IIARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. No. XXXVII.JUNE, 18~53.YoL. VII. r) 7~~Q /4 ~ k(eJ A~ CJ~(J& a~ zn- ~6~7 ~ ~y~2 ~ A i~~~t ?eo~ ~fr~i ELEGY WRITTEN IN A COUNTRY CIWIICII-YARDBy THOMAS GRAY; I. THE Curfew tolls the knell of parting day; The lowing herd winds slowly oer the lea; The plowman homeward plods his weary way, And leaves the world to darkness and to me. IL. Now fades the glimmering landscape on the sight, And all the air a solemn stillness holds, Save where the beetle wheels his droning flight, nd drowsy tinklings lull the distant folds: VOL. VIINo. 37.A III. Save that, from yonder ivy-mantled tower, The moping Owl does to the Moon co.mpl~in Of such as, wandering near her secret bower, Molest her ancient solitary reign. Iv. Beneath those rugged elms, that yew-trees shade, Where heaves the turf in many a sskouldering heap, Each in his narrow cell for ever laid, The rude forefathers of the hamlet sleep. 2 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. The breezy call of incense-breathin Morn, The swallow twittering from the straw-built shed, The cocks shrill clarion, or the echoing horn, No more shall rouse them from their lowly bed. For them, no more the blazing hearth shall burn, Or busy housewife ply her evening care; No children run to lisp their sires return, Or climb his knees, the envied kiss to share. Oft did the harvest to their sickle yield; Their furrow oft the stubborn glebe has broke; How jocund did they drive their team a-field! How bowd the woods beneath their sturdy stroke! Let not Ambition mock their useful toil, Their homely joys, and destiny obscure; Nor Grandeur hear, with a disdainful smile, The short and simple annals of the poor. The boast of herald ,the pomp of power, And all that beauty, all that wealth, eer ~av - Await, alike, th inevitable hour The paths of glory lead but to the grave. x. Nor you, ye proud! impute to these the fault, If Memory oer their tomb no trophies raise; Where, through the long-drawn aisle andfrettedva The pealing anthem swells th note of praise~ V. vii. vs. Ix. vii. GRAYS ELEGY. :3 Can storied urn, or animated bust, Back to its mansion call the fleeting breath? Can Honors voice provoke the silent dust? Or Flattery soothe the dull cold ear of Death? Perhaps, in this neglected spot, is laid Some heart, once pregnant with celestial fire; Hands, that the rod of empire might have swayd, Or wakd to ecstasy the living lyre. But Knowledge, to their eyes, her ample page, Rich with the spoils of time, did neer unroll: Chill Penury repressed their noble rage, And froze the genial current of the soul. Full many a gem of purest ray serene The dark unfathomd caves of ocean hear; Full many a flower is born to blush unseen, And waste its sweetness on the desert air. xv. Some village Hampden, that, with dauntless breast. The little tyrant of his fields withstood; Some mute, inglorious Milton,here may rest; Some Cromwell, guiltless of his countrys blood. Th applause of listening senates to command: The threats of pain and ruin to despise; To scatter plenty oer a smiling land, And read their history in nations eyes, XI. xiv. xIs. XIII. xvl. 4 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. Tbeir lot forbad: nor circumscribd alone Their rowing virtues, but tbeir Crimea confind; Forbad to wade tbrough slaughter to a tbrooe, And shut the gates of mercy on mankind. The struggling pangs of Conscious trutb to hide; To quencb tbe blusbes of ingenuous sbame; Or heap the shrine of Luxury aod Pride, With incense kindled at the Muses flame. XI. l2ar froi the madding crowds ignoble strife, Their sober wishes never learnd to stray; A1on~ the cool, sequestered vale of life, They kept the nosele~s tenor of their way. Yet een these bones from insult to protect, Some frail memorial still, erected nigh, With uncouth rhymes and shapeless sculpture deckd, Implores the passing tribute of a sigh. Thcir name, their years, spelt by th unletterd Muse, The l)lace of fame and elegy supply; And many a holy text around she strews, That tench the rustic moralist to die. For who, to dumb Forgetfulness a prey, This pleasin0, anxious being eer resignd Left the warm precincts of the cheerful day, Nor cast one longing. lin~ering look behind? xvii. xx. x viii. xx. xxi, GRAY~S ELEGY. On some fond breast the parting soul relies; Some pious drops the closing eye requires; Een from the tomb the voice of Nature cries; Een in our ashes live their wonted fires. For thee, who, mindful of th unhonord dead, Dost in these lines their artless tale relate; If chance, by lonely Contemplation led, Some kindred spirit shall inquire thy fate; xxvt. There, at the foot of yonder nodding beech, That wreathes its old fantastic roots so high his listless length, at noontide, would he stretch, And pore upon the brook that t)abbles by. xxvtt. Hard by yon wood, now smiling, as in scorn, Muttering his wayward fancies, he would rove Now drooping, woefnl, wan, like one forlorn, Or crazd with care, or crossd in hopeless love. Ilaply, some hoary-headed swain may say: Oft have we seen him, at the peep of dawn, Brushing, with hasty steps, the dews away, To meet the Sun upon the upland lawn. XXV. xxvttt. One morn, I missd him on the customd hill, Along the heath, and near his favorite tree; Another came,nor yet beside the rill, Nor up the lawn, nor at the wood, was he; xxttt. xxtv. 6 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. The next, with dirges due, in sad array, Slow through the church-way path we saw him borne. Approach and read (for thou canst read) the lay, Gravd on the stone beneath yon aged thorn. XXX, Here rests his head upon the lap of Earth, A youth, to fortune and to fame unknown; Fair Science frownd not on his humble birth, A d Melancholy markd him for her own. XXXI. Large was his bounty, and his soul sincere; Heaven did a recompense as largely send He gave to Misery all he hada tear; He gaind from Heaven (twas all he wishd) a friend. XXXII. No further seek his merits to disclose, Or draw his frailties from their dread abode; (There they alike in trembling hope repose), The bosom of his Father and his God. STOKE-POGES cHuacIsscasE OF THE ELEGY, XXIX. ANCIENT PERU. ANCIENT PERUITS PEOPLE AND ITS MONUMENTS. I ~HE grand cyclic changes and physical cataclysms to which, science teaches us, the world has been subjected, have had theircounterparts in the history of its inhabitants. That history has its great events, occurring at long in- tervals, which are the monu- ments in the pathway of time, and mark new eras in the re- lations of men. Among the grandest of these, both in its immediate and ulterior results, was the discovery of America in the fifteenth century. From that period, it has justly been ob- served, we may date the rise of that mental energy and physical enterprise which has since worked so wonderful changes in the con- dition of the human race. To the nations of Europe, then slowly rousing from their lethar- gic sleep of centuries, it. gave a new and pow- erful impulse. It called into play the strong- est incentives to human action; love of adven- ture, ambition, and avarice, all contributed to direct the attention and hopes of men to Amer- ica. Thither flocked the boldest and most ad- venturous spirits of Europe, and half a cen- tury of startling events lifted the vail of night from a vast continent, unsurpassed in the extent and variety of its resources, abounding with treasures, and occupied by a new and strange peoplehere roaming in savage freedom, and there organized into nationalities rivaling, in their barbaric magnificence, the splendors of the Oriental world, far advanced in the arts, living ii ~Th7F] -~

ANCIENT PERU. ANCIENT PERUITS PEOPLE AND ITS MONUMENTS. I ~HE grand cyclic changes and physical cataclysms to which, science teaches us, the world has been subjected, have had theircounterparts in the history of its inhabitants. That history has its great events, occurring at long in- tervals, which are the monu- ments in the pathway of time, and mark new eras in the re- lations of men. Among the grandest of these, both in its immediate and ulterior results, was the discovery of America in the fifteenth century. From that period, it has justly been ob- served, we may date the rise of that mental energy and physical enterprise which has since worked so wonderful changes in the con- dition of the human race. To the nations of Europe, then slowly rousing from their lethar- gic sleep of centuries, it. gave a new and pow- erful impulse. It called into play the strong- est incentives to human action; love of adven- ture, ambition, and avarice, all contributed to direct the attention and hopes of men to Amer- ica. Thither flocked the boldest and most ad- venturous spirits of Europe, and half a cen- tury of startling events lifted the vail of night from a vast continent, unsurpassed in the extent and variety of its resources, abounding with treasures, and occupied by a new and strange peoplehere roaming in savage freedom, and there organized into nationalities rivaling, in their barbaric magnificence, the splendors of the Oriental world, far advanced in the arts, living ii ~Th7F] -~ 8 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. in large cities, constructing vast works of pub- lic utility, and sustaining comprehensive and imposing systems of religion and government. Among these nations, two were pre-eminently distinguished for the extent of their territories and their superior development the Aztecs occupying the high plateau of Mexico, and the Peruvians spreading themselves among the val- leys and over the slopes of the Andes, in Peru. The early chroniclers have almost exhausted their rich and glowing language in describing the splendors of the empires of Atahuallpa and Montezuma; and the eloquent pen of Prescott has traced the story of their conquest and over- throwan episode, in the history of the world, which surpasses romance in the marvelousness of its details, and in its deep and tragic interest. The imagination is bewildered in following the rapid and bloody steps of Cortez and Pizarro, whose adventurous spirits were neither over- awed by obstacles nor dampened by reverses and in the contemplation of their (leeds we al- most lose sight of the extraordinary people against whom they directed the force of their invincible arms. The subversion of these em- pires was so sudden and complete, that the chroniclers who followed the Spanish armies had scarcely time to record the manners and habits of their people under their more obvious and superficial aspectsnone to devote to the investigation of the principles of their social and civil organizations, and the elucidation of their primitive history. To (liscover these principles, and clear up the mists which rest upon their or- igin and development, have been reserved for the labors of the student and archnologist in later timesthese patient investigators who, from tangled traditions, imperfect records, and crumb- ling monuments, shall reconstruct the history, and vindicate the claims of these nations to a place beside the proudest of those which have disappeared from the earth, but whose deeds make up the story of the past, and whose mem- ory shall endure to the end of time. When the Spaniards reached Peru, the em- pire of the Incas extended from the equator southward over 37 degrees of latitude, and em- braced not only the western slope of the Andes, but included that stupendous mountain-chain, and spread down its eastern declivities to those broad alluvions traversed by the Amazon, the Orinoco, and their gigantic tributaries, which intervene between the Andes and the sea. Al- though this vast empire was under a single sys- tem of laws, and formed, under its political as- pect, a homogeneous nationality, yet its people were not of a single stock, but an aggregation of distinct families, with strongly-marked physi- cal differences. These families had once con- stituted separate tribes, or nations, but had been reduced to the relations in which they were found, by an astute and profound system of policy, perhaps never equaled in its comprehen- siveness and capacity for expansion, except by that under which we ourselves exist. Recent investigators have grouped these families under three grand denominationsthe ATMAEAEs, the CHINcHAs, and the HUANcAs. The first of these, or the Aymaraes, consti- tuted the governing stock, the race of the In- cas, or Peruvian emperors. They occupied the heights of Peru and Bolivia, elevated twelve thousand feet above the sea, and seem to have made the first and most decided advances in the arts and institutions of civilization. The second, or Chinchas, occupied the coast of the Pacific from Tumbes to the desert of Atacama, extend- ing inward to the base of the Cordilleras. The third, or Huancas, which in respect of numbers exceeded either of the others, were scattered over the region comprehended between the Cor- dilleras and the Andes, between the Chinchas and Aymaraes. Lying next to the latter, they were the first subjected to their domination. It thus appears that Peru offers, in its internal history, another illustration of the axiom, that the most vigorous nations, both in respect of physical organization and intellect, are those who dwell in the more elevated and rugged por- tions of the earth, where the destitution of na- ture imposes the necessity of exertion as the price of human existence. The history of Peru is, therefore, the history of the Aymaraesthe conquerors, rulers, and civilizers of the other stocks; and of this race, the family of the Incas was the head and directing intelligence. ORICIN OF THE PERUvIANs. The origin of the Peruvians, or rather of the Aymaraes, is involved in obscurity, but accord- ing to their traditions, there was a time when they were broken up into independent tribes, warring constantly against each other, and sunk in the lowest depths of barbarism. From this deplorable condition they were rescued by their tutelary divinity, the Sun, who sent down his own children to reform and instruct them. These were Manco Cepac and his sister and wife, Mamd 0db Hudco. Starting from the Lake of Titicaca, this party journeyed northward until they reached the spot where the city of Cuzco, which afterward became the capital of the Inca empire, now stands. Here they collected to- gether the neighboring savage hordes, and while Manco Capac taught the men agriculture and the useful arts, and inspired them with ideas of social and civil organization, Mama 0db in- structed the women to spin and weave, and in- culcated modesty, grace, and the domestic virtues. From this celestial pair sprung the imperial line of the Incas, who, in virtue of their descent, were both the high priests of religion and the heads of the state. In this tradition we trace only another version of the story of their civilization common to all primitive nations, and of that imposture of a celestial relationship, whereby designing rulers and cunning priests have sought to secure their ascendency among men, and which is still per- petuated in the doctrine of the divine right~~ of kings. Manco Capac is the almost exact counterpart of the Chinese Fohi, the Hindoo Buddha, the terrestrial Osiris of Egypt, the terres ANCIENT PERU. 9 trial Odin of Scandinavia, of Jutzalcoatl in Mex- ico, Votan in Central America, and Bochica among the Muyscas of Colombia. Among all these early nations, the blessings of civilization were supposed to have been conferred directly from Heaven, through the agency of beings half buman, half divine, who were the chosen instru- ments of God in his. communications with men. They appear suddenly, and, after a life of useful- ness, often disappear mysteriously, or else become the founders of a line of rulers, concentrating in themselves the kingly and sacerdotal power. But notwithstanding this tradition, there are many reasons for believing that, before the ar- rival of Manco Capac, the natives of Peru had reached a degree of cultivation, far advanced from barbarism. It will appear, as we proceed, that the most imposing monuments of Peru ante- date the Inca empire, and that in the extension of that empire nations were brought under its rule, which were, to a certain degree, civilized, and in arts and government entitled to a respect- able rank. And it may not unreasonably be sus- pected that the story of the extreme barbarism in which Manco Capac found the original in- habitants of the country, was an exaggeration of the Incas, to magnify the merit of the refor- mation which they had effected, and augment the gratitude of their subjects. At first the rule of Manco Capac was limited to a few leagues around Cuzco, but by alliances and conquests it was gradually extended, until under Huayna Capac, it spread over forty de- grees of latitude, and reached from the Pacific, southeast, to the pampas of Tucuman, and northeast to the Ucayali and Marailon. At that time it embraced upward of ten millions of in- habitants; but the number rapidly diminished after the conquest, until now it is probably less than five millions. We have no means of determining the period of the appearance of the first Inca; for, notwith- standing their advance in other respects, the Peruvians had never acquired the art of writing, nor made any approach toward it, beyond their rude quippus, or knotted cords, of which we shall hereafter have occasion to speak. This period, nevertheless, has been placed about four centuries before the arrival of the Spaniards, in the year 1021. Yet writers have not been want- ing, who have carried back the origin of the empire to the earliest assignable date, consistent with the received chronology, and placed the advent of Manco Capac within five hundred years of the flood. THE INCAS. The authority of the Peruvian monarchs was absolute; their will was the supreme law; they had no council of state, no ministers, nor insti- tutions limiting the royal prerogative; and, al- though they sometimes consulted with their aged and more experienced subjects, it was from con- siderations of utility, and not~ in conformity with any organic law of the empire. The Inca held in his hand the lives and property of his vassals, and was regarded throughout his dominions as the supreme arbiter of all that breathed in the air or moved in the waters. The very birds suspend their flight when I command them, was the vaunting exclamation of Atahullpa to the Spaniards. Besides, as we have already said, the monarch of Peru was considered as son of the Sun, and descended in right line from Manco Capac, was the high priest and oracle of religion. Uniting the legislative and executive power, chief cap- tain in war, absolute sovereign in peace, and the venerated pontiff of religion, he realized in him- self the union of Pope and Emperor; and, with better reason than Louis XIV., might exclaim, lam the State ! Clothed with such dignity and power, he received the blindest obedience from his subjects; his person was sacred, his body after death was regarded with pious veneration, and his memory religiously respected. The highest magnates of the empire could not appear shod in his presence, and when they had their audiences, were obliged to come bowing their bodies, and bearing a light load on their shoulders as a sign of their submission. The people themselves were not allowed even to approach the street in which the royal palace was situated, except with bare feet and uncovered heads. Yet, if we may believe the early historians, the Incas were eminently paternal in their gov- ernment, and, without an exception, animated by the tenderest regard for their subjects, among whom they were accustomed to mix, in order to correct abuses, and ameliorate the condition of the inferior classes. They presided at certain religious festivals, and on these occasions were accustomed to give banquets to their nobles and chief officers, and to propose and drink the healths of those whose conduct had inspired their esteem, or whose services commended them to distinction. In common with the Oriental monarchs the Inca possessed an unlimited number of concu- bines, in some instances exceeding seven hun- dred, but he had only one legitimate wife, called eoya, whose eldest son was heir to the throne. By a singular rule the coya was required to be the sister of the Inca. This incest, so repug- nant to our notions of morality, by the concen- tration of blood in a single line, gave to the imperial family a peculiar physiognomy, which contributed still further to impress the people with the idea of their distinct and supernatural origin. The aristocracy of Peru consisted of five orders: 1. Incas, in whose veins flowed the royal blood, and who were derived from the same stock with the sovereign himself. 2. Incas by privilege; that is to say, the de- scendants of the principal vassals of the first Inca, to whom was conceded the right of using this title. 3. The head~ of families, distinguished for their riches, valor, learning, or the merits of their ancestors. 4. Such as were invested with the first digni- ties and offices, civil and military. 10 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. 5. The priests, and arnautes, or learned men. The youths of royal blood were carefully ed- ucated by the arnautes or wise men, and pre- pared for the huaracu, an order analogous to that of knighthood in the middle ages. At the age of sixteen they were rigorously examined in Cuzco, in all that pertained to the art of war and government, and their capacities for endur- ance tested by fasts, and the severest privations. If they passed through these creditably, they were presented to the Inca, who bored their ears, and inserted in them golden rings, which were increased in size as they advanced in rank, until the distension of the cartilage became a positive deformity. It was not, however, so regarded by the Peruvians, with whom it passed as a mark of distinction. The Spaniards gave the name of Orejones, Big-ears, to those thus dec- orated. The aspirants thus honored next turned to the nearest relative of the sovereign, who, unloosing the common sandals which they wore, dressed their feet in others of more costly materials. The neophyte was then invested with the girdle of manhood; on his head was placed a garland of flowers, emblematic of the gentle virtues which would through life he his brightest ornaments; in his hands were placed the arms which he was in future to wield in the service of his country; and the ceremony was complete as regarded the generality of the youths. At this stage of the proceedings, however, the heir to the throne, who until then was in nowise distinguished from his comrades, was further invested with a head- dress, forming his peculiar insignia, and received the homage of the whole of the Inca nobility, who knelt at his feet and recognized him as their future sovereign. The whole assembly then pro- ceeded to the great square of the city, where the public rejoicings began, and where the night was spent with dancing, music, feasting, and drinking. civia ORGANIzATION. Nothing could be more complete than the civil organization of the Incas. The city of Cuzco, called by a name which signified that it was the centre not only of the kingdom but of the world, was in itself an epitome of the empire. In com- mon with the country at large, it was divided into four quarters, from which great roads led off, North, East, South, and West. Its inhab- itants were required to take up their abode in the quarters corresponding with the direction of their native provinces, and were then again ar- ranged in localities to correspond with the rela- tions of these provinces to each other. Each of the four grand divisions of the empire was under the government of a viceroy, and its inhabitants were divided into groups of 10,000 souls, each with its native chief and Inca governor. These groups were still further subdivided into thou- sands, hundreds, and tens, with their appropriate heads, whose duty it was to execute the orders of their superior, make known the wants of their people, ferret out crime and accuse offenders, register marriages, births, and deathsin short, to carry out the minutest details of government. All were obliged, under the severest penalties, to make monthly reports to the officers above them, who in turn reported to their superiors, so that the Inca received monthly from his viceroys an abstract of all that had passed in his domin- ions. In this organization we may trace some of the ideas which in our days have been denominated socialistic. Those ideas, however, were more clearly developed in the social organization of the Peruvians, and in their regulations concern- ing property. The right of the individual to a portion of the earth sufficient to support life, was as clearly recognized as his right to breathe the air of heaven. All lands capable of cultiva- tion were divided into three parts; one pertained to the Sun, or the support of religion, another to the Inca, and the third to the people at large. Each Peruvian received a~portion of land, called a topu, which was sufficient to produce the maize necessary for the support of a married man, without children. At the birth of a son he re- ceived another topu, and for each daughter half a topu. When the son married hereceived from his father the topu set apart for him at his birth. In the working of the lands the same wise provision was exercised. First the lands belong- ing to the protecting divinity were put under cultivation, and next those belonging to the old men, the sick, to widows and orphans, and to soldiers engaged in active service. These were worked by the sections in common, and after they were finished each individual was permitted to attend to his own land, bu,t under the obliga- tion to aid his neighbor who might be burthened with a large familya fraternal custom which is still perpetuated among the Indians of Peru. After this the lands of the chiefs were planted, arid finally those of the Inca, by the whole na- tion, with great ceremony, songs, and general rejoicings. If any one lacked seed he was sup- plied from the royal depositories. All of the people, excepting the chiefs, officers, priests, and soldiers, from the age of twenty-five to fifty, were regarded as tributaries. Their tribute, however, consisted only in personal serv- ice. The field laborer wotked a certain number of days on the lands of the Sun and the Inca; the silversmith a certain number in the fabrica- tion of vases and idols for the temples; the pot- ter in making vessels of clay for the public use and that of the court; and the members of the other trades each in his department. The ma- terials were furnished by the state, and the workman while thus employed was supported at the public expense. All the grand works of general utility in the empire, the royal roads, the aqueducts, and bridges, as also the temples of the Sun, and the palaces of the Incas, were constructed in this manner. The Peruvian youth were obliged to follow the professions of their fathers, nor were the sons of plebeians allowed to receive an education superior to their condition in life. The Indian could not change his residence without the ANCIENT PERU. 11 permission of his superior, which was seldom period in the army, and after that service ex- granted, although the Incas were accustomed to pired, to drill at intervals, under the command of transfer entire communities from one province their centurions. The same order which pre- to another, generally to those newly conquered, vailed in the civil, extended to the, military or- for the greater security of the new dependency. ganization; the soldiers were divided into tens, Care, however, was always taken that the cli- hundreds, and thousands, each division under an mate should be analogous, and the occupations appropriate officer, and distinguished by the color of the people similar. of its uniform and its arms. In every part of the The Peruvian code was simple, its penalties empire, generally on the public roads, at fixed severe. Tell no lies ; Do not kill ; were distances apart, were depositories of arms and the concise terms in which the laws were pro- stores of every kind, in the greatest abundance, mulgated. Idleness was severely punished; so that in passing through the country the larg- cheats were whipped and sometimes put to death; est army caused no damage to the inhabitants. and the severest penalties existed against those SYSTEM OF CONQUEST. who removed land-marks, diverted the water from It was perhaps in their system of conquest their neighbors lands to their own, or did any that the Incas exhibited their greatest wisdom thing to prejudice their neighbors crops. The and profoundest policy. Their first effort, after homicide and robber were put to death. But the reduction of a neighboring nation or province, the severest penalties were directed against those was to mould its people into their own system, who sinned against religion, or the sacred ma- and infuse among them their own spirit. In jesty of the Inca. He who intrigued with a vir- doing this they were careful to give no rude shock gin of the Sun, or committe~I adultery with any to their prejudices. The idols of the conquered of the women of the Inca, was not only buried people were brought, with every demonstration or burned alive, but his wife, children, relatives, of respect, to Cuzco. Thither also were sum- servants, and even his neighbors, and their very moned the conquered chiefs, with their families, cattle, shared the same fate. Their houses were where they were treated with the greatest dis- leveled, the trees which grew upon their lands tinction and kindness, and after becoming suffi- cut down, and the lands themselves made desert, ciently imbued with the institutions of the Inca, so that no vestige might remain to attest the and impressed with his power, they were often horrid crime. The penalties which were decreed reinstated at the head of their people as officers against provinces which rebelled against the of the empire. Nor did the Inca omit any means Inca were scarcely less terrible. They were in- to secure the good-will and allegiance of hi~ new vaded, and all the males, old and young, merci- subjects. Their taxes were reduced, and the poor lessly slain, and suffering among them treated with the larg- Among the most interesting of their regula- est liberality. The language of the empire was tions was the law concerning housekeepers, taught to all the children, and made to supplant which apportioned the labor of individuals, com- that of their fathers. And still more effectively mencing with those who had reached the age of to secure the new acquisitions from rebellion, five years. It provided that the people should large colonies of eight or ten thousand individ- eat with their doors open, so that certain officers, uals, from tried and faithful provinces, were set- called by a name signifying superintendents tIed in the subjugated territory, while a corre- of the people, might at all times enter. These sponding number of the conquered people were officers visited the temples, public edifices, and transferred to the place which their removal had private houses, to see that they were kept clean left vacant. To reconcile these colonists to their and orderly. They chastised persons guilty of new conditions, they were invested with many dirt and slovenliness on the spot, while they privileges, and treated with marked partiality. proclaimed the praise of those distinguished for And thus, by a complex system of liberality and their neatness. There was a law in behalf of severity, persuasion and force, the Inca empire invalids, which required that they should be sup- was not only rapidly extended, but the reduced ported by the public. It also provided that the nations effectually amalgamated, and moulded lame, blind, deaf, idiot, and crippled should be into a compact whole. invited to the public dinners which took place INTELLECTUAL CULTURE. twice every month, so that in the general fes- While the civil and social systems of Peru were tivity they might in part forget their miserable wisely directed to the general physical ameliora- condition. These dinners were instituted for tion of the people, they were not adapted to their the purpose of bringing the people of towns and intellectual development. Not content with con- neighborhoods together, so that, by association, centrating in themselves the functions of govern- animosities might be canceled, and good feeling ment and religion, the Inca stock monopolized promoted. also the advantages of instruction and all that The administration of justice was prompt; all there was of science. The masses were taught cases were vbliged to be disposed of by the proper to regard them with reverence as the sons of officer within five days after they were brought Heaven, the sources of power, and the fountains before him, and there was no appeal when judg- of intelligence. As a consequence, there was ment was once rendered. nothing of mental cultivation among the Peruvi- As regards their military system, all Indians ans at large; and little of what may be called subject to tribute were obliged to serve a certain learning among the Incas themselves. Without 12 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. a written language, they were unable to per- ed the necessity of intercalating one day every petuate ideas, and thus accumulate knowledge. four years, but abandoned this in favor of a mode Their wisdom was chiefly political and practical. recommended by the emczsttes, of intercalating Territorial extension being their leading object, one year at the end of four centuries. But military science received their closest attention. Montesinos is not supported in his statements by In Cuzco and all the other principal cities were other historians. It is a fact worthy of notice, institutions, under the direction of aged men of that the months had each two names, one of the royal blood, for instructing the youth in the which was not in the Quichua language, imply- art of war. But none were admitted to them ing perhaps that this division of the year was of except the sons of the aristocracy; for, as we foreign origin. have seen, the masses were obliged to follow the POETRY AND MUSIC. professions of their fathers. But if the Peruvians did not excel in the sci- It is worthy of remark, however, that the re- ences, and the more solid branches of learning, presentation of the various sciences, so far as the they nevertheless had made some proficiency in sciences were understood, did not belong to the intellectual accomplishments. Poetry is the most priesthood, but formed a distinct class, called ancient form of literature, and constitutes the ameittes, who lived in the establishments for thread upon which, in the absence of written learning. They taught the civil law, astronomy, language, are strung the annals of nations and medicine, and the art of the quippus. Yet their the heroic acts of individuals. And although but knowledge in these departments was insignifi- few of the poems of the Peruvians have de- cant. They had the decimal system of numera- scended to our times, yet enough remains to tion, but never proceeded beyond the first ele- show that they were not deficient in historic in- ments of arithmetic. They were unacquainted terest, nor in grace of combination. The Qui- with theoretical geometry, although they made chua language was rich and flexible, and favored frequent practical application of its principles, the efforts of the emautes, who composed the and in the division of lands, construction of maps, tragic and comic plays and songs with which the and building of their edifices and public works, Incas were accustomed to amuse their subjects, resolved some of its most difficult problems. on the occasions of their great religious and other Notwithstanding the pretended relation of their festivals. Their talents, however, were chiefly monarchs with the Sun, their knowledge of devoted to dramatic compositions. After the astronomy was very limited, and in this respect termination of the seed-sowing for the Inca, the umautes were much inferior to the Mexican which took place soon after the planting of the priests. Their ignorance of mathematics did not lands of the Sun and of the people, the latter permit them to calculate the annual movements were diverted with a series of instructive plays, of the sun, and they were compelled to resort to acted in the public squares, the objects of which mechanical means to determine the principal were the illustration of the social virtues, the variations in its course. They thus succeeded in relations and duties of one member of a family to fixing the epochs of the solstices and equinoxes. the others, of the individual to the state, the sub- They noted the movements of Venus, the only ject to the monarch, and of men to their fellows. planet which attracted their attention. Like the In the nionth of October, after the annual fes- Chinese, they were greatly alarmed by the eclipses tival in honor of the dead, they had representa- of the sun and moon, particularly those of the tions illustrative of the civil virtues of their latter, which they believed then threatened to fall forefathers, their obedience to the laws, and re- to the earth. To avert this, they sounded all spect for the institutions of the Incas ; and in their instruments of noise, shouted, and heat their the months dedicated to martial exercises, the dogs, to augment the general confusion, and avert plays had a corresponding martial tendency. It the impending catastrophe. The phases of the was thus that the Incas made the very amuse- moon (quilla) they explained by saying that when ments of the people a prop to their system. it commenced its decrease the moon was ill or Besides these dramatic poets, there was a dying, and when it increased that it was getting class of song.writers who composed amatory well. songs and elegies, arid were called heraricns, The year was divided into lunar and solar or inventors. It appears that the pdets com- months. All their labors were guided by the lat- posed the music to their own songs. Their ter division. The time intervening between the music, however, seems to have been more dis- end of the lunar and solar year was called, pu- tinguished for its volume than its melody. chue quslia (the superfluous moon), and entirely Among their musical instruments were the given up to diversions. The year commenced and trumpet, a variety of large and small flutes, the ended with the winter solstice, and was divided timbrel and tambourine, and the tinge, a kind into four parts, by the equinoxes and solstices. of guitar of five or six strings. They, however, Montesinos tells us that the king Inti-Capac re- reached their greatest perfection in musical in- formed the year, and fixed its length at 365 days struments, in the lmuayrapalmura, a species of and a quarter, and grouped the years into periods Sirinx, or Pans flute, made of tubes, either of of tens, hundreds, and thousands, calling the lat- cane or stone, of graduated lengths, fastened to- ter Capac huati, the powerful or great year of gether. One of these, wrought from a single the Sun. The same author adds, that another stone, a species of talc, is represented in the emperor, who was an able astronomer, discover- accompanying engraving (Fig. 1), where it is ANCIENT PERU. 13 represented half, or rather one fourth the act- went to get their annual fertilizing supplies. ual size. It was found on the breast of a skele- And, as the Peruvians were chiefly agricultural, ton, in one of the Ituacas, or Peruvian tombs. the Inca, like the Emperor of China, dignified the cultivation of the soil, and rendered it sacred by his own example. When the planting season came round, he went, in reat state, to a certain spot of ground in the city of Cuzco, supposed to have been the first dedicated to the Sun in the empire, and there, with golden imple- ments, turned up the earth and sowed a few seeds. Until this was done there could be no planting in his dominions. The domestic animals of the Peru- vians, indigenous to the country, were the llamas, alpacas, huanacos, and vicuii- as. of which there were vast flocks. They, however, all belonged to the Sun and the Inca, and were under the charge of shep- herds, who conducted them from one quarter of the empire to the other, accord- ing to the changes of the seasons. From FIG. 1.PERUVIAN 5IRINX. the wool of these animals and from the ART IN GENERAT.. cotton grown in the plains, were manufactured Art among the Peruvians reached a high de- fabrics and tissues of great beauty. Their flesh gree of perfection, but rather in its useful than was enjoyed by the people only on the occa- in its ornamental applications. The great prac- sions of the reat religious festivals, when it tical objects of their works of industry and skill was distributed with great ceremony. Ordin- were never sacrificed to their ideas of beauty. arily the food of the people was the maize, or Tn this respect they afford a striking contrast to Indian corn, of which Peru produced several most other nations, but yet a perfect consonance varieties but once a year great hunts were with their political system. under which the ma- I undertaken, for the purpose of killing animals tonal condition of the people was the chief oh- whose flesh might serve for food. These hunts ~ct of care, to the neglect of their lnental cx- correspon(led very nearly with wh~ t we would pansion. call hatless, nd it is saill that sometimes as The industry of the Peruvians was thoroughly many as 50,000 or 60,000 men were called out or~ anized, and the cultivation of the land con- to form the cordon or circle, which, gradually ducted on principles of the soundest economy. concentrating, drove the animals into a spot In .~any parts of Peru the upper layers of the previously selected, when they fell an easy soil were arid and barren. Here they removed prey. The flesh of the deer and other animals these layers, and dug down until they reached a thus killed, was distributed among the people, stratum sufficiently moist for cultivation. Thou- cut in thin slices, dried in the sun, and kept for s~ nd. of these sunken areas, with their sides care- future use. fully supported by walls of brick and stone, are To guard against the failure of crops, and still to be seen in Peru. The mountain slopes for other emergencies, the Incas erected public ~hev cut into terraces, and thus with the vary- magazines or store-houses in every province, in lug heights were able to cultivate the products which were collected and preserved vast qualiti- as well of the Tropics as of the Temperate Zone. ties of food and of manufactured articles. The The dry plains, where the rain seldom or never produce of the lands of the Sun and of the Inca, fhll.., and which, since the conquest, have re- not necessary for the support of the court and lapsed into barren wastes, bloomed like Gardens, the priests, were placed in these depositories; undo the dominion of the Incas. By means and it is said that at the time of the arrival of of aqueducts, sometimes hundreds of miles in the paniards, they contained grain and other length, these plains were supplied with water necesoarmes enough to sustain the entire popu- frono f me mountains, while fish from the ira, and lation for seven years. a,wo: from the islands near the co-st. were used ARCHSTRCTURE. t cnrjeh the soil. These guano isiando were The abodes of the Peruvians were exceedingly nd~: special Ia ~s. Certain small ones ~ ore simple; and nearly their entire skill in architect- assigned to single provinces, while some of the urexvas expended on their public edifices. These largo~ ones were divided between t o or three, were often of vast size, and built in a most by monuments which it was de~ th to remove, substantial manner. The materials were the These islands were under the care of special harder varieties of stones, such as porphyry and o. con., who saw that the precious manure~ granite, and edohes, or unhurut bricks. In all should not he used carelessly or too profusely, cases the walls were of great thickness, but low, Upon them, small temples were often erected, in seldom exceeding fourteen feet in height. In w..i the people deposited offerings when they some instances, the walls were c6mposed of 14 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. tempered clay, mixed with pebbles and round of forms, so that the walls resembled those of an- stones. The porphyry and granite blocks used tiquity, called Cyclopean. The joints, however, in the more stately edifices, were often of aston- were accurate; so accurate indeed, the old writ- ishing size. Acosta assured us, that some which ers assure us, that it was impossible to insert the he measured were thirty-eight feet long, eighteen thinnest knife-blade between them. The accom- hroad, and six in thickness. They were not cut panying engraving of a part of the fortification in uniform dimensions, but worked in a variety at the entrance of Ollantaytambo, by the Cuzco side, will illustrate the size of the stones used in these works, and the mode of arrangement. So admirably were the stones joined, that it was long supposed that the Peruvians were unacquainted with mortar or cement, but it has been lately as- certained that they used a kind of thin bitumin- ous cement, which, in a short time became as hard as the rock itself. Two questions arise here, viz.: How the Pe- ruvians succeeded in quarrying, transporting, and elevating such immense blocks of stone; and how they contrived to work them without the aid of tools of iron or steel? The answer to the first inquiry may perhaps be found in the institutions of the Incas. For the construction of private houses all the neighbors united their efforts, and for the construction of public edifices, the labors of the inhabitants of entire districts were called in requisition. Numbers thus sup- plied the lack of mechanical aid and appliances. Iron, as we have already intimated, was un- known among the Peruvians. Its place was imperfectly supplied by instruments of copper alloyed with tin. But experiments made with instruments of this kind, found in the liuaces, or graves, have shown that they are inadequate to work the hard stones made use of by the Peru- vians in their public buildings. It is neverthe- less evident that they used them to a certain extent, but probably only to break the stones and give them their first rude form. After this operation, it seems most likely they resorted to trituration or grinding with other stone,, to re- duce the blocks to even surfaces, and finally to polish them. This process is often practiced in our day, and is so natural an expedient that we may safely assume its existence among the Pe- ruvians. The objection to this hypothesis, on the score of its slowness, finds its refutation in the Peruvian system, and the steady application and perseverance in labor, which that system so wonderfully enforced. Specimens of all kinds of Peruvian Architec- ture, from the imposing palace to the rustic cabin, have been preserved to our times, and enable us, in conjunction with the accounts of the early authors, to give a general idea of them. The simple houses of the people at large, ~aried with their requirements and the materiaL- of construction of the various provinces. On the coast, where the land is low and the clim-te hot, they were constructed of canes, else here of adobes and stones. They were small, with few rooms, not communicating with each other, but each having an opening on a court or on the street, which answered the double purpose of door and window. The better class of houses had interior doors and many windows. In large towns the dwellings joined each other, as in our cities, forming regular streets. The towns themselves were much like those of the South of Europe, and those now existing throughout Spanish America. A public square, around which were built the principal edifices, oc pied Fm. 2.PAaT OF wAIL OF FoaTREsS OF cuzco. ANCIENT PERU. 15 the centre of the town, and from it led off four great streets in the direction of the cardinal points. Among the ruins of the ancient towns in the departments of Junin and Ayacucho are the re- mains of dwellings of peculiar construction. Each one is square, sixteen or eighteen feet in height, with an interior diameter of six feet. The walls are a foot and a half thick, and upon the southern or western side pierced by a door- way, or rather opening, a foot and a half high and two feet wide. This leads to the first or lower room, which is five or six feet in height. The walls are naked, but sometime.s have little niches, which seem to have been used as shelves, whereon to place articles of food, jars, and other objects of use. The roof of this room is of flat stones, with an aperture in the centre two feet in diameter, leading to a superior room, similar to the first, but lighted with little windows re- sembling loop-holes. It is roofed like the first, and above it is still a third room or story, covered by a roof of broad flag-stones, but lower than the others, and perhaps designed to receive pro- visions. It seems probable that the second room was used as a dormitory, the opening in the floor being covered by a large flat stoneone of this kind being invariably found in the apart- ment. The lower story or room seems to have been used for the purposes of ordinary occupa- tion and a kitchen. The door was closed by a heavy stone in the interior. The floor of one of these structures was excavated by a recent traveler, who found, at a slight depth, various articles of pottery, and some human bones. PUSLIC EDIFICES. The public edifices were of various kinds: the tambos or royal taverns, the store-houses, houses of public amusement, the baths, palaces of the Incas, monasteries, temples, and fortresses. The first of these, the tambos, were buildings destitute of architectural skill, built of rough stones or adobes, and inclosing an inner court of large size. In the midst of this court-yard was a high square structure, which answered the purpose of a watch-tower. These edifices had special apartments for the use of the Incas when traveling, and others for the soldiers of the army. They could accommodate from three to five thousand men, and were placed at easy distances of five or six leagues apart. The number in the empire was not far from four thousand. The royal store-houses were much like the tam- Isis in their construction, excepting that there was a little fortress in the court-yard instead of a tower, in which a small garrison was constantly maintained. Erected in the immediate neigh- borhood of the principal curacas, they were de- voted to receiving the tribute of the provinces, and the arms and supplies collected for the army. The arenas or theatres adjoined the public squares, and were chiefly distinguished for their size. They were buildings of but four walls and a roof; a sort of covered plaza, in which games and the public festivals were celebrated, when the rains prevented them from being ob served in the open air. The public baths (arma- nahuasi) attracted attention by their exterior elegance, and rich interior decorations and fur- niture. The bathing tubs, lined with beautiful cement resembling marble, were supplied with water from figures of marble, basalt, gold, or silver, in the form of wild beasts, birds, and other animals. In each of these baths were many small chambers, probahly designed for dressing rooms, which were adorned with statues in stone and metal. But although there are numerous thermal springs in Peru, they donot seem to have been made use of for bathing pur- poses. The royal palaces were numerous; there were not less than two hundred of them on the road from Cuzco to Quito. They were not confined to the capitals or provinces, but were often built in the smaller towns, and in beautiful situations in the country. Some were very sumptuous built of marble and other stones, worked in a su- perior manner: othere were very simple, and in appearance not superior to the tambos. Most of the more magnificent ones were built by the Inca Huaynacapac, who had a predilection for archi- tecture, toward the close of the fifteenth century. Seen from a distance, none of the public build- ings of Peru had an imposing appearance, like the teocallis of Mexico and Central America. because, although covering a considerable space of ground, they were low, seldom reaching be- yond two or two and a half stories in height. and were roofed with thatch. The walls, too, although often admirable for the accurate fitting and high polish of the stones composing them, were too simple for effect, beingwithout columns, cornices, reliefs, or other architectural orna- ments. The entrance to these edifices was by a wide opening upon the eastern side, which was never arched, although sometimes approaching the Egyptian style in being narrower at the top than the bottom. Dr. Von Tschudi informs us, that it is a general error among writers, that the Peruvians were unacquainted with arches and vaults, for in many of the huacas of stone we find vaulting of a superior order. It seems that they had the same method of constructing them which the Indians now make use of in building the vaults of their smelting furnaces: that is to form the arch over an adobe model of the size and shape desired. In some of the larger edi- fices, this author continues, we find traces of the arch, but its application seems to have been exceedingly limited. The interiors of the palaces were more com- plicated and interesting, and consisted of several large and a multitude of small apartments, the walls of which were often decorated with reliefs, niches filled with statues, and projections an- swering the purpose of shelves. In the finer structures the walls were entirely covered with small plates of gold and silver, and the floors of some of the rooms were literally plated with these metals, or elegantly paved, in mosaic, with mar- ble of various colors. Upon the walls, says Garcilasso, they imitated all the plants and 16 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. vines of their country so well that they appeared to grow there; and wrought among them birds, butterflies, and snakes large and small, which appeared to run and twine about them as if sus- pended in the air. The convents, or mansions of the Virgins of the Sun (Fasija kuasi), were very large build- ings, similar to the royal hostleries, and sur- rounded by high walls. The whole number in the empire amounted to twenty or twenty-five, and some of them contained as many as a thou- sand persons. But the temples presented the best examples of Peruvian architecture, and among these the temples of the Sun were most remarkable. They were of three classes. Those of the first order had seven sections or divisions communicating interiorly. The principal division occupied the centre of the structure, and was dedicated to Inti, or the Sun. It had a broad door-way open- ing to the east, and was richest of all in its decorations. The second division was sacred to Aliam Quilla, the Moon; the third to Coyllur, the Stars; the fourth to Illapa, the Lightning; the fifth to Cicuicki, the Rainbow; the sixth was (levoted to the high priest and the assemblages for deliberation of priests of the Inca blood, and the seventh to those attached to the service of the temple. Besides these chapels, there were a number of small rooms for the servants of the temple generally. The temples of the Sun of the second class had only two principal parts, that of the luminary itself, and that of the Moon; while those of the third order had only a single chapel, dedicated to the Sun. Among the temples, that of the Sun at Cuzco was without doubt the most magnificent. It was hardly less celebrated for its architecture than for its riches, and the few remains which have descended to us fully sustain the assertion of the early chroniclers that it was the most wonderful temple of the New World. The ac- companying engraving represents a part of the foundations of the temple, now surmounted by a convent of Dominican friars. In the language of Peru, this temple was called Inti-huesi, or House of the Sun, and the ward of the city in which it was built Coricancha, Place of Gold. It covered a considerable area, of upward of four hundred paces in circuit, and was entirely sur- rounded by a strong wall, two stabes high, com- posed, as was the whole edifice, of large blocks of stone, accurately joined, and highly polished. This wall was surmounted by a kind of cornice or border of gold, a palm and a half broad, let in the stones. The especial sanctuary of the Sun, as we have already said, had a doorway opening toward the east. It was ceiled with cotton cloth of primrose hue, bordered with various and brilliant colors, which vailed the straw roof. A golden band bordered the walls, inside and out, where they joined the roof; and the inner wails were literally covered with plates of gold. This metal was called the tears of the Sun, and was es- pecially sacred to that luminary. Upon the western walls of the sanctuary, and facing the F(O. 3sEaAmss OF THE GREAT TEMPLE OF THE SUN, IN CUECO. ANCIENT PERU. 17 entrance, was the image of the Sun, made of a single great plate of gold, and representing a human face, surrounded with rays, heavily crust- ed with emeralds and other precious stones.* On both sides of the image were placed the em- balmed bodies of the Incas, each seated upon a chair of gold. The chapel of the Moon was similar to that of the Sun, except that its orna- rnents were of silver, and that the image of that luminary on the wall had the face of a woman. 1-Jere were placed the embalmed bodies of the wives of the Incas. The chapel dedicated to the Stars resembled that of the Moon: it had a golden door, and was hung with cloth, spangled with stars. The chapel of the Li~htning was orna- mented with gold, and that of the Rainbow had the arch of promise brilliantly painted on its walls. All the plate, the ornaments, the uten- sils of every description appropriated to the uses of religion, were of gold or silver. Twelve im- mense vases of the latter metal stood on the floor of the great saloon, filled with grain of the Indian corn: the censers for the perfumes, the ewers which held the water for sacrifice, the pipes which conducted it through subterraneous chan- tels into the buildings. the reservoir that received it, even the agricultural implements used in the gardens of the temple, were all of the same rich materials. The gardens, like those described belonging to the royal palaces,~ sparkled with gold and silver, and various imitations of the vege- table kingdom. Animals also were to be found thereamong which the llama with its golden fleece was most conspicuousexecuted in the same style, and with a degree of skill which in this instance probably did not surpass the excel- lence of the material. The walls of this fortress, like those of most of the Peruvian edifices were Cyclopean in structure. The stones were rough, and only worked at the points of junction, and for the breadth of the hand on their face, so that the 1olished lines of the joints presented a pleasing appearance. The size of the stones was aston- isbince; some were not less than fifty feet long, According to the Padres Acosta and Calancha, this figure of the Sun fell to the lot of Captain Sierra in the distribution of the spoils of the temple, who gambled it a ay in a single nihI. hence in Peru it is common for a ~ambler, in expressing his determination and persever- a:tce, to say, I shall play the Sun before I. go. VOL. VII.No. 37.B Besides the temples of the Sun, there wer others dedicated to different divinities, which were unlike in their construction. Cieza de Leon mentions one in the island of Lampana. dedicated to the terrible Tumpal, God of War, which was made of black stone. Its interior was entirely dark, and the walls covered with horrible paintings. In it was an altar, upon which human sacrifices were made. There were still other temples, at Pachacamac and Tiagua- nico, supposed to have been built before the foundation of the Inca dynasty, of which we shall speak when w come to describe the an- cient monuments of Peru. FORTIFICATIONS. The system of fortification of the Peruvian~. c nsidering the weapons in use among them, dis- played much military judgment and skill. The peccaras, or forts, in respect of position, were always well-chosen, and th natural advantages of the place invariably turned to good account. The most remarkable of these works was that of the capital. and it deserves to rank among the most marvelous results of the brute force of man. Tradition refers its commencement to the end of the 14111 century, under the reign of the Inca Pachacutec. It was built upon a steep hill, called Sacsahuasnem, a little to the north of the city of Cuzco. The declivity of this bill on the side of the town is very abrupt,. and was defended by only a single wall, about a thousand feet in length. Upon the north, the slope was gentle, and this side, being most exposed, was defended by three walls, one within another, each enfi- laded by bastions projecting thirty yards beyond the line. The remain of these outer walls are shown in the accompanying engraving. (Fig. 4.) twenty-two broad, and six thick, and raised in the wall midway from its base to its summit. The subjoined engraving (Fig. 5), presentin5 an end view of tile walls, illustrates their construc- tion. In each of the walls was a narrow en- trance, which could be closed with a single stone~ But these walls did not constitute the entire strength of the fortress. Within them, were four smaller forts or strongholds, two round and two square, and destined to receive the roy- I family, the priests, and tile treasures of the em pire, in times of danger. Subterranean passages led from these to the palace of the Inca, and.th FtC. 4.REMAINS OF OUTER WALLS OF THE FORTRESS OF CUZCO. 18 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. FIG. 5.END VIEW OF THE WALLS OF THE FORTRESS OF CUZCD. temple of the Sun, so arranged that they could markable. They are lined with flat stones, from be closed on the inside with vast curtains of four to six feet long, and three broad, accurately stone. The fortresses of the empire were not joinedthe interior height of the passage being all of the same character, but varied in form and froln six to eight feet. One built by the Inca size according to the circumstances of the case. Viracocha, led from the high grounds of Parco Some were of large dimensions, and inclosed to Rucanas, a distance of seventy-five miles; cultivated grounds, for the support of their gar- and another traversed almost all Contisuya, and risons, while others were mere towers. Of the extended, from north to south, more than four latter character is the tower of Clmmrpan, situated hundred and fifty miles, running along the sum- on the banks of the Marafion, upon the edge of mits of the highest hills, and terlninating at a high, abrupt precipice, and entirely command- Quechuas. Old Garcilasso says of these aque- ing the road at its feet. See Fig. 6. ducts, They may well be compared to the miraculous fabrics which have been the works of mighty princes who have left their pro- digious monuments of ostentation to be admired in future agea; for we ought to consider that these waters had their sources in high mount- ains, and were carried over craggy rocks, and almost inaccessible passages; and to make these ways plane, they bad no help of instruments forged of steel or iron, such as pickaxes and sledges, nor were acquainted with the use of arches to convey the water on the level from one precipice to another, but were obliged to trace around the mountaimls, until they found ways and passages of the same height and level with the springs. AQUEDUCTS. The hydraulic works of the ancient Peruvians merit our attention alike from their admirable construction, their extent, and their usefulness. In all these respects they were unsurpassed by any similar works of ancient or modern times. They were sometimes mere open cuts, but were generally subterraneanand of such solid con- struction that many of them are still in perfect order. Among them, those in the valley of Nasca, which give it rare fertility, are most re BRIDGES. The bridges constructed by the Peruvians were exceedingly simple, but well adapted for passing those rapid streams which rush down from the Andes, and defy the skill of the modern engineer. They consisted of strong cables of the cabmrye or of twisted raw hide, stretched from one bank to the other, something after the style of the suspension bridges of our tilnes. Poles were lashed across transversely, covere(l with branches, arid these again covered widi earth and stones, so as to forln a solid floor. Other cables extended along the sides which were interwoven with limbs of trees, forming a kind of wicker balustrade. In some cases the FIG. 6.TOWER OF CHUPAN. ANCIENT PERU. 19 mode of transit was in a species of basket or car, suspended on a single cable, and drawn from side to side, with ropes. It would appear at first glance that bridges of this description could not be very lasting, yet a few still exist which are said to have been constructed under the Incas, more than three hundred years aco. Be this as it may, the modern inbahitants of some parts of Peru and Chili, still use the same means of passing their torrent rivers. PUBLIC ROADS. Perhaps the most glorious monuments of tbe civilization of the Peruvians were the public or royal roads, extending from the capital to the remotest parts of the empire. Their remains are still most impressive, both from their extent and the amount of labor necessarily involved in their construction; and in contemplating them we know not which most to admire, the scope of their projectors, the power and constancy of the Incas who carried them to a completion, or the patience of the people who constructed them under all the obstacles resulting from the topography of the country, and from imperfect means of execution. They built these roads in (leserts, among moving sands reflecting the fierce rays of a tropical sun; they broke down rocks, ,,raded precipices, leveled hills, and filled up valleys without the assistance of powder or of instruments of iron; they crossed lakes, marshes, and rivers, and, without the aid of the compass, followed direct courses in forests of eternal shade, they did, in short, what even now, with all of modern knowledge and means of action, would he worthy of the most powerful nations of the globe. One of the principal of these roads ex- tended from Cuzco to the sea, and the other ran along the crest of the Cordilleras from one end of the empire to the othertheir lengths, with their branches, beiug from 2000 to 4000 miles. Modern travelers compare them, in respect of structure, to the best works of the kind in any part of the world. In ascending mountains too steep to admit of grading, broad steps were cut in the solid rocks, while the ravines and hollows were filled with heavy embankments, flanked with parapets, and planted with shade-trees and fragrant shrubs. They were from eighteen to twenty-five Castilian feet broad, and were paved with immense blocks of stone, sometimes cover- ed with a flooring of asphaltum. At regular distances on these roads were erected buildings for the accommodation of travelers, which we have already described under the name of tam- bos. To these conveniences were added the establishment of a system of posts, by which messages might he transmitted from one extrem- ity of the Incas dominions to the other in an incredibly short time. The service of the posts was performed by runnersfor the Peruvians possessed no domestic animal swifter of foot than manstationed in small buildings, likewise erected at easy distances from each other, all along the principal roads. These messengers or chasqzris, as they were termed, wore a pecu- liar uniform, were trained to their particular vocation, and had each their allotted station, be- tween which and the next it was their duty to speed along at a certain pace with the message, dispatch, or parcel intrusted to their care. On drawing near to the station at which they had to transmit the message to the next courier, who was then to carry it further, they were to give a sign-l of their approach, in order that the other might be in readiness to receive the mis- sive, and no time be lost; and thus it is said that messages were forwarded at the rate of 150 miles a day. INSTRUMNNT5 OF COPPER. It is somewhat remarkable that, while the Peruvians devised means for working stones and other substances much more obstinate, they failed in discovering tools capable of separating with facility the tenacious fibres of wood. This material was therefore little used by them for common purposes. They had a species of ax made of copper alloyed with tin, and had chisels of the same material, but were unacquainted Plo. 7 AND 8.PERUVIAN COPPER KNIvES with the saw. Two of the knives are repre- sented in the preceding engraving. The alloy FIB. 8PERUVIAN TWEEZER~ OF COPPEE. 20 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. of which they are composed is 95 parts cop- per and 5 parts tin. In some cases the pro- portion of tin, and their consequent hardness, were greater. The axes were much the same shape with ours, except that they were inserted in the handle, and not as with us, the handle in the ax. Hoes, of this compound metal, for grub- bing, similar to those now used, were common as were also battle-clubs or maces, tweezers, etc., all of the same materiaL FIe. 10CoPPER WAR MACE. In consequence of the want of tools, therefore, wherewith to work it, stone generally supplied the place of wood in their edifices. Wood was only used for the ridge-pole and rafters. The doors were commonly curtained with cloth and skins; but those of the palaces and temples were composed of plates of the precious metals sol- (lered together. THE PRECIOUS METALS. In reducing metals from the ores, and in cast- ing and working them, the Peruvians excelled. Ihey were acquainted with gold, silver, tin, cop- per, and quicksilver; but iron, although its ores ~vere abundant, was entirely unknown. Gold, as we have intimated, was most esteemed, and they seem to have procured it in greatest abundance. Upon this point Dr. Von Tschudi observes: If we compare its abundance, in the time of the Incas, with the quantity which the Spaniards have obtained since the conquest from the wash- ings and mines, we are forced to believe that the Peruvians were acquainted with mines and other sources of supply which their successors have failed to discover; and it seems not unlikely that the time may come when the Tail shall be raised from riches in Peru, which shall equal if not sur- lass those of California. During the second half of the sixteenth century. continues this author, in the short space of twenty-five years, the Spaniards exported from Peru to the mother country more than 400,000,000 ducats of gold and silver, of which more than nine-tenths was booty taken by the conq.uerors.* In this com- putation the immense quantities of the precious metals buried by the Incas is, of course, not in- cluded. It is known that eleven thousand llama loads of gold in dust and precious vases, were It is said that (lie chain of gold which the Inca Un- iv a Capac made, in honor of the hirth of his first son, was of the thickness of a mans wrist, and three hundred paccs in length .Zaratc, tih. i., c.14. buried at one time, by the carriers who were con- ducting this enormous treasure for the rani of Atahuallpa, when they heard of the treachery whereby he was slain. They reduced both gold and silver from the ores by smelting. The silver mines, however. were only open cuts, and the veins were abaui- doned when the ores became too hard to yield readily to their instruments. They mixed the ore in portable ovens with galena, or lead, which they called surachcc, that which makes to run. The mode of reduction practiced by the Indians is still in use among the miners. The Incas pro- hibited the production of quicksilveras much probably because of its supposed uselessness, as on account of its deleterious qualities. Its use was confined to the manufacture of vermilion for painting. This pigment was forbidden to tlte common people. Regarded as peculiarly sacred to the Sun, goltl was extensively used for sacred purposes. In common with silver, it was offered to that divin- ity in the form of vases, and effigies of birds, and animals. In working both these metals, the ancient smiths were exceedingly expert ; they cast it in moulds, soldered it, inlaid it, and reduced it into leaves. It was generally cast hollow, and with so much perfection as to leave no trace of the joints of the mould. Fig. 11 represents one of these figures, in which will be noted alternate hands of copper, silver, and pure gold, so well inlaid and united that they appear to form on mass. The body of the figure is composed of a mixture of silver, antimony, and tin. Some- times the smiths made their figures of men and objects of the precious metals, cut to the proper shape, and then soldered together. Occasion- ally, in vases and other open vessels, they embossed fig- ures on the out- side by hammering from the interior; but the ornaments thus made were comparatively rude. The art of gilding was not known to the Per- uvians, but that of plating was exten- sively practiced. They also drew wire of gold and silver, of exceed- ingdelicacy,which was often inter- woven in cloth. Unfortunately, but few of the finest works of the Peruvian sil- versmiths have de- scended to our days, having been Fm. ll.PEauvtAa tOOL. ANCIENT PERU. 21 ~t once melted down by the conquerors, and east into bars, for the greater ease of transport- ation. Those which remain judging from the accounts of the ancient writers, are of an inferior order. Of these, however, we present some good examples in the accompanying en- gravings. Sarmiento tells us, in illustrat- ing the riches and skill of the Peruvians, that they had gardens in which the plants and flowers were all fashioned in gold and silver. They had corn-fields imitated in cold, in which the stalks, leaves, and ears were faithfully copied. Among these were figures of FIG. 13sILvER vASEREDUCED. men and animals. In the houses of the Incas, adds Gomara, all the service of the table and of he kitchen were of gold, and only the commonest vessels were of silver and copper. The Inca had in his palace statues of the men of the different na- Iions of his dominions, of full size, and also figures f all the various animals, birds, trees, plants, fruits, and even of the fishes of his empire. There was nothing in his whole land, in short, which had not its golden counterpart. The palace of Tom- ebarnba. we are told by the chronicler, Cieza de Leon, who saw it, was of wonderful construction, nd its inner walls covered with gold, but also with figures of every variety of animals and birds, all wrought in the same metal. Pizarro, writing to Spain from Jauja, July, 1534, in enumerating some of his booty, mentions that, besides the bars and large vases of gold, he had found four figures of llamas, and ten statues of women, of natural size, of the finest gold, a vast column of silver, and a fount of gold more wonderful than all. In short, all the early authors concur in these almost incredible stories of the great riches of Peru, and the number and value of the objects of the precious metals found by the conquerors, as well as in respect to the skill displayed in working them. WEAVING AND DYEING. Hardly less admirable than their works in metal, were the Peruvian manufactures of cotton and wool. Without looms or other machinery, and only by the simplest manipulation, they suc- ceeded in making the finest cloths, skillfully woven in various colors. They spun cotton and wool; the first of two kindsthe common or white, and the brown, which was chiefly produced in the hot valleys on the eastern slope of the Andes. The wool was taken from the domesticated llama and alpaca, and the wild wild huanaco and vicufia. For coarse, common cloths, they used the wool of the llama and the huanaco, and for finer fabrics that of the vicufia and alpaca. The common peo- ple dressed in the first; the nobles and officers in cloth of alpaca; while that of the vicufia was confined to the Incas. It was the peculiar priv- ilege of the Virgins of the Sun, or the women of the royal harem, to spin aIld weave the wool of the vicufia. The bed-clothes of the Inca, com- posed of this cloth, were so fine and delicate that they were taken to Spain, for the use of the king. where they were acknowledged to surpass in beauty any thing produced from the looms of Europe. The Peruvians had the secret of fixing all the most brilliant colors, and so well, that they have remained unfaded for centuries, even when exposed to the air, or buried in the earth; and it is worthy of remark, that the dyes which they used have been analyzed, and found to have been exclusively vegetable. Indeed, the inhabitants of the mountains still make use of plants un- known to Europeans, which yield the most vivid and enduring colors. They enriched their fabrics with leaves of gold and silver, pieces of pearl, and ornamented them with fringe and tassels, which were sometimes made of the feathers of birds of brilliant plumage. POTTERY. In their pottery, the ancient Peruvians are better represented, in modern times, than in any other branch of art. Our museums abound in examples of their skill in this department. Many of them are obviously articles of use and utility, but if we may credit the late researches of Von Tschudi and Rivero, a larger proportion than hitherto supposed to be such, are more or less symbolical, and represent divinities. A lane number, of peculiar construction, were devoted to religious, and a more considerable proportion to funereal purposes. Believing in the immortality of the soul, and, in common with the American nations generally, that the articles deposited with the dead were useful to them in their future ex- istence, they were accustomed, among other things, to place vases in their tombs, connected by pipes with the surface of the ground, through which liquids and articles of food might be intro- duced for the use of the departed. It was in these vases that the Peruvians exhausted their skill in the plastic art. Their kitchen articles and domestic vases were very simple, and often rude. FIG. 12.COLDEN VASE REDUCED. 22 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. The material of which they were made was a quids, although it is believed they were never colored earth and blackish clay, so well prepared glazed. The accompanying engraving presents as to resist the fire perfectly, and to retain li- a group of religious and sepulchral vases. They were destined to receive the clzicha (a fermented liquor) of sacrifice on festival days, and had gen- erally a long throat, which often formed the han- dle, with an opening to receive the liquid, and another to let out the air when filling the vase. Many were double, and for these they seem to have had a predilection; others quadruple, or sextuple, the different parts all communicating with each other. The double ones were often made with so much perfection that, in filling them with liquids, the air passing out of the re- maining aperture produced a very melodious sound, which often closely imitated the voice of the animal or bird in whose shape the vessel was fashioned. Many of the vases were ornamented with engraved designs, and with rude paintings. In painting, indeed, the Peruvians seem to have been singularly inexpert. The art of designing among them never passed beyond its first infancy; nor in sculpturing single figures or groups in relief did they attain the skill of the Mexicans, much less of the ancient inhabitants of Central America. THE QUIPUS. So inactive, indeed, was the intellectual life of the Peruvians, that, having attained to no mean (legree of social refinement, they were totally un- acquainted with the art of writing, even in its most primitive forms of picture-writing and bier- oglyphicsthe only visible symbols of thought known among them being cords of various colors and shades, suspended from a string in the man- ner of a fringe, and which by means of knots, combined in many arbitrary ways, formed a com- plicated method of expression and calculation. It will readily be understood that such a contriv- ance, however ably managed, was very deficient in the power of expression in a connected form, or as a means of giving utterance to thoughts of a purely intellectual character; that it could in- deed merely suggest isolated ideas, and such only as had reference to known facts or tangible ob- jects ; and that it could not fulfill any of the requirements of a literature, properly so called. Such, therefore, the Peruvians had not. As re- gards history, the quipus, as the knotted cords ~vere called, seem to have served mostly as a system of mnemonics to enable the amautes (the men of science) and the kerevecs (the poets) to recall to mind in due succession those events of public importance which it was their duty to learn by rote, and to transmit orally from gener- ation to generation. RELICIOUS sysTEM. The Peruvian religion, it is generally ad- FIG. 14.-.--eaour OF PERUvIAN SEPULCIIEAL vAsEs. ANCIENT PERU. 23 mitted, was based upon the worship of the Sun. It seems to have been introduced by the Incas. and superimposed upon an anterior wor- ship, by one of those revolutions or religious cataclysms of which more than one example is furnished in Asiatic annals, Before the reform introduced by Manco Capac, observes Von Tschudi, the inhabitants of Peru had a system of belief which, although disfigured with puerile superstitions, embraced the conception of a Supreme Being, Creator of all things, with ves- tiges of the dogmas of the fall of man, and the redemption. According to the relations of the early writers, the supreme entity was called Con, and was without form or corporeal exist- encea spirit invisible and omnipotent, and diffused throughout the universe. With his word alone, he created the world, raised the mountains, depressed the valleys, and filled the seas, lakes, and rivers with water. He caused men to be, and peopled the mountains and plains with them, and gave them all that was needful for their support arid happiness. For a long time they retained their primitive simplicity and purity, but ultimately neglected the worship of Con, and fell into debauchery and vice. In view of this corruption and ingratitude, Con turned the fertile fields into melancholy deserts, and after depriving men of their means of sup- port converted them into black cats, and other horrible animals, who prowled madly over the desolate earth, until Pacliacamac, son of Con, having received special charge of the government of the world, re-created all things destroyed by his father, and gave new life to the human race. Less ungrateful than their predecessors, this new generation builft a sumptuous temple to Pachacamac on the shores of the sea, adoring this beneficent being with great devotion, with- out investing him with any form, but holding him, with his great father Con, as spirits incor- poreal, universal, and omnipotent. None dared, in their adorations to invoke his name without prostrating themselves to the ground, kissing the earth, and giving evidences of the greatest abasement; and when they entered his temples to make offerings, they did so with bare feet, and threw themselves in silence before his altar. The temple of Pachacamac, the ruins of which are still visible near the town of Lurin, to the south of Lima, was the only one in the whole country dedicated to the supreme Divinity, and pilgrimages were made to it from the most distant regions. The pilgrims were allowed to pass in safety through the most hostile provinces, even in time of actual war, and were every where kindly received and hospitably entertained. We are not certainly informed if, at this epoch, other divinities were adored; but from various vestiges of temples, dating beyond the introduction of the religion of the Incas, it ap- pears probable that their worship was not limited to the sole adoration of Con and Pacha- camac. In fact, an attentive study of the relig- ions system of the Incas, betrays traces of a heterogeneous system, which we are obliged to regard as the remains of a primitive and purer religion. It is not to be denied that the preceding tra- ditions of the creation of the world by the invis- ible and omnipotent Con, the primitive felicity of men, their corruption, the destruction of the world, and its regeneration, have a decided anal- ogy to the Mosaic chronicle; but it should be observed that this analogy holds good in respect to nearly all the primitive religious systems of the globe, and is not always to lie accounted for as the later and successful interpolations of Christian writers. In introducing his new sys- tem, the first Inca exhibited the greatest astute- ness; he declared that the supreme Divinity was the Sun, without which nothing could exist, and that Con and Pachacamac were the children of that luminary; that he himself was also son of the Sun and brother of these divini- ties; and that his celestial father permitted him to become incarnate and descend to earth and instruct men in government and the arts, and in the true religion. Thus artfully, and by the force of a superior intellect, the docile and sub- missive Indians were led to accept a system which, without detriment to that already estab- lished, enriched it, and gave it a tangible and visible character, and one more adapted to their capacity and tastes. So it is not wonder- ful that the new doctrine spread rapidly, and became extended and fixed with the progress of the Inca dynasty. In examining with attention the religious sys- tem of the Incas, we do not find in it the pro- found and sublime metaphysical ideas of the Asiatic religions, and which the polytheistic creeds still display. It was founded in the par- ticular interest of the royal family, and directed mainly to the support of their pretensions and authority. By means of it, they invested them- selves with a power firmer and more extensive than that of the most powerful aristocracies of the East. The Sun was the Supreme Being to whom the nation rendered homage in temples the most sumptuous, and best contrived to dazxle and impress iheir imaginations and the Inca as the Son of God, was regarded as the direct organ and impersonation of Divinity, sharing his infallibility, and worthy of the same homage. Of course such a system was only possible among a simple and credulous people, whose faculties of abstract reasoning were dwarfed under rigid political institutions, and who were absorbed in war, works, and festivals, and can- sequently unaccustomed to reflect or act for themselves. It is impossible to say whether most of the ideas connected with the Peruvian religious system at the time of the conquest, were intro- duced by the Incas, or adopted from a previous system. It is perhaps unnecessary to inquire. Nothing, however, can be more certain than that some of the loftiest and most abstract ideas and conceptions of the purest religions of the globe, were among those most clearly understood, and carefully cherished, in the Peruvian system. HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. Among them was the doctrine of the immor- presenting an offering to Pachacamac by ~1uck- tality of the soul, connected also with the doc- ing a hair from his eyebrows and blowing it in trine of the metempsychosis. They believed that, the air, or by depositing by the side of the path, after death, the just went to a beautiful and a twig, a small stone, or even a handful of earth. peaceful place, unknown to the living, where These trifling offerings sometimes came to form they received the reward of their virtues in un- large piles, by the side of frequented roads, and bounded felicity, while the souls of the bad were regarded as sacred. passed to a place full of griefs and fears, but The primitive worship which we have mdi- after a certain period of punishment,~ were per- cated, not agreeing with that of the Incas or mitted to return again to earth, and there com- alienating disciples from it, was always an em- mence a new existence or probation, but obliged barrassment to the ruling dynasty, which exerted to follow the same occupations and aiming at itself to destroy it in detail, but for a long period the same objects which had engaged them at without success. Finally the Inca Pachacutec their death. This belief, which finds a parallel having conquered the valleys of Pachacamac and in that of the ancient Egyptians, led them, as it Rimac, the great temple of Pachacamac fell into did also the Egyptians, to preserve the bodies his power, and he at once resorted to every of their dead with the utmost care, and to bury means to connect it with the worship of the Sun, with them their clothing, utensils, and sometimes which he ultimately succeeded in doing by cor- their treasures. rupting its priests. He also built near it another The final judge of men, according to the gen- temple, equally splendid, dedicated to the Sun, eral belief was Pachacamac, but in some provinces and established there a convent of virgins con- this office was assigned to Con. The Incas, secrated to that luminary. His successors con- notwithstanding their attempts to familiarize the tinned the same policy, and in a few years the Indians with the idea, were unable to bestow worship of Pachacamac fell into decline. At this attribute upon the Sun. And as, in the last the cushipatas or priests made a horrible first age of the world, Con punished the depravity idol of wood, in human form, thus personifying of the human race with a fearful aridity of the in the most profane manner, the Spirit which, earth, so in the second era, Pachacamac in his for so many centuries had constituted the sub- ire; sent a floodthe Peruvians having a tradi- lime idea and object of Peruvian worship, and tion analogous to that of Genesis, of the con- debasing the idol to their own purposes, made struction of an ark or float, and the preservation it pronounce false oracles, by the sale of which of a small portion of the human race from drown- they enriched themselves, and corrupted the ing. ~Theyalsoentertained the belief that the religion of the people. end of the world would come after a general It may. be questioned if the Incas themselves, famine, accompanied by a total obscuration of so distinguished for their intelligence and wis- the sun, and the fall of the moon to the earth. dom, believed in the system of religion which In opposition to the Supreme Being (for such they forcibly rooted in their empire, and in- Pachacamac was after all regarded) invested troduced in their conquered provinces. The with ineffable attributes, they believed in an Evil Inca Tupac-Yupanqui is reported to have said Principle, of great power, entertaining an inex- Many affirm that the Sun lives, and that he is tinguishable hatred to the human race, and dis- the maker of all things; but the Sun is not al- posed to injure it in every way. This being, ways present, and we know that many things agreeing in character with the Ahriman of the have their being in his absence: he can not, Persians, and the Sathan of the Jews, was therefore, be the creator of all things. Besides, called Supay, and in some parts had appeasive the Sun, if supreme, must have a free-will, where- offerings (it is said of young children) made to as we see it can move only in a particular course, him in temples dedicated to that service. He in obedience to superior law; therefore it is not was, however, subordinate to Pachacamac, and God. was powerless against those under the protection The analogies between the religious institu- of that beneficent deity, the invocation of whose tions of the Peruvians and those of the Christ- name was enough to drive away the Evil Spirit. ian Church have been made the subject of fre- And we may here observe that there is reason quent remark by the early religious writers, and to believe Pachacamac was the favorite divinity it may be suspected that they carried out their of the popular masses, while the Sun was that parallels beyond what the truth would justify. of the court; and that although the latter was But singularly enough, the priests of the period more or less accepted by the people, it never of the conquest regarded, or professed to regard, diminished their faith in the primitive Numen. these coincidences, as snares of the Devil, where- in fact, in all the relations of life of the Indians, by he was able the better to delude his victims. ye may trace the profound veneration with They pretended that the Evil Spirit actually which Pachacamac was regarded. At the birth showed himself in the Peruvian festival, under of a child, it was dedicated to this divinity, and the guise of an angel of light. Later writers of his protection implored for it. When the poor the same vocation have explained these analo~ Peruvian ascended a steep hill, he laid down his gies by supposing them to be the fragments of load at the summit, and bowing reverently to the true Gospel which had at some remote pe- the earth, exclaimed thanks to him that has nod prevailed in these regions. But the ration- enabled me to reach hither, at the same time alists of our times consider these resemblances ANCIENT PERU. in part accidental, and in a great degree the re- suit of the operations of the human mind under like or similar conditions. However they may be accounted for, it is undeniable that many re- semblances did exist. Baptism of infants was common to all the Peruvian nations west of the Andes. The ceremony generally took place with- in two or three weeks after birth, when the child received its name. In the provinces south of Cuzco, the ceremony was performed when the child was weaned. All the relations were as- sembled, and a god-father chosen, who, with a stone knife, cut off part of the hair of the child, an example which the rest followed, until the childs head was completely shaved. The god- father then gave it a name, and each of the wit- nesses bestowed upon it a small present. The rite Qf Confirmation, which was a kind of second baptism, took place when the subject had attain- ed the age of pubertythat is, when the indi- vidual for the first time put on the shirt and blanket. This occasion was celebrated as a fes- tival with dances and drunkenness; and the chief of the district gave the candidate a new name, and, cutting off his hair and nails, offered them as a sacrifice to the gods. Penitence was scrupulously practiced by the Indians. Previous to the principal feasts, they confessed them- selves to the priests, and placed a little ashes of a burnt sacrifice on a stone, which the priest blew into the air, in token of thus dissipating their sins. They then washed their heads at a certain place where two streams joined, and in- voked the hills and trees, and all living things, to bear witness that they had confessed and purged themselves of evil. Penitence consisted in fasting, abstinence from the use of salt, & c., & c. They had some ceremonies performed be- side the dying, which were similar to the Cath- olic Sacrament of Extreme Unction; and in the distribution of the sacred bread and clue/ia by the Inca to his court, in the festival of the renew- al of the Sacred Fire, the orthodox Spaniards affected to find a striking analogy with the Sac- rament of the Eucharist. INFERIOR DIVINITIES. Besides the Sun and the other principal divin- ities which we have mentioned, the Peruvians had many of an inferior order, which a late sys- tematic writer has divided into Cosmical Divini- ties, Astral and Terrestrial Gods, Historical Dei- ties, Popular Divinities, and Tutelary and House- hold Gods, corresponding with the Lares and Penates of the Romans. To the Astrals per- tained the star Venus, the Pleiades, the constel- lation of the Southern Cross, & c. Venus, the most beautiful of the planets, was adored as page of the Sun. Among the elementary deities were ranked the Air, Fire, Thunder, and the Lightning, and the Rainbow. The last three were regarded as the servants of the Sun; the Lightning was his messenger. The earth ranked first among the terrestrial divinities, and grain and cliica was offered to it at the time of sowing the crops, to secure a plentiful harvest. The hills, forests, and snowy mountains received a very mysterious homage, as did also any large rocks of singular form. When the Indians came to a stream or river, they took a little of the water in their hands and drank it, by way of invoking the fluvial deities. In fishing, they threw grains of maize into the water, to propitiate the sea-gods. All historical persons, distinguished for their inventions, or for having in any way ameliorated the condition of mankind, were the recipients of a certain kind of adorationa species of Hero-worship. The greater part of these historical gods were in single provinces or districts; few, if any, had temples, their shrines generally being their tombs, called locacas. Among these we may perhaps class the ruling Incas themselves, who, as sons of the Sun, after death, enjoyed general adora- tion. Their funerals were celebrated with the greatest pomp, and numerous sacrifices were made to their corpses. The defunct monarch was embalmed with so much care and skill that he appeared to be alive, and was then deposited in the Sanctuary of the Sun, where his body re- mained undecayed for centuries. Among the historical personages admitted to divine honors were frequently the chiefs of provinces who had died before the reduction of their people to the authority of the Incas. To these, or of these, statues were frequently erected, nearly all of which were destroyed by the conquerors. One of the most interesting was found three leagues from the town of Hilari, on the top of a kind of pyramid of three stages, made of carefully- wrought stones. It consisted of two monstrous statues of stone elaborately sculptured, repre- senting a man supporting a woman on his shoulders, the figures looking in opposite direc- tions. Serpents entwined the lower part of the figures, and the pedestal on which they stood. Before them was a large sculptured stone, which was the altar on which the sacrifices to this huaca were made. The huacas were supposed to respond orally to petitions and questions when supported by appropriate offerings and made in a proper spirit. They seem to have been the devices whereby an inferior order of priests ob- tained their support. The interior chambers of these oracular tombs were sometimes inhabited by priests. A Frenchman established himself in one near Limatamba, as late as 1573, in which year he was taken out and burnt by the Inquisi- tion. Nearly every one of the huacas of a dis- trict or province had peculiar attributes, and were consulted by particular objects, by particular classes of persons. The silver-workers of a district had their huaca, the potters theirs, the agriculturists theirs, etc. On the guano islands near the coast, were huacas whose occupants were supposed to be the creators of the manure. and to them the people of the mainland often repaired with offerings, soliciting permission to remove the fertilizing soil. Certain animals, particularly those marked in some extraordinary manner, were often venerated; such as white llamas, and spotted alpacas. Tutelary or individual and family divinities 25 26 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. were innumerable; for every person and every house possessed at least one. Among these were the maliquis, the mummied bodies, or the skeletons of their ancestors, piously preserved in their sepulebres, which were so arranged that the relics could be approached and sacrificed to. The offerings consisted of food and drink, and such articles as the departed most favored while alive. The domestic gods were of various forms and materialsoften made of gold, silver, and copperbut oftener of stone, wood, or clay, in the shape of men, animals, and things, and often in capricious forms. These descended from fa- ther to son through many generations, and were cherished and preserved with the greatest care. A person might have any number of these pe- nates, wherein the Peruvians differed from the Mexicans, who could have only a certain number, varying with the rank of the individual. Thus, the Emperor was entitled to six, the nobles to four, and the common people to two only. All the lesser deities of the Peruvians, apart from those enumerated above, bore the collective name of Conopes: Every stone or piece of wood of peculiar form or color, was regarded as a Gonopa. They were sometimes worked in metal or clay, in form allusive to some circumstance or event in the life of their ownersto com- memorate an accident, or celebrate some good fortune. Peculiar ears of maize were Conopas, and so also were all crystals of quartz. The Conopas of each individual were buried with him at his death, and these constitute a consid- erable portion of the relics obtained from the tombs. THE PEIE5T5 AND 5ACRED VIReINs. The priests of the Sun were almost innumer- able, and in all the temples of the empire, both by day and night, a certain number of them were obliged to keep watch, and discharge the various functions prescribed by their ritual. They en- joyed the highest estimation, but before entering upon their duties were subjected to the severest tests of capacity, and obliged to undergo the severest penances. Before all of the great fes- tivals of,tbe Sun, they had to fast for long periods, and~to go through many lustrations. In some parts of the empire they were bound to constant celibacy; in other parts they were permitted to marry, but for long periods were cut off from any communication with their wives. The high priest, who was always an Inca of the royal line, belonged to the brotherhood of the priests, and was subjected to the same regimen. He resided in Cuzco, where he made auguries from the flight of birds, and by consulting the entrails of animals, concerning the destinies of the Incas and of the empire. In the great festivals, the reigning Inca himself officiated as high priest, and was therefore initiated into all the mysteries of religion. The virgins dedicated to the Sun, were con- sidered as spouses of God, and lived in convents, n the greatest seclusion and retirement. The most celebrated of these establishments was the Acallahuasi, or House of the Elect, in Cuzco, where only those went who were distinguished for their lineage or beauty, and which contained more than a thousand virgins. None could be admitted here by right, except girls of the royal blood, who, in their earliest youth, were taken from their parents, and placed under the care of certain aged matrons, who had grown gray in the cells of the cloister. When sufficiently advanced to do so, they were obliged to take an oath of perpetual seclusion and virginity, to have no relation with their parents or the world; and so faithfully they kept their vow, and so rigor- ously observed their seclusion, that the Emperor himself could not enter the shadows of their cloistera privilege reserved for the Cope or Queen alone. Under direction of the matrons, the spouses of the Sun learned the sacred duties of their office. Their occupations were to spin and weave the fine cloth for the royal family, to make the vestments in which the Inca sacrificed to the Sun, and the chica and little cakes of maize called zancus for the use of the court. Their convents were as richly furnished as the palaces of the Inca and the temples of the Sun, so that nothing should be wanting to invest their insti- tution with dignity and influence. In all the provinces were other cloisters, de- voted, however, to the purpose of receiving girls, of all classes, remarkable for their beauty, who were destined to be sent to Cuzco as concubines of the Inca. Here they were kept in strict se- clusion, until, having been advanced to the mon- archs bed, they afterward became inmates of the palace, as dames of honor to the Queen. After their youth was passed, they were permitted to return to their native provinces, where they were received with profound respect, and passed the remainder of their lives in dignified retirement. Those who were kept in reserve, occupied them- selves much after the manner of the vestals of the Sun. If unfaithful to their vows, they suf- fered a like penalty. Sometimes it was affirmed that the source of pregnancy was the Sun, in which case the mother was spared until after parturition, and then burned alive, while the off- spring was devoted to the service of the Sun. As we hiive already said, the Moon was re- garded as sister and spouso of the Sun, and as such was the object of great veneration, although its worship was comparatively restricted. It was supposed to be the special protectress of women, and invoked in all the circumstances connected with maternity. Besides the priests of the Sun, there were others of less distinction, who were attached to the worship of the various classes of deities which have already been enumerated. Each hueca had its priest, and through him their or- acle was consulted. There were priests through whom the proprietors of Conopas consulted them, and others who attended at child-births and at funerals, to drive away evil influences from the new-born and the dead. There were others also, wild wanderers, whom the early Spaniards de- nounced sweepingly as witches. One class, called Socyac, professed to foretell events, and 27 ANCIENT PERU. predicted through the means of little piles of kernels of maize; others, by means of the in- sects which they found in houses; others affect- ed to interpret dreams ; in short, in Peru, as every where else in the world, thousands were found designing enough to avail themselves of the ignorance, and practice on the superstitions of men. The priests who consulted the huacas, it should be mentioned, were accustomed to put themselves in a state of ecstasy, by means of a narcotic drink, called tonca, made of the fruit of a species of stramonium, and in this state re- ceived their inspirations. RELIGIOUS CEREMONIESFESTIVALS. The Peruvians had monthly festivals, regu- lated by the phases of the moon; but the prin- cipal ones of the year were those of the Sun, celebrated at the four grand periods in his an- nual course, the solstices and equinoxes. The most solemn of these was that of k& ymi, at the solstice of winter, when the sun reached its southern limit and commenced its return toward the north. It was a feast of grateful recognition of the benefits derived from the sun. Upon this occasion, all the chiefs and curacas of the elnpire assembled, and those who from age or illness were unable to travel, sent in their stead their parents or sons. They all came in national cos- tume, wearing their most splendid clothes, and bearing their most brilliant arms, rivaling each other in the richness of their decorations. They came in such multitudes, nobles, and plebeians that there were not houses enough in Cuzco and its suburbs to contain them, and the greater part had to encamp in the streets, public squares, and open fields. Great numbers of women were col- lected by the Incas to prepare food for the multi- tude, and particularly to make certain cakes of maize, called zancu, which were only eaten on the most solemn feasts. The Virgins of the Sun themselves prepared those designed for the court and nobles. The feast was preceded by three days of vigorous fasting, during which time all fires were obliged to be extinguished. The Inca himself officiated as high-priest in this festival, assisted by his court. At the dawn of the wished-for day, he went, with bare feet, from his palace~ followed by the royal family, to the great square of the city, there to salute the rising of the Sun-god. His entire retinue was dressed in its most brilliant array, and covered with ornaments and jewels, while the canopies of plumes and richly-colored cloths, which the servants supported above their lords, made the streets appear as if covered with a magnificent awning. When the first rays of the sun were visible on the neighboring hills, the multitude sent up a great shout of welcome, and broke forth in songs of triumph, mingled with the sounds of strange instruments; and when the god, rising majes- tically above the horizon, shed his luminous tor- rents on the people, they waved their arms aloft, gave kisses to the air, and with expanded breasts ecstatically absorbed the atmosphere impregnat- ed and made living with light. The Inca then rose, and taking two vases of gold, filled with chicha, poured out a libation from one of them to the Sun, and with the other turned out a little in cups for his court, in evidence of their com- munion with the god. In a neighboring square the high-priest performed the same rite for the curacas. After this ceremony, the Inca, followed as be- fore, proceeded to the temple, and there offered his golden vessels to the Sun, the whole retinue making the same sacrifice. The Inca and his family only, were allowed to enter the sacred precincts; all the others had to make their offer- ings through the priests. This done, all returned to the great square again, where the high-priest made many sacrifices of llamas and other ani- mals, whose flesh was distributed among the peo- ple, and eaten with great ceremony. From their entrails he made auguries, which were listened to with intensest interest. After this commenced the drinking of chicha, which soon began to have its effect upon the people, who became hilarious, introducing games, masks, and dancesin short, indulging in general rejoicings, which lasted for nineteen days. It is said that the renovation of the sacred fire took place on the afternoon of the first day of the feast. The new fire was kindled by means of convex mirrors of gold, which concentrated the rays of the declining sun on some easily-ignited materials. When the sun was obscured the fire was obtained by friction. It is impossible to describe all the festivals in detail. They all had a greater or less resem- blance in their ceremonies; but each had a spe- cial object. The feast of the autumnal equinox, called Situa, was distinguished by a rite very sim- ilar to that which characterized the Jewish Pass- over. The night previous to its commencement, the inmates of every house drew blood from their bodies, mixed it with the flour of maize, and with the paste anointed their bodies, and the lintels of their houses, so as to expel disease and avert pestilences. It was also at this time that the extraordinary ceremony of exorcism was per- formed in Cuzco. At a certain hour of the day, an Inca, fully. armed, run at full speed from the fortress, back of the temple of the Sun, to the principal square, where he was met by four oth- ers, armed in like manner, who touched his lance with theirs, as a token of salutation. He then informed them that he bore a special mes- sage from the Sun, instructing them to drive away all evil and disease from the city. The four Incas then separated by the four roads leading from the square, in the directions of the four points of the compass, and ran with charged lances for a quarter of a league, when they were relieved by others, who took their lances from them, and thus continued the race, until they had reached a distance of six leagues from the city, where they stuck their lances in the ground. It was supposed that they drove all evil before them, and as they passed, the people stood in the~ir doors and shook their garments, to free them from contagion and demons. The lances 28 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. were stuck in the ground as bounds, forming a took of the melancholy cheer in the presence of kind of cordon sani/aire, within which evil could the royal phantom, with the same attention to not pass. the forms of courtly etiquette as if the living At the festival of the vernal equinox the cere- monarch had presided. The means for these mony of initiation or knighthood, already de- hanquets of the dead were provided by the cus- scribed, took place. In October fell the festival tom of not allowing the personal property of one in honor of the dead. Inca to pass by inheritance to his successorthe All objects of nature and art were admissible palaces, wearing-apparel, household furniture. sacrifices to the gods. Among them, there seems and jewelry of every deceased sovereign being, to be little doubt, human victims were occasion- on the contrary, left untouched; for it was fondly ally introduced, children or Virgins of the Sun. believed that they might one day return to earth Thus when a high officer was ill, it sometimes to reanimate their bodies so scrupulously pre- happened that a son was offered to appease the served, and that they ought on such a contingency offended deity who had caused the disease, and to find every thing ready for their reception. was earnestly entreated to receive the victim The Kings of Quito, according to the Friar instead. Niza, were all buried in a great sepulchre made BURIAL AND EMBALMING. of stone in square or pyramidal form, and covered When the reigning Inca diedor, as it was with pebbles and sand, so as to resemble a com- termed, was called home to the mansion of his mon hill. The door, which looked toward the father the Sunthe bowels were extracted west, was closed with a double wall, which was from the body and deposited in the temple of only opened on the death of one of the kings. Tampu; whereas the body, being embalmed in Within, the various embalmed bodies were ar- a most skillful manner, and clad in the usual ranged in the order of their succession, with vestments of the prince, was placed with droop- their royal insignia, and the treasures which each ing head and folded arms in a chair of gold, and had accumulated. Above the head of each was deposited in the great Temple of the Sun at a niche, with a jar containing pebbles of various Cuzco. Here, in process of time, a long line sizes and colors denoting his age and the years of deceased monarchs and their consorts took and months of his reign. their places opposite to each other on each side In some provinces of Peru the bodies of those of the golden image of the Sun, their supposed of Inca blood were placed in great jars of gold, progenitor, which decorated the principal wall hermetically sealed, which instead of being buried of the temple. The obsequies were performed were placed in lawns and groves. The curacos with a pomp corresponding to that maintained and others of note were often buried in square by the monarch in life; and a number of his at- towers of masonry, as represented in the acconi- tendants and concubines, amounting sometimes panying engraving. (Fig. 15.) to several hundreds, were made to die with him, in order that they might bear him company in the happier regions to which he was supposed to be removed. The first month succeeding the Incas death was throughout the land devoted to tears and lamentations; and during the rest of the year the funeral ceremonies were renewed at stated intervals, processions being formed wherein the banners, the insignia, and the gar- ments of the defunct Inca were displayed, and male and female mournersdenominated in the language of the country tear-shedderscele- brated in solemn tones the exploits and the vir- tues of the departed monarch. The last day of the year of mourning was the most solemn of all; but even with that the homage paid to the dead did not cease. On certain festivals, we are told by Mr. Prescott, the revered bodies of the deceased sovereigns were 1)rought out with great ceremony into the public square of the capital. The common people were buried with less Invitations were sent by the captains of the guard care. Upon the coast cemeteries of great extent of the respective Incas to the different nobles are found, in which the bodies, lightly covered and officers of the court, and entertainments with sand, seem to have been deposited in rows were provided in the name of their masters which or ranges. On the western slope of the Andes displayed all the profuse magnificence of their the dead were placed in sepulchres built of adobes treasures; and such a display, says an ancient having the form of ovens: in the Sierra the tombs chronicler, was there in the great square of Cuzco were of the same form, but built of stone. In the on this occasion, of gold and silver plate and Puna and southern parts of Peru, sepulchres jewels, as no other city in the world ever wit- took the shape of obelisks, and have been err- nessed. The banquet was served by the menials neously supposed, by some travelers, to have of the respective households, and the guests par- been monuments, marking the marches of the FIll. I5.BUIIIAL PLACE, OR 55.PULUI-IIIAL rOWER. ANCIENT PERU. 29 Incas. In some of the mountainous districts, the bodies wrapped closely in coarse cloth, were placed in caves, or the clefts and fissures of the rocks. Sometimes they were placed in holes, and heaps of stone and earth raised above them. Ja all cases the implements of the dead were placed with the body, for reasons elsewhere ex- plained. The bodies found in the sepulebres seem at first to be only a mass of cloth and wrappers, of gross outline, in which we distinguish only a round head, and the protuberances ofthe feet and shoul- ders. Arcund all is gewirally a strong netting of cord of ccrbuye. In other cases the mum- mies are found inclosed in sacks resembling bee- hives, with an Opening in front of the face. Ex- amples of both styles of envelope are presented in the accompanying engraving. (Fig. 16.) It has long been a question, whether the pres- e. vation of the bodies of the dead in Peru is due to artificial or natural causes. In respect to he bodies found in the sands of the coast, in other dry places, and in the nitrous caves, the researches of Dr. Von Tschudi have conclusively shown. that their preservation is due entirely to n~ tural conditions. The mummies, so called, which have found their way to the United States and Europe, all seem of this description. But it ns not to be questioned that the bodics of the Ii cas were artificially embahned; for we have the direct testimony of those who saw them in the Temple of the Sun, that the flesh was pre- served full, that the skin was soft and flexible, and t~e features unchanged by time. Nothing, however, is now known of the art by which this wonoerful preservation was effected. ANCIENT IIONUMENTS. i\ any of the ancient edifices, as also the ruins of extensive cities in various parts of Peru, ii dicate as we have elsewhere said, a civiliza- tion anterior to that of the Incas, or at least dis- tinct from it, and owing its origin to a different sour~e Perhaps the roost interesting of these ancient monuments are the ruins of what are ca~2e the Palaces of Grand Chimu, situated Beneath this outer envelope we find broad bands of cloth, of different degrees .of fineness, which are wound, fold on fold, around the body, from head to foot. The articles belonging to the dead, are placed among the folds where the various cavities of the body permit. The body is always placed in a crouching posture, with the arms crossed on the breast and supporting the head, or else arranged so that the hands rest on the cheeks. The wrists are often tied together, and a thick rope or roll of cotton is twined around the neck, like a cravat, to keep the head erect. Most of the bodies are well preserved, but the flesh is shrunk and brown, and the features of the face disfigured. The hair is generally almost perfect, hut changed from its original black color into a reddish brown. That ofthe females is often elaborately braided. nut far from the port of Truxillo, in the north- em of Peru, borderina on Ecuador Of one part b of these Palaces, a greatly reduced plan is now, for the first time, produced in America. The Palaces of the Grand Chimu are described as follows by Don Mariano Rivero, Director of the National Museum of Lima, who visited them in 1841, and made the plan alluded to: These ruins occur at the extremity of the valley of Truxillo, a league and a half from the port of Huanchaco. We do not know when their authors established themselves here, but only that, in the time of the Inca Pachacutec, the ninth monarch of Peru, there reigned in these valleys a great chief called Chimu Capac, and that a son of the Inca, already named, made war on this chief, and reduced him to the con- dition of a vassal of the Peruvian Emperor. The ruins of Chimu, or rather of the Pal- aces, cover a space of three-quarters of a league. This is apart from the large areas, surrounded by rubble walls plastered with clay, which ap- pear to have been fields for cultivation. From the town of Mansiche, which is at the gates of Truxillo, we begin to observe walls of brick, and the traces of a large population. At a distance of a mile from this Indian town, SIC. 16.rrauvn~a MUM. IES. 30 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. on the left of the road to Huanchaco, commence Some years ago, many mummies, some cloth and the great squares, already allnded to, which treasure, tools, an idol of wood, and many frag- vary from 200 to 270 yards in length, by from ments of pearl shells, were taken from this 100 to 160 in breadth. Many of these are to tumulus. be observed to the northward of the Palaces. All the walls of the inner edifices are built These Palaces are immense areas, surrounded of rubble, as already described, or composed of by high and strong walls, built of bricks. The large adobes. The subjoined engravings will walls are now from ten to twelve yards high, give some idea of the mode in which the walls five or six thick at the base, but diminish to one of these structures were ornamented. yard in thickness at the top, as shown in the accomuanvinir sectional view. (Fig. 17.) 510. i~ -END VIEW OF WALLS. Some of these Palaces contain squares sim- ilar to those exterior to the walls, huaces or tu- muli, and walls of innumerable edifices, rooms, and halls. Exterior to the walls already de- scribed, is still another, entirely surrounding the Palaces, and more than double the height of the inner wallthat is to say, thirty yards high.* It is composed of stone and clay. In the first Palace, which is the largest, there are a number of lesser squares surrounded by walls. One of these has the traces of an inner suite of apartments, extending entirely around it, which have been supposed by some to have been sepulebres, by others, the rooms assigned to the concubines of Chimu. The walls defining these are of rubble, plastered with clay, whitewashed, and half a vara in thickness. Within the walls of this Palace there is also a grand excavation of several acres area, in which some fig-trees are now growing, which seems to have been designed as a reservoir for water. The subterranean aqueducts for supplying it, leading to the river Moche, distant two miles to the northeast, may still be traced. This Palace had two entrances, one at the middle of each of its longest sides. Thirty yards distant from the southwest angle of the walls, is a parallelogram five hundred yards broad, which extends to the sea. Within it are the remains of some small houses, and a huaca traversed by subterranean passages The second Palace (of which the plan is herewith given) is 125 yards to the westward of the first, and parallel to it. It has many in- terior squares and houses., so arranged as to form narrow streets between them. At one ex- tremitv is the huaca or turnulus of Misa, sur- rounded by a low wall. It is traversed hy pas- sages three-fourths of a yard broad, and has also some interior rooms of considerable size. * The original says 50 varas, or Spanish yards, near- ly 150 feet, which appears to be a mistake. -flI. 550. 1IASIENT5 ur WALL5. Exterior to the walls of the Palaces are an in- finitude of the remains of buildings, some round and others square, which seem to have been the habitations of the inferior people. Their great numbers furnish us with data for concluding that the ancient population was very large. Among the ruins are many artificial mounds, or little hills of rubble and earth, in the form of truncated cones, called huacas. From these. many relics have been taken, and there is no doubt that their excavators have found great treasures concealed within them. It is, in fact, known that in 1563 the Spaniards found great riches in these huacas; for we learn from the hooks of the royal treasury at Truxillo for 1566. that one Garcia Gutierrex, of Toledo, paid in 85,547 castellanos of gold, as the royal fifth of the treasure which he obtained from one of these tombs. But he did not obtain all that it contained, for in 1592 it was again excavated. and 47,020 castellanos of gold paid as fifths into the royal treasury. So it seems that, in all, net less than 677,600 castellanos of gold were taken from this single tomb. From other huacas more or less treasure has been removed. The Huaca of Misa, in the second palace, is, as we have said, traversed with passages lined with cut stones. In this. many relics have been found, consisting of man- tles of cloth, ornamented and interwoven with gold, and with many colored feathers. Among the relics found within the palaces were many figures of men, or idols. One of these repre- sented an Indian wearing a cloak and a species of crown, from which depended four tassels, o e ANCIENT PERU. 31 Fit thu u111114 ~ K1- ~ ILLLii LLILL ______ ~ii I. ~iH __ [7] fYi 1 F TI iTT~ IL! JIlT] r r1 ~~j _ HflJl K _ I _ I ELL lFI LA ___ Li U- El La __ I rv~zi :7K ___ 4- LI fIJI] 4 I-i I _ iL~ r -.~.. i. 32 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. falling in front of each ear, and one on each shoulder. Around his throat was a broad cravat, in his right hand an object resembling a key, and in his left a symbol impossible to make out. His exterior robe was like a tunic, and termi- nated in points. Another figure was that of an Indian seated cross-legged on the ground, after the native fashion, with his hands resting on his knees. In short, these figures were of great variety, and so complex as to prevent a satis- factory description. Besides these ruins of the Palaces of Chimu, there are remains of structures of Inca date, near the Indian town of Moche. One seems to have been a Temple of the Sun: it is built of adobes, in pyramidal form, and terraced, the faces of the walls sloping inward. The entire structure is 35 yards high, 150 by 156 yards at the base, and 125 yards broad at the top. From its ~ummit a most extensive and beautiful view of the neigh- boring country is commanded. Near it, are the remains of a convent of virgins of the Sun. RUINS OF CUELAP. Almost equaling in magnitude the remains of the Palaces of Chimu, are the ruins of Cuelap, in the district of St. Thomas, a description of which is given by Don Juan Nieto, Judge of First Instance, in an official communication, dated January, 1843, addressed to the Prefect of the Department of Amazonas. Having established myself in Cuelap to make surveys of land on behalf of government, I be- came acquainted with some extraordinary re- mains worthy of public attention. They con- sist of a wall of wrought stones, 3600 feet long, 560 broad, and 150 feet high, constituting a solid mass with a level summit.* Upon this mass is another wall six hundred feet long and five hundred broad, also solid like the first, and of the same height. Within this structure and in that beneath it are a multitude of rooms, of wrought stone, 18 feet by 15; and both in these and in the walls themselves are niches formed by art, one or two yards in height, and half a yard broad and (leep, in which are the bones of the ncients, some exposed and others enveloped in cotton cloth, very compact though rather coarse, and wrought in different colors. The only re- spect in which these niches differ from those of our cemeteries, is in their depth, for instead of being two or three yards deep, they are only one or two, inasmuch as the ancients tioubled up the corpses so that their chins rested on their knees, while their hands clasped their andes. The walls of the three doorways merit attention, be- cause the right side of each one of them is semicir- cular, and the left angular. At the base of the structure commences an inclined plane, which rises almost imperceptibly to the aforesaid height of 150 feet. About midway up is a kind of sen- try .box, from which point the path departs from a ri,,ht line, and turns to the right, having at its upper part an ingenious place of concealment What this convolved writer means to describe is a pyramid or quadrangular mass, faced with stone, 3600 feet long, 560 wide, and 150 high. (also of wrought stone), when farther entrance may be effectually impeded, because, although the passage is six feet broad, at the gateway at the foot of the entrance, from here upward it is only two feet wide. At the top we find a look- out, or place of observation, from whence can be discerned, not only the entire plain below, with all its avenues, but also a considerable part of the province, and the capital, eleven leagues dis- tant. Passing onward we reach the entrance to the second or upper structure, which as we have said is like the first, of equal height, but not 50 long or so broad. Here we find other sepulchres, which appear like little ovens, from 24 to 30 feet in circumference by six in height, each contain- ing the remains of a man or woman. ~To-day we started for the top of a high hill outside of the walls, and which serves as a found- ation for them, and having with much risk and labor, by a road almost destroyed by the waters, reached the top of an eminence almost perpen- dicular, and more than 900 feet high, we came to a hollow among the rocks in which we found ten bundles of human bones, enveloped in blank- ets and perfectly preserved. One contained a man of full age, shrouded in a hair blanket, which, with the skeleton, I have in my posses- sion, another contained the body of a woman, who at her death must have been very old, for her hair was gray. She was, perhaps, mother of the seven children contained in the remaining packages, two of which are in my possession, and two in possession of Don Gregorio Rodriguez one of my companions, who has also a cotton blanket and a girdle, wrought of different colors. In the case of three of the children and one of the adults, the flesh had disappeared and the skeleton only was left, but all had the same pos- ture. The hair, where it was preserved, was firm, short, and reddish, and unlike that of the Indians of the present day. The woman had her ears bored, and there was a roll of coarse twisted cotton around her neck. I afterward regretted that I did not prose- cute my examinations here, for there were prob- ably other things to be discovered. We, however, took another direction, toward a place where I was assured more was to be seen. Descending to the northward, we reached the flank of a very high mountain, which we ascended with diffi- culty, in consequence of its steepness and the long grass with which it was covered, and which caused us to slip at every step. After going up about 600 feet, we found it impossible to pro- ceed further, because of a perpendicular rock, which cut off access to a wall of bricks, pierce(l with windows, about sixty feet above us. We therefore failed to discover what was contained in this structure, which is upon an eminence commanding. a view as far as the eye can reach. in every direction. My duties, and the little leis- ure which I possessed, joined to inadequate as- sistance (for the Indians have a great dread of this place because of its mummies, which they imagine it will produce great disease to handle), must be my apology for my imperfect investiga ANCIENT PERU. 33 tions. For these reasons I was not able to reach the walls to the southwest, where I was assured there are very curious remains, not accessible from below, but only by means of ropes let down from above nor to visit a subterranean passage which the above mentioned Don Gregorio, a per- son of credit, assured me existed upon the other side of the river Condechaca, in which are many objects of interest, hut which can not he entered to the distance of more than two squares, for lack of air to support the lights. RUINS OF HUANACO EL VIEJO. Fig. 19 presents a front view, and Fig. 20 a ground plan of the principal structure among the interesting ruins of Huanaco el Viejo, which are situated about two leagues from the town of Aguaamiro, in the midst of a large plain, elevated 3600 metres above the level of the sea. The architecture of these ruins, says Dr. Von Tschudi, singularly differs from that of the Peruvian edi. fices of the Inca period, and has led to the belief I that they are of an anterior date. It has never FIG. lOPALACE AT HUANACO EL ViECO. theless been conjectured~by some investigators, single stone twelve feet long, and nearly two that they formed part of the Palace of the Incas feet thick. The side posts are also single stones, and of the Temple of the Sun which are known and appear to have been worked with a chisel. to have existed here, and which Cieza de Leon Above and on each side of the doorway are affirms, had for its service more than 30,000 sculptured the figures of some animal, probably Indians. symbolical. About three yards further inward ______________________________ is a second doorway of like construction. We next cuter a spacious court-yard, encircled by a pircal wall of slight elevation, passing which we come to t~vo oth r doorways of the same F construction with the others, but of less diinen- I sions. Then comes a smaller court, and finally two other doorways, also of cut stone, but of still smaller dimensions. Passing these we find, upon the left hand, rooms constructed of cut stone. five yards long, two and a half broad, and four hi h, having niches in the walls. There are other rooms, of cut stone, to which an aqueduct leads, which are supposed to have been the baths of the Inca. In front of the dwellings is a broad artificial platform, and below a great inclosure, in which it is thought various species of animals were kept for the diversion of the monarch. In the ____________________ middle of this is a reservoir for water, which was fed by an aqueduct passing by the last door, and very near the rooms above mentioned. In one of these rooms is a niche in which we are assured girls were placed to ascertain if they fitted therein; if so, they were adequate for the service of the king. At the first doorway are two openings through the wall, which, it is said. were places for petitioners; the first is adapted to the shape of the breast of a woman, and was doubtless intended for women, the second beinu for men. Connected with the so-called palace is a sin- gular pyramidal structure, which bears the name FIG. 20.PLAN OF PALACE AT IiUANACO.* Fig. 19 represents the entrance, or first gate- way of the palace. Beyoi~d thia, as may be seen from the plan, are five others of similar form. The walls are of pirce (round stones mixed with clay), but faced exteriorly with cut stones, and a yard and a half thick. The first doorway is com- posed of three large stones, one on each side, and another across the top, and is three yards bd The lintel is a * The frontispiece to this article represents the plan ott e First Palace at Huanaco. VOL. ~1II.No. 37.C 34 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. FIG. 21EL MIRAGOR DE HUANACO. of El Mirador, or the Look-out (Fig. 21). It is too much obliterated, however, to be distinctly a quadrangular, truncated pyramid, fifty-six paces made out. From here a view is to be had of the in length, by thirty-six paces in width at the entire plain, and of the famous gates of the pal- base, and fifteen feet in height. It stands upon ace. To the southwest of the Mirador, and two terraces or stages, each a yard and a half at the distance of something like a quarter of a broad. It is faced with cut stone, terminating league. are ranges of structures, which seem to a species of marble cornice or parapet a yard have been designed as granaries, and a short and a half high, and half a yard thick. The distance further are the traces of a town, which facing-stones are all of about the same size, reg- must originally have contained many thousand ular, and well jointed. The mass or body of the inhabitants. pyramid is of earth and rubble, but in the centre RUIN5 (IF PACIIACAMAC. is a large concavity, supposed to have connected The ruins of the city of Pachacamac, and of with interior chambers, or with passages Ipading the celebrated temple of the same name, to which to the palace. reference has already been made, are of great The summit is reached from the south, not by extent. They occur in the vicinity of the beau- steps, but by an inclined planea device fre- tiful town of Lurin, but are not well preserved, quently resorted to by the Indians in raising and are in such a state of decay as to offer little heavy masses to the tops of their structures. architectural interest. They are chiefly remarka- At each side of the entrance to the terrace, at ble for their extent and history. A general view of the summit, is placed the figure of some animal, them is given in the accompanying cut. (Fig. 22.) The remains of the ancient temple are situ- also encircled with another wall, which is still, in ated upon a hill near the sea, and 450 feet above some places, twelve feet high, and nine feet thick. its level. Tile base of the bill appears to have The walls, as well as the temple itself, seem to been surrounded with a wall, and the houses of have been built of adobesin this respect eon- the attendants on the temple. Its summit was trasting with the public edifices of the Incas, FIG. 22.RuiNs 0 PACHACAMAC. ANCIENT PERU. 35 which were of stone. The superior part of the stone idols resembling the human figure, and ap- hill is supported by terrace walls, thirty-two feet parently formed by skillful artificers. They are high. Upon this, in the centre of the upper area, of somewhat gigantic size, and appear clothed in was the sanctuary of the Deity. Its door was long vestments differing from those now worn by of gold, richly encrusted with corals and pre- the natives of these provinces, and their heads cious stones. But the interior of the structure are also ornamented. Near these statues is an was mean and obscure, being the hidden place edifice, which, on account of its antiquity and the where the priests made their bloody sacrifices absence of letters, leaves us in ignorance of the before an idol of wood, whose worship succeeded people who constructed it; and such, indeed, has the pure and abstract religion of the invisible been the lapse of time since its erection, that Pachacamac. At present there remain of this little remains but a well-built wall, which must temple only some niches, where, according to have been there for ages, for the stones are very Cieza de Leon, were represented different ani- much worn and crumbled. In this place also mals, of which we have found traces, painted on there are stones so large and so overgrown, that the earth with which they were plastered. From our wonder is excited to comprehend how the the descriptions of the chroniclers, the place of power of man could have placed them where we the sanctuary can yet be made out. It is an see them. Many of these stones are variously error to suppose that these are the ruins of the wrought, and some of them, having the form of Temple of the Sun, a supposition entertained by men, must have been their idols. Near the walls most modern writers, in direct opposition to the are many caves and excavations under the earth; historians of the conquest, and to the relation but in another place more to the west are other made by Hernando Pizarro, brother of Francisco, and greater monuments, consisting of large gate- and the offic~r who destroyed the temple. ways and their hinges, platforms, and porches, Besides this edifice, there were in Pachacamac each of a single stone. a Temple of the Sun, a royal palace, and a mon- What most surprised me while engaged in astery, all constructed by the Incas Pachacutec examining and recording these things, was that and Yupanqui. According to our investigations the above enormous gateways were formed on the Temple of the Sun extended from the foot of other great masses of stone, some of which were the hill, on which is the Temple of Pachaca- thirty feet long, fifteen feet wide, and six feet mac, toward the N. E. Toward the N. W., in thick. Nor can I conceive with what tools or the direction of a lake of fresh water, was the instruments those stones were hewn out, for it royal palace, and at the foot of the hill, to the is obvious that before they were wrought and S. E., the house of the vestals. The inhabitants brought to perfection, they must have been vastly surrounded these edifices in the direction of the larger than we now see them. But before I pro- hacienda of San Pedro, the deserted town of ceed to a further account of Tiahuanico, I must San Juan, and the present town of Lurin. Near remark that this monument is the most ancient the last named is an ancient cemetery, which at- in Peru, for it is supposed that some of these tests better than any thing else how great a pop- structures were built long before the dominion ulation existed in remote times in the valley of of the Incas; and I have heard the Indians affirm Pachacamac, in the vicinity of the temple. The that these sovereigns constructed their great riches of this temple were such, according to one building in Cuxco after the plan of the walls of author, that the golden keys of its doors, which Tiahuanico. were given by Pizarro to the pilot Quintero, as This description is borne out by Diego dAI- a trifle, exceeded 4000 marks in value. Upon coba~a, a Spanish missionary, likewise quoted by the haciendas of Lomalorgo and Nieveria, and Garcilasso de la Vega, and according to whom on the slopes of the neighboring hills, we find the natives believed that the gigantic buildings extensive ruins, containing rooms twenty or twenty-five yards long and six or eight broad, with mud walls, forming narrow streets, and al- together indicating a numerous population. RUiNS OF TIAHUANICO. Passing over many other interesting monu- ments of antiquity in Peru, we come at once to the imposing enigmatic-l ruins of Tiahuanico, near Lake Titicaca, of which the Peruvians could give no account, and which they supposed were constructed by divine architects in a single night. These ruins were an oI)ject of wonder, alike to Peruvians and to the Spanish conquerors. 01(1 Ciexa do Leon, who accompanied Pizarro, saw and described them as follows: Tiahuanico is not a very large town, hut it is deserving of notice on account of the great edifices which are to be seen in it; near the principal of these is an artificial hill raised on a groundwork of stone. Beyond this hill are two STe. 23.HEAD OF STATUE AT TIAHUANICO. 36 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. in Tiahuanico had been dedicated to the Creator he formed from the fact, that the head itself is of the universe. Fig. 23 represents the head of nearly four feet in length, arid of proportionate one of the statues alluded to by the chronicler, thickness. But hy far the most imposing monu- Some idea of the size of the original figure may ments here are the treat monolithic doorways, of FIG. i14.DGoaWAY OF A SINGLE STONE AT TIASSUANICO. hich engravings are presented. (Figs. 24 and 27.) The largest of these doorways, or portals, is of sandstone, in height ten feet, in breadth thirteen. The opening is six feet four inches high, and three feet two inches broad. Its eastern front presents a cornice, in the centre of which is a human figure, of strange form. Its head is al- most square, and surmounted by figures in the form of rays, among which are four serpents. The arms are spread apart, and each hand grasps FIG. 26.ENLARGED VIEW OF FIGURES. FIG. ~G.ENLARG 0 VIEW OF CENTRAL FIGURE. a serpent with a crested head. The body is covered with strange ornaments, and the feet rest on a pedestal, also covered with symbolical fi~,ures. Upon each side of this central figure are three rows of square compartments, eight in each row. In each square of the upper and lower row is a rude representation of the human figure, in ANCIENT PERU. profile in the act of walking, and holding a species The second monolithic doorway (Fig. 27) is of sceptre in its hand. Those of the middle row less elaborately ornamented than the first, and are different, and have the heads of birds. (Fig. 26.) less in size. The other remains offer no par- ticular interest, and consist of a vast mound, the rerAains of an immense pyramidal edifice, cover- ing several acres of groundfragments of col- umns, and innumerable erect slabs of stone, which seem to have formed parts of the walls of build- ings of some description. The whole neighbor- hood is strewn with immense blocks of stone, elaborately wrought, and equaling, if not sur- passing in size, any known to exist iii Egypt or India, or in fact in any part of the world. Some of these measured by Sefior Rivero were thirty feet long, eighteen broad, and six thick. RUINS OF LAKE TITIcAcA. In the island of Titicaca, in the lake of the same name, where, according to tradition, the first rays of the sun ilescended to illuminate the world after the (leluge, and whence that luminary sent forth his favorite childrenManco Capac and Mama 0dbto civilize the barbarous hordes of Peru, are the remains of a temple or palace, of considerable interest, of which an engraving is herewith presented (Fig. 28). The structure has peculiar doorways, wide at the bottom and narrow at the top, which identify it with Inca architecture. Its interior decorations appear to have been similar to those of the Temple at Cuzco. The island itself was held as sacred; and the amount of treasure which was collected here, according to the traditions of the Indians, exceeds all belief. In alluding to it, the Padre Ftc. 28.auiss IN TITICACA ISLAND. FiO. 27 MONOLITOIc DOORwAy 38 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. Bias Yalerio says that he was assured by the Indians who had had charge of the gold and sil- ver, that they might have built another temple from its foundations to its roof, with those metals alone ; and that the entire treasure was thrown into the lake when they heard of the coming of the Spaniards, and of their thirst for gold. Upon the island of Coati, in the same lake, are other immense ruins, of which a view is given in Fig. 29, hut of which we have a very imj)erfect FIG. 29.aui~s ia in ISLAND OF COATI. account. From the condition of the remains, and the style of architecture which they exhibit, they appear to belong to the same epoch with those of Tiahuanico, and are to be ascrihed to the same unknown and mysterious people, who preceded the Peruvians, as the Tulbuatecas did the Aztecs in Mexico, and who may perhaps have surpassed them in civilization. They afford evidences, not only of a civiliza- tion prior to that of the Incas, but indications also of a connection between this civilization and the purer religious tenets which we have alluded to, as preceding the introduction of the worship of the Sun. It is not, however, merely between the Peruvians and some anterior civilization which these ruins and these religious ideas estab- lish a connection, but between this early civil- ization and all the tribes of South America; for modern research has not only demonstrated the existence of semi-civilized tribes on various points of that vast continent, beyond the limits of the Peruvian empire, but also a striking affinity be- tween the architecture, the religious ideas, the traditions, and the custoros, of the most modern and the most ancient civilization on that con- tinent, and of the most barbarous and the most cultivated of the tribes. And it will not be at all surprising if further research shall show us, that to this origin we may ascribe the civilization of the Quichuas of New Grenada; and that even the Northern Continent was in some degree affected from the same source, for recent discoveries in Nicaragua, and other parts of Central America, afford good ground for conjecture that relations of some kind existed between their inhabitants and the great nations to the south of the Isthmus of Darien. These are discussions, however, un- suited to the pages of a popular journal. LIFE IN PARIS. EMPLOYMENTS OF THE POONwIIET THEY EATWHAT THEY WEAP.IIOW THEY AMUSE THEMSELvES. T HEFrench government aims to produce upon stranger the same effect from the tout ensemble of Paris, as does the belle of the Champs Elys6es by the perfection of her toilet upon the idlers of all nations who frequent that fashionable promenade. Both are got up with a nice regard for admiration. Both are equally successful in their effort. We admire the lady as one does a coquettishly arranged bouquet, too content with its general beauty to think of crit- sessing its details. So with the public edifices and grounds; we pay them at once and involun- tarily the homage of our admiration, receiving at each glance the irltuitive satisfaction that arises from the presence of the beautiful, whether made by man or born of Cod. I am not sure that an luvidious comparison does not force itself at once upon Americans at the too perceptible con- trast between the noble avenues, spacious palaces, beautiful places, and tasteful gardens; in short. between the treasures of their rich and venej7able, and the meagreness of our juvenile and practical elvilization. The advantages in respect to archi- tecture, the ornamental arts, and even the scale and elegance of the more humble requirements of the necessities of the age, in the shape of bridges, railroad stations, and public edifices generally, are greatly on their side. If the com- parison stopped here we should be filled with envy. With too many it does not go further, and they dishonor their native land by condemn- ing in her the want of a taste for the mere lust of the eye, which, if cultivated, would go far to develop with us those social contrasts which here mark the extremes of society. One instance will suffice to illustrate the ruling passion of the various goverilments of France. The most conspicuous, but by no means the most costly of the embellishments of Paris, is the Arch of Triumph at the barrier de lEtoile. A nobler and more commanding monument at the entrance of a capital no other city can boast. From its elevated position it towers far above all that portion of Paris, conspicuous to a great dis- tance in the country, like a colossal gateway to a city of giants. It is simply an architectural ornament, useful only as affording from its top the best coup-dceil of Paris. The glory of ex- hibiting this Arch has cost Frenchmen two mill- 10H5 ofdollars additional taxes. Even they. while boasting its possession, consider it an apt illus- tration of their proverbial expression in regard to prodigality, to throw money out of the win- dows. Were Alnerican citizens called to decide be- tween the appropriation of two millions of dol- lars to a similar construction or for purposes of education, the scilools would get it. Not so in France. The gold goes for ornament, the copper for instruction. This one fact explains in great measure the wide distinction of ruling principles between tile two nations. We have less elegance but more comfort. Our wealth is diffused and

38 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. Bias Yalerio says that he was assured by the Indians who had had charge of the gold and sil- ver, that they might have built another temple from its foundations to its roof, with those metals alone ; and that the entire treasure was thrown into the lake when they heard of the coming of the Spaniards, and of their thirst for gold. Upon the island of Coati, in the same lake, are other immense ruins, of which a view is given in Fig. 29, hut of which we have a very imj)erfect FIG. 29.aui~s ia in ISLAND OF COATI. account. From the condition of the remains, and the style of architecture which they exhibit, they appear to belong to the same epoch with those of Tiahuanico, and are to be ascrihed to the same unknown and mysterious people, who preceded the Peruvians, as the Tulbuatecas did the Aztecs in Mexico, and who may perhaps have surpassed them in civilization. They afford evidences, not only of a civiliza- tion prior to that of the Incas, but indications also of a connection between this civilization and the purer religious tenets which we have alluded to, as preceding the introduction of the worship of the Sun. It is not, however, merely between the Peruvians and some anterior civilization which these ruins and these religious ideas estab- lish a connection, but between this early civil- ization and all the tribes of South America; for modern research has not only demonstrated the existence of semi-civilized tribes on various points of that vast continent, beyond the limits of the Peruvian empire, but also a striking affinity be- tween the architecture, the religious ideas, the traditions, and the custoros, of the most modern and the most ancient civilization on that con- tinent, and of the most barbarous and the most cultivated of the tribes. And it will not be at all surprising if further research shall show us, that to this origin we may ascribe the civilization of the Quichuas of New Grenada; and that even the Northern Continent was in some degree affected from the same source, for recent discoveries in Nicaragua, and other parts of Central America, afford good ground for conjecture that relations of some kind existed between their inhabitants and the great nations to the south of the Isthmus of Darien. These are discussions, however, un- suited to the pages of a popular journal. LIFE IN PARIS. EMPLOYMENTS OF THE POONwIIET THEY EATWHAT THEY WEAP.IIOW THEY AMUSE THEMSELvES. T HEFrench government aims to produce upon stranger the same effect from the tout ensemble of Paris, as does the belle of the Champs Elys6es by the perfection of her toilet upon the idlers of all nations who frequent that fashionable promenade. Both are got up with a nice regard for admiration. Both are equally successful in their effort. We admire the lady as one does a coquettishly arranged bouquet, too content with its general beauty to think of crit- sessing its details. So with the public edifices and grounds; we pay them at once and involun- tarily the homage of our admiration, receiving at each glance the irltuitive satisfaction that arises from the presence of the beautiful, whether made by man or born of Cod. I am not sure that an luvidious comparison does not force itself at once upon Americans at the too perceptible con- trast between the noble avenues, spacious palaces, beautiful places, and tasteful gardens; in short. between the treasures of their rich and venej7able, and the meagreness of our juvenile and practical elvilization. The advantages in respect to archi- tecture, the ornamental arts, and even the scale and elegance of the more humble requirements of the necessities of the age, in the shape of bridges, railroad stations, and public edifices generally, are greatly on their side. If the com- parison stopped here we should be filled with envy. With too many it does not go further, and they dishonor their native land by condemn- ing in her the want of a taste for the mere lust of the eye, which, if cultivated, would go far to develop with us those social contrasts which here mark the extremes of society. One instance will suffice to illustrate the ruling passion of the various goverilments of France. The most conspicuous, but by no means the most costly of the embellishments of Paris, is the Arch of Triumph at the barrier de lEtoile. A nobler and more commanding monument at the entrance of a capital no other city can boast. From its elevated position it towers far above all that portion of Paris, conspicuous to a great dis- tance in the country, like a colossal gateway to a city of giants. It is simply an architectural ornament, useful only as affording from its top the best coup-dceil of Paris. The glory of ex- hibiting this Arch has cost Frenchmen two mill- 10H5 ofdollars additional taxes. Even they. while boasting its possession, consider it an apt illus- tration of their proverbial expression in regard to prodigality, to throw money out of the win- dows. Were Alnerican citizens called to decide be- tween the appropriation of two millions of dol- lars to a similar construction or for purposes of education, the scilools would get it. Not so in France. The gold goes for ornament, the copper for instruction. This one fact explains in great measure the wide distinction of ruling principles between tile two nations. We have less elegance but more comfort. Our wealth is diffused and LIFE IN PARIS. my satisfaction will be more complete. It is with the female sex that the comparison of occu- pations affords the greatest variety of strange examples to American eyes. Accus- tomed as we are to invest woman with the associations of a home, it is with re- pugnance at first that we see her so isolated from her nat- ural protector, leading a life equally as distinct and inde- pendent in the strife of ex- istence as his. Marriage has not the same heart-in- terpretation as with us. It is a union of interests, sel- dom of affections. A busi- ness arrangement for mutual convenience, leaving to the man the same latitude of bachelor instincts as before, and bestowing upon the wo __ ~ L ~ man a liberty to be pur- __________ ~ chased in no other way~ ___ - --~ But the aspect of feminine isolation from domestic re- ARCH OF TRiUMPH. lations is most strongly society equalized. Democracy, like water, con- marked in the extensive class of shop-girls stantly seeks a level, and with us. imperfect as it is, and all those compelled to gain a precarious it is still the most comfortable assurance for future subsistence by their individual exertions. They progress in all that makes humanity at large wise live alone, or in couples, allured by every spe- and happy, that the world has yet seen. France, cies of dissipation of this sensuous city, and on the contrary, fluctuating between the extremes without other restraint or surveillance than their of aristocratic conservatism and democratic de- own dubious standard of propriety or morals. strucniveness, though slowly winning her way Their religious education, when they have any, toward the goal of human rights, still exhibits is confined to the pageantry of Catholic worship. contrasts in the social scale which painfully \Vhile the daughters of the rich are brought up mark the poverty and ignorance of her masses, in an almost conventual seclusion, scrupulously I have elsewhere shown that out of the million onarded both from the seductions and contact of souls that people Paris, eight hundred thousand the world, these girls, unsheltered by family are in a state of either uncertainty as to their roofs, are exposed at a tender age to all its try- future, or absolute want. No civilization which ing experiences. Left thus depemident upon their produces such results can be rightly based. The exertions and prudence, they early acquire a citizens of the United States may well spare fund of worldly knowledge, which soon resolves France the pride of her monuments, if their cost itself into a code of manners for their guidance, is the indigeiice of her people. and gives them that singularly self-possessed The better to picture the straits for subsistence and independent air, which with us is the ex- to which the luxurious civilization of European elusive heritage of our male youtla. The Amer. aristocracy compels the masses, I shall draw again ican female relies upon the rougher sex in all upon the streets for specimens of the HONE5T matters that bring her into immediate contact with modes of livelihood of this capital. Without a the grosser and practical elements of society. glance at both sides of the social panorama, the The French woman, on the contrary, acts for American is very indifferently qualified to judge herself as freely as would a man under similar of the comparative merits of the institutions of circumstances. Hence in one country, woman his own and other countries. The least a tray- preserves the retiring, timid delicacy most at- eler can do for his native land, is to gather for tractive in her character; in the other, she as- it, be it in ever so humble a measure, the wisdom, sumes an independence of action that renders whether of example or warning, of those he vis- her at once a self-relying, shrewd being. as its. By thus doing his expatriation may not be capable of living a bachelor life as man him- without benefit to his fellow-citizens. If in this self. The one calls forth our respectful tender- series of sketches of foreien life I succeed in ness from her graceful dependence. Her inno- amusing, I shall be gratified; but if, as is my cence is her security. The other demands our higher aim, I am able to convey a correct moral, respect as an equal in worldly knowledge and 40 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. capacity of action. She challenges our gallantry for the same reason that she fails to win our at- tention. On all points she is armed against the one, and in every respect is independent of the other. Her policy is in the fi- nesse of the head. The strength of the other lies in the sincerity of her heart. Whether the ac- quired independence of the one is a fair equivalent for the winning depend- ence of the other, each individual will judge ac- cording to his taste. In this relation, how- ever, I can not pass over a significant fact in the results of the French sys- teta of female education. If the exposed lives of the poorer class of girls lead them almost inevit- ably into vice, or forming temporary connections in lieu of the more perma- nent ties of marnia~ e, the tendency of the unnatural seclusion practiced in some of the higher sem- manes of learning is even worse. From being never trusted, the girls hecome adroit hypocrites, and, as with Eve, the apple of knowledge, though tahooed, is covertly plucked. A celebrated institution near Paris, in the charge of gov- ernment, where five hundred daughters, sisters, and nieces of the members of the Legion of 1-lonor receive a highly finished education, under rules of almost mili- tary severity, furnishes a large proportion of the fair and frail sirens of the Quartier Br~da Undoubtedly the difficulty of negotiating marriages without the in- dispensable dowry or dot is an active promoter of illicit connections between beauty and wealth. Faulty ~ad inexorable social laws are equally as accountable for this state of mor~ Is as individual frailty. It is from this class that we can select the most striking vicissitudes of female career. In their youth, redolent with loveliness, buried as it were in the wealth laid at their feet, the mistresses of many hearts and purses, living in apartments more luxuriously furnish- ed than those of any palace, daily exhibiting their envied charms in sumptuous equipages in the Bois de Boulogne, and nightly outshining aristocratic heauty at the Opera, they purchase their short-lived sensuous career at the expense of an age of regretful misery and repulsive employments. Look on this picture and then on that. Lovers and loveliness have fled. The triumphs of vanity are now succeeded by the retril)utions of want and age. Folly and extravagance have proved but indifferent foste - LIFE IN PARTS. 41 parents for infirmity and lois of beauty. The harvest of sin is beinr reaped upon her withered, charmiess frame. Can you recognize in this sad ruin the joyous being whose life but a few years before was one holiday Perhaps she was an actress, and you yourself covered her with flowers and bravos. Her garments are now the mock- ery of former elegance, even as she is the phantom of previous loveliness. She takes your cloak, and offers you a programme or cricket as you enter your loge ; for she has become a simple oivreuse, or door- keeper to the boxes at the theatres and opera-houses, hut too grateful to receive a few sons where once she threw away gold. In Paris there are four hundred and sixty-seven ouvrenses, who depend for their subsistence upon the voluntary contributions of the puhlic. Some favored few are said to gain 2000 francs a year, while others are reduced to as many hun- dreds. They have the privilege of dying in a hospital, and being buried in the com- mon foss6 or pit. The situation of the ouvreuse, although it requires the pos- sessor to be up until after midnight. is one of the easiest, or, as Americans would say, one of the most genteel resorts for feminine TilE CEIsETTE. decay and poverty. The occupations which they pimp, or haggish corrupter of virginity in the fill are such as can have their origin only in the fer- pay of hoary debauchism, both exhibiting in their tile soil of a rank, aristocratic civilization. They repulsive physiognomies the traces of every vice are of every shade of integrity and crime, refine- that degrades human nature. They include alike meat and grossness, from the honest and virtuous the bewitching glove-mender of Sterne, the more grisette who laboriously plies h& needle in her stately elegance of the dames du comptoir, and cosy garret room to the political spy, fashionable the wretched vender of old hats, or peddler of all wares and agent for ev- ery necessity which pride. poverty, or shame seek to hide from day-light. Even / here we have but soundes.i the depths of the more labor ious and disgustin gof the fe- male out-door employments At all seasons the shearer of dogs and cats and the gath- erer of garhage, whose sweetest bouquet is a reek- ing pile of street filth, are to he seen pursuing their call- ing. They are worthy of all commendation for their de- termination to earn their daily bread rather hy the sweat of their brows than the charity of the public or the chances of crime. The female copyists at the Louvre are a numerous class, with a decidedly artistic air in the negligence of their toilets. They find time both to fulfill their orders, and have an eye to spare to the public and particularly to their male brethren. When 0 THE TaMPTECS A~D THE TEMPTED. K 1 42 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZTNE. r) they are employed upon ordered copies, they work the widow of an employ6, powerfully recoin- with assiduity; when not, they more agreeably mended to his favorable consideration. He gave divide their time between complaisant beaus and her an order for a copy of the mammoth paint- the arts. As for the rest, they have for their home ing of Jesus at the house of Martha and Mary, during most of the week the comfortable galleries by Paul Veronese. of the finest Museum in Europe, inhabiting a pal- But, Monsieur, the Minister, J do not know ace by day and sleeping in a garret at night. The how to paint; I never touched a brush in my patronage of the government is sometimes ludi- life. crously applied toward the fine arts. An appli- Never mind: take the copy. You can have cant for a post in the bureau of the telegraph it (lone by another and arrange to receive the received an order to execute a bust in marble; pay. The obliging counsel was not lost. not an impossibility if he allowed himself the I have given but a few out of the extraordinary same latitude of execution, which a certain Mm- employments of the female sex at Paris, enough, iBter of the Interior is said to have advised to however, to show that there is a wide difference DOO-sHEAREa 5{AT-5ELLEa. CAUB ACE-C ATH aREa LIFE IN PARIS. 43 between the relative positions of the poorer classes in France and the United States. I should be doing injustice to the most formidable type of all, were I to omit the renowned Dames des Halles, a class of women not only numer- ous and in many instances wealthy, but of suffi- cient political importance as to cause their good will to be courted by Louis Napoleon, by ffltes, balls, and courteous speeches, which they return by complimentary deputations empowered to salute him on both cheeks, and leave in his hands bouquets of well-nigh sufficient volume to en- tirely eclipse him. These ladies possess a voca- bulary of their own, the most compendious of all idioms in terms of vulgar vituperation. Their profession, as one may readily conceive, is not always of the sweetest nature, but why they of all the laboring sisterhood, should be so particularly ambitious of distinguishing themselves by the use of an argot terrible to uninitiated ears, it is not so easy to conceive. The highest exer- tion of their intellectual faculties is to coin new expressions for their slang war-whoop. Yet even on this ground they are sometimes defeated by a battery of epithets more stunning than their own. The last case was as follows. A Polytechnic student seeing a formidable looking specimen of this genus barricaded by monsters of lobsters and huge piles of fish, laid a wager with his companion that he would dismount her (so the term goes) with her own weapons. Done, said his friend, as he placed himself safely behind an avalanche of vegetables to see the fun. How do you sell this carp, mother ~ That carp that is worth one hundred sous if it is worth one franc, my blackguard! but, as you are a pretty boy, you shall take it for four francs and a half. Eh! its given away at that; but one has a weakness for youth. I will give you only thirty sous, and you shall cook it for me. Stop, dont bother me! you want to buy a broth under market price; let me look a bit at the little fellow ! three bantam chickens and he, by my faith, would go ~vell before a coach. The fish-woman, like a locomotive, had now started at one jun7p, at a prodigious rate, and one might as well have attempted to stop with a straw the one as the other. The reader will not, I am sure, exact of me a repetition of her tirade. The vocabulary of oaths and blackguard- ism was never nigher being entirely exhausted. Want of breath at last brought her to a half halt, when her boyish opponent, putting himself into a tragic attitude, broke in, with Will you hold your tongue, frightful hydro- cyanure of potash! execrable chlorozoic acid hideous logarithmic progression, indissoluble hygrom6tre of Saussure, detestable square of the hypotheneuse, abominable parallelopiped, and on rpshed the student of the Polytechnic School, sure of never being repulsed on this ground, through the entire chemical, algebraic and geo- metrical nomenclature, setting at defiance all scientific arrangement in his zeal to overwhelm his foe At first the fire flashed from her eyes as her excited imagination conceived every abom- inable reproach to be conveyed in the meaning of the incomprehensible words that for the first time saluted her ear. As he proceeded she be- came stupefied, and as an expiring effort of despair, shouted out to know, from what infernal regions he had stolen such a diabolical array of abuse. The young man paused for a moment and recommenced with the classification of plants ~nd the cragged terms of geology. For the sake of the Holy Virgin, stop, I give in; you are no white-nose, my little fellow ! take the carp and welcome, said the dame, in the excess of her admiration at an exhibition of lin- gual power that left hers far in the shade. In the United States we have a monotonous display of broad-cloth and silks with no distin- guishing features by which one class of citizens can be discriminated from the other. The indi- vidual alone may be remarked by his taste, but his species can not be detected by his dress. Not so in Paris. Every occupation has it~ fashion, its cut, its air, as distinct and discerni- ble as the uniforms of the army. Each is so fitted to its costume that it would be at home in no other. The washerwoman can never be mis- taken for the cook, nor the nurse for the grisette. The bourgeois remains the bourgeois; the foot- man never burlesques the general of division; the workman no more thinks of leaving his blouse than the oyster his shell; in fact, each individual of this city is as readily classified by his costume as any animal by its skin and shape. Their in- door localities are also as distinct as those of the brute varieties of the animal kingdom. All cleave to their particular quarters with the adhe- siveness of a special instinct. Like strong and DAME DES HALLES. 44 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. separate currents, their outer edges only mingle, filling the thoroughfares with a picturesque crowd, on which one is never tired of gazing. The difference between the two nations is equally as perceptible in the tariff of prices. We generalize. They particularize. We name a round sum which covers all charges. Their first charge is but a foundation for an infinitesi- mal dose of others. In New York, call a car- riage, and the driver takes you and your baggage to a given point for a round sum. In Paris, at- tempt the same and the result will be as follows: Your baggage is to be brought down. That calls for a porter and one payment. You have called a coach and as you are stepping in, a commissionaire takes hold of the door, and with cap in hand asks you to remember him. His service has been to shut it, payment No. 2. You stop; another commissionaire opens the door, payment No. 3. You pay the driver his legal fare, payment No. 4, and think you are through. But do not take any such consolation to your purse. Monsieur has forgotten the pour boire, politely remarks Jeho, and you derive from him the gratifying information that custom allows him to demand the wherewithal to buy a dramand this makes payment No. 5, for the simple operation of getting into a hack- ney coach. This principle extends through every branch of pecuniary intercourse, and after all is a wise one, for by this rule, we pay only for services rendered and dinners eaten. With the term Paris fashions we associate only ideas of periodical importations of novelties of refinement and elegance in dress and style of living. But this view is as imperfect as that of judging of the actual condition of France only by its parks and palaces. The female sex, as it appears to me, take the first choice of employ- nients, leaving to men such only as they do not MERCHANT OF cRiMES. find to their interest or taste. The life sketches already given show that these are sufficiently bizarre to excite our surprise, though not always our envy. There are certain provinces that appear to be neutral ground; such as those of street-minstrels, chiffoniers, peddlers, news- paper-veriders, and merchants of crimes, as the ill-omened cryers of the prolific catalogue of tragic events, are technically called. These birds of evil announce with startling intonationt their list of assassinations, poisonings, suicides, and capital executions extracted from the judicial journals, for sale at the fixed price of a sou each. Those who have a keen taste for the horrible, can gratify it at a cheap rate by the inspection of the merchant and his stock in trade. Like the vulture he appears to grow foul from the garbage that supplies his food. The date merchant must necessarily be a man, as no female could furnish the requisite amount of beard to counterfeit satisfactorily the Turk. This disguise is assumed to prove the oriental origin of his fruit, and to strike the imagination of his juvenile patrons. DATS-sELLEa. No one will dispute the inclination of the female sex to carry their heads high, but we doubt whether one has ever been found to com- pete with the basket merchant in his extraordi- nary head dress, moving as easily and gracefully through the streets with this Babel of straw and wicker-work on his cranium as if it were simply the latest style of coiffure. Of course he can only put out with his pyramnidical bazaar on a still day, as a head wind or any wind at all would speedily bare his head and send his baskets flying in all directions, a joyous ffte for avaricious urchins, but ruinous to him. The merchant of death to the rats belongs to an expiring race. Long have the cats looked LIFE IN PARIS. 45 BASKET-SELLER. with envy upon his spoils, hung upon a pole, with which he walked the streets, typical of his profession. But they who have longest known his meagre countenance will soon know him no longer. Whether any of the dinners for sev- enty-five centimes restaurants will raise their bill of fare on account of his exit remains to be seen A company has been formed, with a cap- ital of three hundred thousand francs, for the extir1 ation of all the rats of Paris If a cordon of cats is to he established around the city to keep out the country rats, hare will become a rare dish in more than one cheap restaurant. The last masculine occupation that I shall cite is one vhich no female has ever aspired to, from the consciousness that it exacts, perhap the only accomplishment that she despairs of attaining. Its motto is the tomb of secrets, and its chiefest attribute, silence. The professor must be more dumb than Memnon, but with an ear a. keen and comprehensive as that of Diony- sins. He is a repository of secrets of the heart, and hopes of the purse. a framer of petitions, th.. agent of intrigues, in fact a confessor-gen- eral to the unlettered multitude, reducing into a transmissible shape the desires of the unfor- tunate Monsieur or Madame to whom the mys DEATH TO RATS. teries of writing remain a hieroglyphical puzzle. Their numbers are sufficiently indicative of the ignorance of the inhabitants at large. Yet it oftesi happens that the silence of his mummified existence is uninterrupted for hours. Then per- haps his skill is taxed by a tricky cook, who, perplexed by the unreconcilable balances of her receipts aiid disbursements, seeks an accomplice to reduce her accounts to the required condition to pass examination. To live, it is necessary to be silent, yet a blush will sometimes steal over his withered cheek, as he obediently enters in the account, the bread bought by the cook at one sou. THE TOMB OF ~CRET~. 46 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. charged to Madame, the mistress, at two sous, The examples already given are sufficient tq and thus by a discreet use of the rule of multi- illustrate the modes of livelihood, and the quality plication, finally obtains the coveted balance. of the diet of this class of the population. To The American laborer, who consumes in one finish the sketch it is necessary to show how day more meat than the family of a French they amuse and whence they clothe themselves. ouvrier in a week, would famish upon their Education and religion would with us be the bill of fare. The necessity which begets many primary objects of inquiry, but here they are of their employments pays also but poor wages. lost sight of, in the furor of amusement. Their Yet what would be considered in the United colleges and churches are the low theatres that States as a tribute fit only for the swill-tub or line the Boulevard du Temple, aptly designated beggars basket, in France would, by skill and as the Boulevard of Crimes, from the character- economy, be made to furnish a welcome meal. istics of the plays here performed. These are The dietetic misery of the former country would applauded by their mongrel audiences, a large prove the savory competency of the latter. But proportion of which are children, nurses, and whatever may be the composition of their frugal even infants, in proportion as they are filled repasts, they are eaten with a zest and good with the horrible, supernatural, obscene, vulgar, humor that are not always guests at more sump- and blasphemous. Murders, fights, licentious- tuous repasts. The American laborer eats the ness, assassinations, double-entendre, and the same quality of meat and bread as his employer, coarsest jokes, are their stock in trade. The Either of these to the French workman would most sacred subjects, even death, and the tenants be equivalent to a fite. His bread is coarser, of the grave, and spirits of heaven and hell, are meat inferior, and throughout his whole diet ridiculously parodied. Their very exaggeration there is the same difference in quality as in his of what is ftilse or low in human nature makes clothes. Many of the necessaries of his Amer- them indeed amusing, but no one can witness ican brother he only knows by seeing them in their performances, interrupted as they are by shop-windows. They are able to rear Louvres the stunning shouts of the enthusiastic specta- and Versailles; to build cathedrals and erect tors, without being convinced that they are pow- triumphal gateways; but they would take the erful auxiliaries to infidelity and crime. Their chicken out of every workmans pot, and drive influences are debasing, promotive of skepticism, their children from the common schools to the and particularly destructive to the quiet virtues fields and factories, of domestic life. When the public, as has hap- The science of living well at a cheap rate is pened within three years, at one of the fashion- not understood in the United States. General able theatres, crowd its area to see its youngest necessity has not as yet begotten that special and handsomest actress appear as Eve on the kaowledge. In Paris thirteen sous will provide stage, entirely naked, with the exception of a a tolerable dinner of a dish of soup, loaf of bread, scanty piece of flesh-colored silk tightly drawn and a plate of meat and vegetables mhld. over the loins, we may safely conclude that the This species of healthy and economical aliment- habitu6s of the Boulevard des Crimes are not ation is the heritage of a large class of workmen, over-nice in their moral standard for the drama. and even of impoverished students and artists, Adultery is the staple joke, and a deceived hus- who seek these cheap restaurants under the con- band a legitimate butt. Even at the grand Opera venient cloud of the incognito. There are other female nudity commands a high premium, and resorts where they can eat at the rate of fifteen at all, modesty or veneration would be considered sous by the first hour, eight sous by the second, as the affectations of prudery. and so on. The chief diet being roast veal, as If the theatre may be considered as their good a name as any other, provided the aliment- church, the estaminets, or caf6s, where smok- ary faith is unshaken. We even find dinners at ing is allowed, and the dram-shops, may as ap- four sous, composed of four courses as follows: propriately be classed as their common schools. Vegetable soup son The pleasures of the French are not of a fire- Bread 1 side character. Publicity gives them their chief- Montagnards (great red beans) 1 est zest. Consequently, the time which right- Coffee with su~ar 1 fully belongs to the family, is devoted to the Or four sons per head. It is needless to observe estaminet. True, the bachelor lives or the that to swallow the coffee (which in Paris forbidding homes of the lower orders, would costs forty cents a pound) requires even more seem to open to them no other resource, and at faith than the roast veal, or a Romish miracle, them they can enjoy the fire and lights, which Not a few sewing girls or domestics out of place, are often beyond their means under their own dine daily on a sous worth of bread. The table roofs. I do not, however, inquire into the causes service of the dinners at four sous is very sim- but speak only of the effects of existing customs. pie. The table is an enormous block of wood, Evenings thus spent amid the fumes of the vii- the surface of which is dug out into the form est of tobacco, and the excitement of equally bad of bowls and plates. To each hole are attached, liquor, make fit disciples for the barricades, but with iron chains, knives, forks, and spoons of the poor citizens of a republic. same metal A bucket of water dashed over the The market of the Temple, or, as it is more whole serves to lay the table for the diners commonly called, that of old linen, is one of the next in course. most extraordinary sights of Paris. It is a huge LIFE IN PARIS. 47 wooden bazaar, open on all sides, divided into four grand and innu- merable little ave- nues, and cut up into 1888 minia- ture shops, rented by the city at thir- tv-three sons each weekly, producing an annual income of about thirty-two thousand dollars. There are four quarters, known respectively as the Carr6 du Palais Royal, a sort of parody on the true Palais Royal, com- prising the silk, lace, and glove merch~ nts, and the venders of every species of foppery required to make up the second rate lion, or copy of a fine lady. Here, too, are the traps or baiting-places of sellers of bric-a-brac, who waylay their prey in the vestibules, and thence conduct them to their rich wares close by, buried in the most frightful of houses. Among them we find furniture of buhl, porcelain of S~vres and Japan, a world THE PAVILION OF FLOISA. ESTAMINET of curiosities, and an untold wealth of satins, and the richest of merchandise, sold cheaper because stored cheaper, than in the luxurious shops of the Rue Vivienne and Rue de la Paix. The stupefied customer, who sought a cheap baga- telle, finds himself confronted in these obscure retreats by artistic caprices, to be had for no less than ten thousand francs each. The second quarter, the Pavillion of Flora, a little less aristocratic than the preceding, comprises the more useful household objects, of a cheap and dubious character. In the third, le Pou Volant (the reader will pardon me the transla- tion), rags, old iron, and indescribable wares pre- dominate. The fourth, and most hazardous, is the Black Forest, a medley of every cheap abomination, new and second-hand. This bazaar has its pe- culiar slang and types of inhabitants. The little shops are called ayons. Hugo naively remarks why not lsaillons. The curious observer can pen- etrate the first t ~o quar- ters without other incon- veniences than repeated but courteous applications for his custom. But it re- quires considerable cour- age and self-possession tn penetrate the mysteries of the Pou Volant and the 48 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. LE CAERE DU PALAIS ROYAL. For~t Noire. Harpies scarcely recognizable as are termed in the argot idiom, rdleuses. Escap- of the female sex, beset his progress, seize him by ing them, he is assailed by a flanking fire of di- the arms or garments, and menace in their rivalry rect apostrophes, half in argot, from their em- literally to divide him into halves. These runners p4oyers. My amiable sir, buy somethingbuy you must buy. What does monsieur want? a carpeta coat to go to a halla cloak, first quality a niolle, good quality a de?crocliez-moi- ~a for madame, your wife ii patent bootsan um- brella piluse, all the fuisqius of St. John, at your choice. Should the adventurer continue on his way with- out replying to the tempta- tions of these commercial sirens, a torrent of min- gled abuse and irony is dis- charged upon him. Ab indeed how much he buys! Very wellone must excuse him. What did he come here for, this picayune fellow? I say. monsieur, let us, at the least, mend the elbows of your coat. He carries his ~ bodywell, tobe sure. C-hi! pane! Let the gentleman pass. He is an embassa- dor on his way to the court of Persia. lici Just beyond this bazaar, rises the Rotonde du LE FORE~ NOi~R Temple, which is to its 7 LIFE IN PARIS. 4.) nei5hbor what the common graves at Thire la Chaise are to the rest of the cemetery. It is the re- ceptacle of all the d~brai of human attire, too mean to find shelf-room even in the market of old linen One sees a pandemonium of rags, tattered garments, rent boots, old bats and every object upon which the heart of a scavenger Jew doats Costumes which have survived the saturnalia of many a carnival, and uniforms discharged by the order of the day or the death of their proprietors, (lating from the empire down, theatrical wardrobes too venerable for active service, and fashions which have long since been driven from human backs, are here mingled in one picturesque equal- ity of poverty Even out of such a collection Parisian taste contrives to make a not unpleasing effect As with Parisian pauperism, it has a deaner and more cheerful look than English in- digence and old clothes. The Rotonde is circular, with a cloister in the exterior of forty-four arcades. A damp and dark court occupies the interior. It is a species of low rival to the bazaar, and limited in its circum- ference; it is computed to lodge more than a thousand inhabitants. They drink and dine at the neighboring wine-shops and caf6s, known a. the Elephant, Two Lions, and kindred names. At these, brandy is eight sous the bottle, a ra- gout three sons, and a cup of coffee one cent. There are resorts still cheaper and lower, such as the Field of the Wolg frequented by the most brutal of the denizens of this quarter, who in their orgies not unfrequently mingle blood with the blue fluid that they swallow for wine. The greater part of these dram shops add to their debasing occupation that of usury. But as we have now arrived at that point where the line which marks the boundary between legiti- mate industry and crime becomes indistinct, I stop. VOL VII No 37 -D ROTONDE DU TEMPLE. HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. NAPOLEON BONAPARTE. BY JOHN S C. ABBOTT ITALY AND SPAIN. MUCH has been said respecting certain secret articles in the Treaty of Tilsit Napoleon and Alexander privately agreed to unite their forces against England, if she, refusing the mediation of Russia, should persist, as she had now done for ten years, in embroiling the Con- tinent in war. They also agreed to combine against Turkey, should the Porte repel th6 mediation of Prance The two powers also engaged, should England refuse peace, unitedly to summon Sweden, Denmark, Portugal, and Austria to close their ports against English merchandise. Such were the terms of the oc- cult treaty. Napoleon, concentrating all his energies to the promotion of the prosperity of France, pa- tiently awaited the result of the negotiations commenced by Russia with England. He sent a special emhassador to Turkey to endeavor to secure peace between that power and Russia He was successful. The Turk accepted his mediation, and the sword was sheathed. En- gland, finding herself abandoned by all her for- mer allies, immediately sought a coalition with Turkey. She strove to counteract the peaceful influence of France, by justly representing that Alexander was hungering for the provinces of the Turkish Empire. By these means she ere long roused Turkey again to war The medi- ation of Russia with England, was entirely un- successful. The cabinet of St. James at first evaded the application, and then proudly, con- temptuously, and with an energy which amazed the world, rejected all overtures. Briefly we must~record this new act of En- glish aggression, which roused the indignation of all Europe. The kingdom of Denmark had most studiously maintained neutrality Jealous of the increasing power of Prance, she had stationed the Danish army upon her frontiers Apprehendiiig nothing from England, her sea- board was entirely unprotected. Napoleon, with delicacy but with firmness, had informed Den- mark, that should England refuse the mediation of Russia, all the powers of Europe must choose in the desperate conflict, the one side or the other. The most perfectly friendly relations then existed between England and Denmark. The cabinet of St James, apprehensive that Napoleon would succeed in attaching Denmark to the Continental alliance against the sovereign of the seas, resolved to take possession of the Danish fleet. This fleet, unprotected and un- conscious of peril, was anchored in the harbor of Copenhagen Denmark, at peace with all the world, had but 5000 troops in the fortresses which surrounded her metropolis. Secretly the English government fitted out an expedition. It consisted of 25 sail of the line, 40 frigates, 377 transports. About 30,000 men were conveyed in the fleet. Suddenly this pow- erful armament appeared in the waters of the Sound, and landing 20,000 man, under the com- mand of the Duke of Wellington, then Sir Arthur Wellesley, invested the doomed city by land and by sea. An agent was immediately dispatched to the Prince Royal of Denmark, then regent of the kingdom, to sunimon the surrender of the fortresses and of the fleet. Mr. Jackson, a man of insolent manners and of envenomed spirit, was worthy of the mission. He assigned to the Prince, as a reason for the act, that the British cabinet deemed it necessary to secure the pas- sage of the Sound, and to take the Danish fleet, lest both should fall into the power of the French He therefore demanded, under peril of a bom- bardment, that the fortress, the port of Copen- hagen, and the fleet should be immediately sur- rendered to the English army. He promised that the whole, when the danger was over, should be returned again to Denmark, and that in the mean time the English would conduct as friends, and pay for all they should consume. And with what, exclaimed the indignant Prince, would you pay for our lost honor, if we were to accede to this infamous proposal 3 Mr. Jackson replied, War is war. One must suhmit to its necessities. The weaker party must yield to the stronger. The interview was short and hitter. The par- ties separated. The Prince, unable to present any resistance, heroically enveloped himself in despair. The English envoy returned to the fleet, and the signal was given for the fearful execution of the threatened doom. The English had taken with them an immense quantity of heavy artillery. They were also accompanied by Colonel Congreve, who was to make trial, for the first time, of his destructive rockets As there were a few thousand regular troops behind the ramparts of the city, it was not deemed prudent to attempt to carry the place by assault. The English having established themselves beyond the reach of danger, reared their batteries and constructed their furnaces for red-hot shot. Calmly, energetically, mercilessly, all their ar- rangements for the awful deed were consum- mated. They refrained from firing a single gun, until their furnaces were completed, and their batteries were in perfect readiness to rain down an overwhelming storm of destruction upon the helpless capital of Denmark. Nothing can be imagined more awful, more barbarous, than the bombardment of a crowded city Shot and shells have no mercy They are heedless of the cry of mothers and of maid- ens. They turn not from the bed of languish- ing, nor from the cradle of infancy. Copenhagen contained 100,000 inhabitants. It was reposing in all the quietude of peace and prosperity. On the evening of the 2d of September, the appall- ing storm of war and woe commenced. A tre- mendous fire of howitzers, bombs, and rockets, burst upon the city The very earth trembled beneath the terrific thunders of the cannonade. During all the long hours of this dreadful night, and until the noon of the ensuing day, the de- struction and the carnage continued. The city 50

HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. NAPOLEON BONAPARTE. BY JOHN S C. ABBOTT ITALY AND SPAIN. MUCH has been said respecting certain secret articles in the Treaty of Tilsit Napoleon and Alexander privately agreed to unite their forces against England, if she, refusing the mediation of Russia, should persist, as she had now done for ten years, in embroiling the Con- tinent in war. They also agreed to combine against Turkey, should the Porte repel th6 mediation of Prance The two powers also engaged, should England refuse peace, unitedly to summon Sweden, Denmark, Portugal, and Austria to close their ports against English merchandise. Such were the terms of the oc- cult treaty. Napoleon, concentrating all his energies to the promotion of the prosperity of France, pa- tiently awaited the result of the negotiations commenced by Russia with England. He sent a special emhassador to Turkey to endeavor to secure peace between that power and Russia He was successful. The Turk accepted his mediation, and the sword was sheathed. En- gland, finding herself abandoned by all her for- mer allies, immediately sought a coalition with Turkey. She strove to counteract the peaceful influence of France, by justly representing that Alexander was hungering for the provinces of the Turkish Empire. By these means she ere long roused Turkey again to war The medi- ation of Russia with England, was entirely un- successful. The cabinet of St. James at first evaded the application, and then proudly, con- temptuously, and with an energy which amazed the world, rejected all overtures. Briefly we must~record this new act of En- glish aggression, which roused the indignation of all Europe. The kingdom of Denmark had most studiously maintained neutrality Jealous of the increasing power of Prance, she had stationed the Danish army upon her frontiers Apprehendiiig nothing from England, her sea- board was entirely unprotected. Napoleon, with delicacy but with firmness, had informed Den- mark, that should England refuse the mediation of Russia, all the powers of Europe must choose in the desperate conflict, the one side or the other. The most perfectly friendly relations then existed between England and Denmark. The cabinet of St James, apprehensive that Napoleon would succeed in attaching Denmark to the Continental alliance against the sovereign of the seas, resolved to take possession of the Danish fleet. This fleet, unprotected and un- conscious of peril, was anchored in the harbor of Copenhagen Denmark, at peace with all the world, had but 5000 troops in the fortresses which surrounded her metropolis. Secretly the English government fitted out an expedition. It consisted of 25 sail of the line, 40 frigates, 377 transports. About 30,000 men were conveyed in the fleet. Suddenly this pow- erful armament appeared in the waters of the Sound, and landing 20,000 man, under the com- mand of the Duke of Wellington, then Sir Arthur Wellesley, invested the doomed city by land and by sea. An agent was immediately dispatched to the Prince Royal of Denmark, then regent of the kingdom, to sunimon the surrender of the fortresses and of the fleet. Mr. Jackson, a man of insolent manners and of envenomed spirit, was worthy of the mission. He assigned to the Prince, as a reason for the act, that the British cabinet deemed it necessary to secure the pas- sage of the Sound, and to take the Danish fleet, lest both should fall into the power of the French He therefore demanded, under peril of a bom- bardment, that the fortress, the port of Copen- hagen, and the fleet should be immediately sur- rendered to the English army. He promised that the whole, when the danger was over, should be returned again to Denmark, and that in the mean time the English would conduct as friends, and pay for all they should consume. And with what, exclaimed the indignant Prince, would you pay for our lost honor, if we were to accede to this infamous proposal 3 Mr. Jackson replied, War is war. One must suhmit to its necessities. The weaker party must yield to the stronger. The interview was short and hitter. The par- ties separated. The Prince, unable to present any resistance, heroically enveloped himself in despair. The English envoy returned to the fleet, and the signal was given for the fearful execution of the threatened doom. The English had taken with them an immense quantity of heavy artillery. They were also accompanied by Colonel Congreve, who was to make trial, for the first time, of his destructive rockets As there were a few thousand regular troops behind the ramparts of the city, it was not deemed prudent to attempt to carry the place by assault. The English having established themselves beyond the reach of danger, reared their batteries and constructed their furnaces for red-hot shot. Calmly, energetically, mercilessly, all their ar- rangements for the awful deed were consum- mated. They refrained from firing a single gun, until their furnaces were completed, and their batteries were in perfect readiness to rain down an overwhelming storm of destruction upon the helpless capital of Denmark. Nothing can be imagined more awful, more barbarous, than the bombardment of a crowded city Shot and shells have no mercy They are heedless of the cry of mothers and of maid- ens. They turn not from the bed of languish- ing, nor from the cradle of infancy. Copenhagen contained 100,000 inhabitants. It was reposing in all the quietude of peace and prosperity. On the evening of the 2d of September, the appall- ing storm of war and woe commenced. A tre- mendous fire of howitzers, bombs, and rockets, burst upon the city The very earth trembled beneath the terrific thunders of the cannonade. During all the long hours of this dreadful night, and until the noon of the ensuing day, the de- struction and the carnage continued. The city 50 NAPOLEON BONAPARTE 51 was now on fire in various quarters. Hun- dreds of dwellings x ore blown to pieces. The streets were red with the blood of women and children. Vmt columns of smoke rose from the burning capital. The English waited a few hours, hoping that the chastisement had been sufficiently severe to induce the surrender. Gen- eral Peymann, intrusted with the defense of the metropolis, gazed upon the spectacle of woe around him, his heart almost bursting with grief and indignation. He still maintained a firm and gloomy silence. The conflict in his bosom, be- tween the dictates of humanity and the pleadings of a high and honorable pride, was terrific. In the evening the English recommenced their fire. They kept it up all night, the whole of the next day, and the ensuing night. Two thousand of the citizen. had now perished Three bun- dred houses were burned to the ground. Two thousand dwellings had been blown to pieces by the shells. Half of the city was in flames. Sev- eral beautiful churches were in ruins. The arsenal was on fire. For thr e days and three nbrhts those demoniac engines of death, ex- ploding in thronged street, in churches, cham- bers, parlors, nurseries, had filled the city with carnage, frightful beyond all conception. There was no place of safety for helpless infancy or for decrepit age. The terrific shells, crushing through the roofs of the houses, descended to the cellars, bursting, with thunder peal, they buried the mangled forms of the family in the ruins of their dwellings. Happy were they who were instantaneously killed. The wounded, struggling hopelessly beneath the ruins, were slowly burned alive in the smouldering flames THE soa BAROMENT. 52 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE The fragments of shells, flying in every direc- tion, produced ghastly mutilation. The mother, distracted with terror, saw the limbs of her in- fant torn from its body. The father, clasping the form of his daughter to his bosom, witnessed with a delirium of agony, that fair form lacer- ated and mangled hideously in his arms The thunders of the cannonade, the explosion of shells, the crash of falling dwellings, the wide wasting conflagration, the dense volumes of suf- focating smoke, the shrieks of women and chil- dren, the pools of gore in parlors and on pave- ments, the mutilated forms of the dying and of the dead, presented a spectacle which no imagina- tion can compass General Peymann could en- dure this horrible massacre of women and chil- dren no longer Copenhagen was surrendered to England. The victors rushed into the city. Almost every house was more or less shattered. One eighth part of the city was in ashes It required the utmost exertions of both friend and foe to arrest the conflagration They found about fifty vessels, ships, brigs, and frigates, of which they immediately took possession. Two ships of the line upon the stocks were burned; three frigates were also destroyed. All the timber in the ship- yards, the tools of the workmen, and an immense quantity of naval stores, were conveyed on board the English squadron. From the ramparts and the floating batteries they took 3500 pieces of artillery. The prize money divided among the crew amounted, as estimated by Admiral Lord Gambier, to four millions, eight hundred thou- sand dollars. One half of the English crews were then put on hoard the Danish ships. The entire expedition, leaving the hapless metropolis of the Danes drenched with blood and smoulder- ing with fire, made sail for the coast of England. With triumphant salutes and streaming banners of victory, the squadron entered the Thames Such was the emphatic response which the cab- inet of St. James gave to Napoleons earnest ap- peal for peace, through the mediation of Russia. The Duke of Wellington had just returned from boundless conquests in India. At Copenha- gen he commenced that European career, which he afterward terminated so brilliantly at Waterloo. When the expedition returned to London, the Iron Duke received the thanks of Parliament for the skill and efficiency with which he had con- ducted the bombardment Copenhagen and Waterloo! The day is not far distant when England will he willing to forget them both.* * Say the Berkeiy men in the Napoleon Dyn ty, Sir Arthur Weiiesiey had been recaiied from the East Indies, where he had achieved ail his fame hitherto, by a career of robbery and crime, extortion, murder, and ihe extinc- tion of nations, compared with which Napoleons worst acts of usurpation, in the height of his ambition, paled ints iniignificance And here we will allow troih to arrest us lhr a single moment, while we enter our protest against asy of the complaints of England or of English writers about the usurpatiens of Napoleon. For the sole purpose of self-ag,,randizemene England has robbed more territory, taken mere lives, confiscated more property, enslaved more men, and wrought wider and darker ruin on the plains of Asia, than Napoleon can ever be charged In reference to this deed there was hut one sentiment throughout all Europe. Nowhere was it more severely condemned than in England. Distinguished members of both houses of Par- liament, and the masses of the people raised a loud cry of indignation. Lord Grenville, Adding- ton, Sheridan, Grey, and others, most vehement- ly expressed their aborrence. All idea of peace was now abandoned. England on the one hand, and Napoleon on the other, prepared for the most desperate renewal of the strife Russia was extremely anxious to wrest from the Turks the provinces of Moldavia and Wal- lachia upon the Danube She would thus make a long stride toward Constantinople. The Turks, unaided by other powers, could not prevent this conquest. Napoleon was reluctant to allow Russia to make such an advance toward the Empire of the East. With great hesitancy he was at times half disposed, for the sake of se- curing the friendship of Alexander, to consent to this encroachment. rfhe British cabinet im- mediately dispatched a messenger to Alexander to endeavor to secure his favor, by offering to aid him in ohtaining these provinces. An envoy extraordinary was sent to Austria, to dispose her to see with calmness Moldavia and Wallachia become the property of the Russians. The En- glish embassador at St. Petersburg endeavored to apologize for the affair of Copenhagen. He said that the British mirpsters had merely en- deavored to deprive the common enemy of Eu- rope of the means of doing mischief; that Rus- sia ought to rejoice over the event instead of being irritated by it; that England relied upon Rtissia .to bring back Denmark to a more just appreciation of the occurrence, and that the fleet should be returned to the Danes if Denmark would join against Napoleon. Alexander was indignant, and returned a haughty reply Di- plomatic intercourse between the two countries soon ceased. Alexander immediately sent for General Sa- vary, the envoy of Napoleon, and thus addressed him: You know that our efforts for peace have ended in war I expected it. But I confess I did not expect either the Copenhagen expedition, or the arrogance of the British cahinet Mv resolution is taken, and. I am ready to fulfill my engagements. I am entirely disposed to follow that conduct which shall hest suit your master I have seen Napoleon I flatter myself that I have inspired him with a part of the sentiments with which he has inspired me. I am certain with, if upon his single head were to rain down the curses of every widow and orphan made in Europe for a quarter of a century It is unholy mockery of truth, it is puritanic cant, it is English spite against Napoleons eagles England began under the administration of Pitt, the work of crushing the French Republic. She kept it up to gratify the ambition and spite of her ministers, and she carried it through to maintain the position she had taken It was all a costly, and well-nigh a fatal mistake for En,,iand. And her historians have no business what. ever, to vent their spleen upon the only man on the Co - tinent who ventured to set limits to the proud empire of Britain. Strong and impassioned as is this utterance, it can not be controverted by facts. NAPOLEON BONAPARTE. that he is sincere Oh, that I could see him as at Tilsitevery day, every hour. What talent for conversation! What an understanding! What a genius! How much should I gain by living frequently near him! How many things he has taught me in a few days I But we are so far distant! However, I hope to visit him soon Alexander requested permission to purchase muskets from the French manufactories. I desire, said he, that the two armies, now des- tined to serve the same cause, may use the same weapons. He also solicited permission to send the cadets, who were to serve in the Russian navy, to France for their education. These friendly expressions were accompanied by a magnificent present of furs, for the Emperor Napoleon. I wish to be his furrier, said Alexander. Napoleon was greatly embarrassed. The cordial friendship of Alexander gratified him. He perceived the intensity of desire with which this ambitious monarch was contemplating Constantinople, and a mighty empire in the East. The growth of Russia threatened to overshadow Europe, and to subjugate the world. Leaning upon the north pole, with her right hand grasp- ing the Baltic, and her left the Dardanelles, she might claim universal sovereignty Nothing would satisfy Alexander but permission to march toward the East. Napoleon earnestly desired his friendship, and also feared to make conces- sions too dangerous for the repose of Europe He sent Caulaincourt to St. Petersburg, as his confidential embassador; informed him fully of his embarrassments~ and urged him to do every thing in his power to maintain the alliance with- out encouraging the designs of Alexander upon the Turkish Empire. That Caulaincourt might worthily represent the great nation, Napoleon allowed him the sum of 160,000 dollars a year, and placed in his suite several of the most dis- tinguished young men of France. He also wrote a letter to Alexander, thanking him for his pres- ents, and returning still more magnificent gifts of S~vres porcelain. Denmark promptly threw herself into the arms of Napoleon. A strong division of French troops, at the solicitation of the Danish court, immediately entered Denmark for its protection. Alexander himself, having been brought under the fascinations of Napoleons mind at Tilsit was perfectly enthusiastic in his admiration of his new ally. But the Russian nobles, having never seen the great enchanter, trembled at the advance of democratic freedom The republican equality of France would elevate the serf and depress the noble. The Czar was willing that his haughty lords should lose a little of their power, and that his degraded serfs should become a little more manly. Hence there arose two parties in Rus- sia. One, headed by the haughty Queen Mother, and embraced by most of the nobles, was for war with France, the Emperor was at the head of the less numerous and the less influential peace party. Caulaincourt, conscious of the hostility stillex isting in the bosoms of the Russian nobles toward Napoleon, sent an employ6 into the circles of the old aristocracy at Moscow, to report to him what was said there. Freely the nobles censured the sudden change at Tilsit, by which the young Czar had espoused the policy of France War with England struck the commerce of Russia a deadly blow. Nothing, they said, could com- pensate for such sacrifices but obtaining posses- sion of Moldavia and Wallachia. Napoleon, however, they affirmed, will never allow Russia to take those fine provinces Caulaincourt imme- diately transmitted these particulars to Napoleon He assured the Emperor that notwithstanding the sincerity of Alexander, the court of Russia, deeply mortified, could not be relied upon. Na- poleon pondered the question long and anxiously. The alliance of Russia was of vital importance. The aggressive power of Russia, overshadowing Europe with its gloom of despotism, was greatly to be dreaded. The Turks, having deposed, im- prisoned, and finally put to death Sultan Selim, the friend of Napoleon, were now cutting off the heads of all who were in favor of alliance with France The agents of England ~ere busy in rousing the barbarian Turks. They did not hold themselves accountable for the excesses which ensued. Napoleon was not much troubled with con- scientious scruples about transferring the sover- eignty of Turkish provinces to Russia. The only claims the Turks had to those provinces were claims obtained by fire and swordby outrages, the recital of which causes the ear to tin0le. The right of proud despots to rob a people of liberty and of happiness is not a very sacred right. Bad as was the government of Russia, the gov- ernment of Turkey was still worse. Napoleon consequently did not hesitate to consent to the transfer of these provinces because he thought it would be wrong, but simply because bethought it would be impolitic. The Turkish government waging now a savage war against him, and in alliance with England, his ever relentless foe, could claim from his hand no special protection. Napoleon could not, however, merely step aside, and let Turkey and Russia settle their difficulties between themselves. Turkey and England were now united as one power against France. Ihe Turks, in defiance of Napoleons mediation, had renewed the war against Alexander. France was consequently pledged by the treaty of Tilsit to unite her armies with those of Russia. Under these circumstances Napoleon proposed a conference with Alexander, and with Francis of Austria, to consider the whole Turkish ques- tion. He alto suggested a grand, gigantic en- terprise, of t lie three united powers, to cross the continent of Asia, and attack the English in the territories which they had invaded in india. Aus- tria was deeply interested in this matter. Already she was overshadowed by the colossal empire of the North. To have the mouths of the Danube, the Mississippi of Austria, in the hands of the Turks, indolent as they were, was bad enough. The transfer of the portals of that majestic stream 54 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. to the custody of her great rival, Russia, was to be resisted at all hazards. Alexander received the proposal of a conference with transports of joy The acquisition of the coveted provinces would add to the glory of his reign, would im- measurably increase the prospective greatness of Russia, and would compel the nobles to a cordial approval of his alliance with France. So deeply was Alexander excited, that he read the letter of Napoleon with trembling eagerness. Caulain- court, who had delivered to him the letter, was present. Ah ! exclaimed Alexander, again and again, as he read the welcome lines, the great man the great man! Tell him that I am devoted to him for life. My empire, my armies, are all at his disposal. When I ask him to grant some- thing to satisfy the pride of the Russian nation, it is not from ambition that I speak. I wish to give him that nation whole and entire, and as devoted to his great projects as I am myself. Your master purposes to interest Austria in the dismemberment of the Turkish empire. He is in the right. It is a wise conception. I cordially Join in it. He designs an expedition to India. I con- sent to that too. I have already made him ac- quainted, in our long conversations at Tilsit, with the difficulties attehding it. He is accustomed to take no account of obstacles. Nevertheless the climate and distances here, present such as sur- pass all that he can imagine. But let him be easy. The preparations on my part shall he pro- portioned to the difficulties. We must come to an understanding about the territories which we are going to wrest from Turkish barbarism This subject, however, can he usefully discussed only in an interview between me and Napoleon. As soon as our ideas have arrived at a commence- ment of maturity, I shall leave St Petersburg, and go to meet your Emperor at whatever dis- tance he p1eases. I should like to go as far as Paris. But I can not. Besides, it is a meeting upon business which we want, not a meeting for parade and pleasure. We might choose Weimar, where he would be among our own family. But even there we should be annoyed by a thousand things. At Erfurt we should be more free, more to ourselves. Propose that place to your sov- ereign. When his answer arrives I will set out immediately. I shall travel like a courier Here originated the idea of the celebrated con- ference which was soon held at Erfurt. After many long interviews between the Russian min- ister and the French embassador, two plans were addressed to Napoleon for his consideration. The one proposed but a partial division of the Turk- ish empire. The Turks were to ~e left in pos- session of the Dardanelles, the Bosphorus, and of all their Asiatic possessions Russia was to have the coveted provinces of Moldavia and Wal- lachia, upon the left of the Danube, and Bulgaria upon the right. Austria, as a consolation for seeing the Colossus of the North take so long a step toward universal power, was to receive Servia and Bosnia Greece was to be emancipated from its Turkish oppressors, and placed under the pro- tection of France The second plan was bold and gigantic in the extreme. All of Europe and all of Asia Minor were to be rescued from Turk- ish sway. Russia was to gratify her long and intensely cherished ambition, in taking posses- sion of Constantinople, and all the adjoining provinces on each side of the Bosphorus. Austria was to receive a rich accession to her territory in the partition All of Greece, all the islands of the Archipelago, the straits of the Dardanelles, Cyprus, Syria, and Egypt were to be transferred to France. Such were the plans proposed by the Russian cabinet to Napoleon It was not deemed prudent to affix any signature to a paper con- taining propositions of such startling magnitude. As the documents were placed in the hands of the French embassador to be conveyed to Napo- leon, Alexander, whose ambition was excited to its highest pulsations, said to him: Tell Napo- leon that this note meets my full approbation. It is an authentic expression of the ideas of the Russian cabinet. * * This extraordinary document, so characteristic of the times, and of the iiiustrious personages then, by their position and energies, controlting the fate of Europe, we give in fuil, unaitered and unabridged: Since his Majesty, the Emperor of the French and the King of Italy, & c., has recently adjudged that in order to attain a general peace, and to secure the tranquillity of Europe, it would be expedient to weaken the Ottoman empire, by the dismemberment of its provinces, the Em- peror Alexaiider, faithful to his engagements and to his friendship, is ready to concur in it. The first idea which could not fail to present itself to the Emperor of all the itussias, who is fond of calling to mind the occurrences at Tilsit, when this overture was made to him, was that the Emperor, his ally, purposed to proceed immediately to the execution of what the two monarchs had agreed upon in the treaty of alliance relative to the Turks; and that he added to it the proposal of an expedition to India It had been settled at Tilsit that the Ottoman power was to be driven back into Asia, retaining in Europe no- thing but the city of Constantinople and Roumelia. There was drawn at the same time this consequence, that the Emperor of the French should acquire Albania, and Morea, and the island of Candia. Wallachia and Moldavia were next allotted to Russia, giving that empire the Danube for its boundary, compre- hending Bessarabia, which is in fact a strip of sea-coast, and which is commonly considered as forming part of Moldavia. If to this portion be added Bulgaria, the Em- peror is ready to concur in the expedition to India, of which there had been then no question, provided that this expedition to India, as the Emperor Napoleon himself has just traced its route, shall proceed through Asia Minor. The Emperor Alexander applauded himself for the idea of gaining the concurrence of a corps of Austrian troops in the expedition to India, and as the Emperor, his ally, seemed to wish that it should not be numerous, he conceives that this concurrence would be adequately compensated by awarding to Austria Turkish Croatia and Bosnia. unless the Emperor of the French should find it convenient to retain a portion of them There might, moreover, be offered to Austria a less direct but very con- siderable interest, by settling the future condition of Servia, incontestably one of the fine provinces of the Ottoman empire, in the following manner. The Servians are a warlike people, and that quality, which always commands esteem, must excite a wish to regulate their lot judiciously t The Servians, flaught with a feeling of just ven- geance against the Turks, have boldly shaken off the yoke of their oppressors, and are, it is said, resolved never ti.. NAPOLEON BONAPARTE. 55 Upon receiving this communication, Napoleon peremptorily refused his assent to the latter plan. No consideration could induce him to permit Rus- sia to take possession of Constantinople. He was ready to break the alliance, and to see that immense power again arrayed against him, rather wear it again. In order to consolidate peace, it seems necessary, therefore, to make them independent of the Turks. The peace of Tilsit determines nothing in regard to them. Their own wish, expressed strongly and more than once, has led them to implore the Emperor Alexander to admit them into the number of his subjects. This attach- ment to his person makes him desirous that they should live happy and content, without insisting upon extending his sway. His Majesty seeks no acquisition that could obstruct peace. lie makes with pleasure -this sacrifice, and all those which can contribute to render it speedy and solid. He proposes, in consequence, to erect Servia into an independent kingdom, to give its crown to one of the Archdukes who is not the head of any sovereign branch, and who is sufficiently remote from the succession to the throne of Austria; and in this case it should be stipulated that this kingdom should never be incorporated with the mass of the dominions of that house. This whole supposition of the dismemberment of the Turkish provinces, as explained above, being founded upon the engagements at Tilsit, has not appeared to offer any difficulty to the two persons commissioned by the two Emperors to discuss together the means of attaining the ends proposed by their Imperial Majesties. The Emperoc of Russia is ready to take part in a treaty between the three emperors which should fix the conditions above expressed; but on the other hand, hav- ing conceived that the letter which he recently received from the Emperor of the French seemed to indicate the resolution of a much more extended dismemberment of the Ottoman empire than that which had been projected be- tWeen them at Tilsit, that monarch, in order to meet the interests of the three imperial courts, and particularly in order to give the Emperor, his ally, all the proofs of friendship and deference that are in his power, has de- clared that, without wanting a further diminution of the strength of the Ottoman Porte, he would cheerfully concur in it. He has laid down as a principle of his interest in this greater partition, that his share of the increased acquisi- tion should be moderate in extent or magnitude, and that he would consent that the share of his ally in particular should be marked out of much larger proportion. His Majestyhas added that beside this principle of moderation he placed one of wisdom, which consisted in not finding himself by this new plan of partition worse placed than he is at the present in regard to boundaries and commer- cial relations. Setting out with these two principles, the Emperor Alexander would see, not only without jealousy but with pleasure, the Emperor Napoleon acquire and incorporate with his dominion, in addition to what has been men- tioned above, all the islands of the Archipelago, Cyprus, Rhodes, and even whatever is left of the seaports of the Levant, Syria, and E,ypt. In case of this more extensive partition, the Emperor Alexander would change his preceding opinion respecting the state of Servia. Studying to form an honorable and highly advantageous share for the house of Austria, he should wish that Servia should be incorporated with the mass of the Austrian dominions, and that there should be added to it Macedonia, with the exception of that part of Macedonia which France might desire in order to fortify her Albanian frontier, so as that France might obtain Salonichi This line of the Austrian frontier might be drawn from Scopia to Orphane, and would make the power of the house of Austria extend to the sea. Croatia might belong to France or to Austria, as the Emperor Napoleon pleases. The Emperor Alexander can not disguise from his ally that, finding a particular satisfaction in all that has been said at Tilsit, he l)laces, according to the advice of the Etnperor, his friend, those possessions of the house of than thus betray the liberties of Europe. Con- stantinople, said Alexander, is the key of my house. Constantinople ! exclaimed Napo- leon. It is the dominion of the world. The possession of European Turkey will en- able Russia to bid defiance to every foe. The Austria between theirs, in order to avoid the point of con- tact, always so liable to cool friendship. The share of Russia in this new and extensive parti- tion would have added to that which was awarded to her in the preceding plan, the possession of the city of Con- stantinople, with a radius of a few leagues in Asia; and in Europe, part of Rournelia, so as that the frontier of Rus- sia, on the side of the nbw possessions of Austria, setting out from Bulgaria, should follow the frontier of Servia to a little beyond Solismick, and the chain of mountains which runs from Solismick to Trayanpol inclusive, and then the river Moriza to the sea. In the conversation which has taken place respecting this second plan of partition, there has been this dillerenes of opinion, that one of the two persons conceived that, if Russia were to possess Constantinople, France ought to possess the Dardanelles, or at least to appropriate to her- selfthat whichwas on the Asiatic side. I his assertion was contested, on the other part, upon the ground of the im- mense disproportion proposed to be made in the shares of this new and greater partition, and that even the occupa- tion of the fort would utterly destroy this principle of the Emperor of Russia not to be worse placed than he now is in regard to his geographical and commercial relations. The Etnperor Alexander, moved by the feeling of his extreme friendship for the Emperor Napoleon, has de- clared, with a view to remove the difficulty; istly. That he would agree to a military road for France, running through the newpossessions ofAustria and Russia, open- ing to her a military route to the ports of Syria. 2ndly. That, if the Emperor Napoleon wished to possess Smyrna, or any other port on the coast of Natolia, from the point of that coast which is opposite to Mitylene to that which is situated opposite to Rhodes, and should send troops thither to conquer them, the Emperor Alexander is ready to assist in this enterprise, .by joining, for this purpose, a corps of his troops to the French troops. Idly. That if Smyrna, or any other possession on the coast of Natolia, such as has just been pointed out, having come under ths dominion of France, should afterward be attacked, not merely by the Turks, but even by the English, in hatred of that treaty, his Majesty the Emperor of Russia will, in that case, proceed to the aid of his ally, whenever he shall be required to do so. 4thly. His Majesty thinks that the house of Austria might, on the same footing, assist France in taking pos- session of Salonichi, and proceed to the aid of that port whenever it shall be required of her. ithly. The Emperor of Russia declares that he has no wish to acquire the south coast of the Black Sea, which is in Asia, though, in the discussion, it was thought that it might be desirable for him. 6thly. The Emperor of Russia has declared that what- ever might be the success of his troops in India, he should not desire to possess any thing there, and that he would cheerfully consent that France should make for herself all the territorial acquisitions in India which she might think fit. And~that it should be likewise at her option to cede any portion of the conquests which she might make there to her allies. If the two allies agree together in a precise manner, that they adopt one or the other of these two plans of parti- tion, his Majesty the Emperor Alexander will have ex- treme pleasure in repairing to the personal interview which has been proposed to him, and which could perhaps take place at Erfurt. He conceives that it would be ad- vantageous if the basis of the engagements that are to made there, were previously fixed with a sort of precision, that the two emperors may have nothing to add to the ex- treme satisfaction of seeing one another but that of being enabled to sign without delay the fate of this part of this globe, and thereby, as they purpose to themselves, to force England to desire that p ace from which she now keeps aloof willfully and with such boastittg. 56 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. Black Sea becomes a Russian harbor which no St. Helena Europe now promises to become enemy can penetrate. How this conquest is t.o Cossack. be prevented is now the great problem which Austria was in great perplexity. She dreaded agitates every cabinet in the old world. The the liberal opinions which France was every foresight of Napoleon anticipated this question. where diffusing. She was inconsolable for the In half a century, said he, at St. Helena, loss of Italy. She was intensely mortified by Europe will become either Republican or Cos. the defeats of Ulm and Austerlitz. She was sack. Republican equality was entombed at much alarmed by the encroachments of Alexan TOE RECEPTION AT VENICE NAPOLEON BONAPARTE 57 d e r, her great rival. On the other hand she was unable to cope with France, even with Rus- sia as an ally. How then could she resist France and Russia combined! England, always un- popular, had become absolutely odious to Europe by her conduct at Copenhagen. Yet through England alone could Austria hope to regain Italy, and to retard the appalling growth of Itus- sia. Napoleon was perfectly frank in his com- munications with the court of Vienna. There was no occasion for intrigue. He sincerely wished to unite Austria and Russia with France, that, upon perfectly equitable terms, peace might be forced upon England. He desired notbing so much as leisure to develop the resources of France, and to make his niajestic empire the garden of the world Weary of contending with all Europe against him, he was willing to make almost any concessions for the sake of peace. England,~~ said he, is the great enemy of peace. The world demands repose. England can not hold out against the strongly expressed unanimity of the Continent. The Austrian court, never frank and honora- ble, with much hesitancy, joined the continental alliance. An envoy was dispatched to the court of St. James, with two messages. The one was public and for the ear of Europe. It declared that France, through the mediation of Russia, had proposed equitable terms for peace; and, that, if England now refused peace, all nations must combine against her, The other message was secret and deceitful It stated that Austria, left alone upon the Continent, could not resist France and Russia There was a little blending of magnanimity in the addition, that England ought to think of peace; that if she still per- sisted in war her best friends would be com- pelled to abandon her. The Austrian embassa- dor was also commissioned boldly to declare, that the act, perpetrated at Copenhagen, was an outrage which was deeply felt by every neutral state. About this time Napoleon left Paris for a tour through Italy. He passed from city to city, with his accustomed celerity, allowing himself no time for repos~ With a glance of the eye he decided, and decided wisely, upon the most im- portant public works He left Paris the 16th of November, 1807. . Josephine accompanied him At midnight of the 15th, at the close of a brilliant assembly in the Tuileries, Napoleon said, in retiring, to an attendant, carriages at six, for Italy This was the only announce- ment of his journey. Even Josephine had re- ceived no previous notice On the morning of the 21st, his chariot wheels were rattling over the pavements of Milan. Eugene was taken by surprise Immediately on the morning of his arrival, Napoleon visited the Cathedral of Milan, where a Te Deum was chanted. His pensive and impassioned spirit ever enjoyed the tolling of bells, the peal of the organ, the swell of the anthem, the dim religious light, struggling through aisles and groined arches, and amidst the pillars and gorgeous adornings of the most imposing temples of wow~hip. His serious and earnest nature was never attuned to mirthfulness. THE RETURN FEOM ITALY. 58 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. THE FLIGHT OF THE PORTUGUESE COURT. In no scene of midnight wassail or bacchanalian fame of their manly virtues. To restore that revelry was he evcr found. Napoleon seldom renown and those virtucs will be the object and smiled. A gentle melancholy overshadowed him. the glory of my reian The Italians had not Intense earnestness pervaded his bein~. In the listened to such noble words for ages. afternoon he visited the vice-queen, the young The three next days were devoted to business. and noble bride of Eugene. In the evening he Tunumerable orders were dispatched. In cross- went to the theatre, to show himself to the ing Monut Cenis, by the new road which he had Italians For comedy, he had no relish. The constructed, he was impressed with the deficiency soul-stirring incidents of the most exalted trag- of accomniodation for travelers on those bleak edy, he richly enjo;~d. The Legislative Assen- and snow-drifted heights He gave srders for bly was immediately called together Napoleon the creation of three hamlets, One upon the thus addressed them, Gentlemen! It is with summit of the mountain, and one at the com- pleasure that I see you around my throne. After mencement of the ascent on each side. On the an absence of three years, I am much gratified summit he ordered the erection of a church, an to observe the progress which has been made by inn, a hospital, and a barrack Hc granted ex- my people. But there are still many things to emption from taxes for all the peasa~its who he done ere the errors of our fathers can be would settle in these hainleis. A populati~ effaced, and Italy reiidered worthy of the high was commenced, by establishing bands of sot- destiny reserved for her. The intestine divisions diers at each of these points. charged to keep of our ancestors, occasioned by their miserable the road, over the difficult mountain pass, in ogotism and love of individual localities, led to repair, and to assemble, in case of accident, the gradual loss of all their rights. The country wherever thoir ssistance mieht be needed. was disinherited of its rank and dignity, be- Having in a few days accomplished orks which queathed by those who in remote ages had would have occupied roost minds for months, on spread afar the renown of their arms, and the the 10th of December, he set off for Venice, tak NAPOLEON BONAPARTE. ing the road by Brescia, Verona and Padua He was greeted, wherever he appeared, by the most enthusiastic acciamations of the people. On the road, he met the King and Queen of Bavaria, whose daughter Eugene had married, his sister Eliza, and his brother Joseph, whom he most fondly loved. The three royal bands united. In one meteor of splendor they swept gorgeously along over the hills and through the valleys of rejoicing and regenerated Italy. Ar- rivin g at Venice, the authorities, and a vast pop- ulation, awaited him in gondolas decorated with silken hangings and with streaming banners. He was floated along the crystal streets of the proud queen of the Adriatic, enveloped in the most exultant strains of music, and in shouts of welcome The barges were indeed freighted with a magnificent company. The Emperor was attended by the Viceroy of Italy and his noble bride, by the King and Queen of Bavaria, the King of Naples, Eliza the Princess of Lucca, Murat the Grand-Duke of Berg, and by Berthier ~he Grand-Duke of Neufehatel. Venice, exulting in her escape from tyrannical laws, earnestly hoped that Napoleon would annex her to the highly-favored Kingdom of Italy. In the midst of these scenes of festivity, Na- poleons energies were all engrossed in devising works of great public utility. He visited the dock-yards, the canals, the arsenal, accompanied by efficient engineers. An enterprise, was im- mediately commenced for rendering the waters of Venice navigable for ships of any burthen He organized an administration for keeping die canals in good condition, and for deepening the lagoons He decreed a basin for seventy-four gun ships, a grand canal, hydraulic works of immense importance He instituted a free port into which commerce might bring merchandise, before the payment of duties. The public health was provided for by transferring burials from churches to an island cemetery. The pleasures of the people were not forgotten. The beautiful place of St. Mark, rich in historical associations, and the pride of Venice, was repaired, embel- lished, and brilliantly lighted. Hospitals were established. Such were the benefits which Napoleon con- ferred upon Venice In that flying visit of a few days, he accomplished more for the welfare of the state, than Austria had attempted during ages of misrule. It was for the glory which such achievements would secure, that his soul hungered. He received, in return, the heartfalt acclamations of a grateful people. But Venice, and other large portions of Italy, had b en wrested from the domination of Austria. The cahinet of Vienna was watching, with an eagle eye, to fall upon this king of democracy, and to regain her lost possessions. Leaving Venice he inspected the principal fortifications of the Kingdom of Italy. At Man- tua he had appointed a meeting with his brother Lucien. For some time they had been partially INTERVIEW WITH THE SPANISH PRINCES 60 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. estranged. Napoleon e~rnestly desired a recon iliation. Lucien had secretly married, for a second wife, the widow of a Parisian banker. He was a high-spirited man, of commandinr tal- ent and decided character, and was not at all disposed to place himself under the guidance of his brothers mind. Napoleon, conscious of his own power, and seldom distrusting the wisdom of his own decisions, wished for agents who would execute his plans. The private interview as protracted till lon~ after midnight. Lucien left in tears. The brothers could not agree in their views, though they retained a cordial es- teem for each other. But little can be known respecting this interview, except what is related hy Baron Meneval, Napoleons secretary. He says: After having received the orders of the Em- perar, I went, about 9 oclock in the evening, to eek Lucien Bonaparte at the inn where he bad alighted. I conducted him to the cabinet of the Emperor. The interview was protracted till long after midnight. Lucien, upon leaving, was extremely a~itated. His eyes were flooded with tears. I reconducted him to the inn. There I learned that the Emperor had made the most pressing solicitations, to induce Lucien to return to France and to accept a throne; but that the conditions imposed wounded his domestic affec- tions and his political independence. He charged me to make his adieu to the Emperor, perhaps, he added, for ever. The Emperor finding his brother inflexible, gave him time to consider his propositions. lie charged his brothers and his ministers, Talleyrand and Fonchd, to urge his acceptance. They could accomplish nothing. Napoleon regretted to he deprived of the co-op- eration of a man, whose noble character and ex- alted talents he highly esteemed. The eagerness, with which Lucien hastened to p1-ce himself by his brothers side, in the hour of adversity, is his best eulogy.~ It is a noble testimonial of the private virtues of 1)0th of these men, that when Napoleon was imprisone(1 upon the rock of St. Helena, Lucien applied to the British government for permission to share his captivity. He offered to go, with or without huis wife and children, for two years. He engaged not to occasion any augmentation of expense, and premised to submit to every THE DEPARTURE OF JO5EPL5 INTO SPAIN NAPOLEON BONAPARTE. 61 restriction imposed upon his brother, or that might be imposed upon himself either before his departure or after his return Napoleon immediately left Mantua for Milan. Upon his arrival at the capital of the Kingdom of Italy, he found innumerable letters awaiting him from all parts of Europe. England began now to suffer very severely from the operation of the Berlin decrees. She could not sell her goods Her capitalists were failing. Her man- ufactories were crumbling to ruin. Her work- men were starving. The Continent on the con trary was by no means proportionately afflicted. Napoleon had opened new channels of traffic. The arts and manufactures were generally in a state of prosperity. Under the influence of this exasperation, En- gland issued some new orders in council. They were more rigorous and severe than the first. By these decrees England reaffirmed the block- ade of France, and of all the continental states in alliance with France. She also declared all vessels, of whatever nation, lawful prize, which were bound to France or to any of her allies, unless such vessels had cleared from, or touched at, some English port. These neutral ships were ordered to pay in England a duty of twenty- five per cent. for all goods which they conveyed from their own country, or from any other nation except Great Britain, to France or to any of her allies. Thus England endeavored to remunerate herself, by a tax upon the commerce of the world, for Napoleons refusal to purchase her goods. Napoleon, upon receiving at Milan, these or- ders of the British cabinet, immediately issued, in retaliation, his famous Milan decree. In his Berlin decrees he excluded from the port.s of France and of her allies, every English vessel, or every vessel which had touched at an English port, and which might thus be supposed to have on board English goods. He refused to have any commercial intercourse whatever with his belligerent neighbor, until England should mani- fest a more pacific spirit. As England confis- cated all French property which could be found upon the ocean, Napoleon confiscated all En- glish property he could find upon the land. But in the Milan decrees, imitating the vio- lence of England, and as regardless of the rights of neutrals as was his powerful foe, he declared every vessel denationalized, and therefore lawful prize, which should recognize the authority of these British orders, by paying the duty demand- ed. These rigorous measures, said he, shall cease in regard to any nations which shall have caused the English government to respect the rights of their flags. They shall continue with regard to all others, and never be released till Great Britain shows a disposition to return to the laws of nations, as well as to those of justice and honor Thus England declared all ships, of whatever nation, lawful prize, which should fail to touch at her ports and pay duty Napo- leon declared all lawful prize which should con- sent to touch at English ports and pay duty. VOL. VHNo 37.E Beneath the gigantic tread of these hostile powers, weaker nations were trampled in the dust. Napoleon, in his Milan decree, remarked, All the sovereigns of Europe have in trust, the soy- ereignty and independence of their flags. If, by an unpardonable weakness, such a tyranny is allowed to be established into a principle, and consecrated by usage, the English will avail themselves of it in order to assert the sanie as a right, as they have availed themselves of the tolerance of governments to establish the infa- mous principle that the flag of a nation does not cover goods, and to give to their right of blck- ade an arbitrary extension which infringes on the sovereignty of every state. He, however, immediately communicated to the American gov- ernment, that his commercial decrees were not intended to apply to the United States. The United States of America, he afterwards said to the Legislative Body, have rather chosen to abandon commerce and the sea, than acknowledge their sla ery to England. Napoleon also learned at Milan that England had ordered the troops, returning triumphantly from Copenhagen, to proceed to Portugal. In the harbors of that feeble power, which was in reality but a colony of Great Britain, and at the impregnable fortress of Gibraltar, which she had wrested from Spain, England was assemblinv the most formidable forces. Napoleon immc- diately informed Spain, his unreliable ally, of her danger, and sent troops to her assistance. As Napoleon left Milan, the grateful Italians voted the erection of a monument to perpetuate the memory of the benefits which their illustri- ous benefactor had conferred upon them. Napoleon then hastened to Piedmont, and ex- amined the magnificent fortress which he was rearing at Alexandria. Thence he went to Turin, rousing wherever he appeared the ener- gies of the people, and scattering benefits with a liberal hand. He ordered the channel of the Po to be deepened, that it might be navigable to Alexandria. He marked out the route, with his own consummate engineering skill, for a canal to unite the waters of the Po and of the Mediterranean. He opened a high road over Mount Genevre, thus constructing a new route between France and Piedmont. Seven bridges, at his imperial command, with graceful arches, sprang over as many streams For all these useful expenses his foresight provided the finan- cial means It is not strange that voluptuous kings, dallying with beauty, and luxuriating in all sensual indulgence, should have dreaded the influence of this energetic monarch, who, entire- ly regardless of all personal ease and comfort, was consecrating his whole being to the eleva- tion of the masses of mankind. It is but just to Napoleon to contrast the benefits which he conferred upon Italy, and upon every country where he gained an influence, with the course which England pursued in the vast territories which she had .conquered in India. England, says Burke, has erected no 62 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. churches, no hospitals, no palaces, no schools. England has built no bridges, made no high roads, cut no navigations, dug out no reservoirs. Were we to be driven out of India this day, no- thing would remain to tell that it had been pos- sessed during the inglorious period of our do- minion by any thing better than the ourang- outang or the tiger. Napoleon left Turin enveloped in the accla- mations which he so richly merited. Josephine, in whose bosom bliss and agony were struggling for the supremacy, sat at his side. She loved her magnificent husband with a fervor which has, perhaps, never been surpassed. His smile, his gentle caress, his most extraordinary and un- remitted attentions, his burning words of love, attested the sincerity with which he reciprocat- ed the affection and the homage of his wife. She well knew that this strange, fascinating man, intensely as he loved her, would tear from his heart every quivering fibre of affection, if he deemed it essential for the accomplishment of his plans. On the evening of the 1st of January, 1808, he returned to Paris. The court and the city authorities immediately thronged the 1uileries with the offerings of their heartfelt homage. The rejoicing Parisians filled the garden; bells rang; illuminations blazed. The acclamations of hun- dreds of thousands, filling the air with the sub- lime roar of human voices, proclaimed to Napo- leon,in terms not to be misunderstood, that he was enthroned in the hearts of his people. Napoleon immediately turned his whole at- tention to the affairs of Portugal and of Spain. A more perplexing question was never present- ed to the human mind. The kingdom of Portugal consists of a nar- row strip of land spread along the western shores of the Spanish peninsula. In extent of territory it is about equal to the State of Maine. An ig- norant and inefficient population of about three millions, debased by ages of oppression, loitered over its fields. Portugal was so entirely under the influence of the British cabinet, that it was virtually a colony of Great Britain English ships filled her harbors. The warehouses of English merchants crowded the streets of her cities. Napoleon transmitted a note to the Portuguese government requiring Portugal openly to es- rouse the one side or the other in the great con- flict. If Portugal was willing to cast in her lot with the continental alliance, she was required, like the other powers, to close her ports against England, and to confiscate all the English goods in her territory. A diplomatic correspondence immediately ensued. All the communications of Napoleon were sent by the Portuguese govern- ment to the British ministers. Mr. Canning ad- mitted in Parliament that the cabinet of St. James dictated the replies. The evasive answers which were returned, Napoleon perfectly understood. He immediately sent an army, in conjunction with Spain, to rescue Portugal from the domin- ion of the English. Resistance was in vain. None was attempted; not a gun was fired; not a drop of blood was shed. A small army under General Junot, crossed the Pyrenees, and ad-~ vanced with rapid steps toward Lisboii. The people, sunk in the lethargy of debasement, gazed upon the march of these French columns with unconcern. They were too, much oppress- ed to love their wretched rulers. They were too deeply debased to cherish any noble aspira- tions for liberty. The council at Lisbon was divided. Some were in favor of adhering to the English alliance, and with the aid of the English army and navy to oppose Napoleon. Others were for joining the continental alliance, and for abandoning En- gland altogether. Others recommended that the whole court, with all the treasure which could be suddenly accumulated, should forsake Portu- gal, and retire across the Atlantic to their far more extensive possessions in Brazil. This ma- jestic Portuguese province, in South America, with an Atlantic coast four thousand miles in length, was fifty times as large as the little kingdom of Portugal. The latter plan was suddenly adopted, when it was announced to the imbecile court that Ju- not was within two days march of Lisbon. The Queen of Portugal was insane. The Prince Regent governed in her stead. A fleet of thirty-six ships of war and merchantmen were in the harbor of Lisbon ready to receive the re- gal retinue. It was the 27th of November, 1807 A cold storm of wind and rain swept the streets. But not an hour was to be lost. The Queen- mother, her eyes rolling in the wild frenzy of the maniac, the princes, the princesses, nearly aM the members of the court, and most of the noble families, crowded through the flooded streets on board the squadron. Innumerable carts throng- ed the great thoroughfares, laden with plate and the priceless paintings and the sumptuous fur- niture of the regal palaces. All the money which could by any possibility be accumulated by the energies of the govern- ment and by the efforts of the nobles, was con- veyed on board the ships in chests. The quays were covered with treasures of every kind, drenched with rain and spattered with mud. Carriages were rattling to and fro conveying families to the hurried embarkation. Men, wo- men, children, and servants, to the number of eight thousand, rushed, in a tumultuous mass, on board the squadron. The precipitation was such that, in several of the ships, the most nec- essary articles of food were forgotten. In the confusion of the embarkation husbands were separated from wives, and parents from chil- dren, as the mass was swept along by diverse currents into the different ships. They remain- ed in the most anxious suspense respecting each others safety until the termination of the voy- age. An English fleet was cruising at the mouth of the Tagus, to protect the court in its inglo- rious flight. In a gale of wind, the fleet pressed out of the harbor. The British squadron re- ceived it with a royal salute. Sir Sydney Smith, who had command of the squadron, dispatched NAPOLEON BONAPARTE. a powerful convoy to accompany the fugitive court to its new home in Rio Janeiro. Scarcely had the receding sails vanished in the distant horizon, ere Junot made his appearance. He entered Lisbon with hut fifteen hundred grena- diers. A population of three hundred thousand souls raised not a hand in resistance. Thus Portugal strangely passed~ like a dream of en- chantment, from the control of England into the hands of Napoleon. A branch of the family of Bourbon occupied the throne of Spain. King Charles IV. was a gluttonous old man, imbecile in mind, impotent in action, dissolute in life. He was utterly de- spised. His wife, Louisa Maria, a Neapolitan princess, was as shameless a profligate as could be found in any dwelling of infamy in Spain. Manuel Godoy, a tall, graceful, handsome young soldier, was one of the body-guard of the King. Entirely destitute of moral principle, without any high intellectual endowments, he still pos- sessed many attractions of person and of mind. He sang beautifully. He touched the lute with skill. He had romantic tastes. He loved the moonlight, and wandered beneath the shadows of the dark towers of the Escurial, and sang passionately the plaintive and the burning songs of Spain. The Queen, from the sunny clime of Italy, and from the voluptuous court of Naples, was the child of untamed passions. She heard the warbling voice of the young soldier; sent for him to the palace; lavished upon him wealth and honors, and surrendered her husband, the government, and her own person, without re- serve, into his hands. The imbecile old king, happy to be relieved from the cares of state, cordially acquiesced in this arrangement. He also, in the inconceivable depths of a degrada- tion which revolted not from dishonor, loved Godoy, leaned upon his shoulder, and called him his protector and friend. In consequence of the treaty of Basle, which Godoy effected, he re- ceived the title of the Prince of Peace. Every day, said Charles IV. to Napoleon, winter-as well as summer, I go out to shoot from the morning till noon. I then dine, and return to the chase, which I continue till sunset. Manuel Godoy then gives me a brief account of what is going on, and I go to bed to recom- mence the same life on the morrow. Such was the employment of this King of Spain during the years in which Europe was trembling, as by an earthquake, beneath the martial thunders of Marengo and Austerlitz, of Jena and Auerstadt, of Eylau and Friedland. Charles IV. had three sonsFerdinand, Car- los, and Francisco. Ferdinand, the heir-appa- rent to the throne, was at this time twenty-five years of age. He was as imbecile as his father, and as profligate as his mother. Our son Fer- dinand, said Louisa, has a mules head and a tigers heart. The young prince was anxious to ascend the throne. The great majority of the nation were with him. The people, disgusted with the deb~.rchery of the court, thought that ~iny change must be for the better The once mighty empire of Charles V. was descending with most rapid strides into the gulf of anarchy, poverty, and ruin. Godoy, the upstart favorite, was detested. Plots and counter-plots filled the realm. Spain was the disgrace of Europe Nei- ther the King nor the Queen had political fore- sight enough to care for the movements of Na- poleon. Godoy hated and feared that mighty -mind, that majestic intellect, which was over- throwing feudal thrones, and bringing up into the light of day the energies and the rights of the masses. Ferdinand was accused by Godoy, and prob- ably justly, of an attempt to poison father, moth- er, and minister. The heir-apparent was arrest- ed and thrown into prison. The populace, from hatred to Godoy, espoused the cause of the im- prisoned prince. Ferdinand aided in arousine them. An enormous mob of countless thou- sands, with knives and bludgeons, surrounded the palace of Godoy. The I~(ings troops dared not attack them. The terrified favorite fled to the garret, and rolled himself up in a pile of old mats, among the cobwebs, behind the chimney. The mob burst in his doors, rushed in an inunda- tion through his magnificent parlors; swarmed up the stairs and through the chambers. Sofas, mirrors, paintings, were hurled from the win- dows, and dashed in pieces upon the pavements. Two young ladies, the guilty favorites of Godoy, were carefully conducted to a carriage, and re- moved to a place of safety. The tramp of the mob was heard upon the floor of the garret. Godoy trembled in aiiticipation of a bloody death. The dusty mats concealed him. Night came and went. Day dawned, and its long, long hours lin- gered slowly away. Still the wretched man, tor- tured with hunger and thirst, dared not leave his retreat. Another night darkened over the insurgent city. The clamor of the triumphant mob filled all hearts with dismay. The trem- bling minister survived its protracted agony. For thirty-six hours he had now remained, cramped and motionless, in his retreat. In the dawn of the third morning, intolerable thirst drove him from his hiding-place. As he was creeping stealth- ily down the stairs, a watchful eye detected him, and shouted the alarm. The cry resounded from street to street. In confluent waves the masses rushed toward the palace. The wretched victim his garments soiled and torn, his hat gone, his hair disheveled, his features haggard with terror and sufferingwas thrust into the streets. A few mounted troops of the King, with gleam- ing sabres, cut their way through the throng. They seized him by his arms, and upon the full gallop dragged him, suspended from their sad- dles, over the rough pavements. The mob, like ravening wolves, rushed and roared after him. Half-dead with frightand bruises, Godoy was thrown, forprotection, into the nearest prison, and the gates were closeJ against his pursuers. The exa.~1~r~ted populace, with loud impreca- tions and vows of vengeance, turned their fury upon the dwellings of the friends of the hated favorite. House after house was sacked. And 63 64 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. now, the portentous cry was heard, To the Pal- ace ! The scenes of the French Revolution were recommenced in Madrid. Charles and Louisa were frantic with terror. Visions of dungeons and guillotines appalled their weak and guilty spirits. The king, to appease the mob, issued a proclamation dismissing Godoy, and abdicating the throne in favor of his well-beloved son, Ferdinand. It was a perfidious abdication, in- sti~,ated by force, and which the king had no in- tention to respect. He, accordingly, immediately appealed to Napoleon for help. Imploringly he wrote as follows: I have resigned in favor of my son. The din of arms, and the clamor of my insurgent people, left me no alternative but resignation or death. I have been forced to abdicate. I have no longer any hope but in the aid and support of my mag- rianimous ally, the Emperor Napoleon. Ferdinand, also, immediately wrote to secure ~he support of the great Emperor He spared no uxpressions of adulation, and no efforts of syco- phancy to secure that end. He wrote: The world daily niore and more admires the greatness and the goodness of Napoleon. Rest assured the Emperor shall ever find in Ferdinand the most faithful and devoted son. Ferdinand implores, therefore, the paternal protection of the Emperor. He also solicits the honor of an alliance with his family. It will be remembered, that when Napoleon was upon the cold summit of the Landgrafenberg, the evening before the battle of Jena he received information that Spain, nominally his ally, was perfidiously entering into an alliance with En- gland, and was rising in arms against him. Na- poleon was far away in the heart of Prussia, struggling against the combined hosts of Rus- sia, Prussia, and England. The Bourbons of Spain treacherously seized upon that moment to rouse the Peninsula, to fall with daggers upon the back of that friendly monarch, who had neither done nor meditated aught to injure thein.* Had Napoleon lost the battle of Jena, the fanatic peasantry of Spain, headed by the troops and the officers of England, would have rolled, like an inundation, down the passes of the Pyrenees, upon the plains of defenseless France, and the terrific struggle would have been at an end. Napoleon, in an hour, would have been hurled from his throne. The rejected Bourbons would have been forced upon France. It was midnight, dark and gloomy, when Na- poleon, by the fire of his bivouac, read the dis- patches announcing this act of perfidy. His majestic spirit was too deep and tranquil in * A convention, says Aiison, was secretiy con- eluded at Madrid, between the Spanish government and the Russian embassador, to which the court of Iii- ben was biso a party by which it was agreed, that as soon as the favorable opportunity was a~ived, by the French armies being far advanced on their road to Ber- tin, the Spanish government should commence hostilities in the Pyrenees, and invite the English to co-operate. tt is impossible to rouse in our hearts any very vehement cenotions of indignation against Napoleon, for adopting effectual msasures to secure himself from the repetition .f such perfidy its flow, to admit of peevishness or irritability. Calmly he smiled, as he folded up his dispatches. The Bourbons of Spain, said he, shall be replaced by princes of my own family. The next day, upon the fields of Jena and Auerstadt, the Prussian monarchy was ground to powder. The Spanish Bourbons, terrified at the unex- pected result, hastily sheathed the sword which they had drawn. Upon sycophantic knees they bowed before the conqueror. But Napoleon well knew, and Europe well knew, that the treacher- ous court was but waiting and watching its op- portunity to strike a deadly blow. It was under these circumstances that the Spanish Bourbons were compelled, by the press- ure of their family corruptions, to appeal to Na- poleon for protection. Napoleon was exceed- ingly embarrassed. In no other period of. his life did any vacillation ever seem to mark his course. Here he appeared to take one step after another with no settled plan. There were but two things which he could do, each of which seemed to be equally portentous of danger. He could, by his almost miraculous powers, over- throw the Bourbons, and place some one upon the throne of Spain who would regenerate that noble country, by throwing into it the energies and the sympathies of popularized France. Thus he would secure a cordial alliance, and be protected in his rear, should the great northern powers, who were still in heart hostile, again combine against him. But there was an aspect of unfair- ness in this transaction against which his spirit revolted. It would arouse anew the angry clamor of Europe. The feudal monarchs would justly regard it as a new triumph of popular right against the claims of legitimacyas a terrific exhibition of the encroachments of revolution- ized France. It would thus add new venom to the bitterness with which the republican empire was regarded by all the feudal monarchies. On the other hand, Napoleon could sustain Ferdinand upon the throne. For Godoy and Charles were not to be thought of. He could endeavor to give Ferdinand a wife of exalted character, imbued with Napoleonic principles, who would control his weak mind, and lead per- fidy in the path of fidelity and truth. After long and anxious reflection, now inclin- ing one way, and now the other, he at last de- cided upon the latter plan. In his reply to Fer- dinand he wrote that it would be necessary for him to investigate the charges brought against the Spanish prince, for he could not think of forming an alliance with a dishonest son. He immediately began to look around for a wife for Ferdinand. But young ladies of commanding intellect, of exalted character, and who can ap- preciate the grandeur of a noble action, are rare. The saloons of the Tuileries and of St. Cloud were full of pretty girls. But Napoleon searched in vain for the one he wanted. His brother Lucien, residing in Italy, a repin- ing yet voluntary exile, had a daughter, by a first marriagea brilliant girl, who had teen living in comparative neglect with her father. 65 NAPOLEON BONAPARTE. Napoleon fixed upon her, and called her to Paris. He, however, deemed it necessary, before mak- ing her Queen of Spain, thoroughly to under- stand her character. He, consequently, gave orders that her correspondence should be closely watched at the post-office. Unfortunately, this young lady, brought up in exile with the impet- uous, estranged, yet noble-hearted Lucien, had been accustomed to look with an envious eye upon her uncles and aunts who were filling the thrones of Europe. Her lofty spirit was not dis- posed to conciliation. Proudly she made no effort to win the love of her relatives. With much sarcastic talent she wrote about Napoleon and all the rest of the family. When the letters were placed in the hands of the Emperor, he good-naturedly smiled as he perused them, and rather maliciously summoned his mother, broth- ers, and sisters to a family meeting at the Tuile- ries. The witty letters were read to the assem- bled group. Napoleon, accustomed to every con- ceivable kind of attack, was exceedingly diverted at the sensitiveness of his relatives. He, how- ever, promptly decided that Charlotte did not possess the proper requisites to infuse his spirit into the monarchy of Spain. The following day she was on the road for Italy. It was, for her, a fortunate escape. History may be searched in vain for a more brutal, inhuman, utterly worth- less creature, than this Ferdinand subsequently proved himself to be. Had she, however, mar- ried Ferdinand, it is not improbable that the des- tinies of the world might have been changed. Napoleon regretted this disappointment. He still shrunk from the odium of dethroning the Spanish Bourbons. All circumstances, how- ever, seemed peculiarly to combine for the pro- motion of that end. A French army, . under Murat, had entered Spain, partly to be ready to quell any rising in Portugal, and partly to assist Spain to resist an anticipated attack from the English. Madrid was now occupied by French troops. The monarchy was entirely in Napo- leons power. Still he was greatly perplexed. What secret thoughts were revolving in his mind, no one can tell. He divulged them to no one. Even those who were most entirely in his confidence, and upon whose co-operation he most fully relied, in vain attempted to penetrate his designs. Indeed, it is not probable that, at this time, he had formed any definite plans. Napoleon was at St. Cloud, when he received intelligence of the abdication of Charles IV. It was Saturday evening. The next morning, he attended public worship. All observed his ab- sent and abstracted air. Immediately after serv- ice, he called General Savary, the Duke of Ro- vigo, to walk with him under. the trees of the park. During an earnest conversation of two hours, he thus addressed him: Charles IV. has abdicated. His son has suc- ceeded him. This change has been the result of a revolution in which the Prince of Peace has fallen. It looks as if the abdication were not altogether voluntary. I was prepared for changes in Spain. They are taking a turn altogether different from what I had expected. I wish you to go to Madrid. See our embassador. Inquire why he could not have prevented a revolution in which I shall be forced to intervene, and in which I shall be considered as implicated. Before I can recognize the son, I must ascertain the senti- ments of the father He is my ally. It is with him that I have contracted engagements. If he appeals for my support, he shall have it. Nothing will induce me to recognize Ferdinand, till I see the abdication duly legalized. Otherwise a troop of traitors may be introduced into my palace dur- ing the night, who may force me to abdicate, and overturn the state. When I made peace on the Niemen, I stipulated that if England did not ac- cept the mediation of Alexander, Russia should unite her arms with ours, and compel that power to peace. I should be indeed weak, if having ob- tained that single advantage from those whom I have vanquished, I should permit the Spaniards to embroil me afresh on my weak side. Should I permit Spain to form an alliance with England, it would give that hostile power greater advant- ages than it has lost by the rupture with Russia. I fear every thing from a revolution of which I know neither the causes nor the object. I wish, above all things, to avoid a war with Spain. Such a contest would be a species of sac- rilege. But I shall not hesitate to incur its haz- ards, if the prince who governs Spain embraces such a policy. Had Charles IV. reigned, and the Prince of Peace not been overturned, we might have remained at peace. Now all is changed. For that country ruled by a warlike monarch disposed to direct against us all the resources of his nation, might, perhaps, succeed in displacing by his own dynasty my family on the throne of France. You see what might hap- pen if I do not prevent it. It is my duty to fore- see the danger, and to take measures to deprive the enemy of the resources they may otherwise derive from it. If I can not arrange with either the father or the son, I will make a clean sweep of them both. I will re-assemble the Cortes, and resume the designs of Louis XIV. I should thus be in the same situation with that monarch, when he engaged, in support of his grandson, in the war of the succession. The same political neces- sity governs both cases. I am fully prepared for all that. I am about to set out for Bayonne. I will go on to Madrid, but only if it is unavoida- ble. The same day, the Duke of Rovigo, with these instructions, set out for Madrid. The next morn- ing Napoleon wrote as follows to his brother Louis, the King of Holland: The King of Spain has just abdicated. The Prince of Peace has been imprisoned. Insurrec- tionary movements have shown themselves at Madrid. The people demand me, with loud cries, to fix their destinies. Being convinced that I shall never be able to conclude a solid peace with England, till I have given a great movement on the Continent, I have resolved to put a French prince on the throne of Spain. In this state of affairs, I have turned my eyes to you for the 06 HARPEThS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. threne of Spain. Say at once, what is your opinion on that subject. You must be aware that this plan is yet in embryo. Though I have 100,000 men in Spain, yet, according to circum- stances, I may either advance directly to my oh- jectin which case, every thing will be conclud- ed in a fortnightor be more circumspect in my advances, and the final result appear after sev- eral months operations. Two days after the writing of this letter, Napoleon again appears to be in a state of great uncertainty. He wrote the following letter to Murat, who was then in Madrid: Monsieur the Grand-Duke of BergI am afraid lest you should deceive me with respect to the situation of Spain, and lest you should also deceive yourself Events have been sin- gularly complicated by the transaction of the 20th of March. 1 find myself very much per- plexed. Do not believe that you are about to attack a disarmed people, or that you can by merely showing your troops subjugate Spain. The revolution of the 20th of March proves that the Spaniards still possess energy. You will have to do with a new people. It has all the courage, and will display all the enthusiasm shown by men who are not worn out by polit- ical passions. The aristocracy and the clergy are the masters of Spain. If they are alarmed for their privileges and existence, they will bring into the field against us levies in mass, which might eternize the war. I am not without parti- sans. If I present myself as a conqueror, I shall have them no longer. The Prince of Peace is detested, because he is accused of having -be- trayed Spain to France. This is the grievance which has assisted Ferdinands usurpation. The popular is the weakest party. The Prince of the Asturias does not possess a single quality requi- site for the head of a nation. That will not pre- vent his being ranked as a hero, in order that he may be opposed to us. I will have no violence employed against the personages of this family. I lay before you all the obstacles which must inevitably arise. There are others of which you must be aware. England will not let the oppor- tunity escape her of multiplying our embarrass- ments. She daily sends advice to the forces which she maintains on the coast of Portugal and in the Mediterranean, and enlists into her service numbers of Sicilians and Portuguese. The Royal Family not having left Spain to es- tablish itself in the Indies, the state of the coun- try can only be changed by a revolution. It is, perhaps, of all others in Europe, that which is the least prepared for one. Those who perceive the monstrous vices in the government and the anarchy which has taken place of the lawful au- thority, are the fewest in number. The greater number profit by those vices and that anarchy. I can, consistently with the interests of my em- pire, do a great deal of good to Spain. What are the best means to be adopted? Shall I go to Madrid? Shall I take upon myself the office of Grand Protector in pronouncing between the father and son? It seems to me a matter of difficulty to support Charles IV. on the throne. His government and his favorite are so very un- popular that they could not stand their ground for three months. Ferdinand is the enemy of France. It is for this he has been made king. To place him on the throne would be to serve the factions which for twenty years have longed for the de- struction of France. A family alliance would be but a feeble tie. My opinion is that nothing should be hurried forward, and that we should take counsel of events as they occur. It will be necessary to strengthen the bodies of troops which are to be stationed on the frontiers of Portugal, and wait. I do not approve of the step which your Imperial Highness has taken, in so precipitately making yourself master of Madrid. The army ought to have been kept ten leagues from the capital. 1 shall hereafter decide on what is finally necessary to be done. In the mean time, the following is the line of conduct I judge fit to prescribe to you. You will not pledge me to an interview in Spain with Ferdinand, unless you consider the state of things to be such that I ought to acknowledge him as King of Spain. You will behave with attention and respect to the king, the queen, and Prince Godoy. You will exact for them, and yourself pay them, the same honors as formerly. You will manage so that the Spaniards shall have no suspicion which part I mean to take. You will find the less dif- ficulty in this as I do not know myself. You will make the nobility and clergy understand that if the interference of France be requisite in the affairs of Spain, their privileges and immunities will be respected. You will assure them that the Emperor wishes for the improvement of the political institutions of Spain, in order to put her on a footing with the advanced state of civiliza- tion in Europe, and to free her from the yoke of favorites. You will tell the magistrates and the inhabitants of towns and the well-informed classes, that Spain stands in need of having the machine of her government re-organized, and that she requires a system of laws to protect the people against the tyranny and encroachments of feudality, with institutions that may revive industry, agriculture, and the arts. You will describe to them the state of tranquillity and plenty enjoyed by France, notwithstanding the wars in which she has been constantly engaged You will speak of the splendor of religion, which owes its establishment to the Concordat which I have signed with the Pope. You will explain to them the advantages they may derive from political regenerationorder and peace at home, respect and influence abroad. Such should be the spirit of your conversation and your writings Do not hazard any thing hastily. I can wait at Bayonne. I can cross the Pyrenees, and strength- en myself toward Portugal, I can go and carry on the war in that quarter. I enjoin the strictest maintenance of disci- pline. The slightest faults must not go unpun NAPOLEON BONAPARTE. 67 ished. The inhabitants must be treated with the greatest attention. Above all, churches and con- vents must be respected The army must avoid all misunderstanding with the bodies and detach- ments of the Spanish army. A single flash in the pan must not be permitted on either side. Do you yourself trace out the routes of my army, that it may always be kept at a distance of sev- eral leagues from the Spanish corps. If war is once kindled, all would be lost. Four days after writing this letter, on the 2d of April, Napoleon set out for the frontier. He was induced to take this journey, by the conflict- ing reports which were continually reaching him from Spain. Having spent a week at Bordeaux, intensely occupied in forwarding some important national works, he proceeded to Bayonne, an un- important town at the foot of the Pyrenees. Josephine accompanied him. They arrived at Bayonne on the 15th of April. The next day Napoleon wrote to Ferdinand. In this letter he says: You will permit me, under present circum- stances, to speak to you with truth and frank- ness. I pass no decision upon the conduct of the Prince of Peace. But I know well that it is dangerous for kings to accustom their people to shed blood. The people willingly avenge them- selves for the homage which they pay us. How can the process be drawn up against the Prince of Peace without involving in it the queen and the king your father. Your Royal Highness has no other claim to the crown than that which you derive from your mother. If this process de- grades her, your Royal Highness degrades your own title. The criminality of Godoy, if it can be proved against him, goes to annihilate your right to the crown. I say to your Royal High- ness, to the Spaniards, and to the world, that if the abdication of Charles IV. is unconstrained, I will not hesitate to acknowledge it, and to recognize your Royal Highness as King of Spain. Ferdinand was endeavoring to blazen abroad his mothers shame, and to bring Godoy to trial as his mothers paramour. Napoleon thus deli- cately suggested to him that in dishonoring his mother, he did but invalidate the legitimacy of his own birth, and thus prove that he had no right to the throne of Spain. But the wretched creature was too debased to feel the sense of such dishonor. The still more wretched mother retaliated, as perhaps no mother ever retaliated before. She told her son, to his face, and in the presence of others, that he was of ignoble birth, that her husband was not his father. Ferdinand hoped, by a personal interview with Napoleon, to secure his favor. He therefore left Madrid, and crossing the Pyrenees, hastened to Bayonne to meet the Emperor. A magnificent escort accompanied him. He took with him, as a friend and adviser, his celebrated tutor Escoi- quiz. As soon as Charles, the queen, and Godoy heard of this movement on the part of Ferdinand, they were greatly alarmed. Fearing the infin ence of Ferdinands personal presence and un- contradicted representations, they resolved also to hasten to Bayonne, there to plead their cause before that commanding genius who had now their destiny under his own control. Napoleon received Ferdinand, immediately upon his arrival, with the most studied polite- ness. He treated him with magnificent hospi- tality. But he threw around the prince a golden chain of courtesy and of etiquette from which there was no escape. Sumptuous feasts regaled him. A splendid retinue surrounded him. The degraded parents and the guilty favorite also soon arrived, bringing with them the two younger brothers of Ferdinand. They were received with every mark of attention. Napoleon, however, studiously refrained from recognizing the right of either party to the throne. He thus unex- pectedly found the whole royal family in his power. Whatever hesitation he may previously have felt, in reference to the course to be pursued, he hesitated no longer. He had an interview with Charles IV. The old king, conscious of his ut- ter inability to retain the throne, greatly preferred to place it in the hands of Napoleon, rather than in the hands of his hated son. He, therefore, expressed a perfect readiness to abdicate in favor of any prince whom Napoleon might appoint. Napoleon then sent for Escoiquiz, the tuter and minister of Ferdinand, and thus addressed him: I can not refuse to interest myself in the fate of the unhappy king who has thrown him- self on my protection. The abdication of Charles IV. was clearly a compulsory act. My troops were then in Spain. Some of them were sta- tioned near the court. Appearances authorized the belief that I had some share in that act of violence. My honor requires that I should take immediate steps to dissipate such a suspicion. I would say further that the interests of my empire require that the house of Bourbon, the implacable enemy of mine, should relinquish the throne of Spain. The interests of your nation equally call for the same change. The new dy- nasty which I shall introduce will give it a good constitution, andby its strict alliance with France, preserve Spain from any danger on the side of that power which is alone in a situation seriously to menace its independence. Charles IV. is willing to cede to me his rights, and those of his family, persuaded that his sons are incapable of go4erning the kingdom, in the difficult times which are evidently approaching. These are the reasons which have decided me to prevent the dynasty of the Bourbons from reigning any longer in Spain. But I esteem Ferdinand. I am anxious to give him some in- demnity for the sacrifices which he will be re- quired to make. Propose to him, therefore, to renounce the crown of Spain, for himself and his descendants. I will give him, in exchange, Etruria, with the title of king, as well as my niece in marriage. If he refuses these conditions, I will come to an understanding with his father. 68 HARPE1~s NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. And neither he nor his brother shall receive any chateau, to receive the princes with all alluring indemnity. If, on fhe other hand, he does what attentions. I desire, Spain shall preserve its independence, I desire, he wrote, that the princes be re- its laws, usages, and religion. I do not desire ceived without external pomp, but heartily and a village of Spain for myself. with sympathy, and that you do every thing in Charles IV., Louisa, and Godoy, enervated by your power to amuse them. If you have a the- years of vicious indulgence, loved royalty only atre at Valen~ay, and can engage some comedians for the luxurious dissipation in which it permit- to come, it will not be a bad plan. You had ted them to revel. Most cheerfully they sur- better take Madame de Talleyrand thither with rondered the uneasy crown of Spain to Napoleon, four or five other ladies. If the Prince of the in exchange for a handsome castle, ample grounds Asturias (Ferdinand) should fall in love with for hunting, and money enough for the gratifica- some pretty woman, it would not be amiss, es- hen of their voluptuous desires. Ferdinand and pecially if we were sure of her. It is a matter his brothers were more reluctant to surrender of great importance to me that the Prince of the their right of inheritance. By previous arrange- Asturias should not take any false step. I de- ment Napoleon met the whole family together. sire, therefore, that he he amused and occupied. The king and queen, who thoroughly detested Stern policy would demand that I should shut their son, were determined to compel him to ab- him up in some fortress. But as he has thrown dicate. It was an extraordinary interview. The himself into my arms, and has promised to do imbecile old king, brandishing over the head of nothing without my orders, and that every thing Ferdinand a long gold-headed cane, upon which shall go on in Spain as I desire, I have adopted he usually leaned, loaded him with reproaches the plan of sending him to a country seat, aisd and imprecations. Suddenly the mother, with surrounding him with pleasure and surveillance. her more voluble womans tongue, fell upon the This will probably last throughout the month of culprit. A flood of most uncourtly epithets she May and a part of June, when the affairs of poured upon the victim. Napoleon was amazed Spain may have taken a turn, and I shall then and even confused at the strange scene. For a know what part to act. With regard to your- few moments he remained in mute astonishment, self, your mission is an extremely honorable one. He then retired, having first coldly informed To receive under your roof three illustrious per- Ferdinand, that if he did not resign the crown, sonages, in order to amuse them, is quite in tbat evening, to his father, he should be arrested keeping with the character of the nation and as a rebellious son, the author of a conspiracy also with your rank. against the throne and the life of his parents. Ferdinand and his brothers were well con- As Napoleon left the room he exclaimed to those tented with their inglorious yet voluptuous lot. around him, Incredible as it may appear, Napoleon, while What a mother! what a son! The Prince thus dethroning them, gained such an ascendency of Peace is certainly a very inferior person. But over their minds, that they became his warm ad- after all he is perhaps the least incompetent of mirers and friends. They exulted in his suc- this degenerate court. He then added, What cessive victories, and celebrated them with il- I am doing now, in a certain point of view, is luminations and bonfires. Nothing in Napoleons not good. I know that well enough. But policy whole career, more strikingly than this, exhibits demands that I should not leave in my rear, and his extraordinary powers. Fiction has never that too so near Paris, a dynasty inimical to conceived any thing more marvelous. Without mine Ferdinand, fully conscious of guilt, trembled firing a gun, he overturned the monarchy of in view of a trial for treason, enforced by the in- Spain. A proud and powerful dynasty he re- moved from the throne of their ancestors. He flexible justice of Napoleon. Rather than incur sent them into exile. He placed his own brother the hazard, for he knew that neither his father upon their throne. And yet these exiled princes nor his mother would show him the least mercy, thanked him for the deed, and were never weary he preferred to accept the abundant rewards of proclaiming his praises. which Napoleon offered. He, however, declined Napoleon issued the following proclamation the crown of Etruria, and accepted the chateau to the Spanish people. Spaniards! after a of Navarre, with an annual income of $200,000 long agony your nation was on the point of per- for himself and $80,000 for each of his brothers. ishing. I saw your miseries and hastened to Charles, with Louisa and Manuel, their revenge apply a remedy. Your grandeur, your power, being gratified by the dethronement of Ferdi- form an integral part of my own. Your princes nand, were well satisfied with the exchange of have ceded to me their rights to the crown of a thorny crown for an opulent retreat, fine hunt- Spain. I have no wish to reign over your prov. ing grounds, and ample revenues. They slum- inces, but I am desirous of acquiring eternal bered away their remaining years in idleness and titles to the love and gratitude of your posterity. sensual excess. Your monarchy is old. My mission is to poui Napoleon assigned to the young princes the into its veins the blood of youth. I will ame- chateau of Valen~ay as a residence until Navarre liorate all your institutions, arid make you enjoy could be made ready for them. He wrote to the if you second my efforts, the blessings of reform, Prince de Talleyrand, the high-bred, courtly, without its collisions, its disorders, its convul pleasure-loving proprietor of the magnificent sions. I have convoked a general assembly of NAPOLEON BONAPARTE. 69 the deputations of your provinces and cities. I am desirous of ascertaining your wants by per- sonal intercourse. I will then lay aside all the titles I have acquired, and place your glorious crown on the head of my second self, after hav- ing secured for you a constitution which may establish the sacred and salutary authority of the sovereign, with the liberties and privileges of the people. Spaniards! reflect on what your fathers were; on what you now are. The fault does not lie in you; but in the constitution by which you have been governed Conceive the most ardent hopes and confidence in the results of your present situation, for I wish that your latest posterity should preserve the recollection of me, and say, He was the regenerator of our country. Louis Bonaparte, the King of Holland, de- pressed by sickness and domestic troubles, de- clined the more onerous burden of the crown of Spain. Napoleon wrote accordingly the follow- ing note to Joseph, the King of Naples. Charles IV. has ceded to me all his right to the crown of Spain. This crown I have des- tined for you. The kingdom of Naples can not be compared with Spain. Spain has eleven millions of inhabitants. It has a revenue of thirty millions of dollars, besides the colonies in America. It is the crown which will place you at Madrid, three days journey from France. At Madrid you are actually in France. Naples is at the other end of the world. I desire there- fore that immediately, upon the receipt of this letter, you will commit the regency to whomso- ever you please, and the command of the troops to Marshal Jourdan, and that you set out for Bayonno by the shortest route possible. Keep the secret from every body As it is, it will only be suspected too soon.~ In Spain there were no popular institutions. The monarchy was an absolute despotism The priesthood, by the gloomy terrors of the inquisi- tion repressed all political and religious inquiry. The masses of the people were in the lowest state of ignorance and debasement. A govern- ment more utterly corrupt and worthless, prob- ably never existed in civilized lands. The at- tempt to rescue the Spaniards from such a gov- ernment, and to confer upon them ennobling laws and equal rights, is not a deed which can excite very deep abhorrence. Had Napoleon succeeded according to his wishes, Spain would have been filled with monuments reared to his memory by an enfranchised and grateful people. It is the greatest curse of slavery that the op- pressed know not the worth of liberty. No slaves hug their fetters more tenaciously than .the victims of spiritual fanaticism. Joseph Bonaparte was, by universal acclaim, a high minded, intelligent, conscientious man. Inpurity of morals he was above reproach. The earnestness of his philanthropy has never been questioned. Under his mild, just, yet energetic sway, the kingdom of Naples had suddenly emerged into a glorious existence. Before the arrival of Joseph efficient agents were dispatched into Spain to report respecting the condition of the army, of the navy, of the finances and of the public works. Said Napo- leon, I shall want those documents in the first place, for the measures which I shall order. I shall want them afterward that posterity may learn in what state I find the Spanish monarchy. He formed the noblest projects for the welfare of Spain. The designs he conceived and set on foot have elicited the admiration of his bitterest foes. A parliament or congress was immedi- ately assembled at Bayonne, consisting of one hundred and fifty of the most illustrious men of the kingdom. These enlightened patriots ex- ulted in the bright prospects which were open- ing before their country. A free constitution was adopted, well adapted to the manners of Spain, and to the advancing light and liberty of the age. Joseph arrived at Bayonne the 7th of June 1808. The Spanish Congress waited upon the new king, to tender to him the homage of the Spanish nation. They then, in a body, visited Napoleon. With heartfelt gratitude they re- turned thanks to their powerful benefactor, who seemed to be securing for Spain a prosperous and a glorious future. On the 9th of July, Joseph, escorted by a magnificent display of veteran troops, and preceded and followed by more than a hundred carriages filled with the members of the Congress, departed for Madrid to take his seat uPon the throne of Spain. The notice of Josephs accession to the Span- ish throne was immediately communicated to all the foreign powers. He was promptly recog- nized by nearly all the continental powers. The Emperor of Russia added felicitation to his ac- knowledgment, founded upon the well known exalted character of Joseph Even Ferdinand, from the palace of Valen9ay, wrote Joseph letters of congratulation, and entreated him to induce Napoleon to give him one of his nieces in mar- riage. There is something in this whole affair which the ingenuous mind contemplates with perplexity and pain. It would be a relief to be able with severity to condemn. Napoleon has performed so many noble deeds that he can afford to bear the burden of his faults. But the calmly weigh- ing judgment is embarrassed and hesitates to pass sentence of condemnation. No one can contemplate all the difficulties of Napoleons position, without admitting that in its laby- rinth of perplexities he has an unusual claim to charity. Who, at that time had a right to the throne of Spain Charles IV. had been nominally king. Godoy, the paramour of the queen, was the real sovereign. Charles had abdicated in favor of Ferdinand. He solemnly declared to the nation, I never performed an action, in my life, with more pleasure. The same day in which he made this affirmation he wrote his secret protest. in which he says, I declare that my decree by which I abdicated the crown in 70 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE fa~.r of my son, is an act which I was compelled abolished the inquisition and monasteries and to adopt to prevent the effusion of blood. It those lazy beasts of friars. should, therefore, be regarded as null. Did the In several conversations with Las Casas he throne belong to Charles and Godoy. Ferdinand remarked, The impolicy of my conduct in ref- had grasped the throne. He had treasonably erence to Spain, is irrevocably decided by the excited a rebellion and had forced his father to results. I ought to have given a liberal consti- abdicate. Had Ferdinand a right to the crown. tution to the Spanish nation, and charged Ferdi- Napoleon had convinced father, favorite, and son, nand with its execution. If he acted with good that with wine and hounds, they could pass their faith, Spain must have prospered and harmonized time more pleasantly than in governing an em- with our new manners. The great object would pire. They abdicated in his favor. Had Napo- have been obtained, and France would have ac- leon a right to the throne quired an intimate ally and an addition of power If Napoleon had decided to sustain the iniquit- truly formidable. Had Ferdinand, on the coa- ous claims of Ferdinand, who by treachery and trary, proved faithless to his new engagements, violence had forced his father to abdicate, the the Spaniards themselves would not have fail- world would have still more severly condemned ed to dismiss him, and would have applied to him. He would foolishly have strengthened the me for a ruler in his place. At all events that party hostile to himself. He would have been unfortunate war of Spain was a real affliction. most grossly recreant to his own principles, in It was the first cause of the calamities of upholding, by his armies, one of the most bigot- France. ed, unrelenting and liberty-crushing despotisms I was assailed with imputations, for which, earth has ever known. Standing before the however, I had given no cause. History will do world as the advocate of freedom in France, and me justice. I was charged in that affair, with of slavery in Spain, he would have left a stigma perfidy, with laying snares, and with bad faith, upon his name, which never could have been and yet I was completely innocent. Never, effaced. England did not hesitate to do that, whatever may have been said to the contrary, from which the conscientiousness of Napoleon have I broken any engagement, or violated my revolted By her fleets and her armies she promise, either with regard to Spain or any other riveted upon a benighted people the fetters of a power. most abasing and intolerable despotism. She The world will one day be convinced, that thus inflicted upon Spain, upon Europe, and upon in the principal transactions relative to Spain I the world, a wrong for which she never can atone, was completely a stranger to all the domestic Look at Spain now. There she still lies in her intrigues of its court; that I violated no engage- helpless and hopeless abyss of dishonor. inent with the father or the son; that I made The combined kings of Europe by conspira- use of no falsehoods to entice them both to cies, by treachery, by the most rancorous vio- Bayonne, but that they both strove which should lence were striving to hurl Napoleon from his be the first to show himself there. When I saw throne. Earth never before witnessed such gi- them at my feet and was enabled to form a cer- gantic endeavors. Not a monarch in the old rect opinion of their total incapacity, I beheld world had a higher and a holier claim to his with compassion the fate of a great people. I crown than had Napoleon. The unanimous eagerly seized the singular opportunity, held oat voice of the people had made him their king. to me by fortune, for regenerating Spain, res- In self-defense,~ he took from the Bourbons of cuing her from the yoke of England, and inti- Spain that power which they were striving to mately uniting her with our system. It was, in use for his destruction. With characteristic my conception, laying the fundamental basis of generosity he did every thing in his power to the tranquillity and security of Europe. But I mitigate the sorrows of their fall. By the course was far from employing for that purpose, as it he pursued he even won the love of their selfish has been reported, any base and paltry strata- hearts. But at last the combined kings suc- gems. If I erred, it was, on the contrary, by ceeded. They dethroned Napoleon. They as- daring openness and extraordinary energy. Ba- signed to him no palace of leisure and of luxury. yonne was not the scene of premeditated ambush, They sent him to years of protracted agony upon but of a vast master-stroke of state policy. I the storm drenched rocks of St. Helena. Valen- could have preserved myself from these imputa- ~ay and Longwood! Who was the magnani- tions by a little hypocrisy, or by giving up the mous victor Prince of Peace to the fury of the people. But In reference to this affair, Napoleon remarked the idea appeared horrible to me, and struck me to OMeara, If the government I established as if I was to receive the price of blood. Be- had remained, it would have been the best thing sides, it must also be acknowledged that Murat that ever happened for Spain. I would have did me a great deal of mischief in the whole regenerated the Spaniards. I would have made affair them a great nation. In the place of a feeble, Be that as it may, I disdained having re- imbecile, superstitious race of Bourbons, I would course to crooked and common-place expedients. have given them a new dynasty, which would I found myself so powerful I dared to strike have no claim upon the nation, except by the from a situation too exalted. I wished to act good it would have rendered unto it. I would like Providence, which, of its own accord, ap- have destroyed superstition and priestcraft, and plies remedies to the wretchedness of mankind, LET THOSE LAUGH THAT WIN. 71 by means occasionally violent, but for which it is unaccountable to human judgment. Such, in a few words, says Napoleon, is the whole history of the affair of Spain. Let the world write and say what it thinks fit, the result must he what I have stated. You will perceive that there was no occasion whatever for my pursuing indirect means, falsehoods, breach of promises, and violation of my faith. In order to render myself culpable, it would have been absolutely necessary that I should have gratuitously dishonored myself. I never yet be- trayed any wish of such a nature. Says Alison, Perhaps in the whole annals of the world, blackened as they are by deeds of wickedness,. there is not to be found a more atrocious system of perfidy, fraud, and dissimu- lation, than that by which Napoleon won the kingdoms of the Spanish peninsula. On tbe contrary, says Sir Walter Scott, To do Napo- leon justice, he at no time, through this extra- ordinary discussion, made the least attempt to color his selfish policy. Sir Walter is unde- niably right. It is a plain story. The Spanish Bourbons were involved in the most desperate family quarrel. Father and son hated each other implacably. Both, of their own accord, hast- ened to Napoleon to secure his co-operation. Napoleon, who had previously, in consequence of their perfidy, contemplated their overthrow, availed himself of this unexpected opportunity. He told them frankly that it was not safe for him to leave either of them upon the throne. He promised that, if they would abdicate, he would give them all they wantedwealth and splendor. The hostility between the parent and the son was so malignant, that each party preferred to see Napoleon in possession of the throne, rather than the other. They both ac- cepted. Napoleon conferred upon them, with princely magnificence, palaces and hunting- grounds, and placed one of the noblest of men upon the throne of Spain. The regeneration of the degraded peninsula was commenced. Na- poleon hoped that he was now secure from a stab in the back. While these scenes were transpiring at Ba- yonne, Napoleon was hourly animating, by his tireless energies, the most distant provinces in his empire. He had commenced a series of most Herculean efforts to develop the maritime re- sources of France. Harbors and docks were formed. The coasts were fortified. Vessels of every description were built. Great care was devoted to the training of naval officers. Every available resource was called into action to pro- tect the French flag from insult, and to secure for France the benefits of commerce. In his intervals of leisure he mounted his horse, and rode along the shore, visiting the sea-ports, and gaining much information relative to naval affairs. During one of these excursions, he had seen num- bers of fine oaks and firs lying on the ground, and rotting for want of means of transport. My heart bleeds, he wrote to his minister, to see all this valuable wood perishing uselessly. LET THOSE LAUGH THAT WIN. PARIS is undoubtedly the most civilized city in the world. There are offices in that me- tropolis where marriages are negotiated. In our beloved native land we manage the matter differ- ently. We have offices to negotiate loans, & c., and upon the profits therefrom derived, we ven- ture to effect matrimonial alliances It is an indfrect method. For, as you will admit, it is much simpler, when I wish to dispose of my daughters hand, to step into an office, and pay one or two per cent. upon a blonde bridegroom (for instance), personally inoffensive, and war- ranted to enjoy $8000 per annum. It saves much doubtful visiting and many inquiries. I am not obliged to beseech Amelia Jane to beware until I have ascertained the necessary details about her lover, which is a delay that plunges us into all kinds of confusion. On her part, Amelia Jane is not exposed to harassing doubts as to the precise number of silk dresses, or what amount of car- riage-hire she may indulge in; and has it clearly understood, at the outset, that she is to have two new bonnets, and opera d discretion, annually. Society ought to be more exactly regulated iFI this respect. To save all embarrassment, and promote universal good-feeling, there should be delicate little notices let into the front doors of fine housesmine, for example, and yoursupon which it would be well to inscribe, in gold letters of the most persuasive shape Young men under $5000 per an. not admitted. This would save all trouble. It would certify to the youths who failed of the conditions, that it was useless for them to lavish their hearts yearn- ing upon that particular prize, and it would secure Amelia Jane from all uncertainty; while she could follow the sweet prompting of nature toward any of the suitors in the parlor, sure that every one of them would allow the prescribed quantity of bonnet, opera, and carriage. These terms might not be inflexible. As years wore on, and Amelia Jane advanced with them, and other Amelia Janes began to appear in the parlor, and swarms of youths whose incomes re- mained sullenly fixed at $4000, or even $3000 per annum, passed hopelessly by the fatal door, repressing their choking sighs, and cursing their unhappy fates: then that door might relax, and the stern 5 melt graciously into a 4, and so, grad- ually and by lingering degrees, as the girls came on, and the ardent youths did notyou and I, the happy fathers of brilliant bevies of Amelia Janes, might waive our rights of superiority, and generously descend to meet the world. How this would simplify society! And yet I am not sure that the Paris method is not better. To be sure it comes originally from the East, where marriages are managed by the friends and relatives of the pair, and the husband never sees his brides face until they are married; But it is still superior in Paris, where the intermediate is a broker, unknown to both parties. For where is a disinterested negotiator desirable, if not in mat- rimonial arrangements Paris is certainly the capital of civilization.

LET THOSE LAUGH THAT WIN. 71 by means occasionally violent, but for which it is unaccountable to human judgment. Such, in a few words, says Napoleon, is the whole history of the affair of Spain. Let the world write and say what it thinks fit, the result must he what I have stated. You will perceive that there was no occasion whatever for my pursuing indirect means, falsehoods, breach of promises, and violation of my faith. In order to render myself culpable, it would have been absolutely necessary that I should have gratuitously dishonored myself. I never yet be- trayed any wish of such a nature. Says Alison, Perhaps in the whole annals of the world, blackened as they are by deeds of wickedness,. there is not to be found a more atrocious system of perfidy, fraud, and dissimu- lation, than that by which Napoleon won the kingdoms of the Spanish peninsula. On tbe contrary, says Sir Walter Scott, To do Napo- leon justice, he at no time, through this extra- ordinary discussion, made the least attempt to color his selfish policy. Sir Walter is unde- niably right. It is a plain story. The Spanish Bourbons were involved in the most desperate family quarrel. Father and son hated each other implacably. Both, of their own accord, hast- ened to Napoleon to secure his co-operation. Napoleon, who had previously, in consequence of their perfidy, contemplated their overthrow, availed himself of this unexpected opportunity. He told them frankly that it was not safe for him to leave either of them upon the throne. He promised that, if they would abdicate, he would give them all they wantedwealth and splendor. The hostility between the parent and the son was so malignant, that each party preferred to see Napoleon in possession of the throne, rather than the other. They both ac- cepted. Napoleon conferred upon them, with princely magnificence, palaces and hunting- grounds, and placed one of the noblest of men upon the throne of Spain. The regeneration of the degraded peninsula was commenced. Na- poleon hoped that he was now secure from a stab in the back. While these scenes were transpiring at Ba- yonne, Napoleon was hourly animating, by his tireless energies, the most distant provinces in his empire. He had commenced a series of most Herculean efforts to develop the maritime re- sources of France. Harbors and docks were formed. The coasts were fortified. Vessels of every description were built. Great care was devoted to the training of naval officers. Every available resource was called into action to pro- tect the French flag from insult, and to secure for France the benefits of commerce. In his intervals of leisure he mounted his horse, and rode along the shore, visiting the sea-ports, and gaining much information relative to naval affairs. During one of these excursions, he had seen num- bers of fine oaks and firs lying on the ground, and rotting for want of means of transport. My heart bleeds, he wrote to his minister, to see all this valuable wood perishing uselessly. LET THOSE LAUGH THAT WIN. PARIS is undoubtedly the most civilized city in the world. There are offices in that me- tropolis where marriages are negotiated. In our beloved native land we manage the matter differ- ently. We have offices to negotiate loans, & c., and upon the profits therefrom derived, we ven- ture to effect matrimonial alliances It is an indfrect method. For, as you will admit, it is much simpler, when I wish to dispose of my daughters hand, to step into an office, and pay one or two per cent. upon a blonde bridegroom (for instance), personally inoffensive, and war- ranted to enjoy $8000 per annum. It saves much doubtful visiting and many inquiries. I am not obliged to beseech Amelia Jane to beware until I have ascertained the necessary details about her lover, which is a delay that plunges us into all kinds of confusion. On her part, Amelia Jane is not exposed to harassing doubts as to the precise number of silk dresses, or what amount of car- riage-hire she may indulge in; and has it clearly understood, at the outset, that she is to have two new bonnets, and opera d discretion, annually. Society ought to be more exactly regulated iFI this respect. To save all embarrassment, and promote universal good-feeling, there should be delicate little notices let into the front doors of fine housesmine, for example, and yoursupon which it would be well to inscribe, in gold letters of the most persuasive shape Young men under $5000 per an. not admitted. This would save all trouble. It would certify to the youths who failed of the conditions, that it was useless for them to lavish their hearts yearn- ing upon that particular prize, and it would secure Amelia Jane from all uncertainty; while she could follow the sweet prompting of nature toward any of the suitors in the parlor, sure that every one of them would allow the prescribed quantity of bonnet, opera, and carriage. These terms might not be inflexible. As years wore on, and Amelia Jane advanced with them, and other Amelia Janes began to appear in the parlor, and swarms of youths whose incomes re- mained sullenly fixed at $4000, or even $3000 per annum, passed hopelessly by the fatal door, repressing their choking sighs, and cursing their unhappy fates: then that door might relax, and the stern 5 melt graciously into a 4, and so, grad- ually and by lingering degrees, as the girls came on, and the ardent youths did notyou and I, the happy fathers of brilliant bevies of Amelia Janes, might waive our rights of superiority, and generously descend to meet the world. How this would simplify society! And yet I am not sure that the Paris method is not better. To be sure it comes originally from the East, where marriages are managed by the friends and relatives of the pair, and the husband never sees his brides face until they are married; But it is still superior in Paris, where the intermediate is a broker, unknown to both parties. For where is a disinterested negotiator desirable, if not in mat- rimonial arrangements Paris is certainly the capital of civilization. 72 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. I had undertaken to be the negotiator for my friend, Don Bobtail; or, if not precisely negoti- ator, yet what was much the same thingto se- cure his marriage with an heiress. Now, in England, I am told, this is not so difficult a thing to do. That superb aristocracy, of which the great and good George the Fourth was so noble a head, is dear in its last analysis to every loyal child of the island, and as history shows conclusively that the best, most heroic, and most valuable men have always been titled, so every well-regulated parent goes down with gratitude to the grave, if his Amelia Jane can only become Lady Adolphus John. To such well-regulated parents the mention of the noble name is enoughthat includes the three graces, the nine muses, and the ten command- ments. It is only necessary for My Lord to specify the sum which he will condescend to re- ceive with his precious Amelia, and the morning upon which it will suit his convenience to say yes at St. Georges, Hanover Square. Wed- ding breakfastsa delightful traveling costume the proper announcement to a breathless world, It is confidently rumored that the Right Hon. the King of Clubs is about to lead to the hymen- cal altar the young, lovely, and accomplished Amelia Jane, eldest daughter of Norfolk Brindle, ofBrindle Lodge, Chatsworth, Devon, Esq.the rapid drive to St. Georgesthe collationthe happy pair left at two oclock in the pony sulky of the noble and gallant bridegroom, for the seat of the accomplished brides father, Brindle Lodge, Chatsworth, Devonthe yesterday morning, at Bull Terrace, Smithfield, the Lady of the Right Hon. King of Clubs, of a sonall these follow in due order. An interested world ofNorfolk Brindle, Esquires, hang over the radiant items, and long for their turn, and their Amelias title, to arrive. So they manage it in England. No problem in society so easy, asgiven a title to marry an heiress. One can not wonder at the high moral tone so evident in those circles, nor at the vir- tuous frown with which French novels are con- demned andread. Had I been in London with the Spanish Embassador, I think I could have managed it. But it was not so easy in a land of republican virtues, where men are measured by their worth, and not by any accessories of fortune. Is it not notorious that the American female scorns the gauds of wealth, and longs for connubial felicity in a suburban cot Is it not evident that the matches, par exc hence, are not the men of brass, but of brains; and that every girl is considered to have married admirably, who has rejected $20,000 a year and age, for youth and love Are they ever called foolish Is she who takes an inveterate case of gilded gout, aged sixty-five, ever called a quiet, sensible woman, without ro- mantic flummery, and who knows what she is about Of course she is not. It is perfectly well known that we all grieve over it. It is no- torious that when our friends are engaged, we instantly inquire, Are they very much in love B and never, Whats his income B Title, of course, would avail the distinguished Don nothing. My young friend, he said to me, not long after the little episode related in our May Num- ber, I remember that you promised to assist me to marry an heiress. I am quite ready. My father was a man of great wealth and I was early initiated into all the accomplishments of a man of fashion. I adopted the diplomatic career, and have had the honor of dancing at all the courts of Europe. My father left,me nothing, and I have been obliged to exist by raising little loans among my friends Polish Counts Icthyosaurowski? inquired I. The Spanish Embassador smiled blandly, and took snuff My young friend is facetious, he continued. But for my part I wish I had been born a fisher- boy rather than a gentleman, since now, with- out any profession, and with a carefully culti- vated repugnance to work, I have no resource but to marry an heiress: or, added the Don, taking snuff, raising farther loans. We walked on silently for some time. The Don twirled his mustache, and looked at all the women we passed. I was lost in meditation; telling overthe list of ladies of whose favor I could be sure, for a well auth uticated Spanish Don. While I was still abstracted I heard a quiet laugh, from my companion, a merry gurgling in his cravat. It was a laugh so purely private that I was afraid of intruding if I asked What is it B But I could not help it, and asked. I observed an old acquaintance passing, replied Fandango, smiling again. Ab, then, you have friends in the city, inquired I. Friends is perhaps a strong term, rejoined the Embassador; and he burst into a loud laugh. I looked at him, surprised; and, tapping his snuff-box, he offered it to meand added: It was young Dove that passed. An ingenuous youth, said I, for I had great respect for a gentleman like Mr. Dove, who had passed a few months in Europe, where, as he used to say to an admiring circle of untrav- eled youths, I rather saw the elephant. A very ingenuous youth, said Don Bobtail Fandango, and smiled so radiantly, that I could not help saying: You have an intimate acquaintance with Dove B I had for one evening, replied the Don; and I was thinking as he passed whether I might not effect a loan from him. We had the pleasure of a little transaction of the kind when we met upon the Continent, which, if you think it would amuse you, I will relate. Do so, by all means. Dove is one of my models. My friend took snuff, and looked inquiringly at me; then commenced: One evening at the Alhergo Reale, or Hotel Royal, at Bologna, I was just finishing my dinner at the table-dh6te, and meditating with some 73 LET THOSE LAUGH THAT WIN. curiosity how I should pay my bill there, for which the host had expressed some anxiety. I had but two or three friends in town, and they were at different hotels, where, I have reason to believe, the landlords were in a similar un- certainty respecting the bills of my friends. While I was thus passing the time over my glass, with a Vienna newspaper in my hand, a youth entered, with a lordly air, and glancing superciliously around the room, sat down at the farther end of the table, and interrogated the host in very bad French, as to what there was in the house fit for dinner. You would have thought, probably, myyoung friend Smytthe, from the fine clothes, the waist- coat buttons, the kid-gloves, the thin boots, the superfine surtout, that it was probably the heir of the Russian throne, or a son of the Sultan, traveling, with all his royalty but his pride, incog. I was not so deceived. In the course of travels by no means limited, I recognized in this superb swagger, this aristocratic ill-breed- ing, one of your beloved countrymenone of the class, I mean, who pity Englishmen, because they dont elect a Queen every four years, and who sniff at the Campagna, and ask if you have ever seen a prairie ;who cross the ocean to visit palaces in which hereditary wealth and royal care have collected invaluable works of art, and laugh at monarchies ;who crush and crswd for hours to get a standing-place in the Sistine Chapel, and hear the Miserere, then go back to the hotel to rail at the intolerable mum- ineries of Romaflism ;who boast interminably of Yankee shrewdness, and pay the highest price for all the worst things in Europe ;who laugh at the obsequiousness of snobs, and refuse to take off their hats in honor of the Hoat whose only pride, they say, is that they are Americans and republicans, and whose first care is to be invited to royal and noble balls, and to regret earnestly that nations should try to be republican before they are prepared for it ;who come home and dazzle you, my dear Smytthe, and others like you, with the recit~l of their heroic and mysterious adventures with count- esses, because they have been the easy dupe of every grisette in Paris, and of every sharper on the Continentcheated by picture-dealersby men who mysteriously smuggle genuine Ha- vanas, which are made by thousands in the next streetby couriersby landlordsby porters, and who always pay five or six francs for the useless candles which are lighted in every hotel upon their arrival, and which they are too proud to blow out. This is the style of gentlenian I immediately recognized in the gallant youth who entered and ordered his dinner. Then, of course, he ordered Galignani. I knew that he would presently begin to study me, so I fell into an abstracted state of tooth- picking and newspaper-reading, and assumed the aristocratic air, in which yen republicans are naturally not very discriminatin~,. He presently selected the most expensive wine upon the bill and ordered it to be got ready, while a bottle of champagne washed down his solitary dinner. I knew that he was pleased with my appearance; I knew that he considered me to be a nobleman (as I am), and that he wished me to be duly impressed with his own grandeur. Send my servant, said he, when the waiter brought him the wine. The moment afterward, Giuseppe, one of my old friends, to whom I have been often indebted for the news of the arrival of a pigeonI mean of a young gentleman of fortune (pigeon is a technical term for these in the polite European circles that I frequent), in the town where we chanced to meet. Giuseppe was what you re- publicans would call smart. He used to make 90 per cent. upon all money that passed through his hands. Giuseppes eyes and mine exchanged greet- ings when he entered, but we said nothing. Was M. Giuseppe in the diplomatic career, inquired I of Don Bobtail. No, not precisely, said he, he was a cou- rier. Ah! said I. Yes, said he. Then he continued: My young Amerioan friend, who was, in fact, no other than the amiable Mr. Dove, who has just passed, ordered Giuseppe in a very audible tone to see that the carriage was pro- perly sheltered, and that all four of the small trunks were taken to his roomas for the rest it was no matter. Then he asked Giuseppe if there were probably any good specimens of the Bolognese School to be obtained at a human price, for he was fond of the Bolognese School, and would much like to own a fine specimen. Giuseppe said that he had heard last winter of a fine Caracci in the private gallery of the Count Cassaccio, for which the hereditary Duke of Mum-Frapp6 had offered ten thousand francs: but the family of Cassaccio, although reduced, would not let it go under eleven thousand. The papers were perfect, and it was one of the best authenticated pictures in the Cassaccio Gallery. Mr. Dove listened to this story as if he were sorry the price had not been a hundred thousand francs. Well, said he, when Giuseppe had finished, I will see in the morning. This little passage, I knew, had been played off upon me, and I was more grateful to my amiable young friend Mr. Dove, than he had any suspicion, for the insight into his pecuniary re- sources, with which he had favored me. When his expensive bottle of wine came up, and he was fairly embarked upon it, and was getting stranded upon the advertisements at the bottom of Galignani, I arose carelessly, and was slowly sauntering down the room, quite over- looking Dove, and filliping jhe crumbs from my trowsers, when seeing him laying down Galig- nani, I said to him in pure English, and with well-bred nonchalance 74 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. Will you permit me to look at that paper. Oh! certainly, sir, replied he. I took it and threw my eye up and down the columns. Did you hurt it, Don Bobtail 3 asked I at this moment. Hurt what 3 said he. Your eye, Don Bob, said I. The Spanish Embassador took snuff beaming- ly, then resumed: As I laid it down, I said to the good Dove, there seems to be nothing new. No, nothing. Are you an Englishman 3 No, I am not, answered I. You speak the language so well, said Dove. Indifferently. You are very kind. You, I presume, are a Russian gentleman. I have observed that you young Americans ai~e not sorry to be mistaken for the noblemen of any nation, and I felt quite sure that Dove would not be exasperated. No, I am an American, replied he smiling. And a fortunate man, sir, in being so, I responded. When I was in your country Have you been in America 3 asked Dove. Now, strictly speaking, I had not been, but I had been in the house of the American Minister at various Courts which, by diplomatic courtesy, is considered his country. And as I had not, strictly speaking, been in the country, neither was my knowledge of its history so exact as it might otherwise have been, but I thought it would be as well to plunge on rapidly, so I an- swered: Oh! yes, I have been in America, andand and, I much admire the country of the great General Washington Irving. I was quite sure of the names; not so sure that I had composed them properly. Mr. Dove smiled, and said that he considered me rather an amusing person. You have some good things over here too, said Mr. Dove. You are very kind, I answered. Yesa few citiespicturesstatues, & c.a little his- tory, and so onsome tolerable mountains and ruins. Yes, its all very well, on rather a small scale. Pleasant place, Bologna 3 inquired Dove. Soso-ishquieta picture or twoan arcade or soa leaning towerRossini some- where in the townquietmoral, rather. Do you stay long 3 No, must be off to-morrow, said Dove, must hurry homeI get tired of this business. Youve been long in Europe 3 I asked. Yes, six weeks, but I havent seen half yet. Ive only been to England, Ireland, Scotland, France, and a part of Spain and Italy. Ive got Switzerland and Germany to do yet, and I must be at home in five weeks! You leave in the morning 3 I said. Yes, I must be off. I should like to stay longer, but its impossible. Been here long 3 Yes, several months, I answered, in fact I am making the tour of Europe at my leisure as easily as if I were upon a sporting tour. I have made several friends here, charming per- sons. Two or three are coming to my room to- night, and I shall be very glad if you would join us. Thank you, replied Dove, dont care if I do. One likes to see society, you know, when hes traveling. But, added he, pausing a little, do they speak English 3 Not to say that I dont speak French, but Im more at home, as it were, in English. Make yourself easy, dear sir, said I, taking out my card, which singularly enough bore at that period of my life, the name of M. le Cheva- lier Tric-Trac. The ingenuous Dove looked flattered at a noblemans attention, and asked me to take a glass of wine. I did not decline. Why should I have de- clined 3 It was unexceptionable Sherryat least to one who rarely ventured beyond yin ordinezre, and as I knew that the landlord of the house had a cask of wine from which he drew off into bottles with various labels, that stood at hand, in accordance with orders, I knew the wine was good. I had often seen a young Englishman order some light sherry, and find it palatable. His friend, an American, would presently com- mand the Madeira of the highest price, which the same invaluable fount supplied. Give up drinking that stuff, Jonathan would jocosely remark to John, who would smile, and sip the Madeira, and confess: Well, after all,one does get a better wine for a better prico. And so the graceful game of life went forward and all the players were pleased. I appointed eight oclock as the hour of re- union at my rooms, and left my young friend Dove for a stroll under the Arcades, in which I did not invite him to join me, as I wished to pay a visit or so to my friends. Repairing to the Croce dOro (you have been in Bologna 3), I was charmed to find one of my particular intimates standing ~t the door of his hotel. Buone sera! cried he, what luck 3 I smiled significantly, and stepped in to sip coffee and smoke a friendly cigar. Are you at leisure this evening, M. Roth- schild 3 said I gravely to my friend. Quite soafter vespers, said he seriously. I am glad to hear it, continued I, for a young friend of mine from America has arrived this evening in Bologna, and leaves in the morn- ing, in his own carriage; and I thought to make his stay agreeable, by a little re-union at my rooms. I shall be most happy to make your friends acquaintance, replied my companion; is he young 3 Quite young. In fact, I should say decided- ly young, answered I quietly. If there is any thing which especially pleases me, said M. Rothschild, it is the society of ingenuous youth. My friend, M. Rothschild., I may observe, ~ LET THOSE LAUGH THAT WIN. 75 been much in England, and spoke the language very fluently. He said that he was a younger brother of the famous banking house of that name, and as I had no reason to doubt the word of a gentleman I valued so highly, it was my cus- tom to introduce my friend as M. Rothschild. It saved embarrassing explanations. As we may want to amuse ourselves, you may possibly have a pack of cards among your effects V I said interrogatively. It is barely possible, he rejoined. I will look; and if I should not chance to find any, I am quite confident our good friend Setta Mezzo has a packif he added, you had intended him to be of the party I think he would be a welcome addition, said I, and if you will do me the favor to bring him, I am quite sure Mr. Doves entertainment would be secured. At what hour V inquired M. Rothschild. At eight oclock, I answered. Good-evening, Signor Cavaliere. Good-evening, M. Rothschild. And I passed pleasantly along under the arcades, humming an air from La Straniera. Do you know the Opera, Mr. Smytthe Its one of my favorites. Bologna is also one of my favor- ite cities. It is quiet, and sufficiently removed from the great routes of travel. One makes friends there, not without advantage. However, I am prosing. Eight oclock caine, and with it my friend, Mr. Dove. He was en grande tenue. Fine black throughout, with-amazing pearls for shirt-studs. A very delicate foot had Dove, brilliantly boot- ed. Small hands, nicely kidded. In truth, Mr. Smytthe, the young Dove was gentlemanly to the last degree. I have rarely met a more gentle- manly person than Dove. My room was not very much illuminated. Light is a little vulgar, I think. Well shaded rooms, & demi-j our, as our amiable French friends sayand not without reasonare much prefer- able. Gas is gaudyfortunately there is none in Bologna. A wax candle or two better suits the complexion.* Presently M. Rothschild arriveda grave gentleman, in white cravat and loose black clothes. He displayed no diamonds. Kings do not al- ways wear their crowns; and I have observed that hankers buttons are not always Friedrich- dors nor Napoleons. M. Rothschild had, also, roomy boots, and a hat which did not dazzle the eye with that painful polish of newness, observa- ble in the hats ofwell, if you chooseof your- self, my dear Smytthe. He was staid and rather taciturn. Yet, upon Mr. Doves suggesting a leading question about the Turkish loan then pending, M. Rothschild indulged in a very lu- minous exposition of the true financial policy of Europe. You see, my dear sir, said he, addressing ~vtr. Dove, who looked as if he were expecting to be suddenly summoned home to be placed at the head of the Treasury Department. You see England can not possibly allow Russia to eat up Turkey, nor can France permit England to take too firm root in Egypt. Is it not there- fore plain, that the statu quo must be maintained. effectively as laid down in the treaty of Adrian- oplethe staten quo maintained, and exchanges kept easy That is the point, after all, to keep exchanges easy. Sorry to see, this evening, continued he, addressing me, that the French funds are down again. While the eminent banker was employed in stating to Mr. Dove why the French funds had fallen, I heard the nimble step of the Count Setta Mezzo. Come in, cried I; and the Count came in, resplendent. The Count wore trowsers plaited at the hips, and large around the body. He had a very brilliant waistcoat, with metal buttons, and a dis- play of parti-colored jewelry upon his shirt front, a blue body-coat, with effulgent buttons, and a crimson cravat completed the bulk of his attire. It was garnished with many very beautiful chains, and his small hands flashed with invaluable rings. His appearance was certainly very effective, and as I saw that Dove was a good deal impressed, I whispered to him as I returned from saluting the Count: A natural son of the Pope. I saw the republican eyes of my friend dilate with joy at the intelligence. A man of great fashion, r~pandu every where, continued I; then said: Count Setta Mezzo, my particular friend, Mr. Dove, from America. Ah! charms! cried the Count, bowing ar- dently, and pressing the well-kidded hand of Dove in his own. You are from one very great country. Ah! Am& ique, Am& ique! and you are recently arrive V A few weeks since, only, replied M. Dove, in a manner that did honor to his country. And how are mee friend Mr. and Mr., in- quired the Count, rattling over a list of names, apparently not unknown to Dove. Gracious! do you know all those V cried he, delighted; why, they are all my friends. And immensely mine, shouted the Count, in transport. And making as if he were about to embrace Mr. Dove; I met them in Baden- Baden, in Hamburg, at Spa, at Florence, every where. Ah! my best, best friends! How odd I never heard them speak of you, said Dove. A/i! sacr~! I am afraid not so odd. They meet so many, they forget me, and Count Setta Mezzo, evidently the most careless and jovial oc good fellows, looked a little pensive; while Dove compared the warm-hearted remembrance of his new friend with the heedless forgetfulness of his old companions, and determined to reproach them when he returned to Am~rique, Am~rique. Nim~orte, vice len bagatelle! laughed the gay Count. Come, Tric-Trac, where arc the * [What a profound social observation on the part of my friend. Don Bob. I am proud to know a man who knows so many things, well.J. S., Jr.] 76 HARPER$ NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. cigars ~ cried he, in the most easy, winning schuld. You understand all that, you young manner. How can one young Americain live blast men of the world! I know you. without his smoke! Well, we sat down to whist. Mr. Dove won Perhaps, maid I, smoke may be disagree- the thousand francs. The Count winked at him. able to NI. Rothschild. NI. Rothschild said, gravely: Oh, no, said he, dont let me be a bug- Sir, you are an accomplished player, I com. bear. I dont smoke. It would hardly become pliment you upon your skill. a man in my situation, but I am very fond of it. Dove blushed, and tossed his head carelessly. I pray you not to mind me. The play went onand the drinking, and the Cigars were lighted. And we sat conversing night. I ordered more brandy and cigars. Mr. around the table. The grave NI. Rothschild en- Dove won again. The Count threw up his deavored constantly to entrap Mr. Dove into a hands with delight. learned conversation upon the present financial Vive la jeune Am& iqzee! cried he. condition of the world, and how the discoveries Mr. Dove smiled in return. He smiled a in Australia and California would affect the Rus- great deal. In fact he seemed to have difficulty in sian securities. Doves great respect for a Prince stopping. His eyes were very radiant and very among earthly rulers made him very attentive, but red. His cheek was flushed too, and his hand I saw that he was bored. In fact, you would have not so steady as a statues. In truth he seemed thought, my dear Smytthe, that NI. Rothschild had a good deal excited, and the few observations some intention ofwearying his companion, so per- which he ventured, were rather fragmentary tinacious was he. in fact I fear that Mr. Dove hcc-d as he At length I, who saw how young Dove longed talked. to amuse himself in some pleasanter way than Ahout two oclock in the morning we were a discussing finance, said: good deal interested in the game. The luck bad What a pity we havent a pack of cards, we unfortunately turned against your countryman, might while away an hour pleasantly enough. who was some five thousand francs upon the The moment Dove heard the proposition, he wrong side of Cr; About three oclock, at a very shouted Sure enough, as if any kind of relief interesting passage of the game, Mr. Doves eyes were delightful, closed in a reeling manner, and he sank quite But, said I, unfortunately I play so little powerless under the table. We immediately that I have no cards in my room, and its late to raised him, and, as it was clear that he would be buy anythe shops are shut. unable to play longer that eveningas I hoped How very fortunate I am, interrupted the he would have done, to recover what he had lost Count, Vwas going to meet a few other friends we resolved to carry him quietly to his room, after I leave your charming apartments, and I in which operation Giuseppe assisted, for which had one little pack with me. I bought it as I NI. Rothschild gave him a hundred francs on came along. account, which he had just found in the purse So saying, the Italian nobleman produced a of Mr. Dove, that the Count had removed from fresh pack, at the sight of which the young eyes his pocket, fearing that it might increase his of my friend Dove sparkled. I rang at the same weight too much, as we carried him to his time for a little refreshment. room. Perhaps NI. Rothschild doesnt play, said It was very singular, also, that a fine diamond the Count. ring slipped from his finger, and could not be It is not my habit, certainly, said that gen- found, although NI. Rothschild, the Count, and tleman. I searched every where for it. Nor mine, added I. The next morning I learned that Mr. Dove But I have no moral objection to taking a was too unwell to leave Bologna, and after a hand, continued he. little conversation with my friendswho had Nor I. continued I. kindly passed the night in my room, lest our Allons donc, shouted the enthusiastic Ital- guest should be in want of any thingI stepped ian, while his eyes flashed as brightly as his into his room. rings and chains. Meester Dove, me and you Good-morning, Mr. Dove, said I; I am against the old ones, hey ~ truly sorry you are unwell. We went it a little Certainly, answered Dove, pouring out too hard, last night. some Cognac, Young America and Young Italy Oh, no, its nothing, replied Dove, who for ever! was unwilling to be considered the inferior of And Dove and Setta Mezzo clasped hands any man at a debauch; I thought Id lie over and drained a glowing beaker. this morning. That was rather dizzy brandy, NI. Rothschild proposed whist, as the game though, I confess. In fact, I was so sleepy the most adapted to his position, and quietly put latter part of the evening, that I dont distinctly down a bill for a thousand francs. Dove opened remember every thing that happened. his eyes, enchanted to play on the great scale Youve not forgotten, I hope, said I, pull- with so distinguished a man. You young men ing out thirty Napoleons (which I rather think must see life, you know, Smytthe. Its a pleas- the Count had found in Mr. Doves purse) and ant thing to say, when I won a few thousands laying them down, that I owe you this little of the Queen of Spain, or of Lafitte, or of Roth- sum. INFLUENCE OF NOVELS. 77 No, really, cried Dove, I cant allow it, I dont remember it a bit, I cant take the money. My dear sir, replied I, you forgbt that it is a debt of honor, and all the more obligatory, because you hold no memorandum of it. Dont say anotherword. Then we fell into a little light discourse, and I implored him to send for me if he wished any thing, and withdrew. I found M. Rothschild and the Count sipping coffee in my room. The latter said he had just taken three places in a post-carriage for Florence, and begged us to accept the two spare seats. It goes in half-an-hour, said he, and its now half-past nine. Well, said M. Rothschild, I should like to visit the statues and pictures in Florence once more, and I will go if the Chevalier is willing. I could not refuse, and at a quarter before ten M. Rothschild stepped into Mr. Doves room. Ah! good-morning, said he. Sorry not to find you well. Its nothing, replied Dove; nothing at all. 1 happened in as I chanced to be passing, continued M. Rothschild, merely to ask if it were convenient for you to pay that little sum, of which, you remember, I took no memorandum from you. Oh, yes, said Mr. Dove, perceiving that he must have lost something, but not very distinctly recalling the amount, yesIremember. It was, I thinkit was Four hundred Napoleons, interposed M. Rothschild~ with financial precision. Exactly, said Mr. Dove. Giuseppe, bring the writing-desk. Your ingenuous countryman then wrote a draft for the amount, and handed it to M. Roth- schild, who, looking at his watch, said that he had an engagenient at ten, and bade Dove good- morning. Fortunately the post-carriage was just ready to start, and the Count and I were on the steps. V~Je lost no time, and in a few minutes were quietly bowling out of the old town of Bologna. It is a fine old city, my dear Smytthe, and as I said to the youth who has just passed us, quiet rather, and moral. However, have you thought of my heiress 3 Dear Don Bobtail, said I, after your pleas- ant story I shall want at least a month to con- sider. INFLUENCE OF NOVELS. WE do not look upon prose works of fiction as constituting by any means an insignifi- cant or trivial province of literature. In this, as in any other line of exertion, merit is to be meas- ured, not by the department chosen, but by the degree of excellence reached in that department. The glory of an actor is not considered to be in- dicated by the dignity of the r6le assigned to him, but by the truth and vividness of his represent- ation; and the confidantes, the valets, and the peasants are often the great characters of the piece, while the lovers, kings, and heroes are VOL. VIINo. 37.F enacted by any one who can strut and declaim. In like manner, an author is not ennobled by the subject which he chooses, but l~y the power with which he handles it: an historian may sink be- low coiitempt, though lie has chosen Europe for his arena, and the most stirring period of its annals for his epoch; a tragedian, though he depicts the most mysterious horrors which hu- manity has undergone, may justly be hissed off the stage for the imbecility of his performance an epic poet, though Alfred be his theme, pur- sued through twelve cantos of sonorous versifi- cation, may be saved from damnation only by the obscurity w,hich secures him from perusal; while the delineator of the simplest and hum- blest scenes of life, if his pictures be but faith- ful, his sentiments lofty, his perceptions just, and his coloring natural, may attain a deserved immortality, become a household name at every hearth, a favorite with all ages, and a blessing to all times Genius stamps its own signet on every performance, whatever be the kind of work it takes in hand; and nowhere is its impress more deep and unmistakable than in those vol- umes which reproduce in fiction the richest and most cenial realities of life CoA~2~F~d merely as artist productions, we are disposed to place the ablest and finest works of fiction in a very high rank among the achieve- ments of human intellect. Many of their char- acters are absolute creationsan addition to the minds wealthan everlasting possession a positive contribution to the worlds museum of enduring wonders and unfading beautiesex- istences as real as the heroes of ancient story or the worthies of private life But even writers who do not aspire or can not reach so high as this, often leave behind them enduring and beautiful records, which aftertimes will not willingly let die; of conceptions lofty and refined, of beings who win their way to every heart; of domestic pictures which all must love~ and nearly all may emulate; of virtues at once so loving and so real, that scarcely any one can contemplate them without imbibing some good influence from the sight; of victories won in many a moral struggle, which irresistibly sug- gest a go and do thou likewise to every reader. If novels and romances, of which the tone is low, and the taste bad, and the coloring volup- tuous, and the morality questionable, are among the subtlest and deadliest poisons cast forth into the world, those of a purer spirit and a higher tendency are, we honestly believe, among the most effective agencies of good. Hundreds of readers who would sleep over a sermon, or drone over an essay, or yield a cold and barren assent to the deductions of an ethical treatise, will be startled into reflection, or won to emulation, or roused into effort, by the delineations they meet with in a tale which they opened only for the amusement of an idle hour, For truth in closest words shall fail, When truth embodied in a tale Shall enter in at lowly doors. The story may not (and never should) have been

INFLUENCE OF NOVELS. 77 No, really, cried Dove, I cant allow it, I dont remember it a bit, I cant take the money. My dear sir, replied I, you forgbt that it is a debt of honor, and all the more obligatory, because you hold no memorandum of it. Dont say anotherword. Then we fell into a little light discourse, and I implored him to send for me if he wished any thing, and withdrew. I found M. Rothschild and the Count sipping coffee in my room. The latter said he had just taken three places in a post-carriage for Florence, and begged us to accept the two spare seats. It goes in half-an-hour, said he, and its now half-past nine. Well, said M. Rothschild, I should like to visit the statues and pictures in Florence once more, and I will go if the Chevalier is willing. I could not refuse, and at a quarter before ten M. Rothschild stepped into Mr. Doves room. Ah! good-morning, said he. Sorry not to find you well. Its nothing, replied Dove; nothing at all. 1 happened in as I chanced to be passing, continued M. Rothschild, merely to ask if it were convenient for you to pay that little sum, of which, you remember, I took no memorandum from you. Oh, yes, said Mr. Dove, perceiving that he must have lost something, but not very distinctly recalling the amount, yesIremember. It was, I thinkit was Four hundred Napoleons, interposed M. Rothschild~ with financial precision. Exactly, said Mr. Dove. Giuseppe, bring the writing-desk. Your ingenuous countryman then wrote a draft for the amount, and handed it to M. Roth- schild, who, looking at his watch, said that he had an engagenient at ten, and bade Dove good- morning. Fortunately the post-carriage was just ready to start, and the Count and I were on the steps. V~Je lost no time, and in a few minutes were quietly bowling out of the old town of Bologna. It is a fine old city, my dear Smytthe, and as I said to the youth who has just passed us, quiet rather, and moral. However, have you thought of my heiress 3 Dear Don Bobtail, said I, after your pleas- ant story I shall want at least a month to con- sider. INFLUENCE OF NOVELS. WE do not look upon prose works of fiction as constituting by any means an insignifi- cant or trivial province of literature. In this, as in any other line of exertion, merit is to be meas- ured, not by the department chosen, but by the degree of excellence reached in that department. The glory of an actor is not considered to be in- dicated by the dignity of the r6le assigned to him, but by the truth and vividness of his represent- ation; and the confidantes, the valets, and the peasants are often the great characters of the piece, while the lovers, kings, and heroes are VOL. VIINo. 37.F enacted by any one who can strut and declaim. In like manner, an author is not ennobled by the subject which he chooses, but l~y the power with which he handles it: an historian may sink be- low coiitempt, though lie has chosen Europe for his arena, and the most stirring period of its annals for his epoch; a tragedian, though he depicts the most mysterious horrors which hu- manity has undergone, may justly be hissed off the stage for the imbecility of his performance an epic poet, though Alfred be his theme, pur- sued through twelve cantos of sonorous versifi- cation, may be saved from damnation only by the obscurity w,hich secures him from perusal; while the delineator of the simplest and hum- blest scenes of life, if his pictures be but faith- ful, his sentiments lofty, his perceptions just, and his coloring natural, may attain a deserved immortality, become a household name at every hearth, a favorite with all ages, and a blessing to all times Genius stamps its own signet on every performance, whatever be the kind of work it takes in hand; and nowhere is its impress more deep and unmistakable than in those vol- umes which reproduce in fiction the richest and most cenial realities of life CoA~2~F~d merely as artist productions, we are disposed to place the ablest and finest works of fiction in a very high rank among the achieve- ments of human intellect. Many of their char- acters are absolute creationsan addition to the minds wealthan everlasting possession a positive contribution to the worlds museum of enduring wonders and unfading beautiesex- istences as real as the heroes of ancient story or the worthies of private life But even writers who do not aspire or can not reach so high as this, often leave behind them enduring and beautiful records, which aftertimes will not willingly let die; of conceptions lofty and refined, of beings who win their way to every heart; of domestic pictures which all must love~ and nearly all may emulate; of virtues at once so loving and so real, that scarcely any one can contemplate them without imbibing some good influence from the sight; of victories won in many a moral struggle, which irresistibly sug- gest a go and do thou likewise to every reader. If novels and romances, of which the tone is low, and the taste bad, and the coloring volup- tuous, and the morality questionable, are among the subtlest and deadliest poisons cast forth into the world, those of a purer spirit and a higher tendency are, we honestly believe, among the most effective agencies of good. Hundreds of readers who would sleep over a sermon, or drone over an essay, or yield a cold and barren assent to the deductions of an ethical treatise, will be startled into reflection, or won to emulation, or roused into effort, by the delineations they meet with in a tale which they opened only for the amusement of an idle hour, For truth in closest words shall fail, When truth embodied in a tale Shall enter in at lowly doors. The story may not (and never should) have been 78 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. written with a definite, didactic aim; there may be little moralizing and no formal exhortation the less of either the better; yet the reader may find a chord struck which needed only striking to vibrate to the end of life, but to which the key-note had never yet been found: he may see there depicted with a life-like pencil, the contest with a temptation against which he is himself struggling, the termination of a career in which he has just taken the first hesitating step, the holy endurance and the happy issue of a trial similar to one which is at the moment darkening his own path: he may see how suffering is borne, how victories are won; by what moral alchemy, and through what dread alembic, peace and good may he made to spring out of evil, anguish, and conflict: he may meet with reflections and an- alogies which reflect a sudden light upon his seul and reveal to him the deepest and saddest secrets of his own beiftgtill the hour when he perused that humble volume becomes a date and an era in his existence. Nor are works which thus operate upon the reader by any means al- ways or necessarily those which display the greatest genius in the writer: for the production of such effects, simple iidgijty to nature, the intuition of real sympathy, or some true and deep experience of life, are often more powerful than the most skillful and high-wrought deline- ations.Edmnburgh Review. FAJ~I1IFUL FOREVER IT is a dear delight for the soul to have trust in the faith of another. It makes a pillow of softness for the cheek which is burning with tears and the touch of pain. It pours a balm into the very source of sorrow. It is a hope undeferred, a flowery seclusion into which the mind, when weary of sadness, may retreat for a caress of constant love; a warmth in the clasp of friendship forever lingering on the hand; a consoling voice that dwells as with an eternal echo on the ear; a dew of mercy falling on the bruised and troubled hearts of this world. Be- reavements and wishes long withheld descend sometimes as chastening griefs upon our nature; but there is no solace to the bitterness of broken faith. Jennie was the morning star of my life Long before I trod the many wide deserts of the world, I pledged my hope to her. She was so young that my affection came fresh as dew upon her heart. She was gentle to me, and tender, and fond, and sometimes I thought that she loved me less for my own sake than for the sake of love So I watched the opening bloom of her mind. I wondered what springs of truth were bursting there to make her a joy and a blessing on the earth. I knew that every pulse was warm with a sacred love; but it was not then that I learned all the deep and abounding faith that had its home in the heart of my Jennie Jennie was slim and graceful, with a light step and a gentle dignity of demeanor, which, with her joyful ways, was like the freshness of shade near a sunny ph ce. Her face was fair, with sometimes a pensive expression; it was a good, loving face, with soft, blue, floating eyes, full of beauty and tender thought. A smile al- ways played on the lipsnot forever of glad- ness, but of charity, and content, and trust in the future to which her hope was turned. And often a song poured through those lips, as though some happy bird were nestled in her bosom, and sang with her breath its hymns of delight in the joys of life. All this did Jennie seem to me, and more than this she was, and she loved me, and I was con- fident in her affection. For I was then young, and my heart was warm and my hope was strong. I was buoyant as the breeze, and my life was for years a perpetual summers day. It was the time when the pure springs of nature had not been wasted among the fickle and the cold; it was the golden season when trust is the com- panion of truth; it was the first harvest which garners into the bosom those thoughts and emo- tions amid which, as on a bed of flowers, hope clings, feeding like a bee. The heart of Jennie was as deeply stirred, but her soul was more serene than mine. There was a fearful storm in Europe. I heard of grim tyrants sitting on thrones, whence they gave their commands to armies which marched to the east and to the west, and tore up the vine- yards, and trod down the gardens, and blotted out the peace of the world. Anon, there came rumors of a mighty host that had melted away in the north, and glutted with its blood the Rus- sian snows Then there came a strange ambition into my mind. My blood became hot. A calamitous frenzy filled my brain. The name of Glory con- secrated all these murders to my imagination. I would carry a flag in one of those armies. I would mix in the crimson throng. I would my- self bear a sword amid those forests of flashing steel. And I told this to my Jennie. I thought she would certainly bless me as a hero. I thought she would bind a scarf about my waist, and bid me go where glory waits thee, if I still re.. membered her. But, when I said I should leave her for a while and come back with honor, and pride, and the memory of brave acts, and the conscious gratulations of a breast that never knew fear, she became pale, and looked at me sorrowfully, and fell upon my neck, weeping most bitter tears. I asked her why she could grieve, and said the danger was one chance among innumerable probabilities of success. But she only sobbed and trembled, and pressed me to her bosom, and prayed me not to go. I reasoned with Jennie. I tried to persuade her of the glory of the war. I told her how much more worthy of love she would think me when I came back adorned with laurels. (0 how green are the leaves that bloom from slaughter!) I said her image would be my companion; her voice would be my vesper-bell, her smile my star of the morning; her face would be the visitant of my dreams; her love the mercy that would

78 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. written with a definite, didactic aim; there may be little moralizing and no formal exhortation the less of either the better; yet the reader may find a chord struck which needed only striking to vibrate to the end of life, but to which the key-note had never yet been found: he may see there depicted with a life-like pencil, the contest with a temptation against which he is himself struggling, the termination of a career in which he has just taken the first hesitating step, the holy endurance and the happy issue of a trial similar to one which is at the moment darkening his own path: he may see how suffering is borne, how victories are won; by what moral alchemy, and through what dread alembic, peace and good may he made to spring out of evil, anguish, and conflict: he may meet with reflections and an- alogies which reflect a sudden light upon his seul and reveal to him the deepest and saddest secrets of his own beiftgtill the hour when he perused that humble volume becomes a date and an era in his existence. Nor are works which thus operate upon the reader by any means al- ways or necessarily those which display the greatest genius in the writer: for the production of such effects, simple iidgijty to nature, the intuition of real sympathy, or some true and deep experience of life, are often more powerful than the most skillful and high-wrought deline- ations.Edmnburgh Review. FAJ~I1IFUL FOREVER IT is a dear delight for the soul to have trust in the faith of another. It makes a pillow of softness for the cheek which is burning with tears and the touch of pain. It pours a balm into the very source of sorrow. It is a hope undeferred, a flowery seclusion into which the mind, when weary of sadness, may retreat for a caress of constant love; a warmth in the clasp of friendship forever lingering on the hand; a consoling voice that dwells as with an eternal echo on the ear; a dew of mercy falling on the bruised and troubled hearts of this world. Be- reavements and wishes long withheld descend sometimes as chastening griefs upon our nature; but there is no solace to the bitterness of broken faith. Jennie was the morning star of my life Long before I trod the many wide deserts of the world, I pledged my hope to her. She was so young that my affection came fresh as dew upon her heart. She was gentle to me, and tender, and fond, and sometimes I thought that she loved me less for my own sake than for the sake of love So I watched the opening bloom of her mind. I wondered what springs of truth were bursting there to make her a joy and a blessing on the earth. I knew that every pulse was warm with a sacred love; but it was not then that I learned all the deep and abounding faith that had its home in the heart of my Jennie Jennie was slim and graceful, with a light step and a gentle dignity of demeanor, which, with her joyful ways, was like the freshness of shade near a sunny ph ce. Her face was fair, with sometimes a pensive expression; it was a good, loving face, with soft, blue, floating eyes, full of beauty and tender thought. A smile al- ways played on the lipsnot forever of glad- ness, but of charity, and content, and trust in the future to which her hope was turned. And often a song poured through those lips, as though some happy bird were nestled in her bosom, and sang with her breath its hymns of delight in the joys of life. All this did Jennie seem to me, and more than this she was, and she loved me, and I was con- fident in her affection. For I was then young, and my heart was warm and my hope was strong. I was buoyant as the breeze, and my life was for years a perpetual summers day. It was the time when the pure springs of nature had not been wasted among the fickle and the cold; it was the golden season when trust is the com- panion of truth; it was the first harvest which garners into the bosom those thoughts and emo- tions amid which, as on a bed of flowers, hope clings, feeding like a bee. The heart of Jennie was as deeply stirred, but her soul was more serene than mine. There was a fearful storm in Europe. I heard of grim tyrants sitting on thrones, whence they gave their commands to armies which marched to the east and to the west, and tore up the vine- yards, and trod down the gardens, and blotted out the peace of the world. Anon, there came rumors of a mighty host that had melted away in the north, and glutted with its blood the Rus- sian snows Then there came a strange ambition into my mind. My blood became hot. A calamitous frenzy filled my brain. The name of Glory con- secrated all these murders to my imagination. I would carry a flag in one of those armies. I would mix in the crimson throng. I would my- self bear a sword amid those forests of flashing steel. And I told this to my Jennie. I thought she would certainly bless me as a hero. I thought she would bind a scarf about my waist, and bid me go where glory waits thee, if I still re.. membered her. But, when I said I should leave her for a while and come back with honor, and pride, and the memory of brave acts, and the conscious gratulations of a breast that never knew fear, she became pale, and looked at me sorrowfully, and fell upon my neck, weeping most bitter tears. I asked her why she could grieve, and said the danger was one chance among innumerable probabilities of success. But she only sobbed and trembled, and pressed me to her bosom, and prayed me not to go. I reasoned with Jennie. I tried to persuade her of the glory of the war. I told her how much more worthy of love she would think me when I came back adorned with laurels. (0 how green are the leaves that bloom from slaughter!) I said her image would be my companion; her voice would be my vesper-bell, her smile my star of the morning; her face would be the visitant of my dreams; her love the mercy that would FAITHFUL FOREVER. 79 shield me from every danger She listened with suspended sobs and trembled, and all the while her eyes were appealing to my own, and pene- trating to my heart to invoke its faith, that I might not tempt misfortune to blight the early bridal of our hearts. When I had done, her answer was as if I had not spoken, for still she only said that I must not go. She gave no more reasons now. And Idid I deserve her love, when I thought that explaining and persuading were answers to the pleading tears, and swelling bosom, and quiver- ing frame, and speaking eyes of that maiden Niobe shaken by her mournful fears You will be changed when you return, she said. I change I knew I could not change Why should Jennie doubt my truth I would prove it. My mind was fixed My fancy was flushed by ambitious anticipations~ I was resolved to leave. Jennie, at length, when her entreaties failed, reproached me, but so gently, that her very up- braiding sounded like a benediction. And so it was. It was not even the selfishness of affec- tion. It was a pure, tender, earnest solicitude. She told me I was breaking faith with her in thus going away to engage in war. Was it for this that she had become the affianced of my heart2 Was it for this that she had pledged her love, with every sacred vow, to answer mine Was it for all this that I should take my hand from the pleasant cares of peace to corrupt it in the villanies of war; that I should mix with the worst of my kind; that I should ride over the harvests of the poor, and carouse in the glare of their burning homes, and see sweet babes made fatherless, and wives bereaved, and brides left desolate in the world Oh, no. It was I that broke my pledge. I was not true to my early vow. I was not all for hei# I had made a new idol for my heart. I had declared I would never cause any sorrow to her, by denying to her love one of its earnest wishes. And now I was doing this I was making her grieve; I was riskingthe leaving her desolate to the end of her days For the sake of what For the sake of a soldiers ambition. Ambition! As though to wear the gray hairs of a good old man were not a nobler hope than to die in a trench, or live, shuddering with the memory of carnage, and fire, and blood, and all the nameless horrors of a war! I can not tell all the sorrows of that parting An infatuation burned in my head, and blinded me At length I went. Jennies last blessing upbraided me more deeply than her first reproach When she knew that I should go, she said not nne more desponding word; and then did I feel how gentle she was in sorrow, as she was serene in her days of joy. But I comforted myself I decided that Jennie, good as she wasdear, lov- ing, noblecould not comprehend the idea of patriotism; And, once, a thought of falsehood crossed my mind I reflected that I had never tried hershe might not be true to the absent it would be good to test her faith. And so I went. Let me forget the horrors and the crimes of that long adventure. Instead of two years I was away seven; and from the first I was sad, sick, remorseful. ~othing but mem- ory recalled to me the thought of love. And then did Jennies reproaches rise up in judgment against me. I was long lost from her during the confusion of that terrible campaign. A solid continent now lay between us, and now an ocean. I heard not of her during four years Ah! she has forgotten, said I, the fiery, willful one to whom she gave her early love. At length I returned; but I was not he to whom she had said that sweet and dear farewell. I was maimed, mutilated, disfigureda cripple, an object. I came home with a fleet filled half with trophies, half with the linibless, sightless remnants of a glorious war. But then it was a glorious war. Yes; in twenty years the earth had been dyed with the blood of six millions of men. What a miserable thingthe relic of a manI looked, when in the sunny summer we bore down the Channel. I thought of Jennie, as the parting cup went round. I already looked upon her as lost; I had not falsified my pledge, yet had I not broken my own faith in doubting hers I repented all I had done. Could I bind her to her own Could I ask her to take, instead of the manly figure she had last seen, a wretched creature such as I then was I had feelings of honornaval honorhonor that blooms on the drum-headhonor that struts in a red sash, and feathered hat. I would release her! As though love were an attorneys bond As though a penful of ink could blot out the eternal record of a hearts first faithful affection. I wrote to her. I said I heard she was unmar- ried still. I had come home. I was also un- married; but I was maimed, distorted, disfigured an object to look at. I had no right to insist on our contract. I would not force myself upon her. I would spare her feelings. I would not extort a final ratification of her promise. I loved her still, and should always with tenderness remember her, but I was bound to release her. She was free Free! Free, by virtue of a written lease. Free, by one line, when the interwoven men;- ones of a lifes long faith were bound about her heart; when every root of affection that had struck into her bosom had sprung up with new blossoms of hope to adorn the visionary future. Free, by my honorable conductwhen she cher- ished as on an altar the flame of her vestal love, made fragrant by purity and trust. Her letter was not like mine It was quick, passionate, burning with affection It began with a re- proach, and the reproach was blotted with a tear it ended with a blessing, and a tear had made that bles~sing sacred too. Let me come to her. Let her see my face. Let her embrace me. Let me never leave her more; and she would soothe me for all the pains I had endured. Not a word of her own sorrows! Scarcely could that happiness be real. And had my long absence; had my miserable disas 80 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. ters, made no change? Was I still, for Jennie, party, in the person of Henry Trevor, the only the beloved of other days? What did you tell son of the family. He had his mothers soft, her? said Ito my confidential comrade, the one- dark eye, and his fathers tall, slight form, and eyed commodore, a bluff old hero, with a heart in all other respects seemed perfectly identified as warm as ever beat under gold buttons He with the tastes and habits of his parents and had taken my letter, and brought back Jennies gentle sisters: a hundred new enjoyments seem- answer. ed to have arrived with his presence. The three I said you were battered about the hull, till young people now lived in the open air. Bath- you were~ a wreck. ingand Henry was a splendid swimmeror And what did she say? Did she shudder, as boating, and Henry was equally expert at the with aversion ? oar or the tiller; or they would go on walking No; she sobbed, and cried, and asked me if excursions along the cliffs and headlands; or, you were injured much, and said you must have mounted on rugged little fiery shelties, they suffered bitterly; but she said, too, that you must would penetrate into the gorges and ravines, come to her. Miss, I said, he is so knocked and beside the lakes of the C mountains, about that you wont know him. Hell frighten which towered behind their house, the haunts you. Hes a ruin. He has hardly any body left of the hill-fox, the otter, and the large golden And then she flushed to the brow; Give him eagle. In the month of June the place was that, she cried, and tell him to come. If he visited by a tremendous storm; I remember it has enough body left to hold his soul, Ill cling well. I was then at Brighton, and the loss of to him! life and of craft among the south of England And where in tale or song, in history or fable, fishermen was lamentable. This tempest came is an answer recorded of more heroh~ beauty? suddenly, and went in like manner, dying off in What had I to teach her of honor. Hers was half an hour, after blowing a hurricane all day, the honor of the heart; the truth of the soul; as if exhausted by its own strength. The sea the fidelity and love of a woman born to bless scene at A was grand in the extreme. The this world. Mine was an honor worn like a fea- immense long bright billows of the Atlantic, ther in a cocked hat, like an epaulet, like a crested with foam and fire, fell one after the spur. It was regulation honorhonor by the other, bursting, like thunder-bolts, up the beach; rules of the service. Jennies was better and seen~ing to shake the shore and rocks with than mine, the explosions of their dread artillery; or, raging round the worn bases of the cliffs, whose blue I lived with her near the old place. And my heads looked placidly out on the warring waters, wife, the love of my early days, was still the like a great mind unshaken amidst troubles. fond Jenniegentle, tender, trustfuland, from At evening a small brig was seen by the red that day, I buried my ideas of the pride of war. glare of the setting sun, drifting rapidiy on a Jennie was my only glory, and she was faith- sunk ledge of rock which guarded the little bay. ful to me forever! (At the ebb of tide a rapid current set north- ward just outside this dangerous reef, but the THE LOST FOUND. tide was flowixg now). She evidently was not JNthe year 18, the little watering-place of aware of the hidden danger till she had struck, IA , on the western coast of Ireland, was and then appeared immovably wedged into the much agitated by a circumstance which occurred rock. She was seen to hoist signals of distress, there. A nice family had come to pass the sum- and the roar of a solitary gun came shoreward mer, and were occupying the only large house on the wind. Mr. Trevor and his son were which A could then produce. We will call watching her from the beach along with many them by the name of Trevor. They were people others, and the former now offered a handsome of the upper class of life, and wealthy. The gratuity to those who would launch and man a father was an Englishman and a clergyman, and boat, and go off to her assistance; but all shook had married a niece of the nobleman whose park their heads, for, truth to say, the marine of wall we had just been admiring And it was a A was in a very discreditable condition; pleasant sight to see his tall, slight figure by and, except one middling-sized pinnace, they the side of his still handsome and graceful wife, had no craft fit for such a sea as was then run- and their two fair and fawn-like girls sketching ning and raging before them. On this, Henry on the shore, or reading on the cliffs, or botan- Trevor, leaping into the pinnace, which was izing in the fields, or climbing the rocks for rocking in a little cove, protected by a broad, samphire, or visiting among the cottages of the fiat stone from the sea, declared he wohid go poor to teach, or comfort, or relieve, which they alone, when four young fellows, who often had did most bountifully, and were greatly beloved rowed him in his fishing expeditions, started in the placethe free hand being eve~ popular forward to share his enterprise and his danger; among the Irish. They were always together it was but half a mile to the reef the wind ever forming one group. like the figures in a was lullingthe tide at the fulland they would piece of statuary; and appeared greatly attach- go for the love they had for the young master. ed, and drawn to each other as much by affec- The cheek of Mr. Trevor waxed deadly pale, tion as by community of taste and habit. but he was a brave and noble-hearted man, axd But one evening they had an addition to their thought his son was in the path of duty; he was

80 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. ters, made no change? Was I still, for Jennie, party, in the person of Henry Trevor, the only the beloved of other days? What did you tell son of the family. He had his mothers soft, her? said Ito my confidential comrade, the one- dark eye, and his fathers tall, slight form, and eyed commodore, a bluff old hero, with a heart in all other respects seemed perfectly identified as warm as ever beat under gold buttons He with the tastes and habits of his parents and had taken my letter, and brought back Jennies gentle sisters: a hundred new enjoyments seem- answer. ed to have arrived with his presence. The three I said you were battered about the hull, till young people now lived in the open air. Bath- you were~ a wreck. ingand Henry was a splendid swimmeror And what did she say? Did she shudder, as boating, and Henry was equally expert at the with aversion ? oar or the tiller; or they would go on walking No; she sobbed, and cried, and asked me if excursions along the cliffs and headlands; or, you were injured much, and said you must have mounted on rugged little fiery shelties, they suffered bitterly; but she said, too, that you must would penetrate into the gorges and ravines, come to her. Miss, I said, he is so knocked and beside the lakes of the C mountains, about that you wont know him. Hell frighten which towered behind their house, the haunts you. Hes a ruin. He has hardly any body left of the hill-fox, the otter, and the large golden And then she flushed to the brow; Give him eagle. In the month of June the place was that, she cried, and tell him to come. If he visited by a tremendous storm; I remember it has enough body left to hold his soul, Ill cling well. I was then at Brighton, and the loss of to him! life and of craft among the south of England And where in tale or song, in history or fable, fishermen was lamentable. This tempest came is an answer recorded of more heroh~ beauty? suddenly, and went in like manner, dying off in What had I to teach her of honor. Hers was half an hour, after blowing a hurricane all day, the honor of the heart; the truth of the soul; as if exhausted by its own strength. The sea the fidelity and love of a woman born to bless scene at A was grand in the extreme. The this world. Mine was an honor worn like a fea- immense long bright billows of the Atlantic, ther in a cocked hat, like an epaulet, like a crested with foam and fire, fell one after the spur. It was regulation honorhonor by the other, bursting, like thunder-bolts, up the beach; rules of the service. Jennies was better and seen~ing to shake the shore and rocks with than mine, the explosions of their dread artillery; or, raging round the worn bases of the cliffs, whose blue I lived with her near the old place. And my heads looked placidly out on the warring waters, wife, the love of my early days, was still the like a great mind unshaken amidst troubles. fond Jenniegentle, tender, trustfuland, from At evening a small brig was seen by the red that day, I buried my ideas of the pride of war. glare of the setting sun, drifting rapidiy on a Jennie was my only glory, and she was faith- sunk ledge of rock which guarded the little bay. ful to me forever! (At the ebb of tide a rapid current set north- ward just outside this dangerous reef, but the THE LOST FOUND. tide was flowixg now). She evidently was not JNthe year 18, the little watering-place of aware of the hidden danger till she had struck, IA , on the western coast of Ireland, was and then appeared immovably wedged into the much agitated by a circumstance which occurred rock. She was seen to hoist signals of distress, there. A nice family had come to pass the sum- and the roar of a solitary gun came shoreward mer, and were occupying the only large house on the wind. Mr. Trevor and his son were which A could then produce. We will call watching her from the beach along with many them by the name of Trevor. They were people others, and the former now offered a handsome of the upper class of life, and wealthy. The gratuity to those who would launch and man a father was an Englishman and a clergyman, and boat, and go off to her assistance; but all shook had married a niece of the nobleman whose park their heads, for, truth to say, the marine of wall we had just been admiring And it was a A was in a very discreditable condition; pleasant sight to see his tall, slight figure by and, except one middling-sized pinnace, they the side of his still handsome and graceful wife, had no craft fit for such a sea as was then run- and their two fair and fawn-like girls sketching ning and raging before them. On this, Henry on the shore, or reading on the cliffs, or botan- Trevor, leaping into the pinnace, which was izing in the fields, or climbing the rocks for rocking in a little cove, protected by a broad, samphire, or visiting among the cottages of the fiat stone from the sea, declared he wohid go poor to teach, or comfort, or relieve, which they alone, when four young fellows, who often had did most bountifully, and were greatly beloved rowed him in his fishing expeditions, started in the placethe free hand being eve~ popular forward to share his enterprise and his danger; among the Irish. They were always together it was but half a mile to the reef the wind ever forming one group. like the figures in a was lullingthe tide at the fulland they would piece of statuary; and appeared greatly attach- go for the love they had for the young master. ed, and drawn to each other as much by affec- The cheek of Mr. Trevor waxed deadly pale, tion as by community of taste and habit. but he was a brave and noble-hearted man, axd But one evening they had an addition to their thought his son was in the path of duty; he was THE LOST FOUND. 81 a pious man, too, and felt that God would surely not forsake him. The boat was shoved into the surf amidst the cheers of the men, and the prayers and tears of the women; and, though every ten seconds it appeared sunk and lost in the trough of the wave, yet it would mount the next watery hill, and was fast reaching the reef under the long, steady stroke of the practiced hardy oarsmen. Henrys form was seen in the fast-receding light, sitting erect in the stern sheets, and steering with coolness and skill; a little gray cloth cap was pulled tightly down over his small and classical head, and the ends of his long black silk-handkerchief blew back in the gale from his line throat. In a short time they appeared to have reached the reef and boarded the brig, the strong little pinnace riding under the shelter of her lee. It had been comparatively calm for a brief space, but in a moment a black squall which had been gathering at sea, came rushing and roaring to- ward the shore, covering the sky and producing instantaneous night; a mountain-wave swept the vessel, in a moment or two a second, and a third succeeded, till the ship, gradually weakened by these reiterated shocks, entirely broke up, and became a total wreck. But where was her crew They were all saved. In the pale moonlight which succeeded the sudden passing away of the gale, the hardy pinnace might be seen riding amidst the long furrows of the sea, and drifting rapidly in to the shore. Tossed, broken, half-engulfed, and near- ly full of water, she was hurled by the last wave she ever floated on high on the beach, and her crew drenched, stunned, and bruised, yet all pre- served from a watery grave. The four young fish- ermen were there, too, but one was missingEd- ward Trevor was not among the number, and was not found. He had been last seen on the brigs deck assisting a mother and her child into the pinnace, then the big wave had broken over them, drenching nud stunning all, and they had hastily cast off and set to work to bale the boat, supposing they had the young master on board, but seeing nothing owing to the darkness and confusion, and the difficulty of keeping the boat at all afloat, so crowded and in such a sea. The agony of Mr. Trevor at this discovery knew no bounds. The unfortunate father would have rushed into the sea to seek his lost son, had he not been prevented by the woman whose life Henry had saved. What was now to be done The pinnace could not go backher keel was broken, and her gunwale stove in; nor was there any boat to be found which could live in such a sea. All the night long the distracted parents and sisters, hand locked in hand, paced the sands, looking, and watching, and listening, and peering into the darkness; but there was nei- ther voice nor sound, and Henry came not. At a little after two oclock, the dawn beginning to show, and the sea much calmed, three boats, in one of which was the father, proceeded to the reef, which now stood up in gray and rugged outline above the ebb of tide. Here not a ves- tige of the wreck appeared, and, alas! no trace of the brave and beloved one who had periled his young life, and thrown it away in the cause of humanity. All day long the boats continued their search on the reef, and along the neighbor- ing shore. The highest rewards were offered grappling-irons were used for the discovery of the poor body, but it was not to be found. At evening his blue pea-jacket floated on shore, and alas! its identity could not be doubted, for, in a small side-pocket was Mrs. Trevors portrait, set in blue enamel and pearl, all marred by the ac- tion of the sea-water, a gift from his mother on his going to college some years ago, but nothing more of his came to shore. Days and days passed on, and every thing that wealth, and influence, and restless, anxious energy could effect, was put in practice, but Henrys loved remains were nowhere found. All language were faint to portray the black shadow which now settled down in terribh~ dark- ness over the Trevors. The loud weeping of the gentle girls, the hysterical passion of their moth- er, continuing for hours, and breaking the health and the heart. The dry, sleepless agony of the father, ever accusing himself as the cause of his sons death, and pacing up and down the room in silent misery ; for The grief which does not speak, Whispers the oer-wrought heart, and bids it break. Their affliction drew them more than ever to- gether. If they were one in the day of joy, how much more in thenight of sorrow. Their piety, too, deepened under the trial; and often, when unable to master their cruel agony, they would fling themselves on their knees, and pour out the overfiowings of their distracted spirits in prayer to their heavenly Father; and comfort came down for the time, though hope was dead. Weeks passed on, but the work of years had wrought on their appearance. Mr. Trevors once shining black hair was all streaked with graysilver lines which griefs pale finger had drawn there. His wifes health, like her poor boys life, was wrecked away. She was always unwella martyr to shattered nerves. While the fair girls were like two young trees bent and drooping from the shock of a terrible tem- pest. They now determined to leave A, the scene of their misery. Their carriage and serv- ants arrived next day, along with an old spaniel, which had belonged to Henry. The si,,ht of this dog affected the grief-stricken family greatly. Their luggage was all packed, and their carriage ordered to be at the door at day-break, for they had a long days journey to go. Late in the evening the sisters walked on the beach. The sea was calm and beautiful, and the sun dying over it in thin cloudlets of black and gold. They went to the flat rock, from whence Henry had leaped into the pinnace. They did not speak one word, but, weeping abundantly, each bent dowit her face to kiss the spot on the rock which their brothers steps had last pressed. The poor 82 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. girls mingled their tears with the remorseless brine, which now gently came in to caress their feet, as if sorro~ing arid plaining for its fault. Silently they returned home, and now they all sat together in their little drawing-room. It was their last evening at A, the scene of such happiness, and such misery. It was the hour of family prayer, and Mr. Trevor read that divine chapter, the 14th of Johns Gospel, which has brought comfort to thousands of mourners Let not your heart he troubled ; sweet words, yet sad. His deep, melodious voice quivered as he read them, for he thought of his fair son lying in the cold sea. Mrs. Trevor hid her face in the cushions of the sofa, and her daughters bent over and tried to soothe her. They knelt in prayer it was their little wonted evening worship which he had often shared, and always enloyed. Per- haps they thought of that now, and the remem- brance might have calmed their spirit. The old dog had been very nervous for the last few minutes, circling and smelling round the room, and whining at the window. Mr. Trevor threw it up. I see a man on the gravel walk, he said, who, I think, is our new postillion. I hope Carlo will not hurt him ; for the dog had leaped out over the window-sill. The next minute a figure sprang in over the low sash, and with a loud cry precipitated himself toward the party. It was their lost one, whom God had sent them back. Mother, mother !take me to your heart, dearest, dearest, mother! Beloved father, kiss me! Ellen, Susan, I am come again, never more to part in this world Oh! the deep, the unutterable joy of that mo- ment! Oh, God of heaven! oh, my merciful Say- iour ! exclaimed the transported father, it is my sonso wan, so worn; but it is indeed my sonmy own son All this time the mother could not speak; her face was on her sons shoulder, locked in his tight embrace, and silently straining him again and again to her heart. At length, disengaging herself, and pushing him toward the two fair girls who stood trembling, and all wild and weep- ing for joy, she turned her to her husbands faithful bosom, saw on his face the old smile come back, which she thought had gone forever, fell into his extended arms, and, lifting up her happy voice, exclaimed Oh, our God, we thank thee for thy unspeak- able mercy, for this our son was dead and is alive; he was lost, and is found! His tale was soon told; he had been knocked down by the giant wave; his forehead was cut, and he lay senseless under the bulwarks of the deck; a mast had fallen obliquely over him, but had not touched or hurt him. When conscious- ness returned, he had just time to throw off his coat to swim, when the brig went to pieces, and the recoil of a wave washed him tside the reef into the rapid current which sets strongly there to the north, and completely off the shore. He said he swam but feebly, only using his feet; for the mast had floated with him, and his hands were locked in the rigging, as they drifted together in the sea. He said the last thing he thought he saw, was the light in his fathers house on shore; but his eyes were dim; and the last sound he thought he heard, was a wail of soft music played on his sisters harp. His head was very much astray, he said, just then, and the music appeared to come floating along the waters, but it was a mere phantasy, though he said it made him smile; and so he committed his soul and his life to Him who once trod the waves to stillness; and then all was a blank, till he awoke faint and feeble in a strange bed, and among strange faces yet saved, most wonderfully saved. He had been picked up by a Scotch fishing smack (which was returning to the island of Skye) at the first break of light. He was all but exanimate when found, and a fierce fever set in on his exhausted frame at once; but his kind captors took him to their wild but healthy home, where he was ten- derly nursed by their women; and though deliri- ous for a long time, his youth finally triumphed, and he was spared for the enjoyment and all the bliss of the present moment. He had written on his recovery twice from Skye, but his letters~mis.. carried, and having had a purse of gold with him, which these honest fishermen never interfered with, he went to Glasgow in a fishing boat, and from thence home, where his presence was hail- ed as a resurrection indeed, and life from the dead. CHARITY AND HUMOR. HY w. H. THAcKEHAY. AUTHOR OF VANITY FAIR, PENDENNIs, HENRY ESMOND, ETC. ~ EVERAL charitable ladies of this city, to U some of whom I am under great personal ob- ligation, having thought that a Lecture of mine would advance a benevolent end, which they had in view, I have preferred, in place of delivering a Discourse, which many of my hearers no doubt know already, upon a subject merely literary or biographical, to put together a few thoughts which may serve as a supplement to the former Lectures, if you like, and which have this at least in common with the kind purpose which assembles you here, that they rise out of the same occasion and treat of charity. Besides contributing to our stock of happiness, to our harmless laughter and amusement, to our scorn for falsehood and pretension, to our right~ eous hatred of hypocrisy, to our education in the perception of truth, our love of honesty, our knowledge of life, and shrewd guidance through the world, have not our humorous writers, our gay and kind week-day preachers done much in support of that holy cause which has assembled you in this placeand which you are all abetting, the cause of love and charity, the cause of the poor, the weak, and the unhappy; the sweet mission of love and tenderness, and peace and good-will toward men That same theme which is urged upon you by the eloquence and exam-

82 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. girls mingled their tears with the remorseless brine, which now gently came in to caress their feet, as if sorro~ing arid plaining for its fault. Silently they returned home, and now they all sat together in their little drawing-room. It was their last evening at A, the scene of such happiness, and such misery. It was the hour of family prayer, and Mr. Trevor read that divine chapter, the 14th of Johns Gospel, which has brought comfort to thousands of mourners Let not your heart he troubled ; sweet words, yet sad. His deep, melodious voice quivered as he read them, for he thought of his fair son lying in the cold sea. Mrs. Trevor hid her face in the cushions of the sofa, and her daughters bent over and tried to soothe her. They knelt in prayer it was their little wonted evening worship which he had often shared, and always enloyed. Per- haps they thought of that now, and the remem- brance might have calmed their spirit. The old dog had been very nervous for the last few minutes, circling and smelling round the room, and whining at the window. Mr. Trevor threw it up. I see a man on the gravel walk, he said, who, I think, is our new postillion. I hope Carlo will not hurt him ; for the dog had leaped out over the window-sill. The next minute a figure sprang in over the low sash, and with a loud cry precipitated himself toward the party. It was their lost one, whom God had sent them back. Mother, mother !take me to your heart, dearest, dearest, mother! Beloved father, kiss me! Ellen, Susan, I am come again, never more to part in this world Oh! the deep, the unutterable joy of that mo- ment! Oh, God of heaven! oh, my merciful Say- iour ! exclaimed the transported father, it is my sonso wan, so worn; but it is indeed my sonmy own son All this time the mother could not speak; her face was on her sons shoulder, locked in his tight embrace, and silently straining him again and again to her heart. At length, disengaging herself, and pushing him toward the two fair girls who stood trembling, and all wild and weep- ing for joy, she turned her to her husbands faithful bosom, saw on his face the old smile come back, which she thought had gone forever, fell into his extended arms, and, lifting up her happy voice, exclaimed Oh, our God, we thank thee for thy unspeak- able mercy, for this our son was dead and is alive; he was lost, and is found! His tale was soon told; he had been knocked down by the giant wave; his forehead was cut, and he lay senseless under the bulwarks of the deck; a mast had fallen obliquely over him, but had not touched or hurt him. When conscious- ness returned, he had just time to throw off his coat to swim, when the brig went to pieces, and the recoil of a wave washed him tside the reef into the rapid current which sets strongly there to the north, and completely off the shore. He said he swam but feebly, only using his feet; for the mast had floated with him, and his hands were locked in the rigging, as they drifted together in the sea. He said the last thing he thought he saw, was the light in his fathers house on shore; but his eyes were dim; and the last sound he thought he heard, was a wail of soft music played on his sisters harp. His head was very much astray, he said, just then, and the music appeared to come floating along the waters, but it was a mere phantasy, though he said it made him smile; and so he committed his soul and his life to Him who once trod the waves to stillness; and then all was a blank, till he awoke faint and feeble in a strange bed, and among strange faces yet saved, most wonderfully saved. He had been picked up by a Scotch fishing smack (which was returning to the island of Skye) at the first break of light. He was all but exanimate when found, and a fierce fever set in on his exhausted frame at once; but his kind captors took him to their wild but healthy home, where he was ten- derly nursed by their women; and though deliri- ous for a long time, his youth finally triumphed, and he was spared for the enjoyment and all the bliss of the present moment. He had written on his recovery twice from Skye, but his letters~mis.. carried, and having had a purse of gold with him, which these honest fishermen never interfered with, he went to Glasgow in a fishing boat, and from thence home, where his presence was hail- ed as a resurrection indeed, and life from the dead. CHARITY AND HUMOR. HY w. H. THAcKEHAY. AUTHOR OF VANITY FAIR, PENDENNIs, HENRY ESMOND, ETC. ~ EVERAL charitable ladies of this city, to U some of whom I am under great personal ob- ligation, having thought that a Lecture of mine would advance a benevolent end, which they had in view, I have preferred, in place of delivering a Discourse, which many of my hearers no doubt know already, upon a subject merely literary or biographical, to put together a few thoughts which may serve as a supplement to the former Lectures, if you like, and which have this at least in common with the kind purpose which assembles you here, that they rise out of the same occasion and treat of charity. Besides contributing to our stock of happiness, to our harmless laughter and amusement, to our scorn for falsehood and pretension, to our right~ eous hatred of hypocrisy, to our education in the perception of truth, our love of honesty, our knowledge of life, and shrewd guidance through the world, have not our humorous writers, our gay and kind week-day preachers done much in support of that holy cause which has assembled you in this placeand which you are all abetting, the cause of love and charity, the cause of the poor, the weak, and the unhappy; the sweet mission of love and tenderness, and peace and good-will toward men That same theme which is urged upon you by the eloquence and exam- CHARITY AND HUMOR. 83 pie of good men to whom you are delighted, lis- teners on Sabbath-days, is taught in his way and according to his power by the humorous writer, the commentator on every-day life and manners. And as you are here assembled for a charitable purpose, giving your contributions at the door to benefit deserving people who need them with- out; I like to hope and think that the men of our calling have done something in aid of the cause of charity, and have helped, withkind words and kind thoughts at least, to confer happiness and to do good. If the humorous writers claim to be week-day preachers, have they conferred any benefit by their sermons Are people hap- pier, better, better disposed to their neighbors, more inclined to do works of kindness, to love, forbear, forgive, pity, after reading in Addison, in Steele, in Fielding, in Goldsmith, in Hood, in Dickens I hope and believe so, and fancy that in writing, they are also acting charitably, con- tributing with the means which Heaven supplies them, to forward the end which brings you too together. A love of the human species is a very vague and indefinite kind of virtue, sitting very easily on a man, not confining his actions at all, shining in print, or exploding in paragraphs, after which efforts of benevolence, the philanthropist is some- times said to go home, and be no better than his neighbors. Tartuffe and Joseph Surface, Stig- gins and Chadband who are always preaching fine sentiments, and are no more virtuous than hundreds of those whom they denounce, and whom they cheat, are fair objects of mistrust ~nd satire; but their hypocrisy, the homage, ac- cording to the old saying, which vice pays to virtue, has this of good in it that its fruits are good; a man may preach good morals, though he may be himself but a lax practitioner, a Pha- risee may put pieces of gold into the charity-plate out of mere hypocrisy and ostentation, but the bad mans gold feeds the widow and the father- less as well as the good mans. The butcher and baker must needs look not to motives, but to money, in return for their wares. I am not going to hint that we of the Literary calling resemble Monsieur Tartuffe, or Monsieur Stiggins, though there may be such men in our body, as there are in all. A literary man of the humoristic turn is pretty sure to be of a philanthropic nature, to have a great sensibility, V& be easily moved to pain or pleasure, keenly to appreoiate the varieties of temper of people round about him, and sympa- thize in their laughter, love, amusement, .tears. Such a man is philanthropic, man-loving by na- ture, as another is irascible,~ or red-haired, or six feet high. And so I would arrogate no par- ticular merit to literary men for the possession of this faculty of doing good which some of them enjoy. It costs a gentleman no sacrifice to be benevolent on paper; and the luxury of indulg- ing in the most beautiful and brilliant sentiments never makes any man a penny the poorer. A literary man is no better than another, as far as my experience goes; and a man writing a book, no better nor no worse than one who keeps ac- counts in a ledger, or follows any other occupa- tion. Let us, however, give him credit for the good, at least, which he is the means of doing. as we give,credit to a man with a million for the hundred which he puts into the plate at a char- ity-sermon. He never misses them. He has made them in a moment by a lucky speculation, and parts with them, knowing that he has an almost endless balance at his bank, whence he can call for more. But in esteeming the bene- faction, we are grateful to the benefactor, too, somewhat; and so of men of genius, richly endowed, and lavish in partin~Wi1h their minds wealth, we may view them at least kind- ly and favorably, and be thankful for the boun- ty of which Providence has made them the dis- pensers. I have said myself somewhere, I dont know with what correctness (for definitions never are complete), that humor is wit and love; I am sure, at any rate, that the best humor is that which contains ~most humanity, that which is flavored throughout with tenderness and kind- ness. This love does not demand constant ut- terance or actual expression, as a good father, in conversation with his children or wife, i~not perpetually embracing them, or making piotesta- tions of his love; as a lover in the society of his mistress is not, at least as far as I am led to be- lieve, forever squeezing her hand, or sighing in her ear, My souls darling, I adore you ! He shows his love by his conduct, by his fidelity, by his watchful desire to make the belovi4p~er- son happy; it lightens from his eyes when she appears, though he may not speak it; it fills his heart when she is present or absent; influences all his words and actions; suffuses his whole be- ing; it sets the father cheerily to work through the long day, supports him through the tedious labor of the weary absence or journey, and sends him happy home again, yearning toward the wife and children. This kind of love is not a spasm, but a life. It fondles and caresses at due seasons, no doubt; but the fond heart is al- ways beating fondly and truly, though the wife is not sitting hand-in-hand with him, or the chil- dren hugging at his knee. And so with a loving humor, I think; it is a genial writers habit of being; it is the kind, gentle spirits way of look- ing out on the worldthat sweet friendliness, which fills his heart and his kyle. You recog- nize it, even though there may not be a single pathetic touch in the page; though you may not b~alled upon to salute his genius by a laugh or a tear. That collision of ideas, which pro- vokes the one or the other, must be occasional. They must be like papas embraces, which I spoke of anon, who only delivers them now and again, and cant be expected to go on kissing the children all night. And so the writers jokes and sentiment, his ebullitions of feeling, his out- breaks of high spirits must not be too frequent. One tires of a page of which every sentence sparkles with points; of a sentimentalist who is always pumping the tears from his eyes or your 84 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. own. One suspects the genuineness of the tear, titude of sins with so little charity to cover the naturalness of the humor; these ought to be them! true and manly in a man, as every thing else Of Mr. Congreve~s contribution to the English in his life should be manly and true; and he stock of benevolence, I dont speak; for, of any loses his dignity by laughing or weeping out of moral legacy to posterity, I doubt whether that place, or too often. brilliant man ever thought at all. He had some When the Reverend Lawrence Sterne begins money, as I have told; every shilling of which to sentimentalize over the carriage in Monsieur he left to his friend the Duchess t~f Marlbor- Desseins court-yard, and pretends to squeeze a ough, a lady of great fortune and the highest tear out of a rickety old shandrydan; when, fashion. He gave the gold of his brains to presently, he encountered the dead donkey on persons of fortune and fashion, too. Theres his road to Paris, and snivels over that asinine no more feeling in his comedies, than in as corpse, I say: Away you driveling quack: do many books of Euclid. He no more pretends not palm off these grimaces of grief upon simple to teach love for the poor, and goodwill for the folks who know no better, and are misled by unfortunate, than a dancing-master does; he your hypocrisy. Tears are sacred. The trib- teaches pirouettes and flic-flacs; and how to utes of kind hearts to misfortune, the mites bow to a lady, and to walk a minuet. In his which gentle souls drop into the collections private life Congreve was immensely liked made for Gods poor and unhappy, are not to more so than any man of his age, almost; and be tricked out of them by a whimpering hypo- to have been so liked, must have been kind and crite, handing round a begging-box for your good-natured. His good-nature bore him through compassion, and asking your pity for a lie, extreme bodily ills and pain, with uncommon When that same man tells me of Lef6vres ill- cheerfulness and courage. Being so gay, so ness and Uncle Tobys charity; of the noble at bright, so popular, such a grand seigneur, be Rennes coming home and reclaiming his sword, sure he was kind to those about him, generous I thank him for the generous emotion which, to his dependents, serviceable to his friends. sprigging genuinely from his own heart, has Society does not like a man so long as it liked caused mine to admire benevolence, and sym- Congreve, unless he is likeable; it finds out a pathize with honor; and to feel love, and kind- quack very soon; it scorns a poltroon or a cur- ness, and pity. mudgeon; we may be certain that this man If I dont love. Swift, as, thank God, I do not, was brave, good-tempered, and liberal; so, very however immensely I may admire him, it is be- likely, is Monsieur Pirouette, of whom we spoke; cause I revolt from the man who placarded him- he cuts his capers, he grins, bows, and dances to self as a professional hater of his own kind; his fiddle. In private, he may have a hundred because he chisels his savage indignation on his virtues; in public, he teaches dancing. His tombston e, as if to perpetuate his protest against business is cotillions, not ethics. being born of our racethe suffering, the weak, As much may be said of those charming and the erring, the wicked, if you will, but still the lazy Epicureans, Gay and Prior, sweet lyric friendly, the loving children of God our Father: singers, comrades of Anacreon, and disciples it is because, as I read through Swifts dark vol- of love and the bottle. Is there any moral umes, I never find the aspect of nature seems to shut within the bosom of a rose ~ sings our delight him; the smiles of children to please great Tennyson. Does a nightingale preach him; the sight of wedded love to soothe him. from a bough, or the lark from his cloud Not I dont remember in any line of his writing a knowingly; yet we may be grateful, and love passing allusion to a natural scene of beauty. larks and roses, and flower-crowned minstrels, When he speaks about the families of his com- too, who laugh and who sing. rades and brother clergymen, it is to assail them Of Addisons contributions to the charity of with gibes and scorn, and to laugh at them bru- the world, I have spoken before, in trying to de- tally, for being fathers and for being poor. He pict that noble figure; and say now, as then, (loes mention in the Journal to Stella, a sick that we should thank him, as one of the great- child, to be surea child of Lady Masham, that est benefactors of that vast and immeasurably was ill of the small-poxbut then it is to con- spreading family which speaks our common found the brat for being ill, and the mother for tongue. Wherever iii is spoken, there is no man attending to it, when she should have been busy that does not feel and understand and use the about a court intrigue, in which the Dean was noble English word, gentleman. And there deeply engaged. And he alludes to a suitor of is no man that teaches us to be gentlemen better Stellas, and a match she might have made, and than Joseph Addison. Gentle in our bearing would have made, very likely, .with an honorable through life; gentle and courteous to our neigh- and faithful and attached man. Tisdall, who bor; gentle in dealing with his follies and weak- loved her, and of whom Swift speaks in a letter nesses; gentle in treating his opposition; defer- to this lady, in language so foul, that you would ential to the old; kindly to the poor. and those not bear to hear it. In treating of the good below us in degree; for people above us and be- the humorists have done, of the love and kind- low us we must find, in whatever hemisphere we ness they have taught and left behind them, it dwell, whether kings or presidents govern us; is not of this one, I dare speak. Heaven help and in no republic or monarchy thai I know of, the lonely misanthrope! be kind to that mul- is a citizen exempt from the tax of befriending CHARITY AND HUMOR. 85 poverty and weakness, of respecting age, and of honoring his father and mother. It has just been whispered to meI have not been three months in the country, and, of course, can not venture to express an opinion of my ownthat, ~n regard to paying this latter tax of respect and honor to age, some very few of the Republican youths are occasionally a little remiss. I have heard of young Sons of Freedom publishing their Declaration of Independence before they could well spell it; and cutting the connection between father and mother before they had learned to shave. My own time of life having been stated by various enlightened organs of public opinion, at almost any figure from forty- five to sixty, I cheerfully own that I belong to the Fogy interest, and ask leave to rank in, and plead for, that respectable class. Now a gentle- man can but be a gentleman, in Broadway or the backwoods, in Pall-Mall or California; and where and whenever he lives, thousands of miles away in the wilderness, or hundreds of years hence, I am sure that reading the writings of this true gentleman, this true Christian, this noble Joseph Addison must do him good. He may take Sir Roger de Coverley to the Diggings with him, and learn to be gentle and good-hu- mored, and urbane, and friendly in the midst of that struggle in which his life is engaged. I take leave to say that the most brilliant youths of this city may read over this delightful memo- rial of a by-gone age, of fashions long passed away; of manners long since changed and mod- ified; of noble gentlemen, and a great, and a brilliant and polished society; and find in it much to charm and polish, to refine and instruct him. A courteousness, which can be out of place at no time, and under no flag. A politeness and simplicity, a truthful manhood, a gentle respect and deference, which may be kept as the un- bought grace of life, and cheap defense of man- kind, long after its old artificial distinctions, after periwigs, and small-swords, arid ruffles, and red-heeled shoes, and titles, and stars and garters have passed away. Ill tell you when I have been put in mind of two of the finest gen- tlemen books bring us any mention of. I mean oar books (not books of history, but books of humor). Ill tell you when I have been put in mind of the courteous gallantry of the noble knight Sir Roger de Coverley of Coverley Man- or, of the noble Hidalgo Don Quixote of La Man- cha: here in your own omnibus-carriages and railway-cars, when I have seen a woman step in, handsome or not, well-dressed or not, and a workman in hob-nail shoes, or a dandy in the height of the fashion, rise up and give her his place. I think Mr. Spectator, with his short face. if he had seen such a deed of courtesy, would have smiled a sweet smile to the doer of that gentlemanlike action, and have made him a low how from under his great periwig, and have gone home and written a pretty paper about him. I am sure Dick Steele would have hailed him, were he dandy or mechanic, and asked him to a tavern to share a bottle, or perhaps half-a- dozen. Mind, I dont set down the five last flasks to Dicks score for virtue, and look upon them as works of the most questionable super- erogation. Steele, as a literary benefactor to the worlds charity, must rank very high, indeed, not mere- ly from his givings, which were abundant, but because his endowments are prodigiously in- creased in value since he bequeathed them, as the revenues of the lands, bequeathed to our Foundling-Hospital at London, by honest Cap- tain Coram, its founder, are immensely enhanced by the houses since built upon them. Steele was the founder of sentimental writing in En- glish, and how the land has been since occupied, and what hundreds of us have laid out gardens and built up tenements on Steeles ground! Before his time, readers or hearers were never called upon to cry except at a tragedy; and com- passion was not expected to express itself other- wise than in blank verse, or for personages much lower in rank than a dethroned monarch, or a widowed or a jilted empress. He stepped off the high-heeled cothurnus, and came down into com- mon life; he held out his great hearty arms, and embraced us all; he had a bow for all women; a kiss for all children; a shake of the hand for all men, high or low; he showed us heavens sun shining every day on quiet homes; not gild- ed palace-roofs only, or court processions, or heroic warriors fighting for princesses and pitch- ed-battles. He took away comedy from behind the fine ladys alcove, or the screen where the libertine was watching her. He ended all that wretched business of wives jeering at their hus- bands, of rakes laughing wives, and husbands too, to scorn. That miserable, rouged, tawdry, sparkling, hollow-hearted comedy of the Res- toration fled before him, and, like the wicked spirit in the Fairy-books, shrank, as Steele let the daylight in, and shrieked, and shuddered, and vanished. The stage of humorists has been common-life ever since Steeles and Addisons time; the joys and griefs, the aversions and sympathies, the laughter and tears of nature. And here, coming off the stage, and throwininr aside the motl~y-habit, or satiric disguise, in which he had before entertained you, mingling with the world, and wearing the same coat as his neighbor, the humorists service became straightway immensely more available ; his means of doing good infinitely multiplied; his success, and the esteem in which he was held, proportionately increased. It requires an ef- fort, of which all minds are not capable, to un- derstand Don Quixote ; children and common people still read Gulliver for the story merely. Many more persons are sickened by Jonathan Wyld, than can comprehend the satire of it. Each of the great men who wrote those books was speaking from behind the satiric mask I anon mentioned. Its distortion~aj~a1l many simple spectators; its settled sneer or laugh is unintelligible to thousands, who have not the wit to interpret the meaning of the visored sat- SO HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. inst preaching from within. Many a man was at fault about Jonathan Wylds greatness, who could feel and relish Allworthys goodness in Tern Jones, and Doctor Harrisons in Amelia, and dear Parson Adams, and Joseph Andrews. We love to read; we may grow ever so old, but we love to read of them stillof love and beauty, of frankness, and bravery, and generosity. We hate hypocrites and cowards; we long to defend oppressed innocence, and to soothe and succor gentle women and children, We are glad when vice is foiled, and rascals punished; we lend a foot to kick Blifil down stairs; and as we attend the brave bridegroom to his wedding on the happy marriage day, we ask the grooms-man s privilege to salute the blushing cheek of Sophia. A lax morality in many a vital point I own in Fielding, but a great hearty sympathy and benevolence; a great kindness for the poor; a great gentleness and pity for the unfortunate; a great love for the pure and good; these are among the contributions to the charity of the world with which this erring but noble creature endowed it. As for Goldsmith, if the youngest and most unlettered person here has not been happy with the family at Wakefield; has not rejoiced when Olivia returned, and been thankful for her for- giveness and restoration; has not laughed with delighted good humor over Mosess gross of green spectacles ; has not loved with all his heart the good Vicar, and that kind spirit which created these charming figures, and devised the 1)eneficent fiction which speaks to us so tender- lywhat call is there for me to speak In this place, and on this occasion, remembering these men, I claim from you your sympathy for the good they have done, and for the sweet charity which they have bestowed on the world. When humor joins with rhythm and music, and appears in song, its influence is irresistible; its charities are countless, it stirs the feelings to love, peace, friendship, as scarce any moral agent can. The songs of Beranger are hymns of love and tenderness; I have seen great whisk- ered Frenchmen warbling the bonne Vieille, the Soldats au pas, au pas ; with tears rolling down their mustaches. At a Burnss Festival, I have seen Scotchmen singing Burns, while the drops twinkled on their furrowed cheeks: while each rough hand was flung out to grasp its neigh- bors; while early scenes and sacred recollec- tions, and dear and delightful memories of the past came rushing back at the sound of the familiar words and music, and the ~softened heart was full of love, and friendship, and home. Humor! if tears are the alms of gentle spirits, and may be counted, as sure they may, among the sweetest of lifes charities. Of that kindly sensibility, and sweet sudden emotion, which exhibits itself at the eyes, I know no such pro- vocative as humor. It is an irresistible sympa- thizer; it surprises you into compassion: you are laughing and disarmed, and suddenly forced into tears. I heard a humorous balladist not long since, a minstrel with wool on his head, and an ultra-Ethiopian complexion, who per- formed a negro ballad, that I confess moistened these spectacles in the most unexpected manner. They have gazed at dozens of tragedy queens, dying on the stage, and expiring in appropriate blank verse, and I never wanted to wipe them. They have looked up, with deep respect be it said, at many scores of clergymen in pulpits, and without being dimmed; and behold a vaga- bond with a corked face and a banjo sings a little song, strikes a wild note which sets the whole heart thrilling with happy pity. Humor! humor is the mistress of tears; she knows the way to the fons lachrymarum, strikes in dry and rugged places with her enchanting wand, and bids the fountain gush and sparkle. She has refreshed myriads more from her natural springs, than ever tragedy has watered from her pompous old urn. Popular humor, and especially modern popular humor, and the writers, its exponents, are always kind and chivalrous, taking the side of the weak against the strong. In our plays, and books, and entertainments for the lower classes in England, I scarce remember a story or theatrical piece, in which a wicked aristocrat is not be-pummeled by a dashing young champion of the people. There was a book which had an immense popu- larity in England, and I believe has been greatly read here, in which the Mysteries of the Court of London were said to be unvailed by a gentle- man, who I suspect knows about as much about the court of London as he does of that of Pekin, Years ago I treated myself to sixpennyworth of this performance at a railway station, and found poor dear George the Fourth, our late most relig- ious and gracious king, occupied in the most flagitious designs against the tradesmens fam- ilies in his metropolitan city. A couple of years after, I took sixpennyworth more of the same delectable history: George the Fourth was still at work, still ruining the peace of tradesmens families; he had been at it for two whole years, and a bookseller at the Brighton station told me that this book was by many, many times the most popular of all periodical tales then published, be- cause, says he, it lashes the aristocracy ! Not long since, I went to two penny-theatres in Lon- don; immense eager crowds of people thronged the buildings, and the vast masses thrilled and vibrated with the emotion produced by the piece represented on the stage, and burst into applause or laughter, such as many a polite actor would sigh for in vain. In both these pieces there was a wicked lord kicked out of the windowthere is always a wicked lord kicked out of the window. First piece : Domestic dramaThrilling in- terest !Weavers family in distress !Fanny gives away her bread to little Jacky, and starves! Enter Wicked Lord: tempts Fanny with offer of Diamond Necklace, Champagne Suppers, and Coach to ride in !Enter sturdy Blacksmith. Scuffle between Blacksmith and Aristocratic minion: exit Wicked Lord out of the window. Fanny, of course, becomes Mrs. Blacksmith. The second piece was a nautical drama, also CHARITY AND HUMOR. 87 of thrilling interest, consisting chiefly of horn- pipes, and acts of most tremendous oppression on the part of certain earls and magistrates toward the people. Two wicked lords were in this piece the atrocious scoundrels: one aristocrat, a deep- dyed villain, in short duck-trowsers and Berlin- cotton gloves; while the other minion of wealth enjoyed an eye-glass with a blue ribbon, and whisked about the stage with a penny cane. Having made away with Fanny Foresters lover, Tom Bowling, by means of a press-gang, they meet her all alone on a common, and subject her to the most opprobrious language and behavior: Release me, villains ! says Fanny, pulling a brace of pistols out of her pocket, and crossing them over her breast so as to cover wicked lord to the right, wicked lord to the left; and they might have remained in that position ever so much longer (for the aristocratic rascals had pis- tols too), had not Tom Bowling returned from sea at the very nick of time, armed with a great mar- line spike, with whichwhack! whack! down goes wicked lord, No. 1wicked lord, No. 2. Fanny rushes into Toms arms with an hysteri- cal shriek, and I dare say they marry, and are very happy ever afterPopular fun is always kind: it is the champion of the humble against the great. In all popular parables, it is Little Jack that conquers, and the Giant that topples down. I think our popular authors are rather hard upon the great folks. Well, well. Their lordships have all the money, and can afford to be laughed at. In our days, in England, the importance of the humorous preacher has prodigiously increas- ed; his audiences are enormous; every week or month his happy congregations flock to him; they never tire of such sermons. I believe my friend Mr. Punch is as popular to-day as he has been any day since his birth; I believe that Mr. Dickenss readers are even more numerous than they have ever been since his unrivaled pen com- menced to delight the world with its humor. We have among us other literary parties; we have Punch, as I have said, preaching from his booth; we have a Jerrold party very numerous, and faithful to that acute thinker and distinguish- ed wit; and we have alsoit must be said, and it is still to be hopeda Vanity-Fair party, the author of which work has lately been described by the London Times newspaper as a writer of considerable parts, but a dreary m{santhrope, who sees no good any where, who sees the sky above him green, I think, instead of blue, and only miserable sinners round about him. So we are; so is every writer and every reader I ever heard of; so was every being who ever trod this earth, save One. I cant help telling the truth as I view it, and describing what I see: To de- scribe it otherwise than it seems to me would be falsehood in that calling in which it has pleased heaven to place me; treason to that conscience which says that men are weak; that truth must be told; that fault must be owned; that pardon must be prayed for; and that Love reigns supreme over all. I look back at the good which of late years the kind English humorists have done; and if you are pleased to rank the present speaker among that class, I own to an honest pride at thinking what benefits society has derived from men of our calling. That Song of the Shirt, which Punch first published, and the noble, the suffering, the melancholy, the tender Hood sang, may surely rank as a great act of charity to the world, and call from it its thanks and regard for its teacher and benefactor. That astonishing poem, which you all of you know, of the Bridge of Sighs, who can read it without tenderness, without reverence to Heaven, charity to man, and thanks to the beneficent genius which sang for us so nobly I never saw the writer but once; but shall al- ways be glad to think that some words of mine, printed in a periodical of that day, and in praise of these amazing verses (which, strange to say, appeared almost unnoticed at first in the maga- zine in which Mr. Hood published them) I am proud, I say, to think that some words of appre- ciation of mine reached him on his death-bed, and pleased and soothed him in that hour of manful resignation and pain. As for the charities of Mr. Dickens, multiplied kindnesses which he has conferred upon us all; upon our children; upon people educated and uneducated ; upon the myriads here, and at home, who speak our common tongue; have not you, have not I, all of us reason to be thank- ful to this kind friend who soothed and charmed so many hours, brought pleasure and sweet laughter to so many homes; made such multi- tudes of children happy; endowed us with such a sweet store of gracious thoughts, fair fancies, soft sympathies, hearty enjoyments. There are creations of Mr. Dickenss, which seem to me to rank as personal benefits; figures SO delight- ful, that one feels happier and better for know- ing them, as one does for being brought into the society of very good men and women. The at- mosphere in which these people live is whole- some to breathe in; you feel that to be allowed to speak to them is a personal kindness; you come away better for your contact with them; your hands seem cleaner from having the privi- lege of shaking theirs. Was there ever a better charity-sermon preached in the world than Dick- enss Christmas Carol I believe it occasioned immense hospitality throughout England; was the nieans of lighting up hundreds of kind fires at Christmas-time; caused a wonderful outpouring of Christmas good-feeling; of Christmas punch- brewing; an awful slaughter of Christmas-tur- keys, and roasting and basting of Christmas beef. As for this mans love of children, that amiable organ at the back of his honest head must be perfectly monstrous. All children ought to love him. I know two that do, and read his books ten times for once that they peruse the dismal preachments of their father. I know one who when she is happy reads Nicholas Nickle- by; when she is unhappy reads Nicholas Nickle- by; when she is tired reads Nicholas Nickleby; 88 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. when she is in bed reads Nicholas Nickleby; when she has nothing to do reads Nicholas Nickleby; and when she has finished the hook reads Nicholas Nickleby over again. This can- did young critic, at ten years of age, said I like Mr. Dickenss books much better than your books, papa ;and frequently expressed her desire that the latter author should write a book like one of Mr. Dickenss books. Who cans Every man must say his own thoughts in his own voice, in his own way; lucky is he who has such a charming gift of nature as this, which brings all the children in the world trooping to him, and being fond of him. I remember when that famous Nicholas Nickle- by came out, seeing a letter from a pedagogue in the north of England, which dismal as it was, was immensely comical. Mr. Dickenss ill- advised publication, wrote the poor school- master, has passed like a whirlwind over the schools of the north. He was a proprietor of a cheap school; Dotheboys-Hall was a cheap school. There were many such establishments in the northern counties. Parents were ashamed, that never were ashamed before, until the kind satirist laughed at them; relatives were fright- ened; scores of little scholars were taken away; poor school-masters had to shut their shops up; every pedagogue was voted a Squeers, and many suffered, no doubt unjustly; but afterward school- boys backs were not so much caned; school-boys meat was less tough and more plentiful and school-boys milk was not so sky-blue. What a kind light of benevolence it is that plays round Crumles and the Phenomenon, and all those poor theatre people in that charming book! What a humor! and what a good-humor! I coincide with the youthful critic, whose opinion has just been mentioned, and own to a family admiration for Nicholas Nickleby. One might go on, though the task would be endless and needless, chronicling the names of kind folks with whom this kind genius has made us familiar. Who does not love tR~TNThrchioness, and Mr. Richard Swiveller! Who does not sympathize, not only with OliverTwist, hut his admirable young friend the Artful Dodger? Who has not the inestimable advantage of pos- sessing a Mrs. Nickleby in his own family Who does not bless Sairey Gamp and wonder at Mrs. Harris. Who does not venerate the chief of that illustrious family who, being stricken by misfortune, wisely and greatly turned his attention to coals, the accomplished, the Epi- curean, the dirty, the delightful Micawber I I may quarrel with Mr. Dickenss art a thou- sand and a thousand times, I delight and won- der at his genius I recognize in itI speak with awe and reverencea commission from that Divine Beneficence, whose blessed task we know it will one day be to wipe every tear from every eye. Thankfully I take my share of the feast of love and kindness, which this gentle, and generous, and charitable soul has contributed to the happiness of the world. I take and enjoy my share and say a Benediction for the meal. THE LOST FLOWERS. A 5COTTI5H sTORy. IT was a beautiful morning in May, when -LJeanie Gray, with a small bundle in her hand, took her leave of the farm-house of Dry- law, on the expiration of her half-years term of service. She had but a short distance to walk, the village of Elsington, about three miles off, being her destination. As she passed down the little lane leading from the farm to the main road, two or three fair-haired children came bounding over a stile to her side, and clung af- fectionately around their late attendant. Oh, Jeanie, what for maun ye gang away Mamma wadna let us see you out on the road a bit, but we wan away to you by rinnin round the stack-yard. Jeanie stood still as the eldest of her late charges spoke thus, and said: Marian, you should have had mair sense than to come when your mother forbad you. Rin away back, like guid bairns, continued she, caressing them kind- ly; rin away hame. Ill maybe come and see you again. Oh, be sure and do that, then, Jeanie, said the eldest. Come back again, Jeanie, cried the younger ones, as they turned sorrowfully away. From such marks of affection, displayed by those who had been under her care, our readers may conceive that Jeanie Gray was possessed of engaging and amiable qualities. This was indeed the case; a more modest and kind-heart- ed creature perhaps never drew the breath of life. Separated at an early age from her pa- rents, like so many of her classthat class so perfectly represented in the character of Jenny, in the Cottars Saturday Nightshe had con- ducted herself, in the several families which she had entered, in such a way as to acquire uni- formly their love and esteem. Some mistresses, it is true, are scarcely able to appreciate a good and dutiful servant; and of this class was Mrs. Smith of Drylaw, a cold, haughty, mistrustful woman, who, having suffered by bad servants, had come to look upon the best of them as but sordid workers for the penny-fee. To such a person, the timidity and reserve which distin- guished Jeanie Grays character to a fault, seem- ed only a screen, cunningly and deliberately as- sumed; and the proud distance which Mrs. Smith preserved, prevented her from ever discovering her error. Excepting for the sake of the chil- dren, therefore, it is not to be wondered at that Jeanie felt no regret at leaving Drylaw. Her destination on departing from her late abode was, as we have already mentioned, the village of Elsington; and it is now necessary that we should divulge a more important matter she was going there to be married. Jeanie Gray could not be called a beautiful girl, yet her cheerful though pale countenance, her soft dark eye and glossy hair, and her somewhat hand- some form, had attracted not a few admirers. Her matrimonial fate, however, had been early

88 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. when she is in bed reads Nicholas Nickleby; when she has nothing to do reads Nicholas Nickleby; and when she has finished the hook reads Nicholas Nickleby over again. This can- did young critic, at ten years of age, said I like Mr. Dickenss books much better than your books, papa ;and frequently expressed her desire that the latter author should write a book like one of Mr. Dickenss books. Who cans Every man must say his own thoughts in his own voice, in his own way; lucky is he who has such a charming gift of nature as this, which brings all the children in the world trooping to him, and being fond of him. I remember when that famous Nicholas Nickle- by came out, seeing a letter from a pedagogue in the north of England, which dismal as it was, was immensely comical. Mr. Dickenss ill- advised publication, wrote the poor school- master, has passed like a whirlwind over the schools of the north. He was a proprietor of a cheap school; Dotheboys-Hall was a cheap school. There were many such establishments in the northern counties. Parents were ashamed, that never were ashamed before, until the kind satirist laughed at them; relatives were fright- ened; scores of little scholars were taken away; poor school-masters had to shut their shops up; every pedagogue was voted a Squeers, and many suffered, no doubt unjustly; but afterward school- boys backs were not so much caned; school-boys meat was less tough and more plentiful and school-boys milk was not so sky-blue. What a kind light of benevolence it is that plays round Crumles and the Phenomenon, and all those poor theatre people in that charming book! What a humor! and what a good-humor! I coincide with the youthful critic, whose opinion has just been mentioned, and own to a family admiration for Nicholas Nickleby. One might go on, though the task would be endless and needless, chronicling the names of kind folks with whom this kind genius has made us familiar. Who does not love tR~TNThrchioness, and Mr. Richard Swiveller! Who does not sympathize, not only with OliverTwist, hut his admirable young friend the Artful Dodger? Who has not the inestimable advantage of pos- sessing a Mrs. Nickleby in his own family Who does not bless Sairey Gamp and wonder at Mrs. Harris. Who does not venerate the chief of that illustrious family who, being stricken by misfortune, wisely and greatly turned his attention to coals, the accomplished, the Epi- curean, the dirty, the delightful Micawber I I may quarrel with Mr. Dickenss art a thou- sand and a thousand times, I delight and won- der at his genius I recognize in itI speak with awe and reverencea commission from that Divine Beneficence, whose blessed task we know it will one day be to wipe every tear from every eye. Thankfully I take my share of the feast of love and kindness, which this gentle, and generous, and charitable soul has contributed to the happiness of the world. I take and enjoy my share and say a Benediction for the meal. THE LOST FLOWERS. A 5COTTI5H sTORy. IT was a beautiful morning in May, when -LJeanie Gray, with a small bundle in her hand, took her leave of the farm-house of Dry- law, on the expiration of her half-years term of service. She had but a short distance to walk, the village of Elsington, about three miles off, being her destination. As she passed down the little lane leading from the farm to the main road, two or three fair-haired children came bounding over a stile to her side, and clung af- fectionately around their late attendant. Oh, Jeanie, what for maun ye gang away Mamma wadna let us see you out on the road a bit, but we wan away to you by rinnin round the stack-yard. Jeanie stood still as the eldest of her late charges spoke thus, and said: Marian, you should have had mair sense than to come when your mother forbad you. Rin away back, like guid bairns, continued she, caressing them kind- ly; rin away hame. Ill maybe come and see you again. Oh, be sure and do that, then, Jeanie, said the eldest. Come back again, Jeanie, cried the younger ones, as they turned sorrowfully away. From such marks of affection, displayed by those who had been under her care, our readers may conceive that Jeanie Gray was possessed of engaging and amiable qualities. This was indeed the case; a more modest and kind-heart- ed creature perhaps never drew the breath of life. Separated at an early age from her pa- rents, like so many of her classthat class so perfectly represented in the character of Jenny, in the Cottars Saturday Nightshe had con- ducted herself, in the several families which she had entered, in such a way as to acquire uni- formly their love and esteem. Some mistresses, it is true, are scarcely able to appreciate a good and dutiful servant; and of this class was Mrs. Smith of Drylaw, a cold, haughty, mistrustful woman, who, having suffered by bad servants, had come to look upon the best of them as but sordid workers for the penny-fee. To such a person, the timidity and reserve which distin- guished Jeanie Grays character to a fault, seem- ed only a screen, cunningly and deliberately as- sumed; and the proud distance which Mrs. Smith preserved, prevented her from ever discovering her error. Excepting for the sake of the chil- dren, therefore, it is not to be wondered at that Jeanie felt no regret at leaving Drylaw. Her destination on departing from her late abode was, as we have already mentioned, the village of Elsington; and it is now necessary that we should divulge a more important matter she was going there to be married. Jeanie Gray could not be called a beautiful girl, yet her cheerful though pale countenance, her soft dark eye and glossy hair, and her somewhat hand- some form, had attracted not a few admirers. Her matrimonial fate, however, had been early THE LOST FLOWERS. 89 decided; and the circumstances under which it was ahout to he brought to a happy issue, were most honorable to both parties interested. At tbe age of eighteen, Jeanies heart had been sought and won by William Ainslie, a young tradesman in the neighboring town. Deep was the affection that sprang up between the pair, but they com- bined prudence with love, and resolved, after binding themselves by the simple love-vows of their class, to defer their union until they should have earned enough to insure them a happy and comfortable home. For six long years had they been true to each other, though they had met only at rare intervals during the whole of that period. By industry and good conduct, William had managed to lay by the sum of forty pounds, a great deal for one in his station; and this, joined with Jeanies lesser earnings, had en- couraged them to give way to the long-cherished wishes of their hearts. A but-and-c-ben, or a cottage with two apartments, had been taken and furnished by William, and the wedding was to take place on the day following the May-term, inthe house of the brides sister-in-law. We left Jeanie Gray on her way from the farm-house of Drylaw. After her momentary regret at parting with the children, whom the affectionate creature dearly loved, as she was dis- posed to do every living thing around her, her mind reverted naturally to the object that lay nearest her heart. The bright sun above sent his cheering radiance through the light fleecy clouds of the young summer, the revivified trees cast their shades over her path, the merry lark rose leapingly from the fields, and the sparrow chirped from the hedge at her sideevery thing around her breathed of happiness and joy, and her mind soon brightened into unison with the pleasing influences. Yet ever and anon a flutter of indescribable emotion thrilled through the maidens heart, and made her cheeks, though unseen, vary in hue. At an angl~of the road, while she was moving along, absor] in her own thoughts, a manly voice exclaimed: Jeanie ! and a well-known form started up from a seat on the way-side. It was William Ainslie. The converse which followed, as the betrothed pair pursued their way, and laid open their hearts to each other, we can not, and shall not attempt to describe. After Jeanie had parted for a time with Will- iam, and was seated quietly in her sister-in-laws house, a parcel was handed in to her from a lady in whose service she bad formerly been. On be- ing opened, it was found to contain some beau- tiful artificial flowers, which the lady destined as a present to adorn the wedding-cap; an or- nament regarding which, brides among the Scot- tish peasantry are rather particular. The kind- ness displayed in the gift, more than its value, affected Jeanies heart, and brought tears to her eyes. She fitted the flowers to her cap, and was pleased to hear her sister-in-laws praises of their beautiful effect. Fatal present !but let us not anticipate. The wedding came and passed, n6t accom panied with boisterous mirth and uproar, but in quiet cheerfulness, for William, like his bride, was peaceful in his tastes and habits. Let the reader, then, suppose the festive occasion over in decent order, and the neNly-married pair seated in their new housetheir own houseat dinner, on the following day. William had been at his work that morning as he was wont, and his young wife had prepared their humble and neat dinner. Oh! how delicious was that food to both! Their happiness was almost too deep for language. Looks of intense affection and tenderness were its only expression. I maun be a truant, Jeanie, to-night, said the husband. My comrades in the shop maun hae.a fey frae me, since we couldna ask them a to the wedding, ye ken. Surely, said his wife, raising her timid, con- fiding eyes to his face, whatever you think right, William; I ken you are nae waster, and they wad hae shown the same kindness to you. I hope youll find me nae waster, returned her husband smiling; nor am I feard for you turning out ane either, Jeanie, lass, though ye was sac very braw about the head last night. By the direction of his eyes to the artificial flowers which had adorned her wedding-cap, and which were lying on the top of her new stand of drawers at the moment, Jeanie saw to what her husband alluded. Oh, the flowers ! said she, blushing; they didna cost me muckle, William. The conversation of the pair was at this mo- ment interrupted by the entrance of Mrs. Smith of Drylaw, who mentioned, with an appearance of kindness, that, having been accidentally in Elsington that day, she had thought it her duty to pay a friendly visit to Jeanie and her good- man. Whether curiosity had fully as much share in bringing about the visit as friendly feel- ing, it matters not. Jeanie and William received her as became her rank, and the relation in which the former had lately stood regarding her. Bread and cheese were brought out, and she was pressed to taste a drop of the best liquor they possessed. Alas! how sudden are the revolutions in hu- man affairs. The party were in the midst of an amicable conversation when Mrs. Smiths eye happened to he caught by the bouquet on the top of the drawers, and a remarkable change was at once observable in her manner. Jeanie, said she, with deep emphasis and rising anger, I did not expect to find my flow- ers lying there. Say not a wordI see it all I see it allyou have been a thiefthere is the evidence of itI shall not stay another instant in your house ! So saying, the infuriated and reckless woman rushed from the dwelling of the wonder-stricken pair. Jeanie, as already mentioned, was timid and modest to a fault. When her late mistress thus addressed her, she motioned to speak, but could not, though the blood rushed to her face, and her bosom heaved convulsively. When left alone with her husband, she turned her eyes wildly toward him, and a flood of tears gushed 90 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. over her cheeks. What thought William of all this His emotion was scarcely less on hearing the accusation than his wifes; and recollecting her saying that thee flowers cost her nothing, alas! he feared that the charge was but too true. The more than feminine delicacy and timidity of his wifes nature was not fully known to him, and her voiceless agitation appeared too like an inability to confute the imputation. He rose, and while Jeanie, still incapable of utter- ance, could only hold up her hands deprecatingly, he cast on her a glance of mingled sorrow and rebuke, and left the room. His wifehis bride stricken in the first flush of her matronly joy and pride, sunk from her chair on his departure insensible! It was rather late, from a cause that has been alluded to, before William Ainslie returned to his home that night. His wife had retired to rest, but her sister-in-law, who had been sent for by Jeanie, was in waiting for him, and revealed the utter falsehood of Mrs. Smiths accusation, she having been an eye-witness of the receipt of the flowers, as a prese~pt from another lady. Take care o Jeanie. William, said the sister-in-law; she is illa charge o that kind is enough to kill her. This prediction unhap- pily had truth in it. On the ensuing morning, the young wife was raving incoherently, in a state between slumber and waking. A deep flush remained permanently upon her counte- nance, most unlike the usual fairness of her com- plexion. Her muttered exclamations shocked her husband to the soul. Oh, William, you believed it! But its no trueits no trueit is false ! was the language she continually murmured forth. Medical skill was speedily seen to be neces- sary, and the surgeon who was called in in- formed William. that, in consequence of strong excitement, incipient symptoms of brain-fever had made their appearance. The utmost quiet was prescribed, and blood withdrawn from the temples in considerable quantity. For a time, these and other remedies seemed to give relief, and the poor husband never left the side of the sufferer. Indeed, it seemed as if she could not bear him to be absent; her mind always revert- ing,when he was out of her sight, to the idea that he believed the charge which had been made against her, and had left her forever. The oft- repeated assurances to the contrary, from his own lips, seemed at length to produce convic- tion, for she at last was silent on the subject. But the chargethe blowhad struck too deep. Jeanie Ainslieif we may call her by a name she was destined so short a time to bearfell after two or three days illness into a state of stupor, which continued with short and rare intervals, and on the eighth day after her nup- tials, her pure spirit departed. William Ainslie had shown on many occasiona in life great firmness and self-command; and now, though deep suffering was written on his brow, he made, with at least external composure, the requisite preparations for laying in the grave the remains of her whom he had loved so long and so truly. As to retribution upon the head of the person who had been instrumental, through inconsiderate hastiness only, it is to be hoped, in producing his misery, the bereaved husband thought not of calling for it. Yet it did come, to a certain extent; for our errors seldom pass, even in this life, without a pang of punishment and remorse. Several days after chargingthe innocent Jeanie with the abduction of her flowers, Mrs. Smith of Drylaw found, by a discovery of her new servant, that one of her younger children, im- patient for the flowering of a rose-bush in the little garden nigh the farm-house, had lighted upon the artificial bouquet in her mothers dress- ing-room, and had carried it out and stuck it upon the bush. There the flowers were accord- ingly found; and Mrs. Smith, who was far from being an evil-intentioned woman, did feel regre~ at having charged the loss upon the guiltless. Ignorant of all that had passed at Elsington in the interval, she determined to call at William Ainslies on her first visit to the village, and ex- plain her mistake. That call was made two days after Jeanie death; and on Mrs. Smith entering the room, she found William sitting by his bereaved hearth, with his sister-in-law and another kind neighbor, bearing him company. Ohby-the-bythose flowers ! said the unwelcome visitor in a tone and in a manner which she meant to be condescending and insin- uating, how sorry I am for what happened about those flowers! Where do you think I found them after all ?in a rose-bush in the garden, where Jemima had put them. And now I am come to say I am sorry for it, and hope that it will be all over. William Ainslie had risen slowly during this extraordinary speech; and now, raising his fin- ger toward ~ lips, he approached and took Mrs. Smith by t t~and, beckoning at the same time to the two women who were seated with him. They seemed intuitively to comprehend his wishes, and rising, moved toward the bed, aroui~d which the curtains were closely drawn, William leading forward also the unresisting and bewild- ered visitor. The women drew the curtains aside, and William, fixing his eyes on Mrs. Smith, pointed silently to the body of his wife, shrouded in the cerements of death, and lying with the pale, uncovered face upturned to that heaven for which her pure life had been a fitting preparation. The wretched and false accuser gazed with changing color on the corpse of the dead innocent, and, turning her looks for a mo- ment on the silent faces around, that regarded her more in sorrow than in anger, she uttered a groan of anguish as the truth broke on her; then, bursting from the hand which held her, she hastily departed from the house. There is little now to add to this melancholy story, which, unhappily is but too true. The little we have to add, is but in accordance with the tenoa~ of what has been told. After the SMALL BEGINNINGS. 91 burial of his Jeanie, William Ainslie departed] from Elsington; and what were his future for- tunes no one can tell, for he never was seen or heard of again in his native place. As for the unhappy woman who was the occasion of the lamentable catastrophe which we have related, she lived to deplore the rashness of which she was guilty. Let us hope that the circumstance had an influence on her future conduct, and will not be without its moral efficacy in the minds of our readers. SMALL BEGINNINGS. WHO does not know the importance of trifles, so called iand who, in the present day, when we have learned that we owe our chalky cliffs to insects, and that the same apparently in- significant creatures have gemmed the sea with islands of coral, will venture to despise small beginnings. If we look closely into life, we shall find, that in it as in nature, scarcely any event is of itself unimportant, or incapable of being turned to use- ful account. The poet tells us that There is a tide in the affairs of men, Which, taken at the flood, leads on to fortune. And this is true; but there are also unnoticed currents and shifting winds playing over the great ocean of time, and these, if skillfully and boldly seized, may prove as important to our pro- gress as the mighty flood-tide itself. Our readers have, doubtless, long since remarked, out of what slender threads the web of great fortunes have been woven by skillful and energetic hands, using means and seizing opportunities which the feeble or indolent either overlook or despise. A few remarkable instances of thus compelling for- tune, we are now about to offer themthe suc- cessful result of one of which came under our own personal observation, while the heroine of another is at this present time living in France. Giving her history the precedence due to her sex, we shall begin with it, and thus show our read- ers the importance of a handful of wool! Eu- g6nie was the daughter of a merchant living at Marseilles, and in her early youth married a Catalan officer, in the service of Don Carlos. She followed his fortunes through all the disastrous chances of civil war, suffering, during this period, privations and dangers, which were doubtless needful to nerve her frame and mind for the try- ing lot which awaited her. In one of the guerilla skirmishes of the war, he fell, and lay unburied on the mountain height; but the heroic love of his wife would not suffer his remains to be left for the carrion-crow, or the wolf to batten oer him. In the silence and darkness of night, she dug a grave for him with her own handsa task fraught with as much peril as that which threat- ened the Antigone of Grecian fable, or even greater; for no Creon ever equaled in barbarity the ferocious soldiery of both sides in that hate- ful war. Neither her sex nor her foreign birth would have saved her, had a Christino found her engaged in her holy task. Dramatic fiction surely never imagined a more terrible situation than this, with all its adjuncts of wild mountain scen- ery, the gloom of darkening night, and threaten- ing dangersnot to speak of the heart-suffering of the actor in itthe woman whose delicate hands labored to form a grave for her beloved. The task was, however, achieved in safety, and then the young widow fled, with her two infant children, into the deepest solitudes of the hills, taking refuge, finally, in an old ruined convent, situated on a steep acclivity, and visited only occasionally by shepherds, who brought their flocks from the valleys below to the mountain pastures. One can scarcely fancy a more wretch- ed or hopeless position. She was utterly pen- niless; and the only comfort nature afforded her, was the abundant wood to be found near the spot. Of this, the dauntless mother laid in a good sup- ply ere winter. She also offered to assist the shepherds in tending their sheep, and to stable them during the night in her ruined dwelling; while, in return for these pastoral services, she received from them a scanty crust and milk for her infants. The peasants, touched by her pa- tience and industry, bore the tidings of the strange ladys doings to their own homes in the valley; and, moved by curiosity, the women, when next they came up with food for their husbands, visited the recluse. She entered frankly into conversa- tion with her guests. It is a long and weary journey for you the days you are obliged to ascend the mountain, and a great hinderance to your work ~ Yes, seiThra. And it must be dull in your lonely homes, when your husbands are awayP Again an affirmative reply. Well, if you like, I will clear out the great refectory of the convent, and you may bring your wheels and spin here together. The offer was thankfully accepted, and the whole female population of the village soon as- sembled daily in the large airy hall, bringing their children with them. They came at the peep of dawn, and returned late at night to the dull hovels below. The contrast must have been a delightful one, from the monotony and gloom of the valley beneath. Here they had light, fresh air, warmthwood being abundantand the fel- lowship of others. At the end of each week the grateful peasants presented to their benefactress for such, in truth, she wasa handful of spun wool each, and out of this small offering she wove her fortune. Descending occasionally to the nearest town, she sold those little wool-gather- ings, and in a few months had accumulated enough to purchase the shepherds raw wool, and to beg for an hours labor, instead of the handful of material from her guests. Before the summer was over, she collected, by management and in- dustry, enough of money to pay them for their work; and, at the next sheep-shearing, she be- came the purchaser of more than half the wool. Her energy and talent inspired her poor neigh- bors with similar zeal and activity. They spun merrily and briskly under her eye, sure of a pur- chaser for the produce of their labor, without

SMALL BEGINNINGS. 91 burial of his Jeanie, William Ainslie departed] from Elsington; and what were his future for- tunes no one can tell, for he never was seen or heard of again in his native place. As for the unhappy woman who was the occasion of the lamentable catastrophe which we have related, she lived to deplore the rashness of which she was guilty. Let us hope that the circumstance had an influence on her future conduct, and will not be without its moral efficacy in the minds of our readers. SMALL BEGINNINGS. WHO does not know the importance of trifles, so called iand who, in the present day, when we have learned that we owe our chalky cliffs to insects, and that the same apparently in- significant creatures have gemmed the sea with islands of coral, will venture to despise small beginnings. If we look closely into life, we shall find, that in it as in nature, scarcely any event is of itself unimportant, or incapable of being turned to use- ful account. The poet tells us that There is a tide in the affairs of men, Which, taken at the flood, leads on to fortune. And this is true; but there are also unnoticed currents and shifting winds playing over the great ocean of time, and these, if skillfully and boldly seized, may prove as important to our pro- gress as the mighty flood-tide itself. Our readers have, doubtless, long since remarked, out of what slender threads the web of great fortunes have been woven by skillful and energetic hands, using means and seizing opportunities which the feeble or indolent either overlook or despise. A few remarkable instances of thus compelling for- tune, we are now about to offer themthe suc- cessful result of one of which came under our own personal observation, while the heroine of another is at this present time living in France. Giving her history the precedence due to her sex, we shall begin with it, and thus show our read- ers the importance of a handful of wool! Eu- g6nie was the daughter of a merchant living at Marseilles, and in her early youth married a Catalan officer, in the service of Don Carlos. She followed his fortunes through all the disastrous chances of civil war, suffering, during this period, privations and dangers, which were doubtless needful to nerve her frame and mind for the try- ing lot which awaited her. In one of the guerilla skirmishes of the war, he fell, and lay unburied on the mountain height; but the heroic love of his wife would not suffer his remains to be left for the carrion-crow, or the wolf to batten oer him. In the silence and darkness of night, she dug a grave for him with her own handsa task fraught with as much peril as that which threat- ened the Antigone of Grecian fable, or even greater; for no Creon ever equaled in barbarity the ferocious soldiery of both sides in that hate- ful war. Neither her sex nor her foreign birth would have saved her, had a Christino found her engaged in her holy task. Dramatic fiction surely never imagined a more terrible situation than this, with all its adjuncts of wild mountain scen- ery, the gloom of darkening night, and threaten- ing dangersnot to speak of the heart-suffering of the actor in itthe woman whose delicate hands labored to form a grave for her beloved. The task was, however, achieved in safety, and then the young widow fled, with her two infant children, into the deepest solitudes of the hills, taking refuge, finally, in an old ruined convent, situated on a steep acclivity, and visited only occasionally by shepherds, who brought their flocks from the valleys below to the mountain pastures. One can scarcely fancy a more wretch- ed or hopeless position. She was utterly pen- niless; and the only comfort nature afforded her, was the abundant wood to be found near the spot. Of this, the dauntless mother laid in a good sup- ply ere winter. She also offered to assist the shepherds in tending their sheep, and to stable them during the night in her ruined dwelling; while, in return for these pastoral services, she received from them a scanty crust and milk for her infants. The peasants, touched by her pa- tience and industry, bore the tidings of the strange ladys doings to their own homes in the valley; and, moved by curiosity, the women, when next they came up with food for their husbands, visited the recluse. She entered frankly into conversa- tion with her guests. It is a long and weary journey for you the days you are obliged to ascend the mountain, and a great hinderance to your work ~ Yes, seiThra. And it must be dull in your lonely homes, when your husbands are awayP Again an affirmative reply. Well, if you like, I will clear out the great refectory of the convent, and you may bring your wheels and spin here together. The offer was thankfully accepted, and the whole female population of the village soon as- sembled daily in the large airy hall, bringing their children with them. They came at the peep of dawn, and returned late at night to the dull hovels below. The contrast must have been a delightful one, from the monotony and gloom of the valley beneath. Here they had light, fresh air, warmthwood being abundantand the fel- lowship of others. At the end of each week the grateful peasants presented to their benefactress for such, in truth, she wasa handful of spun wool each, and out of this small offering she wove her fortune. Descending occasionally to the nearest town, she sold those little wool-gather- ings, and in a few months had accumulated enough to purchase the shepherds raw wool, and to beg for an hours labor, instead of the handful of material from her guests. Before the summer was over, she collected, by management and in- dustry, enough of money to pay them for their work; and, at the next sheep-shearing, she be- came the purchaser of more than half the wool. Her energy and talent inspired her poor neigh- bors with similar zeal and activity. They spun merrily and briskly under her eye, sure of a pur- chaser for the produce of their labor, without 92 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. having to wend their steps down the mountains. It is surprising what the impetus of a master- mind can achieve. Labor gained a new life from the example of the spirited Frenchwoman; every thing prospered with the mountain Arachnes; and during the second spring following her first appearance among them, Madame L was able to leave her children to their care, and jour- ney, under the escort of some of her shepherd friends, to the frontier, where she contracted with one of the greatest wool-buyers of France for the produce of the next winters spinning. In three years the old convent was cojivert- ed into a spinning-factory; became renowned throughout the north of Spain for the fineness of its produce; and proved a source of domestic comfort and prosperity to the poor peasants who had once, out of their humble means, exercised charity toward its desolate. inmate. Madame Ls web of good fortune waxed every year. She is now a wealthy capitalist. She has four factories in Spain, and seven in France, besides cotton and flax mills in Belgium. She has by her energy, prudence, and kindness, compelled fortune; and out of a handful of wool, has extracted prosperity for herself, her children, and the many who labor for her. Her character appears to us in every respect a counterpart of that of the wise woman of the Proverbs, with a nearness of resemblance indeed surprising, when found under the influences and prejudices of western civilization. ~We have heard that she has not lost any of her really great qualities under the trial of prosperity, but continues as energetic, patient, and simple in her habits, as when she dwelt in desolate penury on the hills of Spain. Above the grave, so touchingly hallowed by the circumstances of its formation, there now stands, in a wild and solitary pass near Probeda, a magnificent monument of white marble, bear- ing, in letters of gold, the name Jago L, Aged 27. In poverty and wealth, the love of that faithful wife is changeless. And now, transporting our readers from the Pyrenees to the palm-groves, we will endeavor to illustrate the title of our article by an Orien- tal tale, which, when we first heard it, recalled to our memory the once devoutly-believed stories of the Arebian Nights. There dwelt, many years ago, in the island of Bombay, a young Parsee, or fire-worshiper, one of the poorest of his tribe, but endowed with a sagacity as great as that of the more cultivated dame of Christendom, and with as large and benevolent a heart. This man began life with less substantial grounds for hope than the dreamer Alnasehar possessed; for where- as he of the Arabian story had a basket-full of glass and earthenware, our modern Guebre pos- sessed but two old wine-bottles! They were, to be sure, of more value there than they are here, being articles held in great eftimation in some parts of Indiaas, for example, in Scinde, where, when it was first occupied by the British, a couple of fowls could he obtained for an old porter-bottle. Still, it was a decidedly small beginning for a merchant; but he managed to sell them advantageously; bought more; again made a profitable bargain, and became a regular bottle wallahthat is, seller of bottles. In a country where nature so abundantly supplies the wants of her childrenwhere a basket of char- coal and a handful of rice form the cuisine of the poor, it is easier to save, than in a land where many wants consume the hard-earned pittance. Our Parsee accumulated annas till they grew into rupees, and became a thriving trader. Then the opium-trade engaged his attention. Some doubtful speculation in it was mentioned in his presence, and seeing with instinctive sagacity the probable profit, he closed with the proposal unhesitatingly; and thusfor it proved most successfulin the words of the friend who told me his history, he cleared 10,000 by a stroke of his pen. From that moment, his rise to the summit of prosperous fortune was rapid. Nor could it be called the work of chance, or a mere caprice of destiny. He studied to meet the ex- igencies of his new position. He learned to speak the language. and understand, in a great measure, the commercial policy of the European strangers who rule the land. He was industri- ous, self-denying, and quick-witted. When we saw him, in his advancing age, he possessed, as the fruit of his own thought and energy, an in- come of some hundreds of thousands yearly; and he spent his wealth as liberally as he had earned it carefully. His charity scarcely knew a bound. In one year, he gave away in alms to the poor, English and natives, the enormous sum of 90,000, for which he received the thanks of the Queen of England, and her likeness set in diamonds, besides the first title of knighthood bestowed on an Oriental since the days of Sala- din. He founded a noble hospital. His wife gave her jewels to form a causeway between the islands of Bombay and Salsette, many lives hav- ing been lost among the natives in making the somewhat dangerous trajet; and he never drove out without carrying in his carriage bags of small coin, to fling to the mendicants who throng- ed his path. It was while seated at his own tablein a bungalow he had purchased on the Kandallah Hills, and which he lent to our party as a place of rest during the ascentthat we first heard the story of the achievement of this wealth, and, gazing on the splendor around us, the two bottles appeared little else than an Eastern fable. The land for many a mile round was his; the plantations of roses, covering whole acres, and so sweetly clothing the wild mount- ain-side, were but a lovely portion of his mer- chandisetheir essence but a fragrant addition to his heaps of gold. And then the luxury of this country retreat! The European furniture the costly china dinner-service, manufactured for him, and bearing his arms and initialsthe plate, and servants, and rich viandsall from such a small beginning! It was marvelous as a fairy tale. Sir Jamsetjee Jeejeebhoy is now no more; but the memory of his good deeds is still and will be long cherished iii the East. BLEAK HOUSE. 93 We can not conclude our sketch of small be- ginnings without speaking of a certain singu- lar little republic which has some claim to be re- membered under such a heading, though its his- tory is no modern instance, and will lead us some fourteen or fifteen hundred years into the shad- ows of the past. It is only befitting the anti- quity of the tale, to say that, once upon a time, there existed a certain peasant of Dalmatia, named Marino, who was by trade a masona worthy, honest, industrious man, and devout according to the light vouchsafed to him. This artisan was employed in the reparation of the town of Rimini; and when his task was ended, he retreated to a neigboring mountain, built for himself a cell, and embraced the life of a hermit. After a time, his sanctity and charity were ru- mored abroad; and the lady of the landthe Princess of Riminivisited his hermitage, was charmed by his piety and intelligence, and be- stowed on him as a gift the high and craggy mountain where he had fixed his home: no very great bounty, if we consider that its summit. usually vailed in clouds, was covered with eter- nal snow; but Marino, or, as he was now styled, St. Marino, turned the barren land to good ac- count. He invited all whom he deemed worthy of sharing his solitude; many a lowly and home- less peasant, many a wanderer seeking a preca- rious crust, to dwell with him in this eagles aerie. Nor did he, as might have been supposed probable, enjoin a monastic life on them. On the contrary, he assisted and directed their labor in the construction of a town, and in the culti- vation of such parts of the mountain as were capable of being rendered productive. A more useful saint never lived! As there was neither spring nor fountain on the hill, he taught them to construct huge cisterns and reservoirs, which they filled with snow-water, or left for the re- ception of rain. They planted vineyards on the mountain-sides, which produced excellent wine, and became in a brief space a flourishing colony. San Marino gave them wise and just laws; lived to see his poor brethren prosperous and happy; and dying, became their tutelary saint, had a church dedicated in. his name, and a sta- tue erected to his honor. The miniature republic of San Marino existed for centuries, free and unchanged, amid all the mutations of the governmen