the paverpent. An immense throne was erected attendant as he entered, Off! off with these for Napoleon and Josephine, at the west end of confounded trappings ! He threw the mantle the church, raised upon twenty-four steps. The into one corner of the room, the gorgeous robe Emperor left the Tuileries in a carriage com- into another; and thus violently disencumber- pletely surrounded with glass. His costume ing himself, declared that hours of such mortal was designed by the most distinguished painter of tediou~ness he had never passed before. the day. The acclamations of immense cvowds The court of France had for ages exhibited to followed him, and all were delighted to see the the nation the spectacle of the most voluptuous idol of the people become the Emperor of France. and unblushing vice. Manners the most disso- With a golden laurel upon that noble brow, lute had been rendered attractive by the grace which attracted the attention of every observer, in which they had been robed. Napoleon had Napoleon entered the church, while five hundred resolved that his court should present a model musicians pealed forth a solemn chant. The of moral purity. He resolved to give no one an Pope anointed the Emperor, blessed the sword, appointment among the royal retinue, whose and the sceptre, and as he approached to take character was not above reproach. The Ducbe~ up the crown, Napoleon firmly and with dignity DAiguillon, during the license of tbuws times, HARPERS NEXT MONTHLY MAGAZTNE. in which all the restraints of Christian morality the palace where he reigns. Desirous of strength. had been swept away, had availed herself of the ening more and more the church re-established facile liberty of divorce from her husband, and by himself; and unable to change the laws ap- had formed other unions. Josephine~ in her pointed by her observances, his intention is, al days of adversity, had received favors from the least, to keep at a distance from his court all Duchess, and wished to testify her gratitude, by who may have availed themselves of an oppor- receiving her at court. Napoleom peremptorily tunity for a divorce. Hence the cause of his re- refused. Josephine thus wrote to her friend, fusing the favor I asked, of having you with me I am deeply afflicted. My former friends, The refusal has occasioned me unspeakable re- supposing that I am able to obtain the fulfillment gret, but he is too absolute to leave even the of all my wishes, must suppose that I have for- hope of seeing him retract. gotten the past. Alas! it is not so. The Em- The season was now so inclement that the peror, indignant at the total disregard of moral- Pope could not imm~diately repass the Alps. ity, and alarmed at the progress it might still Napoleon, by his frankncss, courtesy, and kind- make, is recolved that the example of a life of liness gained the most sincere affection of the regularity and of religion shall he presented at Holy Pontiff. The Pope hecame one of the moe TILE COP.ONATIoN~. NAPOLEON BONAPARTE. 39 ardent admirers of that extraordinary man, who won the love of all that approached him The loss of time appeared to the Emperor so great a calamity that he scarcely ever failed to unite an indispensable solemnity to some day already devoted to sacred purposes. What renders me, he said, most hostile to the Cath- olic worship are the numerous festivals, form- erly observed. A saints day is a day of idleness, and I do not wish for that. People must labor, in order to live. I shall consent to four holy- days during the year, but to no more. If the gentlemen from Rome are not satisfied with that, they must take their departure. One great cause of the hostility of monarchical Europe against republican France, was the ap- prehension entertained by the allied monarchs that republican principles might extend through their dominions. One of the considerations which influenced Napoleon in changing the gov- ernment from a republic to an empire, was the hope that Europe would be conciliated by this change. One of his first acts after his enthrone- ment, was to make a new attempt in behalf of peace. Again he wrote with his own hand to the King of England. His letter was thus expressed. Sma, MY BROTHER Called to the throne by Providence, by the suffrages of the Senate, of the people, and of the army, my first desire is peace. France and England, abusing their pros- perity, may contend for ages. But do their re- spective governments fulfill their most sacred duties, in causing so much blood to be vainly shed, without the hope of advantage or prospect of cessation I do not conceive that it can be deemed dishonorable in me to make the first advances. I believe it has been sufficiently proved to the world that I dread none of the chances of xvar, which indeed offer nothing which I can fear. Though peace is the wish of my heart, yet war has never been adverse to my glory. I conjure your Majesty then, not to refuse the happiness, of giving peace to the world. Delay not that grateful satisfaction, that it may be a legacy for your children; for never have arisen more favorable circumstances, nor a more propitious moment for calming every passion and displaying the best feelings of hu- manity and reason. That moment once lost, what term shall we set to a struggle, which all my efforts have been unable to terminate. In the space of ten years your Majesty has gained more in wealth and territory (referring to the vast conquests of England in India) than the extent of Europe comprehends. Your people have attained the height of prosperity. What then has your Majesty to hope from war The world is sufficiently extensive for our two na- tions; and reason might assist us to discover the means of conciliating all, were both parties animated by a spirit of reconcilement. At all events, I have discharged a sacred duty, and one dear to my heart. Your Majesty may rely upon the sincerity of the sentiments now expressed, and on my desire to afford your Majesty every proof of that sincerity. To this earnest appeal tile British Cabinet coldly replied, His Majesty of England, though earnestly desiring the restoration of peace to his people, could not reply to the overture made to him without consulting the continental pow- ers, especially the Emperor of Russia. This was simply saying that a new storm was gather- ing in the north, and that the fate of France must depend on another struggle. The Cisalpine Republic had witnessed the change of France from a republic to an empire with much satisfaction. They wished to imitate this example. Italy, rejoicing in ancestral greatness, immediately resolved that Napoleon, whom the Italians regarded as one of their own countrymen, should also wear the crown of Lom- bardy. A deputation from the Cisalpine Repub- lie arrived in Paris to consult the Emperor upon the proposed alteration, and to tender to him the crown. At a public audience, Napoleon was informed of the unanimous desire of the Senate, and of the people of Italy, that the country should become a kingdom, and that he would ascend the throne. Napoleon listened with pleasure to the petition of the republic. In reply he said, The separation of the crowns of France and Italy will be necessary hereafter, but highly dangerous at present, surrounded as we are by powerful enemies and inconstant friends. The people of Italy have always been dear to me, and for the love I bear them, I consent to take the additional burden and responsibility, which their confidence has led them to impose on me, at least until the interests of Italy herself per- mit me to place the crown on a younger head. My successor, animated by my spirit, and intent upon completing the work of regeneration, al- ready so auspiciously commenced, shall be one who will be ever ready to sacrifice his personal interests, and, if necessary, his life, in behalf of the nation over which he shall be called by Providence, the constitution of the country, and my approbation, to reign. In reference to ths event, Napoleon, in a free and frank conversation with his ancient school- fellow Bourrienne, remarked, In eight days I set out to assume the iron crown of Charle- magne. That, however, is but a stepping-stone to greater things which I design for Italy, which must become a kingdom comprising all the trans- alpine country, from Venice to the maritime Alps. The union of Italy with France can be but tran- sient. For the present, it is necessary, in order to accustom the Italians to live under common laws. The people of Genoa, Piedmont, Milan, Venice, Tuscany, Rome, and Naples, cordially detest each other, and none of them could be induced to admit their inferiority. Rome, how- ever, by her situation and historical associations, is the natural capital of Italy. To make it so in reality, the power of the Pope must be restricted to spiritual affairs. It would be impolitic to attempt the accomplishment of this just now. But, if circumstances nrc favorable, there may be less difficulty hereafter. As yet, I have but crude ideas upon the subject, which time and 40 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. events will ripen. When you and I were two rays of an unclouded sunall combined to pro- idle young men, sauntering through the streets duce an effect upon the spectators never to be of Paris, a prescient feeling told me, that I effaced. should one day be master of France. My con- On the 26th of May the coronation took place duct hence received a direction. It is wise, in the Cathedral of Milan. The iron crown of therefore, to provide for what may come, and Charlemagne, which is a circlet of gold and this is what I am doing. Since it would be gems, covering an iron ring, formed of one jf impossible at once to unite Italy into a single the spikes said to have pierced our Saviours power, yielding obedience to uniform laws, I hand at the crucifixion, had reposed for a thou- shall commence by making her French. All the sand years, in the Church of Monza. It was petty, worthless states into which she is divided, brought forth from its mausoleum to embellish will thus acquire a habit of living under the the coronation with the attraction of its deep dominion of the same laws; and when this poetic sentiment. The ceremony was conducted habit is fonned, and local feuds and enmities with a magnificence not even surpassed by the become extinct, there will again be an Italy scene in Ndtre Dame. The Empress first ap- worthy her olden renown, and her restoration to peared, gorgeously dressed and glittering with independence will have been my work. Twenty diamonds. The most enthusiastic acclamations years are requisite, however, to accomplish this; greeted her entrance. A moment after Napoleon and who can calculate with certainty upon the fu- himself appeared. He was arrayed in imperial tare? I speak at this moment of things ~hich robes of velvet, purple and gold, with the diadem have long been shut up in my mind. I am prob- upon his brow, and the crown and sceptre of ably but uttering a pleasant day-dream. Charlemagne in his hands. He placed the The Emperor and Empress, accompanied by crown upon his own head, repeating aloud the the Pope, soon left Paris for Italy. They halted historical words: God has given it to mewoe at Brienne, the scene of Napoleons school days. to him who touches it With many delightful and melancholy emotions He remained in Milan a month, busy night Napoleon recalled with a zest and a rapidity and day, in projecting improvements of the which surprised himself, innumerable long-for- most majestic character. The Italians, to the gotten trains of ideas and sensations. They present day, regard the reign of Napoleon as crossed the Alps. Josephine supported by the the brightest period of their history. arm of Napoleon, and gazing upon the wild sub- A little incident at this time occurred, which limities which surrounded them, with emotions illustrates Napoleons unwearied interest in pro- of delight listened to the glowing recitals of her moting happiness. One day the Emperor and husband, as he pointed out to her the scenes of Empress had broken away from the pageantry past enterprise and achievement. Having taken and cares of state, and retired to the seclusion leave of the Holy Father at Turin, with mutual of a little island in one of the lakes in that vicin- testimonials of affection and esteem, the Em- ity. They entered the cabin of a poor woman. peror, with his staff, visited the plain ofMaren- She had no idea of the illustrious character of go. Hehad assembled upon that plain thirty her guests; and in answer to their kind inqui- thousand troops for a grand review, and that ries, told them frankly the story of her penury Josephine might behold, in the mimicry of war, and her toils, and her anxiety for her children, a picture of the dreadful scenes which had del- as her husband could often obtain no work. Na- uged those fields in blood. It was the fifth of poleon was interested in the indications whicb May, and the magnificent pageant glittered be- he saw, of a superior character. How much neath the rays of a brilliant sun. A lofty throne money, said he, should you want to make was erected, from which the Emperor and Em- you perfectly happy ? Ah! sir, she replied, press could overlook the whole scene. Napoleon a great deal I should want. But, how dressed himself, for the dccasion, with the same much ? Napoleon rejoined. Oh, sir, she war-wasted garments, the battered hat, the tem- replied, I should want as much as eighty dol. pesttorn cloak, the coat of faded blue, and the lars; but what prospect is there of one having long cavalry sabre, which he had worn amid the eighty dollars? The Emperor caused an at- carnage and the terror of that awful day. Many tendant to pour into her lap about six hundred of the veterans who had been engaged in the dollars, in glittering gold. F6r a moment she action were present. The Emperor and the was speechless in bewilderment, and then said: Empress appeared upon the grojind in a mag- Ah. sir! ah, madam! this is too much; and nificent chariot, drawn by eight horses, and im- yet you do not look as if you could sport with mediately they were greeted by an enthusiastic the feelings of a poor woman. No, Jose- shout of acclamation from thirty thousand ador- phine replied, in most gentle accents, the ing voices. The gorgeous uniform of the men; money is all yours; with it you can now rent the rich caparison and proud bearing of the a piece of ground, purchase a flock of goats, and horses; the clangor of innumerable trumpets and I hope you will be able to bring up your chil- martial bands; the glitter of gold and steel; the dren comfortably. Napoleons tact in detect- dez~fening thunders of artillery and musketry, ing character ever enabled him to judge accu- filling the air with one incessant and terrific rately where assistance could be judiciously con- roar; the dense volumes of sulphurous smoke ferred. rolling heavily over the plain., shutting out the Befere leaving Milan, Napoleon received a NAPOLEON BONAPARTE. 41 number of intercepted dispatches of Sir Arthur Wellesley, containing a detailed account of the enormous acquisitions the English were making in India. He commented upon these dispatches with great severity. The Cabinet of London were holding up to the execration of Europe, the, illimitAble ambition of the French monarch, for striving to strengthen himself against the hostile monarchies around him, by friendly asso- ciaticmns and alliances with such powers as his genii~s could create. At the same time, this sam~ ci%inet was issuing orders to extend the Briti,;h dominion over an extent of country and ~. p ~v.ilition almost equal to that of all Europe. In his career of aggression against the East End ~i, England could not even offer the plea ~a~t abe was an invited liberator, or that she As they were crossing the Alps, Napoleon alighting from his carriage, proceeded on foot some distance in advance of the party. He met a peasant woman: Where are you hastening so eagerly this morning ~ To see the Emper- or, she replied. They tell me the Emperor is to pass this way this morning. And why do you wish to see him ~ said Napoleon; what have you done but exchanged one tyrant for another You have had the Bourbons, now you have Napoleon. The woman for a moment was staggered, and then replied: It is no mat- ter; Napoleon is our king, but the Bourbons were the kings of the nobles. This, said Napoleon, comprehends the whole matter. Napoleon having appointed Eugene Beauhar- nais viceroy of Italy, returned to Paris, and here wearinp with perfect ease the weight of two was conquering in a defensive war. It is, in- deed, more easy to see the mote in our neighbors eye, than to discern the beam in our own. From Milan, the Emperor and Empress con- tinued their tour to Genoa. The restless and never exhausted mind of Napoleon was weary at even the swiftest speed of the horses. Though they drove from post to post with the utmost possible rapidity, so that it was necessary con- tinually to throw water on the glowing axle, he kept calling from his carriage, On! on! We do not go fast enough ! Their reception in Genoa was magnificent in the extreme. In the beautiful bay, a floating garden of orange-trees was con- structed in honor of Josephine. In the principal church the Emperor and Empress received the allegiance of the most prominent inhabitants. crowns, he resumed his life of unintermitted toil. His habits of life were regular and temper- ate in the extreme. After issuing each mornin the orders for the day, and having received those who were entitled to the privilege of an audience, he breakfasted at nine oclock. The breakfast seldom lasted more than eight or ten minutes. Returning to his cabinet, he applied himseh7 to business, and received the ministers who attend- ed with their port-folios. These occupations lasted until six in the evening. Then dinner was served. The Emperor and Empress usually dined alone. The dinner consisted but of one course, prolonged by the desert. The only wine he drank was a very light French wine, mingled with water. Ardent spirits he never drank. The dinner usually lasted not more than twenty min- utes. Returning to the drawing-room. a servant NAPOLEON AND THE PEASANT. 42 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE presented him a cup of coffee. He then return- ed to his cabinet to resume his labors, rigorously acting upon the principle, never to put off till to-morrow what could be done to-day. The Em- press descended to her apartments, where she found the ladies of honor in attendance. Napo- leon occasionally, for a few moments, would leave his cabinet after dinner, and enter the apartments of Josephine, to speak a few words with the ladies who were assembled there. Leaning upon the back of a chair, he would con- verse with that frankness with which he ever eharmed all whom he addressed. In the even- ing he held a levee, when the officers on duty received their orders for the next day. Such was the life of the peoples king. How different from that of the voluptuous monarchs who had previously reveled in the palaces of France. Napoleons personal tastes were extremely sim- ple and modest, but he loved to see around his court a brilliant display of magnificencedeem- ing it essential to impress the imaginations of the French people. In private, few persons have manifested more polite and genial manners in their intercourse with those around them, though there were occasions when Napoleon, intensely occupied with the affairs of state, would arise from the breakfast table and the dinner table without the utterance of a single word. Immediately after the coronation of the Em- peror, Louis XVIII. entered his earnest protest against Napoleons right to the throfie. Napoleon caused this protest to be published, without note or comment. in the Ilfoniteur, that it might be read by all France. This was his only and his noble response. When Napoleon first perused this production, he calmly said: My right is the will of France. While I have a sword I shall main- tain it. The question whether the hereditary succession to the throne ~hould be invested in the family of Napoleon, had been submitted to the people. More than three and a half millions voted in favor, while but about two thousand voted against it. Such unanimity in behalf of any ruler, earth has never before recorded. The English Cabinet, trembling in view.of the black cloud of invasion threatening their shores, and which cloud every day grew blacker and blacker with its surcharged thunders, roused its energies to form new coalitions against France. The representations she made on the subject of Napoleons encroachments, were favorably list- ened to by Austria, Russia, and Sweden. A hostile coalition was formed, the expenses of which were to be borne chiefly by the British people, for a combined movement, to overthrow the throne of the plebeian monarch. An attack upon France by the northern powers, might in- terrupt the project of invasion, and divert the attention of the terrible army. Napoleon was well informed of the intrigues in progress against him. He secretly watched the tendency of events, while he took no public notice which could indicate his knowledge of the designs which were forming. Under these circumstances, and various disappointments having occurred in his attempts to assemble a fleet in the Channel Napoleon hesitated in what direction to encoun ter his foeswhether upon the shores of E~ gland, or to march to meet them as they should press through the defiles of Germany. After numerous perplexities, he said, My resolution is fixed. My fleets were lost sight of, from the heights of Cape Ortegal, on the fourteenth of August. If they come into the Channel, there is time yet. I embark, and I make the descent. I go to London, and there cut the knot of all coali- tions. If, on the contrary, my admiral fails ii~ NMOLEON JE THE SALOON OF JOSEPHINE. NAPOLEON BONAPARTE. 43 conduct or in firmness, I raise my ocean camp, I enter Germany with two hundred thousand men, and I do not stop till I have scored the game at Vienna, taken Venice and all the chiefer cities of Italy from Austria, and driven the Bour- bons from Italy. I will not allow the Austrians and the Russians to assemble. I will strike them down before they can form their junction. The continent being pacified, I will return to the ocean, and work anew for maritime peace. All things were now prepared for the inva- sion. Napoleon was only waiting the arrival of the fleet. Officers were stationed with their glasses at various points of the coast, to observe all that was visible upon the sea, and to report to him. Thus passed three days of intolerable sus- pense, but no fleetappeared. AdmiralVilleneuve, in grossest defection from duty, had frustrated the whole plan. It was one of the deepest dis- appointments of Napoleons life. Napoleon was extremely irritated. His whole soul was aroused into intensity of disappointment and vexation. He launched out into long and fierce invectives against the incapacity of his naval officers; said that he was betrayed by cowardice; deplored in strains of anguish the ruin of the most splendid and perfectly arranged plans he had ever con- ceived. Suddenly the storm passed away. With that self-control which so wonderfully charac- terized him, he in an hour mastered his agita- tion, and calmed himself into perfect repose. With surprising facility, he immediately turned all the energies of his mind from the invasion of England, to preparation to meet the combined foes who were gathering to assail him in the north. For several hours in succession, with extraordinary precision and minuteness of de- tail, he dictated the immortal campaign of Ulm and Austerlitz. Thus terminated the enterprise of invading England. But this project was no chimera; though unfinished, it was one of the most majestic enterprises of his life. If ever a nation was authorized to engage in a war of self-defense, Napoleon was right in this endeavor to resist those unrelenting foes, whom no pleas for peace could disarm. In reference to the change of the government of France, Napoleon at St. Helena made the following pro- found remarks, My object was to destroy the whole of the feudal system, as organiz~ed by Charlemagne. With this view, I created a no- bility from among the people, in order to swal- low up the remains of the feudal nobility. The foundations of my ideas of fitness wer.e abilities and personal worth; and I selected the son of a farms~ or an artisan, to make a duke or a mar- shal of France. I sought for true merit among all ranks of the great mass of the French people, and was anxious to organize a true and general system of equality. I was desirous that every Frenchman should be admissible to all the em- ployments and dignities of the state, provided lie was possessed of talents and character equal to the performance of the duties, whatever might oe his family. In a word, I was eager to abolish, to the last trace, the privileges of the ancient nobility, and to establish a government, which at the same time that it held the reins of govern- ment with a firm hand, should still be a popular government. The oligarchs of every country in Europe soon perceived my design, and it was for this reason that war to the death, was carried on against me by England. The noble families of London, as well as those of Vienna, think them- selves prescriptively entitled to the occupation of all the imVortant offices in the state, and the management and handling of the public money. Their birth is regarded by them as a substitute for talents and capacities; and it is enough for a man to be a son of his father, to be fit to ful- fill the duties of the most important employ- ments and highest dignities of the state. They are somewhat like kings by divine right. The people are, in their eyes, merely milch cows, about whose interests they feel no concern, pro- vided the treasury is always full, and the crown resplendent with jewels. In short, in establish- ing an hereditary nobility, I had three objects in view. 1st. To reconcile France with the rest of Eu- rope. 2dly. To reconcile old with new France. 3dly. To put an end to all feudal institutions in Europe, by re-connecting the idea of nobility with that of public services, and detaching it from all prescriptive or feudal notions. The whole of Europe was governed by nobles whe were strongly opposed to the progress of the French revoluti m, and who exercised an influ- ence which prc eed a serious obstacle to the de- velopment of I rench principles. It was neces- sary to destroy this influence, and with that view to clothe the principal personages of the empire with titles equal to theirs. The life of Napoleon is extremely rich in well authenticated anecdotes illustrative of the pecu- liarities of his character. And it is difficult to find any anecdote respecting him, bearing the im- press of genuineness, which does not indicate a spirit humane, generous, and lofty. All the bat- tered and mutilated veterans in the H6tel des Invalides in Paris, tell with enthusiasm their treasured anecdotes of the Emperor. Every person who has had any intercourse with this extraordinary man, either as a companion in arms, in the cabinet, or as a servant, glows with excitement when speaking of the exalted intel- lect and the kindly heart of their adored master. Says the Baron Langon, The present genera- tion, who see thrones filled by men of the ordi- nary stamp, are unable to comprehend the state of feeling with which the Emperor inspired us. Providence has not granted to them the favor, which must ever be our pride and glory, to have been face to face with Napoleon, to have heard his voice vi& rate through our ears and hearts, and to have gazed upon his placid and majestic countenance. To us, Napoleon was not ~ mere emperor, he was a being of a higher order; one of those sublime creations that perhaps help to exalt our ideas of the Creator. Napoleon was our father, our master, in some degree our idoi 44 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. We young men cherished for him the affection and duty of sons. There existed between him and ourselves a positive sympathy which made us regard as a sacred and family duty that which the present generation ofyoung Frenchmen would pronounce to be servility, and base vassalage. On one occasion a soldier of his consular guard, committed suicide from a disappointment in love. Napoleon issued the following order of the day, The grenadier Gobain has committed suicide from love. He was in other resp~cts an excellent soldier. This is the second incident of the same nature which has occurred within a month. The First Consul directs it to be in- serted in the order book of the guard, that a soldier ought to know how to vanquish the pangs and melancholy of the passions; that there is as much true courage in bearing up against mental sufferings with constancy as in remaining firm on the wall of a battery. To yield ourselves to grief without resistance, or to kill ourselves to escape affliction, is to abandon the field of hattie before the victory is gained. One day Napoleon was traversing the camp, attended by two officers, when he met a very pretty sutler woman, weeping bitterly, and lead- ing by the hand a little boy about five years old. The Emperor, who happened to be unknown to the woman, reined up his horse, and inquired into the cause of her grief. The woman, much disconcerted, made no reply; but the child frankly answered: My mother is crying, sir, because n y father has beat her. And where is your fatherV He is close by. He is a sentinel on duty with the baggage.~, Napoleon again addressed himself to the wo- man, and inquired the name of her husband. She refused to tell, being fearful that the Cap- tain, as she supposed the Emperor to be, ~irould cause him to be punished. Your husband has been beating you, Napo- leon said. You are weeping; and yet you are so afraid of getting him into trouble that you will not even tell me his name. This is very in- consistent. May it not be that you are a little in fault yourself i Alas! Captain, the forgiving wife replied, he has a thousand good qualities, though he has one very bad one. He is jealous, terribly jealous; and when he gets into a passion he can not restrain his violence. And I love him; for he is my lawful husband, and the father of my dear boy ! So saying, sh; fondly kissed her child, who, by the way in which he re- turned her caresses, proved his affection for his mother. Napoleon was deeply touched by this little domestic drama. Burdened as he was with the cares of empire, he could turn aside from them, to dry up the fountains of sorrow in the heart of this humble follower of the camp. Addressing the woman again, he said: Whether you and your husband love each other or not, I do not choose that he should beat you. Tell me your husbands name, and I will mention the affair to the Emperor.~~ if you were the Emperor himself, she re- plied, I would not tell it you; for I know that he would be punished. Silly woman ! Napoleon rejoined, all that I want is to teach him to behave well to you, and to treat you with the respect you deserve. Then shrugging his shoulders, he made some further remark upon female obstinacy, and gal- loped away. Well, gentlemen, said he to his companions, what do you think of that affectionate creature There are not many such women at the Tuileries. A wife like that is a treasure to her husband. Immediately he dispatched an aid to desire the commander of the, escort to come to him. He inquired very particularly respecting the woman, her husband, and the child. He is, said the officer, one of the best behaved men in the company. He is very jeal- ous of his wife, but without reason. The wo- mans conduct is irreproachable. Try and ascertain, said Napoleon, if he has ever seen me. If he has not, bring him hither. It appeared that Napoleon had never been seen by the grenadier, who was a fine-looking young man of about five-and-twenty, who had recently joined the army. When he was con- ducted to Napoleon, the latter said, in a familiar tone: What is the reason, my lad, that you beat your wife She is n youngand pretty woman, and is a better wife than you are a husband. Such conduct is disgraceful in a French grena- dier. If women are to be believed, the man re- plied, they are never in the wrong. I have forbidden my wife to talk to any man whatever. And yet, in spite of my commands, I find her constantly gossiping with one or another of my comrades. Now, there is your mistake. You want to prevent a woman from talking. You might as well try to turn the course of the Danube. Take my advice: do not be jealous. Let your wife gossip and be merry. If she were doing wrong, it is likely she would be sad instead of gay. I desire that you do not strike your wife again. If my order be not obeyed, the Emperor shall hear of it. Suppose his Majesty were to give you a reprimand, what wouid you say then ~ The man, not a little irritated at this interfer- ence with his marital privileges, replied: My wife is mine, General; and I may beat her if I choose. I should say to the Emperor, Look you to the enemy, and leave me to manage my wife. Napoleon laughed, and said: My good fel- lo;,, you are now speaking to the Emperor. The word fell upon the soldiers heart liku magic. Much confused, he hung down his head, lowered his voice, and said: 0, Sire ! that quite alters the case. Since your Majesty com- mands, I, of course, obey. That is right, Napoleon replied. I hear an excellent character of your wife. Every body NAPOLEON BONAPARTE~ speaks well of her. She braved my displeasure rather than expose you to punishment. Reward her by kind treatment. I promote you to the rank of sergeant. Apply to the grand-marshal, and he will give you one hundred dollars. With that you can furnish your sutlers stores, which will enable your wife to carry on a profitable business. Your son is a fine boy, and at some future time he sball be provided for. But, mind: never let me hear of your beating your wife again. If I do, you shall find that I can deal hard blows as well as you. Several years after this, the Emperor was with the army in another campaign. Napoleon, who had a wonderful power of recollecting the coun- tenances of persons whom he had once seen, met the daughter of the regiment and her son, and immediately rode up to her, saying: Well, my good woman! how do you do Has your hus- band kept the promise he made me ~ The affectionate wife burst into tears, and throwing herself at the Emperors feet, ex- claimed: 0, sire! sire! Since my good star led me into the gracious presence of your Ma- jesty, I have been the happiest of women. Then reward me, said Napoleon, by being the most virtuous of wives. With these words, he tossed a few pieces of gold into her hands, and rode away, while the whole battalion raised an enthusiastic shout of, Jive lEmpereur. One day Napoleon, at St. Helena, was con- versing with Las Casas, upon the subject of the invasion of England, when the following con- versation ensued: Were the English much afraid of my inva- sion ~ inquired the Emperor. I can not in- Corm you, said Las Casas; but in the saloons oI Paris we laughed at the idea. Well, replied Napoleon, you might have laughed in Paris, but Pitt did not laugh in London. He soon calculated the extent of his danger, and, therefore, threw a coalition upon my back at the moment when I had raised my arm to strike. Never was the English oligarchy exposed to greater danger. I had taken measures to pre- clude the possibility of failure in my landing. I had the best army in the world; I need only say, it was the army of Austerlitz. In four days I should have been in London. I should have entered the English capital, not as a conqueror, but as a liberator. I should have been another William III. ; but I would have acted with greater generosity and disinterestedness. The discipline of my army was perfect. My troops would have behaved in London the same as they ~vould in Paris. No sacrificesnot even contri- butionswould have been exacted from the En- glish. We should have presented ourselves to them not as conquerors, but as brothers, who came to restore to them their rights and liber- ties. I would have assembled the citizens, and directed them to labor themselves in the task of their regeneration: because the English had already preceded us in political legislation. I would have declared that our only wish was, to ~e able to rejoice in the happiness and prosper- Vor,. VTNo 31.-D ity of the English people; and to these profes- sions I would have strictly adhered. In the course of a few months, the two nations, which had been such determined enemies, would have henceforward composed only one people, iden~ tified in principles, maxims, and interests. I should have departed from England, in order to effect, from south to north, under Republican colors (for I was then First CGnsul), the regen- eration of Europe, which, at a later period I was on the point of effecting, from north to south, under monarchical farms. Both systems were equally good, since both would have been attended by the same results, and would have been carried into execution with firmness, mod- eration, and good faith. How many ills that are now endured, and how many that are yet to he endured, would not unhappy Europe have es- caped! Never was a project so favorable to the interests of civilization conceived with mor disinterested intentions, or so near being carried into execution. It is a remarkable fact, that the obstacles which occasioned my failure were not the work of men, but proceeded from the ele- ments. In the south, the sea frustrated my plans; the burning of Moscow,, the snow, and the winter completed my ruin in the north. Thus water, air, and fireall nature, and nature alone, was hostile to the universal regeneration, which nature herself called for. The problems of Providence are insoluble After a few moments of thoughtful silence, he again said: It was supposed that my scheme was merely a vain threat; because it did not appear that I possessed any reasonable means of attempting its execution. But I had laid my plans deeply, and without being observed. I had dispersed all our French ships; and the English were sailing after them to different parts of the world. Our ships were to return suddenly and at the same time, and to assemble~ in a mass along the French coasts. I would have had seventy or eighty French or Spanish vessels in the Channel; and I calculated that I should continue master of it for two months. Three or four thousand little boats were to he ready at a signal. A hundred thousand men were every day drilled in embarking and land- ing, as a part of their exercise. They were full of ardor, and eager for the enterprise, which was very popular with the French, and was- sup. ported by the wishes of a great number of the English. After landing my troops, I could cal- culate upon only one pitched battle, the result of which would not be doubtful; and: victory would have brought us to London. The nature of the country would not admit of it war of manceuvring. My conduct would have done the rest. The people of England groaned under the yoke of an oligarchy. On feeling that their pride had not been humbled, they would have ranged themselves on our side. We should have been considered only as alliee, come to effect their deliverance. We should have presented ourselves with the magical words of liberty and equality. HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. AN ORJGJNAL SKETCH IN A HOMELY FRAME. BY ELIZA COOK. ~ EORGE CLAYTON was as good-tempered and well-conducted a young mantaking the worldly average of temper and moralsas one would meet with among a thousand. He had served a respectable apprenticeship as a cabinet-maker to an old-established firm, and at the age of twenty-five, found himself foreman of the workshop, and in a condition to marry and settle in life. George had been born of the humblest of the middle classes, left an or- l)han at fourteen, and had been put out in the world by the united means of a few kind-heart- ed relatives, who wisely thought that pity and Christian-like sympathy would be much more valuable if rendered practical, by giving the lad a little moral looking after, and a tradeand George well repaid them. He grew into a sober and industrious man, and managed to save a hundred pounds during the four years he was courting Emma Serle, a very nice-looking, fine- hearted girl, the sister of one of his shopmates, and who seemed to possess all the qualities most desirable in the wife of an artisan. They seemed well suited to each other, but George had a failing, it was that of being somewhat overbearing and exacting where he could con- trol; and Emma had a spot in her disc, it was in being apt to become silent and sensitively re- served if any mortifying incident jostled against her spirit; but there seemed every probability of their forming a very contented couple; and when George stood at the altar, one fine July morning, in his blue surtout, with Emma beside him, in her neat gray silk, the clergyman had a private opinion that they were a remarkably good-looking pair. A pleasant little dinner at the brides fathers, and a ramble in the suburbs, filled up the sunshiny hours, and that day two months we saw them snugly ensconced in a pretty four-roomed house, in the neighborhood of Camden Town. Cleanliness and comfort pervaded the little domicile, with Emma as the sole presiding spirit, blending in her own proper person, cook, housemaid, and page. Every thing went on smoothly for some few months; her whole attention was given to George, for she loved him truly and fondly. Emma was per- fectly happy, but as the long winter nights came on, and George sometimes staid at his Mechan- ics Institute, or had a chat with a friend until ten oclock, why, Emma began to find it a little dull; and as her husband had entreated that she would form no gossiping intimacy with her neighbors, sewing, scrubbing, and washing be- came somewhat monotonous. George belonged to an amateur musical so- ciety, and when he did come home soon, gen- erally sat down to practice a quartette part on the violin; unfortunately, his wife had no great love for music, but she bore his scraping and squeaking bravely, and even managed to appear delighted with his efforts, though she would often. have preferred a game at cribbage, or a walk, or a little reading; however, she never interfered with his will and pleasure, and George fiddled away to his hearts content. It so hap- pened, that Emmas brother Harry dropped in two or three times when his sister was alone, and found her rather mopy; and the next time he came, he brought under his arm a very pret- ty spaniel. Here, Emma, said he, you are a good deal by yourself, and I thought that this little fellow would serve to amuse you, and be a sort of company when George is out; I know how fond you are of dogs, and Im sure youll soon like this one. Emma was, of course, pleased and gratified with the gift, and gave her brother an extra kiss as payment for Tiney. Sure enough the evening did pass much more cheerfully, though she had only a stupid little, long-eared bow-wow to talk to, and she sat with glistening eyes, expecting George, being sure that he would be as pleased with Tiney as she was. When the young husband came home, he was received with the accustomed kind words and comfortable meal, and due presentation of Tiney; but George frowned on the little animal with a look of supreme contempt, and angrily said, What do you want with that beast; havent you got enough to employ you without a dog1 you had better give it back to Harry to-morrow I wont have it here; These few words turned poor Emmas heart into an icicle; and if we might reveal the secret thoughts that flashed across her brain, we should tell of a mo- mentary impression that George was unkine and somewhat tyrannical, but she smothered her feelings, and said nothing. Tiney was kept for a day or two, but when George saw Emma caress it, or give it food, he betrayed symptoms of ridiculous and pettish jealousy which ren- dered her unhappy, and, at last, Tiney was given back to Harry. Well, said her brother, as he took the animal, I did not think that George was so selfish; you are all day long by your- self, and he goes to his club, and Mechanics three or four times a week, and does every thing he likes, and yet he wont let you have a little dog to keep you company. I think hes very unkind, Emma, but you musnt mind it. Emma did mind it though, and had a good cry by herself, not that she cared so much about the relic of King Charles, as about Georges selfishness in denying her such an innocent in- dulgence; and it is hardly to be wondered at, that when he returned home that night, and sat down to his music, Emma went up-stairs, and commenced needlework in the bed-room. She had no taste for music, and if George would not tolerate her little spaniel, why should she be plagued with his scraping. Days went on, and matters did not mend. George saw he had pained his young wife, but he was too proud to give way, and rather increased in dictatorial supremacy, and adopted a sort of cold distance toward her. Emma was human as well as he, and though expected by all moral anAl practical

HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. AN ORJGJNAL SKETCH IN A HOMELY FRAME. BY ELIZA COOK. ~ EORGE CLAYTON was as good-tempered and well-conducted a young mantaking the worldly average of temper and moralsas one would meet with among a thousand. He had served a respectable apprenticeship as a cabinet-maker to an old-established firm, and at the age of twenty-five, found himself foreman of the workshop, and in a condition to marry and settle in life. George had been born of the humblest of the middle classes, left an or- l)han at fourteen, and had been put out in the world by the united means of a few kind-heart- ed relatives, who wisely thought that pity and Christian-like sympathy would be much more valuable if rendered practical, by giving the lad a little moral looking after, and a tradeand George well repaid them. He grew into a sober and industrious man, and managed to save a hundred pounds during the four years he was courting Emma Serle, a very nice-looking, fine- hearted girl, the sister of one of his shopmates, and who seemed to possess all the qualities most desirable in the wife of an artisan. They seemed well suited to each other, but George had a failing, it was that of being somewhat overbearing and exacting where he could con- trol; and Emma had a spot in her disc, it was in being apt to become silent and sensitively re- served if any mortifying incident jostled against her spirit; but there seemed every probability of their forming a very contented couple; and when George stood at the altar, one fine July morning, in his blue surtout, with Emma beside him, in her neat gray silk, the clergyman had a private opinion that they were a remarkably good-looking pair. A pleasant little dinner at the brides fathers, and a ramble in the suburbs, filled up the sunshiny hours, and that day two months we saw them snugly ensconced in a pretty four-roomed house, in the neighborhood of Camden Town. Cleanliness and comfort pervaded the little domicile, with Emma as the sole presiding spirit, blending in her own proper person, cook, housemaid, and page. Every thing went on smoothly for some few months; her whole attention was given to George, for she loved him truly and fondly. Emma was per- fectly happy, but as the long winter nights came on, and George sometimes staid at his Mechan- ics Institute, or had a chat with a friend until ten oclock, why, Emma began to find it a little dull; and as her husband had entreated that she would form no gossiping intimacy with her neighbors, sewing, scrubbing, and washing be- came somewhat monotonous. George belonged to an amateur musical so- ciety, and when he did come home soon, gen- erally sat down to practice a quartette part on the violin; unfortunately, his wife had no great love for music, but she bore his scraping and squeaking bravely, and even managed to appear delighted with his efforts, though she would often. have preferred a game at cribbage, or a walk, or a little reading; however, she never interfered with his will and pleasure, and George fiddled away to his hearts content. It so hap- pened, that Emmas brother Harry dropped in two or three times when his sister was alone, and found her rather mopy; and the next time he came, he brought under his arm a very pret- ty spaniel. Here, Emma, said he, you are a good deal by yourself, and I thought that this little fellow would serve to amuse you, and be a sort of company when George is out; I know how fond you are of dogs, and Im sure youll soon like this one. Emma was, of course, pleased and gratified with the gift, and gave her brother an extra kiss as payment for Tiney. Sure enough the evening did pass much more cheerfully, though she had only a stupid little, long-eared bow-wow to talk to, and she sat with glistening eyes, expecting George, being sure that he would be as pleased with Tiney as she was. When the young husband came home, he was received with the accustomed kind words and comfortable meal, and due presentation of Tiney; but George frowned on the little animal with a look of supreme contempt, and angrily said, What do you want with that beast; havent you got enough to employ you without a dog1 you had better give it back to Harry to-morrow I wont have it here; These few words turned poor Emmas heart into an icicle; and if we might reveal the secret thoughts that flashed across her brain, we should tell of a mo- mentary impression that George was unkine and somewhat tyrannical, but she smothered her feelings, and said nothing. Tiney was kept for a day or two, but when George saw Emma caress it, or give it food, he betrayed symptoms of ridiculous and pettish jealousy which ren- dered her unhappy, and, at last, Tiney was given back to Harry. Well, said her brother, as he took the animal, I did not think that George was so selfish; you are all day long by your- self, and he goes to his club, and Mechanics three or four times a week, and does every thing he likes, and yet he wont let you have a little dog to keep you company. I think hes very unkind, Emma, but you musnt mind it. Emma did mind it though, and had a good cry by herself, not that she cared so much about the relic of King Charles, as about Georges selfishness in denying her such an innocent in- dulgence; and it is hardly to be wondered at, that when he returned home that night, and sat down to his music, Emma went up-stairs, and commenced needlework in the bed-room. She had no taste for music, and if George would not tolerate her little spaniel, why should she be plagued with his scraping. Days went on, and matters did not mend. George saw he had pained his young wife, but he was too proud to give way, and rather increased in dictatorial supremacy, and adopted a sort of cold distance toward her. Emma was human as well as he, and though expected by all moral anAl practical AN ORIGINAL SKETCH IN A HOMELY FRAME. 47 teaching to submit to Georges authority with amiable patience and dove-like docility, we must confess that she felt his rule rather unneces- sarily exacting; and while she remembered how often he staid out of an evening to gratify his own wish, and how he kept rabbits in the gar- den, and how he spent his money in chopping and changing of fiddles, why there was a sense of injustice arose in her bosom, and she posi- tively began to agree with her brother, that George was somewhat selfish; and George was selfish; he possessed the distinguishing charac- teristic which marks many men, a love of sway in his home, even in the sn~iall matters, and he thought his manly prerogative invaded if his word or will met with the slightest resistance. He was deeply attached to his wife, but his wife must have no interest in any thing but himself. She was to wait for him, and wait on him; she was not to gossip with Mrs. Simpson next door, though he kept up a considerable talk with his fellow-workmen all day long. She must give up a long-promised visit to Windsor on her birthday, because George had an invitation to a club dinner at Hampstead ; in short, she was to be a perfect woman, and be above all the little weaknesses which mark our frail na- ture, while he was to be indulged in any fancy that chose to come uppermost. George certain- ly ues a little selfish, and had now made the first serious false step on his domestic boards. Emma was less attentive to his comforts, and less particular in studying his will, than she had nitherto been, and George resented the neglect smartly. Small quarrels arose, and happiness seemed taking flight from the little dwelling. George staid out oftener, and Emma found it more dull than ever; at last, he continually saw traces of tears on her face when he returned, and his conscience began to get uneasy. He was good at heart, and when Harry ask~d him one day why he left Emma so much by her- selfi he grew rather red in the face, and changed the subject as soon as po,ssible. But the ques- tion clung to him; he began to think that he had not been quite as considerate of Emmas pleasures as a husband ought to have been, and, in fact, he was rather ashamed of Harrys re- marks on his sisters very recluse life. It so happened that George was engaged that night at a debating society, but he suddenly thought he would not go, and, turning to his brother-in- law, said, Have you got that little spaniel yet that you gave EmmaV Yes, replied Harry, my wife and young. un dote on him; but I wish you had let Emma keep him, for I think she fretted at your unkindness in sending it back; you know she is a capital girl, and makes a good wife, and you might have let her have a bit of a dog, just to keep her company when you were out. Well, said George, do me a favor, Harry, and let me give Tiney back to her. Harry was truly glad, for he was aware of his brother-in-laws besetting sin, and the spaniel was carefully tucked under Georges arm, when he left the shop. Here, Emma, said he, as he entered his neat parlor, I have brought back Tiney, and you must take care of him for my sake; Im not going to the club, but if youll put on your bonnet well have a walk, and buy him a collar. Poor Emma never looked at the dog. but flung her arms about Georges neck, and kissed him, while great big tears were rolling down her cheeks. Oh, George, she exclaim- ed, and will you indeed let me keep him with- out being jealous or angry I did think it was very unkind of you to be so cross about a trifle. and I know I have not been so good as I ought to be ever since, but now I feel quite happy, and you are my own dear George again. The young couple went out for their walk, and George began to find that he lost nothing by conferring a little attention upon Emma, for her extra cheerfulness became contagious, and he was happier than he had been for a month. On their return they met Harry and his wife, and while the two women went on, Harry took the opportunity of telling his shopmate a bit of his mind. I tell you what, George, said he, youll find it wont do to expect a wife to think of nothing else than cooking and stitching, and to stop at home fbr- ever; they want some amusement, and some change as well as we do, and I dont think its right of us to go out to our clubs so often and leave them at home sitting up for us; it isnt fair, and we cant expect em to be so mighty good-tempered when we do come home; and I say it was very stupid of you not to let Emma keep Tiney; wom.en that love dogs, and birds, and dumb things, are always fonder of their husbands and childrenthan other women. Youve got your fiddle and your rabbits, you know, and why shouldnt Emma have that bit of a doe take my word for it, George, that a man is a great fool when he acts like a selfish master in- stead of akindhusband. George slightlywinced under this rough truth, but certain it is, that he laid the counsel up and acted upon it. Some three years pass on since these humble incidents occurred, and what do we see There is big George dancing little George after the most approved headlong fashion; and there is Emma holding up Tiney for little Georges ex- press delectation, while the popular nursery theme of Catcher, catcher, catcher,, is a signal for Tineys silken ears to be clutched at most unceremoniously by the juvenile gentle- man. And now we see the quartette on Hamp- stead Heath, in the summer twilight, where the duodecimo Clayton makes a dozen consecutive somersets over as many pebbles while in full pursuit of Tineys tail. Why, dear me, George, says Emma, sud- denly, this is the day you always went to the bean-feast. I know it is, replies he; but it always cost me a good bit of money, and I always had a headache the next day, so I think Im quite as well off here with you and my boy. His young wife gives him a look which does him more good than a pot of ale would. Thanks to Tiney and your brother Harry, continues George, I am not so selfish in mx pleasures as 48 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. I used to be; I had a sort of a notion when I was first married, that you were to do every thing I wanted, and Im not quite so sure that I had a notion about caring for your wishes, but when I sent Tiney away, and found you crying up-stairs of a night, I began to talk to myself, and thought I had not been quite so kind as I ought to have been; and then Harry said something to me, and so, you see, Ive been a better fellow ever since; now havent I, Emma i There is no occasion to record Emmas reply. Years have rolled on; we could now point to George Clayton as chief and wealthy agent to great building contractors, and to a descendant of Tiney, who claims especial favor in his house- hold. Emma is as fond of her George as ever, and has never neglected him though he permit- ted her to keep a little spaniel, and took her out for a holiday ramble when he might have been at a bean-feast. There are seven young Claytons flourishing fast and fair,boys and girlsbut we observe that George never permits that masculine dom- ination to exist which deforms the social justice, and ultimate moral and mental happiness of so many families; he permits his daughters to wait upon his sons, but he is equally watchful that his sons should wait upon the daughters. We overheard him the other day talking to his eldest boy, just turned eighteen, George, said he, if ever you marry, be sure you dont expect too much of your wife; I should never have been as rich and happy as I am if I had been a selfish master instead of a kind husband. These simple annals are founded on facts, not im- agination; and let every young, ay, and old married man, learn something from them. MY CLIENTS STORY. IT was late one Saturday evening in December, when I received a letter, which, on opening, I found to be from Walter Moreton; and the purport of the letter was, to request my imme- diate presence at Cambridge, in the capacity both of a friend and of a lawyer. The letter concluded thus: Do not delay your journey many hours after receiving this. My urgency will be explained by the change you will perceive in yours, Walter Moreton. I had known Walter Moreton in youth, and in manhood: we had been intimate, without having been altogether friends; and the attraction which his company possessed for me, arose rather from the shrewdness of his remarks than from any sympathy of feeling between us. Of late years I had seen comparatively little of Moreton. I knew that he had married; that he had been in straitened circumstances; that his father-in-law had died, and left him a rich widower; that he had married a second time, and that he was now the father of three children. From the tenor of the letter I had received, I could scarcely doubt that Walter Moreton had been seized with some dangerous illness, and was desirous of settling his worldly affairs. My old intimacy with More- ton would of itself have prompted me to obey his summons; but the requirement of my pro fessional aid of course increased the celerity of my obedience. Early next morning, therefore, I put myself into the Cambridge coach; and after dispatching a hasty dinner at the Hoop, I walked to Walter Moretons house in Trump- ington-street. I was prepared for a change, but not certainly such a change as that which presented itself. Walter Moreton could not have been forty, but he seemed a broken-down man; gray-haired thin-visaged----and cadaverous. He received me with apparent kindness; thanked me for my ready compliance with his wish; and informed me at once that he had need of my professional services in the disposal of hi~ property. But I had no difficulty in perceiving, from a certain reserve and distractedness of manner, that something beyond the mere making of a will had brought me to Cambridge. I did not of course make any observation upon the change which I observed in his appearance, hut expressed a hope that his desire for my profes- sional assistance had not arisen from any appre- hensions as to the state of his health, to which he only replied, that his health was not worse than usual, but that it was always well to be prepared; and he added, Come, Thornton, let us to business ; and to business we went. I need scarcely say, that I was prepared for instructions to divide the fathers fortune accord- ing to some rule of divisionor, perhaps, of some capricious preference, among his children two sons and one daughter, children yet of tender ageand to secure a life-rent interest to his wife. Great, therefore, was my surprise when Mr. Moreton, after mentioning a few trifling legacies, named, as the sole successors of his immense fortune, two individuals unknown to me,. and of whose connection with the testa- tor I was entirely ignorant. I laid down my pen, and looked up: Mr Moreton, said I, hesitatingly, you have a wife and children ! I have children, said he, but God preserve them from the curse of wealth that does not be- long to them. MoretonWalter Moreton, said I, you are over-scrupulous. I know, indeed, that this large fortune has come to you through your first wife; but it was hers to give; she became the sole heiress of her father, when his three sons of a former marriage were unfortunately drowned in the Hush, Thornton ! repeated he, hastily, and in a tone so altered and so singular that it startled me. Moreton, said I, rising and approaching him, and laying my hand gently on his shoulder. we were once companionsalmost friends; as a friend, as well as a lawyer, you have sent for me. There is some mystery here, of which I am sure it was your intention to disburden yourself. Whatever the secret be, it is safe with me. But I tell you plainly that if you are resolved to make leggars of your innocent chil

48 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. I used to be; I had a sort of a notion when I was first married, that you were to do every thing I wanted, and Im not quite so sure that I had a notion about caring for your wishes, but when I sent Tiney away, and found you crying up-stairs of a night, I began to talk to myself, and thought I had not been quite so kind as I ought to have been; and then Harry said something to me, and so, you see, Ive been a better fellow ever since; now havent I, Emma i There is no occasion to record Emmas reply. Years have rolled on; we could now point to George Clayton as chief and wealthy agent to great building contractors, and to a descendant of Tiney, who claims especial favor in his house- hold. Emma is as fond of her George as ever, and has never neglected him though he permit- ted her to keep a little spaniel, and took her out for a holiday ramble when he might have been at a bean-feast. There are seven young Claytons flourishing fast and fair,boys and girlsbut we observe that George never permits that masculine dom- ination to exist which deforms the social justice, and ultimate moral and mental happiness of so many families; he permits his daughters to wait upon his sons, but he is equally watchful that his sons should wait upon the daughters. We overheard him the other day talking to his eldest boy, just turned eighteen, George, said he, if ever you marry, be sure you dont expect too much of your wife; I should never have been as rich and happy as I am if I had been a selfish master instead of a kind husband. These simple annals are founded on facts, not im- agination; and let every young, ay, and old married man, learn something from them. MY CLIENTS STORY. IT was late one Saturday evening in December, when I received a letter, which, on opening, I found to be from Walter Moreton; and the purport of the letter was, to request my imme- diate presence at Cambridge, in the capacity both of a friend and of a lawyer. The letter concluded thus: Do not delay your journey many hours after receiving this. My urgency will be explained by the change you will perceive in yours, Walter Moreton. I had known Walter Moreton in youth, and in manhood: we had been intimate, without having been altogether friends; and the attraction which his company possessed for me, arose rather from the shrewdness of his remarks than from any sympathy of feeling between us. Of late years I had seen comparatively little of Moreton. I knew that he had married; that he had been in straitened circumstances; that his father-in-law had died, and left him a rich widower; that he had married a second time, and that he was now the father of three children. From the tenor of the letter I had received, I could scarcely doubt that Walter Moreton had been seized with some dangerous illness, and was desirous of settling his worldly affairs. My old intimacy with More- ton would of itself have prompted me to obey his summons; but the requirement of my pro fessional aid of course increased the celerity of my obedience. Early next morning, therefore, I put myself into the Cambridge coach; and after dispatching a hasty dinner at the Hoop, I walked to Walter Moretons house in Trump- ington-street. I was prepared for a change, but not certainly such a change as that which presented itself. Walter Moreton could not have been forty, but he seemed a broken-down man; gray-haired thin-visaged----and cadaverous. He received me with apparent kindness; thanked me for my ready compliance with his wish; and informed me at once that he had need of my professional services in the disposal of hi~ property. But I had no difficulty in perceiving, from a certain reserve and distractedness of manner, that something beyond the mere making of a will had brought me to Cambridge. I did not of course make any observation upon the change which I observed in his appearance, hut expressed a hope that his desire for my profes- sional assistance had not arisen from any appre- hensions as to the state of his health, to which he only replied, that his health was not worse than usual, but that it was always well to be prepared; and he added, Come, Thornton, let us to business ; and to business we went. I need scarcely say, that I was prepared for instructions to divide the fathers fortune accord- ing to some rule of divisionor, perhaps, of some capricious preference, among his children two sons and one daughter, children yet of tender ageand to secure a life-rent interest to his wife. Great, therefore, was my surprise when Mr. Moreton, after mentioning a few trifling legacies, named, as the sole successors of his immense fortune, two individuals unknown to me,. and of whose connection with the testa- tor I was entirely ignorant. I laid down my pen, and looked up: Mr Moreton, said I, hesitatingly, you have a wife and children ! I have children, said he, but God preserve them from the curse of wealth that does not be- long to them. MoretonWalter Moreton, said I, you are over-scrupulous. I know, indeed, that this large fortune has come to you through your first wife; but it was hers to give; she became the sole heiress of her father, when his three sons of a former marriage were unfortunately drowned in the Hush, Thornton ! repeated he, hastily, and in a tone so altered and so singular that it startled me. Moreton, said I, rising and approaching him, and laying my hand gently on his shoulder. we were once companionsalmost friends; as a friend, as well as a lawyer, you have sent for me. There is some mystery here, of which I am sure it was your intention to disburden yourself. Whatever the secret be, it is safe with me. But I tell you plainly that if you are resolved to make leggars of your innocent chil MY CLIE~T~S STORY. 49 dren without giving a sufficient reason for it, some other than Charles Thornton must be the im~trument of doing it. Thornton, said he, in a grave tone, and without raising his eyes, there is a mystery a fearful mystery; and it shall be told this night. That done, neither you nor any one can be the friend of Walter Moreton; but he will have no occasion for friendship. Reach me some wine, Thornton, and pour it out for me; my nerves are shattered: another glassnow, sit down no, not thereay, ayone other glass, Thorn- ton. I took my place in a large, high-backed chair, as Walter Moreton directed me; and he, placing himself a little out of my view, spoke as follows: It is now upward of ten years, as you know, Thornton, s~iice I married my first wife, the daughter of Mr. Bellendenold Bellenden the lawyer. She, you also know, was the child of a former marriageand that the large fortune of my father-in-law, which in the end cameno matter howto me, belonged to him, or rather to his three sons, in right of his second wife, who was also dead at the time of my marriage. I could not have indulged any expectation that this fortune would ever reach me; for although I knew very well that, failing my wifes three half-brothers, it came entirely into her fathers power, yet there could be no ground for any reasonable expectation that three healthy boys would die off and make way for Agnes. Mark me, Thornton, I did not marry for money; and the thought of the succession which afterward opened, never entered my mind. I will tell you, Thornton, the first occasion on which the hope dawned upon me. There was an epidemic in this part of the country, and my father-in-laws three sons were seized with it at one time. All the three were in the most imminent danger; and one evening when the disease was at its height, and when my wife seemed greatly dis- tressed at receiving a message that it was doubt- ful if any of the three would survive till morn- ing And if they should die; said I, within myself! This supposition constantly recurred, and was so willingly entertained that I lay awake the whole of that night, planning within myself the disposal of this large inheritance; forgetting, at the time, that another lifethat of my father- in-lawstood betwixt us and the succession. Next morning, however, a favorable change took place, and eventually the three youths recovered: but so strong a hold had the hopes, which had been thus suddenly created, taken of my mind, that in place of their being dissipated by the event, which naturally deprived them of any foun- dation they ever had, I was not only conscious of the keenest disappointment, but felt as if an untoward accident had defrauded me of some- thing that was all but within my reach. How near I have been to affluence, was a constantly recurring thought; and when I heard every morning, that this person was dead, and that person was dead, a feeling of chagrin was in- variably felt You are perhaps incapable of understanding these feelings, Thornton; and so was I, until the events took place which gave birth to them. Moreton paused a moment; but I did not interrupt him; and, after passing his hand over his forehead, and filling out with an unsteady hand another glass of wine, he proceeded: You know something of the river here, and of the passion for boating. The three boys often indulged in this exercise; and it sometimes happened that I accompanied them. One day, about the end of August, we had spent the day at Eel-pits, and itwas not far from sunset when we set out to row back to Cambridge. It was a fine calm evening when we left that place, but it soon began to rain heavily; and in the scramble for cloaks which the suddenness and heaviness of the shower occasioned, the boat was all but upset; but it righted again, and served only as matter of mirth to the boys, though in me a very different effect was produced. More than a year had elapsed since the presence of the epidemic had given rise to the feelings ~ have already con- fessed to, and the circumstances had been nearly, but not altogether forgotten. At that moment, however, the thoughts that at that time had con- tinually haunted me, recurred with tenfold force. If it had upset! I said within myself, while sitting silent in the stern If it had upset! and the prospect of wealth again opened before me. Well, we continued to row, and it soon fell dusk, and then the moon rose; and we con- tinued to ascend the riverours the only boat upon ittill we were within less than two miles of Cambridge. I had occasionally taken a turn at the oar, but at that time I sat in the stern, and still something continually whispered to me, If the boat had upset! I need not tell yon, Thornton, that little things influence the greatest events: one of those little things occurred at this moment. I had a dog in the boat, and one of the boys said something to it in Latin. Dont speak Latin to the dog, said another, for its master does not understand Latin. Yes he does, said the elder, Mr. Moreton understands dog Latin. This was a little matter, Thornton, but it displeased me. There was always a good deal of assumption of superiority, especially on the part of the eldest, on account of his univer- sity education; and little annoyances of this kind were frequent. It was precisely at this moment that something dark was seen floating toward us; it chanced to come just in the glImpse of the moon on the water, and was seen at once by us all; and as it approached nearer, till it was about to pass within oars length of the boat. You have heard the story, Thornton you have said, if I recollect, that you knew the three boys were Here Moreton suddenly stopped, and hastily drained the wine he had filled out. Drowned in the Cam, said I; yesj knew of this misfortune; but I did not know that you were present. I wasI waspresent! said Moreton, lay- ing a peculiar emphasis on the word. Ay, HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. Thorntonyouve hit the wordI was present but listen: I told you the dark object floated within an oars length of the boat; at once the three boys made a spring to the side of the boat, extending arms and oars to intercept it; and in an instant the boat was keel uppermost ! Moreton pronounced the last words rapidly, and in an under tone, and stopped: he raised the wine decanter from the table, but let it drop again. Moreton had yet said nothing to crim- mate himself; the incident appeared, from his narrative, purely accidental; and I therefore said, Well, Moreton, the boys were unhappily drowned; but it was the consequences of their own imprudence. Thornton, said he, you are there to hear a confession; I am here to make it; tis of no use shrinking from it; fill me a glass of wine, for my hand trembles. Now, two of the boys the two youngestI never saw; as God is my judge, I believe if I had seen the youngest I would have done 4ny uttermost to save him. I suppose they sank beneath the boat, and floated down below the surface. The eldest, lie rose close to me; we were not twenty yards from the bank; I could have saved him. I believe I would have saved him if he had cried for help. I saw him but for a moment. I think, when I struck out to swim, I kicked him beneath the waterundesignedly, Thorntonundesignedly. But I did not turn round to help him; I made for the bank, and reached itand it was then too late. I saw the ripple on the water, and the boat floating away; but nothing else. Thornton I am his murderer When Moreton had pronounced this word, he seemed to be 8omewhat relieved, and paused. I imagined his communication had ended; and I ventured to say that although it was only just- ice that the inheritance which had become his should revert to the heirs of those who had been deprived of itsupposing them to have been de- prived of it by his actit was proper to t~onsider the matter coolly; for there was such a thing as an over-sensitive conscience; and it was per- haps possible that, in the peculiar circumstances attending the awful event, his mind had been incapable of judging correctly; that he might have too much coupled the fancies which had preceded the event, with the event itself; and that want of presence of mind might have been mi4aken for something more criminal. No, no, Thornton, said he, I am no fan- cier; believe it to be as I have told you. ~ut if you ever could have doubtedas I do not believe you doyour doubts would have been dispelled by what you have yet to hear. I am not going to give you a narrative of my life, and shall say nothing of the time that immediately followed the event I have related. The fortune became my father-in-laws; and my wife became an heiress. But my present circumstances were nowise changed. Brighter prospects led to in- creased expenses; and embarrassments thick- ened around me. You know something of these, Thornton; and tried, as you recollect, ineffect ually, to extricate me from them. Meanwhile, my father-in-law, who speedily got over the loss he had sustained, spoke of his daugberof Agnes, my wifeas a great heiress, and boasted and talked much of his wealth, though it made no difference in his mode of living. Not one shilling, Walter, till I die, was constantly in his mouth: and not a shilling, indeed, did he ever offer, although he well knew the pressing difficulties in which we were placed. I once, and only once, ventured to ask him for some advance; but the answer was the same: Not a shilling, Walter, till I die: patience, patience it must all go to Agnes. Must I confess it, Thornton yesI may confess any thing after what I have already confessed. The not a shilling, till I die, were continually in my ears. The event that had placed fortune within my power frequently re- curred to my memory; and with it the convic- tion that I was in no way benefited by it: the nearer vicinity of wealth only made the want of it more tantalizing. You recollect, very well, Thornton, my ap- plication to you in December, 184, six years ago. You recollect its extreme urgency, and the partial success which attended itsufficient, however, to keep me from a jail. You might well, as you did, express your surprise that my wifes father should suffer such a state of things to be; but he could suffer any thing save part- ing with his money; he was a miser; the love of riches had grown with their possession: and I believe he would have suffered me to rot in jail rather than draw upon his coffers. It was just at this time, or at most a week or two subsequent to it, that Mr. Bellenden was attacked by a complaint to which he had been long subjectone requiring the most prompt medical aid; but from which, on several former occasions he had perfectly recovered. Agnes was extremely attentive to her father; and on Christmas evening, as we were both on the way to the sick chamber, we met the family surgeon leaving the house. You are perhaps going to spend some time with my patient? said Mr. Amwell. My husband, said Agnes, means to spend an hour or two with my father. I have a par- ticular engagement at present, and am only going to ask how he does. I have some little fears of another attack, said Mr. Amwell. Do not be alarmed, my dear madam; we know how to treat these things; promptness is all that is required. It will he necessary, my dear sir, said Mr. Amwell, ad- dressing me, to lose no time in sending for me. should Mr. Bellenden experience another attack~ all depends upon the prompt and free use of the lancet. There is no occasion for any alarm madam. The good old gentleman may live to eat twenty Christmas dinners yet. Mr. Amwell passed on, and we entered the house, and ascended to the sick-chamber. My wife remained but a few minutesshe had some particular engagements at home; and as she MY CLIENTS STORY. 51 left the room, she charged me not to lose a mo- ment in calling Mr. Amwell, should there ap- pear to be any occasion for his aid. She shut the door, and I seated myself in a large chair near to the bed. There was a table near to me with several vials upon it. I took them up one by one, and examined them. One was labeled laudanum. While I held it in my hand, all the demon was within. My pecuniary difficulties seemed to augment; the excellence of wealth to increase; the love of enjoyment grew stronger; and my estimate of the value of an old mans life weak- er. At this moment the sick man asked for drink. Thornton! need I hesitate to confess that I was strongly tempted; but I resisted the temptation. I held the fatal vial for a few moments in my hand; laid it downpushed it from meand assisted the old man to his needs. But no sooner had I done this, and reseated myself, than I began to accuse myself with in- consistency. These, thought I, are distinctions without any real difference. A youth, who stood betwixt me and fortune, was drowning; and I did not stretch out my hand to save him: there are many kinds of murder, but in all the crime is the same. ~I had nearly proved to my own satisfaction that I was a fool, when certain indications that could not be mistaken, assured me that Am- wells fears were about to be realized; and they instantly were, to the fullest extent. Mr. Am- wells parting words recurred to me: all de- pends upon the prompt use of the lancet. My heart beat quick: I rosehesitatedreseated myselfrose againlistenedagain sat down pressed my fingers on my ears, that I might hear nothingand leaned my head forward on the table. I continued in this posture for some time, and then started up and listened. All was silent. I rang the bell violently; opened the door; and, cried out to call Mr. Amwell instant- ly; and returned to the chamberwhich I be- lieved to be no longer a chamber of sickness, but of deathand reseated myself in the chair, with a strong persuasion that the last obstacle to fortune had been removed. But, Thornton, again I knew that I wasa second timea murderer ! Here Mr. Moreton paused, and leaned back in his chair, apparently exhausted. I again tjiought his communication had ended: and although I could not now address him as I had addressed him before, I was beginning to say that to make absolute beggars of his children could not be an acceptable atonement for crime, when he inter- rupted me, heedless, apparently, of my having addressed him. In a few minutes Mr. Amwell entered the room. He approached the bed, bent over it, turned to me, and said, I fear it is too late, Mr. Moreton. Perhaps not, said I, at all events make the attempt. Mr. Amwell did of course make the attempt; and in a few moments desisted; shook his head, and said, A littleand I have reason to believe only a very littletoo late, and in a few mm utes I was again left alone. Thornton, since that hour I have been a miserable man. Another long pause ensued, which I did not attempt to break; and Moreton at length resumed: Since that hour, I say, Charles Thornton, I have never known a moments peace. My wifes tears for her father fell upon my heart like drops of fire; every look she gave me seemed to read my innermost thoughts; she never spoke that I did not imagine she was about to call me mur- derer. Her presence became agony to me. I withdrew from her, and from all societyfor I thought every man looked suspiciously upon me; and I had no companion but conscience ay, conscience, Thornton conscience that I thought I had overcomeas well I might, for had I not seen the young and healthy sink, when I might have saved and how could I have believed that but so it was, and is: look at me, and you will see what conscience has made of me. Agnes sickened, and as you know, died. This I felt as a relief; and for a time I breathed more freely; and I married again. But my old feelings returned, and life every day becomes more burdensome to me. Strange, that events long passed become more and more vividhut so it is. The evening on the Cam, and the death-chamber of old Bellenden, are alternately before me. Now, Thornton, you have heard all. Are you now ready to frame the will as I directed I am possessed of a quarter of a million, and it belongs to the heirs of those for whom it WOS originally destined. Some conversation here ensued, in which my object was to show that, although the large prop- erty at Moretons disposal ought never to have been his, yet if the events which he had related had not taken place, it never could have come into the possession of those for whom he now des- tined it. I admitted, however, the propriety ol the principle of restitution to the branches of the family in which it had originally been vested, but prevailed with Mr. Moreton in having a com- petency reserved for his own children and for his wife, who married in the belief that he was able to provide for her. And upon these prin- ciples, accordingly, the testament was framed and completed the same evening. It grew late. Walter Moreton, said I, rising to take leave, let this subject drop for- ever. When we meet again, let there be no allusion to the transactions of this evening. Thornton, said he, we shall never mEet again. There are remedies, my friend, said I there are remedies for the accusations of con- science; apply yourself to them: if the mind were relieved by religious consolations, bodily health would return. Moreton faintly smiled. Yes, Thornton, said he, there are remedies; I know them, and will not fail to seek their aid. Good-night I returned to the inn, and soon after retired 12 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. to bed; as may easily be believed, to think of the singular revelations of the evening. For some time these thoughts kept me awake; but at length I fell asleep. My dreams were dis- turbed, and all about Walter Moreton. Some- times he was swimming in the river, or stand- ing on the bank, pointing with his finger to a human bead that was just sinking: sometimes he was sitting by the bedside of old Bellenden, examining the vial, and walking on tiptoe to the door, and listening; and sometimes the scene of the past evening was renewed, when I sat and listened to his narrative. Then again he had a vial in his hand, and uncorked it, and in rais- ing it to his mouth, it seemed to be a small pis- tol; and just at this moment I awoke. The last scene remained forcibly and vividly on my mind. It instantly occurred to me that he might have meditated suicide, and that that was the remedy of which he spoke. I looked at my watch; it was an hour past midnight. I hastily dressed, and hurried to Trumpington- street. There was a light in one of the win- dows. I knocked gently at the door; and at the same time applied my hand to the knob, which yielded. I hurried up-stairs, directed by the situation of the light I had seen, and entered the room. Moreton stood near to the bed, be- side a small table; a vial in his hand, which, at the moment I entered, he laid down. I sprang for- ward and seized it. It was already empty. Ah, my friend ! said Ibut further speech was use- less. Moreton was already in the grasp of death. A GHOST OF A HEAD. PETER LEROUX was a poor plowman in the environs of Beaugency. After passing the day in leading across the fields the three horses which were generally yoked to his plow, he re- tnraed to the farm in the evening, supped, with- out many words, with his fellow-laborers, light- ed his lantern, and then retired to bed in a species of shed communicating with the stables, His dreams were simple, and little colored with the tints of imagination; his horses were for the most part their principal subject. On one occa- sion, he started from his slumbers in the midst of his fancied efforts to lift up the obstinate mare, which had taken it into her head to be weak in the legs; another time, the old gray had en- tangled his hoof in the cords of the team. One night, he dreamed that he had just put an entirely new thong to his old whip, but that, notwith- standing, it obstinately refused to crack. This remarkable vision impressed him so deeply, that, on awaking, he seized the whip, which he was accustomed to place every night by his side; and in order thoroughly to assure himself that he was not stricken powerless, and deprived of the most gratifying prerogative of the plowman, he took to smacking it violently in the dead of the night. At this noise, all the stable was in commotion; the horses, alarmed, neighed, and ran one against the other, almost breaking their cords; but, with some soothing words, Peter Leroux managed to appease all this tumult, and silence was immediately restored. This was one of those extraordinary events of his life which he never failed to relate every time that a cup of wine had made him eloquent, and he found a companion in the mood to listen to him. About the same period, dreams of quite a dif ferent kind occupied the mind of a certain M Desalleux, deputy of the public prosecutor in th~ criminal court of Orleans. Having made a prom- ising d~biit in that office only a few montus pre.. viously, there was no longer any position in the magistracy which he believed too high for his future attainment; and the post of keeper of the seals was one of the most frequent visions of his slumbers. But it was particularly in the intoxi- cating triumphs of oratory that his thoughts would revel in sleep, when the whole day had been given to the study of some case in which he was to plead. The glory of the Aguesseaux, and the other celebrated names of the great days of parliamentary eloquence, scarcely sufficed for his impatient ambition; it was in the most dis- tant periods of the pastthe times of the mar- velous eloquence of Demosthenesthat he de- lighted to contemplate the likeness of his own ideal future. The attainment of power by elo- quence; such was the idea, the text, so to speak, of his whole lifethe one object for which lie renounced all the ordinary hopes and pleasures of youth. One day, these two naturesthat of Peter Leroux, lifted scarcely one degree above the range of the brute, and that of M. Desalleux, abstract and rectified to the highest pitch of in- tellectualityfound themselves face to face. A little contest was going on between them. M. Desalleux, sitting in his official place, demanded, upon evidence somewhat insufficient, the head of Peter Leroux, accused of murder; and Peter Leroux defended his head against the eloquence of M. Desalleux. Notwithstanding the remarkable disproportion of power which Providence had placed in this duel, the accused, for lack of conclusive proofs, would in all probability have escaped from the hands of the executioner; but from that very scantiness in the evidence arose an extraordinary opportunity for eloquence, which could not fail to be singularly useful to the ambitious hopes of M. Desalleux. In justice to himself, be could not neglect to take advantage of it. In the next place, an unlucky circumst, nce presented itself for poor Peter Leroux. Some days before the commencement of the trial, and in the presence of several ladies, who promised themselves the pleasure of being there to enjoy the spectacle, the young deputy had let fall an expression of his firm confidence in obtaining from the jury a verdict of condemnation. Every one will understand the painful position in which he would be placed if his prosecution failed, and Peter Leroux came back with his head upon his shoulders, to testify to the weakness of M. De- salleuxs eloquence. Let us not be too severe upon the deputy of the public prosecutor: if he was not absolutely convinced, it was his duty te

12 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. to bed; as may easily be believed, to think of the singular revelations of the evening. For some time these thoughts kept me awake; but at length I fell asleep. My dreams were dis- turbed, and all about Walter Moreton. Some- times he was swimming in the river, or stand- ing on the bank, pointing with his finger to a human bead that was just sinking: sometimes he was sitting by the bedside of old Bellenden, examining the vial, and walking on tiptoe to the door, and listening; and sometimes the scene of the past evening was renewed, when I sat and listened to his narrative. Then again he had a vial in his hand, and uncorked it, and in rais- ing it to his mouth, it seemed to be a small pis- tol; and just at this moment I awoke. The last scene remained forcibly and vividly on my mind. It instantly occurred to me that he might have meditated suicide, and that that was the remedy of which he spoke. I looked at my watch; it was an hour past midnight. I hastily dressed, and hurried to Trumpington- street. There was a light in one of the win- dows. I knocked gently at the door; and at the same time applied my hand to the knob, which yielded. I hurried up-stairs, directed by the situation of the light I had seen, and entered the room. Moreton stood near to the bed, be- side a small table; a vial in his hand, which, at the moment I entered, he laid down. I sprang for- ward and seized it. It was already empty. Ah, my friend ! said Ibut further speech was use- less. Moreton was already in the grasp of death. A GHOST OF A HEAD. PETER LEROUX was a poor plowman in the environs of Beaugency. After passing the day in leading across the fields the three horses which were generally yoked to his plow, he re- tnraed to the farm in the evening, supped, with- out many words, with his fellow-laborers, light- ed his lantern, and then retired to bed in a species of shed communicating with the stables, His dreams were simple, and little colored with the tints of imagination; his horses were for the most part their principal subject. On one occa- sion, he started from his slumbers in the midst of his fancied efforts to lift up the obstinate mare, which had taken it into her head to be weak in the legs; another time, the old gray had en- tangled his hoof in the cords of the team. One night, he dreamed that he had just put an entirely new thong to his old whip, but that, notwith- standing, it obstinately refused to crack. This remarkable vision impressed him so deeply, that, on awaking, he seized the whip, which he was accustomed to place every night by his side; and in order thoroughly to assure himself that he was not stricken powerless, and deprived of the most gratifying prerogative of the plowman, he took to smacking it violently in the dead of the night. At this noise, all the stable was in commotion; the horses, alarmed, neighed, and ran one against the other, almost breaking their cords; but, with some soothing words, Peter Leroux managed to appease all this tumult, and silence was immediately restored. This was one of those extraordinary events of his life which he never failed to relate every time that a cup of wine had made him eloquent, and he found a companion in the mood to listen to him. About the same period, dreams of quite a dif ferent kind occupied the mind of a certain M Desalleux, deputy of the public prosecutor in th~ criminal court of Orleans. Having made a prom- ising d~biit in that office only a few montus pre.. viously, there was no longer any position in the magistracy which he believed too high for his future attainment; and the post of keeper of the seals was one of the most frequent visions of his slumbers. But it was particularly in the intoxi- cating triumphs of oratory that his thoughts would revel in sleep, when the whole day had been given to the study of some case in which he was to plead. The glory of the Aguesseaux, and the other celebrated names of the great days of parliamentary eloquence, scarcely sufficed for his impatient ambition; it was in the most dis- tant periods of the pastthe times of the mar- velous eloquence of Demosthenesthat he de- lighted to contemplate the likeness of his own ideal future. The attainment of power by elo- quence; such was the idea, the text, so to speak, of his whole lifethe one object for which lie renounced all the ordinary hopes and pleasures of youth. One day, these two naturesthat of Peter Leroux, lifted scarcely one degree above the range of the brute, and that of M. Desalleux, abstract and rectified to the highest pitch of in- tellectualityfound themselves face to face. A little contest was going on between them. M. Desalleux, sitting in his official place, demanded, upon evidence somewhat insufficient, the head of Peter Leroux, accused of murder; and Peter Leroux defended his head against the eloquence of M. Desalleux. Notwithstanding the remarkable disproportion of power which Providence had placed in this duel, the accused, for lack of conclusive proofs, would in all probability have escaped from the hands of the executioner; but from that very scantiness in the evidence arose an extraordinary opportunity for eloquence, which could not fail to be singularly useful to the ambitious hopes of M. Desalleux. In justice to himself, be could not neglect to take advantage of it. In the next place, an unlucky circumst, nce presented itself for poor Peter Leroux. Some days before the commencement of the trial, and in the presence of several ladies, who promised themselves the pleasure of being there to enjoy the spectacle, the young deputy had let fall an expression of his firm confidence in obtaining from the jury a verdict of condemnation. Every one will understand the painful position in which he would be placed if his prosecution failed, and Peter Leroux came back with his head upon his shoulders, to testify to the weakness of M. De- salleuxs eloquence. Let us not be too severe upon the deputy of the public prosecutor: if he was not absolutely convinced, it was his duty te A GHOST OF A HEAD. 53 appear so, and only the more meritorious to utter such eloquent denunciations as for a century past had not been heard at the bar of the criminal court of Orleans. Oh, if you had been there to see how they were moved, those poor gentle- men of the jury !moved almost to tears, when, in a fine and most sonorous peroration, he set before them the fearful picture of society shaken to its foundationsthe whole community about to enter upon dissolution, immediately upon the acquittal of Peter Leroux! If you had only heard the courteous eulogiums exchanged on both sides, when the advocate of the accused, commencing his address, declared that he could not go further without rendering homage to the brilliant powers of oratory displayed by the deputy public prosecutor! If you had only heard the president of the court, making the same felicitations the text of his exordium, so well, that nothing would have persuaded you that it was not an academical f~te, and that they were not simply awarding a prize for eloquence, instead of a sentence of death to a fellow-creat- ure. You would have seen, in the midst, of a crowd of elegantly-attired members of the fair sex, as the newspapers of the province said, the sister of M. Desalleux, receiving the compli- ments of all the ladies around her; while, at a little distance, the old father was weeping with joy at the sight of the noble son and incompara- ble orator whom he had given to the world. Six weeks after this scene of family happiness, Peter Leroux, accompanied by the executioner, mounted the condemned cart, which waited for him at the door of the jail of Orleans. They proceeded together to the Place du Martroie, which is the spot where executions take place. Here they found a scaffold erected, and a con- siderable concourse of persons expecting them. Peter Leroux, with the slow and heavy ascent of a sack of flour going up by means of a pulley to the top of a warehouse, mounts the steps of the scaffold. As he reached the platform, a ray of sunlight, playing upon the brilliant and polish- ed steel of the instrument of justice, dazzled his eyes, and he seemed about to stumble; but the executioner, with the courteous attention of a host who knows how to do the honors of his house, sustained him by the arm, and placed him upon the plank of the guillotine. There Peter Leroux found the clerk of the court, who had come for the purpose of reading formally the order for execution; the gendarmes, who were charged to see that the public peace was kept during the business about to be transacted; and the assistants of the executioner, who, notwith- standing the ill name which has been given to them, pointed out to him, with a complaisance full of delicate consideration, the precise position in which to place himself under the ax. One minute after, Peter Lerouxs head was divorced from his body, which operation was accomplish- ed with such dexterity, that many of those present at the spectacle asked of their neighbors if it was already finished; and were told that it was.; upon which they remarked, that it was the last time they would put themselves so much out of the way for so little. Three months had passed since the head and body of Peter Leroux had been cast into a corner of the cemetery, and, in all probability, the grave no longer concealed aught but his bones, when a new session of assizes was opened, and M. Desalleux had again to support a capital indict- ment. The day previous, he quitted at an early hour a ball to which he had been invited with all his family, at a chbteau in the environs, and return ed alone to the city in order to prepare his case for the morrow. The night was dark; a warm wind from the south whistled drearily, while the buzz of the gay scene that he had left seemed to linger in his ears. A feeling of melancholy stole over him. The memory of many people whom he had known, and who were dead, returned to his mind; and, scarcely knowing why, he began to think of Peter Leroux. Nevertheless, as he drew near the city, and the first lights of the suburbs began to appear, all his sombre ideas vanished, and as soon as he found himself again at his desk, surrounded by his books and papers, he thought no longer of any thing but his oration, which he had determ- ined should be even yet more brilliant than any that had preceded it. His system of indictment was already nearly settled. It is singular, by the way, that French legal expression, a system of indictment~~ that is to say, an absolute manner of grouping an ensemble of facts and~ proofs, in virtue of which the prosecutor appropriates to himself the head of a manas one would say, a system of philosophythat is, an ensemble of reasonings and sophisms, by the aid of which we establish some harmless truth, theory, or fancy. His sys- tem of indictment was nearly completed, when the deposition of a witness which he had not ex- amined, suddenly presented itself, with such an aspect as threatened to overturn all the edifice of his logic. He hesitated for some moments; but, as we have already seen, M. Desalleux, in his functions of deputy-prosecutor, consulted his vanity at least as often as his conscience. In- voking all his powers of logic and skill for turn- ing words to his purpose, struggling muscle to muscle with the unlucky testimony, he did not despair of finally enlisting it in the number of his best arguments, as containing the most conclu- sive evidence against the prisoner; but, unfortu- nately, the trouble was considerable, and the night was already far advanced. The clock had just struck three, and the lamp upon his table, burning with a crust upon the wick, gave only a feeble light in the chamber. Having trimmed it, and feeling somewhat ex- cited with his labors, he rose and walked to and fro, then returned and sat in his chair, from~ which, leaning back in an easy attitude, and sus- pending his reflections for awhile, he conter~i- plated the stars which were shining through a window opposite. Suddenly lowering his gaze, 54 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. he encountered what seemed to him two eyes staring in at him through the window-panes. Imagining that the reflection of the lamp, doubled by some flaw in the glass, had deceived him, he changed his place; but the vision only appeared more distinct. As he was not wanting in cour- age, he took a walking-stick, the only weapon within reach, and opened the window, to see who was the intruder who came thus to observe him at such an hour. The chamber which he occupied was high; above and below, the wall of his house was perfectly perpendicular, and afforded no means by which any one could climb or descend. In the narrow space between him- self and the balcony, the smallest object could not have escaped him; but he saw nothing. He thought again that he must have been the dupe of one of those hallucinations that sometimes visit men in the night; and, with a smile, he ap- plied himself again to his labors. But he had not written twenty lines, when he felt, before looking up, that there was something moving in a corner of the chamber. This began to alarm him, for it was not natural that the senses, one after the other, should conspire to deceive him. Raising his eyes, and shading them with his hand from the glare of the lamp beside him, he observed a dusky object advancing toward him with short hops like those of a raven. As the apparition approached him, its aspect became more terrifying; for it took the unmistakable form of a human head separated from the trunk and dripping with blood; and when at length, with a spring, it bounded upon the table, and rolled about over the papers scattered on his desk, M. Desalleux recognized the features of Peter Leroux, who no doubt had come to remind him that a good conscience is of greater value than eloquence. Overcome by a sensation of terror, M. Desalleux fainted. That morning, at daybreak, he was found stretched out insensible on the floor near a little pool of blood, which was also found in spots upon his desk, and on the leaves of his pleadings. It was supposed, and he took care never to contradict it, that he had been seized with a hemorrhage. It is scarcely neces- sary to add, that he was not in a state to speak at the trial, and that all his oratorical prepara- tions were thrown away. Many days passed before the recollection of that terrible night faded from the memory of the deputy-prosecutormany days before he could bear to be alone or in the dark without terror. After some months, however, the head of Peter Leroux not having repeated its visit, the pride of intellect began again to counterbalance the testi- mony of the senses, and again he asked himself; if he had not been duped by them. In order more surely to weaken their authority, which all his reasonings had not been able entirely to over- come, he called to his aid the opinion of his physician, communicating to him in confidence the story of his adventure. The doctor, who, by dint of long examining the human brain, without discovering the slightest trace of any thing re- sembling a soul, had come to a learned convic tion of materialism, did not fail to laugh heartily on listening to the recital of the nocturnal vision. This was perhaps the best manner of treating his patient; for by having the appearance of holding his fancy in derision, he forced, as it were, his self-esteem to take a part in the cure. Moreover, as may be imagined, he did not hesi- tate to explain to his patient, that his hallu- cination proceeded from an over-tension of the cerebral fibre, followed by congestion and evacu- ation of blood, which had been the causes of his seeing precisely what he had not seen. Power- fully reassured by this consultation, and as no accident happened to contradict its correctness, M. Desalleux by degrees regained his serenity of mind, and gradually returned to his former habits modifying them simply insomuch that he la- bored with an application somewhat less severe, and indulged, at the doctors suggestion, in some of those amusements of life which he had hitherto totally neglected. M. Desalleux thought of a wife, and no man was more in a position than he to secure a good match; for, without speaking of personal advant- ages, the fame of his oratorical successes, and perhaps, more still, the little anxiety which he displayed for any other kind of success, had ren- dered him the object of more than one ladys ambition. But there was in the bent of his life something toopositive for him to consent that even the love of a woman should find a place there un- conditionally. Among the hearts which seemed ready to bestow themselves upon him, he calcu- lated which was the particular one whose good- will was best supported by money, useful rela- tions, and other social advantages. The first part of his romance being thus settled, he saw without regret that the bride who would bring him all these, was a young girl, witty, and of elegant exterior; whereupon he set about falling in love with her with all the passion of which he was capable, and with the approbation of her family, until at length a marriage was determined upon. Orleans had not, for a long time, seen a pret- tier bride than that of M. Desalleux; nor a family more happy than that of M. Desalleux, nor a wedding-ball so joyous and brilliant as that of M. Desalleux. That night he thought no more of his ambition; he lived only in the pres- ent. According to French custom, the guests remained until a late hour. Imprisoned in a corner of the saloon by a barrister, who, had taken that opportune moment to recommend a case to him, the bridegroom looked, from time to time, at the time-piece, which pointed to a quar- ter to two. He had also remarked, that twice within a short time the mother of the bride had approached her, and whispered in her ear, and that the latter had replied with an air of confu- sion. Suddenly, at the conclusion of a contra- dance, he perceived, by a certain whispering that ran through the assembly, that something important was going on. Casting his eyes, while the barrister continued to talk to him, upon the seats which his wife and her ladies of honor had A GHOST OF A HEAD. occupied during the whole evening, he perceived that they were empty; whereupon the grave deputy-prosecutor cutting short, as most men would have done under the circumstances, the argument of the barrister, advanced by a clever series of mancauvres toward the door of the apartment; and at the moment when some do- mestics entered bearing refreshments; glided out, in the fond and mistaken belief that no one had remarked him. At the door of the nuptial chamber he met his mother-in-law, who was retiring with the various dignitaries, whose presence had been considered necessary, as well as some matrons who had joined the cort~ge. Pressing his hand, and with a faltering voice, the mother whispered to him a few words, and it was understood that she spoke of her daughter. M. Desalleux, smiling, replied with some affectionate phrases. Most assuredly in that moment he was not thinking of poor Peter Leroux. At the moment of closing the door of the chamber, the bride was already a-bed. He re- marked, what appeared to him strange, that the curtains of her bed were drawn. The room was quite silent. The stillness, and the strafige fact of the close- drawn curtains embarrassed him. His heart beat violently. He looked around, and remarked her dress and all her wedding-ornaments lying around him, with a graceful air of negligence, in various parts of the room. With a faltering voice he called upon his bride byname. Having no reply, he returned, perhaps to gain time, to- ward the door, assured himself that it was well fastened, then approaching the bed, he opened the curtains gently. By the flickering light of the lamp suspended from the ceiling, a singular vision presented it- self to his eyes. Near his fiancee, who was fast asleep, the head of a man with black hair was ly- ing on the white pillow. Was he again the victim of an error of the senses, or had some usurper dared to occupy his place At all events, his substitute took little notice of him; for, as well as his wife, he was sound asleep, with his face turned toward the bottom of the alcove. In the moment when M. Desalleux leaned over the bed, to examine the features of this singular intruder, a long sigh, like that of a man awaking from slumber, broke the silence of the chamber; and at the same time the head of the stranger turn- ing toward him, he recognized the face of Peter Leroux staring at him, with that very look of stupefied astonishment with which for two hours the unlucky plowman had listened to his brilliant discourse in the criminal court of Orleans. Perhaps, on any other occasion, the deputy- l)rosecutor, on finding himself a second time visited by this horrible vision, would have sus- pected that he had been guilty of some wicked action, for which he was doomed to this perse- cution: his conscience, if he had taken the trouble to cross-examine it, would have very soon told him what was his crime, in which case, being a good Catholic, ha would perhaps have gone out and locked the door of the haunted room until morning, when he would have im- mediately ordered a mass for the repose of the soul of Peter Leroux; by means of this, and of some contributions to the fund for poor prison- ers of justice, he might, perhaps, have regained his tranquillity of mind, and escaped forever from the annoyance to which he had been subjected. At such a time, however, he felt more irritation than remorse; and he accordingly endeavored to seize the intruder by the hair, and drag him from his resting-place. At the first movement that he made, however, the head, understanding his in- tentions, began to grind its teeth, and as he stretched out his hand, the bridegroom felt him- self severely bitten. The pain of his wound in creased his rage. He looked around fog some weapon, went to the fire-place and seized a bar of steel which served to support the fire-ironz. then returned, and striking several times upon the bed with all his force, endeavored to destroy his hideous visitor. But the bead, ducking and bobbing like the white gentleman with black spots, whom Punch has never been able to touch, dexterously slipped aside at every blow, which descended harmlessly upon the bed-clothes. For several minutes the furious bridegroom contin- ued to waste his strength in this manner, when, springing with an extraordinary bound, the head passed over the shoulder of its adversary, and disappeared behind him before he could observe by what way it had escaped. After a careful search, and considerable raking in corners with the bar of steel, finding himself at length master of the field of battle, the deputy. prosecutor returned to the bed. The bride was still miraculously asleep; and, to his horror, he perceived, on lifting the coverlet, that she was lying in a pool of blood, left no doubt by the bleeding head. Misfortunes never come alone: while seeking for a cloth about the chamber, he struck the lamp with his forehead, and extin- guished it. Meanwhile the night was advancing; already the window of the chamber began to glimmer with the coming day. Furious with the obsta- cles which heaven and earth seemed to set in his way, the deputy-prosecutor determined to solve the mystery. Approaching the bed again, he called upon his bride by the tenderest names, and endeavored to awake her, yet she continued to sleep. Taking her in his arms, he embraced her passionately; but she slept on, and appeared insensible to all his caresses. What could this mean Was it the feint of a bashful girl, or was he himself dreaming It was growing lighter; and in the hope of dispelling the odious enchantments with which he was surrounded, M. Desalleux went to the window, and drew aside the blinds and curtains to let in the new day. Then the unhappy lawyer perceived for the first time why the blood refused to be dried up. Blinded by his anger in his combat with tl~ head of Peter Leroux, and while he had supposed himself to be chastising his disturber, he had, in fact, been striking the head of his unfortunate HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. A bookseller in Orleans, sometime afterward, conceived the idea of collecting and publishing a volume of the speeches which he had pronounced during his short but brilliant oratorical career. Three editions were exhausted successively, and not long since a fourth was announced. MY NOVEL; OR, VARIETIES IN EN- GLISH LIPE.* CHAPTER X VCONTINUED. FOOL 1 said the unhappy man, aloud, in his anguish, fool! what then? Were I free, would it be to trust my fate again to falsehood If, in all the bloom and glory of my youth, I failed to win the heart of a village girlif, once morc deluding myself, it is in vain that I have tended, reared, cherished, some germ of womans human affection in the orphan I saved from penuryhow look for love in the brilliant Princess, whom all the sl~ek Lotharios of our gaudy world will sur- round with their homage when once she alights in their sphere! If perfidy be my fatewhat hell of hells in the thought 1that a wife might lay her head in my bosomandoh, horror! hor- ror 1No 1I would not accept her hand were it offered, nor believe in her love were it pledged to me. Stern soul of minewise at last, love never morenever more believe in truth 1 CHAPTER XVI. bride. The blows had been dealt so quickly, and with such violence, that she had died without a sigh, or, perhaps, without her assailants hearing one, in the fury of the struggle. We leave to psychologists to explain this phenomenon; but on seeing that he had killed his bride, he was seized with a violent fit of laughter, which attracted the attention of his mother-in-law who knocked gently at the door, and desired to know the cause of the disturb- ance. On hearing the voice of the mother of his wife, his terrible gayety increased. Running to open the door, he seized her by the arm, and drawing her to the side of the bed, pulled back the curtains, and revealed to her the terrible spectacle; after which his laughter grew still more furious, until at length he sank exhausted on the floor. Alarmed at the shrieks of the mother, all the inmates of the house became witnesses of the scene, the report of which spread rapidly through the city. The same morning, upon a warrant from the procureur-general, M. Desalleux was conducted to the criminal prison of Orleans; and it has since been remarked, as a singular coinci- dence, that his cell was the same that had been occupied by Peter Leroux up to the day of his execution. The end of the deputy-prosecutor, however, was a little less tragic. Declared by the unani- mous testimony of the physicians to be insane, the man who had dreamed of moving the world with his eloquence, was conducted to the hos- pital for lunatics, and for more than six months kept chained in a dark cell, as in the good old times. At the end of this time, however, as he appeared to be no longer dangerous, his chains were removed, and he was subjected to milder treatment. As soon as he recovered his liberty, a strange delusion took possession of him, which did not leave him until he died. He fancied himself a tight-rope dancer, and from morning to, night danced with the gestures and movements of a man who holds a balancing-rod, and walks upon a cord. If any one visiting the city of Orleans would take the trouble to inquire of M. Trois6toiles, landlord of the H6tel Aux Cl6s de Ia Ville, in the Place du March6, he would obtain a confirmation of the truth of this history, together with many other facts and circumstances, collateral and ram- ificatory, concerning the bride and bridegroom, their relations and friends, which we have not thought necessary to state. With regard, how- ever, to the tragic event which we have last de- scribed, M. Trois6toiles will simply relate what is known to the world on the subjectnamely, that the deputy-prosecutor, being injured in mind by overstudy and application to business, knocked out his wifes brains on her wedding-night. We, however, although we decline to mention our sources of information, have been enabled to give the private and secret history of the tragedy, for the truth of which we are equally able to vouch. As Harley quitted the room, Helens pale sweet face looked forth from a door in the same corridor. She advanced toward him timidly. May I speak with you ? she said, in almost inaudible accents. 1 have been listening for ~pur footstep. Harley looked at her steadfastly. Then, with- out a word, he followed her into the room she had left, and closed the door. I too, said he, meant to seek an interview with yourselfbut later. You would speak to me, Helensay onAhI child, what mean you? Why this ?for Helen was kneeling at his feet. Let me kneel, she said, resisting the hand that sought to raise her. Let me kneel till I have explained all, and perhaps won your par- don. You said something the other evening. It has weighed on my heart and my conscience ever since. You said that I should have no secret from you; for that, in our relation to each other, would be deceit. I have had a secret; but, oh believe me! it was long ere it was clearly visible to myself. You honored me with a suit so far beyond my birth, my merits. You said that I might console and comfort you. At those words, what answer could I give ?I who owe you so much more than a daughters duty? And I thought that my affections were freethat they would obey ~that duty. Butbut-but con- tinued Helen, bowing her head still lowlier, and in a voice far fainter I deceived myself. I again saw him who had been all in the world to me, when the world was so terribleand then and thenI trembled. I was terrified at my own * Concluded from the November Number. 1)6

HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. A bookseller in Orleans, sometime afterward, conceived the idea of collecting and publishing a volume of the speeches which he had pronounced during his short but brilliant oratorical career. Three editions were exhausted successively, and not long since a fourth was announced. MY NOVEL; OR, VARIETIES IN EN- GLISH LIPE.* CHAPTER X VCONTINUED. FOOL 1 said the unhappy man, aloud, in his anguish, fool! what then? Were I free, would it be to trust my fate again to falsehood If, in all the bloom and glory of my youth, I failed to win the heart of a village girlif, once morc deluding myself, it is in vain that I have tended, reared, cherished, some germ of womans human affection in the orphan I saved from penuryhow look for love in the brilliant Princess, whom all the sl~ek Lotharios of our gaudy world will sur- round with their homage when once she alights in their sphere! If perfidy be my fatewhat hell of hells in the thought 1that a wife might lay her head in my bosomandoh, horror! hor- ror 1No 1I would not accept her hand were it offered, nor believe in her love were it pledged to me. Stern soul of minewise at last, love never morenever more believe in truth 1 CHAPTER XVI. bride. The blows had been dealt so quickly, and with such violence, that she had died without a sigh, or, perhaps, without her assailants hearing one, in the fury of the struggle. We leave to psychologists to explain this phenomenon; but on seeing that he had killed his bride, he was seized with a violent fit of laughter, which attracted the attention of his mother-in-law who knocked gently at the door, and desired to know the cause of the disturb- ance. On hearing the voice of the mother of his wife, his terrible gayety increased. Running to open the door, he seized her by the arm, and drawing her to the side of the bed, pulled back the curtains, and revealed to her the terrible spectacle; after which his laughter grew still more furious, until at length he sank exhausted on the floor. Alarmed at the shrieks of the mother, all the inmates of the house became witnesses of the scene, the report of which spread rapidly through the city. The same morning, upon a warrant from the procureur-general, M. Desalleux was conducted to the criminal prison of Orleans; and it has since been remarked, as a singular coinci- dence, that his cell was the same that had been occupied by Peter Leroux up to the day of his execution. The end of the deputy-prosecutor, however, was a little less tragic. Declared by the unani- mous testimony of the physicians to be insane, the man who had dreamed of moving the world with his eloquence, was conducted to the hos- pital for lunatics, and for more than six months kept chained in a dark cell, as in the good old times. At the end of this time, however, as he appeared to be no longer dangerous, his chains were removed, and he was subjected to milder treatment. As soon as he recovered his liberty, a strange delusion took possession of him, which did not leave him until he died. He fancied himself a tight-rope dancer, and from morning to, night danced with the gestures and movements of a man who holds a balancing-rod, and walks upon a cord. If any one visiting the city of Orleans would take the trouble to inquire of M. Trois6toiles, landlord of the H6tel Aux Cl6s de Ia Ville, in the Place du March6, he would obtain a confirmation of the truth of this history, together with many other facts and circumstances, collateral and ram- ificatory, concerning the bride and bridegroom, their relations and friends, which we have not thought necessary to state. With regard, how- ever, to the tragic event which we have last de- scribed, M. Trois6toiles will simply relate what is known to the world on the subjectnamely, that the deputy-prosecutor, being injured in mind by overstudy and application to business, knocked out his wifes brains on her wedding-night. We, however, although we decline to mention our sources of information, have been enabled to give the private and secret history of the tragedy, for the truth of which we are equally able to vouch. As Harley quitted the room, Helens pale sweet face looked forth from a door in the same corridor. She advanced toward him timidly. May I speak with you ? she said, in almost inaudible accents. 1 have been listening for ~pur footstep. Harley looked at her steadfastly. Then, with- out a word, he followed her into the room she had left, and closed the door. I too, said he, meant to seek an interview with yourselfbut later. You would speak to me, Helensay onAhI child, what mean you? Why this ?for Helen was kneeling at his feet. Let me kneel, she said, resisting the hand that sought to raise her. Let me kneel till I have explained all, and perhaps won your par- don. You said something the other evening. It has weighed on my heart and my conscience ever since. You said that I should have no secret from you; for that, in our relation to each other, would be deceit. I have had a secret; but, oh believe me! it was long ere it was clearly visible to myself. You honored me with a suit so far beyond my birth, my merits. You said that I might console and comfort you. At those words, what answer could I give ?I who owe you so much more than a daughters duty? And I thought that my affections were freethat they would obey ~that duty. Butbut-but con- tinued Helen, bowing her head still lowlier, and in a voice far fainter I deceived myself. I again saw him who had been all in the world to me, when the world was so terribleand then and thenI trembled. I was terrified at my own * Concluded from the November Number. 1)6 57 MY NOVEL; OR, VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. memoriesmy own thoughts. Still I struggled to banish the pastresolutelyfirmly. Oh, you believe me, do you not? And I hoped to con- quer. Yet ever since those words of yours, I felt that I ought to tell you even of the struggle. This is the first time we have met since you spoke them. And nownowI have seen him again, andandthough not by a word could she you had deigned to woo as your bride, encourage hope in anotherthough therethere where you now standhe bade me farewell, and we parted as if forever ;yetyetO Lord LEstrange! in return for your rank, wealth, your still nobler gifts of naturewhat could I bringsomething more than gratitude, esteem, reverenceat least an undivided heart, filled with your image, and yours alone. And. this I can not give. Pardon menot for what I say now, but for not saying it before. Pardon me, 0 my ben- efactor, pardon me Rise, Helen, said Harley, with relaxing brow, though still unwilling to yield to one softer and holier emotion. Rise ! And he lifted her up, and drew her toward the light. Let me look at your face. There seems no guile here. These tears are surely honest. If I can not be loved, it is my fate, and not your crime. Now, listen to me. If you grant me nothing else, will you give me the obedience which the ward owes to the guardianthe child to the parent ? Yes, oh yes ! murmured Helen. Then, while I release you from all troth to me, I claim the right to refuse, if I so please it, my assent to the suit ofof the person you pre- fer. I acquit you of deceit, but I reserve to my- self the judgment I shall pass on him. Until I myself sanction that suit, will you promise not to recall in any way the rejection which, if I under- stand you rightly, you have given to it ? I promise. And if I say to you, Helen, this man is not worthy of you No, no! do not say thatI could not believe you. Harley frowned, but resumed calmly If, them, I say Ask me not wherefore, but I for- bid you to be the wife of Leonard Fairfield, what would be your answer Ah, my lord, if you can but comfort him, do with me as you will; but do not command me to break his heart Oh, silly child, cried Harley, laughing scorn- fully, hearts are not found in the race from whfch that man sprang. But I take your prom- ise, with its credulous condition. Helen, I pity you. I have been as weak as you, bearded man though I be. Some day or other, you and I may live to laugh at the follies at which you weep now. I can give you no other comfort, for I know of none. He moved to the door, and paused at the threshold. I shall not see you again for souse days, Helen. Perhaps I may request my mother to join me at Lansmere; if so, I shall pray you to accompany her. For the present, let all be- lieve that our position is unchanged. The tirn~ will soon come when I may Helen looked up wistfully through her tears I may release you from all duties to me, continued Harley with grave and severe coldness, or I may claim your promise in spite of the condition; for your lovers heart will not be broken. Adieu CHAPTER XVII. As Harley entered London, he came suddenly upon Randal Leslie, who was hurrying from Eaton Square, having not only accompanied Mr. Avenel in his walk, but gone home with him and spent half the day in that gentlemans society. He was now on his way to the House of Com- mons, at which some disclosure as to the day for the dissolution of Parliament was expected. Lord LEstrange, said Randal, I must stop you. I have been to Norwood and seen our noble friend. He has confided to me, of course, all that passed. How can I express my grati- tude to you! By what rare talentwith what signal courageyou have saved the happiness perhaps even the honorof my plighted bride ! Your bride ! The Duke, then, still holds to the promise you were fortunate enough to obtain from Riccabocca ? He confirms that promise more solemnly than ever. You may well be surprised at his mag- nanimity. No; he is a philosophernothing in him can surprise me. But he seemed to think, when I saw him, that there were circumstances you might find it hard to explain. Hard! Nothing so easy. Allow me to ten. der to you the same explanations which satisfied one whohi philosophy itself has made as open to truth as he is clear-sighted to imposture. Another time, my dear Mr. Leslie. If your brides father be satisfied, what right have I tc doubt? By the way, you stand for Lausmere. Do me the favor to fix your quarters at the Park during the election. You will, of course, accom- pany Mr. Egerton. You are most kind, answered Randal, great- ly surprised. You accept? That is well. We shall then have ample opportunity for those explanations which you honor me by offering; and, to make your visit still more agreeable, I may perhaps induce your friends at Norwood to meet you Good-day. Harley walked on, leaving Randal motionless in amaze, but tormented with suspicion. What could such courtesies in Lord LEstrange por- tend? Surely no good. I am about to hold the balance of justice, said Harley to himself. I will cast the light- weight of that knave into the scale. Violante never can be mine; but I did not save her from a Peschiera, to leave her to a Randal Leslie. Ha, ha! Audley Egerton has some human feel- ingtenderness for that youth whom he has 58 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. selected from the world, in which he left Noras mission would not suffice even for that; and per- child to the jaws of famine. Through that side haps my father might be still more angry if I do I can reach at his heart, and prove him a fool sell it. Well, good-by. I shall now go away like myself, where he esteemed and confided! happythat is, comparatively. One must bear Good. things likea man I should like, however, to see you again be- fore you go abroad. I will call on you. Mean- while, can you tell me the Number of one Baron Levy? He lives in this street, I know. Levy! Oh, have no dealings with him, I adviseI entreat you! He is the most plausible, dangerous rascal; and, for heavens sake! pray be warned by me, and let nothing entangle you intoa POST-OBIT Be reassured, I am more accustomed to lend money than to borrow it; and as to a post-obit, I have a foolish prejudice against such transac- tions. Dont call it foolish, LEstrange; I honor you for it. How I wish I had known you earlier so few men of the world are like you. Even Randal Leslie, who is so faultless in most things, and never gets into a scrape himself; called my own scruples foolish. However StayRandal Leslie! What! He advised you to borrow on a post-obit, and probably shared the loan with you ? 0, no; not a shilling. Tell me all about it, Frank. Perhaps, as I see that Levy is mixed up in the affair, your in- formation may be useful to myself, and put me on my guard in dealing with that popular gen- tleman. Frank, who somehow or other felt himself quite at home with Harley, and who, with all his respect for Randal Leslies talents, had a vague notion that Lord LEstrange was quite as clever, and from his years and experience, likely to be a safer and more judicious counselor, was noways loth to impart the confidence thus press- ed for. He told Harley of his debtshis first dealirgs with Levythe unhappy post-obit into which he had been hurried by the distress of Madame di Negrahis fathers angerhis mothers letter his own feelings of mingled shame and pride, which made him fear that repentance would but seem self-interesthis desire to sell his commis- sion, and let its sale redeem in part thepost-obit; in short, he made what is called a clean breast of it. Raudal Leslie was necessarily mixed up with this recital; and the subtle cross-questions of Har- ley extracted far more as to that young diplomats agency in all these melancholy concerns, than the ingenuous narrator himself was aware of. So then, said Harley, Mr. Leslie assured you of Madame di Nigras affection, when you yourself doubted of it 2 Yes; she took him in, even more than she did me. Simple Mr. Leslie! And the same kind friend who is related to youdid you say 2 His grandmother was a Hazeldean. Humph. The same kind relation led you to believe that you could pay off this bond with the Thus soliloquizing, Lord LEstrange gained the corner of iBruton Street, when he was again somewhat abruptly accosted. My dear Lord LEstrange, let me shake you by the hand; for Heaven knows when I may see you again; and you have suffered me to assist in one good action. Frank Hazeldean, I am pleased indeed to meet you. Why do you indulge in that melan- choly doubt as to the time when I may see you again 2 I have just got leave of absence. I am not well, and I am rather hipped, so I shall go abroad for a few weeks. In spite of himself, the sombre~ brooding man felt interest and sympathy in the dejection that was evident in Franks voice and countenance. Another dupe to affection, thought he, as if in apology to himself; naturally, of course, a dupe: he is honest and artlessat pre5ent.~~ He pressed kindly on the arm which he had involuntarily twined within his own I conceive how you now grieve, my young friend, said he; but you will congratulate yourself hereafter on what this day seems to you an affliction. My dear lord I am much older than you; but not old enough for such formal ceremony. Pray, call me LEstrange. Thank you; and I should indeed like to ~poak to you as a friend. There is a thought on my mind which haunts me. I daresay it is fool- ish enough, but I am sure you will not laugh at me. You heard what Madame di Negra said to me last night. I have been trifled with and mis- led, but I can not forget so soon how dear to me that woman was. I am not going to bore you with such nonsense; but, from what I Can un- derstand, her brother is likely to lose all his for- tune; and even if not, he is a sad scoundrel. I can not bear the thought that she should be so dependent on himthat she may come to want. After all, there must be good in hergood in her to refuse my hand if she did not love me. A mercenary woman so circumstanced would not have done that. You are quite right. But do not torment yourself with such generous fears. Madame di Negra shall not come to wantshall not be de- pendent on her infamous brother. The first act of the Duke of Serrano, on regaining his estates, will be a suitable provision for his kinswoman. I will answer for this. You take a load off my mind. I did mean to ask you to intercede with Riccaboccathat is, the Duke; (it is so hard to think he can be a Duke!) I, alas! have nothing in my power to bestow upon Madame di Negra. I may, indeed, sell my commission; but then I have a debt which I long to pay off; and the sale of the com MY NOVEL; OR, VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 59 Marchesas portion, and that he could obtain the zonsent of your parents to your marriage with that lady ? I ought to have known better; my fathers prejudices against foreigners and papists are so strong. And now Mr. Leslie concurs with you, that it is best for you to go abroad, and trust to his inter- cession with your father. He has evidently then guined a great influence over Mr. Hazeldean. My father naturally compares me with him he so clever, so promising, so regular in his habits, and I such a reckless scapegrace. And the bulk of your fathers property is un- entailedMr. Hazeldean might disinherit you. I deserve it. I hope he will. You have no brothers nor sistersno rela- tion, perhaps, nearer to you than your excellent friend Mr. Randal Leslie ? No; that is the reason he is so kind to me, otherwise I am the last person to suit him. You have no idea how well-informed and clever he is, added Frank, in a tone between admiration and awe. My dear Hazeldean, you will take my ad- vice, will you not ? Certainly. You are too good. Let all your family, Mr. Leslie included, suppose you to be gone abroad; but stay quietly in England, and within a days journey of Lans- mere Park. I am obliged to go thither for the approaching election. I may ask you to come over. I think I see a way to serve you; and if so, you will soon hear from me. Now, Baron Levys Number. That is the house with the cabriolet at the door. How such a fellow can have such a horse! tis out of all keeping ! Not at all; horses are high-spirited, gener- ous, unsuspicious animalsthey never know that it is a rogue who drives them! I have your promise, then, and you will send me your ad- dress ? I will. Strange that I feel more confidence in you than I do even in Randal! Do take care of Levy. Lord LEstrange and Frank here shook hands, and Frank, with an anxious groan, saw LEs- trange disappear within the portals of the sleek destroyer. CHAPTER XVIII. LORD LESTRANGE followed the spruce servant into Barons Levys luxurious study. The Baron looked greatly amazed at his un- expected visitor; but he got uphanded a chair to my lord with a low bow. This is an hon- or, said he. You have a charming abode bere, said Lord LEstrange, looking round. Very fine bronzesexcellent taste. Your reception-rooms above are, doubtless, a model to all decorators ! Would your lordship condescend to see them, said Levywonderingbut flattered. With the greatest pleasure. Lights ! cried Levy, to the servant who an- swered the bell. Lights in the drawing-rooms. It is growing dark. Lord LEstrange followed the usurer up-stairs; admired every thingpictures, draperies, Sivres china, to the very shape of the downy fauteuils, to the very pattern of the Tournay carpet. Re- clining then on one of the voluptuous sofas, Lord LEstrange said, smilingly, You are a wise man; there is no advantage in being rich, unless one enjoys ones riches. My own maxim, Lord LEstrange. And it is something, too, to have a taste fox good society. Small pride would you have, my dear Baron, in these rooms, luxurious though they are, if filled with guests of vulgar exterior and plebeian manners. It is only in the world in which we move that we find persons who har- monize, as it were, with the porcelain of ~S~vres, and those sofas that might have come from Ver- sailles. I own, said Levy, that I have what some may call a weakness in a parvenu like myself. I have a love for the beau monde. It is indeed a pleasure to me when I receive men like your lordship. But why call yourself a parvenu? Though you are contented to honor the uame of Levy, we, in society all know that you are the son of a long-descended English peer. Child of love, it is true; but the Graces smile on those over whose birth Venus presided. Pardon my old-fashioned mythological similesthey go so wellwith these roomsLouis Quinze. Since you touch on my birth, said Levy, his color rather heightened, not with shame but with pride, I dont deny that it has had some effect on my habits and tastes in life. In fact In fact, own that you would be a miserable man in spite of all your wealth, if the young dandies who throng to your banquets were to cut you dead in the streets; if, when your high- stepping horse stopped at your club, the porter shut the door in your face; if, when you lounged into the opera-pit, handsome dog that you are, each spendthrift rake in Fops Alley, who now waits but the scratch of your pen to endorse billet doux with the charm that can chain to himself for a month some nymph of the Ballet, spinning round in a whirlwind of tulle, would shrink from the touch of your condescending fore-finger with more dread of its contact than a bailiffs arrest in the thick of Pall-Mall could inspire; if, re- duced to the company of city clerks, parasite led-captains Oh, dont go on, my dear lord, cried Levy, laughing affectedly. Impossible though the picture be, it is really appalling. Cut me off from May Fair and St. Jamess, and I should go into my strong closet and hang myself. And yet, my dear Baron, all this may hap- pen if I have the whim just to try; all this will happen, unless, ere I leave your house, you con- cede the conditions I came here to impose. My lord, exclaimed Levy, starting up, and 60 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. pulling down his waistcoat with nervous, passion- ate fingers, if you were not under my own roof I would Truce with mock heroics. Sit down, sir sit down. I will briefly state my threatmore briefly my conditions. You will be scarcely more prolix in your reply. Your fortune I can not touchyour enjoyment of it I can destroy. Re- fuse my conditionsmake me your enemyand war to the knife! I will interrogate all the young dupes you have ruined. I will learn the history of all the transactions by which you have gained the wealth that it pleases you to spend in court- ing the society and sharing the vices of men who go with these rooms, Louis Quinze. Not a roguery of yours shall escape me, down even to your last notable connivance with an Italian rep- robate for the criminal abstraction of an heiress. All these particulars I will proclaim in the clubs to which you have gained admittancein every club in London which you yet hope to creep into. All these I will impart to some such authority in the Press as Mr. Henry Norreys; all these I will, upon the voucher of my own name, have so pub- lished in some journals of repute, that you must either tacitly submit to the revelations that blast you, or bring before a court of law actions that will convert accusations into evidence. It is but by sufferance that you are now in society; you are excluded when one man like me comes forth to denounce you. You try in vain to sneer at my menaceyour white lips show your terror. I have rarely in life drawn any advantage from my rank and position; but I am thankful that they give me the power to make my voice re- spected and my exposure triumphant. Now, Baron Levy, will you go into your strong closet and hang yourself? or will you grant me my very moderate conditions? You are silent. I will relieve you, and state those conditions. Un- til the general election about to take place, is concluded, you will obey me to the letter in all that I enjoinno demur, and no scruple. And the first proof of obedience I demand, is your can- did disclosure of all Mr. Audley Egertons pecun- iary affairs. Has my client, Mr. Egerton, authorized you to request of me that disclosure ? On the contrary, all that passes between us you will conceal from your client You would save him from ruin? Your trusty friend, Mr. Egerton ! said the Baron, with a livid sneer. Wrong again, Baron Levy. If I would save him from ruin, you are scarcely the man I should ask to assist me. Ab, I guess. You have learned how he Guess nothing; but obey in all things. Let us descend to your businessroom. Levy said not a word until he had reconducted his visitor into his den of destructionall gleam- ing with spoliariain rosewood. Then he said this: If, Lord LEstrange, you seek but revenge on Audley Egerton, you need not have v ~ternd those threats. I, toohate the man. Harley looked at him steadfastly, and the no- bleman felt a pang that he hi~d debased himself into a single feeling which the usurer could share. Nevertheless, the interview appeared to close with satisfactory arrangements, and produce ansi- cable understanding. For as the Baron ceremo- niously followed Lord LEstrange through the hall, hi~ roble visitor said, with marked affabil- ity Then I shall see you at Lansmere with DvlIr. Egerton, to assist in conducting his election. It is a sacrifice of your time worthy of your friend- ship; not a step farther, I beg. Baron, I have the honor to wish you good evening. As the street door opened on Lord LEstrange, he again found himself face to face with Handal Leslie, whose hand was already lifted to the knocker. Ha, Mr. Leslie !you too a client of Baron Levys ;a very useful, accommodating man. Randal stared and stammered. I come in haste from the House of Commons on Mr. Eger~ tons business. Dont you hear the newspaper venders crying out, Great newsDissolution of Parliament? We are prepared. Levy himself consents to give us the aid bf his talents. Kindly, obliging clever person 1 Randal hurried into Levys study, to which the usurer had shrunk back, and was now wiping his brow with his scented handkerchief; looking heat ed and haggard, and very indifferent to Handal Leslie. How is this ? cried Randal. I come to tell you first of Peschieras- utter failure, the ri diculous coxcomb, and I meet at your door th~ last man I thought to find tberethe man who foiled us all, Lord LEstrange. What brought him to you? Ah, perhaps, his interest in Egcr- tons election. Y~s, said Levy, sulkily. I know all about Peschiera. I can not talk to you now~ I must make arrangements for going to Lausmere. But dont forget my purchase from Thoruhill. I shall have the money shortly from a surer source than Peschiera. The Squire? Or a rich father-in-law. In the mean while, as Lord LEstrange entered Bond Street, his ears were stunned by vociferous cries from the Stentors employed by Standard, Sun, and Globe Great news. Dissolution of Parliamentgreat news ! The gas lamps were lighteda brown fog was gathering over ~he streets, blending itself with the falling shades of night. The forms of men loomed large througb the mist. The lights from the shops looked red and lurid. Loungers usually careless as to poli. tics, were talking eagerly and anxiously of King, Lords, Commons, Constitution t stake Triumph of liberal opini9ns ~~according to their several biases. Hearing, and scoi lugunsocial, isolatedwalked on Harley LEstrange. With his direr passions had been roused up all the na- tive powers, that made them doubly dangerous. MY NOVEL; OR, VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 6i He became proudly conscious of his own great faculties, but exulted in Them only so far as they could minister to the pi pose which had invoked them. I have constituted myself a Fate, he said fuly; let the gods be but neutralwhile I weave the meshes. Then, as Fate itself when it has fulfilled its mission, let me pass away into sha- dow, with the still and lonely stride that none may follow. Oh, for a lodge in some vast wilderness. How weary I am of this world of men ! And again the cry Great newsNational crisis Dissolution of ParliamentGreat news 1 rang through the jostling throng. Three men, arm- in-arm, brushed by Harley, and were stopped at the crossing by a file of carriages. The man in the centre was Audley Egerton. His companions were, an ex-minister like himself, and one of those great proprietors who are proud of being above office, and vain of the power to make and unmake Governments. You are the only man to lead us, Egerton, said this last personage. Do but secure your seat, and as soon as this popular fever has passed away, you must be something more than the leader of Oppositionyou must be the first man in England. Not a doubt of that, chimed in the fellow ex-ministera worthy manperfect red tapist, but inaudible in the reporters gallery. And your election is quite safe, eh? All depends on that. You must not be thrown out at such a time, even for a month or two. I hear that you will have a contestsome townsman of the bor- ough, I think. But the Lansmere interest must be all-powerful; and, I suppose, LEstrange will come out and canvass for you. You are not the man to have lukewarm friends ! Dont be alarmed about my election. I am as sure of that as of LEstranges friendship. Harley heard, with a grim smile, and passing his band within his vest, laid it upon Noras me- mosr. What could we do in Parliament without you ! said the great proprietor, almost piteous ly. Rather what could I do without Parliament? Public life is the only existence I own. Parlia- ment is all in all to me. But we may cross now. Harleys eye glittered cold as it followed the tall form of the statesman, towering high above all other passers-by. Ay, he muttered, Ay, rest as ~s~re of my friendship as I was of thine! And be Lazasmere our field of Philippi! There, where thy first step was made in the only life that thou ownst as existence, shall the ladder itself rot from under thy footing. There, where thy softer victim slunk to death from the deceit of thy love, shall deceit like thine own dig a grave for thy frigid ambition. I borrow thyqui or of fraud; its still arrows shall strike thee; and thou too shalt say, when the ~arb pierces home, This comes from the hand of a friend. Ay, at Lansmere, at Lausmere, shall the end crown the whole! Go, and dot on the canvas the lines for the lengthened perspec- tive, where my eyes note already the vanishing point of the picture. Then through the dull fog, and under the pale gaslights, Harley LEstrange pursued his noise- less way, soon distinguished no more among the various, motley, quick-succeeding groups, with their infinite subdivisions of thought, care, and passion; while, loud over all their low murmurs. or silent hearts, were heard the tramp of horses. and din of wheels, and the vociferous discordant cry that had ceased to attract an interest in the ears it vexed Great News, Great NewsDis- solution of ParliamentGreat News ! CHAPTER XIX. THE scene is at Lansmere Parka spacious pile, commenced in the reign of Charles II.; en- larged and altered in the reign of Anne. Brill- iant interval in the History of our National Man- ners, when even the courtier dreaded to be dull, and Sir Fopling raised himself on tiptoe to catch the ear of a witwhen the names of Devonshire and Dorset, Halifax and Carteret, Oxford and Bolingbroke, unite themselves, brother-like, with those of Hobbes and of Dryden, of Prior and Bentley, of Arbuthnot, Gay, Pope, and Swift; and still, wherever we turn, to recognize some ideal of great Lord or fine Gentlemanthe Im- mortals of Literature stand by his side. The walls of the rooms at Lansmere were cov- ered with the portraits of those who illustrate that time which Europe calls the age of Louis XIV. A LEstrange, who had lived through the reigns of four English princes (and with no mean importance through all), had collected those like- nesses of noble contemporaries. As you passed through the chambersopening one on the other in that pomp of parade introduced with Charles II. from the palaces of France, and retaining its mode till Versailles and the Trianon passed, them- selves, out of dateyou felt you were in excellent company. What saloons of our day, demeaned to tailed coats and white waistcoats, have that charm of high breeding which speaks out from the canvas of Kneller and Jervis, Vivien and Ri- gaud? And withal, notwithstanding lace and brocadethe fripperies of artificial costumestill those who give interest or charm to that day, look from their portraits like menraking or de- bonssair, if you willnever mincing nor feminine. Can we say as much of the portraits of Lawrence? Gaze there on fair Marlboroughwhat delicate perfection of features, yet how easy in boldness, how serene in the conviction of power! So fair and so tranquil he might have looked through the cannon-reek at Ramilies and ~Blenheim, suggest- ing to Addison the image of an angel of war. Ab, there, Sir Charles Sedley, the Love~ce of wits! Note that strong jaw and marked brow do you not recognize the courtier who scorned to ask one favor of the king with whom he lived as an equal, and ~ho stretched forth the rigb4 62 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. hand of man to hurl from a throne the king who had made his daughtera Countess ? * Perhaps, from his childhood thus surrounded by the haunting facesthat spoke of their age as they looked from the wallsthat age and those portraits were not without influence on the char- acter of Harley LEstrange. The whim and the daringthe passion for letters and reverence for geniusthe mixture of levity and strengththe polished sauntering indolence, or the elastic read- iness of energies once called into actionall might have found their prototypes in the lives which those portraits rekindled. The deeper sentiment, the more earnest nature, which in Harley LEs- trange were commingled with the attributes com- mon to a former agethese, indeed, were of his own. Our age so little comprehended, while it colors us from its atmosphere !so full of mys- terious and profound emotions, which our ances- tors never knew !will those emotions be under- stood by our descendants? In this stately house were now assembled, as Harleys guests, many of the more important personages whom the slow length of this story has made familiar to the reader. The two can- didates for the borough in the True Blue interest AudleyEgerton and Randal Leslie ;andLevy chief among the barons to whom modern soci- ety grants a seignorie of pillage, which, had a baron of old ever ventured to arrogate, burgess and citizen, socman and bocman, villein and shun, would have burned him alive in his castle the Duke di Serrano, still fondly clinging to his title of Doctor and pet name of Riccabocca Jemima, not yet with the airs of a duchess, but robed in very thick silks, as the chrysalis state of a duchess ;Violante, too, was there, sadly against her will, and shrinking as much a~ pos- sible into the retirement of her own chamber. the Countess of Lansmere had deserted her lord, in order to receive the guests of her son; my lord himself, ever bent on being of use in some part of his country, and striving hard to distract his interest from his plague of a borough, had gone down into Cornwall to inquire into the social con- dition of certain troglodytes who worked in some mines which the Earl had lately had the mis- fortune to wring from the Court of Chancery, after a lawsuit commenced by his grandfather; and a Blue Book, issued in the past session by order of Parliament, had especially quoted the troglodytes thus devolved on the Earl as bipeds who were in considerable ignorance of the sun, and had never been known to wash their feet since the day that they came into the worldtheir world under- ground, chipped off from the Bottomless Pit! With the Countess came Helen Digby, of * Sedley was so tenacious of his independence that when his affairs were most embarrassed, he refused all pecuniary aid from Charles II. His bitter sarcasm, in vindic,~ion of the part he took in the deposition of James II., who had corrupted his daughter, and made her Count- ess of Dorchester, is well known. As the King has made my daughter a Countess, the least I can do, in com- mon gratitude, is to assist in making his msiestys daugh- tera Queen ! course; and Lady Lausmere, who had hitherto been so civilly cold to the wife elect of her son, had, ever since her interview with Harley at Knightsbridge, clung to Helen with almost a caressing fondness. The stern Countess was tamed by fear; she felt that her Gwn influence over Harley was gone; she trusted to the influ- ence of Helenin case of what ?ay, of what? It was because the danger was not clear to hers that her bold spirit trembled: superstitions, like suspicions, are as bats among birds, and fly by twilight. Harley had ridiculed the idea of chal- lenge and strife between Audley and himself; but still Lady Lansmere dreaded the fiery emo- tions of the last, and the high spirit and austere self-respect which were proverbial to the first. Involuntarily she strengthened her intimacy with Helen. In case her alarm should appear justi- fied, what mediator could be so persuasive in ap- peasing the angrier passions, as one whom court- ship and betrothal sanctified to the gentlest? On arriving at Lausmere, the Countess, how- ever, felt somewhat relieved. Harley had re- ceived her, if with a manner less cordial and tender than had hitherto distinguished it, still with easy kindness and calm self-possession. His bearing toward Audley Egerton still more reassured her: it was ~ot marked by an exagger- ation of familiarity or friendshipwhich would at once have excited her apprehensions of some sinister designnor, on the other hand, did it betray, by covert sarcasms, an ill-suppressed re sentment. It was just what, under the circum stances, would have been natural to a man wix had received an injury from an intimate friend, which, in generosity or discretion, he resolved tr overlook, but which those aware of it could jus perceive had cooled or alienated the former affec tion. Indefatigably occupying himself with at the details of the election, Harley had fair pre~ text for absenting himself from Audley, who, really looking very ill, and almost worn out, pleaded indisposition as an excuse for dispensing with the fatigues of a personal canvass, and, passing much of his time in his own apartments, left all the preparations for contest to his more active friends. It was not till he had actually arrived at Lausmere that Audley became ac- quainted with the name of his principal oppo- nent. Richard Avenel! the brother of Nora! rcsmg up from obscurity thus to stand front to front against him in a contest on which all his fates were cast. Egerton qualled as before an appointed avenger. He would fain have retired from the field; he spoke to Harley. How can you support all the painful remem- brances which the very name of my antagonist must conjure up? Did you not tell me, answered Harley, to strive against such remembrancesto look on them as sickly dreams? I am prepared to brave them. Can you be more sensitive than I ? Egerton durst not say more. He avoided all further reference to the subject. The strife raget around him, and he shut himself out from it MY NOVEL; OR, YAaIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 63 shut himself up in solitude with his own heart. Strife enough there! Once, late at night, he stole forth and repaired to Noras grave. H~ stood there, amidst the rank grass, and under the frosty starlight, long, and in profound silence. His whole past life seemed to rise before him; and, when he regained his lonely room, and strove to survey the future, still he could behold only that past and that grave. In thus declining all active care for an election, to his prospects so important, Audley Egerton was considered to have excuse, not only in the state of his health, but in his sense of dignity. A statesman so eminent, of opinions so well known, of public services so incontestable, might well be spared the personal trouble that falls upon obscurer candidates. And besides. accord- ing to current report, and the judgment of the iBlue Committee, the return of Mr. Egerton u~s secure. But, though Audley himself was thus indulgently treated, Harley and the iBlue Com- mittee took care to inflict double work upon Ran- dal That active young spirit found ample ma- terials for all its restless energies. Randal Les- lie was kept on his legs from sunrise to starlight. There does not exist in the three kingdoms a constituency more fatiguing to a candidate than that borough of Lausmere. As soon as you leave the High-street, wherein, according to imme- morial usage, the Blue canvasser is first led in order to put him into spirits for the toils that await him(delectable, propitious, constitutional High-street, in which at least twO-thirds of the electorsopulent tradesmen employed at the Parkalways vote for my lords man, and hospitably prepare wine and cakes in their tidy back-parlors !)as soon as you quit this strong- hold of the party, labyrinths of lanes and defiles stretch away into the furthest horizon; level ground is found nowhere; it is all up hill and down hillnow rough craggy pavements that blister the feet, and at the very first tread upon which all latent corns shoot propheticallynow deep muddy ruts, into which you sink ankle~deep, oozing slush creeping into the pores, and moist- ening the way for catarrh; rheum, cough, sore throat, bronchitis, and phthisis. Black sewers, and drains Acherontian, running before the thresh- olds, and so filling the homes behind with ef- fluvia, that, while one hand clasps the grimy paw of the voter, the other instinctively guards from typhus and cholera your abhorrent nose. Not in those days had mankind ever heard of a sanitary reform! and, to judge of the slow progress which that reform seems to make, sewer and drain would have been much the same if they had. Scot-and-lot voters were the independent electors of Lansmere, with the additional franchise of Freemen. Universal suffrage could scarcely more efficiently swamp the franchises of men who care a straw what becomes of Great Britain! With all Randal Leslies profound diplomacy, all his art in talking over, deceiving, and (to borrow Dick Avenels vernacular phrase) humbugging educated men, his eloquence fell fiat upon minds invulnerable to appeals whether to State or to Church, to Reform or to Freedom. To catch a Scot-and -lot voter by such frivolous arguments Randal Leslie might as well have tried to bring down a rhinoceros by a pop-gun charged with split peas! The young man who so firmly be- lieved that knowledge was power was greatly disgusted. It was here the ignorance that foiled him. When he got hold of a man with some knowledge, Randal was pretty sure to trick him out of a vote. Nevertheless, Randal Leslie walked and talked on with most creditable perseverance. The Blue Committee allowed that he was an excellent canvasser. They conceived a liking for him, mingled with pity. For, though sure of Eger- tons return, they regarded Randals as out of the question. He was merely there to keep split votes from going to the opposite side; to serve his patron, the ex-minister; shake the paws, and smell the smells which the ex-minister was too great a man toshakeandtosmell. But, in point of fact, none of that Blue Committee knew any thing of the prospects of the election. Har- ley received all the reports of each canvass-day. Harley kept the canvass-book, locked up from all eyes but his own, or, might be, Baron Levys, as Audley Egertons confidential, if not strictly professional adviser ;Baron Levy, the million- aire, had long since retired from all acknowledged professions. Randal, howeverclose, observant, shrewdperceived that he himself was much stronger than the Blue Committee believed. And, to his infinite surprise, he owed that strength to Lord LEstranges exertions on his behalf. For, though Harley, after the first day on which he ostentatiously showed himself in the High-street, did not openly canvass with Randal, yet, when the reports were brought in to him and he saw the names of the voters who gave one vote to Audley, and withheld the other from Randal, he would say to Randal, dead beat as that young gentleman was, Slip out with me, the moment dinner is over, and before you go the round of the public-houses; there are some voters we must get for you to-night. And sure enough a few kindly words from the popular heir of the Lans- mere baronies usually gained over the electors, from whom, though Randal had preyed that all England depended on their votes in his favor. Randal would never have extracted more than a Wull, I shall waute gin the dauy coomes Nor was this all that Harley did for the younger candidate. If it was quite clear that only one vote could be won for the Blues, and the other was pledged to the Yellows, Harley would say, Then put it down to Mr. Leslie ;a request the more readily conceded, since Audley Egerton was considered so safe by the Blues, and alone worth a fear by the Yellows. Thus Randal, who kept a snug little canvass book of his own, became more and more con- vinced that he had a better chance than Eger. ton, even without the furtive aid he expected from Avenel; and he could only account for 64 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. Harleys peculiar exertions in his favor, by sup- posing that Harley, unpracticed in elections, and deceived by the Blue Committee, believed Eger- ton to be perfectly safe, and sought, for the honor of the family interest, to secure both the seats. Randals public cares thus deprived him of all o])portnnity of pressing his courtship on Violante and, indeed, if ever he did find a moment in which he could steal to her reluctant side, Har- ley was sure to seize that very moment to send him off to canvass an hesitating freeman, or harangue in some public-house. Leslie was too acute not to detect some mo- tive hostile to his wooing, however plausibly vailed in the guise of zeal for his election in this officiousness of Harleys. But Lord LEstrange 5 manner to Violante was so little like that of a jealous lover, and he was so well aware of her engagement to Randal, that the latter abandon- ed the suspicion he had before conceived that Harley was his rival. And he was soon led to believe that Lord LEstrange had another, more disinterested, and less formidable motive for thus stinting his opportunities to woo the heiress. Mr. Leslie, said Lord LEstrange, one day, the Duke has confided to me his regret at his daughters reluctance to ratify his own promise and, knowing the warm interest I take in her welfarefor his sake, and her own; believing, also, that some services to herself as well as to the father she so loves, give me a certain in- flnence over her inexperienced judgment, he has even requested me to speak a word to her in your behalf. Ah! if you would ! said Randal, surprised. You must give me the power to do so. You were obliging enongh to volunteer to me the same explanations which you gave to the Duke, his satisfaction with which induced him to re- new or confirm the promise of his daughters hand. Should those explanations content me, as they did him, I hold the Duke bound to fulfill his engagement, and I am convinced that his daughter would, in that case, not be inflexible to your suit. But, till these explanations be given, my friendship for the father, and my interest in the child, do not allow me to assist a cause, which, however, at present, suffers little by delay. Pray, listen at once to those ~ Nay, Mr. Leslie, I can now only think of the election. As soon as that is over, rely on it you shall have the amplest opportunity to dispel any doubts which your intimacy with Count di Pes- chiera and Madame di Negra may have suggest- ed. Apropos of the electionhere is a list of voters you must see at once in Fish Lane. Dont lose a moment. In the mean while, Richard Avenel and Leon- ~d had taken up their quarters in the hotel ap- ps~opriated to the candidates for the Yellows; hnd the canvass on that side was prosecuted with all the vigor which might be eapected from operations conducted by Richard Avenel.. and hacked by the popular feeling. The rival parties met from time to time, in the streets and lanes, in all the pomp of war banners streaming, fifes resounding (for bands and colors were essential proofs of public spirit, and indispensable items in a candidates bills, in those good old days). When they thus encoun- tered, very distant bows were exchanged between the respective chiefs. But Randal, contriving ever to pass close to Avenel, had ever the satis- faction of perceiving that gentlemans counte- nance contracted into a knowing wink, as much as to say, All right, in spite of this tarnation humbug. But now that both parties were fairly in the field, to the private arts of canvassing were add- ed the public arts of oratory. The candidates had to speakat the close of each days canvass out from wooden boxes, suspended from the windows of their respective hotels, and which looked like dens for the exhibition of wild beasts. They had to speak at meetings of committees meetings of electorsgo the nightly round of enthusiastic public-houses, and appeal to the sense of an enlightened people through wreaths of smoke and odors of beer. The alleged indisposition of Audley Egerten had spared him the excitement of oratory, as well as the fatigue of canvassing. The prac- ticed debater had limited the display of his tal- ents to a concise, but clear and masterly exposi- tion of his own views on the leading public ques- tions of the day, and the state of parties, which, on the day after his arrival at Lansmere, was de- livered at a meeting of his general committee in the great room of their hoteland which was then printed and circulated among the voters. Randal, though he expressed himself with more fluency and self-posses~iion than are usw lly found in the first attempts of a public speaker, was not effective in addressing an unlettered crowd for a crowd of this kind is all heartand we know that Randal Leslies heart was as small as heart could be. If he attempted to speak at his own betellectual level, he was so subtle and re- fining as to be inc6mprehensible; if he fell into the fatal errornot uncommon to inexperienced oratorsof trying to lower himself to the intel- lectual level of his audience, he was only elabor- ately stupid. No man can speak too well for a crowdas no man can write too well for the stage; but in neither case should he be rhetori- cal, or case in periods the dry bones of reasoning. It is to the emotions, or to the humors, that the speaker of a crowd must address himself: his eye must brighten with generous sentiment, or his lip must expand in the play of animated fancy or genial wit. Randals voice, too, tho~sgh pli- ant and persuasive in private conversation, was thin and poor when strained to catch the ear of a numerous assembly. The falsehood of his na- ture seemed to come out, when he raised the tones which had been drilled into deceit. Men like Randal Leslie may become sharp debaters- admirable special pleaders: they can no mozg become orators than they can become poets MY NOVEL; OR, VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 65 Educated audiences are essential to them, and the smaller the audience (that is, the more the brain supersedes the action of the heart) the bet- ter they can speak. Dick Avenel was generally very short and very pithy in his addresses. He had two or three fa- vorite topics, which alWays told. He was a fel- low townsmana man who had made his own way in lifehe wanted to free his native place from aristocratic usurpationit was the battle of the electors, not his private cause, etc. He said dttle against Bandal Pity a clever young man should pin his future to two yards of worn-out red tape He had better lay hold of the strong rope, which the people, in compassion to his youth, were willing yet to throw out, to save him from sinking, etc. But as for Audley Egerton, the gentleman who would not show, who was afraid to meet the electors, who could only find his voice in a hole-and-corner meeting, accustomed all his venal life to dark and nefariousjohs Dick, upon that subj ect, delivered philippics truly Demos- thenian. Leonard, on the contrary, never attack- ed Harleys friend, Mr. Egerton; but he was merciless against the youth who had filched repu- tation from John Burley, and whom he knew that Harley despised as heartily as himself. AndRan- dal did not dare to retaliate (though boiling over with indignant rage), for fear of offending Leon- ards uncle. Leonard was unquestionably the popular speaker of the three. Though his tem- perament was a writers, not an oratorsthough he abhorred what he considered the theatrical exhibition of self which makes what is called delivery more effective than ideasthough he had little interest at any time in party politics though at this time his heart was far away from the Blues and Yellows of Lausmere, sad and for- lornyet, forced into action, the eloquence that was natural to his conversation poured itself forth. He had warm blood in his veins~ and his dislike to Biandal gave poignancy to his wit, and barbed his arguments with impassioned invective. In fact, Leonard could conceive no other motive for Lord LEstranges request to take part in the election, than that noblemans desire to defeat the man whom they both regarded as an impostor. And this notion was confirmed by some inadvert- ent expressions which Avenel let fall, and which made Leonard suspect that, if he were not in the field, Avenel would have exerted all his interest to return Randal instead ofEgerton. With Dicks dislike to that statesman, Leonard found it im- possible to reason; nor, on the other hand, could all Dicks scoldings or coaxings induce Leonard to divert his siege on Randal to an assault upon the man who, Harley had often said, was dear to him as a brother. In the mean while, Dick kept the canvass- book of the Yellows as closely as Harley kept that of the Blues, and, in despite of many pouting fits and gusts of displeasure, took precisely the same pains for Leonard as Harley took for Randal. There remained, however, apparently unshaken L~y the efforts on either side, a compact body of about a hundred and fifty voters, chiefly freemen. Would they vote Yellowwould they vote Blue? No one could venture to decide; but they de- clared that they would all vote the same way. Dick kept his secret caucuses, as he called them, constantly nibbling at this phalanx. A hundred and fifty voters !they had the election in their hands! Never were haiids so cordially shakenso caressingly clung toso fondly lin- gered upon! But the votes still stuck as firm to the hands as if a part of the skin, or of the dirt which was much the same thing. CHAPTER XX. WHENEVER Audley joined the other guests of an eveningwhile Harley was perhaps closeted with Levy and committee-men, and Randal was going the round of the public-housesthe one with whom he chiefly conversed was Violante. He had been struck at first, despite his gloom, less perhaps by her extraordinary beauty, than by something in the expression of her countenance which, despite differences in feature and com- plexion, reminded him of Nora; and when, by his praises of Harley, he drew her attention, and won into her liking, he discovered, perhaps, that the likeness which had thus impressed him, came from some similarities in character between the living and the lost onethe same charming com bination of lofty thought and childlike innocence the same enthusiasmthe same rich exuber- ance of imagination and feeling. Two souls that resemble each other will give their likeness to the looks from which they beam. On the other hand, the person with whom Harley most familiarly associated, in his rare intervals of leisure, was Helen Dighy. One day, Audley Egerton, st ud- ing mournfully by the window of the sitting-room appropriated to his private use, saw the two, whom he believed still betrothed, take their way across the park, side by side. Pray Heaven, that she may atone to him for all 1 murmured Audley. But ah, that it had been Violante! Then I might have felt assured that the Future would effaco the Pastand found the courage to tell him all. And when last night I spoke of what Harley ought to be to England, how like were her eyes and her smile to Noras, when Nora listened in delighted sympathy to the hopes of my own young ambition. With a sigh he turned away, and resolutely sat down to read and reply to the voluminous correspondence which covered the table of the busy public man. For Audleys return to Parliament being considered by his political party as secure, to him were transmitted all the hopes and fears of the large and influential section of it whose members look- ed up to him as their future chief, and who, in that general election (unprecedented for the num- ber of eminent men it was fated to expel from Parliament, and the number of new politicians it was fated to send into it), drew their only hopes of regaining their lost power from Audleys san- guine confidence in the reaction of that Public Opinion which he had hitherto so p~ofouudl~ 66 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. comprehended; and it was too clearly seen, that the seasonable adoption of his counsels would have saved the existence and popularity of the late Administration, whose most distinguished members could now scarcely show themselves on the hustings. Meanwhile Lord LEstrange led his young companion toward a green hill in the centre of the park, on which stood a circular temple, that oommanded a view of the country round for miles. They bad walked in silence till they gained the summit of the sloped and gradual ascent; and then, as they stood, still side by side, Harley thus spoke Helen, you know that Leonard is in the town, though 1 can not receive him at the Park since he is standing in opposition to my guests, Egerton and Leslie. HELEN. But that seems to me so strange. Howhow could Leonard do any thing tbat seems hostile to you ? HARLEY. Would his hostility to me lower him in your opinion? If he knows that I am his rival, does not rivalry inclisde hate ? HELEN. Oh, Lord LEstrange, how can you speak thus 2how so wrong yourself? Hate! hate to you! and from Leonard Fairfield I HARLEY.~~ You evade my question. Would his hate or hostility to me affect your sentiments toward him ? HELEN (looking down). I could not force myself to believe in it. HARLEY. Why 2 HELEN. Because it would be so unworthy af him. HARLEY. Poor child! You have the delu- sion of your years. You deck a cloud in the hues of the rainbow, and will not believe that its glory is borrowed from the sun of your own fancy. But here, at least, you are not deceived. Leonard obeys but my wishes, and, I believe, against his own will. He has none of mans noblest attri- bute, Ambition. HELEN. No ambition ! HARLEY. It is vanity that stirs the poet to toilif toil the wayward chase of his own chi- meras can be called. Ambition is a more mascu- line passion.~m Helen shook her head gently, but made no an- swer. HAmu~zv. If lutter a word that profanes one of your delusions, you shake your head and are incredulous. Pause: listen one moment to my counselsperhaps the last I may ever obtrude upon you. Lift your eyes; look around. Far as your eye can reach, and far beyond the line which the horizon forms in the landscape, stretch the lands of my inheritance. Yonder you see the home in which my forefathers for many genera- tions lived with honor and died lamented. All these, in the course of nature, might one day have been your own, had you not rejected my proposals. I offered you, it is true, not what is commonly called Love; I offered you sincere esteem, and affections the more durable for their calm. You have not been reared by the world in the low idolatry of rank and wealth. But even romance can not despise the power of serf- ing others, which rank and wealth bestow. For myself, hitherto indolence, and lately disdain, rob fortune of these nobler attributes. But she who will share my fortune may dispense it so as to atone for my sins of omission. On the other side, grant that there is no bar to your preference for Leonard Fairfield, what does your choice pre- sent to you? Those of his kindred with whom you will associate are unrefined and mean. His sole income is derived from precarious labsrs; the most vulgar of all anxietiesthe fear of bread itself for the morrowmust mingle with all your romance, and soon steal from love all its poetry. You think his affection will console you for every sacrifice. Folly !the love of poets is for a mista moonbeama denizen of aira phantom that they call an Ideal. They suppose for a moment that they have found that ideal in Chloe or PhyllisHelen or a milkmaid. Bah tbe first time you come to the poet with the bakers bill, where flies the Ideal? I knew one more brilliant than Leonardmore dxquisitely gifted by Naturethat one was a woman: she saw a man hard and cold as that stone at your feeta false, hollow, sordid worldling; she made him her idolbeheld inhim all thathistory would not recognize in a Cusarthat mythology would scarcely grant to an Apollo: to him she was the plaything of an hourshe died, and before the year was out he had married for money! I knew another instanceI speak of myself. I loved before I was your age. Had an angel warned me then, I would have been incredulous as you. How that ended no matter: but had it not been for that dream of maudlin delirium, I had lived and acted as others of my kind and my sphere married from reason and judgmentbeen now a useful and happy man. Pause, then. Willyon still reject me for Leonard Fairfield? For the last time you have the optionme and all the substance of waking lifeLeonard Fairfield and the shadows of a fleeting dream. Speak! You hesitate. Nay, take time to decide. HzLzN. Ah! Lord LEstrange, you who have felt what it is to love, how can you doubt my answer ?how think that I could be so base, so ungrateful as take from yourself what you call the substance of waking life, while my heart was far awayfaithful to what you call a dream 2 HARLEY. But, can you not dispel the dream? HzLEN (her whole face one flush) .~ It was wrong to call it dream! It is the reality of life to me. All things else are as dreams. HARLEY (taking her hand and kissing it with respect). Helen, you have a noble heart, and I have tempted you in vain. I regret your choice, though I will no more oppose it. I re. gret it, though I shall never witness your disap- pointment. As the wife of that man I shall sep and know you no more. 0 MY NOVEL; OR, VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. HELEN. Oh no !do not say that. Why? wherefore ? HARLEY (his brows meeting). He is the child of fs~aud and of shame. His father is my foe, and my hate descends to the son. He, too, the son, filches from mebut complaints are idle. When the next few days are over, think of me but as one who abandons all right over your actions, and is a stranger to your future fate. Pooh 1dry your tears: so long as you love Leonard or esteem me, rejoice thali our paths do not cross. He walked on impatiently; but Helen, alarm- ed and wondering, followed close, took his arm timidly, and sought to soothe him. She felt that he wronged Leonardthat he knew not how Leonard had yielded all hope when he learned to whom she was affianced. For Leonards sake she conquered her bashfulness, and sought to ex- plain. IBut at her first hesitating, faltered words, Harley, who with great effort suppressed the emotions which swelled within him, abruptly left her side, and plunged into the recesses of thick, far-spreading groves, that soon wrapt him from her eye. While this conversation occurred between Lord LEstrange and his ward, the soi-disant Riccabocca and Violante were walking slowly through the gardens. The philosopher, unchang- ed by his brightening prospectsso far as the outer man was concernedstill characterized by the red umbrella, and the accustomed pipe took the way mechanically to~vard the sunniest quarter of the grounds, now and then glancing tenderly at Violantes downcast melancholy face, but not speaking; only, at each glance, there came a brisker cloud from the pipe, as if obedient to a fuller heave of the heart. At length, in a spot which lay open toward the south, and seemed to collect all the gentlest beams of the November sun, screened from the piercing east by dense evergreens, and flanked frem the bleak north by lofty walls, Riccabocca paused and seated himself. Flowers still bloom- ed on the sward in front, over which still flutter- ed the wings of those later and more brilliant butterflies that, unseen in the genial days of our English summer, come with autumnal skies, and sport round the mournful steps of the coming wintertypes of those thoughts which visit and delight the contemplation of age, while the cur- rent yet glides free from the iron ice, and the leaves yet linger on the boughs; thoughts that associate the memories of the departed summer with mess~ges from suns that shall succeed the winter, and expand colors the most steeped in light and glory, just as the skies through which they gleam are darkening, and the flowers on which they hover fade from the surface of the earthdropping still seeds, that sink deep out of sight below. Daughter, said Riccabocca, drawing Vio- lante to his side, with caressing arm Daugh- ter! Mark, how they who turn toward the 5outh can still find the sunny side of the land- scape! In all the seasons of life, how much of chill or of warmth depends on our choice of the aspect! Sit down; let us reason. Violante sate down passively, clasping hei fathers hand in both her own. Reason 1 harsh word to the ears of Feeling. You shrink, resumed Riccabocca, from even the courtship, even the presence of the suitor in whom my honor binds me to recognize your future bridegroom. Violante drew away her hands, and placed them before her eyes, shudderingly. iBut continued Riccabocca, rather peevishly, this is not listening to reason. I may object to Mr. Leslie because he has not an adequate rank or fortune to pretend to a daughter of my house; that would be what every one would allow to be reasonable in a father; except, indeed, added the poor sage, trying hard to be sprightly, and catching hold of a proverb to help him except, indeed those wise enough to recollect that ad- monitory saying, Casa ii figilo quando vuoi, e la figlia quando puoi(Marry your son when you will, your daughter when you can) - Seri- ously, if I overlook those objections to Mr; Leslie, it is not natural for a young girl to enforce them. What is reason in you is quite another thing from reason in me. Mr. Leslie is young, not ill-look- ing, has the air of a gentleman, is passionately enamored of you, and has proved his affection by risking his life against that villainous Pesehi- erathat is, he would have risked it had Pesehi- era not been shipped put of the way. If, then, you will listen to reason, pray what can reasen say against Mr. Leslie? Father, I detest him 1 Cospetto I persisted Riccabocca, testily, you have no reason to detest him. If you had any reason, child, I ~ sure that I should be the last person to dispute it. How can you know your own mind on such a matter? It is not as if you had seen any one else you could prefer. Not another man of your own years do you even knowexcept, indeed, Leonard Fairfield, whom, though I grant he is handsomer, add with more imagination and genius than Mr. Leslie, you still must remember as the boy who worked in my garden. AhI to be sure, there is Frank Hazel- deanfine ladbut his affections are pre-en- gaged. In short, continued the sage, dogmatic ally, there is no one else you can, by any possi- ble caprice, prefer to Mr. Leslie; and for a girl, who has no one else in her head, to talk of detest- ing a well-looking, well-dressed, clever young man, isa nonsense chi lascia il poco per haver lassai nd luno, n~ laltro avera mai; which maybe thus paraphrasedThe young lady who refuses a mortal in the hope of obtaining an angel, loves the one, and will never fall in with the other. So now, having thus shown that the darker side of the question is contrary to reason let us look to the brighter. In the first place Oh, father, father I cried Violante passion- ately, you to whom I once came for comfort in every childish sorrow! Do not talk to me with HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. this cutting levity. See, I lay my head upon your breastI put my arms around youand now, can you reason me into misery ? Child, child, do not be so wayward. Strive, at least, against a prejudice that you can not de- fend. My Violante, my darling, this is no trifle. Here I must cease to be the fond, foolish father, whom you can do what you will with. Here I am Alphonso Duke di Serrano; for here my honor as noble, and my word as man, are involved. I, then but a helpless exileno hope of fairer pros- pects before metrembling like a coward at the wiles of my unscrupulous kinsmangrasping at all chances to save you from his snaresI myself offered your hand to Randal Leslieoffered promised, pledged it ;and now that my fortunes seem assured, my rank in all likelihood restored, my foe crushed, my fears at restnow, does it become me to retract what I myself had urged? It is not the noble~ it is the parvenu, who has only to grow rich, in order to forget those whom in poverty he hailed as his friendsA Is it for me to make the poor excuse, never heard on the lips of an Italian prince, that I can not command the obedience of my child,subject myself to the galling answer Duke of Serrano, you could once command that obedience, when, in exile, penury, and terror, you offered me a bride without a dower. ChildViolantedaughter of ances- tors on whose honor never slander set a stain, I call on you to redeem your fathers plighted word. Father, must it be so? Is not even the con- vent open to me? Nay, look not so coldly on me. If you could but read my heart! And, oh! I feel so assured of your own repentance hereafterso assured that this man is not what you believe him. I so suspect that he has been playing throughout som~ s.ecret and perfidious part. Ha ! interrupted Riccabocca, Harley has perhaps infected you with that notion. Nono. But is not Harleyis not Lord LEstrange one whose opinion you have cause to ssteem? AAd if he distrust Mr. Leslie Let him make good his distrust by such proof as will absolve my word, and I shall share your own joy. I have told him this. I have in- vited him to make good his suspicionshe puts me off. He can not do so, added Riccabocca, in a dejected tone; Itandal has already so well explained all that Harley deemed equivocal. Violaute, my name and my honor rest in your hands. Cast them away if you will; I can not constrain you, and I can not stoop to implore. Noblesse obligeWith your birth you took its duties. Let them decide between your vain caprice and your fathers solemn remonstrance.~~ Assuming a sternness that he was far from feeling, and putting aside his daughters arms, the exile walked away. Violante paused a moment, shivered, looked round as if taking a last farewell of joy, and peace~ and hope on earth, and then approaching her father with a firm step, she said I never re belIed, father; I did but entreat. Wh~t you say is my law now, as it has ever been; and come what may, never shall you hear complaint or mur- mur from me~ Poor father, you will suffer more than I shall. Kiss me About an hour afterward, as the short day closed in, Harley, returning fromhis solitary wanderings, after he had parted from Helen, encounteret~ ~n the terrace, before the house, Lady Lansmere and Audley Egerton arm-in-arm. Harley had drawn his hat over his brows, and his eyes were fixed on the ground, so that he did not see the group upon which he came unawares, until Audleys voice started him from his reverie. My dear Harley, said the ex-minister, with a faint smile, you must not pass us by, now that you have a moment of leisure from the cares of the election. And Harley, though we are under the same roof; I see you so little. Lord LEstrange darted a quick glance toward his mothera glance that seemed to say, You leaning on Audleys arm! Have you kept your promise ? And tke eye that met his own reassured him. It is true, said Harley; but you, who know that, once engaged in public affairs, one has no heart left for the ties of private life, will excuse me. And this election is so important And you, Mr. Egerton, said Lady Lansmere, whom the election most concerns, seem privi- leged to be the only one who appears indifferent to success. Aybut you are not indifferent ? said Lord LEstrange, abruptly. No. How can I be so, when my whole future career may depend on it ? Harley drew Egerton aside. There is one voter you ought at least to call upon and thank. He can not be made to comprehend that, for the sake of any relation, even for the sake of his own son,he is to vote against the Bluesagainstyou, I mean, of course, Noras father, John Avenel. His vote and his son-in-laws gained your ma- jority at your first election. Euzaroz. Call on John Avenel! Have you called ? HARLEY (calmly.) Yes. Poor old man, his mind has been affected ever since Noras death. But your name, as the candidate for the borough at that timethe successful candidate for whose triumph the joy-bells chimed with her funeral knellyour name brings up her memory; and he talks in a breath of her and of you. Come, let us walk together to his house; it is close by the Park Lodge. The drops stood on Audleys brow. He fixed his dark handsome eyes, in mournful amaze, upon Harleys tranquil face. Harley, at last, then, you have forgotten the Past. No; but the present is more imperious. All my efforts are needed to requite your friendship. You stand against her brotheryet her father Quando 1 rillano ~ divenuto rieco Non ha (i. e., riconosce) parente n~ amico. Itelien Proverb. MY NOVEL; OR, VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 69 otes for you. And her mother says to her son, proached the house, both silent. The Italiai~ Let the old man alone! Conscience is all that caught sight of Randal, and made him a sign to is well alive in him; and he thinks if be were to join them. The young lover glanced fearfully vote against the Blues, he would sin against toward Harley, and then with alacrity bounded honor. An electioneering prejudice, some forward, and was soox~ at Violantes side. But skeptics would say. But you must be touched scarce had Harley, surprised by Leslies sudden by this trait of human naturein her father too disappearance, remarked the cause, than with you, AudleyEgerton, who are the soul of honor. equal abruptness he abandoned the whispered What ails you ? conference he had commenced with Levy, and EGEaToN. Nothinga spasm at the heart hastening to Randal, laid hand on the young my old complaint. Well, I will call on the mans shoulder, exclaiming, Ten thousand par- poor man later, but not nownotwith you. Nay, dons to all three! But I can not allow this waste nay, I will notI can not. Harley, just as you of time, Mr. Leslie. You have yet an hour be- joined us, I was talking to your mother. fore it grows dark. There are three outvoters six HARLEy. Ay, and what of? miles off influential farmers, whom you must IEGERTON. Yourself. I saw you from my canvass in person with my fathers steward. windows walking with your betrothed. After- Hasten to the stables; choose your own horses. ward I observed her coming home alone~ and by To saddleto saddle! Baron Levy, go and or- the glimpse I caught of her gentle countenance, der my lords steward, Mr. Smart, to join Mr. it seemed sad. Harley, do you deceive us ? Leslie at the stables; then come back to me HARLEy. DeceiveI !How ? quick. What! loitering still, Mr. Leslie! You EGERTON. Do you really feel that your in- will make me throw up your whole cause in dis- tended marriage will bestow on you the happi- gust at your indolence and apathy. ness, which is my prayer, as it must be your Alarmed at this threat, Randal lifted his ac- mothers ? cusing eyes to heaven, and withdrew. HARLEY. HappinessI hoped so. But per- Meanwhile Audley had drawn close to Lady haps Lansmere, who was leaning, in thought, over the EGERTON. Perhaps what ? balustrade of the terrace. HARLEY. Perhaps the marriage may not Do you note, said Audley, whispering, how take place. Perhaps I have a rivalnot an open Harley sprang forward when the fair Italian came onea secret, stealthy wooerin one, too, whom in sight? Trust me, I was right. I know little I have loved, served, trusted. Question me not of the young lady, but I have conversed with now. Such instances of treachery make one her. I have gazed on the changes in her face. learn more how to prize a friendship honest, de- If Harley ever love again, and if ever love influ- voted faithful as your own, Audley Egerton. ence and exalt his mind, wish with me that his But here comes your protfgf, released awhile choice may yet fall where I believe that his heart from his canvass, and your confidential adviser, inclines it. Baron Levy. He accompanied Randal through LADY LANsnzaz. Ah! that it were so I the town to-day. So anxious is he to see that Helen, I own, is charming; butbutViolante. that young man does not play false, and regard his equal in birth! Are you not aware that she his own interest before yours. Would that sur- is engaged to your young friend, Mr. Leslie ? prise you ? AUDLEY. Randal told me so; but Ican EGERToN. You are too severe upon Randal not believe it. In fact I have taken occasion to Leslie. He is ambitious, worldlyhas no sur- sound that fair creatures inclinations, and if I plus of affection at the command of his heart know aught of women her heart is not with Ran- HARI.zv. Is it Randal Leslie you describe ? dal. I can not believe her to be one whose affec- EGERTON (with a languid smile). Yes, you tions are so weak as to be easily constrained; see I do not flatter. But he is born and reared a nor can I suppose that her father could desire to gentleman; as such he would scarcely do any enforce a marriage that is almost a m~salliance thing mean. And, after all, it is with me that Randal must deceive himself; and from some- he must rise or fall.. His very intellect must tell thing Harley just let fall, in our painful but brief him that. But again I ask, do not strive to pro- conversation, I suspect that his engagement with possess me against him. I am a man who could Miss Digby is broken off. He promises to tell have loved a son. I have none. Randal, such me more, later. Yes, continued Audley, mourn- as he is, is a sort of son. He carries on my pro- fully, observe Violantes countenance, with its jects and my interest in the world of men, beyond ever-varying play: listen to her voice, to which the goal of the tomb. feeling seems to give the expressive music, and Audley turned kindly to Randal. tell me whether you are not sometimes reminded Well, Leslie, what report of the canvass ? ofofIn one word, there is one who, even with- Levy has the book, sir. I think we have out rank or fortune, would be worthy to replace gained ten fresh votes for you, and perhaps seven the image of Leonora, and be to Harleywhat fur me. Leonora could not; for sure I am that Violante Let me rid you of your book, Baron Levy, loves him. said Harley. Harley, meanwhile, had lingered with Ricca- Just at this time Riccabocca and Violante ap- bocca and Violante, speaking but on indifferent 70 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. subjects, obtaining short answers from the first, and none from the lastwhen the sage drew him a little aside, and whispered, She has consent- ed to sacrifice herself to my sense of honor. But, O Harley! if she be unhappy, it will break my heart. Either you must give me sufficient proof of Randals unworthiness to absolve me from my promiseor I must again entreat you to try and conciliate the poor child in his favor. All you say has weight with her; she respects you as a second father. Harley did not seem peculiarly flattered by that last assurance, but be was relieved from an im. mediate answer, by the appearance of a man who came from the direction of the stables, and whose dress, covered with dust, and travel-stained seem- ed like that of a foreign courier. No sooner did Harley catch sight of this person, than he sprang forward, afid accosted him briefly and rapidly. You have been quick; I did not expect you so soon. You discovered the trace? You gave my letter And have brought back the answer, my lord, replied the man, taking a letter from a leathern pouch at his side. Harley tore open the seal, and glanced over the contents, which were com- prised in a few lines. Good. Say not whence you came. iDo not wait here return at once to London. Harleys face seemed so unusually cheerful as he rejoined the Italians that the Duke exclaimed, A dispatch from Vienna! My recall From Vienna, my dear friend? Not possi- ble yet. I can not calculate on hearing from the Prince till a day or two before the close of this election. But you wish me to speak to Violante. Join my mother yonder. What can she be say- ing to Mr. Egerton? I will address a few words apart to your fair daughter, that may at least prove the interest in her fate taken byher second father. Kindest of friends said the unsuspecting pupil of Machiavel; and he walked toward the terrace. Violante was about to follow. Harley detained her. Do not go till you have thanked me; for you are not the noble Violante for whom I take you, unless you acknowledge gratitude to any one who delivers you from the presence of an admirer in Mr. Randal Leslie. VIOLANTE. Ought Ito hear this of one whom whom HARLEY. One whom your father obstinately persists in obtruding on your repugnance. Yet, O dear child, you, when almost an infant, ere yet you knew what snares, and pitfalls, for all who trust to another, lie under the sward at your feet, even when decked the fairest with the flowers of springyou who put your small hands around my neck, and murmured, in your musical voice, Save ussave my father; you at least I will not forsake, in a peril worse than that which men- aced you thena peril which aifrights you more than that which threatened you in the snares of Peschiera. Randal Leslie may thrive in his meaner objects of ambition ;these Iflingto him in scorn ;but you! the presuming varlet ! Har- ley paused a moment, half stifled with indigna- tion. He then resumed calmly Trust to me, and fear not. I will rescue this hand from the profanation of Bandal Leslies touch; and then, farewell, for life, to every soft emotion. Before me expands the welcome solitude. The innocent saved, the honest righted, the perfidious strickea by a just retributionand thenwhat then? Why, at least I shall have studied Machiavel witb more effect than your wise father; and I shall lay him aside, needing no philosophy to teach me never again to be deceived. His brow darkened he turned ahruptly away, leaving Violante lost in amaze, fearand a delight, vague, yet more vividly felt than all. CHAPTER XXI. THAT night, after the labors of the day, Randal had gained the sanctuary of his own room, and seated himself at his table, to prepare the heads of the critical speech he would have now very soon to deliver on the day of nominationcritical speech when, in the presence of foes and friends, reporters from London, and amidst all the jarring interests that he sought to weave into the sole self-interest of Randal Leslie, he would be called upon to make the formal exposition of his political opinions. Randal Leslie, indeed, was not one of those speakers whom either modesty, fastidious- ness, or conscientious desire of truth predisposes toward the labor of written composition. He had too much cleverness to be in want of fluent period or ready commonplacethe ordinary materials of oratorical impromptutoo little taste for the Beautiful to study what graces of diction will best adorn a noble sentimenttoo obtuse a con- science to care if the popular argument were puri- fied from the dross which the careless flow of a speech wholly extemporaneous rarely fails to leave around it. But this was no ordinary occasion. Elaborate study here was requisite, not for the orator, but the hypocrite. Hard task, to please the Blues and not offend the Yellows ;appear to side with Audley Egerton, yet insinuate sym- pathy with Dick Avenel ;confront, with polite smile, the younger opponent whose words had lodged arrows in his vanity, which rankled the more gallingly because they had raised the skin of his conscience. He had dipped his pen intdthe ink, and smooth- ed the paper before him, when a knock was heard at the door. Come in, said he, impatiently. Levy en- tered, saunteringly. I am come to talk over, matters with you, mon cher, said the Baron, throwing himself on the sofa. And, first, I wish you joy of youz prospects of success. Randal postponed his meditated composition with a quick sigh, drew his chair toward the sofa and lowered his voice ir~to a whisper. You think with me, that the chaxuz of my success is good? MY NOVEL; OR, VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIER 71 Chance! Why it is a rubber of whist, in knowledge is really power. Besides, you must which your partner gives you all the winnings, allow for my infernal position. You know, after and in which the adversary is almost sure to re- all, that Avenel, if he can only return himself ov yoke. Eithir Avenel or his nephew, it is true, his nephew, still holds in his hands the choice of must come in but not both. Two parvenus the candidate upon our side. I can not attack hint aspiring to make a family seat of an Earls bor- I can not attack his insolent nephew ough! Bah! too absurd. Insolent !not that, but bitterly eloquent. I hear from Riccabocca (or rather the Duke He hits you hard. You are no match for him, di Serrano) that this same young Fairfield is Randal, before a popular audience; though en greatly indebted to the kindness of Lord LEs- petit romit~, the devil himself were hardly a match trange. Very odd that he should stand against for yoze. But now to a somewhat more serious the Lansmere interest. pQint. Your election you will winyour bride Ambition, mon rher. You yourself are under is promised to you; but the old Leslie lands, in some obligations to Mr. Egerton. Yet,in reality, the present possession of Squire Thoruhill, you he has more to apprehend from you than from have not gainedand your chance of gaining Mr. Fairfield. them is in great jeopardy. I did not like to tell I disown obligations to Mr. Egerton. And you this morningit would have spoiled your if the electors prefer me to him (whom, by-the-by, temper for canvassing; but I have received a let- they once burned in effigy), it is no fault of mine; ter from Thoruhill himself. He has had an offer the fault, if any, will rest with his own dearest for the property, which is only 1000 short of friend, LEstrange. I do not understand how a what he asks. A city alderman, called Jobson, man of such clear sense, as LEstrange undoubt- is the bidder; a man, it seems, of large means edly possesses, should be risking Egertons elec- and few words. The alderman has fixed the tion in his zeal for mine. Nor do his formal date on which he must have a definite answer, courtesies to myself deceive me. He has even and that date falls on the th, two days after implied that he suspects rue of connivance with that fixed for the poll at Lansmere. The brute Peschieras schemes on Violante. But those sus- declares he will close with another investment, picions he can not support For of course, Levy, if Thornhill does not then come into his terms. you would not betray me ? Now, as Thornhill will accept these terms unless I! What possible interest could I serve in I can positively promise him better, and as thos that 2 funds on which you calculated (had the marriage None that I can discover, certainly, said. of Peschiera with Violante, and Frank Hazeldean Randal, relaxing into a smile. And when I with Madame di Negra, taken place) fail you, I get into Parliament, aided by the social position see no hope for your being in time with the money which my marriage will give me, I shall have so and the old lands of the Leslies must yield their many ways to serve you. No, it is certainly your rents to a Jobson. interest not to betray me. And I shall count on I care for nothing on earth like those old lands you as a witness, if a witness can be required. of my forefathers, said Randal, with unusual Count on me, certainly, my dear fellow, said vehemence I reverence so little among the the Baron. And I suppose there will be no wit- livingand I do reverence the dead. And my ness the other way. Done for eternally is my marriage will take place so soon; and the dower poor dear friend Peschiera, whose cigars, by-the- would so amply cover the paltry advance re- by, were matchless ;I wonder if there will be. quired. any for sale. And if he were not so done for, it Yes; but the mere prospect of a marriage is not you, it is LEstrange, that he would be to the daughter of a man whose lands are still tempted to do ~ sequestered, would he no security to a money- We may blot Pesehiera out of the map of the lender. future, rejoined Randal. Men from whom Surely, said Randal, you who once offered henceforth we have nothing to hope or to fear, to assist me when my fortunes were more pre- are to us as the races before the deluge. canons, might now accommodate rue with this Fine remark, quoth the Baron, admiringly, loan, as a friend, and keep the title-deeds of the Pesehiera, though not without brains, was a estate as complete failure. And when the failure of one As a money-lender, added the Baron, laugh- I have tried to serve is complete, the rule I have ing pleasantly. No, mon cher, I will still lend adoptedthrough life is to give him up altogether 2 you half the sum required in advance, but the Of course, said Randal. other half is more than I can afford as friend, or Of course, echo~ed the Baron. On the other hazard as money-lender; and it would damage hand, you know that I like pushing forward young my characterbe out of all ruleif, the estates men of mark and promise. You really are amaz- falling, by your default of payment, into my own ingly clever; but how comes it you dont speak hands, I should appear to be the real purchaser better? Do you know, I doubt whether you will of the property of my own distressed client. But, do in the House of Commons all that I expected now I think of it, did not Squire Hazeldean really from your address and readiness in private life. promise you his assistance in this matter ? Because I can not talk trash vulgar enough He did so, answered Randal, as soon as for a mob? Pooh! I shall succeed wherever the marriage between Frank and Madame di 12 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. Negra was off his mind. I meant to cross over to Hazeldean immediately after the election. How can I leave the place till then ? If you do, your election is lost. But why not write to the Squire ? It is against my maxim to write where I can - speak. However, there is no option; I will write at once. Meanwhile, communicate with Thorn- hill; keep up his hopes; and be sure, at least, that he does not close with this greedy alderman before the day fixed for decision. I have done all that already, and my letter is gone. Now, do your part; and if you write as cleverly as you talk, you would coax the money out from a stonier heart than poor Mr. Hazel- deans. I leave you nowGood-night. Levy took up his candlestick, nodded, yawned, and went. Randal still suspended the completion of his speech, and indited the following epistle Mv DEAR Mn HAZELDEANI wrote to you a few hasty lines on leaving town, to inform you that the match you so dreaded was broken off and that I would defer particulars till I could visit your kind and hospitable roof, which I trusted to do for a few hours during my stay at Lausmere, since it is not a days journey hence to Hazeldean. But I did not calculate on finding so sharp a contest. In no election throughout the kingdom do I believe that a more notable triumph, or a more stunning defeat, for the great landed interest can occur. For in this town so dependent on agriculturewe are opposed by a low and sordid manufacturer, of the most revolutionary notions, who has, moreover, the audacity to force his own nephewthat very boy whom I chastised for impertinence on your village greenson of a common carpenteractually the audacity, I say, to attempt to force this peasant of a nephew, as well as himself, into the re~re- sentation of Lansmere, against the Earls interest, against your distinguished brotherof myself I say nothing. You should hear the language in which these two men indulge against all your family! If we are beaten by such persons in a borough supposed to be so loyal as Lansmere, every one with a stake in the country may tremble at such a prognostic of the ruinthat must await not only our old English constitution but the existence of property itself. I need not saythat on such an occasion I can not spare myself. Mr. Egertonis ill too. All the fatigue of the canvass devolves on me. I feel, my dear and revered friend, that I am a genuine Hazeldean, fighting your battle; and that thought carries me through all. I can not, therefore, come to you till the election is over; and meanwhile you, and my dear Mrs. Hazeldean, must be anxious to know more about the affair that so preyed on both your hearts, than I have yet informed you, or can well trust to a letter. Be assured, however, that the worst is over; the lady has gone abroad. I earnestly entreated Frank (who showed me Mrs. Ha~~ ~ most pathetic letter to him) to hasten at once to the hall, and relieve your minds. Un- fortunately he would not be ruled by me, but talked of going abroad toonot, I trust (nay, 1 feel assured), in pursuit of Madame di Negra; but stillIn short, I should be so glad to see you, and talk over the whole. Could you not come hither?pray do. And now, at the risk of your thinking that in this I am only consulting my own interest (but noyour noble English heart will never so misjudge me!) I will add with homely frankness, that if you could accom- modate me immediately with the loan you once so generously offered, you would save those lands once in my family from passing away from us for ever. A city aldermanone Jobsonis meanly taking advantage of Thoruhills necessities, and driving a hard bargain for those lands. He has fixed the th inst. for Thoruhills answer, and Levy (who is here assisting Mr. Egertons elec- tion) informs me that Thoruhill will accept his offer, unless I am provided with 10,000 before- hand; the other 10,000, to complete the ad- vance required, Levy will lend me. Do not be surprised at the usurers liberality; he knows that I am about shortly to marry a very great heiress (you will be pleased when you learn whom, and will then be able to account for my indifference to Miss Sticktorights), and her dower will amply serve to repay his loan and your own, if I may trust to your generous affection for the grandson of Hazeldean! I have the less scruple in this appeal to you, for I know how it would grieve you that a Jobson, who perhaps never knew a grandmother should foist your own kins- man from the lands of his fathers. Of one thing I am convincedwe squires, and sons of squires, must make common cause against these great moneyed capitalists, or they will buy us all out in a few generations. The old race of country gentlemen is already much diminished by the grasping cupidity of such leviathans; and if the race be once extinct, what will become of the boast and strength of England? Yours, my dear Mr. Hazeldean, with most affectionate and grateful respect, . RANDAL LESLIE. CHAPTER XXII. NOTHING to Leonard could as yet be more dis- tasteful or oppressive than his share in this mem- orable election. In the first place, it chafed the secret sores of his heart to be compelled to resume the name of Fairfield, which was a tacit dis avowal of his birth. It had been such delight to him that the same letters which formed the name of Nora, should weave also that name of Oran, to which he had given distinction, which he had associated with all his nobler toils, and all his hopes of enduring famea mystic link between his own career and his mothers obscurer genius. It seemed to him as if it were rendering to her the honors accorded to himselfsubtle and deli- cate fancy of the affections, of which only poets would be capable, but which others than poets may perhaps comprehend! That earlier name MY NOVEL; OR, VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. 73 of Fairfield was connected in his memory with all the ru~Ier employments, the meaner trials of his boyhoodthe name of Oran, with poetry and fame. It was his title in the ideal world, among all fair shapes and spirits. In receiving the old appellation, the practical world, with its bitter- ness and strife, returned to him as at the utter- ance of a spell. But in coming to Lansmere he had no choice. To say nothing of Dick, and Dicks parents, with whom his secret would not be safe, Ilandal Leslie knew that he had gone by the name of Fairfieldknew his supposed parent- age, and would be sure to proclaim them. How account for the latter name without setting curi- osity to read the anagram it involved, and ler- haps guiding suspicion to his birth from Nora, to the injury of her memory, yet preserved from stain? His feelings as connected with Norasharp- ened and deepened as they all had been by his discovery of her painful narrativewere em- bittered still more by coming in contact with her parents. Old John was in the. same helpless state of mind and body as beforeneither worse nor better; but waking up at intervals with vivid gleams of interest in the election at the wave of a blue bannerat the cry of Blue forever. It was the old broken-down charger, who, dozing in the meadows, starts at the roll of the drum. No persuasions Dick could employ would induce hi9 father to promise to vote even one Yellow. You might as well have expected the old Roman, with his monomaniac cry against Carthage, to have voted for choosing Carthagenians for consuls. But poor John, nevertheless, was not only very civil, but very humble to Dick very happy to oblige the gentleman.~~ Your own son ! bawled Dick~ and here is your own grandson. Very happy to serve you both; but you see you are the wrong color. Then, as he gazed at Leonard, the old man approached him on trembling knees, stroked his hair, looked into his face piteously. Be thee my grandson ? he faltered. Wife, wife, Nora had no son, had she? My memory begins to fail me, sir; pray excuse it; but you have a look about the eyes that Old John began to weep, and his wife led him away. Dont come again, she said to Leonard harshly when she returned. Hell not sleep all night now ! And then, observing that the tear8 stood in Leonards eyes, she added in softened tones I am glad to see you well and thriving, and to hear that you have been of great service to my son, Richard, who is a credit and an honor to the family, though poor John can not vote for him or for you against his conscience; and he should not be asked, (she added, firing up;) and it is a sin to ask it, and he se old, and no ens to defend him but me. But defend him I will while I have life 1 The poet recognized womans brave, loving, wife-like heart here, and would have embraced i.he stern grandmother, if she had not drawn back from him; and,as she turned toward the room to which she had led her husband, she said over her shoulder Im not so unkind as I seem, boy; but it is better for you, and for all, that you should not come to this house againbetter that you had not come into the town. Fie, mother, said Dick, seeing that Leonard, bending his head, silently walked from the room. You should be prouder of your grandson than you are of ~ Prouder of him who may shame us all yet ? What do you mean? But Mrs. Avenel shook her head, and vanished. Never mind her, poor old soul, said Dick, as he joined Leonard at the threshold; she always had her tempers. And since there is no vote to be got in this house, and one cant set a caucus on ones own fatherat least in this extraordinarily rotten and prejudiced old country, which is quite in its dotagewell not come here to be snubbed any more. Bless their old hearts nevertheless 1 Leonards acute sensibility in all that concerned his birth, deeply wounded by Mrs Avenels allu- sions, which he comprehended better than his uncle did, was also kept on the edge by the sus- pense to which hi was condemned by Harleys continued silence as to the papers confided to that nobleman. It seemed to Leonard almost unac- countable that Harley should have read those papersbe in the same town with himselfand yet volunteer no communication. At length he wrote a few lines to Lord LEstrange, bringing the matter that concerned him so deeply before Harleys recollection, and suggesting his own ear- nest interest in any information that could supply the gaps and omissions of the desultory fragments. Harley, in replying to this note, said, with ap- parent reason, that it would require a long per- sonal interview to discuss the subject referred to, and that such an interview, in the thick of the contest between himself and a candidate op- posed to the Lansmere party, would be sure to get wind, be ascribed to political intrigues, be im- possible otherwise to explainand embarrass all the interests confided to their respective charge. That for the rest, he had not been unmindful of Leonards anxiety, which must now mainly be to see justice done to the dead parent, and learn the name, station, and character of the parent yet surviving. And in this Harley trusted to assist him as soon as the close of the poli would present a suitable occasion. The letter was unlike Har- leys former cordial tone; it was hard and dry. Leonard respected LEstrange too much to own to himself that it was unfeeling. With all his rich generosity of nature, he sought excuses for what he declined to blame. Perhaps something in Helens manner or words had led Harley to suspect that she still cherished too tender an in- terest in the companion of her childhood; perhaps under this coldness of expression there lurked the burning anguish of jealousy. And oh, Leonard so well understoed and could so nobly compas- sionate, even in his prosperous rivsi, the torture .74 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. of the most agonizing of human passions, in which all reasonings follow the distorted writhings of our pain. And Leonard himself, amid his other causes of disquiet, was at once so gnawed and so hum- bled by his own jealousy. Helen, he knew was still under the same roof as Harley. They, the betrothed, could see each other daily, hourly. He would soon hear of their marriage. She would be borne afar from the very sphere of his existence carried into a loftier regionaccessible only to his dreams. And yet to be jealous of one to whom both Helen and himself were under such obligations, debased him in his own esteem jealousy here was so like ingratitude. But for Harley, what could have become of Helen, left to his boyish charge ?he who had himself been compelled, in despair, to think of sending her from his side, to be reared into smileless youth in his mothers humble cottage, while he faced famine alone, gazing on the terrible river, from the bridge by which he had once begged for very alms begged of that Audley Egerton, to whom he was now opposed as an equal or flying from the fiend that glared at him under the lids of the haunting Chatterton. No, jealousy here was more than agonyit was degradation, it was crime! But, ah! if Helen were happy in these splendid nuptials. Was he sure even of that con- solation? Bitter was the thought either way that she should wholly forget him, in happiness from which he stood excluded as a thing of sin or sinfully herself remember, and be wretched! With that healthful strength of will which is snore often proportioned to the susceptibility of feeling than the world suppose, the young man at last wrenched himself for awhile from the iron that had entered into his soul, and forced his thoughts to seek relief in the very objects from which they otherwise would have the snost loathingly recoiled. He aroused his imagination to befriend his reason; he strove to divine some motive not explained by Harley, not to be referred to the mere defeat, by counter-scheme, of scheming Ran- dalnor even to be solved by any service to And- ley Egerton, which Harley might evolve from the complicated meshes of the election ;some motive that could more interest his own heart in the con- test, and connect itself with Harleys promised aid in clearing up the mystery of his parentage. Noras memoir had clearly hinted that his father was of rank and station far beyond her own. She had thrown the gloryofher glorious fancies over the am- bition and the destined career of the lover in whom she had merged her ambition as poetess, and her career as woman. Possibly the father might be more disposed to own and to welcome the son, if the son could achieve an opening, and give promise of worth, in that grand world of public life in which alone reputation takes precedence of rank. Possibly, too, if the son thus succeeded, and became one whom a proud father could with pride acknowledge, possibly he might not only secure a fathers welcome, but vindicate a moth- s name. This marriage, which Nora darkly hinted she had been led to believe was fraudulent, might after all, have been legalthe, ceremony concealed, even till now, by worldly shame at disparity of rank. But if the son could make good his own footingthere where rank itself owned its chiefs in talentthat shame might vanish. These suppositions were not improba- ble; nor were they uncongenial to Leonards cx.. perience of Harleys delicate benignity of purpose. Here, too, the image of Helen allied itself with those of his parents to support his courage and influence his new ambition. True, that she was lost to him to him forever. No worldly success, no political honors, could now restore her to his side. But she might hear him named with re- spect in those circles in which alone she would hereafter move, and in which parliamentary rep- utation ranks higher than literary fame. And perhaps in future years, when love, retaining its tenderness, was purified from its passion, they might thus meet as friends. He might, without a pang, take her children on his knees, and say, perhaps in their old age, when he had climbed to a social equality even with her high- born lord, It was the hope to regain the privi- lege bestowed on our childhood, that strengthen- me to seek distinction when you and happi- ness forsook my youth. Thus regarded, the election, which had before seemed to him so poos and vulgar an exhibition of vehement passions for petty objects, with its trumpery of banners and its discord of trumpets, suddenly grew into vivid interest, and assumed, dignity and importance. It is ever thus with all mortal strife. In propor. tion as it possesses, or is void of, the diviner something that quickens the pulse of the heart, and elevates the wing of the imagination, it pre- sents a mockery to the philosopher, or an inspira- tion to the bard. Feel thct something, and no contest is mean! Feel it not, and, like Byron, you may class with the slaughter of Cann,.e that field, which at Waterloo restored the landmarks of nations; or may jeer with Juvenal at the dust of Hannibal, because he sought to deliver Car- thage from ruin, and free a world from Rome. CHAPTER XXIII. Orscz, then, grappling manfully with the task be had undertaken, and constraining himself to look on what Riccabocca would have called the southern side of things, whatever there was really great in principle or honorable to human nature, deep below the sordid details and pitiful interests apparent on the face of the agitated current, came clear to his vision. The ardor of those around him began to be contagious; the gener- ous devotion to some cause, apart from self~ which pervades an election, and to which the poorest voter will often render sacrifices that may be called sublimethe warm personal affec- tion which community of zeal creates for the defender of beloved opinionsall concurred to dispel that indifference to party politics, and coun- teract that disgust of their baser leaven, which the young poet had first conceived. He even MY NOVEL; OR, VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. began to look with complacency, for itself, on a career of toils and honors strange to his habitual labors and intellectual ambition. He threw the poetry of idea within him (as poets ever do) into the prose of action to which he was hnrried for- ward. He no longer opposed Dick Avenel when that gentleman represented how detrimental it would be to his business at Screwstown if he devoted to his country the time and the acumen required by his mill and its steam-engine; and how desirable it would be, on all accounts, that Leonard Fairfield should become the parliament- ary representative of the Avenels. If, there- fore, said Dick, two of us can not come in, and one must retire, leave it to me to arrange with the committee that you shall be the one to persist. Oh, never fear but what all scruples of honor shall be satisfied. I would not, for the sake of the Avenels, have a word said against their representative. But, answered Leonard, if II grant this, I fear that you have some intention of suffering the votes that your resignation would release, to favor Leslie at the expense of Egerton.~~ What the deuce is Egerton to you ? Nothing, except through my gratitude to his friend Lord LEstrange. Pooh! I will tell you a secret. Levy informs me privately that LEstrange will be well satis- fied if the choice of Lansmere fall upon Leslie instead of E gerton; and I think I convinced my lordfor I saw him in Londonthat Eg- erton would have no chance, though Leslie might. I must think that Lord LEstrange would resist to the utmost any attempt to prefer Leslie whomhe despisestoEgerton, whomhe honors. And, so thinking, I too would resist it, as you may judge by the speeches which have so pro- voked your displeasure. Let us cut short a yarn of talk which, when it comes to likings and dislikings, might last to almighty crack: Ill ask you to do nothing that Lord LEstrange does not sanction. Will that satisfy you? Certainly, provided I am assured of the sanction. And now, the important day preceding the poii the day in which the candidates were to be formally nominated, and meet each other in all the ceremony of declared rivalshipdawned at last. The town-hall was the place selected for the occasion; and before sunrise, all the streets were resonant with music, and gay with banners. Audley Egerton felt that he could notwith- out incurring some just sarcasm on his dread to face the constituency he had formerly represented, and by the malcontents of which he had been burned in effigyabsent himself from the town- hall, as he had done from balcony and hostel. Painful as it was to confront Noras brother, and wrestle in public against all the secret memories that knit the strife of the present contest with the anguish that recalled the first- wtill. tb~ thing must be done; and it was the English habit ef his life to face with courage whatever he had to do. (To BE CONTINUED.) A NIGHT ADVENTURE. I WILL tell you all about an affairimportant as it proved to me; but you must not hurry me. I have never been in a hurry since then, and never will. Up till that time inclusive, I was always in a hurry; my actions always preceded my thoughts; experience was of no use; and any body would have supposed me destined to carry a young head upon old shoulders to the grave. However, I was brought up at last with a round turn. I was allowed a certain space for reflec- tion, and plenty of materials; and if it did not do me good, its a pity! My father and mother both died when I was still a great awkward boy; and I, being the only thing they had to bequeath, became the property of a distant relation. I do not know how it hap- pened, but I had no near relations. I was a kind of waif upon the world from the beginning; and I suppose it was owing to my having no family anchorage that I acquired the habit of swaying to and fro, and drifting hither and thither, at the pleasure of wind and tide. Not that my guard- ian was inattentive or unkindquite the reverse; but he was indolent and careless, contenting himself with providing abundantly for my school- ing and my pocket, and leaving every thing else to chance. He would have done the same thing to his own son, if he had had one, and he did the same thing to his own daughter. But girls seine- how cling wherever they are castany thing is an anchorage for them; and as Laura grew up, she gave the care she had never found, and was the little mother of the whole house. As for the titular mother, she had not an atom of character of any kind. She might have been a picture, or a vase, or any thing else that is useless except to the taste or the affections. But mamma was indispensable. It is a vulgar error to suppose that people who have nothing in them are no- body in a house. Our mamma was the very centre and point of our home feelings; and it was strange to observe the devout care we took of a personage, who had not two ideas in her head. It is no wonder that I was always in a hurry, for I must have had an instinctive idea that I had my fortune to look for. The governor had no- thing more than a genteel independence, and this would be a good deal lessened after his death by the lapse of an annuity. But sister Laura was thus provided for well enough, while I had not a shilling in actual money, although plenty of hy- pothetical thousands and sundry castles in the air. It was the consciousness of the latter kind of property, no doubt, that gave me so free-and- easy an air, and made me so completely the mas- ter of my own actions. How I did worry that ble~sed old woman! how Laura lectured and scolded! how the governor stormed! and how I was forgiven the next minute, and we were all s~ happy again as the day was long! But $ HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. length the time of separation came. I had grown a great hulking fellow, strong enough to make my bread as a porter, if that had been needed; and so a situation was found for me in a count- ing-house at Barcelona, and after a lecture and a hearty cry from sister Laura, a blessing and a kiss from mamma, and a great sob kept down by a hurricane laugh from the governor, I went adrift. Four years passed rapidly away. I had at- tained my full height, and more than my just share of inches. I already enjoyed a fair modi- cum of whisker, and had even made some pro- gress in the cultivation of a pair of mustaches, when suddenly the bouse I was connected with failed. What to do The governor insisted upon my return to England, where his interest among the mercantile class was considerable; Laura hinted mysteriously that my presence in the house would soon be a matter of great import- ance to her father; and mamma let out the se- cret, by writing to me that Laura was going to change her condition. I was glad to hear this, for I knew he would be a model of a fellow who was Lauras husband; and, gulping down my pride, which would fain have persuaded me that it was unmanly to go back again like the ill sixpence, I set out on my return home. The family, I knew, had moved to another house; but being well acquainted with the town, I had no difficulty in finding the place. It was a range of handsome buildings which bad sprung up in the fashionable outskirt during my ab- sence; and although it was far on in the even- ing, my accustomed eyes soon descried through the gloom the governors old-fashioned door-plate. I was just about to knock, really agitated with delight and struggling memories, when a temp- tation came in my way. One of the area win- dows was open, gaping as if for my reception. A quantity of plate lay upon a table close by. Why should I not enter, and appear unannounced in the drawing-room, a sunburnt phantom of five feet eleven Why should I not present the pre- cise and careful Laura with a handful of her own spoons and forks, left so conveniently at the serv- ice of any area-sneak who might chance to pass by Why That is only a figure of speech. I asked no question about the matter; the idea was hardly well across my brain when my legs were across the rails. In another moment I had crept in by the window; and chuckling at my own cleverness, and the great moral lesson I was about to teach, I was stuffing my pockets with the plate. While thus engaged, the opening of a door in the hall above alarmed me; and afraid of the failure of my plan, I stepped lightly up the stair, which was partially lighted by the hall-lamp. As I was about to emerge at the top, a serving-girl was coming out of a room on the opposite side. She instantly retreated, shut the door with a bang, and I could hear a half-suppressed hysteri- cal cry. I bounded on, sprang up the drawing- room stair, and entered the first door at a venture. All was dark, and I stopped for a moment to listen. Lights were hurrying across the hall; and I heard the rough voice of a man as if scold- ing and taunting some person. The girl had doubtless given the alarm, although her informa- tion must have been very indistinct; for when she saw me I was in the shadow of the stair, and she could have had little more than a vague im- pression that she beheld a human figure. How- ever this may be, the mans voice appeared to descend the stair to the area-room, and presently I heard a crashing noise, not as if he was count- ing the plate, but rather thrusting it aside en masse. Then I heard the window closed, the shutters bolted, and an alarm-bell hung upon them, and the man reascended the stair, half scold- ing, half laughing at the girls superstition. He took care, notwithstanding, to examine the fast- enings of the street-door, and even to lock it, and put the key in his pocket. He then retired into a room, and all was silence. I began to feel pretty considerably queer. The governor kept no male servant that I knew of, and had never done so. It was impossible he could have introduced this change into his house- hold without my being informed of it by sister Laura, whose letters were an exact chronicle of every thing, down to the health of the cat. This was puzzling. And now that I had time to think, the house was much too large for a family re- quiring only three sleeping-rooms even when I was at home. It was what is called a double house, with rooms on both sides of the hall; and the apartment on the threshold of which I was still lingering ajpeared, from the dim light of the windows, to be of very considerable size. I now recollected that the quantity of plate I had seen a portion of which at this moment felt preter naturally heavy in my pocketsmust have been three times greater than any the governor evex possessed, and that various pieces were of a size and massiveness I had never before seen in the establishment. In vain I bethought myself that I had seen and recognized the well-known door- plate, and that the area from which I entered was immediately under; in vain I argued that since Laura was about to be married, the extra quan- tity of plate might be intended to form a part of her trousseau: I could not convince myself. But the course of my thoughts suggested an idea, and pulling hastily from my pocket a table-spoon, I felt, for I could not see, the legend which con- tained my fate. But my fingers were tremulous: they seemed to have lost sensationonly I fan- cied I did feel something more than the govern- ors plain initials. There was still a light in the hall. If I could but bring that spoon within its illumination! All was silent; and I ventared to descend step after stepnot as I had bounded up, but with the stealthy pace of a thief, and the plate growing heavier and heavier in my pocket. At length I was near enough to see, in spite of a dimness that had gathered over my eyes; and, with a sensation of absolute faintness, I beheld upon the spoon an engraved crestthe red right hand of a baronet! I crept back again, holding by the banisters,

HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. length the time of separation came. I had grown a great hulking fellow, strong enough to make my bread as a porter, if that had been needed; and so a situation was found for me in a count- ing-house at Barcelona, and after a lecture and a hearty cry from sister Laura, a blessing and a kiss from mamma, and a great sob kept down by a hurricane laugh from the governor, I went adrift. Four years passed rapidly away. I had at- tained my full height, and more than my just share of inches. I already enjoyed a fair modi- cum of whisker, and had even made some pro- gress in the cultivation of a pair of mustaches, when suddenly the bouse I was connected with failed. What to do The governor insisted upon my return to England, where his interest among the mercantile class was considerable; Laura hinted mysteriously that my presence in the house would soon be a matter of great import- ance to her father; and mamma let out the se- cret, by writing to me that Laura was going to change her condition. I was glad to hear this, for I knew he would be a model of a fellow who was Lauras husband; and, gulping down my pride, which would fain have persuaded me that it was unmanly to go back again like the ill sixpence, I set out on my return home. The family, I knew, had moved to another house; but being well acquainted with the town, I had no difficulty in finding the place. It was a range of handsome buildings which bad sprung up in the fashionable outskirt during my ab- sence; and although it was far on in the even- ing, my accustomed eyes soon descried through the gloom the governors old-fashioned door-plate. I was just about to knock, really agitated with delight and struggling memories, when a temp- tation came in my way. One of the area win- dows was open, gaping as if for my reception. A quantity of plate lay upon a table close by. Why should I not enter, and appear unannounced in the drawing-room, a sunburnt phantom of five feet eleven Why should I not present the pre- cise and careful Laura with a handful of her own spoons and forks, left so conveniently at the serv- ice of any area-sneak who might chance to pass by Why That is only a figure of speech. I asked no question about the matter; the idea was hardly well across my brain when my legs were across the rails. In another moment I had crept in by the window; and chuckling at my own cleverness, and the great moral lesson I was about to teach, I was stuffing my pockets with the plate. While thus engaged, the opening of a door in the hall above alarmed me; and afraid of the failure of my plan, I stepped lightly up the stair, which was partially lighted by the hall-lamp. As I was about to emerge at the top, a serving-girl was coming out of a room on the opposite side. She instantly retreated, shut the door with a bang, and I could hear a half-suppressed hysteri- cal cry. I bounded on, sprang up the drawing- room stair, and entered the first door at a venture. All was dark, and I stopped for a moment to listen. Lights were hurrying across the hall; and I heard the rough voice of a man as if scold- ing and taunting some person. The girl had doubtless given the alarm, although her informa- tion must have been very indistinct; for when she saw me I was in the shadow of the stair, and she could have had little more than a vague im- pression that she beheld a human figure. How- ever this may be, the mans voice appeared to descend the stair to the area-room, and presently I heard a crashing noise, not as if he was count- ing the plate, but rather thrusting it aside en masse. Then I heard the window closed, the shutters bolted, and an alarm-bell hung upon them, and the man reascended the stair, half scold- ing, half laughing at the girls superstition. He took care, notwithstanding, to examine the fast- enings of the street-door, and even to lock it, and put the key in his pocket. He then retired into a room, and all was silence. I began to feel pretty considerably queer. The governor kept no male servant that I knew of, and had never done so. It was impossible he could have introduced this change into his house- hold without my being informed of it by sister Laura, whose letters were an exact chronicle of every thing, down to the health of the cat. This was puzzling. And now that I had time to think, the house was much too large for a family re- quiring only three sleeping-rooms even when I was at home. It was what is called a double house, with rooms on both sides of the hall; and the apartment on the threshold of which I was still lingering ajpeared, from the dim light of the windows, to be of very considerable size. I now recollected that the quantity of plate I had seen a portion of which at this moment felt preter naturally heavy in my pocketsmust have been three times greater than any the governor evex possessed, and that various pieces were of a size and massiveness I had never before seen in the establishment. In vain I bethought myself that I had seen and recognized the well-known door- plate, and that the area from which I entered was immediately under; in vain I argued that since Laura was about to be married, the extra quan- tity of plate might be intended to form a part of her trousseau: I could not convince myself. But the course of my thoughts suggested an idea, and pulling hastily from my pocket a table-spoon, I felt, for I could not see, the legend which con- tained my fate. But my fingers were tremulous: they seemed to have lost sensationonly I fan- cied I did feel something more than the govern- ors plain initials. There was still a light in the hall. If I could but bring that spoon within its illumination! All was silent; and I ventared to descend step after stepnot as I had bounded up, but with the stealthy pace of a thief, and the plate growing heavier and heavier in my pocket. At length I was near enough to see, in spite of a dimness that had gathered over my eyes; and, with a sensation of absolute faintness, I beheld upon the spoon an engraved crestthe red right hand of a baronet! I crept back again, holding by the banisters, A NIGHT ADVENTURE. 77 fsncying every now and then that I heard a door pondering in the dark, with the spoon in my open behind me, and yet my feet no more con- hand, I am quite sure that no malefactor i~i a senting to quicken their motion than if I had dungeon could have envied my reflections. In been pur~ued by a mi~rderer in the nightmare. fact, the evidence was so dead against me, that I at length got into the room, groped for a chair, I began to doubt my own innocence. What and sat down. No more hurry now. 0 no! was I here for if my intentions had really been There was plenty of time; and plenty to do in honest Why should I desire to come into any it, for I had to wipe away the perspiration that individuals area-window instead of the door ran down my face in streams. What was to be And how came it that all this silver-plate had done What had I done Oh, a trifle, a mere found its way into my pockets I was angry trifle. I had only sneaked into a gentlemans as well as terrified: I was judge and criminal house by the area-window, and pocketed his in one; but the instincts of nature got the bet- table-spoons; and here I was, locked and barred ter of my sense of justice, and I rose suddenly. and belled in, sitting very comfortably, in the up, to ascertain whether it was not possible to dark and alone, in his drawing-room. Very get from the window into the street. particularly comfortable. What a capital fel- As I nioved, however, the horrible booty I had low, to be sure! What an amusing personage! in my pocket moved likewise, appearing to me Wouldnt the baronet laugh in the morning to shriek, like a score of fiends, Police! po- XVouldnt he ask me to stay breakfast And lice ! and the next instant I heard a quick foot- wouldnt I eat heartily out of the spoons I had step ascending the stair. Now was the fateful stolen But what name is that Who calls moment come! I was on my feet; my eyes me a housebreaker Who gives me in charge glared upon the door; my hands were clenched; Who lugs me off by the neck I will not stand the perspiration had dried suddenly upon my it. I am innocent, except of breaking into a skin; and my tongue dave to the roof of my baronets house. I am a gentleman, with an- mouth. But the footstep, accompanied by a other gentlemans spoons in my pocket. I claim gleam of light, passedpassed; and from very the protection of the law. Police! police! weakness I sat down again, with a dreadful in- My brain was wandering. I pressed my hand difference to the screams of the plate in nit upon my wet forehead, to keep down the thick pockets. Presently there were more footsteps coming fancies, and determined, for the first along the hall; then voices; then drawing of time in my life, to hold a deliberate consultation bolts and creaking of locks; then utter dark- with myself. I was in an awkward predicament ness, then silencelasting, terrible, profound. it was impossible to deny the fact; but was The house had gone to bed; the house would there any thing really serious in the case I quickly be asleep; it was time to be up and had unquestionably descended into the wrong doing, But first and foremost, I must get rid area, the right-hand one instead of the left-hand of the plate. Without that hideous corpus de- one; but was I not as unquestionably the relation licti, I should have some chance. I must at all the distant relationthe very distant relation hazards creep down into the hall, find my way of the next-door neighbor l I had been four to the lower regions, and replace the accursed years absent from his house, and was there any thing where I found it. It required nerve to thing more natural than that I should desire to attempt this; but I was thoroughly wound up pay my next visit through a subterranean win- and after allowing a reasonable time to elapse, dow l I had appropriated, it is true, a quantity to give my enemies a fair opportunity of falling of silver-plate I had found; but with what other asleep, I set out upon the adventure. The door intention could I have done this than to present creaked as I went out; the plate grated agnins~ it to my very distant relations daughter, and my very soul as I descended the steps; but reproach her with her carelessness in leaving it slowly, stealthily, I crept along the wall; and next door 1 Finally, I was snared, caged, trap- at length found myself on the level floor. There peddoor and window had been bolted upon me was but one door on that side of the hall, the without any remonstrance on my partand I door which led to the area-roomI recollect was now some considerable time in the house, the fact distinctlyand it was with inexpressi- unsuspected, yet a prisoner. The position was ble relief I reached it in safety, and grasped the serious; but come, suppose the worst, that I knob in my hand. The knob turnedhut the was actually laid hold of as a malefactor, and door did not open; it was locked; it was my commanded to give an account of myself. Well: fate to be a thief; and after a moment of new I was, as aforesaid, a distant relation of the in- dismay, I turned again doggedly, reached the dividual next door. I belonged to nobody in the stair, and re-entered the apartment I had left. world, if not to him; I bore but an indifferent It was like getting home. It was snug and reputation in regard to steadiness; and after private. I had a chair there waiting me. I four years absence in a foreign country, I had thought to myself, that many a man would take returned idle, penniless, and objectlessjust in a deal of trouble to break into such a house. I time to find an area-window open in the dusk had only sneaked. I wondered how Jack Shep- of the evening, and a heap of plate l.vin~ behind herd felt on such occasions. I had seen him at ;t, within view of the street. the Adelphi in the person of Mrs. Keeley, and This s.ilf-examination was not encouraging; a daring little dog he was. He would make no- the case was decidedly queer; and as I git thus thing of getting down into the street from the VOL VINo. 31.F 78 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. window, spoons and all. I tried this: the shut- ters were not even closed, and the sash moving noiselessly, I had no difficulty in raising it. I stepped out into the balcony, and looked over. Nothing was to be seen but a black and yawn- ing gulf beneath, guarded by the imaginary spikes of an invisible railing. Jack would have laughed at this difficulty; but then he had more experience in the craft than I, and was provided with all necessary appliances. As for me, I had stupidly forgotten even my coil of rope. The governors house, I found, had either no balcony at all, or it was too far apart to be reached. Presently I heard a footstep on the trottoir, a little way off. It was approaching with slow and measured pace: the person was walking as calmly and gravely in the night as if it had been broad day. Suppose I hailed this philosophical stranger, and confided to him, in a friendly way, the fact that the baronet, without the slightest provocation, had locked me up in his house, with his silver spoons in my pocket Perhaps be would advise me what to do in the predica- ment. Perhaps he would take the trouble of knocking at the door, or crying fire, and when the servants opened, I might rush out, and so make my escape. But while I was looking wistfully down to see if I could not discern the walking figure, which was now under the win- dows, a sudden glare from the spot dazzled my sight. It was the bulls-eye of a policeman; and with the instinct of a predatory character, I shrunk back trembling, crept into the room, and shut the window. By this time I was sensible that there was a little confusion in my thoughts, and by way of employing them on practical and useful objects, I determined to make a tour of the room. But first it was necessary to get rid, somehow or other, of my plunderto plant the property, as we call it; and with that view I laid it careful- ly, piece by piece, in the corner of a sofa, and concealed it with the cover. This was a great relief. I almost began to feel like the injured partymore like a captive than a robber; and I groped my way through the room, with a sort of vague idea that I might perhaps stumble upon some trap-door, or sliding-panel, which would lead into the open air, or, at worst, into a secret chamber, where I should be safe for any given number of years from my persecu- tors. But there was nothing of the kind in this stern, prosaic place: nothing but a few cabinets and tables, and couches, and arm-chairs, and common-chairs, and devotional-chairs; and foot- stools, and lamps, and statuettes, and glass- shades, and knick-knacks; and one elaborate gi- randole hung round with crystal prisms, which played such an interminable tune against each other when I chanced to move them, that I stum- bled away as fast as I could, and subsided into a fauteuji so rich, so deep, that I felt myself swallowed up, as it were, in its billows of swans down. How long I had been in the house by this time, I can not tell. It seemed to me, when I looked back, to form a considerable portion of a lifetime. Indeed, I did not very well remember the more distant events of the night; although every now and then th~ fact occurrpd to me with startling distinctness, that all I had gone through was only preliminary to something still to happen; that the morning was to come, the family to be astir, and the housebreaker to be apprehended. My reflections were not continu- ous. It may be that I dozed between whiles. How else can I account for my feeling myself grasped by the throat, to the very brink of suffocation, by a hand without a body How else can I ac- count for sister Laura standing over me where I reclined, pointing to the stolen plate on the sofa, and lecturing me on my horrible propen- sities till she grew black in the face, and her voice rose to a wild unearthly scream which pierced through my brain When this fancy occurred, I started from my recumbent posture. A voice was actually in my ears, and a living form before my eyes: a lady stood contemplating me, with a half-scream on her lips, and the color fading from her cheek; and as I moved, she would have fallen to the ground, had I not sprung up and caught her in my arms. I laid her softly down in the fauteu ii. It was the morning twilight. The silence was profound. The boundaries of the room were still dim and indistinct. Is it any wonder that I was in some considerable degree of perplexity as to whether I was not still in the land of dreams Madam, said I, if you are a vision, i; is of no consequence; but if not, I want particu. larly to get out. Offer no injury, she replied in a tremulous voice, and no one will molest you. Take what you have come for, and begone. That is sooner said than done. The doors and windows below are locked and bolted; and beneath those of this room the area is deep, and the spikes sharp. I assure you, I have been in very considerable perplexity the whole of last night ; and drawing a chair, I sat down in front of her. Whether it was owing to this action, or to my complaining voice, or to the mere fact of her finding herself in a quiet tate- d-tdte with a housebreaker, I can not tell; but the lady broke into a low hysterical laugh. How did you break in ~ said she. I did not break; it is far from being my character, I assure you. But the area-window was open, and so I just thought I would come in. You were attracted by the plate! Take it, for Heavens sake, desperate man, and~ go away ! I did take some of it, but with no evil inten tiononly by way of amusement. Here it is ; and going to the sofa, I drew off the cover, and showed her the plate. You have been generosms, said she, her voice getting quaverous again; for the whole must have been in your power. I will let you out so softly that no one will know. Put up in your SLATE AND ITS USES. pockets what you have risked so much to possess, and follow me. I will follow you wi~h pleasure, said I, were it all the world over ; for the increasing light showed me as lovely a creature as the morn- ing sun ever shone upon; but as for the plun- der, you must excuse me there: I never stole any thing before, and, please Heaven, I never will again ! Surely you are a most extraordinary per- son, said the young lady suddenly, for the light seemed to have made a revelation to her like- wise: you neither look nor talk like a robber. Nor am I. I am not even a robberI am nothing; and have not property in the world to the value of these articles of plate. Then if you are not a robber, why are you here ?why creep in at the area-window, ap- propriate other peoples spoons, and get locked up all night in their house ~ For no other reason than that I was in a hurry. I had come home from Barcelona, and was going in to my guardians, next door, when your unfortunate area-window caught my eye, with the plate on the table inside. In an instant, I was over the rails and in through the window like a harlequin, with the intention of giving the family a pleasing surprise, and my old moni- tress, sister Laura, a great moral lesson on the impropriety of her leaving plate about in so careless a way. Then you are Gerald, my dear Lauras cousin, so longingly expected, so beloved by them allso- Here the young lady blushed celes- tial rosy red, and cast down her eyes. What these two girls could have been saying to each Aher about me, I never found out; but there was a secret, I will go to death upon it. She let me out so quietly, that neither her father nor the servants ever knew a syllable about the matter. I nced not say how I was re- ceived next door. The governor swept down another sob with another guffaw; mamma be stowed upon me another blessing and another kiss; and Laura was so rejoiced, that she gave me another hearty cry, and forgot to give me another lecture. My next four years were spent to more purpose than the last. Being less In a hurry, I took time to build up a flourishing business in partnership with Lauras husband. As for the baronets daughterfor we must get every body into the concluding tableauwhy there she isthat lady cutting bread and butter for the children, with as matronly an air as Werters Charlotte: she is my wife; and we laugh to this day at the oddity of that First In- terview which led to so happy a denouement. SLATE AND ITS USES. A FEW years ago, people who knew nothing of slate but as a material to roof houses with and do sums upon, were charmed to find it could be made to serve for so large a thing as a billiard- table. For billiard-tables there is nothing like slate, so perfectly level and smooth as it is. Then, fishmongers found there was nothing like slate for their slabs (till they are rich enough to afford marble); and farmers wives discovered the same thing in regard to their dairies. Plumb- ers then began to declare that there was nothing like slate for cisterns and sinks: and builders, noticing this, tried slate for the pavement of wash-houses, pantries, and kitchens, and for cot tage floors; and they have long declared that there is nothing like it; it is so clean, and dries so quickly. If so, thought the ornamental gar- dener, it must be the very thing for garden chairs, summer-houses, sun-dials, and tables in arbors; and it is the very thing. The stone mason xva.~ equally pleased with it for gravestones. Then, said the builder again, when perplexed with com- plaints of a damp wall in an exposed situation, why should not a wall be slated as well as a roof, if it wants it as much ~ So he tried; and in mountain districts, where one end of a house is exposed to beating rains, we see that end as scaly as a fishslated like its own roof. Thus it is with the small houses erected for business at the great slate quarry in Valencia, near Kill- arney, in Irelsiad; and the steps leading up to them are of slate; and the paths before the doors are paved with slate. We look in upon the steam-engine; and we observe that the fittings of the engine-house are all of slate, so that no dust can lodge, and no damp can enter. It is the quarry that we care most to see; and up to it we go, under the guidance of the over- looker, as soon as he has measured a block of slate with the marked rod he carries in his hand. He is a Welshmanfrom Bangorthe only per- son among the hundred and twenty about the works who is not Irish. Is it really so we ask, when we are in the quarry. There is nobody therenot one man or boy among all those groupswho can properly be called ragged. Many have holes in their clothes; but all have clothesreal garments, instead of flapping tat- ters, hung on, nobody knows how. Another thing. These people are working steadily and gravely. If spoken to, they answer calmly, and with an air of independencewithout vocifera- tion, cant, flattery, or any kind of passion. Yet these people are all Irish; and they speak as they do because they are independent. They have good work; and they do their work well. They earn good wages; and they feel independ- ent. These are the people who, in famine time, formed a middle class between the few proprie- tors in the island and the many paupers. The receivers of relief were two thousand two hun. dred. The proprietors and their families were two hundred. These work-people and their fain ilies were the remaining six hundred. They look like people who could hold their ground in a sea- son of stress. This quarry was their anchorage. What a noble place it is! We climb till we find ourselves standing on the upper tramway, or the verge of a precipice of slate, with a rough wall of slate behind usof all shades of gray, from white to black, contrasting well with the orange line of the iron mould caused by the drip from the roof upon the tramway; but the ceiling

SLATE AND ITS USES. pockets what you have risked so much to possess, and follow me. I will follow you wi~h pleasure, said I, were it all the world over ; for the increasing light showed me as lovely a creature as the morn- ing sun ever shone upon; but as for the plun- der, you must excuse me there: I never stole any thing before, and, please Heaven, I never will again ! Surely you are a most extraordinary per- son, said the young lady suddenly, for the light seemed to have made a revelation to her like- wise: you neither look nor talk like a robber. Nor am I. I am not even a robberI am nothing; and have not property in the world to the value of these articles of plate. Then if you are not a robber, why are you here ?why creep in at the area-window, ap- propriate other peoples spoons, and get locked up all night in their house ~ For no other reason than that I was in a hurry. I had come home from Barcelona, and was going in to my guardians, next door, when your unfortunate area-window caught my eye, with the plate on the table inside. In an instant, I was over the rails and in through the window like a harlequin, with the intention of giving the family a pleasing surprise, and my old moni- tress, sister Laura, a great moral lesson on the impropriety of her leaving plate about in so careless a way. Then you are Gerald, my dear Lauras cousin, so longingly expected, so beloved by them allso- Here the young lady blushed celes- tial rosy red, and cast down her eyes. What these two girls could have been saying to each Aher about me, I never found out; but there was a secret, I will go to death upon it. She let me out so quietly, that neither her father nor the servants ever knew a syllable about the matter. I nced not say how I was re- ceived next door. The governor swept down another sob with another guffaw; mamma be stowed upon me another blessing and another kiss; and Laura was so rejoiced, that she gave me another hearty cry, and forgot to give me another lecture. My next four years were spent to more purpose than the last. Being less In a hurry, I took time to build up a flourishing business in partnership with Lauras husband. As for the baronets daughterfor we must get every body into the concluding tableauwhy there she isthat lady cutting bread and butter for the children, with as matronly an air as Werters Charlotte: she is my wife; and we laugh to this day at the oddity of that First In- terview which led to so happy a denouement. SLATE AND ITS USES. A FEW years ago, people who knew nothing of slate but as a material to roof houses with and do sums upon, were charmed to find it could be made to serve for so large a thing as a billiard- table. For billiard-tables there is nothing like slate, so perfectly level and smooth as it is. Then, fishmongers found there was nothing like slate for their slabs (till they are rich enough to afford marble); and farmers wives discovered the same thing in regard to their dairies. Plumb- ers then began to declare that there was nothing like slate for cisterns and sinks: and builders, noticing this, tried slate for the pavement of wash-houses, pantries, and kitchens, and for cot tage floors; and they have long declared that there is nothing like it; it is so clean, and dries so quickly. If so, thought the ornamental gar- dener, it must be the very thing for garden chairs, summer-houses, sun-dials, and tables in arbors; and it is the very thing. The stone mason xva.~ equally pleased with it for gravestones. Then, said the builder again, when perplexed with com- plaints of a damp wall in an exposed situation, why should not a wall be slated as well as a roof, if it wants it as much ~ So he tried; and in mountain districts, where one end of a house is exposed to beating rains, we see that end as scaly as a fishslated like its own roof. Thus it is with the small houses erected for business at the great slate quarry in Valencia, near Kill- arney, in Irelsiad; and the steps leading up to them are of slate; and the paths before the doors are paved with slate. We look in upon the steam-engine; and we observe that the fittings of the engine-house are all of slate, so that no dust can lodge, and no damp can enter. It is the quarry that we care most to see; and up to it we go, under the guidance of the over- looker, as soon as he has measured a block of slate with the marked rod he carries in his hand. He is a Welshmanfrom Bangorthe only per- son among the hundred and twenty about the works who is not Irish. Is it really so we ask, when we are in the quarry. There is nobody therenot one man or boy among all those groupswho can properly be called ragged. Many have holes in their clothes; but all have clothesreal garments, instead of flapping tat- ters, hung on, nobody knows how. Another thing. These people are working steadily and gravely. If spoken to, they answer calmly, and with an air of independencewithout vocifera- tion, cant, flattery, or any kind of passion. Yet these people are all Irish; and they speak as they do because they are independent. They have good work; and they do their work well. They earn good wages; and they feel independ- ent. These are the people who, in famine time, formed a middle class between the few proprie- tors in the island and the many paupers. The receivers of relief were two thousand two hun. dred. The proprietors and their families were two hundred. These work-people and their fain ilies were the remaining six hundred. They look like people who could hold their ground in a sea- son of stress. This quarry was their anchorage. What a noble place it is! We climb till we find ourselves standing on the upper tramway, or the verge of a precipice of slate, with a rough wall of slate behind usof all shades of gray, from white to black, contrasting well with the orange line of the iron mould caused by the drip from the roof upon the tramway; but the ceiling HARI iCRS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. is the most prodigious thing about the place. It is, in sober truth, in its massiveness, grayness, smoothness, and vastness, somewhat like the granite roof in the great chamber of the great Pyramid. It takes away ones breath with some- thing of the same crushing feeling. And then, look at the groups clustered or half hidden in this enormous cavern. How small every one looksthe men with the borers and mallets, making holes for the blasting; the men with the wedges and mallets, splitting off great blocks: some on shelves high up over head; some in cupboards far within; some in dark crevices in the mighty walls! Knock, knock, knock, go the mallets, with an echo following each knock far, near, incessant; and the echo of the drip heard through allan echo for every plash. What are they doing belowthose two men with the chain and hooks, that they can scarcely shift They are fixing the hooks in crevices under that horizontal mass of slate. It rises, and as it rises they shift the hooks further into the cracks, till the block breaks off. When the hooks are in the middle of its weight it rises steadilywhy and how Look at that wagon on that tramway in the air overhead, the wagon way supported on those enormous beams, which are themselves upheld by clamps fixed in the slate walls of the cavern. On each side of that airy truck there is a stage, and in each stage is a man working a windlass, which turns a cog wheel, by which the truck is moved forward or backward. The chains and hooks which are raising the block hang down from this machin- ery; and as the men in the air work their cog wheel, the men on the ground stand away from umider the block, and see it moved and deposited on the truck which is to convey it to the saw mill. That truck is on the tramway below, and a horse draws it to the saw mill, where the block will be raised again by more airy machinery, and placed in the right position for the saws. It weighs only about three tons. A single horse can draw a weight of five tons. The largest size is fifteen tons. We go down to the saw-millsdown, among, and round, hillocks of refuse. The noise in the mill is so horridin kind as well as degree that we can not stay: but a glance is enough. The engine works the great saws, which here do not split the blocks, but square them, and smooth their sides and ends. The rest is done at the works belowat the port. The grating and rasping can he better conceived than de- scribed or endured. Above the blocks are sus- pended a sort of funnel, from which sand and water drip, in aid of the sawing process. We see this, glance at the curious picture of gray blocksperpendicular saws, apparently moving up and down by their own willand superin- tending menand thinking how good a spectacle it would be, but for the tremendous noise, hasten away. On the road down hill is one of the broad- wheeled trucks, laden with an enormous block. We wonder how we shall pass it. We do so, by favor of a recess in the road, and jog on. Or. the left opens a charming narrow lane, overhung with ash and birch, gay with gorse, and bristling with brambles. We jump off our car, dismiss it, plunge down the lane, waste a vast deal of time in feasting on blackberriesthe dessert to our biscuit-lunchand at last sit down on some stones to say how good Valencia blackberries are, and how gaudy a Valencia lane is with gorse and heather; and then we talk over, and fix in our memories what we have seen; and finally emerge from the bottom of the lane, explore the dairy and old house of the Knight of Kerry, and pro- ceed on our way to the works at the port, heed- less of how the time slips away while we gaze at the lighthouse, and the opposite shore, and far away over Dingle Bay, to the faint blue Dingle mountains. We do, however, at length read the gate of the works. We miss the terrible noise of which we had been warned, and which had made itself heard in our inn. The works are, in fact, stopped for the repair of the machinery; and as they will not be going again while we are in Valencia, we can only look round and see what we caa. Weseeoneveryhandnobleslabsofslate,many feet long and broad, and from half-an-inch to three inches in thickness. Scores of them are standing on edge, leaning against each other, as if they could be lifted up, and carried away Ill sheets of pasteboard. By picking up a bit tI at has been cut off, one finds the difference. It is very heavy; and this, I suppose, is the impedi- ment to its adoption for many domestic purposes for which it is otherwise remarkably fit. One boy was at work on a great piece that we could make nothing of without explanation. It had large round holes cut out, as if with a monstrous cheese-taster, the slab being an inch thick: and the boy was cutting out pieces of what was left between the circles. It was for the ridge of a house; and in a moment we saw that the pattern was like that of many barge-boards of orna- mented cottages. We found that the carving, turning, and ornamental manufacture of slate articles does not proceed far in Valencia, as the London houses do not like rivalship in that part of the business; but in the abode of the proprie- tor we saw, in an amusing way, what might be done by any one who has a mind to furnish his house with slate. On entering the garden door, we found, as might be expected, a pavement of slate, smooth and close-fitted, leading up to the house. The borders of the parterres were of upright slates; and there was a little grave-stone in the grass in memory, doubtless, of some domestic pet of the same material. The narrow paths be- tween the vegetable beds were paved with slate, and reasonably, considering how wet the climate is, and how quickly slate dries. The sun dial and garden seats followed of course. Entering the house, we found, not only the pavement of the hall, but its lower panels, of slate; and this reminded us of the excellence of granaries and barns which are flagged instead of boarded, and THE CULTIVATION OF THE SENSES. have a skirting-board of slate, which keeps out rats and mice altogether, supposing the door to be in good order. The saving in grain soon pays the difference between such a material and wood, which rats always can and do gnaw through, sooner or later. In the hall were an umbrella and hat stand, a slab, and a standard-lamp, all of slate. The weight is a favorable quality in the first and last of these articles; but, great as is the advantage of the lamp not being liable to be upset, the color of slate is too dark. Dark absorb too much light. In the dining-room was a very handsome round table of slatevarie- gated somewhat like marble, and delightfully clean-looking, smooth, and level. Its weight makes it all but immovable; and this may be an objection: but there is no doubt of its beauty with its moulded rim, its well-turned stem, and finished pedestal. At the Knight of Kerrys house we had seen a carved mantle-piece, with fluted pillars of slate; and here we saw other mantle-pieces, variously carved. The fenders were delightful; smoothly turned slopes, which invited the feet to rest and be warmed; simple, effectual, and so neat as to be really pretty. There was nothing that we liked so well as the fendersunless it was the paper-weights, simply ornamented; or the book-shelves, perfectly plain, with their rounded edges, and their evident capacity to bear any weight. No folios, how- ever ancientno atlasses, however magnificent, can bend a shelf of slate; and I very much doubt whether the spider can fasten her thread to its surface. No insect can penetrate it; and this indicates the value of slate furniture in India, and in the tropical Colonies, where ants hollow out every thing wooden, from the foun- dation of a house to its roof-tree. Hearth-stones of slate were a matter of course in this house; and we wished they had been so in some others, where there has been repeated danger of fire from sparks or hot ashes falling between the joints of the stones composing the hearth. Then; there were a music-stand, a what-not, a sofa- tableand probably many more articles in the bedrooms, kitchen, and offices, which we did not see. It seems to us that we have heard so much of new applications of slate, within two or three years, as to show that the world is awakening to a sense of its uses; but such a display as this was a curious novelty. I believe it is only recently that it has been discovered how well this material bears turning and carving, and how fit it, therefore, is to be used in masses where solidity is required, together with a capacity for ornament. If its use become as extensive as there is reason to suppose, the effect upon many a secluded mountain population will be great. In Cumberland, Westmoreland, and Wales, very important social changes must take place, in whole districts, through an increased demand for slatebetter wrought out of the mountain than at present. As for Valencia, not only is its slate far finer, and more skillfully obtained. than any we have seen elsewhere; but the work- men are a body of light to the region they in- habit. They marry, when they can, English girls, or girls who have had English training in household ways. Their dwellings are already superior to those of their neighbors; and, if the works increase, through an increased demand, so as to become the absorbing interest of Valen- cia, the island may become a school of social progress to the whole west of Ireland, where & uch a school is sorely needed. THE CULTIVATION OF THE SENSES. HOW our hearts bound to the spirited strains of martial music! how we thrill to the shout of the multitude! and how many a Thivid has charmed away evil spirits by the melody of beautiful sounds! Neither is it a passing emo- tion of little moment in our lives we receive from the senses, for they are our perpetual body- guards, surrounding us unceasingly; and these constantly repeated impressions become power- ful agents in life; they refine or beautify our souls, they ennoble or degrade them, according to the beautiful or mean objects which surround us. A dirty, slovenly dress will exert an evil moral influence upon the child; it will aid in destroying its self-respect ; it will incline it to habits which correspond with such a garment. The beautiful scenes through which a child wanders, playing by the sea-shore, or on the mountain-side, will always be remembered; the treasures of shell and sea-weed, brought from wonderful ocean caverns, the soft green moss, where the fairies have danced, and the flowers that have sprung up under their footsteps will leave a trace of beauty, of mystery, and strange happiness wherever its later Jife may be cast. The senses mingle powerfully in all the influ- ences of childhood. It is not merely the loving of parents, the purity and truthfulness of the family relations, that make home so precious a recollection; there are visions of winter evenings, with the curtains drawn, the fire blazing, and gay voices or wonderful picture-books; there are summer rambles in the cool evening, when the delicious night-breeze fanned the cheek, and we gazed into the heavens to search out the bright stars. It is, then, most important in educating children to guard the senses from evil influences, to furnish them with pure and beau- tiful objects. Each separate sense should pre- serve its acuteness of faculty: the eye should not be injured by resting on a vulgar confusion of colors, or clumsy, ill-proportioned forms; the ear should not be falsified by discordant sounds, and harsh, unloving voices; the nose should not be a receptacle for impure odors: each sense should be preserved in its purity, and the objects supplied to them should be filled with moral suggestion and true sentiment; the house, the dress, the food, may preach to the child through its senses, and aid its growth in quite another way from the protection afforded, or the good blood which feeds its organs.

THE CULTIVATION OF THE SENSES. have a skirting-board of slate, which keeps out rats and mice altogether, supposing the door to be in good order. The saving in grain soon pays the difference between such a material and wood, which rats always can and do gnaw through, sooner or later. In the hall were an umbrella and hat stand, a slab, and a standard-lamp, all of slate. The weight is a favorable quality in the first and last of these articles; but, great as is the advantage of the lamp not being liable to be upset, the color of slate is too dark. Dark absorb too much light. In the dining-room was a very handsome round table of slatevarie- gated somewhat like marble, and delightfully clean-looking, smooth, and level. Its weight makes it all but immovable; and this may be an objection: but there is no doubt of its beauty with its moulded rim, its well-turned stem, and finished pedestal. At the Knight of Kerrys house we had seen a carved mantle-piece, with fluted pillars of slate; and here we saw other mantle-pieces, variously carved. The fenders were delightful; smoothly turned slopes, which invited the feet to rest and be warmed; simple, effectual, and so neat as to be really pretty. There was nothing that we liked so well as the fendersunless it was the paper-weights, simply ornamented; or the book-shelves, perfectly plain, with their rounded edges, and their evident capacity to bear any weight. No folios, how- ever ancientno atlasses, however magnificent, can bend a shelf of slate; and I very much doubt whether the spider can fasten her thread to its surface. No insect can penetrate it; and this indicates the value of slate furniture in India, and in the tropical Colonies, where ants hollow out every thing wooden, from the foun- dation of a house to its roof-tree. Hearth-stones of slate were a matter of course in this house; and we wished they had been so in some others, where there has been repeated danger of fire from sparks or hot ashes falling between the joints of the stones composing the hearth. Then; there were a music-stand, a what-not, a sofa- tableand probably many more articles in the bedrooms, kitchen, and offices, which we did not see. It seems to us that we have heard so much of new applications of slate, within two or three years, as to show that the world is awakening to a sense of its uses; but such a display as this was a curious novelty. I believe it is only recently that it has been discovered how well this material bears turning and carving, and how fit it, therefore, is to be used in masses where solidity is required, together with a capacity for ornament. If its use become as extensive as there is reason to suppose, the effect upon many a secluded mountain population will be great. In Cumberland, Westmoreland, and Wales, very important social changes must take place, in whole districts, through an increased demand for slatebetter wrought out of the mountain than at present. As for Valencia, not only is its slate far finer, and more skillfully obtained. than any we have seen elsewhere; but the work- men are a body of light to the region they in- habit. They marry, when they can, English girls, or girls who have had English training in household ways. Their dwellings are already superior to those of their neighbors; and, if the works increase, through an increased demand, so as to become the absorbing interest of Valen- cia, the island may become a school of social progress to the whole west of Ireland, where & uch a school is sorely needed. THE CULTIVATION OF THE SENSES. HOW our hearts bound to the spirited strains of martial music! how we thrill to the shout of the multitude! and how many a Thivid has charmed away evil spirits by the melody of beautiful sounds! Neither is it a passing emo- tion of little moment in our lives we receive from the senses, for they are our perpetual body- guards, surrounding us unceasingly; and these constantly repeated impressions become power- ful agents in life; they refine or beautify our souls, they ennoble or degrade them, according to the beautiful or mean objects which surround us. A dirty, slovenly dress will exert an evil moral influence upon the child; it will aid in destroying its self-respect ; it will incline it to habits which correspond with such a garment. The beautiful scenes through which a child wanders, playing by the sea-shore, or on the mountain-side, will always be remembered; the treasures of shell and sea-weed, brought from wonderful ocean caverns, the soft green moss, where the fairies have danced, and the flowers that have sprung up under their footsteps will leave a trace of beauty, of mystery, and strange happiness wherever its later Jife may be cast. The senses mingle powerfully in all the influ- ences of childhood. It is not merely the loving of parents, the purity and truthfulness of the family relations, that make home so precious a recollection; there are visions of winter evenings, with the curtains drawn, the fire blazing, and gay voices or wonderful picture-books; there are summer rambles in the cool evening, when the delicious night-breeze fanned the cheek, and we gazed into the heavens to search out the bright stars. It is, then, most important in educating children to guard the senses from evil influences, to furnish them with pure and beau- tiful objects. Each separate sense should pre- serve its acuteness of faculty: the eye should not be injured by resting on a vulgar confusion of colors, or clumsy, ill-proportioned forms; the ear should not be falsified by discordant sounds, and harsh, unloving voices; the nose should not be a receptacle for impure odors: each sense should be preserved in its purity, and the objects supplied to them should be filled with moral suggestion and true sentiment; the house, the dress, the food, may preach to the child through its senses, and aid its growth in quite another way from the protection afforded, or the good blood which feeds its organs. 82 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. BLIND SARAH. FROM THE DIARY OF A CLERGYMAN. (1 HRISTIAN pastors have excellent opportu- ruties for watching the effects of the Gospel on the poor and the afflicted. They are welcome in the cottage of poverty and at the bedside of sickness. What they say is listened to with grat- itude, and treasured in memory. When sickness prostrates the body, or death threatens to rend the vail which separates the mysteries of the purely spiritual world from the every-day characteristics of the present scene, men are not hardy enough, generally speaking, to resist appeals to con- science, or to plead those miserable subterfuges in which they too frequently take refuge in the tim~ of health. It is, indeed, matter of regret that persons living in a land so highly privi- leged R5 ours should perseveringly resist the in- troduction of light, and systematically cherish the opposing darkness, while prosperity illumines their path, and the color of health blooms on their cheek. It would be better for them to recognize the worth of Christianity, to embrace its sublime doctrines, and attend to its generous precepts, previous to the disturbing influence of affliction, or the distracting apprehension of an early summons to the bar of God. They would then find that Christianity is a divine compan- ion, pouring light upon the dark passages of life, and cheering the spirit in its up-hill journey to a land where pains are unfelt, tears unknown, and death only an historical spectre. As it is, the l)rocrastinating habit proves an additional weight to the burden which is felt when men must lie down and think. Think! Ay, that thinking faculty is the glory and the terror of man, his good angel or his demon, his heaven or his hell! And it is surprisingto those who have not witnessed such cases, incrediblehow upon the sick bed, or that which is believed to be the death-bed, some men will think! Persons to whom we had never given credit for any meas- ure of intelligence beyond the ordinary discrim- ination between matters of palpable difference in the ordinary affairs of life, when the dim rush- light is burning in their chamber of sickness, and the probability of death hovering before them, will think with a force and a clearness distressing to themselves and most suggestive to the visitor. Of course I do not refer to those humbling confessions which are offered as a tribute to trust, or extorted by the inquisitor, pain; but to those views of the world and of futurity which spring up before the minds of the afflicted in their calmer moments, when they seem to be in the act of balancing conduct and consequences against each other. If the sufferer has been surrounded in early life by re- ligious influences which he then disregarded, or has had some truth pressed upon his attention which he was at the time reluctant to examine, the force with which the memory of this crim- inal indifference rushes upon his mind, is like opening a new window in a house with which he supposed himself familiar, and letting in light upon objects of whose presence he was not pre- viously aware. I told you all this before, the visitor may be supposed to say to the awakened thinker; I told you all this before, and assured you that sooner or later you would view these important matters in a very different light from that in which you were accustomed to regard them; and now, instead of upbraiding you with past neglects (a needless task on my part, as your own aroused sensibilities do it to far better purpose than I could), I thank God who has not allowed you to go down to the grave totally in- sensible to the realities of existence, the condi- tion of your soul, and the character of that God with whom you have to do. The testimony borne to the power of the Gospel under such circumstances is very great. I never felt as I do now ; I never saw things in this light be- fore ; 0 that I had my life to live over again ! If it please God to restore me to health, what a different life shall I live ! How fearfully have I neglected my Sabbaths ! Is it possi- ble that I can be pardoned l are statements and exclamations often heard by Christian pastors and other religious visitors in the sick chamber; and were it not that they are permitted to repeat the assurance of the Great Redeemer, Him that cometh to me, I will in no wise cast out, and to fix attention on the doctrine of atone. ment by sacrifice, these confessions and excla- mations would be awful in the extreme. Man can not help his suffering brother then! The rich may relieve the wants of the poor: he that hath two coats may impart to him that bath none, and the intelligent may beneficially coun- sel the ignorant, when all the parties are in the possession of health, or when the question relates only to this present world; but when it assumes this absorbing shape What shall I do to be saved l or, How can God be just, and justify the sinner Pmans material wealth is lighter than vanity, and his wisdom foolishness; he must then have recourse to heavenly treasures, he must then quote from a divine book. The Gospel of the grace of God amply and only meets the case. Men may turn their back on the soft effulgence of Christianity in the day of prosperity, and walk in a light of their own choosing; but the self-made lamp has no ray capable of piercing eternity, and the cold breath of death invariably extinguishes it at the very moment when the traveler feels his greatest need of its assistance! How often are we re- minded of that passage of the great Book, Be- hold, all ye that kindle a fire, that compass your- selves about with sparks: walk in the light of your fire, and in the sparks that ye have kindled. This shall ye have of mine hand; ye shall lie down in sorrow. There are, however, other kinds of afflictioi~ besides those of a sick bed, amid which the tes- timony borne to the Gospel is expressed in the language of calm gratitude, from week to week, and from year to yeara sort of living and acted commentary upon the divinity of its truths. The knowledge of such cases is a real relief to the

82 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. BLIND SARAH. FROM THE DIARY OF A CLERGYMAN. (1 HRISTIAN pastors have excellent opportu- ruties for watching the effects of the Gospel on the poor and the afflicted. They are welcome in the cottage of poverty and at the bedside of sickness. What they say is listened to with grat- itude, and treasured in memory. When sickness prostrates the body, or death threatens to rend the vail which separates the mysteries of the purely spiritual world from the every-day characteristics of the present scene, men are not hardy enough, generally speaking, to resist appeals to con- science, or to plead those miserable subterfuges in which they too frequently take refuge in the tim~ of health. It is, indeed, matter of regret that persons living in a land so highly privi- leged R5 ours should perseveringly resist the in- troduction of light, and systematically cherish the opposing darkness, while prosperity illumines their path, and the color of health blooms on their cheek. It would be better for them to recognize the worth of Christianity, to embrace its sublime doctrines, and attend to its generous precepts, previous to the disturbing influence of affliction, or the distracting apprehension of an early summons to the bar of God. They would then find that Christianity is a divine compan- ion, pouring light upon the dark passages of life, and cheering the spirit in its up-hill journey to a land where pains are unfelt, tears unknown, and death only an historical spectre. As it is, the l)rocrastinating habit proves an additional weight to the burden which is felt when men must lie down and think. Think! Ay, that thinking faculty is the glory and the terror of man, his good angel or his demon, his heaven or his hell! And it is surprisingto those who have not witnessed such cases, incrediblehow upon the sick bed, or that which is believed to be the death-bed, some men will think! Persons to whom we had never given credit for any meas- ure of intelligence beyond the ordinary discrim- ination between matters of palpable difference in the ordinary affairs of life, when the dim rush- light is burning in their chamber of sickness, and the probability of death hovering before them, will think with a force and a clearness distressing to themselves and most suggestive to the visitor. Of course I do not refer to those humbling confessions which are offered as a tribute to trust, or extorted by the inquisitor, pain; but to those views of the world and of futurity which spring up before the minds of the afflicted in their calmer moments, when they seem to be in the act of balancing conduct and consequences against each other. If the sufferer has been surrounded in early life by re- ligious influences which he then disregarded, or has had some truth pressed upon his attention which he was at the time reluctant to examine, the force with which the memory of this crim- inal indifference rushes upon his mind, is like opening a new window in a house with which he supposed himself familiar, and letting in light upon objects of whose presence he was not pre- viously aware. I told you all this before, the visitor may be supposed to say to the awakened thinker; I told you all this before, and assured you that sooner or later you would view these important matters in a very different light from that in which you were accustomed to regard them; and now, instead of upbraiding you with past neglects (a needless task on my part, as your own aroused sensibilities do it to far better purpose than I could), I thank God who has not allowed you to go down to the grave totally in- sensible to the realities of existence, the condi- tion of your soul, and the character of that God with whom you have to do. The testimony borne to the power of the Gospel under such circumstances is very great. I never felt as I do now ; I never saw things in this light be- fore ; 0 that I had my life to live over again ! If it please God to restore me to health, what a different life shall I live ! How fearfully have I neglected my Sabbaths ! Is it possi- ble that I can be pardoned l are statements and exclamations often heard by Christian pastors and other religious visitors in the sick chamber; and were it not that they are permitted to repeat the assurance of the Great Redeemer, Him that cometh to me, I will in no wise cast out, and to fix attention on the doctrine of atone. ment by sacrifice, these confessions and excla- mations would be awful in the extreme. Man can not help his suffering brother then! The rich may relieve the wants of the poor: he that hath two coats may impart to him that bath none, and the intelligent may beneficially coun- sel the ignorant, when all the parties are in the possession of health, or when the question relates only to this present world; but when it assumes this absorbing shape What shall I do to be saved l or, How can God be just, and justify the sinner Pmans material wealth is lighter than vanity, and his wisdom foolishness; he must then have recourse to heavenly treasures, he must then quote from a divine book. The Gospel of the grace of God amply and only meets the case. Men may turn their back on the soft effulgence of Christianity in the day of prosperity, and walk in a light of their own choosing; but the self-made lamp has no ray capable of piercing eternity, and the cold breath of death invariably extinguishes it at the very moment when the traveler feels his greatest need of its assistance! How often are we re- minded of that passage of the great Book, Be- hold, all ye that kindle a fire, that compass your- selves about with sparks: walk in the light of your fire, and in the sparks that ye have kindled. This shall ye have of mine hand; ye shall lie down in sorrow. There are, however, other kinds of afflictioi~ besides those of a sick bed, amid which the tes- timony borne to the Gospel is expressed in the language of calm gratitude, from week to week, and from year to yeara sort of living and acted commentary upon the divinity of its truths. The knowledge of such cases is a real relief to the BLIND SARAH. 83 mind of the true minister when oppressed by the stupidity and stubbornness of the multitude, who admit every thing, but believe nothing, who as- sent to all one says, but live as if no voice of friendly warning from God or man had ever fallen upon their ears. Poor blind Sarah! Thou hast often afforded such relief to my spirit. Poor blind Sarah! it were well for many who say We see, if iheir vision were as clear as thine. And who is blind Sarah Come with me, proud rational, who hast discovered that the Bible is a cunningly devised fable, that all preach- ers of the Gospel are impostors, and all profess- ing Christians canting hypocritescome with me and see poor Sarah, and judge for yourself whether this fable has not been a blessed thing to her. All the legions of angels in your ration- alistic heaven could not sing so sweet a song in the ear of Sarah as does the voice of that old book, which her little niece reads to her daily, and many portions of which she repeats to her- self, for she has treasured in memory most of the psalms of the royal poet, many of the sub- lime gushings of Isaiah, and almost the entire New Testament; and what is more, her tem- per, conversation, and conduct are daily wit- nesses that her religion is a gracious power. Come! you need not hesitate. Sarah will nei- ther cant nor preachthings, however, which should not alarm you, who are so strongly forti- lied by the power of reason! We proceed for half-a-mile along the turnpike road, and then turn a short distance to the right between two hedges, climbing a broken pathway, where a niuddy stream gurgles in winter, and where a colony of frogs enjoy themselves on dewy sum- mer evenings. At the top of this little eminence stands Sarahs cottage. I am always sad when I pass this way, at the thought that Sarah can not see the fertile landscape and beautiful view surrounding her humble dwelling, especially as her love of flowers amounts almost to a passion; referring to which one day she expressed her fears to me that she was guilty of idolatry, a remark which forcibly illustrates one principle which you must admireconscientiousness. God supplies the absence or deficiency of one sense by increasing the power of another. Blind persons are generally acute in the sense of hear- ing, or that of feeling, or both. I once knew a deaf man who saw objects distinctly at a sur- prising distance, and a person deprived both of sight and hearing has been known to distinguish colors by the power of feeling. These things are very remarkable. They seem to indicate a tend- ency to what may be called the equilibrium of the senses in the animal economy. Whether the operations of intelligence have any thing to do with this phenomenon, I presume not to say; but I think it highly probable. Sarahs sense of hearing is very quick. After one or two visits, she discovers by the step the person who calls. I have sometimes tried to deceive her by making my foot fall lighter or heavier than usual, but without effect. The invariable recognition and welcome were, Come in, sir, I am glad you have called. These were her words when last I saw her; and it is not likely that I shall ever see her again, until we reach that world where both she and I will see as we are seen, and know as we are known. Many miles separate us now. Sarah is no traveler, and my duties seldom call me to the part of the kingdom where she resides. Yet I have no doubt that even now she would remember both my voice and step, and repeat the outlines of many a sermon long since forgotten by the preacher. The last conversation I had with her follows: I was thinking of you, Sarah, while crossing Farmer Dicksons meadow this evening. Really it is beautiful. The flowers bloom exquisitely How I wish you had seen them ! I am much obliged to you, sir, for thinking of me at all, and for your kindly meant wish, but I could not have that wish myself. But you love flowers P Too much, I fear. But you have taught me not to wish to see them, and I have long found it better to attend to what my minister says, as far as I can, than to disregard it. And I think you wont be offended with one of the feeblest of your flock for that. The feeblest of the flock are generally the strongest, Sarah; those who fancy themselves powerful are often weak; and that fiincv of theirs is the symptom of their we. kness, as to indications of some diseases are feelings of no- usual health; but how I have taught you not to wish to see flowers, I do not exactly understand. In your sermon on the text, Give me neither poverty nor riches; feed me with food convem ient for me, you said that mans wants aiw wishes seldom harmonized; that if we wader- stood our wants better, it is probable that our prayers would be different from what they are; and that we should be careful in the expression of our wishes, because, in reality, they are no- thing more or less than prayers; and, besides. you added, they are generally uttered with far greater earnestness than our petitions at the throne of grace. I have never since that time wished to see, because I feel that I could not make this a petition to God. Had sight been good for me, I am certain I should not have been deprived of it. I am, or I desire to be contented. As to flowers, you see I have a few in the win- dow. I can smell their sweet perfume, and I know when they need watering or dressing as well as if I saw. I can hear the hymns, the prayers, and the sermon on Sunday, which is always a high day with me. The only thing that pains me, is when my poor mother is una- ble to speak, to tell me her wants. I feel about her bed, and do all I can to make her easy in her long illness; but sometimes she is unable to say what she wants, and I then fear there is some- thing I might do for her which I did not, froni not knowing it. My brother, you know, sir, is a day-laborer, and has to provide for his wife and children, and he is unable to come here often. His wife comes as often as possible, for MLry is very kind-hearted, and she sometimes leaves HARPERS ~EW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. little Nelly, who reads to meyou know she learned to read in the Sunday-schoolwhen I can hear her; and, upon the whole, I am very comfortable, and desire to be thankful. Of all things, Sarah, that you can think of, what makes you most thankful ~ I inquired. I can scarcely tell, sir; but I think there are three thingspardon, peace, and hope, for which I daily would say: Bless, 0 my soul, the God of grace; His favors claim thy highest praise: Why should the wonders he has wrought Be lost in silence, and forgot? All my wants are supplied, my pardon is se- cured, my peace is certain, for I experience it, and the hope I feel can not deceive me, for it is founded upon the word of God, and the prom- ised return of Christ, who will come and not tarry, as he has graciously promised. Well, but Sarah, I met a gentleman the other day, who says that all these things are delusions. Ah, sir, I daresay. But you know I have to live by faith, in man as well as in God, and if we receive the testimony of man, the testimony of God is greater. I believe that you saw the flowers in the meadow. I have to take your word for it. And so I think I may surely take Gods word for what he has said. To me, at le~t,these things are not delusions, but blessed realities. And though I never saw any flowers, yet if the gentleman you speak of were to tell me there are none, I could not believe him, be- cause I have felt them. And I am sure, too, the Gospel is true, for I have felt it. Happy Sarah! you remind me of a passage in Scripture. What is that, sir ~ I know thy poverty, but thou art rich. And now, farewell. Peace be with you ! And with thy spirit, said Sarah; and that the wish was a heart-prayer, I am fully satisfied. SOMETHING ABOUT THE WINDS. AMoNe natural phenomena there are none, per- haps, more interesting than the winds, whether regarded in a particular or general point of view. So much of our material well-being depends on them, and their manifestations are so various, that we need not feel surprised at their having been more or less studied by the poet, peasant, and philosopher. In the equatorial and tropical regions they exhibit themselves as hurricanes and monsoons, or trade winds, blowing in one fixed direction for several months together, or as the mutable land and sea breezes, making the temperature agreeable to the dwellers in the torrid zone. In the temperate latitudes, on the contrary, they are ever varying, bringing that constantly-recurring change which seems so favorable to the development of the best forms of human energy. Most persons are familiar with the theory by which the laws and movements of atmospheric currents are explained: it is simply the differ- ence of density of the air. When we consider how much of the globe is land, and how much more water, what vast spaces are desert, or swamp, or forest, or snow and ice, or cleared and cultivated, we shall at once see that from a surface so diversified, the difference of radiation must be great; and as difference of radiation causes difference of density, we thus find an operation of cause and effect on the largest scale. A familiar illustration on a small scale may be found on opening the door of a heated iootna warm current flowing out at the top, and a cold one flowing inward at the bottom. Apart from physical conformation there is a difference in the temperature alone of the equa- torial and polar regions of 82 degrees, a fact which may give us some idea of the compensa tion required to effect an equilibrium. In our annual revolution round the sun, and the ap- parent passage of the great luminary from the tropic of Capricorn to Cancer, the air of the intervening space is much more heated than beyond those limits, and following the natural law in such cases, this heated air rises; the consequence is a partial vacuum, which is im- mediately filled up by a rush of cold air from the poles, and thus a circulation is established. The heated air which has risen finding its way to the poles, there descends as it cools, and gradually, in this way, serves to form part of the polar cur- rent, from which it had previously been supplied, and is a direct north wind in the northern hemisphere, and the reverse in the southern, and would continue permanently so, but for the rotation of the earth. While the current is coming down from the north, the globe is spin- ning round from west to east, and drags the superincumbent air with it, but the rotary move- ment, which is scarcely perceptible at the poles,. becomes more rapid in descending toward the equator, and the wind does not at once take on this increased speed; the earth moves faster than the air; and thus the north wind in our hemisphere becomes a northeast wind, and in the opposite hemisphere, the south becomes a southeast wind. The earth, so to speak, leaves the wind behind; hence the latter appears to us a current coming in the opposite direction to that of the earths movement of rotation. On these two, which we may call primary winds, nearly all other aerial currents are more or less dependent; they constitute what are known as the trade winds, which blow perma~ nently in certain latitudes, and are of not less benefit to commerce than interesting to science. Coming down in opposite directions from either pole, it might be supposed that they would meet at the equator, but the fact is, that the currents die away before coming into contact, and leave between their limits a region of calms, known by sailors as the horse latitudes, where squalls, water- spouts, and hurricanes alternate with tedious calms, of which Coleridge presents us with ~ striking picture: Down dropped the breeze, the sails dropped dowx Twas sad as sad could be; And we did speak only to break The silence of the sea.

HARPERS ~EW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. little Nelly, who reads to meyou know she learned to read in the Sunday-schoolwhen I can hear her; and, upon the whole, I am very comfortable, and desire to be thankful. Of all things, Sarah, that you can think of, what makes you most thankful ~ I inquired. I can scarcely tell, sir; but I think there are three thingspardon, peace, and hope, for which I daily would say: Bless, 0 my soul, the God of grace; His favors claim thy highest praise: Why should the wonders he has wrought Be lost in silence, and forgot? All my wants are supplied, my pardon is se- cured, my peace is certain, for I experience it, and the hope I feel can not deceive me, for it is founded upon the word of God, and the prom- ised return of Christ, who will come and not tarry, as he has graciously promised. Well, but Sarah, I met a gentleman the other day, who says that all these things are delusions. Ah, sir, I daresay. But you know I have to live by faith, in man as well as in God, and if we receive the testimony of man, the testimony of God is greater. I believe that you saw the flowers in the meadow. I have to take your word for it. And so I think I may surely take Gods word for what he has said. To me, at le~t,these things are not delusions, but blessed realities. And though I never saw any flowers, yet if the gentleman you speak of were to tell me there are none, I could not believe him, be- cause I have felt them. And I am sure, too, the Gospel is true, for I have felt it. Happy Sarah! you remind me of a passage in Scripture. What is that, sir ~ I know thy poverty, but thou art rich. And now, farewell. Peace be with you ! And with thy spirit, said Sarah; and that the wish was a heart-prayer, I am fully satisfied. SOMETHING ABOUT THE WINDS. AMoNe natural phenomena there are none, per- haps, more interesting than the winds, whether regarded in a particular or general point of view. So much of our material well-being depends on them, and their manifestations are so various, that we need not feel surprised at their having been more or less studied by the poet, peasant, and philosopher. In the equatorial and tropical regions they exhibit themselves as hurricanes and monsoons, or trade winds, blowing in one fixed direction for several months together, or as the mutable land and sea breezes, making the temperature agreeable to the dwellers in the torrid zone. In the temperate latitudes, on the contrary, they are ever varying, bringing that constantly-recurring change which seems so favorable to the development of the best forms of human energy. Most persons are familiar with the theory by which the laws and movements of atmospheric currents are explained: it is simply the differ- ence of density of the air. When we consider how much of the globe is land, and how much more water, what vast spaces are desert, or swamp, or forest, or snow and ice, or cleared and cultivated, we shall at once see that from a surface so diversified, the difference of radiation must be great; and as difference of radiation causes difference of density, we thus find an operation of cause and effect on the largest scale. A familiar illustration on a small scale may be found on opening the door of a heated iootna warm current flowing out at the top, and a cold one flowing inward at the bottom. Apart from physical conformation there is a difference in the temperature alone of the equa- torial and polar regions of 82 degrees, a fact which may give us some idea of the compensa tion required to effect an equilibrium. In our annual revolution round the sun, and the ap- parent passage of the great luminary from the tropic of Capricorn to Cancer, the air of the intervening space is much more heated than beyond those limits, and following the natural law in such cases, this heated air rises; the consequence is a partial vacuum, which is im- mediately filled up by a rush of cold air from the poles, and thus a circulation is established. The heated air which has risen finding its way to the poles, there descends as it cools, and gradually, in this way, serves to form part of the polar cur- rent, from which it had previously been supplied, and is a direct north wind in the northern hemisphere, and the reverse in the southern, and would continue permanently so, but for the rotation of the earth. While the current is coming down from the north, the globe is spin- ning round from west to east, and drags the superincumbent air with it, but the rotary move- ment, which is scarcely perceptible at the poles,. becomes more rapid in descending toward the equator, and the wind does not at once take on this increased speed; the earth moves faster than the air; and thus the north wind in our hemisphere becomes a northeast wind, and in the opposite hemisphere, the south becomes a southeast wind. The earth, so to speak, leaves the wind behind; hence the latter appears to us a current coming in the opposite direction to that of the earths movement of rotation. On these two, which we may call primary winds, nearly all other aerial currents are more or less dependent; they constitute what are known as the trade winds, which blow perma~ nently in certain latitudes, and are of not less benefit to commerce than interesting to science. Coming down in opposite directions from either pole, it might be supposed that they would meet at the equator, but the fact is, that the currents die away before coming into contact, and leave between their limits a region of calms, known by s