Harper's new monthly magazine. / Volume 9, Note on Digital Production Creation of machine-readable edition. Cornell University Library 874 page images in volume Cornell University Library Ithaca, NY 1999 ABK4014-0009 /moa/harp/harp0009/

Restricted to authorized users at Cornell University and the University of Michigan. These materials may not be redistributed.

Harper's new monthly magazine. / Volume 9, Note on Digital Production 0009 000
Harper's new monthly magazine. / Volume 9, Note on Digital Production A-B

Harper's new monthly magazine. / Volume 9, Issue 49 [an electronic edition] Creation of machine-readable edition. Cornell University Library 874 page images in volume Cornell University Library Ithaca, NY 1999 ABK4014-0009 /moa/harp/harp0009/

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Harper's new monthly magazine. / Volume 9, Issue 49 International monthly magazine Harper's monthly magazine Harper & Bros. New York June 1854 0009 049
Harper's new monthly magazine. / Volume 9, Issue 49, miscellaneous front pages i-viii

HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. VOLUME IX. JUNE TO NOVEMBER, 1854. NEW YORK: HARPER & BROTHERS, PUBLISHERS, 329 & 331 PEARL STREET, FRANKLIN SQUARE. 1854. 7 7 7 f~ ADYERTJSEMENT.YOLUME IX. IN bringing to a close the Ninth Volume of HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGA- ZINE, the Publishers gladly renew their acknowledgments to the Press and the Public for the continued and increasing favor which has rewarded their exertions. Although the Publishers have been obliged to devote no small portion of their attention to the re-establishment of other departments of their business, they are confident that the Volume now completed will show that the interests of the Mag- azine have not been neglected. The Illustrations exceed, both in number and cxpense, those furnished in any previous Volume, while the literary matter has been selected from a field continually widening. The mechanical execution has been less immediately under their personal supervision than heretofore, yet the gen~ral appearauce of the Magazine has not materially suffered. The Publishers are happy to announce that the manufacturing portion of their establishment has now been reconstructed on a scale of much greater amplitude and completeness than before; and they are confident that the succeeding Volumes of the Magazine xviii be produced in a more attractive form than any that have appeared. The Publishers have abundant reason to believe that no change is demanded in the general principles upon which the Magazine has been conducted. It has subserved no sectional or party interests; and not an article has been admitted into its pages to which any reasonable or just exception could be taken. The strict oversight that has secured this result will still be maintained. The Magazine will, as heretofore, be in all respects National, and not Sectional. The purpose of its Publishers will continue to be to present the best productions of American and Foreign Literature in the most attractive form. The series of Illustrated Articles already prepared for the next Volume exceed in number and interest any that they have presented, and the number of contributors from whom articles have been secured has been greatly augmented. The Editorial Department will present its accustomed variety, embracing every topic of interest, from the gravest discussion and criticism to the most piquant details of gossip and anecdote. The Publishers feel warranted, from the materials now in their possession, in assuring the subscribers to the Magazine that the next Volume will, in every point of interest, exceed any one that they have heretofore produced. CONTENTS OF VOLUME IX. A FEW WORDS ABOUT BIRDS 796 A NATURALIST AMONG THE HIMALAYAS 604 A NIGHT AMONG THE CLOUDS 246 A SAINTS BROTHER 104 A TRUE STORY, THOUGH A FAIRY TALE 634 A TURKISH REVOLUTION 515 BASQUE BLOOD 368 BATTLES OF THE NILE AND TRAFALGAR. By LAMARTINF 484 BEHIND THE LOUVRE 88 BELLADONNA 78 BETROTHED CHILDREN 820 CANKERED ROSE OF TIVOLI: 243 CATSKILLS, THE. By T. ADDISON RICHARDS 145 CHAPTER ON ASHES 646 CHAPTER ON IDIOTS 101 COMICALITIES, ORIGINAL AND SELECTED. Young America at the Sea Side, 141. Fourth of July Weed, 574. Qualified Admiration, 574. The Five upon the Hudson. 281. The Mosquito War,429. Bad Senses, 714. The Old World and the Now, 561. Two News for the Horse, 573. Young America with his Paths in Life, 862. CONFESSION; OR, THE LAW OF ACOUSTICS 91 DAY IN A LUNATIC ASYLUM 653 DOCTOR PABLO 218 DRUNKARDS BIBLE 385 DURAND PROPERTY 238 DUTCH ON MANHATTAN 433 EDITORS DRAWER. Sitmmar Thoughts; Crowners Inquest; Anecdote Quackery; Distrust of Providence, 562. Thorpes of Lamb, 129. Never say Dye; Dinner for Two; The Temperance Speech; Bad Name for a Colt; Jacksons Second.Floor hall; Stoughton Bitters, 130. Duels in Endorsement, 563. The Old Church, 564. Watching Kordofan; Down in the Mouth; Mr. Schenek in the by the Sick; A Model Juror, 565. John Maynard, a Ministry; A Sentinels Expedient, 131. Snobbery; true hero; Andrew Jackson Allen, 566. Drops of Mixed Relationships; A Question of your own Asking; Comfort; Peter Gray and Lizianny Querl; Vicarious harm of Tobacco; Ladies Dresses; Railroad Eating, Punishmetmt; Take Care of your Health; The Shop- 131. Adding up the Year of our Lord, 133. Polyglott keeper done for; A Brace of Diddlers, 567. The first love Songs; Reason for Matrimony; Committee on Cherokee Execution, 568. October Fruits and Sights; Waye and Means; A Dead Wall, 134. The Cooks Providing for the School-Master, 699. Mike Dodds and Oracle; The Arkansas Noatis ; Elizabeth Lloyd and the bad Whisky; The Beard Movement, 700. Ubiquity Milton, 133. Judging People by their Looks, 267. The of the Yankee Flag; Clerical Promptness; The News. Friends Meeting; Senator Bell and Old Hickory, 268. boy on Bonaparte; Sloshin About; Stoicism and Art; No Second Choice; Obeying Orders; Bishop Iledding; Captain Walker and the Mexicans, 701. Major Straight- Flush Times in Mississippi, 269. The Cock-Lane back and the Joker; Rise of General Whitehorn; a Ghost, 270. The Great Cemetery; Elegy on a Wood- Young Native on his Dignity; Trusting in Providence, pecker; Scene in a Newspaper Office, 271. Rise in 702. Adventure of a Tennessee Poet; A Lisp makes Real Estate; Lines to a Cigar; Melons and Pumpkins; the Difference; A Judicial Question; Architectural Im- Making a Pile, 272. College Anecdotes; Spring provements; An Editors Proof, 703. The bashful Thoughts; A Model Juror, 273. A Sleepy Cockney; Irishman; Proprieties of the Ballet, 704. The Mission Serving a Writ; Plain Talk to the Ladies; The Nec- of little Children ; Comforts of Age Anecdote of Jar. dlewonan; Simile for Silence, 274. Illustrations of vis, 705. Treating a Case actively; Adventure with a Distance; Altering tha Decalogus; Women and Char- Lobster, 706. The Frenchmans Cow in his Box; Sin- ity; Scare-Crows and Statues; hints to Botanists, 275. ners bursting; Nowadays, 707. All men Cowards in An Intoxicated Monkey; A Yankee Wanted, 415. The the Dark; A good Wife; A Sabbath well spent; Col- Stuyvesant Pear-Tree; Colonel Warnuck; Feeding the lecting from a Itard Case; Sharp Practice, 708. The Ilawks; Irishmen in Opposition, 416. The Trans- Autumn Leaf, 848. The first Theft, and a Moral from formed Church; The Conclusion of the Whole Matter; it, 849. Washington as Surveyor; Explaining difficult Milk from Cowes; Court-Room Etiquette. 417. The Passages; An odd Room-Mate; Beauties of Art-Crit- Difference; Sun, Moon. and Joshua; The horse-Swap- icism, 850. Shoco Jones of North Carolina; Public per in Kentucky; A Posing Question, 418. Commit Towels and Tooth-Brushes; Bricks vs. Skulls; Old no Nuisance; Anecdote of Matthews, 419. A hundred hickory and the Embassador; Meditation in Trinity Years ago; Americanisms; Sally Larrabee Wanted; Church-Yard, 851. Betting ens Trade; Turkish Opin- Looking like a Lion, 420. John Bull and the Painter; ion of the Russians; Senator Cameron, the Printer The llurry of the City, 421. A Mistake in the Labels; Boy; Going down to Ihe Sea, 852. Suiting the Wine No more Figs; Elias Hicks and Cotton; Courtship to the Palate, 853. Calling John Bell and Elizabeth and Matrimony, 422. A Striking Likeness; The Fatal Bell; A Trio of Sharp Cuts; Blarney from an Irish Ball; A Nightmare; Anecdote of Cooke, 423. Resent- Barber. 854. Catching a Thief Machine Criticism; ment; Return of Income; A Love of a IJonnet; The The Way to take an Affront; Not an Atheist but a Long Ago, 424. The Frenchman and his Dog; Old Druggist; Anecdote of Rowland hilt; A Choice of Jacob Barker; Story of a Dentist, 561. Working upon Dinners, 855. The Beggar and Ihe Broker Pine Knots the last Chance; Independent Pauper; Prosperous and Paradise, 856. iv CONTENTS. EDITORS EASY CHAIR. Letter Writing and Book Writing; Londoner on Ven- ice; An Observer on New York Society; On Charita- ble Societies, 119. Borrioboola-Gha and the Five Points; Charity Concerts; Potyhymnia Baggs, 120. Theory of Fashionable Charity; Dr. Abbotts Egyptian Museum, 121. What a Metropolis is; New York Fires, 122. Flimsy Building; the Age of Tinsel; Music Coming; Mario and Grisi, 123. Re-opening of the Crystal Pal- acethe Music and Speeches; The Useful and the Beautiful, 124. Paris in the Spring; The New Palace; The Palace of Industry; Diplomatic Clothing; The French and English Coalition, 125. The Viviparous Fish; The Abbe Lammenais; Sergeant Tatfourd Death of the Gardener; Hospital Wagons, 126. Con- scripts and Marriage; War-tidings; A French Play, 127. Romance of the Guardsman, 128. Experiences of the Chair; No Enthusiasm behind the Scenes, 257. Anonymous Blackguards; Mr. Grayquills Correspond- ent; Impersonality of the Chair, 258. A Fable; Truth- fulness of the Newcomes, 259. Architecture in New York, 260. The Fourth of July in City and Country, 261. Nicholas and his Family, 262. The Russian Po- lice; A Story from Life, 263. The Imperial Family in Rose Color, 264. A Touch of the Knout, 265. Flog- ging in English Schools; Professor Wilson, 266. Death of Rubini; Of James Montgomery; Duke of Cambridge on his Way to the Wars, 267. Exodus of the Town; Corydon, Ceres, and Flora, 406. Country Girls not Nymphs; Living in the Country, 407. Death of Son- tag, 408. Pasta and Siddons; Summer and Cholera; Suspected Fruits, 409. Epistle General from Abroad; Fashion and the Thermometer; Age and Dress, 410. French Children; the Wood of Boulogne; Shop Win- dows, 411. New Jewels; Conspiracy against the Mil- liners; Professor of Dressing, 412. Beau Brummel; The Deaf Suicide; Another Suicide, 413. The Mus- tache Movement; The Buried Well-Digger, 414. Cry for Beaux, 551. What the Men are about; Conming down; Charity for Crime ; Easiness of Selfishness 559 Beauty and Goodness Grandfathers Advice Dry, Sly, and Lye, 553. New Failure of the Crystal Palace; The Causes; College Commencements, 554. The Orators; EDITORS TABLE. The Position of the Clergy 115 Shall the Murderer escape I 253 Union Saving 402 The Poem; Early Visions; The Vivtparous Fish again, 555. Parisian Heats; The Weather and the Stocks; The Bear and the Turk, 556. Going into the Country; The Citizen sod his Guests; The Abbd and the Arti- chokes, 557. The Belle and the Billet ; A Suicide; M. Veron; The Antbitious Widow, 558. The Lost Alsa- tian, 539. Wedding Advertisements, 560. The Drought; Sympathies, 691. The Millerites Chuckling; Chaos and Cabbages; Money tight; Expetisively educated; Spiritual Drought, 692. Grisi and Mario; Character- istics of Grisi; Grisi and Rachel; The Mythic Mrs. Coutta; Mr. Ruskin and Claude; Joy in the Beautiful, 693. Mr. Carden ; Another Abduction; the French Mother, 694. The Ilonest Rogue; A Debt of Con- science, 695. Jules Lecomte, OttO. M. Mery the Rain- Maker ; Broadway Bridges, 697. LIow one feels after killing a Man; A Tale of Crime, 698. Railway Acci- dents here and abroad, 699. Sir Charles Napier and his Dinner-Table Victories; Cronstadt not to be taken by Champagne ; The Admiral coming Itome; The Countess and the Soldiers Families ; the Allies victo- rious on Paper, 838. Back-Roomo Speculations on the War; John Bull fighting for India; Print and Talk Able Editors but Men; Every Man his own Editor, 839. Pestilence and Storms at the Soulh; Kindly Feelings aroused; Active Christiatt Sympathy; The North and the South, 840. The Easy Chair as Confessional; Sy- bills and her Suitor; Narcissus and his Novel; J,ife the Material of Literature ; Sanctity of Private Charac- ter; Daguerreotyping Individuals; Example of Thack- eray, 841. Shakapeare and Lady Macbeth; True Lim- its of Individual Portraiture; The Easy Chairs Opin- ion of the Whole Matter; Gossip of the Town; Hoops and Street-Sweeping Skirts ; Projects for Retrench- ment, 842. Etise the Grisette; The new Idees Napoleon- iennes; The New Guards, 843. French Sharpshoot- ers; Guessing and Foreboding; The English in Paris; The Coming Exhibition; Railway Responsibility, 844. Murder will out; Jules Lecomte upon English Tour- tsts, 845. What the English travet for; Murray ver- ified; The Student and the Peasant-Girl, 846. The Somnambulic Gamester, 847. Is the Human Race One or Many 548 Are we One or Many I 687 The true Sources of our National Strength 830 FAITHFUL MARGARET 659 FASHIONS FOR JUNE 143 FASHIONS FOR JULY 281 FASHIONS FOR AUGUST 431 FASHIONS FOR SEPTEMBER 575 FASHIONS FOR OCTOBER 719 FASHIONS FOR NOVEMBER 863 FATHER AND SON 525 FIRST GRENADIER OF FRANCE 366 FIVE SENSES 714 FLIGHT OF YOUTH 83 FOURTH OF JULY UPON THE HUDSON 281 GALVANOPLASTY 811 GAMBLING HOUSES IN GERMANY 390 GENERAL TAYLORS RESIDENCE AT BATON ROUGE 763 GENERATIONS OF FASHIONS 749 GREEK CARNIVAL 828 HAPPY FAILUREA STORY OF THE RIVER HIJDSON 196 HOLY WEEK AT ROME 20, 158, 317 HOW MACKEREL ARE CAUGHT 674 IMITATION PEARLS AND DIAMONDS 109 INCIDENTS OF JURY TRIALS 519 KIND OF PREACHING THAT DOES GOOD TO THE POOR 664 LADY AMBER MAYNE 667 LAST MOMENTS OF BEETHOVEN 225 LITERARY NOTICES. Russia; Russian Shores of the Black Sea; Year with oatotNAL NOTICEs, the Turks; The Knout and the Russians; Curzons Ballons Divimme Character Vindicated; Talvis Ex- Armenia; Old hundredth Psalm Tune; Talfourds ites, 135. XVitkinsons Ancient Egyptians; The Re- Writings; Millers My Schools and Schoolmasters; gents Daughter; Minnie Ilermnon; Life and Sayings of Art Student in Munich. t37. The Dodd Family Abroad; Mrs. Parmington; Judds The Church; Smiths Ilis- Thomass Farm lmptements, 138. Bentons Thirty tory of Gracce; Dods Spirit Manifestations; Sttrennes Years in the Senate; Twenty Years in the Philippines; French and English Dictionary, 136. Gurowskis Bartletts Personal Narrative; Aubrey, The Quiet CONTENTS. LITERARY NoTIcEscontinucd. Heart; Greece and the Golden horn, 276. Utah and the Mormons; XVensley; Lyrics by the Letter H Wordsworths Works; Recreations of Christopher North; Fern Leaves; This, That, and the Other; The Myrtle Wreath, 277 ; Morning Stars of the New World; Tempest and Sunshine; Melbourne and the Chincha Islands; The Catacombs of Rome; Sargents First Class Reader; Francheres Voyage to the Northwest Coast; Pycrofts English Reading; Queens of Scot- land; home Scenes and Home Sounds, 278. Mer- ceins Natural Goodness; Fashion and Famine, 279; Miss Mitfords Atherton and Other Tales; Burritts Thoughts and Things; Leather Stocking and Silk; The Masters Itousa ; Ticonderoga; hive of the Bee Hunter; Sir Jasper Carew, 425. Elements of Charac- ter; Footprints of Famous Men; Africa and the Amer- ican Flag Daniel Boone and the Hunters of Kentucky; Harpers Gazetteer of the World ; History of Illinois Sandwich Island Notes, 426. Millss Poets and Poetry of the Ancient Greeks ; Livermores Discourses, 427 Gan Eden; Maturins History of Cuba; Na Motu; Easy Nat; The British Poets ; Bertha and Julia, 569. The Practical Draughtsman; American Cottage Builder; Yonth of.IelThrson; Noltes Fifty Years in Both hlemi- spheres; Abbolts History of Pyrrhus; Puddleford and its People, 570. Captain Canot; Shakspeares Scholar; Sunny Memories of Foreign Lands. 709. School for Pol- itics; Practical Draughtsmnans Book of Design; Doch- artys Arithmetic; Harringtons Memoirsand Sermons; Hoppins Notes of a Theological Student, 710. Gerald Masseys Poems and Ballads; Williss Famous Per- sons and Things ; Hermits Dell, 711. Giless Illus- trations of Genius; Woods Illustrated Natural His- tory; Whittiers Literary Recreations and Miscellanies; Baskervilles Germati Poetry, 857. MemorableWomen; The Captains of the Roman Republic; Lifes Lesson; Artificial Fish-Breeding; The Virginia Comedians, 858. Birds of the Bible; Female ProseWriters of Amer- ica; Ida Norman; Spenser and the Fairy Queen; Later Years; Synonyms of the New Testatnent; Hickoks Empirical Psychology, 859. Poems by T. W. Parsons; Life and Epistles of the Apostle Paul; Jerusalem and its Vicinity; Lamartines Memoirs of Celebrated Char- acters; Dr. Bells Louisville Address; Stocktons Ser- momis for the People; Lossing and Brahers Western Histories, 860. FOREIGN NOTICES AND INTELLIGENCE. Death of Professor Wilson; The Chronicles of Merry England; Ages of the Reviews; Progress of Punch, 139; New Publications, 140. Works olArago; Lamar- tines projected Works; New Work by Michelet; Eternity Unveiled; Bulletin des Socictes Savants; Manuscript of Spinoza; The Brownings; Poems by Tennyson, Praed, and Kingsley; Chevalier Busisen; Insanity of Gellius; Maurices Theological Essays, 140. Death of Montgomery; of Professor Jameson, 279. Of William Pickering; of Lord Cockburn; Health of Ro- gers; Mrs. Crowe; Lamartines History of Turkey, 280. Sketch of Carlyle; Sydenham Palace Portrait Gallery, 427. Dr. Raffles in Italy; Monument to Wil- son; h)ealh of Lady h)acre; Lamartines Celebrated Characters; French Literary Notabilities; Hans Chris- tian Andersen, 428. The English Journals on Todds Students Manual, 570. On Fern Leaves; On Ilerveys Rhetoric of Conversation; Ott Batess Poems; On American Female Authors; On Mrs. Stowes Sunny Melnories; Sketch of Ilazlitt, 571. George Gilfillan; Miss Mitfords Village; Sonnet to Dickens, 572. No- tice of Comte; OfJolin Chapman, 711. Characteristics of Charles Lamb; Fashion and Famine; Bancrofts new Volunle, 712. Whites Shakspeares Scholar; American Artists at Rome; Lines by Landor to Miss Mitford, 713. LITTLE FLOWER 394 LOST ISLAND 649 LOVE AND SELF-LOVE 84 MONTHLY RECORD OF CURRENT EVENTS. v UNITED STATES. The Treaty with Mexics, 110. Veto of the Insane Appropriation Bill, 110. Motion to suspend the Neu- trality Laws in the case of Spain, 110. Speech of Mr. Benton against the Nebraska Bill, 110. Meeting of the Associatton for the Advancement of Science, 111. Soathern Convention at Charleston, 111. The Ward Marder Trial, 111. Breach of the Neutrality Law by the French Consul in San Francisco, ill. Walkers Sonora Expedition, 111, 250. Passage of the Nebraska Bill; the final Debate and Analysis of the Vote, 249. Speech of Mr. Cass on Religious Liberty, 250. Mr. l\lallorys Resolution on the Africanization of Cuba; United States Senator from Massachusetts, 250. The Prcsidents Neutrality Proclamation, 250. Indictment of he French Consul at San Francisco, 250. Indian Wtr in Oregon, 251. Question of Annexation in the Sandwich Islands, 231, 545. Indian Murders in New Mexico, 251. Protest against the Nebraska Bill, by Mem)ers of Congress, 398. Speeches of Messrs. Jones, Rockwell, Sumner, Toacey, and Gillette on the Protest, 398. Provisions of the Gadsden Treaty with Mexico, 393. The Reciprocity Treaty with Great Britain, 399. The Japanese Treaty, 399. Appointments for Kansas and Nebraska, 333. New Hampshire Resolutions on the Nebraska Bill, 403. Connecticut Law for Persotlal Freeclons, 499. Riots in New York and Brooklyn, 400. Adjoarornent of Congress, 583. Batehelder Pension, 543. Presidents Message on oar Relations with Spain, 516. Report of the Committee to whom it was refcrred, 541. Veto of the Internal Improvement Bill, 544. The Ilorn:,tead Bill, 544. Neutrality Treaty with Russia, 541. Bnrnhardrnent of Greytowta, 544. Fires in Cal- ifornia, 515. Elections in Vermont, North Carolina, and Maine, 683, Anti-Nebraska Convention at Sara- toga, 683. Democratic State Conventions in New York, 683. Whig and Free Soil Conventions in Massachu- setts, 683. The Neutrality Question with France and England, 683. Political Conventions in California, 684. Fends among the Chinese Emigrants, 684. Neutrality of the Sandwich Islands, 684. Loss of the Steamer Arctic, 839. Elections in Pennsylvania and Ohio. 830. Political Conventions in New York. 830. The Dem- ocratic Candidates and the Liquor Law, 830. Dem- ocratic Convention in Massachusetts, 830. State Acri- cultural Fairs, 839. Death of Bishop Wainwright, 830. Of Bishon Gartland, 830. Election in California, 830. Chinese Emigration to California, 831. SOUTHEaN AMERICA. Revolt of Alvarez in Mexico, 111,251. New Expedi- tion of Count Raousset Boulbon, 684. Its Def~at, and Execution of the Leader, 831. Outbreak on the Rio Grande, 684. Its Suppression, 831. Address of Satata Anna, 831. Action at Mogotes, 831. Russian Loan, 831. Revolution in New Granada, 400. Bombardment of Greytown, 544. GREAT BRITAIN. Ultimatum to Russia rejected, and Declaration of War, 111. Lords Clarendon and Aberdeen and the Earl of Derby on the War, 112. Lord John Russell, Messrs. Layard, Bright, and others in the Ihouse, 112. Speech of Lord Palmerston, 112. Declaration respect- ing Neutrals, 113. Withdrawal of the Reform Bill, 113. Debates on the War, 252. The Jews in Parliament, 252. Financial Projects, 252. Changes in the Cabinet, 400. Lord John Russell, Lord Clarendon, the Earl of Aberdeen, and others on the Continuance of the War, 400. Opening of the New Crystal Palace, 400. Speech of Kossuth on the War, 401, 546, 685. Discussion on the Neutrality Question, 545. The Earl of Clarendon on the Course of Austria, 546. Lord John Russells Statement of the Progress and Objects of the War, 546. Mr. Disraelis Attack upon the Ministry, 546. Debate on Canadian Affairs, 684. New Copyright Decision, 684. Statement as to the Slave Trade in Cuba 684 Marquis Clanricarde and the Earl of Clarendon on the Conduct of the War, 685. Mazzimmis Appeal to the Re- volutionists, 685. FRANCE. Proceedings respecting the War, 113. The Conven- lion with England, 113. Formation of New Military Camps, 252. Report of M. Persigny on retirimeg from Office, 401. M. Dronyn do Lilnyss Reply to Count Nesselrode, 686. Military Display at Boulogne, 831. Emperors Proclamation to the Army, 831. Prince Czartoryskis Address to the Poles, 831. TEE CONTINENT. Attitude of Austria, 113. 251, 685, 686, 832. Position of Prussia, 113, 251, 685, 832. Treaty between Austria and Prussia, 251. Interview between the Sovereigns of Austria and Prussia. 401. ResolGlion of the Minor Powers, 401. Diplomatic Correspondemmee between Austria, Prossia, amid Russia, 832. Circular Notes of vi CONTENTS. MONTHLY RECORDCeflttitued. the three Powers, 832. Declaration of the Russian Gulf of Bothnia, 401. The Capture of the British Government, 113. Circular Notes of Count Nesseirode Steamer Tiger, 401. Siege of Silistria, 401. Retreat to Austria and Prussia, 832. Commotions in Spain, of the Russians, 401. Cronstadt pronounced impreg 232. The Black Warrior Case, 252. Insurrection in nable, 547. Continued Retreat of the Russians in the Spain, 547. Proclamation of ODonnell, 547. Consti- Principalities, 547. Capture of Bomarsund, 686. En- tution and Mcasures of the New Government, 685. Be- tratice of the Austrians into the Principalities, 686. parture of the Queen Mother, 831. Action against her, Cholera in the Allied Camp, 686. Turkish Defeat in 831. Charges against Mr. Soule, 831. His Letter to Asia, 686. Correspondence between Russia and Aus- the Press, 831. Ledru Rollin on Spanish Affairs, 831. tria, 686. Reply of the French Minister, 686. Austriati Apprehensions for Cuba, 832. Circular, 686. Further Correspondence between Aus- tria, Prussia, and Russia, 832. Expedition to the Cri- THE EASTERN WAR. mea, 833. Affairs in the Baltic, 833. Russian Evacus. Declaration of XVar by Great Britain, 112. EnglIsh tioti of Moldavia, 833. Declaration respecting Neutrals, 113. Proceedings of the French Government, 113. The Convention be- THE EAST. tween France and England, 113. Declaration of the Confiscation of the Propert)- of the Mosques, 114. Russian Government, 113. Blockade of the Baltic hostile Movements iii Greece, 114. Russian Move. Ports, and Capture of Prizes, 114. Russian Forces ments near Japan, 114. The American Fleet in Japan. cross the Danube, 114. Confiscation of the Property 114. Formation of a new Ministry in Greece, 686. of the Mosques by the Sultan, 114. The Russians iii Visit of the American Commissioner to Nankiti 833. the Dobrudseha, 251. The Position and Forces of the Progress of the Itisurrection in China, 833. Ex-Com- Combatants, 252. Bombardment of Odessa, 252. Sir missioner Marshalls View of the stale of Affairs in Charles Napier at Stockholm, 252. Captures in the China, 133. MORE FACTS WORTH KNOWING 93 MOSQUITO WAR 429 MOUNTAIN STORMSTRAGEDY ON THE SENTIS 511 MY BROOCH 636 NAPOLEON BONAPARTE. By JOHN S. C. ABBOTT 32, 171, 327, 465, 577, 721 NEWFOUNDLAND FISHERMAN 106 NEWPORTHISTORICAL AND SOCIAL 289 NIGHT IN AN OLD CASTLE. By G. P. R. JAMES 804 NURSES REVENGE 825 OLD WORLD AND NEW 861 ORIENTAL MERCHANT 680 PICTURE OF A GREEK GIRL 236 POOR CHILDS CRADLE 50 POOR MANS PUDDING AND RICH MANS CRUMBS 95 POSTHUMOUS ADVENTURES OF PAGANINI 523 QUAKERS WIFE 771 RIGHTS AND WRONGS OF WOMAN 76 ROYALTY AT TABLE 542 RUSSIAN STORY OF A CENTURY AGO 509 SCHOLARS OF BRIENNE 800 SHARPENING THE SCYTHE 73 SOMETHING FOR THE LADIES ABOUT COLORS 814 SONNETS. By PARK BENJAMIN 543 STOLEN SHOES 539 STOOPING TO CONQUER 816 STORM AND REST 229 STUDENT LIFE IN PARIS 671 STUDIES FOR A PICTURE OF VENICE. By 1K. MARVEL 186 SUPERSTITIONS OF SAILORS 641 THE FIDDLER 536 THE GREEN RING AND THE GOLD RING 232 THE HYA~NA 513 THE NEWCOMES. By W. M. THACKERAY 57, 201, 348, 492, 618, 782 THE OCEAN AND THE ATMOSPHERE 531 THE REPRIEVE; OR, THE WILD JUSTICE OF REVENGE 371 THE STEPPES, ODESSA, AND THE CRIMEA THE THIRTEENTH JUROR 381 THREE VISITS TO THE HOTEL DES INVALII)ES 643 TWO PATHS IN LIFE 862 WAYS OF PROVIDENCE 799 WHAT IS A CONGREVE ROCKET~ 222 WHO DISCOVERED THE NORTHWEST PASSAGE 453 WHOM SHALL WE MARRY? 765 WOLF NURSES IN INDIA 199 WOMANS WRONGSA STORY OF ENGLISH LAW 226 YOUNG AMERICA AT THE SEASIDE .. 141 YOUNG SURGEON 776 LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS. 1. Palace of the Khans of the Crimea 1 2. Gipsies in Bucharest 3. Gipsy Dog-Killers 3 4. Village Church in Wallachia S 5. Steppes of Southern Russia 6. Tartar Camel-Cart 9 7. Tartar Guide 12 8. Tartar Knife-Whip 13 9. On the Road 13 10. Tartar Village 14 11. Shoeing an Ox 14 12. Tartar Postillions 15 13. Tartar Coffee-House 16 14. Mausoleum of the Khans 17 15. Tartar Bakers Shop 16. The Pope in Pontifical Robes 22 17. Latin Bishop 22 18. Cardinal in Full Costume 22 19. Cardinal in Private Habit 22 20. Greek Bishop 23 21. Syrian Bishop 23 22. Armenian Bishop 23 23. Bearer of the Tiara 23 24. Chorister 24 25. Senator 24 26. Cardinal Priest 24 27. Cross-Bearer 24 28. The Pope 25 29. Private Chamberlain 25 30. Popes Cross-Bearer 25 31. Captain of the Swiss Guard 25 32. Private of the Swiss Guard 26 33. Guardof Nobles 26 34. Mace-Bearer 26 35. Chamberlain of the Sword and Cloak 26 36 The Corpse of the Pope exposed 28 37. Dinner during the Conclave 29 38. Election of Pius VI 30 39. The Pope borne to his Residence 31 40. The Empress invested with the Regency 33 41. The Attack upon Napoleon 35 42. The Russians surprised 37 43. The Bursting of the Bomb 39 14. The Cossacks repulsed 40 45. Tidings of the Capitulation 42 46. Napoleon at Fontainebleau 44 47. Parisian Crdchethe Play-Room 53 48. Parisian Crdchethe Eating-Room 54 49. Parisian Crdchethe Cradle-Room 55 50. Parisian Crdchethe Table 56 51. The NewcomesHead-Piece 57 52. Colonel Newcome in the Gallery 60 53. The Post-Boy 61 54. Mr. Moss grows envious 61 55. Master Clive at Work 62 56. Emblematic Head-Piece 67 57. Roseys Little Song 72 58. Young America preparing to bathe 141 59. Young America bathing 141 60. Young America tries sailing 142 61. Young America enjoys himself 142 62. Fashions for June 143 63. The Talma Mantle 144 64. LEmnperatrice 144 65. The Zuleika Berthe 144 66. Catskill Creek 145 67. The Mountain House, Catskills 146 68. View from the North Mountain, Catskills 147 69. Sylvan Lake, Catskills 148 70. The High Falls, Catskills 149 71. Palenville, Catskills 150 72. Cascade near Palenville, Catskills 151 73. The High Rocks, Catskills 152 74. The Dog Hole, Catskills 153 75. View through the Clove, Catskills 154 76. Bridge on the Kauterskill, Catskills .... 155 77. The Plauterkill, Catskills 156 78. Cascade in the Plauterkill, Catskills 157 79. The Pantheon at Rome 159 80. Cavalcade on Palm Sunday 160 81. The Popes Carriage 161 82. Kissing the Popes Foot 162 83. Granting Absolution in St. Peters 163 ~4. The Sistine Chapel during Mass 165 85. The Pilgrims Dinner 166 86. A Roman Preacher 167 87. Penitents on Good Friday 168 88. Blessing Animals 169 89. St. Peters 170 90. Caulaincourt and the Grand Dul.c 173 91. Caulaincourt in the Cabinet ofNapoh on. 174 92. Caulaincourt returning to Fontaineblean. 176 93. The last Review at Fontaineblean 178 94. The Abdication 179 95. Marmont arresting the Troops 180 96. Caulaincourt and the Abbd de Pradt 182 97. Fac-Simile of the Act of Abdication 185 98. The NeweomesHead-Piece 201 99. Ethel on Horseback 202 1OQ. Ethel and Clive 205 101. Mr. F. Bayham at the Haunt 208 102. Emblematic Head-Piece 213 103. Mr. Honeyman in Prison 214 104. Colonel Newcomes Farewell 216 105. Fourth of July on the Hudsonthe Party 281 106. Dressing for the Boat 281 107. Food for the Mind 282 108. Food for the Body 282 109. To the State-Room 282 110. In the State-Room 282 111. Augustus and Frank at the Bar .. 282 112. Mr. Crayon makes a Sensation 282 113. The Palisades 28:3 114. Very fair Scenery 283 115. Scene on Deck 283 116. Augustus and Frank at the Bar again ... 283 117. Mr. Crayon tries to Sketch 283 118. Group on the Deck 284 119. Walk up to the Captains Office 284 120. Scrambling for Tickets 285 121. The Gentlemen enjoy themselves 285 122. Live Stock on board 285 123. Mr. Crayon at Work 286 124. Mr. Crayon quits Work 286 125. Mr. Crayons last Sketch 286 126. The Cabin at Night 286 127. Fashions for JulyBridal Costume 287 128. Riding Dress 288 129. Long Wharf, Newport 289 130. Light House, Newport 289 131. Newport from Brentons Cove 290 132. Jewish Cemetery, Newport 292 133. Trinity Church, Newport 293 134. Whitehall, near Newport 295 135. Redwood Library, Newport 297 136. Franklins Press 299 137. State and Court House, Newport 300 138. Prescotts Head-Quarters 302 139. Rochambeaus Head-Quarters 305 140. Purgatory Bluff 306 141. Old Fort, Dumpling Rocks 309 142. Spouting Rock 310 143. Channiug House 311 144. The Glen, near Newport 313 145. Commodore Perrys House, Newport ... 313 146. The Old Stone Mill, Newport 315 147. Drawing Net 316 148. Glen, near Newport 316 149. Lily Pond, near Newport 317 150. A Roman Procession 318 151. Italian Monks 319 152. Procession of Corpus Domini 320 153. The Most Holy Baby 321 154. The Holy Stairs 322 155. Vows to the Virgin 323 1S6. Adoration of Relics 323 1S7. Adoration of the Statue of St. Peter 324 158. Street Preaching at Ronme 325 159. A Roman Funeral 326 160. The Convention at Paris 328 161. Napoleon in the Garden 329 162. Adieu to the Guards 330 viii ILLUSTRATIONS. 163. Napoleons Arrival at Elba 331 246. The Retreat from Waterloo 602 164. Napoleons Residence at Elba 332 247. The Return to Paris C03 165. Portrait of Macdonald 333 248. Valley among the Himalayas C04 166. Portrait of Josephine 340 249. Crossing a River in india 606 167. Map of Elba 341 250. Monghyr, on the Ganges 607 168. Napoleon at the Farm House 342 251. Lepcha Girl and Boodhist Lama 608 169. The NewcomesHead.Piece 348 252. Females of the Himalayas 609 170. A Meeting in Rhineland 351 253. Wandering Priest 610 171. An Incident in the Life of Jack Belsize. 361 254. Himalayan Climbing Plant 611 172. Emblematic Head-Piece 362 255. Thibet Mastiff 611 173. Barnes Neweome on his Guard 363 256. Boodhist Temple 612 174. The Mosquito WarThe Surprise 429 257. Vestibule of Temple 613 175. The Mosquito WarThe Attack 429 258. Thibetan Monks and Lamas 614 176. The Mosquito WarThe Retreat 429 259. Sacred Implements in Boodhist Temples. 614 177. The Mosquito WarA Truce 429 260. Lepcha Devotions 615 178. The Mosquito WarHostilities renewed. 430 261. Sikkim Soldiers 616 179. The Mosquito WarReinforcements ... 430 262. Residence of the Rajah 617 180. The Mosquito WarThey arrive 430 263. The NewcomesHead.Piece 618 181. The Mosquito WarSurrender 430 264. The Duel 622 182. Fashions for August 431 265. Laying a Train 628 183. Parasol 432 266. The Explosion 630 184. Riding Hat 432 267. Across the Alps 631 185. Riding Gloves 432 268. The Five SensesSeeing 714 186. Portrait of Henry Hudson 433 269. The Five SensesHearing 715 187. The Half Moon at Yonkers 433 270. The Five SensesSmelling 716 188. Commercial Beginning of New York.... 436 271. The Five SensesTasting 717 189. Treaty with the Indians 437 272. The Five SensesTouching 718 190. Landing of the Walloons 439 273. Fashions for October 719 191. The Wrath of Van Twiller 442 274. Velvet Cloak 720 l9~. Indians bringing Tribute 444 275. Cloth Cloak 720 193. Massacre ofindians at Hoboken .446 276. Napoleon and Lucien 723 194. Portrait of Peter Stuyvesant 447 277. The Emperor and the Page 725 195. The Stadt Huys 449 278. Napoleon and the Chambers 727 196. Summoning Fort Casimir to Surrender.. 450 279. Napoleon leaving the Elysde. . 728 197. Dutch Cottage 451 280. Napoleon in the Library atMalmaison... 732 198. A Dutch Family 451 281. The Departure from Malmaison 734 199. Destruction of Nicolls Letter 452 282. Embarking in the Boats 736 200. New York in 1644 452 283. Confiding in the Hospitality of England.. 739 201. In Baffins Bay 454 284. Napoleon at Plymouth 740 202. Frozen Up 456 285. Admiral Keith eluding the Law 743 203. Land in the Distance 457 286. Passing to the Northumberland 744 204. The Seventeenth of November 459 287. Sailing of the Convoy 745 205. Loss of the Northern Light 461 288. Map of France 746 206. The Boat Crushed 463 289. Execution of Ney 747 207. Frozen Fast 464 290. Portrait of Ney 748 208. Announcement of the Return from Elba. 466 291. The Merveilleuse, 1793 749 209. Copying the Proclamation 467 292. The Changes of Fashion, 1760, 1793 .... 750 210. Passing the Enemy 468 293. The Changes of Fashion, 1820, 1850 .... 751 211. Napoleon at Grenoble 469 294. Classical Costume, 1796 752 212. Approaching Auxerre 470. 295. Head-Dresses, 1813 752 213. Meeting of Napoleon and Ney 471 296. Court Dress, 1775 753 214. Napoleon at Fontaineblean 472 257. LAgioteur, 1795 753 215. Napoleon at Melon 473 298. Caricature, 1778 754 216. Entering the Tuileries 474 299. The Fashions for 1787 754 217. The Death of Murat 475 300. Head.Dress, 1785 755 218. Portrait of Murat 476 301. Head-Dresses, 1802 755 219. Portrait of Lefebvre 476 302. Bonnet, 1786 756 220. The NewcomesHead.Piece 492 303. Bonnet and Trimming, 1786 756 221. Preparations for Retreat 494 304. The Fashions, 1787, 88 757 222. Clives Farewell 498 305. Iiicroyable, 1796 758 223. Off for Rome 499 306. Promenade Costume, 1801 758 224. Old Scandals 504 307. Bonnet, 1801 759 225. Emblematic Head-Piece 505 308. Merveilleuse, 1793 759 226. Mr. Barnes goes to Court 508 309. The Mode, 1800 760 227. The Hyena 513 310. The Mode, 1812 761 228. Bad News for the Horse 573 311. Cravat ii lOreilles de Lievre, 1812 762 229. Young America with his Weed 574 312. Leg-of-Mutton Sleeve 762 230. Qualified Admiration 574 313. Residence of General Taylor 763 231. Fashibns for September 575 314. The NewcomesHead.Piece 782 232. Sleeve 575 315. Nursing the Knight 787 233. Childrens Dresses 576 316. French Condolence 789 234. Napoleon in the Cabinet of Louis XVJII. 577 317. Emblematic Head-Piece 791 235. Napoleon at the School of Ecouen 581 318. The Emigrant to America 861 236. The Announcement to Talleyrand 582 319. The Emigrant Returning 861 237. Portrait of Talleyrand 583 320. Childhood 862 238. The Field of Mars 588 321. Youth 862 239. Portrait of Eugene Beauharnais . 591 322. Manhood 862 240. Napoleon leaving the Tuileries 592 323. Middle Life 862 241. NapoleonAddressinghisTroops 593 324. Age 862 242. Portrait of Soult 594 325. Fashions for November 863 243. Map of Waterloo 595 326. Chemisette 864 244. Reconnoitring the Field of Waterloo.... 597 327. Cap 864 245. Napoleon at Waterloo 601 328. Sleeve 864

The Steppes, Odessa, and the Crimea 1-20

HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. No. XL1X.JUNE, 1~34.VoL. IX. THE STEPPES, ODESSA, AND THE CRIMEA. ~Y Id passed a week very pleasantly at Buchar- est, watching the many-colored tide of life which flows through its broad streets. At first we could hardly persuade ourselves that we were not in Paris or Vienna. The French, if the worst colonists, are the best pioneers of civilization in the world. Farewell to the still life of the Orient wireus its territories are invaded by Parisian cooks a~ud muodistes. French modes, French manners, amid above all, the French language, saluted us every where. But the old customs and forms have not surrendered without a struggle; they still manifest themselves in picturesque contrast with their successors. In one corner of a splen- did saloon fitted up like a Parisian drawiur-room grave bearded old Boyards, in long fur Imelisses, recline, calmly smoking the pipe of tranquillity while the centre is occupied with gay groups at- tired in Parisian modes hardly three mouths 01(1, whirling in the waltz, the polka, or the schot tisehe, or chatting of those infinite nothings of society, for whuich the French lanenace is the only vehicle. Servants in the rich half-oriental Al- banian costume bear about perfumed waters to bathe the hands of the visitors ; or with native grace replenish the bubbling narguilles of the sedate smokers. But every where it is evident that the new modes are gaining ground on the old. With the present generation the race of the old Wallacla Boyards will beconae extinct. This transition is undoubtedly for the best, although Vom~. IXNo. 49.A attenuled with mauifiAd evils. Weeds are of more rapi(l growth thama corn, and the vices of a new form of life make themselves apl)arent earlier thamin its virtues. I3tmcharest has justly acquired the reputatioma of being the most licentious city iii Europe. Gambling, in particular, is carried to ama enormous extent. Few things strike one at first naore than the profusion of equipages. No person of any pre- tensions ever walks. One must laave a carriage to cross the street. The fashion has partly arisemin froum the cheapness with which an equipage can be maintained, and partly from the condition of the streets, which are always knee deep in mud, or choked with dust. The few where any attempt at ~)aving has been made, are merely floored over with logs and planks; they go by the name of pouti, or bridges, and are in reality unevemi turidges floating on rivers of filth. The public isromimenade, where the world of Bucharest slauws itself immost religiously every evening, is a drive through a street, alternately choked with dust and buried in mud. [ci, said a Frenchman to me, lea ja)mmb(s ,nomt (hr luxe ; irs reiturcs, em~ contraire, soot ic amcecsseirc. It i5 quite true imobody can afford to walk. One may lodge where he will, but he naust ride. The census shows a Jewish population of but about five thousand. We should have supposel there were five times as many. They are omni- present. Go where you will, you arc met by the broad-brimmed hat, rusty gabardine, and flowing beard of thue Israelite, which announce to you. PALACE OF T1~E EHANS OF TIE CRIMEA. HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. tLic presence of one who is ready to be your serv- trusively or importunately, but insinuatimigly. ant. He is your slave waiting for orders; or sistently. You descend to your carriage, amid lie rather he is the slave of your purse. The pias- is at the door; you turim the corner of a street, ters in your pocket are a magnet, a charm, which and before you have gone twenty paces you sec minds him to you. You can scarcely touch oime, his tall figure on your track, or startimig up from even unconsciously, without bringing before you soimme nook in your front. You form a wish, awl some of these hauntimm~ spirits, as the rubbing of lie stamids before you ready to execute it. If by Aladdins lamp summoned its subject genii. A any chance you have emmmployed Imimo br tIme 511gb: m:most serviceable spirit is the Israelite at Bucha- est service, you have bound yourself to him diii- rest. He can speak to you in half a dozen lan- immg your stay. zmmages, so that you mnust be as ignorant of all We luckily fell into the Imamids of old Mordecal, tomirues, other than your own verimacular, as are who hind pointed out to us time emitrance to tIm mIme miministers xvhiom we send to represemit us at I)athis omi our arrival. When we emnerged bream foreign courts, if lie can not find somime muediuni of tIme cavermions emitramice, we saw him standiminr i~mmnmiiunication with you. Of English lie is very within a few paces, huis tall figure beuit forwai d likely ignoramit ; but lie speaks German amid in ami attitude of himmimmility, which yet somehow Fremich as a muatter of course, amid very likely seemnemi free fromP servility. Heaven knows Spanmsh and Jt ilman, hmesides the dialects spokemi whether he hail loitered there all the while we mm the etty He knows every imody, every place, were passimig through the Inbermmo, the I~rmrgate mmmd ( my tiitmvrammd all that he has amid is stamids rio, and the Paradiso of a Turkish bath. He hail at our disposal, for a very Pioderate summiamid wisely waited for his fee till after we had bathieml. lie x~ intl ret et~ e amiy ammioumit of anger amid contempt and had becomne comimfortahihe and henevolemit. imi that on ft el dmsposed to inflict, into the bargaimi. the hmeatitude of the mnomiment we of course could hi xou feel disposed to add blows, he will avoid not avoid crossing his withered palm with a few mlmem mniheed ml lie cami; but lie does not dream of paras. He followed us all that day and the next, musentmnir them or of ceasing to prolli2r his serv- as noiselessly anti ummohintrusively as our shadows, never a(ldressing us, hit still contriving to let us If he ms Yours you are none the less his, and kimow that lie was at otmr service. He seemed to seoner or hater he is sure to come into possessiomi have aim im]stimictive h)remmmommitiomi xvhmimher we wet ob his own. Time sooner you surremider the better going. We foumid himim awattimi g us at tIme Cat~ for yomm. He haunts vomi like a shadowrmot ob- emhral gate, at the eritramice of tIme hall ef Asscmn- iiP5iEi IN BUCHAmi sr. THE STEPPES, ODESSA, AND THE CRIMEA. blv. by the foot of the ruined tower of Coltza, Israelite who sat chinking his coin in a dingy which commemorates the occupation of the spot little shop I or a certain per centage he spee(l- by the imiad Swede, Charles XII. For two whole ily tr insmuted our good honest silver into the ul:ivs we resisted the mute offers of his services hrassy lookino sin-ill change of the islace. A but he waited his time, and on the third morning couple of pi isters l)laceil in his paliii speedily set it camne. honest Mordccn s eves rolling with aii expression Major. said Ito my companion, I must get of benediction as though lie were imploring upon two or three dollars worth of piasters and paras. u5 the (rood olhce, of all his forefathers, dowii to \Ve had both assumed the military rank which the time of the princely Abraham. we had attained in the militia at home and per br the remaining four days of our stay at 13u hiaps we had brevetted ourselves to two or three charest we yielded ourselves wholly to his direc- grades above those that strictly belonged to us tion and to (ho him justice, he proved himself a a xvmse precaution in Russia, where all raiik is miiost unexceptionable cicerone. Under his guid- military. amice we ventured to discard our carriage, and to Ye, wohl, Ohcrst, replied Brown, who was peuietrate the inuildy suburbs where the poor foul of airing his German vocabulary, which was Wallachs who go oii foot, and do not wear Pa 110 very protracted operation. risian coats, eat their Indian porridge an(l drink Scarcely haad the words passed his lips when I their fiery plum brandy, as their forefathers had heard a guttural voice at my (100w, in broken yet domie luefore them. We peered imito the squalid quite intelligilde Teutonic hints where _ eneratiomis of keen-eyed gipsies herd Erl(rulacn ouir, Tlio Exlosch, ~rcfCdlgsc1it, to(ret not Un her, in rags amid filth, under whIch Ilinro run clime IVccl,selulr weiselin ?whiich in frequemitly were disguised forms and fe:~tures of corresponding Emighishi mimight run something thus: womiderful beauty, with those delicate haamads which Vill hIs Exshelensh pleash let inc show him to speak of their Himidon origin. in Exshanger? I Amnong the most characteristic sights present Ye, ito/miVery ~velh, replied Brown, proud ed in the suburbs was the manner in which the of having made himself understood by foreign- destruction of the superabundance of the lean and er, as I nodded assent and our bearded friemid wolfish dogs common to all the East is effected. took possession of us. He led us to a brother A stout gipsy drags alomug bebinil him tIme carcass GIPSY DOG-KILLERS. 4 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. of a dog just killed; not far behind follows an- The level green plains were speedily transformed other, armed with a huge club, with his eyes bent into a marsh, where our wheels sank up to the upon the ground, puffing away at a long pipe, as axles. though quite unconscious of the proceedings of Of the three days journey through the rain, his confederate. From every lane and alley, out all my recollections are mingled into a confused of every hole and corner, from behind every hill- mass. I must have dozed nearly all the while. ock and heap of rubbish, rush out the acquaint- I remember that we passed two or three gangs ances and friends of the dead hero. Old veterans of wandering gipsies encamped under their ragged scarred with a hundred wounds abandon the half- black tents. Through the thick smoke we could gnawed bone or mutilated cat which their prow- catch glimpses of half-clad figures of both sexes ess has secured, and rush barking and yelling and all ages, crouched around smouldering fires around their enemy; young aspirants join in the made of half sodden weeds and brambles, glaring cry and pursuit, and a wailing arises like that at us from under their matted locks. I remember which went up from the Dardan gates when, as also passing two or three caravans of the great Homer sings, the divine Achilles dragged his wagons of the steppes, with their long trains of slain foe around the walls of Troy. The dragger oxen laboriously making their way through the of the slain pursues his steady way, followed by mire. One, I think, had given up in despair; his imperturbable compeer. The canine throng, the cattle had been turned loose to graze, and the gathering courage from numbers and their own drivers were smoking around-a fire under a sort cries, press nearer and nearer. The leader at of awning stretched between two wagons. length comes within reach of the bludgeon of the Now and then I was aroused from my doze by hindmost gipsy. Swift as lightning, and inevit- an extra jolt as we plunged into a ditch, or by the able as fate, it descends upon his skull; a smoth- redoubled cries of our postillions as they frantic- ered howl, and another canine shade is sent to ally urged their tired horses up some steep bank, bear company with the slain Hector. The throng and found myself and my companion sitting in scatter aifrighted, only to be gathered again at the damp straw, our shoulders braced together, the next turning. At evening the pair of gipsies clutching mechanically the rough sides of the proceed to the magistrate to render an account vehicle. of the days slaughter, and receive the stipulated The post-stations where we exchanged horses price per head. were solitary huts of clay and reeds, standing in At length the day for our departure arrived, green oceans of herbage. Close by was an open In the gray morning our old caroussi lumbered inclosure, in which a troop of horses stood closely up to the door, with its long file of shaggy ponies. huddled together, with the rain streaming dowii Early as it was, old Mordecai was there, with his their shining sides. Half mechanically we show- head bowed in his usual humble attitude. A few ed our tickets to the captain of the post, without coins pressed rather than flung into his lean hand, alighting, while the exchange of horses was made; brought up a look of gratitude that would have then dropped the expected bacc/iis into the hand been cheap at tenfold the sum. His face wore a of the expectant official as he returned our ticket. look of proud humility as he pressed his hand to I suppose the amount was satisfactory, for I have his breast with that Oriental grace and dignity a dim recollection of always hearing a rnestgc which befitted his lofty lineage rather than his cnrrint, as the postillions, vaulting into their humble fortunes. Poor old Mordeeni, I fear it wet saddles, sent forth their long ~)iercing cry, was but seldom that the few piasters he so pa- flourishing their whips with superhuman vigor. tiently earned were not embittered with curses Now and then we were aware that we were and blows, passing a village, and in a more genial mood we Day was still struggling with night as we dash- might have paused to admire the rustic churches, ed through the muddy ponti into the broad marshy whose slender steeples rose in the leaden air steppe, whose unbroken green surface stretched above the quaint peaked roofs. One night we all around. That greensward must be now sadly slept upon a heap of steanming hay in the corner tracked by the wheels of the Russien artillery, of a leaky post-hut. The next night, darkness and reddened with the gore of the poor peasantry, had lon,, set in as with infinite difficulty we forded slaughtered in a quarrel not their own. Musco- a muddy stream and toiled up a steep bank into vita or Moslemfire or frying-pan: between two a village, where we found a hotel, with a water- such alternatives the poor Wallachs have but a tight roof. This villace was called Rimnik. sorry choice. As the sun arose we turned to Hard by was an old Turkish castle built of brick. take a last look at Bucharest, whose hundred Here, we were told, Suwarrow gained one of his spires, rising above the low banks of vapor, great victories, from which he received his title gleamed red in its level beams, of Count, or Baron, or I~rince, or something else, Noon found us fording a river, with an un- of Rimnik. It must have been just before the pronounceable name, whose turbid and swollen crowning mercy of Ismail. Next day x~e current gave evidence that a storm had been rag- came to a river running through the centre of a ing to the north and east. Not long after we little village. This was Fokshani, the frontier came within view of a range of hills, their sum- town of Wallachia and Moldavia, one half belong- mits wreathed with sullen black clouds. At length ing to each Principality. we came within range of the storm. The rain Wait long enough and the end will come. TIme came down in one long, heavy, continuous shower. close of our storm came at last. A bright sky THE STEPPES, ODESSA, AND THE CRIMEA. 5 and windows of their shops, saluting our mud-stained ye- hide with low bows as we passed. If they anticipated find- ing us customers, their courtesy was all thrown away. We rattled at a dashing pace up to a pretentious hotel, hearing the ominous title of Hdtel de St. Petersbourg. Jassy, as if aware of its impending absorption into the Russian Empire, has already assumed something of the appearance - of a Muscovite town. A great part of the city was destroyed by fire some thirty years ago. The new town has been laid out in broad streets with immense squares, which in the winter are a marsh, and in summer a Sahara. The houses have showy fronts, and roofs painted, in Russian taste, of a vivid green. Notwithstanding its sounding name and showy appear- ance, our hotel was deficient in sundry appliances of comfort, for which we would willingly have bartered any amount of display. For beds we had our choice be- tween a billiard-table and a naked couch stuffed with straw. For sundry reasons connected with certain entomological researches which we instituted, I chose the fonner, while Brown determined to make trial of the latter. On comparing notes in the morning, it was agreed that I had made the wiser choice; the bites were worse than the bruises. I doubt whether the whole estahlishment could boast of the luxury of a pair of sheets; and the ordinary appurtenances of ablution were greeted us upon our first morning in Moldavia, no more to he had than the philosophers stone. and a warm sun dried the wet hay in which we The Moldavian capital lies but two short stages were seated, and sent comfort through our be- from the river Pruth, which for the last two-score numbed limbs. The country also began to assume years has formed the nominal boundary hetween a more interesting aspect. The line of the horizon the domninions of the Czar and the Sultan. For was broken by a range of rounded hills, and a so long a time the wave of Muscovite advance tree here and there relieved the monotony of the has been checked. With the wealth of the landscape. Still our progress was but slow, for Colden horn and the sunny seas of the Aegean the whole country had been flooded, aml the in full view; with Constantinople, the most plains were one morass, through which our spir- brilliant prize ever offered to ambition, almost ited little animals, who sdemed aware that we under the guns of his navy at Sevastopol; all had bestowed a liberal becchi.s upon their riders, waiting apparently for him but to stretch out his could hardly drag our carriare. hand and grasp them, Nicholas has suffered the Our course lay in a northeastern direction, eight-and-twenty years of his reign to glide away through a broad valley watered by the river Bir- without clutching the tempting booty. No won- lat. There seemed to be no very definite road; der that it should gall him to think that he should the plain was tracked in every direction by wheel- be the first of his line who has failed to do some- ruts plowed deeply in the soft soil. They were thing toward the traditional policy of the empire. filled with water, and looked like miniature ca- In the ordinary course of nature his reign must nals. It was with a sensation of positive pleasure soon come to a close. It has been long and pros- that, on the second day after our entrance into lieromis, yet he has not advanced for an inch this Moldavia, we found ourselves ascending a long frontier of his doininions. No wonder that he sandy hill, with clumps of fine trees at intervals should wish to signalize the close of his reign by studding its slope. Arrived at its summit, we the conquest of the city of Constantine, and beheld at its opposite foot the spires and bright should glare defiance to the attempt of combined green roofs of Jassy, the capital of the Principal- Europe to wrest his prey from him. As far as ity. To the east arose a fine range of hills, af- he is concerned, it is now or never. If he sue- fording a pleasant contrast with the wide steppe ceeds, his fame will eclipse even that of Peter which environs Bucharest. the Great. It is not a little singular that he re- Of Jassy we saw but little. The water still linquished his hold upon European Turkey five- stoo(l knee-deep in the streets through which we and-twenty years ago when his forces had cross- drove. Jewish tradesmen flocked to the doors ed the Balkans, held Adrianople, and no oh- vILLAOE elidEd, WALLAUnIA. 6 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. stacle interposed between him and the possession of Constantinople. Leaving Jassy, we crossed a succession of steep hills and narrow valleys, and arrived at the village of Skoulani, through which runs the Pruth, dividing the town in the centre. Half of it is thus in Moldavia and half in Bessarabia, the latest acquisition made by Russia from Turkey. Upon the eastern bank of the river is established the Russian quarantine station, where we were to undergo a purification of fourteen days. A dismal spot is this lazaretto at Skoulani. It consists of a huge wooden inclosure upon the low bank of the river, liable to overflow at every flood. Within the inclosure are some half score of huts of a single story, with clay walls, osier roofs, and mud floors. They are arranged around a small court, planted with a few sickly trees. The inclosure is guarded by a troop of Cossacks, and over it waves the hodeful yellow flag of the quarantine. As we reached the Russian bank of the river our passports were examined by a compromised official, to be sure that we bore with us nothing more suspicious than the plague. All l)eing found in order, we were conducted to the lazaretto by the guards. The huge plank gate opened to admit us, and closed after us with a heavy sound, and we were left to our meditations. But we were not to enjoy them in solitude. Every hut, except the one assigned to us, was full Rf victims like ourselves. With scarcely an exception they were either Jews or Armenians. They all wore long loose gowns of dark woolen, which had not been clean probably from the day when they were first assumed. As they wore these day and night, and had been exposed in them to the heavy rains through which we had passed, the assemblage of odors that rose from them defies all analysis or enumeration. The two-score separate stinks that are said to be distinguishable in the city famous for Cologne water and the sanctified bones of the Eleven Thousand Virgins, were like gales from Araby the blest, compared with the concatenation of scents proceeding from a score and a half of un- washed Jews and Armenians, cooped up at mid- summer within a tnuddy lazaretto. They had come from every quarter of the insect-haunted world, and had brought with them the fiercest specimens of the tribes that fly and crawl, bite and sting, pierce and stab: great Shanghai-look- ing musquitoes from the Levant; fleas from Bul- garia, rhinoceros-hacked; ticks burrowing mole- like, and slimy bugs. To the main army, native to the soil, were joined contingents from Stain- boul and Smyrna, from Hungarian pusztas and Dutch fens, from Trebizond, Trieste, and Cadiz. Down they poured upon us in cohorts and squad- rons, in line and column, by troops, battalions, and regiments. They made night hideous with their humming and buzzing, their creeping and crawling, their biting and stinging. It was the Grand Industrial Exhibition of the Insects of all Nations. During the long dark hours, how we counted the challenges of the guards outside of our walls, measuring out the night, hour by hour, longing for daylight to appear and send the foul swarms hack to their lurking places. At last the sun would rise, piercing the creeping mists with level rays, like Christian knights charging with lance at rest through the dense lines of the unbe- lieving hosts. Higher and higher up mid-heaven strode the great luminary, showering his beams down upon us perpendicularly. as the Norman ar- rows at Hastings fell into the Saxon palisades, piercing helm and brain. Then came the lung hot afternoons, when the slant sunbeams sweI)t through our prison like the grape-shot at Buena Vista. How we longed for evening. With even- ing came thick heavy dews and frequent rains, soaking through the cane roofs of our huts, form- ing stagnant melancholy pools on the muddy floors, and in the narrow court-yard before our doors. All the while our fellow-prisoners in the rusty gabardines, broad-brimmed hats or high caps, sat coiled up in the corners of their rooms, apparently indifferent to the tortures that irritated us to madness. To be hug-bitten, and flea-stung, to he broiled and roasted, to be soaked and drench- ed, they appeared to think the most natural thing in the world. But enough. The painter drew a vail over the face of the father whose agony he dared not venture to depict. Let me, iii like manner, draw the vail of silence over the miseries of that weary fortnight. The only bright mo- ments that I can recall to remembrance were the two or three times when by special favor, and guarded by a troop of Cossacks ready to transfix us with their lances if we passed the appointed bounds, we were allowed a bath in the river. We lived through it all, and at tIme expiration of our term were pronounced free from all sus- picion of plague. We then made the best of our way to the post-house and demanded horses. Our residence in Russia had taught us that the surest way was to carry matters with a high hand. To assume authority is to secure obe- dience. We could not have been more peremp- tory had the titles borne upon our passports re- presented a corresponding rank in the Imperial Guard. To hear was to obey; and in a wonder- fully short space of time we were whirling through the wilds of Bessarabia. I must acknowledge that it was not without a feeling of positive sat- isfaction that we found ourselves fairly within the Russian dominions. We had begun to have a sort of affection for the shifty, serviceable ma- jiks. They have in perfection the faculty of obedien~e. If a man knows what he wants done, and can direct how it is to be performed, he can be sure of its accomplishmeimt in Russia. The officials and sub-officials, from the highest to the lowest are detestable enough; but the peasantry have an abundance of good traits, which need only a proper development. They are good-na- tured, serviceable and contented. Their faces now seemed to us like those of old friends. The very odor of their greasy sheepskins had a sort of homelike effect. But the main element of our satisfaction was the thought that we were free from any further apprehension of quarantine an- noyances. There was not another lazaretto be- TI-IL STEPPES, ODESSA, AND THE CRIMEA. (WUCI1 us and the Chinese wall to the cast. or the frozen ocean on the north. It is not a very creditable confessioii to make. but though both of us had been long enough res- ident in the dominions of the Czar to have ac (1uired the lausuare twice over, our acquaintance was limited to a very scanty stock of phrases. But we aired onr~ vocabulary most thorourlily. We shouted to our postillion the words he was so accustomed to hiearPasIn)l, Go ahead S/a q 51)1/. Faster, faster. He in turn hout I to his horses, harnessed three abreast. tiourishiur his whip, and uttering all sorts of ad 1 iratinis and excitements to urge them to the top of their speed, seeming all the time greatly tonishe I that our objurgations were not fbI 1 in ed up in the usual manner by a hearty thwack ti o n a cudrel upon his own shoulders. I or some learnes we passed through a broken ni hilly en untry. Then we entered the great step pesthose vast level plains that stretch troni west to east in an unbroken line of a thousand miles, from the borders of Huntary to the h)ase of the Iral iiiountains, aiid twothirds of that ihistance from the south to the north. European Russia consists mainly of a vast plain sloping gradually up toward the centre. The height of land is midway between the Gas- luau and Black Seas on the south, and the White Sea on the north. The sources of the Volga, the 1)nieper, and the Dwina, falling into these seis, lie not far from each other. The VLdai Hills. the hitrhest points in this 11am, do not rise more than a thousand feet above the level of the shores of the Black Sea so that there is no chain, of uuountaiiis to inter- rupt the course of the winds dint sweep over tiii~. mighty plain. Descending southward frons this. height, of land, the whole country for hundreds of miles is covereQi with, an almost viuibroken for- est. A squirrel, it has been said, might journey froiii St. Petersburg to Moscow without once touching the gronud (iradnallv the Ibrests dis appear, amid are succee(he(l by munmen Se plains. still abunduntly xv noiled, the tree itandinir in scattezeti masses and alourt the river courses, but becoinmur less amid less trettnent as we Irocecil southnward. These are the great wheat-growing provinces of the empire4 whose almuihamit proil- nets finil their way northward to St. Petersburg, and southward to Odessa, xvhience they are car- ned through the Bosphorns to the crowded marts of Western Europe. As xve approach the Black Sea the soil hueginms to lose its exuberant fertility trees hecomiie muon and more rare, aumil timmally wholly disappear the soil is covered with acoarse and abundant berlin- age; amh the whole country nssu ines a pastoral rather than ni agricultural appearance. This is the country of the Cossacks iii the Tartars; the pasturing grounds of those immense herds and flocks which constitute the xveahthi of a nomadic people. The steppes begun where trees are no longer found. In tie spring mnl autumn, as far as the cv cm hillel rate iii every direction. tim v stretch I STEFFES OF sonilEEx inisiA. 8 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. away in one ocean of unbounded green, without a tree or a bush, much less a hill to vary the prospect. The level line of the horizon is broken only by groups of those mysterious tumuli, the work of that unknown mound-building race who once held possession of all the fertile unwooded plains of both continents. They have passed away leaving no other memorials than those mounds of earth, to puzzle antiquarians through all coming generations. The great exemplar of them all was perhaps that structure reared on the plains of Shinar, when the whole world was of one lip and one tongue. Here and there oc- curs a shallow depression, as though the foot of some great monster had been stamped into the soil. In these the water collects, making spots of herhage long after the surrounding plains are scorched by the fierce summer sun. The inhab- itants suppose that from them was taken the earth which composes the tumuli; but they arc doubtless to be ascribed to a subsidence of the limestone strata underlying the steppes. The inhabitants divide the plants and herbs which grow upon these steppes into ~wo com- prehensive classes. Whatever cattle will eat is called trara; all that they reject is denominated barian. Go where you will you hear execrations heaped upon the worthless burian. Some spe- cies grow to a size unknown elsewhere. The thistle not seldom assumes the proportions of a tree, overshadowing the low dwellings of the in- habitants, and sometimes attaining a height suf- ficient to conceal a Cossack and his horse. To one characteristic species of burian the Gennaii colonists have given the name of wind-wi/cl,. From a spongy stalk innumerable fibres shoot out iu every direction, till the plant assumes the appearance of a gigantic burr, a yard in diame- ter. It is bitterer than wormwood, and no ex- tremity of hunger or thirst will induce any ani- mal to taste it. In the autumn the plant decays at the root, and detached from the soil, becomes as light and dry as tinder. It is the sport of every wind. On a gusty day hundreds of them may be seen careering over the plain, looking in the distance like a troop of wild horses scouring iway before some invisible foe. The descent of the steppes toward the sea is so imperceptible, that the water runs off but slowly. After the melting of the snows, the whole plain becomes one deep morass through which it is all but impracticable to effect a pass- age. In the winter a great quantity of snow fidls but it is heaped in spots into enormous drifts, while other i)laces are left wholly bare. The snow, ~vhich in more sheltered portions of the country, facilitates intercourse, entirely pre- cludes it on the steppes. Nobody journeys in winter except the government couriers. The I!mhabitants have a specific name for every spe- (~~5 of snow-storm. One denotes a fall of snow direct from the clouds; another indicates a whirl, when the snow is driven before tIme wind like the shifting sands of the desert. When both of these phenomena occur together, the storm is called a vinga. Nobody dares venture out of doors during these. The government couriers even are allowed to take refuge in the post-houses during the continuance of a viuga. The greater portion of the streams dry up dur- ing the summer; but they are swollen into tor- rents by the rapid thaw of the deep snow of win- ter. They have all in the course of ages cut channels deep into the soft strata, which in sum- iner become dry ravines, intersecting the steppes. These have usually adepth of a hundred feet and more, with steep sides. In the winter the snew is drifted into them, filling them up level with the plain. They then become dangerous pitfalls into which men arid cattle sink, and their fate remains ufikuown until the melting of the snow discloses their relics at the bottcm of the ravine. The climate of the steppes is one of extremes. They have a torrid summer and an arctic winter. The severity of these seasons is aggravated by the scarcity of wood and water. lor fuel the inhabitants are obliged to have recourse to reeds and rushes, eked out by the dung of the count- less herds, which is carefully collected during summer and dried. This is made up into cakes, and every roof and wall of the solitary dwellings on the steppes is covered with it, in preparatien for winter. The scaveity of water in summer is a still more serious evil. During the hot months the ponds dry up, the streams cease to flow, a living spring becomes a possession of priceless value. Vegetation is parched and burnt, and finally disappears, leaving the surface of the ground black and naked. Day after day the sun rises like a red globe of fire, and glares down from the brazen sky. Not a particle of shade is to be found except when time dense clouds are swept along. They are almost worse than the unmitigated rays of the sun ; for they mock the hopes aroused by their rain-charged volumes. Not a drop do they vouchsafe to yield until their course is checked by mountains hundreds of leagues away. Men and aninials grow lean and haggard from the extremity of thirst. The herds of oxen and horses so wild aimd fierce a few weeks before, are cowed nail tamed; or time fiercer and bolder of theta rush niadly over the plains snufl~ ing in vain for water. In seasons of unusual drought the destruction of animal life is incalcu- lable. Thus it continues for the three summer months. Early in September come the latter rains. As if by magic, the face of the steppe grows green again, and life in its myriad forums revives. The respite is but brief. Before October has passed. cold gusty winils sweep from the Scythian wastes, piercing like Cossack lances. In November win- ter gains undisputed sway. It was midsummer, and we were hurrying at full speed across the extremity of the steppes to- ward Odessa, the great emporium of southern Russia. The air was filled with impenetrable clouds of dust, so fine as to resemble vapor. looking back, we could trace our course far over the plain by the dense column which we left be- hind us. In accordance with the universal ens- tom we traveled night anti day, for our carriage TUE STEPPES, ODESSA, AND THE CRIMEA. 9 was a more convenient sleeping place than the post-stations where we obtained relays of horses. We did not even stop at Bender, famous in the old Muscovite and Ottoman wars, before the Turkish frontier had receded far to the west. Somewhere near this town died Prince Potem- kin, the favorite of the great Catherine, who added the Crimea to the dominions of his royal mistress. He had set out, as we had done, from Jassy, sick and outworn. Somewhere in the lonely steppetime precise spot no man knows the conqueror felt that the hand of death was upon him. He ordered his carria e to be stop- ped, and alighted, for he said he would meet (leath, as a soldier should, on his feet. His re- mains were borne to Kherson, where but a year before a braver spirit than his had encountered the last great enemy. A plain obelisk was erected over the spot hallowed by the dust of Howard. The body of Potemkin was interred with solemn l)O~5P in the Cathedral. Not long after, the son of Catherine ordered the remains of his mothers 1imlrnus to be torn from their resting-place, amsd llums~ like the carcass of a (log into the nearest ditch. As we approached Odessa every thing be- tokened that we were coming into the neighbor- hood of a great city. We dashed l)ast long caravans of ox-wagons laden with the wheat of the Ukraine and the tallow of the steppes; with charcoal from the forests of Kishenell a hundred miles away ; with dried reeds and rushes which are used for fuel, in default of wood and coal; ~vith ~vater-mnelons from the sandy plains in fahn- Ions quantities. The meloiss that grow on the steppes are the finest in the world. They seem to pump up their rich cool juice from the parched soil, as the olive-trees of Sicily extract oil from what appears to the eye like the hare rock. Tisey supply in a measure the want of water. i:mstead of quaffing a glass of water to quench thirst, you eat a slice of melon. Here lhr the first time we saw the camel carts of the Tartars. A pair of the huge ungainly twohumped Bac trian camels, harnessed to an enormous earn ~e of wicker work, led by a Tartar guide, stalk solemnly along, looming large through the dust. Slowly they turmi their long necks, and fix their patient eyes upon you, as they hear the rattling of the wheels, and the shouts of your driver. l3.~fore von have fsirly made out their forms, they are lost from vision in the impenetrable cloud. You pass on, musing of the desert, and the Arabian Nights; of Mohammed flying on swift dromedary from the enraged Koreish; and of the camel I3arak which bore him to the seventh heaven, when the ineffable mysteries of the uni- verse were laid bare to his eyes. They seemed strangely out of hmlace here under the walls of this new city. The rapid growth of Odessa reminds us of that of our American cities. It stands on a bold blufi overlooking the Black Sea. In front sparkle the bright waves, in the rear stretch the immeasur- able steppes. You can stand in one of its broad streets and look southward over the water or northward over the steppe. In either direction the horizon is alike unbroken; the plain of sand is as level as that of water. A little more than half a century ago this barren cliff was crowned by an obscure Turkish fort, bearing the msamne of Hadji-Bey. It guarded the harbor which gave refuge to a few miserable Moslem craft, and now and then to a Genoese hirig that sought the waters once burdened with the commerce of the colonies planted by the Italian republics on the shores of the Tauric Chersonessus. Russia and Turkey were then at war, and Potemnkin was slowly wresting time shores of the Black Sea from the Sultan. He ordered Ribas, an Italian who commanded the fleet to take possession of tIme Turkish fortress. Catherine fixed upon its site as the spot upon which to erect a fort to maintain her new domin iomms, amid appointed Rihas its first govermior. The Empress favored her new creation and in Bus- sma a city flourishes in the sunlight of imuperial favorfor a seasomin. She submitted to the Acad- emy at St. Petersburg the question as to the name to be given to time rising town. The learned savans foumnd that in the timime of the old Greek colonies a city had stood imi tIme neighbor- hood, called Odyssos, after the munch-enduring man whose miammie is handed down to eternity irm old 1-Jomners sonmi(ling hine. So they franmed for the new city the namne of Odessa. Odessa foimmind little favor in time eyes of the famitastic Paul, who could ill comprehiend the great designs of the Northern Semiramis. The imshabitants vainly petitioned for time grant of commercial privileges, backing their supplication by the present of three thmousand choice oranges. The Czar kept the fruit, but denied time petition. \dexander, upon his acces- smon to the throne, took Odessa into special favor. But time reatest favor of all that he be- stowed upon it was sending a rreat mnan to be its governor. Among the French nobles Umom the revolution drove fromn their country, was Armand- ________ Fmmnuel, Doc de Richehien. lie entered the Russian service, womm the favor of Potemukin, and Ion his bravery at Ismnaul he re- TARTAR CAMEL-CART 10 HARPERS NEW MONTHLV MAGAZINE. cowed the cross of St. George and a sword of honor, beneath the smoking walls of the fortress and was afterward appointed governor of Odessa. In 1801, when he assumed the government. the population of Odessa amounted to 9000, of which number only forty-four were artificers. itichelien soon succeeded in attracting large numbers of workmen to the place, and the city grew apace. The Emperor granted extraurdi- nary privileges to the port. The great wars of Napoleon had turned all the west of Europe in- to a camp; agriculture languished, and the deli- ciency of food was supplied by the rich harvests of the Ukraine. Once more the Italian mer- chants found their way into the Black Sea; and Odessa began to take rank among the great com- inercial cities of Europe. Richelieu governed Odessa eleven years, at the close of which the population numbered 25,000. It now exceeds 100,000. All Odessa is eloquent of Richelien. His statue stands in the most public lilaCe, overlook- ing the harbor; the finest street, the chief I)ul)lic institutions, the Exchange, the Lyceum, the Theatre, bear his name; the H& el Richeimen m famous throughout the Russian eml)ire. To sec his monument one needs but look around. Odessa occupies the extremity of that inimease Imlntean, the sides of Which jiiunge sheer down imito the Black Sea. The perpei~dicnlar cliff is eighty or a hundred feet high. Its edge is occu- pied by the esplanade, which forms what would be a fine promenade were it possible for it to be shaded. An avenue of trees has indeed been planted there, but the soil obstinately refuses to second the laudable efforts of the government. In the centre of the esplanade stands the bronze statue of Richelien, from the foot of which a gigantic flight of steps a hundred feet broad sweep down to the quay. These rest upon a series of arches under which pass the streets leading to the port. Two ravines, which were once the beds of torrents, form inclined planes from the quays to the city above. The terrace which overlooks the sea, is lined with stately edifices, built of a white limestone so soft that it may be worked with a hatchet. This is covered with cement to preserve it from the action of the weather. The adjacent streets running parallel with the esplanade contain many showy edifices; and broad streets stretch through the meaner por- tions of the town far into the steppe. Around the whole is thrown a wall, not for defense, but for the purposes of the custom-house, the priv- ilege of a free port being limited to the space within the walls. The harbor is tolerably safe, being sheltered from the southern gales, though exposed to those from the east. Three moles stretch far out into the bay, dividing it into as many basins. Cm~ of these is the quarantine harbor, into which all vessels which have passed the Bosphorus must enter. Before, however, entering even this, they are compelled to lie fourteen days in the road- stead. If, in the meanwhile, the plague does not make its appearance, they may then enter the basin, where they are permitted to unlade, and the passengers are suffered to pass the remain- der of their forty days in the lazaretto on shore. The Russians boast that this lazaretto is the finest in the world. It contains a pleasant little garden with a long arcade running through tie centre, in which some communication may take I)lace between the clean and the unclean. Due care is taken that there shall be no actual con- tact, mior even any very close proxiniity. At a distance of ten or twelve feet are two wooden fences of trellis work, with a close grating of inn wire midway between them. Those who are ~inerlbriiiing quarantine are suffered to ccme up to the inner trellis, while their friends from with- out stand by the outer barrier. They are thus separated by three barriers and the intervening space. The parties, each with his face flattened against the trellis-bars can shout their confiden- tial communications to each other at a distance of three or four yards. This pleasant gossiping place goes by tIme Italian name of ii Poe/cleric The Place of 1arlev. Merchasi(Iise is even more liable to suspiciemi of iiifectioii than persons. Cotton in particular l)ears a very bad character. Before it can Pc admitt(~d into the town, the hales must be open- ed, time contents picked to pieces, an(l spread over a rratin, where the nlaoue(h men is exoncised b o~ by a txvelvehouss fomnigation with chlorine. Those who perform the woik of puril~ing cotton are designated by time name rnorlosse or dead men. They are all criminals under sentence of transportation to Siberia, ~ho are in the eve of the law defunct. They are clad in black leather, and perform their functions heavily ironed. Sm we articles, such as fmuits, corn, sugar and tIme like, bear a much bctter character, and are suffered to l)e landed at once. They are placed in a ware- house, one gate of which opens seaward, the other to the land. Into this the goods are brought by the sailors. When these have re- turned to their vessel, the sea-gate is closed; that toward the land is opened, amid time goods are dehivereml to their owners. Odessa is hardly a Russian city in appearance. Its principal streets are lined with shops with sign-boards in every language in Europe. Each street and square bears a twofold name, in los- siami and Italian. The bulk of tIme population is of course Russian, but the commerce and trade are almost wholly in time hands of foreigners. The few vessels belongimig to time port which ply beyond the Black Sea, are almost without excep- tiomm owned by Greek traders. Austria and Sar- dinia take time lead in time number of vessels that enter the port, followed at a considerable distance by Russia amid England. The languages 51)okemm are as various as time nationalities of the popula- tion. The Russian is the language of the great mass of the inhabitants ; Italian timat of coin- merce; and French that of polite society. The intense heat of sunimner, the constant stifling dust, the utter absence of shade render Odessa a very unpleasant place of residence. The wealthy inhabitants imave tised very laudable THE STEPPES, ODESSA, A~D THE CRIMEA. 11 efforts to create for themselves rural retreats in bear me company. We decided that the pleas- the neighborhood. But nature has been too pow- ure of the trip would be much enhanced by the erful for them. For leagues upon leagues there presence of a servant, who could act as interpre- is not probably a single tree of native growth; ter between us and the Tartars. The very man arid the strenuous efforts made to form planta- we wanted made his appearance at just the time tions have proved almost total failures. The only we were about to set out. He deserves a para- trees which have been tolerably successful are a graph to himself species of acacia. Apart from these it would be He was a (}erinan by birth, and rejoiced in the difficult to find, nearer than the Crimea, a single name of Gottlob Werner, which the Russians specimen which a man might not clasp with four had transformed into something ending in itch, fingers. which I never ventured to attempt to pronounce. It has been said that Southern Russia is one He was born in the goodly town of Nfirnbcrg vast plain, destitute of mountains. To this there the treuc fleissige Stedt of the old song he is a single notable exception. Midway between was always singing when his mouth was at lib- the western and eastern extremities of the Black erty from his mneersehaum. If you would know Sea, a peninsula shoots boldly out into the waters, the German land, how fair and lovely it is, you reaching almost half way from the northern to must go to Nfirnberg.thus ran the song the southern shore. It is connected with the That ancient, leal, and busy to~vn, mainland by a narrow isthmus, scarcely five Forever fair and young, miles in width. Across the southern cud of this Where Albert Ditrer l)lied his art, peninsula, at a few miles distance from the shore, Where hans Sarhs pegged and sung. runs a bold range of mnountaimus, the highest pe k Gottlobs father, a stout burgher and disciple of of which reaches an altitude of 5,600 feet. This St. Grispin, as was Hans Sachs before him, wish- peninsula is the Crimea, the Tauric Chersonessus ed his son to follow in his steps. So at the con- of class times ; in later years the seat of tIme clusion of his apprenticeship, lie sent lAin forth Khans of Crim Tartary, the terrors of xvlmose on the Waadcrjehr, necessary to he accom- arms spread as far as Moscow. Subsequently, phished before he could be admitted a member of it fell under the nominal sway of the Sublime the anciemit guild of cordwaimiers. Gottlob hay Porte ; and is now the muost valuable of the do ing received his fathers blessimig, a little money, muiniomis wrested by Potemkin from Turkey. and a stout walking-stick, exchanged a kiss with The intervention of this range of mountains Gretchen, his betrothed, and set out on his tray- has a magical effect upon the climate of the els. This was nearly a score of yea~ ago, and Crimuca. Their southern slope, sheltered from they are not yet concluded. His whole story the keen blasts from the steppe, and open only to camne out at imutervals durimig our tour, and is the warm breezes from the south, rivals the glo- worth the tellingbut not here. When we were ries of the mnost favored portions of Italy. The sitting in some post-house, a group of Tartar Russians in general are thoroughly apathetic to postilhions smoking around us, acid himself ren- the beauties of nature. Their tame country has dered a little sentimental by the good wine of nothing to develop the taste for natural beauty, the Crimea, Gottlob would burst out itito a snatch and they can travel abroad only by special permis- of hAs favorite songdeclare that he would go sion of the Czar. But they become alcuost do- back to Nurnberg, marry Gretchen, and become quent in descanting upon the beauties of the a good citizen and cordwainer. It never seenmed Crimea. Perpetual streams gosh from the lull- to occur to him that the years which had trans- sides, and pour throu~h every valley; the vine formed him from a lithe borsch into a heavy, and the fig, the olive and the oran~e flourish; middle-aged beer-drinker, with a huge meer- old trees, the growth of centuries, thing abroad schaum always sticking into his grizzled inns- their gnarleJ branches, shading the picturesque tachue, had wrought a corresponding change in Tartar villages, givin~ grace and beauty to the her. She was still little Gretchen. Then he Alpine scenery. For miles along the southern would kiss her parting gift, which he had retain- coast the peninsula is thickly sown with the vil- ed through all his wanderings. It was a stout las of the Russian nobles, some of whom lavish leathern tobacco-pouch, elatmorately stitched by upon their sumamer residences sums attainable her own handsa little the worse for wear, it is by those only whose coffers are filled by the true, but still capable of supplying the owner s forced toils of thousatmmhs of serfs. This customn R echtebek for another score of years. I fear was introduced by Count Worouzow, one of the that honest Gottlob is not the first man who wealthiest men of the empire. It has been mu- thAnks that he is fondly remembereth long after tated by the Empress and by large numbers of he has quite forgotten others. However, lie the nobles. made a capital conductor for us; he was as true Having endured the stifling heat of Odessa for as steel, and would doubtless have been as brave three weeks, and being in excellent humor with as a lion had there been any occasion for the cx- myself on account of the flattering prospect of ercise of his valor. The chief drawback to the the transactions in wheat which had brought me pleasure of his society was that he had imbibed to the South, I resolved to treat myself to an ex- the Russian idea that a change of garments and cursion in the Crimea. My traveling companion a bath was a needless superfluity. This, with had been equally lucky in his tallow speculation, his perpetual fumigation, rendered the windward and needed little persuasion to induce him to side of him much the hileasanter to rule upon. 12 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. The necessary police arrangements were speed- ily made. A few roubles, judiciously insinuated into the hands of the functionaries, secured a promise that our passports should he attended to aicliess forthwith ; and a repetition of the process procured the fulfillment of the promise in time for us all just to avoid missing the tub of a steamer, which plies twice a month between Odessa and the principal ports of the Crimea. We were glad to find that among the passengers were two or three officers of rank to be landed at Sevastopol, so that we should be able to catch a seaward view, at all events, of that famous naval d6pi~t. These were all naval officers, and among them was an admiral, who wore jack-boots, with an immense pair of spursan article of equip- ment which struck me as not absolutely indis- pensable on the quarter-deck. These naval he- roes gave us no very exalted opinion of their professional efficiency. The Black Sea, as if to show that it had a rightful claim to its old appel- lation of the Inhospitable, got up a very tol- erable imitation of a storm. Our vessel pitched and tumbled in a somewhat uncomfortable man- ner; the faces of the officers began to wax do- lorous; the admiral kept his ground for a while, hut it was of no use. We caught sight of him leaning in a very suspicious attitude over the railing; at last he made for his cabin with a woe- begone visage, and we saw him no more till next morning, when he was put ashore at Sevastopol. But his whole appearance indicated that he had passed a bad night. Indeed, it is a common jest at Odessaas much so as men dare to Jest on so perilous a themethat every one on board a Rus- sian man-of-war, from the captain to cabin-boy, is sea-sick Whenever there is a cap-full of wind a circumstance that might sadly impair the effi- ciency of the fleet in case it should be fallen in with by the French and English squadrons. All Russians speak of Sevastopol with a kind of mysterious awe. They seem, to look upon it as the workshop where the Czar forges the thun- derbolts which are to sweep England and France from the seas. This seemed quite natural to us after we had seen the enormous three-deckers of the fleet performing their evolutions, and remem- bered that the inhabitants had no other opportu- nity of seeing any vessels, except these, larger than the very moderate-sized merchantmen that alone frequent the ports of the Black Sea. The most that we could learn was that it would be quite out of the question for us to attempt to visit the town, since no foreigner was allowed to pass its walls without an express order from the governor, which was always obtained with the utmost difficulty, and never without far higher influence than we could bring to bear. Any at- tempt at a clandestine entrance, we were assured, would be most severely punished. Siberiaif we should chance to survive the knout and a season of cotton-picking among the mortussi in the laz- arettowas the lightest penalty we could expect. A private conversation with honest Gottlob con- vinced me that the matter might be managed by a little finesse, and the Czar be never the worse nor the wiser for it. The attempt was success- fully made a couple of weeks later, as I shall re- late in the sequel. For the present we were forced to content ourselves with a sea view of Sevastopol, with its huge forts mounting three tiers of cannon. One point, which every vessel must pass, is said to be commanded by twelve hundred guns. We did not count them, though we could almost look into their black muzzles; but there seemed to be enough of them to blow out of the water all the fleets that ever floated. After landing our naval heroes, who seemed vastly relieved by the touch of solid ground, the steamer put off for Yalta, on the southern coast where we were to disembark. A bold headland juts out into the sea. That is Cape Parthenium, of old renown. Here stood the temple of the Tauric Diana, where were sacrificed all strangers cast upon these inhospitable shores. Here was enacted the drama of Iphigenia, and O~estes the Fury-haunted matricide. As we pored, long years ago, at Old Dartmouth over that immortal tragedy of Euripides, little did Brown and my- self dream that, bent on trade we should togeth- er look upon its scene. We had parted at the gates of our Alma Mater, and never met again till we encountered on the Nevski Prospekt at St. Petersburg. I doubt if either of us has proved a worse trailer on account of our early tincture in the Humanities; I know that we have been happier men for it. A monastery dedicated to Saint George stands upon the site once occupied by the temple of the inhospitable goddess. Yalta presented nothing to detain us. Its sit- uation is indeed beautiful, but it has a pert water- irig-place aspect. It was full of visitors from Odessa, who gathered about the little quay, watch- ing the passengers as they disembarked. The street was full of ponies, whose drivers pestered us with elaborate pictures of the beauties of the country seats and villas of the nobles scattered along the winding shore, and were anxious to afford us an opportunity of visiting them for a consideration. By the intervention of our serviceable Gottlob, we lured horses and a Tartar guide to convey us across the mount- ains to Bagtche-Serai The Garden Palace, the ancient capital of the Tartar Khans. It is but a long days ride in a direct line; but we re- solved to take a week in reaching it, and ordered our guide to conduct us through as many Tartar villages, and along as many mountain valleys as he could. Ismacl, our guide, presente(l a comical fig- ure to our eyes. His dress was much like TARTAR GUIDE. that worn by boys at 13 THE STEPPES, ODESSA, AND THE CRIMEA. home in the intermediate stage between long-clothes and the full-blown dignity of jacket and trowsers. His head was surmounted hy the Tartar cap, made of shurnski, a grayish sort of lambskin; this was drawn tightly over his head, inside the ears, which seemed to protrude from his head like those seen on the images of the South- Sea idols. His hadge of office was a whip with a flat piece of leather at the end of the lash. This made a great rattling when applied to the flanks of our baggage- horse; hut did not seem to do execution proportioned to the noise it made. How- ever, our shaggy ponies did not need much urging. Though small, they were wonderfully stout and hardy, getting over ground at a fa- KNIFE-WHIP. moos rate; they were, more- over, as sure-footed as goats. The handle of the whip formed a convenient sheath for the long blade of a knife, which looked like a very efficient weapon in case of need. For a few miles we followed the road along the shore ; then struck northward among the mountains. Before many hours all traces of Russian dominion had disappeared, and for aught that appeared to the contrary, we might still be within the sway of the old Tartar Kbans, whose picturesque little fortresses crowned the summit of every precipice. The valleys were richly wooded, and capable of the highest cultivation. Abundant springs gushed out at brief intervals, over which the pious care of the Moslem had not unfrequently erected neat stone fountains for the refreshment of the tired wayfarers. Frequently our small caravan would be increased by the ad- dition of a mounted traveler, for the Tartars never think of walking. These would fall into our ranks with a KSalaam alctkournPeace be with you ; and they would leave us with the same Oriental salutation. A Tartar village is very picturesque. They always prefer to build on the slope of a hill. Three low walls form the sides of their dwellings the fourth being cut into the hill itself. Over these walls is built a flat roof, with projecting eaves, forming a sort of veranda. The roof is the Tartars home. Here he breathes the cool evening air, solacing the hours by friendly chat, smoking, and watching what goes on around. Regular street there is none, and the unwary traveler is likely, without notice, to find himself on the roof of one of tbe dwellings. Thick- branched walnuts shadow the vacant spaces, with fountains beneath, around which stand chattering groups of women, in long white vails. The ap- proach of our cavalcade was always the signal for a general break-np, and we could see their white forms flitting among the trees, or turning their backs upon the infidel strangers. Lively, bright-eyed boys, clad in narrow sacks, with red caps on their heads, peered cautiously out at us from behind the trees. The whole spirit of the scene was one of luxurious indolence and ease. The Tartar, in fact, is naturally an idle fellow, and can see no reason why men should fatigue themselves by over-work. We were not a little amused by the odd method of shoeing their oxen, which we saw more than once. The unconscious beast ~s flung upon his back, where he is firmly held by the smiths as- sistant, who sits upon his head. His four feet are then drawn closely together by a cord. As they tlmus lie, with their feet pointing directly up- ward, the operator has a fair field for his opera- ON TILE aoA~D. 14 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. tions. Tim poor beasts do not seem to relish tbis mode of procedure, if we might judge by the smothered moans which proceeded from their big chests, and the alarmed glances of their dark eyes We could perceive no traces of oppression on the part of the Russian government. In fact, the Crimea seems to be treated by the con- querors much like a beautiful slave who has had the grace to please her master. Yet somehow the Tartar race is disappearing year by year another illustration of that natural law, in virtue of which the bare presence of a stroarrer race inevitably, and often involuntarily, destroys the weaker one. Punctual at the time appointed, Ismacl con- ducted us across a stony plateau overlooking a deep valley. From its bottom we could (liscern glittering spires and minarets shooting far up into the clear air. This was the famous old capital of the descendants of Ghenghis Khanthe Gar- den Palace of the Crimea. We clattered down the stony slope, wh~n a sudden turn brought us to a stoae bridge, a nil a large Oriental archway, with a Cossack before it, standing sentinel. This was the entrance to the palace of the ancient Kbnns. Onward we rode through the thickening gloom, along narrow streets, unrelieved by a sin- gle light, or the appearaiice of a passer-by. Is- mad, however, knew the place, and brought us to the khan where we were to pass the night. A light burned dimly over the entrance. The court in the centre was filled with uncouth vehicles l)lillock-xvains, camel-carts, and donkey-wagons. Around it ran a balcony a few feet from the ground, upon which opened all the doors. Jn the lower story were the stalls, where the animals were secured. We mused upoa the time when. in such a caravanserni as this, a young mother l)rought forth her first-born son, and laid him in a manger, because there was no room for them in the inn. The pictures in the old Family Bible, of the infant Redeemer laid to sleep among the horned cattle, came back with the freshness of childhood, aiid the low hymn with which a gentle mother used to hush my boyish fears for the babes safety, rose calm and clear above the noisy diii of the crowded khaii. In the centre of what might be styled the public room, a com- pany of Tartar postillions Ibrined a picturesque group. They had built a fire on the clay floor, and were preparing their evening meal. Next mormiing we set out to explore the town. In places the sides of the valley rose in P~cip- itous cliffs, threatening momentarily to topple down. Where they were less steep, their slopes reseml)led an amphitheatre, the flat-roofed dwell- ings rising like steps, half visible amid the crown- ing foliage. Abundant springs of the purest water gushed forth at every turn, falling into basins where the faithful were performing their ablu- tions. Early as it was, as we passed a coffee- house, we saw within groups of sedate Tartars coiled upon low divaiis, luxuriously smoking or TARTAR viLLACE. SiiOEiNO AN ox. THE STEPPES, ODESSA, AND THE CRIMEA. 15 drinking black coffee from the tiiiiest of cups. Passing through the streets occupied by tbe art- isans, we gained some insight into the industrial habits of the place. All the operations that with us are performed in obscurity are there patent to view. The houses and shops are destitute of ~vindows, havinir instead broad shutters which are Vt down durina the day, so as to form counters tar the display of wares and manuthetures. Here was a l)akers shop, the oven so close to the street that by extending your hand from without you cauld feel its heat. Turners sat cross-leaged, patiently boring long cherry sticks for pipe-stems, or fitting the aniber mouth-pieces. At a cook- siop groups of morning customers were fishing not huge bits of meat from thc bubbling caltirons, and devouring them in the open air. IJere a black-bearded cook bore a joint in his hianda, catching the drippings upon a loaf of black bread. This he laid down before a customer on the bare plank which served far a table within. Still fur t. ier on we came to the fruit-market, abounding io grapes, figs, ponwgranates, an(I fruit to which we could not even give a name; but chief among all were the pasccs, the luscious nielons from the adjoining plains, heaped up like piles of cannon- bails in an arsenal. Still beyond, were the tip- pling shops, whither the thirsty souls of the town resort to drink booze, an abominable astringent liquor extracted from millet-seeds, which have been steeped in water and feriiieiited. To judge, however, from the immense quantities of it stored up in the hogsheads which lined the walls of the diiigy room, this must be the favorite beverage of the Tartars. Some branches of business appear to be wholly in the hands of the Karaite Jews, whose chief seat is an ancient fortress perched upon one of the most inaccessible crags overlooking the valley, whence they descend every morning to the town, returning in the evening. Besides the Cossack guard at the palace gates, we saw not a sian or token of Russian supremacy. The aspect of every thing was purely Tartar, just as it might have ap~)eared three centuries ago, when the Czar trembled in the Kremlin at Moscow at the bare mention of the names of the fierce Khans of the Crimea. We were assured, I believe with truth, that all Russians are forbidden by an Imperial ukase from settling in this lovely valley. A broad gleam of suIihight lay like a golden bar across the gateway of the ancieimt palace, as we entered. Its exterior is unpretending enough, affordina no indication of the fairy-like beauty in- closed within the blank walls. With a refinement of taste hardly to have been expected, this palace has been restored, precisely as it was ima the palmy (lays of its original possessors ; even the claims of Eastern hospitality have not l)een neglectemh, a portion of it being assigned as a resting place fr TARTAR POSTILLIONS. 16 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. strangers. We entered a grassy court-yard sur- rounded by structures of varied architectrue, fes- tooned with vines, and shrubbery. The walls are covered with inscriptions in stran,,e charac- ters mottoes from the Koran, scrolls, hiero- glyphics, ciphers, groups of flowers, fanciful birds and beasts bursting from arabesque scrolls, ornament every door. Tall trees and beautiful fountains add the living charm given only by verdure and running water. Chief among the fountains are two at the entrance, in which the graceful invention of the East has exhausted it- self. Arabesques, lightly sculptured and painted with bright harmonious colors, surround the mar- ble basins filled with the brightest water that ever sparkled. If there 1)0 another fountain like unto thisso runs the inscription let it come forth and show itself. Damascus and Bagdad have witnessed many things, but so beautiful a fount- ain have they not beheld. This fountain was erected by the Khan Krim Gherai the radiant, whose fostering hand bath quenched the thirst of the land. Upon its fellow, its founder still umn- plores the divine mercy for himself and for the sinners of his race. Before entering the palace buildings, we visited the mausoleum which covers the remains of many Khans. The custodian, an aged Moslem, bore a torch, by the flaming light of which we could see bier-shaped tombs, with high head-stones carved at the top into the form of turbans. Around the mausoleum spreads the cemetery. Vines and shrubs vail the tombs of those who, with a purer taste, chose that their last sleep should be under the open sky. We walked reverently among the tombs, while Gottlob, his meersehaum for once laid aside, interpreted the inscriptions upon them. Many of them were conceived in a spirit of touch- ing beauty. One prince would not have his tomb covered by any roof, because the heavens are so glorious and beautiful that even from my grave I would look up into the sky, the abode of God. Another ordered his tomb to be thickly walled and roofed, becauseso runs the inscription I am utterly unworthy that the least ray of Gods sun should shine upon me. Was this the utterance of a soul haunted by some inexpi- able crime or was it not rather the miscrere of a spirit sensitively alive to the lightest fault, and overwhelmed by a sense of the perfections of the Holy One, in whose immediate presence he was about to stand Let us hope the latter; and that, like another penitent who dared not lift up his eyes from the dust, he went home jus- tified. Another ordered a vine to be planted over his head, that he, who in life had brought forth so little fruit, might be found more fruitful in death. Another had his tomb built close under the waves of the mosque, in order that, as the water from the sacred roof fell upon him, it might wash away the foulness of his sins, which were as numberless as the drops falling from the clouds. The palace is uninhabited, yet every thing is TARTAR COFFEE-IIOOSE. THE STEPPES, ODESSA, AND THE CRIMEA. 17 as fresh as though its occupants were hourly ex- pected. We wandered through interminable suits of rooms, connected by winding stairs and narrow passages. They are all small, and hardly two on a level. The floors are covered with the softest carpets; Persian rugs of the richest hues overspread the divans; the walls are hung with precious tapestry of those gorgeous colors which charm the Oriental eye; over the arched door- ways are suspended satin curtains. Painted and latticed windows fling long bars of many-colored light and deep shadow across floor and wall, and along the furniture inlaid with gold, silver, and pearl. There is none of the magnificence derived from amplitude of proportions or massiveness of material; the charm consists rather in the ex- quisite taste displayed, and the perfection of the innumerable details, which realize all that the most glowing imagination can picture of the lux- urious life of an easterfl seral. Perhaps the most elegant apartments are the ones fitted up by Potemkin for the Imperial Cath- anne, when she made the tour of her new do- minions. Wherever she was to pass the night during this long progresswhether in some miser- able village, on the broad steppe, or in the sandy desertshe found a pavilion erected for her use by the considerate gallantry of her former lover, whose invisible presence thus seemed to hover around her. Perhaps he wished to recall the old love which she had once felt for him, but had transferred to younger and fairer men; just as when he met her in the famous palace of Taurida which she had built for him, he fell on his knees, VOL. IXNo. 49.B and bathed her hands with tears. If so, his hopes were unavailing. He might be her trusted counselor, her favorite geneial; but the flame of lawless love, once extin- guished can never be relighted. These apartments remain just as they were left by their imperial occupant more than sixty years ago. The carpets and mattings and hangings are as brilliant as ever; fresh flowers in precious vases still perfume the air; gold and silver fishes sport in crystal bowls, as they did under the eye of the Empress, so long closed in death; the marble bath seems to be awaiting her presence. We passed from the city, up the valley toward Tcliioufout-Galeh The Fort of the Jewsthe chief seat of the small dispersed sect of the Karaites. Emerging from the throat of the defile in which Bagtche Serai stands, we entered a broader valley shaded with majestic oaks and beeches. This was the Valley of Jehosaphat, the cemetery of the Karaites. All around were tombstones, lying flat or standing at every conceivable angle of in- clination; for the sanctity of the grave has been disturbed by earthquakes. The soli- tary fortress, perched high up on the sum- mit of a steep rock, is the Zion of these He- brew Purists, who adhere to the written law, rejecting the idle glosses of the Tal- mud, and the manifold traditions of the Rabbins. Few inhabit the city of the living, for the sect is widely scattered in many lands; but all, if possible, return to have their bones laid with those of their fathers in the city of the dead. A long flight of steps cut in the solid rock, leads up to the for- tress. At the bottom is the well which sup- plies it with water. We ascended among a file of donkeys laden with water-skins, who climbed up without drivers. The place seemed deserted; all the able-bodied men had descended to the Tartar town to ply their different trades. A few children too young to go out into the world, and a few old men returned from their long wander- ings, and calmly awaiting the summons which should bid them take their rest in the Valley of Jehosaphat, were the only human beings we saw. The view from the Jewish town is transcendently beautiful. The eye wanders over a succession of wooded slopes, far up among huge masses of beetling crags and conical rocks, while the great Tchetir-Deglr Tent-Mountain.-the loftiest summit of the chain of the Crimea, flings its steep sides and flat top against the southern sky. From Bagtche Serai, after due consultation with Gottlob, I resolved to make my meditated descent upon Sevastopol. I found that there was no obstacle in the way of the city being en- tered by the neighboring German colonists, the prohibition extending only to foreigners. A fort- nights roughing it among the Tartars had neu- tralized all the advantage in respect to wardrobe, which I might have once boasted over my Teu- tonic friend. A huge meersehaum, with ~ due MAU5OLE~M OF THE EHANS. 18 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. supply of the rankest tobacco, was easily attain- gations convinced the sentinels that we were able; and a little practice enabled me to inhale harmless peasants from the German colonies the fumes with becoming phlegm. I was sure though to make doubly sure, we threw in a few tbat my German was good enough to escape de- words of unmistakable High Dutch. We passed tection by any body. Browns linguistic acquire- without being even challenged, and I felt that I ments were more limited; and after due consid- had a rightful claim to the title of Sevastopol- eration, it was decided that he should not make efsky, or Conqueror of Sevastopol. Soon we the attempt, but should remain behind at the were quietly dining at an obscure inn, kept by a Garden Palace. A stout Tartar wagon was compatriot of Gottlobs. The only precaution of hired, and Gottlob and myself, threw ourselves which I made use during my stay, was to give a upon the straw with which it was filled; the word vigorous whiff or two from the inseparable meer- to go ahead was given, and off we set, while the schaum, whenever I supposed that any officer shadows of night yet filled the valley. By noon might be looking at me, and enter into an ani- we reached Inkermann, at the head of the inlet mated conversation in German with Gottlob. upon which Sevastopol is situated. Here com- Sevastopol is admirably adapted for the pur- inence the works which supply water to the docks poses to which it has been applied. An inlet of of Sevastopol, twelve miles distant. The course the sea indents the western coast of the Crimea, of a river has been diverted into a new channel having a mouth so narrow that it is commanded cut along the face of a hill, through long excava- by the fortifications on the shore, and a depth of tions and galleries, for the whole distance. I water sufficient to float the largest vessels. Four had a little leisure to inspect these giganticworks, bays set in upon the southern shore of the inlet, while our horses were baiting. separated by high bare limestone ridges. Upon In a couple of hours after setting off again, we one of these ridges the city is built, the streets cime within view of Sevastopol, with its lofty generally winding around among the sharp and white houses, green-domed churches, and men- jutting rocks. The main street is built half way acing batteries. Stretching far into the land, up the slope of the bill, and runs parallel with beyond the lines of the streets, we could see long the principal quay. Here are the chief buildings, lines of masts rising above the intervening hills. the Admiralty with its enormous portico, a splen- As we passed the gates I followed Gottlobs ex- did cathedral, and many large and imposing resi- ample, and puffed away most vigorously. He dences, conspicuous from the multiplicity of answered whiff for whiff. The vigor of our fumi- blinds which form a poor defense against the THE STEPPES, ODESSA, AND THE CRIMEA. 19 pervading dust. Attempts at introducing trees and plants have proved failures, and the city presents a mass of dazzling whiteness which almosts blinds the eye. The streets are kept tolerably clean by gangs of military prisoners who are conetantly engaged in sweeping them; but in spite of this precaution the air is always full of a fine penetrating dust which produces the most distressing ophthalmia. The soldiers employed in making excavations for the public works have suffered dreadfully from this cause. Not unfrequently in four-and-twenty hours after the first attack, the eye becomes putrid and drops out. Every thing here reminds you that this is no peaceful emporium of commerce. The wharves are lined with vessels, but among them is not a solitary merchant flag. Ships of war of every size open their ports upon you. No picturesque sailors, wearing the varied attire of their own countries, lounge about the quay. You meet only the white uniform of the naval and military service. Sentinels stand on guard at every turn, presenting arms toward their officers who pass and repass continually. Grim batteries frown every where; and the only variety of prospect is obtained by gazing now into the mouth of a forty- two and now into that of a sixty-four pounder. By day every thing presents the orderly monot- onous aspect of a fortress; and the stillness of night is broken only by the tinkling of bells from the vessels in the harbor, and the measured tread and frequent challenges of the sentinels pacing their continual rounds. Ascending to the sum- mit of the city, the eye wanders along the line of bare limestone crags which gained for the coast the name ofAk- Tiarthe White Rocks, and passes slowly down to the batteries which guard the harbor, the enormous three-deckers of the Black Sea fleet, and the long rows of con- demned hulks, which have been converted into magazines and prison ships. The ordinary popu- lation of the city, including the military and naval force stationed there, is set down at forty or fifty thousand; but at times, when some great review is to be held, it is vastly increased. Yet in so large a town there is no such thing as a hotel or an inn, worthy of the name. A few miserable dens in an obscure quarter of the town give shelter to the few inhabit ~nts of the surrounding country who now and then pass a night here. Yet, after all, there is something imposing in this great naval station. Its foundation and maintenance are a part of that great system of policy which aims sooner or later at bringing the shores of the Bosphorus within the bounds of the Russian Empire. Every thing that can conduce to this end is contrived on the largest scale. The public works are ably planned, and executed without regard to cost. I have already alluded ~o the aqueduct by which the water necessary for the careening-dock has been conveyed from a distance of four leagues. The stone of the neighboring cliffs is too soft for the construction of the basins and docks; that which is used has all been brought from a distance. The fleet, for whose protection alone Sevastopol exists, is constructed and maintained at an expense alto.. gether unparalleled. Not a vessel of it has ev~r bowed to the gales of the ocean; no~ one of them, before the recent massacre at Sinope, has ever seen a hostile flag. They are equipped, perform a few mancsuvres in the narrow sea, and then quietly rot in the secure harbor fortified for their reception. That fleet bides its time to ap- pear in the Golden Horn: Sevastopol is for the Black Sea fleet: the Black Sea fleet is for the future. Although the fleet has encountered no hostile vessels, the long rows of hulks tell of a foe still more destructive. The ships last only from %ive to ten years, and are then condemned as l~.naea- worthy, while the vessels of otl~ier nations last for twice that, period. Ask any Russian official the reason, and he will shake his head mysteri- ously, and tell you ~f a minute wormthe teredo ncrvalirbred from the slimy river that pours into the inlet of Sevastopol, which attacks the timbers, and reduces them to rotten powder; adding with a sigh, that all attempts to prevent its ravages have proved unavailing. Those better instructed, shrug their shoulders at the bare mention of the worm, wondering how it manages to work its way through the copper sheathing. They will tell you that the real destroyer is the system of corruption which pervades all the official life of Russia. Contracts for timber are awarded to the men who will bribe highest; he in turn sub-jets to purveyors who bribe him; and so on until the money which should have been expended upon seasoned oak, finds its way mainly into the pock- ets of venal employ~s, and the vessels are con- structed of unseasoned fir and pine. A final bribe given to the inspector insures that this miserable substitute is accepted. If we may credit the testimony of those who should be competent authority, there are not in the whole Black Sea fleet a half score of vessels capable of sustaining the storms of the Atlantic. Now and then, it is true, some unwary func- tionary is brought to summary and condign pun- ishment. It is a common report through all Southern Russia that directly after a recent visit of the Emperor to Sevastopol, the soldiers en- gaged in sweeping the streets were surprised at the appearance of a comrade whom they did not recognize, though somehow his features seemed not unfamiliar to them. At length the rumor began to spread that the new sweeper was none other than the Governor of the city, who had been degraded from his post to the ranks, and condemned to perform the most menial offices. What his precise crime was nobody could say; though official corruption, being the most common, was at once fixed upon as the most probable. It is but fair to add, that I could never quite satisfy myself whether this story was well- founded. The public has so little access to reli- able sources of information, that the most absurd rumors find easy credence. At all events, the fact that nobody seemed to find any improbability in the story, shows conclusively the low estimate 20 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. every where put upon official morality. If it was not true, nobody doubted that it might at any mo- ment be so. After a two days stay at Sevastopol, Gottlob and myself once more replenished our meer- schaums, seated ourselves in our wagon, gave the sentinels at the gate a farewell whiff, to con- vince them that we were honest Germans, and drove back to Bagtche Serai. There we rejoined our companion, who was awaiting our return. The time we had fixed for our tour had already been exceeded; so putting ourselves under the conduct of our guide, we made the best of our way back to Yalta, by another route from the one by which we had come. We were fortunately, just in time to catch the steamer, on board which we embarked for Odessa. So ended our trip through the Crimeaa brief but pleasant episode in a year s residence in Southera Russia. THE HOLY WEEK AT ROME. FIRST ARTICLE. THE Holy Week at Rome! What! unholy rem- miscences of crowding, struggling, conten- tion; of extortion and cheating; of dirt and dis- comfort; in short, of all the ills attendant upon the multiplication of the population of the holy city tenfold in proportion to its capacity of ac- commodation, does not this solemn church-festi- val vividly recall to every traveler, who has un- dergone its purgatorial experience, either to view its vain show, or to stir anew languid devotion in witnessing the significant facts in mans redemp- tion which it is intended to commemorate Rome, during this period, is the focus of Christendom. The Protestant hurries up to the Eterual City to behold the scarlet lady in all her pomp and cir- cumstance, with the charitable object of seeing with his own eyes whether her color is not even more deeply dyed than it has been represented. The Catholic devoutly makes his pilgrimage to lay alike his sins and offerings on her altars, and with renewed heart and faith to carry back with him the blessing and absolution of Christs Vicar on earth. Both are not unfrequently alike dis- appointed. I have known the scorning Protest- ant to go away the disciple of infallibility, while the simple-hearted Catholic, gradually losing him- self among the mazes of doubt and hypocrisy which, fungus-like, cluster around the claims of papacy, at last acknowledged himself a pagan, or worse, an unbeliever in all religion. No city, both from its past and present influ- ence on the worlds history, presents more claims to interest than Rome. The many who visit it are as nothing in comparison with those who de- sire and can not. I shall therefore give, for the benefit of the latter class, so far as I am able, a practical view of its ceremonies and principles during that period which it has set apart to com- memorate with all its sanctity and splendor, as one of peculiar solemnityembracing the most momentous events that ever dawned upon the human racethe death and resurrection of our Saviour. What papacy thus openly spreads be- fore the whole world must be considered as its religious standard. By its effects on its follow- ers it can rightly be judged. To keep within the strictest limits of charitable evidence, I shall con- fine myself either to papal authorities or cere- monies; for it is solely upon them that it founds its high pretensions, and by them exhibits its righteousness. Bishop England, in a little work published at Rome, entitled an Explanation of the Cere- monies of the Holy Week, sets forth the claims and objects of the Roman Church at this partic- ular festival. We, therefore, can not go amiss in briefly quoting from him the doctrines which he asserts to be animating principles of the prac- tices he advocates. The object, he says, of our church-cere- mony is not mere idle show; such exhibitions would, in religion, be worse than a waste of time. God can never be pleased by any hom- age which is not internal and spiritual. The legitimate objects of external rites in religion, are the instruction of the mind and amelioration of the heart; their object is the promotion of enlightened piety. Whatever does not tend to this, is at least useless; probably mischievous. The Catholic Church is desirous of having all her observances tested by this principle. By this principle, I beg all, whether Protestant or Catholic, to test even the few of the manifold ob- servances that I shall be able to quote within my prescribed limits, and to frankly confess their own conclusions as to the degree in which they promote enlightened piety. The Pope, as we all know, claims to be the representative of Christ, with spiritual and tem- poral powers commensurate with a divine au- thority. Although our Saviour expressly de- clared his kingdom not to be of this world, yet his successor, and visible head of the Church, is also a temporal sovereign ; and, in addition to his ecclesiastical state, surrounds himself with as brilliant a court as can exist, in which females are outwardly excluded. In judging, then, of these incompatible functions, a charitable distinc- tion should be drawn between that which prop- erly belongs to the one or the other. Inasmuch, however, as the temporal power had its origin in his spiritual position, and is intimately blended with it in all its phases, it will be difficult to define the line of demarkati .n between his duties as high-priest and sovereign. We must therefore take him simply as he shows himself to the ado- ration of the faithful. His throne is placed on the Gospel side of the altar, says Bishop England. From per- sonal inspection, I can assure the curious reader that no imperial robes surpass those of the Holy Father, in rich and curious embroidery, gold, precious stones, and general value of materials and cunning workmanship. Description would fail to illustrate the variety and pomp of costume of the Roman ecclesiastical courts. Therefore I shall presentso far as uncolored cuts canthe extent and costliness of this branch of service of the successor of Him who exalted poverty in the priesthood to the rank of a virtue.

Holy Week at Rome 20-32

20 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. every where put upon official morality. If it was not true, nobody doubted that it might at any mo- ment be so. After a two days stay at Sevastopol, Gottlob and myself once more replenished our meer- schaums, seated ourselves in our wagon, gave the sentinels at the gate a farewell whiff, to con- vince them that we were honest Germans, and drove back to Bagtche Serai. There we rejoined our companion, who was awaiting our return. The time we had fixed for our tour had already been exceeded; so putting ourselves under the conduct of our guide, we made the best of our way back to Yalta, by another route from the one by which we had come. We were fortunately, just in time to catch the steamer, on board which we embarked for Odessa. So ended our trip through the Crimeaa brief but pleasant episode in a year s residence in Southera Russia. THE HOLY WEEK AT ROME. FIRST ARTICLE. THE Holy Week at Rome! What! unholy rem- miscences of crowding, struggling, conten- tion; of extortion and cheating; of dirt and dis- comfort; in short, of all the ills attendant upon the multiplication of the population of the holy city tenfold in proportion to its capacity of ac- commodation, does not this solemn church-festi- val vividly recall to every traveler, who has un- dergone its purgatorial experience, either to view its vain show, or to stir anew languid devotion in witnessing the significant facts in mans redemp- tion which it is intended to commemorate Rome, during this period, is the focus of Christendom. The Protestant hurries up to the Eterual City to behold the scarlet lady in all her pomp and cir- cumstance, with the charitable object of seeing with his own eyes whether her color is not even more deeply dyed than it has been represented. The Catholic devoutly makes his pilgrimage to lay alike his sins and offerings on her altars, and with renewed heart and faith to carry back with him the blessing and absolution of Christs Vicar on earth. Both are not unfrequently alike dis- appointed. I have known the scorning Protest- ant to go away the disciple of infallibility, while the simple-hearted Catholic, gradually losing him- self among the mazes of doubt and hypocrisy which, fungus-like, cluster around the claims of papacy, at last acknowledged himself a pagan, or worse, an unbeliever in all religion. No city, both from its past and present influ- ence on the worlds history, presents more claims to interest than Rome. The many who visit it are as nothing in comparison with those who de- sire and can not. I shall therefore give, for the benefit of the latter class, so far as I am able, a practical view of its ceremonies and principles during that period which it has set apart to com- memorate with all its sanctity and splendor, as one of peculiar solemnityembracing the most momentous events that ever dawned upon the human racethe death and resurrection of our Saviour. What papacy thus openly spreads be- fore the whole world must be considered as its religious standard. By its effects on its follow- ers it can rightly be judged. To keep within the strictest limits of charitable evidence, I shall con- fine myself either to papal authorities or cere- monies; for it is solely upon them that it founds its high pretensions, and by them exhibits its righteousness. Bishop England, in a little work published at Rome, entitled an Explanation of the Cere- monies of the Holy Week, sets forth the claims and objects of the Roman Church at this partic- ular festival. We, therefore, can not go amiss in briefly quoting from him the doctrines which he asserts to be animating principles of the prac- tices he advocates. The object, he says, of our church-cere- mony is not mere idle show; such exhibitions would, in religion, be worse than a waste of time. God can never be pleased by any hom- age which is not internal and spiritual. The legitimate objects of external rites in religion, are the instruction of the mind and amelioration of the heart; their object is the promotion of enlightened piety. Whatever does not tend to this, is at least useless; probably mischievous. The Catholic Church is desirous of having all her observances tested by this principle. By this principle, I beg all, whether Protestant or Catholic, to test even the few of the manifold ob- servances that I shall be able to quote within my prescribed limits, and to frankly confess their own conclusions as to the degree in which they promote enlightened piety. The Pope, as we all know, claims to be the representative of Christ, with spiritual and tem- poral powers commensurate with a divine au- thority. Although our Saviour expressly de- clared his kingdom not to be of this world, yet his successor, and visible head of the Church, is also a temporal sovereign ; and, in addition to his ecclesiastical state, surrounds himself with as brilliant a court as can exist, in which females are outwardly excluded. In judging, then, of these incompatible functions, a charitable distinc- tion should be drawn between that which prop- erly belongs to the one or the other. Inasmuch, however, as the temporal power had its origin in his spiritual position, and is intimately blended with it in all its phases, it will be difficult to define the line of demarkati .n between his duties as high-priest and sovereign. We must therefore take him simply as he shows himself to the ado- ration of the faithful. His throne is placed on the Gospel side of the altar, says Bishop England. From per- sonal inspection, I can assure the curious reader that no imperial robes surpass those of the Holy Father, in rich and curious embroidery, gold, precious stones, and general value of materials and cunning workmanship. Description would fail to illustrate the variety and pomp of costume of the Roman ecclesiastical courts. Therefore I shall presentso far as uncolored cuts canthe extent and costliness of this branch of service of the successor of Him who exalted poverty in the priesthood to the rank of a virtue. THE HOLY WEEK AT ROME. 21 PROCESSION FOR EASTER SUNDAY. Esquires, two and two, in red serge cappas with hoods over the shoulders, etc. Proctors of the College, two and two, in black stuff cappas with silk hoods. Procuratores of religious orders, two and two, in the habits of their respective orders. Ecclesiastical chamberlains, outside the city, two and two, in red. Chaplains in ordinary, in red cappas with hoods of ermine; of whom there are first mitre bearer, Second mitre bearer, third mitre bearer, one bearer of the tiara.(Cut 8.) Private Chaplains, two and two, red cappas and hoods of ermine. Consistorial Advocates, two and two, in black or violet cassocks, and hoods. Ecclesiastical Chamberlains private and honorary, two and two, in red cassocks and hoods. Choristers of the Chapel, two and two, in violet silk cassocks over which are surplices.(Out 9.) Abbreviators of the Park, Clerks of the Chamber, in surplices, over rochets, two and two, Master of the sacred Palace, in.his habit of a Dominican friar, Auditors of the Rota, in surplices, over rochets, two and two, Incense bearer. Cross bearer. in tunic.(Cut 12.) Two porters of the red roci Latin Subdeacon, in tunic. Penitentiaries of St. Peters, two and two, in albs and chasubles. Mitred Abbots, of whom only a few are entitled to a place. BISHOPS, ARCHBISHOPS AND PATRIARCHS, two and two, the latins wearing copes and mitres, the easlerns in their proper costumes.(Cuts 28.) CARDINAL DEACONS, in dalmatics and mitres, each accompanied by his chamberlain carrying his square cap, and followed by his train bearer, CARDINAL PRIESTS, in chasubles and mitres, similarly attended.(Cut 11.) CARDINAL BISHOPS, in copes and mitres, Similarly attended. General staff, and officers of the guard of nobles, Grand herald and grand esquire. in court dresses. Lay chamberlains, (onservators of Rome and Prior of the magistrates of Wards in vestures ornamented with cloth of gold. PRINCE ASSISTANT AT THE THRONE, in a splendid court dress.(Cut 10.) OOvERNOR OF ROME, in indict and cappa. Two auditors of the Rota, to serve as train bearers. Two principal masters of ceremony. CARDINAL DEACON, for the latin gospel and mass Three Acolyths, in surplices over rochets carrying large candlesticks with lights Greek Subdeacon. 0 a -wO CARDINAL DEACON, second assistant at the throne, Fan borne by a private chamberlain. Four Acolyths, in surplices over rochets carrying candlesticks with lights Greek Deacon. cc C 0 a cc OS z~L og.o CARDINAL DEACON, first assistant at the throne Fan borne by a private chamberlain.(Cut 14.) THE POPE(Cut 13.) wearing a white cope and tiara, borne in his chair by twelve supporters(Cut 15Popes chair bearer in livery)in red damask, under a canopy sustained by eight referendaries of the signature, in short violet mantles over rochets. His holiness is surrounded by his household. Six of the Swiss guards, representing the catholic cantons, carry large drawn swords on their shoulders. Private chamberiain. Dean of the Rota, Private chamberlain in rochet and cappa. of sword and cloak.(Cut 20.) MAJORDOMO. AUDITOR OF THE APOSTOLIC CAMERA. TREASURER. in rochets and cappas. Prothonotaries apostolic, Regent of ihe chancery and auditor of contradictions, all in rochets and cappas, two and two. Generals of religious orders, two and two, in their proper habits. HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. 3. CARDINAL IN FULL COSTUME. 4. CARDINAL IN PRIVATE HABIT. 22 1. THE POPE IN HIS PONTIFICAL ROBES. 74$ ThJj~ 2. LATIN BISHOP. THE HOLY WEEK AT ROME. 23 I 7. ARMENIAN BISHOP. 6. BEARER OF THE TIARA. 5. GRi~j~z~ DiSHOP. 6. SYRIAN BISHOP. 24 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. 11. CARDINAL PRIEST. 12. CROSS-BEARER. 9. CHORISTER. 10. SENATOR. THE HOLY WEEK AT ROME. 16. CAPTAIN OF SWISS GUARD 26 7 in in 13. THE POPE. 14. PRIVATE CHAMBERLAIN. / I, / / / 15 POPES CHAIR-BEARER 26 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. J ~~/ iLl 17. PRIVATE OF SWISS GUARD. 19. MACE-BEARER. 20. ChAMBERLAIN OF SWORD AND CLOAK. /1 /1 / 1/ 18. GUARD OF NOBLES. THE HOLY WEEK AT ROME. 27 On the cope of bright purple color which the Pope wears on Palm Sunday is a silver plate richly gilt, bearing, in beautiful relief, the figure of the Almighty. This was formerly of pure gold, surrounded by three knobs of costly ori- ental pearls; but the cupidity of the enemies of Pius VI. overcame their fear of sacrilege, and they appropriated it to other purposes. Ben- venuto Cellini, who was employed by Clement VII. to engrave this plate, says, somewhat blas- phemously, though in true artistic spirit, that he endeavored to represent the Almighty Father in a free and easy position. His Holiness selects the cardinals, seventy in number, who form the high senate of the Church and the privy council of the Pope. They in turn elect the Pope from their own number. In costume they are a shade less brilliant than the Holy Father, wearing~ when in chapel, red cassocks with gold tassels, red stockings, white ermine tippets, and red skull or square caps. On solemn occasions they add red shoes and white damask silk mitres, with other changes of raiment, telling with great effect in a proces- sion, but tedious in descript~ion. Throughout the whole edifice of the Roman hierarchy, costume forms a very important and conspicuous part. It is nicely graduated with decreasing splendor and diversified cut from the pope, cardinals, archbishops, and the inferior clergy, who are almost lost amid richly-laced petticoats and purple skirts, to the laughable at- tire of the sacristans, choristers, and the dirty and dolorous robes of the monastic orders. Each rank has its mark and number, and it must be confessed that no military display can compete, in variety and brilliancy of colors and costliness of uniform, with one got up by the church. The nomenclature of papal costume is intelligible only to those who pass their lives in wearing it. Each article has its peculiar uses and degree of sanctity. The etiquette of the papal court, whether in its spiritual or temporal sense, is no light service. To give an idea of the number and variety of of- ficers attached toit, I have given a programme of the Procession for Easter Sunday as it appears in Saint Peters previous to High Mass and the General Benedictionand Excommunication. The engravings given of several of these ecclesiastical personages and their suites, will bear out the as- sertion that no operatic ov theatrical spectacle can pretend to vie with the papal court when it dons its holiday suit. Imagine the surprise of St. Peter were he to be present, upon being told that that sleepy-looking old ~untleman, so buried in gold and jewels as scarcely to be discernible, and borne under a magnificent ~anopy on the shoulders of twelve men clothed intlie brightest scarlet, performing the pantomime of turning from one side to another his uplifted thumb and two fingers as illustrative of the blessing of the Holy Trinity, w~skuccesee~1 I question whether at such a incrilegious Iib~I the old Adam within him would not be more signally displayed than it even was in the garden; for the zealous apostle would least of all forgive humbug. I speak only of the effect on my own mind, con- trasted with what I conceive to be the proper dis- play of that religion which consists in visiting and comforting the fatherless and widows in their affliction. There are others, as we often see, on whom the glitter of a court, or the music and ar- chitecture of a church have greater weight than the humility and simplicity of gospel truth. They would be loth to confess that the avenue to their minds and hearts closed with their eyes and ears; but take away the curiously wrought robes, the cunning of the artificer, the genius of the artist, the harmonies of music, and the entire combina- tion of pomp and venerable tradition by which Rome upholds her religion, and how much of faith and conviction would be left to them Beside the officers who figure in the above pro- cession, there are a legion of others attached to the court, which swell its bulk to a degree that weighs heavily upon the petty temporal domin- ions of the Popes, and is out of all proportion to their necessities. There are private gentlemen of the bed-chamber, and among them a secret treasurer, who purveys for the alms and amuse- ment of the Pope. So little bodily exercise does the Roman etiquette allow to the successors of the fisherman, that his present Holiness has been ordered by his physician to play at billiards daily, to counteract his tendency to obesity. There are one hundred and eight officers andval- ets, under different titles, attached to the personal service ofthe Pope; amodest numberwhen the ex- tent ofhis severalpalaces is considered. No sover- eign pays the penalty of greatness more severely than the Holy Father. His sanctity dooms him perpetually to solitary meals, except on extraor- dinary occasions, there being no one on earth sufficiently elevated to sit as an equal at table with him. This is the rule, but a spiritual Pope no doubt finds means occasionally to reconcile his social instincts and rank at the same time. Then, too, every dish must be previously tasted, for fear of poison; an antiquated custom, which at pres- ent no one would conceive to have any founda. tion in necessity. His chambers are coldly splen- did. Marbles, paintings, mosaics, and gilding there are in abundance, but the whole arranged with more than the usual chilling aspect of a state palace. His private rooms, no doubt, are more comfortable; but the whole state and cir- cumstance that surround a Pope, so far as the public- eye can judge, is one which makes him, in all the relations of personal freedom and en- joyment, a being little to be envied. Each nat- ural instinct and generous impulse is so hedged in with sacred etiquette or pusillanimous fear as to be a torture rather than a pleasure to its pos- sessor. A bad Pope can be personally free only by being a hypocrite; a good Pope is a martyr to a rank which in its daily duties involves a constant contradiction of the simplest principles of Chris- tianity~ andis a standing reproach upon common sense. All access to the Pope is guarded with myste- rious care. He has his private chamber-men not maids private cooks, sweepers, and 28 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. domestics of all classes. Besides these he has his confessor, preacher, chaplainsqueer neces- sities these for the fountain-head of religion his porters, jesters, poultrymen, and muleteers. These all have rank and appointments in the sa- cred household, mingling strangely with mon- signori the secretaries of state, and other offi- cials. The private chamberlains who wait in the ante-chambers are clergymen. In imita- tion of imperial courts, we find cup-bearers, mas- ters of the wardrobe, grand esquires, a grand herald, private chamberlains of the sword and cloak, who wear the black-spangled dress, the most graceful of all court costumes, and a guard of nobles, magnificently uniformed, a section of which attends at divine service in the Popes chapel with drawn swords. Each cardinal and high officer has a little court of his own. When the revenues of Christendom flowed into the papal treasury, it was not difficult to maintain this state and expense; but, now that it falls miinly on the Roman Sacristory, it becomes a burden which Christian humility might consistently seek to lighten. When there exists so numerous a corps of servants, whether of the household or church, invention must be racked to find employment for them; consequently, we are not surprised to see that during high church ceremoniesfor instance, on Palm Sundayit requires a prince, an auditor of the rota, two clerks of the chamber, and two mace-bearers, to present a basin of water to the Pope, in which he washes his hands, while a cardinal dean holds the towel, a senior cardinal priest hands him the incense, which he puts into a censer held by the senior voter of the signature. Verily, St. Peter could have written all his epistles in much less time than it would have taken him to learn the ti- tles and employments of the household of his suc- cessors in the nineteenth century! In the sacred functions of the altar, when the Pope assists with- out officiating, says Bishop England, he selects the officers from a number of names presented by the chapters of each of the three patriarchal basilics, selecting always a nobleman, if his other qualifications be equal to those of his asso- ciatesthe wisdom of which choice, and its consistency with Christianity, all republicans can not fail to perceive. The mode of electing a Pope is curious. The conclave is the assemblage of the cardinals for that purpose. They select their own place of meeting, in general choosing simply between the Vatican or Quirinal palaces. a, THE cosrss OF THE POPE EXPOSED. THE HOLY WEEK AT ROME. 29 The day after the last day of the funeral cere- monies of a deceased Pope, the mass of the Holy Ghost is repeated with great solemnity, a Latin discourse pronounced, and the procession of car- dinals enters the chapel, chanting Veni Creator. The bulls concerning the election are read, and the cardinal dean harangues them upon the du- ties prescribed for the occasion. Each cardinal then takes his place in the conclave, that is, re- tires to his cell, a small room of about twelve feet square, modestly furnished by himself, with his arms over the door. These cells are all alike, upon the same floor, and arranged in galleries. Chimneys are not permitted, warmth being com- municated from the neighboring rooms. To make the isolation complete, in winter the win- dows are all built up, excepting a single pane. In summer the cardinals are permitted to look into the garden. For the service of each cell there is allowed a secretary and one gentleman, who are obliged to perform the duties of domestics. But as the emoluments are great, consisting of a consider- able sum before the conclave, and a distribution of ten thousand crowns by the new Pope after his election, besides certain advantages for their future career, these posts are much sought after by the younger ecciesiastics. The conclave is allowed also the services of a sacristan, two sub-sacristans, a confessor, four masters of ceremonies, two physicians, an apoth- ecary, three barbers, a mason, a carpenter, and twelve valets, whose livery is violet. Before the cardinals enter into conclave, should any feel not adequate to the discipline about to be imposed upon them, they are warned to re- tire. Once in conclave, they are placed in soli- tary confinement, each in his own cell. Every avenue to the palace is strictly guarded by de- tachments of soldiers, and each door carefully closed. The only communication from without is by means of small revolving shelves, or boxes, like the tours of foundling hospitals, through which the meals are passed, and also any official communications, but only in the presence, and with the authorization of their military guard- ians. Vocal intercourse is permitted only at cer- tain high apertures in the walls, in Italian, and with raised voices, so that the guards can hear and understand the conversation. The utmost precautions are taken to prevent the inmates of adjoining cells from communicating with each other. If a cardinal become ill, he is permitted to go out, but he can not re-enter his cell during the conclave. Before the closing of the conclave, a final day is permitted to the visits and conferences of the car- dinals, in the hall arranged for that purpose. These interviews are according to prescribed rules. All the expenses of the conclave are borne by the Apostolic Chamber. Among these, the meals are not the least. As nothing is done in Rome without a procession, the dinners of the cardinals are served up in the same manner. The order is as follows: At the head, two footmen with wooden maces. DINNER DURING THE CONCLAVE. 30 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. A valet with the silver. The gentlemen in service, two by two, bare- headed. The chief cook with a napkin on his shoulder. Cup-bearers and esquires. Two footmen, carrying upon their shoulders a huge dish-warmer, containing the meats, & c. Then follow the valets, with wine and fruit in baskets. Upon arriving at the palace, each cardinal is visited in turn by his procession, and the dinner deposited. But before this is done, every dish is inspected lest some letter or message should be concealed within the viands. The bottles and glasses are required to be transparent, and the vases sufficiently shallow to show their depths. With all these precautions, however, diplomatic ingenuity at times contrives to convey hidden communications. The fruits often speak intelli- gibly for themselves. A truffle has served to baffle a rival combination, and destroy a choice fixed upon for the succeeding day. This species of culinary diplomacy was due, as might be ex- pected, to an embassador of France. There are four modes of electing the Pope: the adoration, the compromise, the .rcrutin, and the accessit. The votes are deposited by the cardinals, ac- cording to certain prescribed rules, in a chalice placed upon an altar, either in the Sistine Chapel or one of the same dimensions at the Quirinal. They are summoned twice a day, at six in the morning and at the same hour of the evening, to deposit their votes. These are carried by them- selves on golden plates. Each bulletin contain- ing the vote is carefully sealed, and stamped with some fanciful design, known only to the voter, and prepared expressly for his vote. Great care is also taken to disguise the handwriting so that no external clew to the voters choice can be de- tected. This act is preceded by an oath to choose him whom they believe the most worthy, and is accompanied by sacred chants. The officers, de- signated by lot to examine the votes, inspect them with the most minute attention and precautions, for fear of fraud. If a cardinal has obtained two- thirds of the votes, they are verified by comparing the names of the voters with their chosen devices. Should two-thirds of the votes be wanting to one name, the bulletins are burned, and the voting commences anew. The smoke which arises from the chimney attached to the chapel at this hour, telegraphs to an expectant crowd without the failure of the vote. Election by adoration is when a cardinal, in giving his vote, goes toward his -candidate, pro- claiming him the Head of the Church; and is followed by two-thirds of the cardinals imitating his example. The compromise is when the un- certain suifrages are given to certain members of the conclave from which to elect a Pope. The scrutin is the secret ballot. The accessit is the last resource for a choice, but as it is sel- dom resorted to, and I do not clearly comprehend the process myself, I can not give it to my read- ers. During the examination of the votes by secret ballot, the cardinals say masses upon the six altars of the chapel. ELECTION OF PIUS THE SIXTH. THE HOLY WEEK AT ROME. 31 The excessive precautions taken to insure purity of choice, betray the extent to which fac- tion and corruption must have intruded into these elections. In times past the most scandalous scenes have preceded and accompanied the in- trigues which, despite the severity of the regula- tions, find entrance into the holy conclave, splitting it into unholy factions. During the comparatively recent conclave, which resulted in the election of Pius VI., the cardinals even pro- ceeded to blows, and their excitement rivaled the worst scenes that have ever occurred in any democratic congress. After his election the Pope selects the name by which he wishes to he known. The Master of Ceremonies then clothes him in the papal vest- ments, and the cardinals, each in turn, kiss his hands and feet, the Pope giving them upon tho right cheek the kiss of peace. They then chant, Behold the high priest~ pleasing to God, and found just ! The guns of St. Angelo thunder forth a salute, every bell of the city augments the joyous clamor, and drums, trumpets, and timbrels, amid the acclamations of the peopleif the elec- tion be a popular onecomplete the noisy chorus. After a special adoration in the Sistine Chapel, the Pope seats himself under a red canopy before the grand altar in St. Peters, where he receives the adoration of the people. This finished, he is borne in grand procession to the palace which he selects for his residence. In the adoration paid to the Pope enlightened Romanists disclaim, and with justice no doubt, any act of personal idola- try. But while they render the same forms of homage to a man which we are taught to believe are due only to God, it will be difficult for the mass to discriminate the nice distinction they would make. Their example, at all events, is so much weight in the scale of idolatry, while their motives are far beyond the capacity of ignorant minds to comprehend. During the interval between the death of one Pope and the election of another, the papal func- tions are administered by an officer called the Camerlingue, or Cardinal President, of the Court of Rome. He holds one of the three keys of the treasure of the Castle of St. Angelo; the dean of the sacred college another, and the Pope the third. The unity and policy of the papal court is un- doubtedly the same in all ages, so far as concerns its claims to temporal and spiritual power. Were it not counteracted by the spirit of the age, there is no reason to believe it would not now assert its authority as distinctly and frankly as in the thir- teenth century, in the mandate of Nicholas III., cited in the ninety-sixth distinction of the canon law, viz.: It is evident that the Roman pontiff can not be judged of man, because he is GOD In a bull of Gregory IX., inserted in the De- cretals, under the title of Pre-eminence, we read as follows: God has made two great lights for the firma- ment of the universal Churchthat is to say, he has instituted two dignities: these are the pon- tifical authority and the royal power; but that which rules in these days, that is to say over THE POPE RORNE TO HIS RE5IDEN~E. 82 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. things spiritual, is the greater, and that which presides over things material the lesser. There- fore all should know that there is as much differ- ence between pontiffs and kings as between the sun and moon. We say that every human creat- ure is subjected to the sovereign pontiff, and that he can (according to the decretal of Innocent III., called the Prebends), in virtue of his full power and sovereign authority, dispose of the natural and divine right. At this age of the world we may smile at these doctrines. But the spirit which conceived them still exists, though the power then enforced has departed. The baughty ceremonies that accom- panied these assumptions of power are yet in full sway, yearly growing in imbecility, as the au- thority which alone could make them respected becomes more remote. That which once carried with it terrible meaning has now degenerated into pitiful farce. Spectators now gather to Rome during holy festivals, not to woi~ship or to ac- knowledge the great head pf the Christian church, but to wonder at the debasing shows proffered, and the haughty magniftoence displayed by priests who found their creed on a gospel of humility aiid love. Should these remarks be construed as un- charitable, I can only add that where religion, as I intend showing, is metamorphosed designedly into a mere spectacle, it must expect to be sub- jected to the ordinary laws of criticism. NAPOLEON ~d~APARTE. $- C ~Y JOHN ~13OTT. ?HS CAXPAJON OF Piais. THE war had now become a struggle for the dethronement of Napoleon, and for the ef- fectual suppression, throughout Europe, of those principles of republican equality, to which the French Revolution had given birth. There nev- er was a government so popular as not to have its opposition. In every nation and state allied to France there were many royalists, ready eager- ly to join the allied armies. In the triumph of that cause they hoped to regain their exclusive privileges. And in all the old aristocracies there were multitudes, of the more intelligent portion of the populace, hungering for reform. They welcomed, with enthusiasm, the approach of the armies of Napoleon. It was the existence of this party, in such strength, both in England and Ireland, which roused the Tory government of Britain, to such tremendous exertions, to crush, in the person of the French Emperor, the spirit of republican equality. The North British Re- view, one of the organs of the Tory party, in the following strain, which will certainly amuse American readers, complains of that equality, which Napoleon established in France: Those who have watched the interior work- ings of society in France, long and close at hand, are inclined to attribute much of that uselessness and discontent, which is one of its most striking features, and which is the despair both of the friends of order and the friends of freedom, to the national system of education. Members of va- rious grades and classes in the social scale are instructed together, in the same schools, in the same mode, and on the same subjects, to a de- pee of which we have no example here. If the peasant~ the grocer, or the tailor, can scrape to- gether a little money, his son receives his train- ing in the same seminary as the son of the pro- prietor, whose land he cultivates, whose sugar and coffee he supplies, and whose coat he makes. The boy, who ought to be a laborer or a petty tradesman, sits on the same bench, and learns the same lesson, as the boy who is destined for the bar, the tribune, or the civil service of the state. This system arises out oftlis passion for equality, and fosters it in turn. The r~ult is, that each one naturally learns to despise his own destination, and to aspire to that of his more for- tunate school-fellow. The grocers son can not see why he should not become an advocate, a journalist, a statesman, as well as the wealthier and noble-born lad, who was oftenbelow him in the class, whom he ocqasionally thrashed, and often helped over the thorny places ~f his daily task* The Allis. now ~vanced triumphantly toward the Rhine. Napoleon ro~ised all his energies to meet the emergence. Though age, says Bour- rienne, might have been supposed to have de- prived him of some of his activity, yet, in that I beheld him as in his most vigorous youth. Again he developed that fervid mind, whi,h~ as in his early conquests, annihilated time and space, and seemed omnipresent in its energies. France, from the Rhine to the Pyre- nees, assumed the appearance of a vast arsenal. The Council of State suggested to Napoleon that it might not be wise to announce to the people the humiliating truth that the frontiers of France were invaded. Wherefore, replied Napoleon, should not the truth be told Wellington has entered the south; the Russians menace the north; the Aus * ~~ is greatly to Napoleons honor, that such men as the Duke of Wellington were contending against him. It is, in itself, evidence of the righteousness of his cause. Probably there can not be found in the world a man more resolutely hostile to popular reform than was the Duke of Wellington. He was the idol of the aristoc- racy. lIe was hated by the people. They had pelted him with mud through the streets of London, and he had been compelled to barricade his windows against theirs assaults. Even the soldiers under his command in Spain had no affection for his person; and, notwithstanding all the calumnies of the British press, they loved, around their camp-fires, to tell storiesof the goodness of Napo- leon. Many, too, of these soldiers, after the battle of Wa- terloo, were sent to Canada. I am informed, by a gentle. man of commanding character and intelligence, that when a child, he has sat for hours listening to the anecdotes in favor of Napoleon which these British soldiers had picked up in the camp. Yet, true to military discipline, they would stand firmly to their colors in the hour of battle. They were proud of the grandeur of the Iron Duke, but no soldier loved him. We will imitate Napoleons magnanimity, In not questioning the sincerity of the Duke of Wellingtons convictions, that an aristocratic govern. meat is best for the people. We simply state the unde. niable fact, that his hostility was deadiy to all populaR reform

John S. C. Abbott Abbott, John S. C. Napoleon Bonaparte 32-50

82 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. things spiritual, is the greater, and that which presides over things material the lesser. There- fore all should know that there is as much differ- ence between pontiffs and kings as between the sun and moon. We say that every human creat- ure is subjected to the sovereign pontiff, and that he can (according to the decretal of Innocent III., called the Prebends), in virtue of his full power and sovereign authority, dispose of the natural and divine right. At this age of the world we may smile at these doctrines. But the spirit which conceived them still exists, though the power then enforced has departed. The baughty ceremonies that accom- panied these assumptions of power are yet in full sway, yearly growing in imbecility, as the au- thority which alone could make them respected becomes more remote. That which once carried with it terrible meaning has now degenerated into pitiful farce. Spectators now gather to Rome during holy festivals, not to woi~ship or to ac- knowledge the great head pf the Christian church, but to wonder at the debasing shows proffered, and the haughty magniftoence displayed by priests who found their creed on a gospel of humility aiid love. Should these remarks be construed as un- charitable, I can only add that where religion, as I intend showing, is metamorphosed designedly into a mere spectacle, it must expect to be sub- jected to the ordinary laws of criticism. NAPOLEON ~d~APARTE. $- C ~Y JOHN ~13OTT. ?HS CAXPAJON OF Piais. THE war had now become a struggle for the dethronement of Napoleon, and for the ef- fectual suppression, throughout Europe, of those principles of republican equality, to which the French Revolution had given birth. There nev- er was a government so popular as not to have its opposition. In every nation and state allied to France there were many royalists, ready eager- ly to join the allied armies. In the triumph of that cause they hoped to regain their exclusive privileges. And in all the old aristocracies there were multitudes, of the more intelligent portion of the populace, hungering for reform. They welcomed, with enthusiasm, the approach of the armies of Napoleon. It was the existence of this party, in such strength, both in England and Ireland, which roused the Tory government of Britain, to such tremendous exertions, to crush, in the person of the French Emperor, the spirit of republican equality. The North British Re- view, one of the organs of the Tory party, in the following strain, which will certainly amuse American readers, complains of that equality, which Napoleon established in France: Those who have watched the interior work- ings of society in France, long and close at hand, are inclined to attribute much of that uselessness and discontent, which is one of its most striking features, and which is the despair both of the friends of order and the friends of freedom, to the national system of education. Members of va- rious grades and classes in the social scale are instructed together, in the same schools, in the same mode, and on the same subjects, to a de- pee of which we have no example here. If the peasant~ the grocer, or the tailor, can scrape to- gether a little money, his son receives his train- ing in the same seminary as the son of the pro- prietor, whose land he cultivates, whose sugar and coffee he supplies, and whose coat he makes. The boy, who ought to be a laborer or a petty tradesman, sits on the same bench, and learns the same lesson, as the boy who is destined for the bar, the tribune, or the civil service of the state. This system arises out oftlis passion for equality, and fosters it in turn. The r~ult is, that each one naturally learns to despise his own destination, and to aspire to that of his more for- tunate school-fellow. The grocers son can not see why he should not become an advocate, a journalist, a statesman, as well as the wealthier and noble-born lad, who was oftenbelow him in the class, whom he ocqasionally thrashed, and often helped over the thorny places ~f his daily task* The Allis. now ~vanced triumphantly toward the Rhine. Napoleon ro~ised all his energies to meet the emergence. Though age, says Bour- rienne, might have been supposed to have de- prived him of some of his activity, yet, in that I beheld him as in his most vigorous youth. Again he developed that fervid mind, whi,h~ as in his early conquests, annihilated time and space, and seemed omnipresent in its energies. France, from the Rhine to the Pyre- nees, assumed the appearance of a vast arsenal. The Council of State suggested to Napoleon that it might not be wise to announce to the people the humiliating truth that the frontiers of France were invaded. Wherefore, replied Napoleon, should not the truth be told Wellington has entered the south; the Russians menace the north; the Aus * ~~ is greatly to Napoleons honor, that such men as the Duke of Wellington were contending against him. It is, in itself, evidence of the righteousness of his cause. Probably there can not be found in the world a man more resolutely hostile to popular reform than was the Duke of Wellington. He was the idol of the aristoc- racy. lIe was hated by the people. They had pelted him with mud through the streets of London, and he had been compelled to barricade his windows against theirs assaults. Even the soldiers under his command in Spain had no affection for his person; and, notwithstanding all the calumnies of the British press, they loved, around their camp-fires, to tell storiesof the goodness of Napo- leon. Many, too, of these soldiers, after the battle of Wa- terloo, were sent to Canada. I am informed, by a gentle. man of commanding character and intelligence, that when a child, he has sat for hours listening to the anecdotes in favor of Napoleon which these British soldiers had picked up in the camp. Yet, true to military discipline, they would stand firmly to their colors in the hour of battle. They were proud of the grandeur of the Iron Duke, but no soldier loved him. We will imitate Napoleons magnanimity, In not questioning the sincerity of the Duke of Wellingtons convictions, that an aristocratic govern. meat is best for the people. We simply state the unde. niable fact, that his hostility was deadiy to all populaR reform NAPOLEON BONAPARTE. 33 trians, Prussians, and Bavarians, are on the east. Shame! Wellington is in France, and ye have not risen, en macsc, to drive him back. There must he an impulse given. All must march. It is fbr you, counselors, fathers of families, heads of the nation, to set the example. People speak of peace, when all should echo to the call of xvar. The emigrants, members of the old royalist party, whom Napoleon had generously permitted to return to France, and to enter again upon their estates, basely, in this hour of disaster, turned against their benefactor. They organ- ized a wide-spread conspiracy, opened communi- cations with the Allies, distributed arms amonrr their adherents, extolled the Bourbons, and de- famed, in every possible way, the good character of Napoleon. The priests, hoping by the restoration of the Bourbons to regain the enormous church posses- sions which had been confiscated by the Itevoln- tion, in large numbers joined the conspirators, and endeavored to sting the bosom which had VOL. IXNo. 49.C warmed them into life. In many districts their influence over the peasantry was almost omni- potent. The Count of Artois, afterward Charles X., hastened to join the army of the Austrians. His son, the Duke of Angoul~me, who had married the unhappy daughter of Louis XVI., whose tragic imprisonment with her brother, the Dau- phin, in the Temple, has moved the sympathies of the world, hastened to the head-quarters of the Duke of Wellington. The Count of Pro- vence, subsequently Louis XVIII., was residing at Hartwell England. He was an infirm, un- wieldy, gouty old man, of three score years. Unable to make any exertions himself, he sat, lolling in his chair, while the Allies deluged France in blood and (lame, to place him on the throne. Talleyrand, the wily diplomatist, clear- ly discerning the fall of the empire, entered into communication with tile Allies, to secure the best possible terms for himself. He did every thing in his power to thwart the exertions of Napoleon, and of the nation. In the Council of State, and I/A !~i / // I//f / / / I j/ 7/ THE EMPRESS INVESTED WITh TilE REGENCY. 34 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. in the saloons of the capital, he incessantly ad- minority, were ever ready to join hands for his vised submission. overthrow. The President of the senatorial ccm- On the 20th of December Napoleon assembled mission, M. Fontanes, concluded his report re- the Senate. He opened the session in person, specting the continued assault of the Allies, with and thus addressed the members: the following words Against whom is that at- Splendid victories have illustrated the French tack directed? Against that great man who has armies in this campaign. Defections, without a merited the gratitude of all kings; for he it was, parallel, have rendered those victories unavailing, who, in re-establishing the throne of France, cx- or have turned them against us. France would tinguished the volcano with which they were all now have been in danger but for the energy and menaced. The pceple did not relish this declar- the union of the French. In these momentous ation, that Napoleon had become an advocate of circumstances, my first thought has been to sum- the rights ef kings. Napoleon had achieved all mon you around me. My heart has need of the his victories, and attained his supremacy, as the presence and affection of my subjects. I have recognized advocate of the rights of the people. never been seduced by prosperity. Adversity His rejection of Josephine, and his matrimonial will find me superior to its strokes. I have oft- alliance with the proud house of Hapsburg, also en given peace to the nations, when they had lost operated against him. They had secured for his every thing. With n part of my conquests I cause no monarchical friends, but had wilted the have raised up monarchs, who have since aban- enthusiasm of the people. doned me. I had conceived and executed great France was now disheartened. One army had designs for the happiness of the world. A mon- perished upon the snows of Russia; another upon arch and a father, I feel that peace adds to the the plains of Saxony. The conscription and tax- security of thrones as well as families. No- ation had borne heavily upon all classes. All thing, on my part, is an obstacle to the re-estab- Europe had been combining in an interminable lishment of peace. You are the natural organs series of wa~s against revolutionary France. It of the throne. It is for you to give an example seemed impossible any longer to protract the con- of energy, which may dignify our generation in flict. The majority of the legislative body adopt- the eyes of our posterity. Let them not say of ed the report of their committee, containing the us, They have sacrificed the first interests of following sentiments deeply wounding to the our country ; they have submitted to laws, which Emperor: Enghad has sooght in vain, during four centu- In order to prevent the coalesced powers ries, to impose upon France. I am confident from accusing France of any wish to maintain a that, in this crisis, the French will show them- too extensive territory, which they seem to fear, selves worthy of themselves and of me. would it not exhibit real greatness to undeceive At the same time, Napoleon communicated to them by a formal declaration? It is for the gov- the Senate and to the Legislative Assembly the eminent to propose the measures which may be correspondence which had taken place with the considered most prompt and safe for repelling the Allies, both before and after the battle of Leipsic. enemy, and establishing peace en a solid basis. He wished to prove to the nation that he had These measures must be effectual, if the French neglceted no honorable exertions to arrest the people he convinced that their blood will be shed calamities of war. A committee was appointed, only in defense of their country and of its laws. by both bodies, to examine and report upon the It appears indispensable, therefore, that his Ma- documents. The report of the Senate was favor- jesty shall be entreated to maintain the full and able to Napoleon, and yet the influence of that constant execution of the laws, which guarantee report was to weaken the Emperors hold on the to the nation the free exercise of its political democracy. I-Ic had sought to identify himself rights. with the ancient order of things. It was the Napoleon regarded these insinuations as peen- policy of his government to conciliate antagonis- liarly unfriendly, and ordered the printing of the tic principles, to engraft (lemocratic rights upon report to be suppressed. He immediately assem- monarchical forms. He hoped thus to secure bled the Council of State, and thus expressed his popular rights on the one hand, and to abate the sentiments on the subject: hostility of monarchical Europe on the other. You are aware, geimtlemen, of the dangers to This policy might have been unwise; but there which the country is exposed. Without any oh- is every evidence that he sincerely thought it the ligation to do so, I thought it right to consult the best which could be adopted, under then existing deputies of the legislative body. Thf3y have con- circumstances, lie knew that France would not verted this act of my confidence into a weapon submit again to place her neck under the yoke against me, that is to say, against the country. of the old feudal aristocracy. He believed it in- Instead of assisting me, they obstruct my eflbrts. possible to maintain republican forms in France, We should assume an attitude to check the ad- with a Jacobin mob at one extremity of society, vance of the enemy. Their attitude invites him. with royalist conspirators at the other extremity, Instead of showing to him a front of brass, they and with all Europe in arms against the republic. unvail to him our wounds. They stun me with Though the overwhelming majority of the pee- clamors for peace, while the only means to obtain pie of France were strongly in favor of the policy it is to prepare for war. They speak of griev- of Napoleon, yet the Jacobins on the one hanil, ances. But these are subjects to be discussed in and the royahiats on the other, a small hut busy private, and not in the presence of an enemy. NAPOLEON BONAPARTE. 35 Was I inaccessible to them Did I ever show myself averse to rational argument It is time to come to a conclusion. The legislative body, instead of assisting to save France, has concurred to accelerate her ruin. It has betrayed its duty. I fulfill mine. I prorogue the Assembly, and call for fresh elections. sVere I sure that this act would bring the people of Paris in a crowd to the Tuileries, to murder me this day, I would still do my duty. My determination is perfectly legal. If every one here will act worthily, I shall yet be invincible, as well before the enemy, as behind the shelter of the law. Notwithstanding this prorogation, a few days after, on the first of January, a deputation from the legislative body attended court, to present the congratulations of the season to the Emperor. As they entered the room, Napoleon advanced to meet them. In earnest tones, which were sub- dued by the spirit of seriousness and sadness, he thus spoke: Gentlemen of the Chamber of Deputies! you are about to return to your respective depart- ments. I had called you together, with perfect reliance upon your concurrence in my endeavors to illustrate this period of our history. You might have rendered me a signal service, by giv- ing me the support of which I stood in need, in- stead of attempting to confine me within limits, which you would be the first to extend when you had discovered the fatal effects of your internal dissensions. By what authority do you consider yourselves entitled to limit the action ofgovernment at such a moment as the present. Am I indebted to you for the authority which is invested in mc I hold it from God and the people only. Have you forgotten in what manner I ascended the throne, which you now attack There existed, at that period, an Assembly like your own. Had I deemed its authority and its choice sufficient for my purpose, do you think that I wanted the means to obtain its votes. I have never been of opinion that a sovereign could be elected in that manner. I was desirous, therefore, that the wish, so generally expressed, for my being invested with the supreme power, should be submitted to a national vote, taken from every person in the French dominions. By such means only did I accept of a throne. Do you imagine that I con- sider the throne as nothing more than a piece of velvet spread over a chair The throne consists in the unanimous wish of the nation in favor of their sovereign. Our position is surrounded with difficulties. By adhering to my views, you might have been of the greatest assistance to me. Nevertheless, I trust that, with the help of God and of the army, I shall extricate myself, if I am not doomed to be betrayed. Should I fall, to you alone will be ascribed the evils which will desolate our common country. THE ATTACK UPON NAPOLEON. 36 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. The Duke of Rovigo, who has recorded the above interview, says that the Emperor, on re- turning to his cabinet, showed no particular mdi- catiens of displeasure against the legislative body. With that wonderful magnanimity which ever characterized him, he gave them credit for the best intentions. He, however, observed that he could not safely allow the existence of this state of things behind him, when he was on the point of proceeding to join the army, where he would find quite enough to engage his atten- tion. It was the special aim of the Allies, aided by their copartners the royalists of France, to create a division between Napoleon and the French people, and to make the Emperor as odious as possible. Abusive pamphlets were circulated like autumn leaves all over the Empire. The treasury of England and that of all the Allies was at the disposal of any one, who could wage effective warfare against the dreaded republican Emperor. The invading kings, at the head of their locust legions, issued a proclamation, to be spread throughout Europe, full of the meanest and the most glaring falsehoods. They asserted that they were the friends of peace, and Napo- leon the advocate for war; that they were strug- gling for liberty and human rights, Napoleon for tyranny and oppression. They declared that they earnestly desired peace, but that the despot Napoleon would not sheathe the sword. They assured the French people that they waged no war against France, but only against the usurper, who, to gratify his own ambition, was deluging Europe in blood. The atrocious falsehood was believed in England, on the Continent, and in America. Its influence still poisons thousands of minds. Colonel Napier, though an officer in the allied army, and marching under the Duke of Welling- ton for the invasion of France, with noble candor admits, that the Allies in this declaration were utterly insincere, that they had no desire for peace, and that their only object was to rouse the hostility of the people of Europe against Na- poleon. He says the negotiations of the Allies, with Napoleon, were a deceit from the begin- ning. This fact, he says was placed beyond a doubt, by Lord Castlereaghs simultaneous pro- ceedings in London.* Napoleon sent Caulaincourt to the head-quar- ters of the Allies to nsake every effort in his pow- er to promote peace. They had consented to a sort of conference, in order to gain time to bring up their reserves. France was exhausted. The Allies had slain so many of the French, in these iniquitous wars, that the fields of France were left untilled, for want of laborers. More than a million of men were now on the march to invade the almost defenseless Empire. It is utterly impossible but that Napoleon must have wished for peace. But nobly he resolved that he would perish, rather than submit to dishonor. Every generous heart will throb in sympathy with this decision. The Emperor, says Caulaincourt, closed his last instructions to me, with the following words I wish for peace. I wish for it, with- out any reservation or after-thought. But Cau- laincourt, I will never accede to dishonorable conditions. It is wished that peace shall be based on the independence of all nations; he it so. This is one of those Utopian dreams of which experience will prove the fallacy. My policy is more enlightened than that of those men who were born kings. Those men have never quitted their gilded cages, and have never read history except with their tutors. Tell theni I impress upon them, with all the authority we are entitled to exercise, that peace can be dura- ble only inasmuch as it shall be reasonable and just to all parties. To demand absurd conces- sions, to impose conditions which can not be ac- ceded to consistently with the dignity and im- portance of France, is to declare a deadly war against me. I will never consent to leave France less than I found her. Were I to do so, the whole nation, en masse, would be entitled to call me to account. Go, Caulaincourt. You know the difficulties of my position. Heaven grant that you may succeed! Do not spare couriers. Send me intelligence every hour. You know how anxious I shall be. Our real enemies, continues Caulaincourt, they who had vowed our destruction, were En- gland, Austria and Sweden. There was a de- termined resolution to exterminate Napoleon, and consequently all negotiations l)rOved fruitless. Every succeeding day gave birth to a new con- flict. In proportion as we accepted what was oflered, new pretensions rose up, and no sooner was one difficulty smoothed down, than we had to encounter another. I know not how I mus- tered sufficient firmness and forbearance, to re- main calm amidst so many outrages. I accord- ingly wrote to the Emperor, assuring him that these conferences, pompously invested with the title of a congress, served merely to mask the irrevocably fixed determination, not to treat with France; that the time we were thus losing, was employed by the Allied powers, in assembling their forces, for the purpose of invading us on all points at once; that by further temporizing, we should unavoidably augment the disadvantages of our position. In a private interview with Caulaincourt, as reported by the Duke of Rovigo, Napoleon said, France must preserve her natural limits. All the powers of Europe, jacluding England, have acknowledged these bases at Frankfort. France, reduced to her old limits, would not possess two- thirds of the relative power she possessed twenty years ago. What she has acquired toward the Alps and the Rhine, does not compensate for what Russia, Austria and Prussia have acquired, by the mere act of the partition of Poland. All these powers have aggrandized themselves. To pretend to bring France back to her former state, would be to lower and to degrade her. Neither * For the conclusive proof of this hypocrisy on the part of the Allies, see Napiers Peninsular War, vol. iv. pp. 3217, 328. NAPOLEON BONAPARTE. 37 K the Emperor, nor the republic if it should spring out anew from this state of agitation, can ever subscribe to such a condition. I have taken my determination, which nothing can change. Can I consent to le ~e France less powerful than I found her If, therefore, the Allies insist upon this reduction of France, the Emperor has only one of three choices left: either to fight and con- quer; to die honorably in the struggle; or, lastly, to abdicate, if the nation should not support me. The throne has no charms for me. I will ncver attempt to purchase it at the price of dishonor. ~ In the midst of these days of disaster, when Napoleons throne was crumbling beneatl~ him, there were exhibited many noble examples of disinterestedness and fidelity. The illustrious and virtuous Carnot, true to his republican prin- ciples, had refused to accept office under the Empire. Napoleon had earnestly, hut in vain, sought his aid. Carnot, retiring from the allure- ments of the Imperial court, was buried in seclu- sion and poverty. His pecuniary embarrassments at length became so great, that they reached the ears of the Emperor. Napoleon, though deem- ing Carnot in error, yet highly appreciating the universally recognized integrity of the man, im- mediately sent him, with a touching letter, ample funds for the supply of his wants. Years had rolled away; gloom was gathering around the Emperor; foreign armies were crowding upon France; all who advocated the cause of Napo- leon, were in danger of ruin. In that hour Car- not came to the rescue, and offered himself to Napoleon, for the defense of the country. Napo- leon gratefully accepted the offer, and intrust~ed him with the command of Antwerp, one of the keys of the empire In the defense of this place, Carnot exhibited all those noble traits of charac- ter, which were to be 2xpseted of such a man. THE RUSSIANS SUILPHISED. * Memoirs of the Duke of Rovigo, vol. iv. p. 193. 38 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. The offer, said Carnot, in his letter to Napo- leon, of an arm sixty years old is, without douht, but little. But I thought that the exam- ple of a soldier, whose patriotic sentiments are known, might have the effect of rallying to your eagles a number of persons, hesitating as to the part which they should take, and who might pos- sibly think, that the only way to serve their country was to abandon it. In many of the departments of France, the populace, uninfluenced by the libels against Na- poleon, enthusiastically demanded arms, and en- treated that they might be led against the invading foe. The leaders of the Jacobin chubs in Paris, offered their services in rousing the frenzy of the lower orders, as in the days of the old revolution, if Napoleon would receive them into his alliance, surrender to their writers and to their orators the press and the tribune, and allow them to sing their revolutionary songs in the streer~ and in the theatres. Napoleon listened serioust~ to their proposition, hesitated for a moment, a~ d then resolutely replied No. I shall find in battle some chance of safety, but none with these wild demagogues. There can be no connection between them and monarchy; none between furious clubs and a regular ministry ; between revolutionary tribu- nals and the tribunal of the law. If I must fall, I will not bequeath France to the revolution from which I rescued her. Gustavus, the deposed king of Sweden, who had always strenuously affirmed that Napoleon was the Beest, described in the Apocalypse, now strangely offered his services to the Emperor. He wished to make himself the rallying point of the old royalist party in Sweden. He would thus greatly embarrass the movements of the treacher- ous Bernadotte, and stand some chance of regain- ing his throne. It was a curious case of a legit- imate monarch, who had been deposed by the people, applying for aid to Napoleon, in order to overthrow the elected monarch, and to restore him to his hereditary claims. Notwithstanding the strength of the temptation, Napoleon refused, magnanimously ~ to listen to his over- trires. I have reflected, he said, that if I received him, my dignity would require me to make ex- ertions in his favor; and as I no longer rule the common minds would not have failed to discover, in the interest I might have displayed for him, an impotent hatred against Bernadotte. Besides, Gustavus had been dethroned by the voice of the people, and it was by the voice of the people that I had been elevated. In taking up his cause I should have been guilty of incon- sistency in my conduct, and have acted upon dis- cordant principles. The Duke of Wellington, with a hundred and forty thousand British, Portuguese, and Spanish troops, having driven the French soldiers out of Spain, was now overrunning the southern de- astnsents of France. Spain was lost. Napo- htovi consequently released Ferdinand, and re- stored him to his throne. The perfidious wretch manifested no gratitude whatever toward his English deliverers. He promptly entered into a treaty hostile to England. Thus did the sov- ereign, says Alison, who had regained his liberty and his crown by the profuse shedding of English blood, make the first use of his promised freedom, to banish from his dominions the allies who~e swords had liberated him from prison, and placed him on the throne. Ferdinand, says Colonel Napier, became once more the King of Spain. He had been a rebellious son in the pal- ace, a plotting traitor at Aranjuez, a dastard at Bayonne, an effeminate, superstitious, fawning slave at Valen~ay, and now, after six years of captivity, he returned to his own country an un- grateful and cruel tyrant. He would have been the most odious and contemptible of princes, if his favorite brother, Don Carlos, had not exist- ed. Such were the results of the English war in Spain. A greater curse one nation never in- flicted upon another. What is Spain now What would she now have been, had the ener- gies of a popular government, under Joseph Bonaparte, been diffused throughout the Penin- sula I This king, whom the English drove from Spain, was a sincere, enlightened, conscientious man, devoted to the public welfare. The last days of the month of January had now arrived. An army of one million twenty-eight thousand men, from the north, the east, and the south, were on the march for the overthrow of the imperial republic. Such forces the world had never before seen. Napoleon, having lost some five hundred thousand men in the Russian cam- paign, three hundred thousand on the plains of Saxony, two hundred and fifty thousand in the Spanish Peninsula, and having nearly a hundred thousand besieged in the fortresses of the Elbe and the Oder, was unable, with his utmost exer- tions, to bring forward more than two hundred thousand in the field, to meet the enormous armies of the Allies. He could take but seventy thou- sand to encounter the multitudinous hosts crowd- ing down upon him from the Rhine. On Sunday the 24th of January, the Emperor, after attending mass, received the dignitanics of the empire in the grand saloon of the Tuilenies. The Emperor entered the apartment, preceded by the Empress, and leading by the hand his idol- ized son, a child of extraordinary beauty, not yet three years of age. The child w dressed in the uniform of the National Guam, while luxuriant ringlets of golden hair were clustering over his shoulders. The Emperor was calm, hut a deep shade of melancholy overspread his features. The most profound sadness reigned in the asscmbly. In a ceremony, grave and solemn, the Empress was invested with the regency, and took the re- quisite oath of office. The Emperor then advanc- ing with his child into the centre of the circle, in tones which thrilled upon every heart, thus ad- dressed them :* * It is to be regretted that Lamartine can not record the most simple fact respecting Napoleon without interweav- ing some hostile comment. In reference to this extraor- dinary struggle he says: Seventy thousand troops con- NAPOLEON BONAPARTE. 39 Gentlemen, I depart to-night to place myself at the head of the army. On quitting the capital I leave behind, with confidence, my wife and son, upon whom so many hopes repose. I shall de- part with a mind freed from a weight of disqui- etude, when I know that these pledges are under stituted the only amy with which Napoleon had to manceuvre and combat a million of men in the heart of France. Victory itself could do nothing for so small a number. It could only waste them less rapidly than de- feat. Did he depend on impossibilities; or was he only desirous of illustrating his last struggle? No one knows what was passing in that soul, maddened for so many years by illusions. The most likely solution is, that he calculated upon mme brilliant but passing success, which might serve as a pretext for the Emperor of Austria to negotiate with him. He never thought a father would dishonor his son-in-law, or that kings would dethrone the conqueror of the revolution. But at all events, he did not doubt that if conquered or deprived of his threne, the em- pire would be transmitted to his son. your faithful guardianship. To you I confide what, next to France, I hold dearest in the world. Let there be no political divisions. Endeavors will not be wanting to shake your fideljty to your duties. I depend on you to repel all such per- fidious instigations. Let thn respect for property, the maintenance of order, and above all the love of France, animate every bosom. As Napoleon uttered these words his voice trembled with emo- tion, and many of his auditors were affected even to tears. At an early hour he withdrew, saying to those near him, Farewell, gentlemen; we shall perhaps meet again. At three oclock in the morning of the 25th of January, Napoleon, after having burned all his private papers, and embraced his wife and his son for the last time, left the Tuileries to join the army. He never saw either wife or child again. -~j--. I ~ \W THE BURSTING OF THE BOMB. 40 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. The Allies had now crossed the Rhine, and were sweeping all opposition before them. They issued the atrocious proclamation that every French peasant who should be taken with arms in his hands, endeavoring to defend his country, should be shot as a brigand; and that every vil- lage and town, which offered any resistance, should be burned to the ground. Even Mr. Lockhart exclaims, This assuredly was a fla- grant outrage, against the most sacred and in- alienable rights of mankind. Napoleon drove rapidly in his carriage, about one hundred miles east of Paris, to Vitry and St. Dizier. Here, at the head of a few thousand soldiers, he encountered the leading Cossacks of Bluchers army. He immediately fell upon them, and routed them entirely. Being informed that Blucher had a powerful army near Troyes, about fifty miles south of Vitry, Napoleon marched all the next day, through wild forest roads, and in a drenching rain, to surprise the uhauspecting and self-confident foe The ground was covered with snow, and the wheels of the cannon were with the utmost difficulty dragged through the deep quagmires. But intense enthusiasm in- spired the soldiers of Napoleon, and the inhabit- ants of the country through which they passed, gave the most affecting demonstrations of their gratitude and their love. The humblest cabins, says Lamartine, gave up their little stores, with cordial hospitality, to warm and nourish these last defenders of the soil of France. Napoleon, in the midst of a column of troops, marched fre. quently on foot, occasionally entering a peasants hut, to examine his maps, or to catch a moments sleep by the fire on the cottage hearth. About noon on the 29th, with hut twenty thousand men, he encountered sixty thousand Russians, commanded by Blucher, formidably posted in the castle and upon the eminences of Brienne. Napoleon gazed for amoment upon these familiar scenes, hallowed by the reminiscences of childhood, and ordered an immediate assault, without allowing his troops a moment to dry their soaked garments. Before that days sun went down behind the frozen hills, the snow was crimsoned with the blood of ten thousand of the Allies, and Blucher was retreating to effect a junction with Schwartzenberg at Bar-sur-Aube, some few miles distant. As Napoleon was slowly returning to his quar- ters, after the action, indulging in melancholy thought, a squadron of Russian artillery, hearing the footfalls of his feeble escort, made a sudden THE CossAcKs aEPuLsan. N NAPOLEON BONAPARTE. 4 charge in the dark. Napoleon was assailed, at the same moment, by two dragoons. General Corbineau threw himself upon one of the Cos- sacks, while General Gourgaud shot down the other. The escort, who were but a few steps behind, immediately charged, and rescued the Emperor. Napoleon had lost in the conflict at Brienne five or six thousand men in killed and wounded. The next day Blucher and Schwartzenberg, having effected a junction, marched with a hund- red and fifty thousand men, to attack Napoleon at Rothierre, nine miles from Brienne. Prince Schwartzenlr ~rg sent a confidential officer to Blucher, to inquire respecting the plan of attack. He abruptly replied, We must march to Paris Napoleon has been in all the capitals of Europe. We must make him descend from a throne, which it would have been well for us all that he had never mounted. We shall have no re- pose, till we pull him down. The Emperor had with much difficulty assem- bled there, forty thousand troops. The French, desperately struggling against such fearful odds; maintained their position during the day. As a gloomy winters night again darkened the scene, Napoleon retreated to Troyes, leaving six thou- sand of his valiant band, in every hideous form of mutilation, upon the frozen ground. Alex- ander and Frederic William, from one of the neighboring heights, witnessed, with unkounded exultation, this triumph of their arms. Blucher, though a desperate fighter, was in his private character one of the most degraded of bacchauals and dabauchees. The day after the battle, says Sir Archibald Alison, the sovereigns, em- bassadors, and principal generals supped togeth- er, and Blucher striking off, in his eagerness, the necks of the bottles of champagne with his knife, quaffed off copious ani repeated libations to the toast, drank with enthusiasm by all present, To Paris Napoleon was now in a state of most painful perplexity. His enemies, in bodies vastly out- numbering any forces he could raise, were march- ing upon Paris, from all directions. A move- mont toward the north only opened an unob- structed highway to his capital, from the east and the south. Tidings of disaster were con- tinually reaching his ears. A conference was still carried on between Napoleon and the Allies in reference to peace. Napoleon wrote to Can- laincourt, to agree to any reasonable terms which would save the capital and avoid a final battle, which would swallow up the last forces of the kingdom. The Allies, however, had no desire for peace. They wished only to create the impression that Napoleon was the one who refused to sheathe the sword. Consequently they presented only such terms as Napoleon could not, without dis- honor, accept. On receiving, at this time, one of those merciless dispatclaes, requiring that he should surrender all the territory which France had acquired since his accession to the throne, Napoleon was plunged into an agony of per- plexity. Such a concession would dishonor him in the eyes of France and of Europe. It would leave France weakened and defenseless ex- posed not only to insult, but to successful inva- sion from the powerful and banded enemies who surrounded the republican empire. Napoleon shut himself up for hours pondering the terrible crisis. Ruin was coming, like an avalanche, upon him and upon France. The generals of the army urged him to submit to the dire neces- sity. With reluctance Napoleon transmitted these inexorable conditions of the Allies to his privy council at Paris. All but one voted for ac- cepting them. His brother Joseph wrote to him: Yield to events. Preserve what may yet be preserved. Save your life, precious to millions of men. There is no dishonor in yielding to numbers and accepting peace. There would be dishonor in abandoning the throne, because you would thus abandon a crowd of men who have devoted themselves to you. Make peace at any price. Thus urged and overwhelmed, Napoleon, at last, with extreme anguish, gave Caulaincourt permission to sign any treaty which he thought necessary to save the capital. His consent was given in a singularly characteristic manner. Calmly taking from a shelf a volume of the works of Montesquieu, he read aloud the following pas- sage: I know nothing more magnanimous, than a resolution which a monarch took, who has reigned in our times, to bury himself under the ruins of his throne, rather than accept conditions unworthy of a king. He had a mind too lofty to descend lower than his fortunes had sunk him. He knew well that courage may strengthen a crown, but infamy never. In silence he closed the book. Murat still en- treated him to yield to the humiliating conces- sions. He represented that nothing could be more magnanimous than to sacrifice even his glory to the safety of the state, which would fall with him. The Emperor, after a moments pause, replied: Well! be it so. Let Caulaincourt sign what- ever is necessary to procure peace. I will bear the shame of it, but I will not dictate my own disgrace. But to make peace with the republican Em- peror was the last thing in the thoughts of these banded kings. When they found that Napoleon was ready to accede to their cruel terums, they immediately abandoned them for other and still more exorbitant demands. Napoleon had con- sented to surrender all the territory which France had acquired since his accession to power. The Allies now demanded that Napoleon should cut down France to the limits it possessed before the Revolution. The proposition was a gross in- sult. Can we conceive of the United States as being so humbled as even to listen to such a sug- gestion! Were England to combine the despot- isms of Europe in a war against Republican America, and then to offer peace only upon the condition that we would surrender all the territory 42 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. which has been annexed to the United States since the RevolutionFlorida, Louisiana, Texas, New Mexico, Californiawhat administration would dare to accede to such terms And yet de- mands so atrocious the Allies pronounced moder- ate and reasonable. Napoleon nobly resolved to perish, rather tban yield to such dishonor. What, be exclaimed, as be indignantly held up these propositions, do tbey require that I should sign such a treaty as tbis, and that I should trample upon tbe oath I have taken, to detach nothing from tbe soil of the empire. Unbeard of reverses may force from me a promise to re- nounce my own conquests; but that I sbould also abandon the conquests made before metbat as a reward for so many efforts, so much blood, such brilliant victories, I should leav France smaller than I found her! Never Can I (10 50 without deserving to be branded as a traitor and a cow- ard You are alarmed at the continuance of the war. But I am fearful of more certain dangers which you do not see. If we renounce the bound- ary of the Rhine, France not only recedes, but Austria and Prussia advance. France stands in need of peace. But the peace which the Allies wish to impose on her would subject her to greater evils than the most sanguinary war. What would the French people think of me, if I were to sign their humiliation What could I say to the republicans of the Senate, when they demanded the barriers of the Rhine 3 Heaven preserve me from such degradation! Dispatch an answer to Caulaincourt, and tell him that I reject the treaty. I would rather incur the risks of the most terrible war. This spirit his foes have stigmatized as insatiable ambition, and the love of carnage. The exultant Allies, now confident of the ruin of their victim, urged their armies onward, to overwhelm with numbers the diminished bands still valiantly defending the independence of France. Napoleon, with forty thousand men, retreated some sixty miles down the valley of the Seine to Nogent. Schwartzenberg, with two hundred thousand Austrians, took possession of Troyes, about seventy-five miles above Nogent. With these resistless numbers he intended to fol- low the valley of the river to Paris, driving the Emperor before him. Fifty miles north of the river Seine, lies the valley of the Maine. The two streams unite near Paris. Blucher, with an army of about seventy thousand Russians and Prussians, was rapidly marching upon the metropolis, down the banks of the Maine, where there was no force to oppose him. The situation of Napoleon seemed now quite desperate. Wellington, with a vast army, was marching from the south. Bernadotte was leading uncounted legions from the north. Blu- cher and Schwartzenberg, with their several ar- mies, were crowding upon Paris from the east. And the enormous navy of England had swept French commerce from all seas, and was bom- barding every defenseless city of France The TIDINOS OF THE CAPITULATION. NAPOLEON BONAPARTE. 43 councilors of the Emperor were in despair. They urged him, from absolute necessity, to accede to any terms which the Allies might extort. The firmness which Napoleon displayed under these trying circumstances, soars into sublimity. To their entreaties that he would yield to dis- honor, he calmly replied: No! no! we must think of other things just now. I am on the eve of beating Blucher. He is advancing on the road to Paris. I am about to set off to attack him. I will beat him to-mor- row. I will beat him the day after to-morrow. If that movement is attended with the success it deserves, the face of athirs will be entirely changed. Then we shall see what is to be done. Napoleon had formed one of those extraordi- nary plans which so often, durine his career, had changed apparent ruin into the most triumphant success. Leaving ten thousand men at Nogent, to retard the advance of the two hundred thou- sand Austrians, he hastened, with the remainincr thirty thousand troops, by forced marches across the country, to the valley of the Maine. It was his intention to fall suddenly upon the flank of Bluchers self-confident and unsuspecting army. The toil of the wintery march, through miry roads and through storms of sleet and rain, was so exhausting that he had but twenty-five thou- sand men to form in line of battle, when he en- countered the enemy. It was early in the morn- ing of the 10th of February, as the sun rose brilliantly over the snow-covered hills, when the French soldiers burst upon the Russians, who were quietly preparing their breakfasts. The victory was most brilliant. Napoleon pierced the centre of the multitudinous foe, then turned upon one wing, and then upon the other, and proudly scattered the fragments of the army before him. But he had no reserves, with which to profit by this extraordinary victory. His weary troops could not pursue the fngitives. The next day Blucher, by energetically bring- ing forward reinforcements, succeeded in col- lecting sixty thousand men, and fell with terrible fury upon the little band who were gathered around Napoleon. A still more sanguinary bat- tle ensued, in which the Emperor was again, and still more sienally triumphant. These brilliant achievements elated the French soldiers beyond measure. They felt that nothing could withstand the genius of tlae Emperor, and even Napoleon began to hope that fortune would again smile upon him. From the field of battle he wrote a hurried line to Caulaincourt, who was his pleni- potentiary at Chatillon, where the Allies had opened their pretended negotiation. I have conquered, he wrote; your attitude must be the same for peace. But sign nothing without my order, because I alone know my position. While Napoleon was thus cutting up the army of Blucher upon the Maine, a singular scene was transpiring in Troyes. The royalists there, en- couraged by Napoleons apparently hopeless de- feat, resolved to make a vigorous movement for the restoration of the Bourbons. A deputation, consisting of the Marquis de Vidranges and the Chevalier de Goualt, accompanied by five or six of the inhabitants, with the white cockade of the fallen dynasty upon their breasts, treasonably called upon the Emperor Alexander, and said: We entreat your Majesty, in the name of all the respectable inhabitants o.f Troyes, to accept with favor the wish which we form, for the re-estab- lishment sf the royal home of Bourbon on the throne of France. But Alexander, apprehensive that the genius of Napoleon might still retrieve his fallen for- tunes, cautiously replied: Gentlemen, I receive ybu with pleasure. I wish well to your cause, but I fear your proceedings are rather premature. The chances of war are uncertain, and I should be grieved to see brave men like you compromised or sacrificed. We do not come ourselves to give a king to France. We desire to know its wishes, and to leave it to declare itself. But it will never declare itself, M. de Gou- alt replied, as long as it is under the knife. Never, so long as Bonaparte shall be in authority in France, will Europe be tranquil. It is for that very reason, replied Alexander, that the first thing we must think of.is to beat himto beat himto beat him. The royalist deputation retired, encouraged with the thought that, from prudential consider. ations, their cause was adjourned, but only for a few days. At the same time the Marquis of Vitrolles, one of the most devoted of the Bourbon adherents, arrived at the head-quarters of the Allies, with a message from the royalist con- spirators in Paris, entreating the monarchs to advance as rapidly as possible to the capital. A baser act of treachery has seldom been recorded. These very men had been rescued from penury and exile by the generosity of Napoleon. He had pardoned their hostility to republican France; had sheltered them from insult and from injury, and, with warm sympathy for their woes, which Napoleon neither caused or could have averted, had received them under the protection of the imperial regime. In ten days Napoleon had gained five victories. The inundating wave of invasion was still rolling steadily on toward Paris. The activity and en- ergy of Napoleon surpassed all which mortal man had ever attempted before. In a day and night march of thirty hours he hurried back to the banks of the Seine. The Austrians, now three hundred thousand strong, were approaching Fontaine- bleau. Sixty miles southeast of Paris, at the confluence of the Seine and the Yonne, is situ- ated, in a landscape of remarkable beauty, the little town of Montereau. Here Napoleon, having collected around him forty thousand men, presented a bold front, to arrest the farther progress of the Allies. An aw- ful battle now ensued. Napoleon, in the eager- ness of the conflict, ae the projectiles from the Austrian batteries plowed the ground around him, and his artillerymen fell dead at his feet, leaped from his horse, and with his own hand directed a gun against the masses of the enemy. As the balls from the hostile batteries tore through the 44 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. French ranks, strewing the ground with the wounded and the dead, the cannoneers entreated the Emperor to retire to a place of safety. With a serene eye he looked around him, upon the storm of iron and of lead, and smiling said: Courage, my friends, the ball which is to kill me is not yet cast. ~ The bloody comhat terminated with the night. Napoleon was the undisputed victor. The whole allied army, confounded hy such unexpected disasters, precipitately retreated, an(I hegan to fear that no numbers could triumph over Napoleon. The Emperors of Russia and Austria, and the King of Prussia, bewildered hy such un- anticipated blows, were at a loss what ortlers to * In one of the rharges which took place at the bridge of Montereau, a bomb literally entered the chest of Gen- eral Pajolis charger. and hurst in the stomach of the poor animal; sending its rider a considerable height ioto the air. General Pajoli felt, dreadfully mangled, but al- most miraculously escaped mortal injury. When this singular occurrence was mentioned to the Emperor, he said to the general, that nothing but the interposition of Providence could have preserved his life under soch cir- cumstances. Tltis anecdote was related to tV. H. Ireland, Esq., by General Pajoli himself. issue. Napoleon, with but forty thousand men, pursued the retreating artoy, one hundred thou- sand strong, up the valley of the Seine, till they took reftige in the vicinity of Chautnont, about a hutidred and sixty tuiles from the field of battle. My heart is relieved, said Napoleon joyfully, as he beheld the flight of the Allies. I have saved the capital of my empire. Amazing as were these achievements, they only postponed the day of ruin. The defeat of one or two hundred thousand, from armies numbering a million of men, with attother army of a million held in re- serve, to fill up the gaps caused by the casualties of wat, could he of but little avail.* * Meantinte hostilities were maintained with increased vigor over a vast tine of operations. Itow muelt useless glory did our soldiers not gain in these conflicts. But in spite of prodigies of valor, the enemys masses advanced and approximated to a central point, so that this war might be compared to the battle of the ravens and the eagles on the Alps. The eagle kills them by hundreds. Every stroke of his beak is the death of an enemy. But still the ravens return to the charge, and press upon the eagle, until he is literally overwhelmed by the number of his assailants.BotcRtttENNE. NAPOLEON AT FONTAtNEBLEAC. NAPOLEON BONAPARTE. 45 In the midst of these terrific scenes, Napoleon almost daily corresponded with Josephine, whom he still loved as he loved no one else. On one occasion, when the movements of battle brought him not far from her residence, he turned aside from the army, and sought a hurried interview with his most faithful friend. It was their last meeting. At the close of the short and melan- choly visit, Napoleon took her hand, and gazing tenderly upon her, said: Josephine, I have been as fortunate as was ever man upon the face of this earth. But in this hour, when a storm is gathering over my head, J have not, in this wide world, any one but you upon whom I can repose. His letters, written amidst all the turmoil of the camp, though exceedingly brief, were more con- fiding and affectionate than ever, and, no matter in what business he was engaged, a courier from Josephine immediately arrested his attention, and a line from her was torn open with the utmost eagerness. His last letter to her was written from the vicinity of Brienne, after a desperate engagement against overwhelming numbers. It was concluded in the following affecting words: On beholding these scenes, where I had pass- ed my boyhood, and comparing my peaceful con- dition then with the agitation and terrors which I now experience, I several times said in my own mind, I have sought to meet death in many con- flicts. I can no longer fear it. To me death would now be a blessing. B at I would onco more see Josephine. There was an incessant battle raging for a cir- cuit of many miles around the metropolis. All the hospitals were filled with the wounded and the dying. Josephine and her ladies were em- ployed at Malmaison in scraping lint, and form- ing bandages, for the suffering victims of war. At last it became dangerous for Josephine to re- main any longer at Malmaison, as bands of bar- barian soldiers, with rapine and violence, were wandering all over the country. One stormy morning, when the rain was falling in floods, she took her carriage for the more distant retreat of Navarre. She had proceeded about thirty miies, wlaen some horsemen appeared in the distance, rapidly approaching. She heard the cry, The Cossacks, the Cossacks ! In her terror she leap- ed from her carriage, and, in the drenching rain, fled across the fields. The attendants soon dis- covered that they were French hussars, and thc unhappy Empress was recalled. She again en- tered her carria,,e, and proceeded the rest of the way without molestation. The scenes of woe which invariably accompany the march of brutal armies, no imagination cama conceive. We will record but one, as illustrative of hundreds which might be narrated. In the midst of a bloody skirmish, Lord Londonderry saw a young and beautiful French lady, the wife of a colonel, seized from a cakiche by three semi- barbarian Russian soldiers, who were hurrying into the woods with their frantic and shrieking victim. With a small band of soldiers he suc- ceeded in rescuing her. The confusion and peril VoL. IXNo. 49.D of the battle still continuing, be ordered a dra- goon to conduct her to his own quarters, till she could be provided with suitable protection. The dragoon took the lady, fainting with terror, upon his horse behind him, when another ruffian band of Cossacks struck him dead from his steed, and seized again the unhappy victim. She was never heard of more. And yet every heart must know her awful doom. Such is war, involving in its inevitable career every conceivable crime, and every possible combination of misery. The Allies, in consternation, held a council of war. Great despondency prevailed. The Grand Army, said the Austrian officers, has lost half its numbers by the sword, disease, and wet weather. The country we are now in is ruined. The sources of our supplies are dried up All around us the inhabitants are ready to raise the standard of insurrection. It has become indis- pensable to secure a retreat ~o Germany, and wait for reinforcements. These views were adopted by the majority. The retreat was con- tinued in great confusion, and Count Lichten- stein was dispatched to the head-quarters of Na- poleon, to solicit an armistice. Napoleon received the envoy in the hut of a peasant, where he had stopped to pass the night. Prince Lichtenstein, as he proposed the armistice, presented Napoleon with a private note from the Emperor Francis. This letter was written in a conciliatory and almost apologetic spirit; admitting that,the plans of the Allies had been most effectually frustrated, and that in the rapidity and force of the strokes which had been given, the Emperor of Austria recog- nized anew the resplendent genius of his son-in- law. Napoleon, according to his custom on such occasions, entered into a perfectly frank and un- reserved conversation with the Prince. He in- quired of him if the Allies intended the restoration of the Bourbons to the throne of France. Is it a war against the throne, said he, which you intend to carry on I The Count dArtois is with the grand army in Switzerland. The Duke dAngoul~me is at the head-quarters of the Duke of Wellington, from thence address- ing proclamations to the southern portions of my empire. Can I believe that my father-in-law, the Emperor Francis, is so blind, or so unnatu- ral, as to project the dethronement of his own daughter, and the disinheriting of his own grand- son The Prince assured Napoleon that the Allies had no such idea; that the residence of the Bourbon princes with the allied armies was merely on sufferance; and that the Allies wished only for peace, not to destroy the empire. Na- poleon acceded to the proposal for an armistice. He appointed the city of Lusigny as the place for opening the conference. Three of the allied generals were deputed as commissioners, one each on the part of Austria, Russia, and Prussia. Hostilities, however, were not to be suspended till the terms of the armistice were agreed upon. On the morning of the 24th Napoleon re-entered Troyes, the enemy having abandoned the town during the night. The masses of the people 46 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. crowded around him with warm and heartfelt greetings. They thronged the streets through which he passed, strove to kiss his hand, and even to touch his horse, and with loud acclama- tion hailed him as the saviour of his country. Na- poleon immediately ordered the arrest of Vi- dranges and Goualt. The former had escaped and joined the Allies. The latter was arrested, tried by a court-martial, and condemned to be shot. Napoleon, conscious of the peril he en- countered from the royalist conspirators in every town, thought that he could not safely pardon so infamous an act of treason. The nobleman was left to his fate. At eleven oclock at night he was led out to his execution. A large pla- card was suspended upon his breast upon which were inscribed, in conspicuous letters, the words, ~ Traitor to his country. He died firmly, pro- testing to the last his devotion to the Bourbons. This act of severe but apparently necessary jus- tice, Lamartine has stigmatized as a t selfish piece of vengeance. Since the commencement of this brief cam- paign, Napoleon had performed the moat brilliant achievements of his whole military career. It is the uncontradicted testimony of history, that feats so extraordinary had never before been recorded in military annals. The Allies were astounded and bewildered. Merely to gain time to bring up their enormous reserves they had proposed a truce, and now, to form a new plan, with which to plunge again upon their valiant foe, they held a council ofwar. The Kings of Russia and Prus- sia, and the Emperor of Austria were present, and a strong delegation of determined men from the court of St. James. Lord Castlereagh was the prominent representative of the British gov- ernment. The Allies, while intimating that they had not determined upon the dethronement of Napoleon, still advanced resolutely to that re- sult. Lord Castlereagh, says Alison, in con- formity with the declared purpose of British di- plomacy, ever since the commencement of the war, made no concealment of his opinions either in or out of parliament, that the best security for the peace of Europe would be found in the res- toration of the dispossessed race of princes to the French throne; and the ancient race, and the ancient territory, was often referred to by him, in private conversation, as offering the only combination whichx as likely to give lasting re- pose to the world. To mitigate the indignation of the world against this atrocious interference of the Allies with the rights of the French peo- ple to elect their own sovereign, Sir Archibald ventures to add, but it was little his design, as it was that of the British cabinet, to advance these views as preliminary to any, even the most lasting accommodation. When Napoleon was elected to the chair of the First Consul, by the almoct unanimous suf- frages of France, he made overtures to England for peace. Lord Grenville returned an answer both hostile and grossly insulting, in which he said, The best and most natural pledge of the abandonment by France of those gigantic schemes of ambition by which the very existence of so- ciety in the adjoining states has so long been menaced, would be the restoration of that line of princes which for so many centuries maintained the French nation in prosperity at home, and consideration and respect abroad. Such an event would alone have removed, and will at any time remove, all obstacles in the way of negotiation or peace. It would confirm to France the un- molested enjoyment of its ancient territory; and it would give, to all the other nations of Europe, in tranquillity and peace, that security which they are now compelled to seek by other means.~~ General Pozzo di Borgo was sent by Alexan- der on an embassy to the British government. Count dArtois, afterward Charles X., urged him to induce the Allies openly to avow their inten- tions to reinstate the Bourbons. My lord, General Borgo replied, every thing has its time. Let us not perplex matters. To sove- reigns you should not present complicated ques- tions. It is with no small difficulty that they have been kept united in the grand object of overthrowing Bonaparte. As soon as that is done, and the imperial rule destroyed, the ques- tion of dynasty will present itself, and then your illustrious house will spontaneously occur to the thoughts of all. Lord Castlereagh, in a speech in Parliament, on the 29th of June, 1814, said: Every pacifi- cation would be incomplete, if you did not re- establish, on the throne of France, the ancient family of the Bourbons. Any peace with the man who had placed himself at the head of the French nation could have no other final result but to give Europe fresh subjects for alarms; it could be neither secure nor durable; neverthe- less it was impossible to refuse to negotiate with him when invested with power, without doing violence to the opinion of Europe, and incurring the whole responsibility for the continuance of the war. These proud despots were indeed committing a crime which was doing violence to the sense of justice of every unbiased mind. They were ashamed to acknowledge their ibtentiens. While forcing, by the aid of two million of bayonets, upon a nation exhausted by compulsory wars, a detested king, they had the boldness to declare that they had no intention to interfere with the independence of France. When the indignant people again drove the Bourbons beyond the Rhine, again the invading armies of combined despotisms, crushing the sons of France beneath their artillery-wheels, conducted the hated dy- nasty to the throne. And England, liberty-loving England, was compelled, by her Tory govern- ment, to engage in this iniquitous work. Louis XVIII., encircled by the sabres of Welling- tons dragoons, marched defiantly into the Tuil- cries. In the accomplishment of this crime Eu- rope was, for a quarter of a century, deluged in blood, and shrouded in woe. And these conspir- ators against popular rights, instead of doing justice to the patriotism and the heroism of Na- NAPOLEON BONAPARTE. 47 poleon, who, for twenty years, nobly sustained~ toe independence of his country against the in- cessant coalitions of the monarchs of Europe, have endeavored to consign his name to infamy. But the world has changed. The people have now a voice in the decisions of history. They will reverse~they have already reversedthe ver- dict of despot~isms. In the warm hearts of the people of all lands the memory of Napoleon has found a congenial throne. The Allies now decided to embarrass Napo- leon, by dividing their immense host into two armies. Blucher, taking the command of one, marched rapidly across the country to the Maine, to descend on both sides of that river to Paris. The other multitudinous host, under Schwartzen- berg, having obtained abundant reinforcements, still trembling before the renown of Napoleon, were cautiously to descend the valley of the Seine. Napoleon, leaving ten thousand men at Troyes, to obstruct the march of Schwartzen- berg, took thirty thousand troops with him, and resolutely pursued Blucher. The Prussians, as- tonished at the vigor of the pursuit, nnd bleeding beneath the blows which Napoleon incessantly dealt on their rear-guard, retreated precipitately. The name of Napoleon was so terrible, that one hundred thousand Prussians fled, in dismay, be- fore the little band of thirty thousand exhausted troops, headed by the Emperor. Blucher crossed the Maine, blew up the bridges behind him, and escaped, some fifty miles north, to the vicinity of Laon. Napoleon reconstructed the bridges and followed on. By wonderful skill in mancauvring, he had placed Blucher in such a position that his destruction was inevitable, when suddenly Barnadotte came, with a power- ful army, to the aid of his Prussian ally. Na- poleon had now but about twenty-five thousand men with whom to encounter these two united armies, more than one hundred thousand. With the energies of despair he fell upon his foes. His little army was melted away and consumed before the terrific blaze of the hostile batteries. The battle was long and sanguX~~.. Contend- ing against such fearful odds courage was of no avail. The enemy, however, could do no more than hold their ground. Napoleon rallied around him his mutilated band, and retired to Rheims. The enemy dared not pursue him in his despair. As soon as Schwartzenberg heard that Napo- leon was in pursuit of Blucher, he commenced, with two hundred thousand men, his march upon Paris, by the valley of tbe Seine. The Duke of. XVellington was, at the same time, at Bordeaux, with his combined army of English, Portuguese, and Spaniards, moving, almost without opposi- tion, upon the metropolis of France. The Duke of Angoul~me was with the English army, call- ing upon the royalists to rally beneath the un- furled banner of the Bourbons. Another army of the Allies had also crossed the Alps from Switzerland, and had advanced as far as Lyons. Wherever Napoleon looked he saw but the march of triumphant armies of invasion. Dispatches reached him with difficulty. He was often re duced to conjectures. His generals were dis- heartened; France was in dismay. In the midst of these scenes of impending peril, Napoleon was urged to request Maria Louisa, to interpose with her father, in behalf of her husband. No, Napoleon promptly re- plied, with pride which all will respect, the archduchess has seen me at the summit of human power. It does not belong to me to tell her now that I nm descended from it, and still less to beg of her to uphold me with her support. Though he could not condescend to implore the aid of Maria Louisa, it is very evident that he hoped that she would anticipate his wishes, and secretly endeavor to disarm the hostility of the Emperor Francis. The Empress was with Napoleonwhen he received the intelligence that Austria would in all probability join the coalition. He turned affectionately toward her, took her hand and said, in tories of sadness: Your father is then about to march anew against me. Now I am alone against all! yes alone! absolutely alone ! Maria Louisa burst into tears, arose, and left the apartment. Napoleon now formed the bold resolve to fall upon the rear of Schwartzenbergs army, and cut off his communications with Germany and his supplies. With astonishing celerity he crossed the country again, from the Maine to the Seine, and Schwartzenberg, in dismay, heard the thun- ders of Napoleons artillery in his rear. The Austrian army, though two hundred thousand strong, dared not advance. They turned and fled. Alexander, Francis, and Frederick William, mindful of Napoleons fornier achievemmts, and dreading a snare, turned from Paris toward the Rhine, aiid put spurs to their horses. The enor- mous masses of the retreating Allies, unexpect.- edly encountered Napoleon at Arcis upon the Aube. A sanguinary battle ensued. Napo- leon, says Lamartine, fought at hazard, with- out any other plan and with the resolution to conquer or die. He renewed, in this action, the miracles of bravery and seng froid of Lodi end of Rivoli; and his youngest soldiers blushed at the idea of deserting a chief, who hazarded his own life with such invincible courage. He was repeatedly seen spurring his horse to a gallop against the enemys cannon, and reappearing, as if inaccessible to death, after the smoke had evaporated. A live shell having fallen in front of one of his young battalions, which recoiled and wavered in expectation of an explosion, Napoleon, to reassure them, spurred his charger toward the instrument of destruction, made him smell the burning match, waited unshaken f& r the explosion, and was blown up. Rolling in the dust with his mutilated steed, and rising with- out a wound amidst the plaudits of the soldiers, he calmly called for another horse, and continued to brave the grape-shot, and to fly into the thickest of the battle. During the heat of the conflict a division of Russian cavalry, six thousand strong, preceded by an immense body of Cossacks, with wild hurrahs broke through the feeble lines of the 48 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. French. The smoke of their guns, and the clouds of dust raised by their horses hoofs, en- veloped them in impenetrable obscurity. Napo- leon, from a distance, with his eagle glance, per- ceived the approach of this whirlwind of battle. Putting spurs to his horse he galloped to the spot. He here encountered crowds of soldiers, some of them wounded and bleeding, flying in dismay. It was a scene of awful tumult. At that moment an officer, bareheaded and covered with blood, galloped to meet the Emperor, ex- claiming: Sire! the Cossacks, supported by an im- mense body of cavalry, have broken our ranks, and are driving us back. The Emperor rushed into the midst of the fugitives, and, raising him- self in his stirrups shouted in a voice that rung above the uproar of the battle, Soldiers! rally! Will you fly when I am here? Close your ranks; forward At that well known and dearly beloved voice, the flying troops immediately re-formed. Napo- leon placed himself at their head and, sword in hand, plunged into the midst of the Cossacks. With a shout of Vice lEmpereur! the men fol- lowed him. The Cossacks were driven back with enormous slaughter. Thus one thousand men, headed by the Emperor, arrested and drove back six thousand of their foes. The Emperor then tranquilly returned to his post, and con- tinued to direct the dreadful storm of war. Dur- ing every hour of this conflict, the masses of the Allies were accumulating. Night at length dark- ened over the dreadful scene, and the feeble bands of the French army retired into the town of Arcis. The Allies, alarmed by this bold march of Napo- leon toward the Rhine, now concentrated their innumerable forces on the plains of Chalons. Even Blucher and Bernadotte came back to join them. Soon after the battle of Arcis, the Austrians intercepted a French courier who had, with other. dispatches, the following private letter from Napoleon to Maria Louisa. My love! I have been for some days on horseback. On the 20th I took Arcis-sur-Aube. The enemy attacked me there at eight oclock in the evening; I beat him the same evenino; I took two guns and retook two. The next day the enemys army put itself in battle array, to protect the march of its columns on Brienne and Bar-sur-Aube; and I resolved to approach the Maine and its environs, in order to drive them further from Paris, by approaching my own fortified places. This evening I shall be at St. Dizier. Farewell, my love! Embrace my son An~ther council of war was held by the Allies. The dread of Napoleon was so great, that many argued the necessity of falling back upon the Rhine, to prevent Napoleon from entering Ger- many, and relieving his garrisons which were blockaded there. Others urged the bolder coun- sel of marching directly upon Paris. Napoleon was now at Arcis. The Allies were thirty miles north of him at Chalons, on the banks of the Maine. On the 25th of March the Allies, united in one resistless body, advanced once more to- ward Paris, thronging, with their vast array, all the roads which follow the valley of the Maine. Napoleon was about two hundred miles from Paris. He hoped, by doubling his speed, to de- scend the valley of the Seine, and to arrive at the metropolis almost as soon as the Allies. There he had resolved to make his last and desperate stand. As soon as Napoleon learned that the combined army were marching vigorously upon Paris, he exclaimed, I will be in the city before them. Nothing but a thunder-bolt can now save us. Orders were immediately given for the army to be put in motion. The Emperor passed the whole night shut up in his cabinet, perusing his maps. This, says Caulaincourt, was another crueX night. Not a word was uttered. Deep sighs sometimes escaped his oppressed bosom. He seemed as if he had lost his power of breathing. Good heaven! how much he suffered His brother Joseph was then in command of the city. Napoleon dispatched courier after courier, entreating him, in the most earnest terms, to rouse the populace, to arm the stu- dents, and to hold out until his arrival. He assured him that if he would keep the enemy in check but for two days, at the longest, he would arrive, and would yet compel the Allies to accept reasonable terms. If the enemy, said he, advance upon Paris in such force as to render all resistance vain, send off, in the direction of the Loire, the Empress- Regent, my son, the grand dignitaries, the minis- ters, and the great officers of the crown and of the treasury. Do not quit my son. Recollect that I would rather see him in the Seine than in the hands of the enemies of France. The fate of Astyanax, prisoner of the Greeks, has always appeared to me the most unhappy fate recorded in history. Napoleon at Arcis, was four marches further distant from Paris than were the Allies at Cha- Ions. It was a singular spectacle which the two armies now presented. The Allies, numbering some three hundred thousand, were rushing down the valley of the Maine. The war-wasted army of Napoleon, now dwindled to thirty thousand men, with bleeding feet, and tattered garments, and unhealed wounds, were hurrying down the parallel valley of the Seine. The miry roads, just melting from the frosts of winter, and cut up by the ponderous enginery of war, were wretched in the extreme. But the soldiers, still adoring their Emperor, who marched on foot in their midst, sharing their perils and their toils, were animated by the indomitable energies of his own spirit. Throwing aside every thing which retarded their speed, they marched nearly fifty miles a day. Napoleon, before leaving Arcis, with char- acteristic humanity, sent two thousand francs, from his private purse, to the Sisters of Charity, to aid them in relieving the wants of the sick and wounded. At midnight, on the 29th of NAPOLEON BONAPARTE. 49 March, the French army arrived at Troyes. In the early dawn of the next morning, Napoleon was again upon the march, at the head of his guard. Having advanced some fifteen miles, his impatience became so insupportable, that he threw himself into a light carriage, which chance presented, and proceeded rapidly to Sens. The night was cold, dark, and dismal, as he entered the town. He immediately ussembled the mag- istrates, and ordered them to have refreshments ready for his army, upon its arrival. Then, mounting a horse, he galloped, through the long hours of a dark night, along the road toward Fontainebleau. Dreadful was the scene which was then occur- ring in Paris. The Allied army had already ap- proached within cannon-shot of the city. Mor- tier and Marmont made a desperate, but an un- availing resistance. At last, with ammunition entirely exhausted, and with their ranks almost cut to pieces by the awful onslaught, they were driven back into the streets of the city. Mar- mont, with his sword broken, his hat and clothes pierced with balls, his features blackened with smoke, disputed, step by step, the advance of the enemy into the suburbs. With but eight thou- sand infantry and eight hundred cavalry, he held at bay, for twelve hours, fifty-five thousand of the Allies. In this dreadful conflict the enemy lost, in killed, wounded, and prisoners, fourteen thousand men. The Empress, with the chief officers of the state, and with the ladies of her court, had fled to Blois. Her beautiful child, in- heriting the spirit of his noble sire, clung to the curtains of his apartment, refusing to leave. They are betraying my papa, and I will not go away, exclaimed the precocious child, who was never destined to see that loved father again. I do not wish to leave the palace. I do not wish to go away from it. When papa is absent, am I not master here 3 Nothing but the ascend- ency of his governess, Madame Montesquieu, could calm him. And she succeeded only by promising faithfully that he should be brought back again. His eyes were filled with tears as he was taken to the carriage. Maria Louisa was calm and resigned; but pallid with fear, she took her departure, as she listened to the deep boom- ing of the cannon, which announced the sanguin- ary approach of her own father. The batteries of the Allies were now planted upon Montmartre, and upon other heights which commanded the city, and the shells were falling thickly in the streets of Paris. Joseph, deeming further resistance unavailing, ordered a capitula- tion. Mortier, in the midst of a dreadful fire, wrote, upon a drum-head, the following lines to Schwartzenberg: Prince, let us save a useless effusion of blood. I propose to you a suspension of arms for twen- ty-four hours; during which we will treat in or- der to save Paris from the horrors of a siege; otherNise we will defend ourselves, within its walls, to the death.* * Had Paris held out for two days longer, Napo. leons army would have entered it, and every one is well Marshal Marmont also, who was contending against Blucher, sent a similar proposition to the Allies. But the fire was so dreadful, and the confusion so great, that seven times the officers, who attempted, with flags of truce, to pass over to the hostile camp, were shot down, with their horses, on the plain. During this scene, Mar- mont slowly retreated, with one arm severely wounded, the hand of the other shattered by a bullet, and having had five horses killed under him during the action. In the gloomy hours of the niglat, when Napo- leon was galloping along the solitary road, the allied monarchs were congratulating themselves upon their astonishing victory. Napoleon had avoided Fontainebleau, lest he should encounter there some detachments of the enemy. The night was intensely cold; gloomy clouds dark- ened the sky, and~Napoleon encountered no one on the deserted roads who could give him any information respecting the capital. Far away in the distance the horizon blazed with the bivouac- fires of his foes. The clock on the tower of the church was tolling the hour of twelve as he en- tered the little village of La Cour. Through the gloom, in the wide street, he saw groups of dis- banded soldiers, marching toward Fontainebleau. Riding into the midst of them, he exclaimed with astonishment How is this! why are not these soldiers marching to Paris 3 General Belliard, one of Napoleons most de- voted friends, from behind a door recognizing the voice of the Emperor, immediately came forward and said, Paris has capitulated. The enemy enters to-morrow, two hours after sunrise. These troops are the remains of the armies of Marmont and Mortier, falling back on Fontainebleau, to join the Emperors army at Troyes. The Emperor seemed stunned by the blow. For a moment there was dead silence. The cold drops of agony oozed from his brow. Then, with rapid step, he walked backward and forward on the rugged pavement in front of the hotel, hesi- tating, stopping, retracing his steps, bewildered by the enormity of his woe. He then, in rapid interrogatories, without waiting for any answer, as if speaking only to himself, exclaimed, Where is my wife 3 Where is my son 3 Where is the army 3 What has become of the National Guard of Paris, and of the battle they were to have fought, to the last man, under its walls 3 nnd the Marshals Mortier and Marmnont, where shall I find them again 3 acquainted with his skill is the management of affairs. lie would have had no hesitation to have thrown the ar- senals open to the people. His presence would have in- fluenced the multitude. He would have imparted a salu- mary direction to their enthusiasm, and Paris would no doubt have imitated the example of Saragossa; or, to speak more correctly, the enemy would not have ventured to make any attempt upon it; for, independently of the Emperors being for them a Medusas head, it was ascer- tained, at a later period, that in the battle which preceded the surrender of the capital, they had consumed nearly the whole of their ammunition. Tears of blood are ready to flow at the bare recollection of these facts.Memoira of the Duke of Rovigo, vol. iv. p. 44. 50 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. After a moments pause, he continued, with impatient voice and gesture: The night is still mine. The enemy only enters at daybreak. My carriage! my carriage! Let us go this instant! Let us get before Blucher and Schwartzenberg! Let Belliard follow me with the cavalry! Let us fight even in the streets and squares of Paris! Ix2y presence, my name, the courage of my troops, the necessity of following me or of dying, will arouse Paris. My army, which is following me, will arrive in the midst of the struggle. It will take the enemy in rear, while we are fighting them in front. Come on! success awaits me perhaps in my last reverse ! General Belliard then acknowledged to him that, by the terms of the capitulation, the army of Paris was bound to fall back upon Fontaine- bleau. For a moment Napoleon was again silent, and then exclaimed: To sui~render the capital to the enemy ! What cowards! Joseph ran off too! my very brother! And so they have capit- ulated! betrayed their brother, their country, their ssvereign; degraded France in the eyes of Eu- rope! Entered into a capital of eight hundred thousand souls without firing a shot! It is too dreadful. What has been done with the artillery~ They should have had two hundred pieces, and ammunition for a month. And yet they had only a battery of six pieces, and an empty magazine, on Montmartre. When I am not there, they do nothing but heap blunder upon blunder. A group of officers successively arriving, now closed sadly around their Emperor. Napoleon became more calm, as he interrogated them, one by one, and listened to the details of the irrepar- able disaster. Then taking Caulaincourt aside, be directed him to ride, with the utmost speed, to the head-quarters of the Allies. See, said he, if I have yet time to interpose in the treaty which is signing already perhaps, without me and against me. I give you full powers. Do not lose an instant. I await you here. Caulain- court mounted his horse and disappeared. Na- poleon then, followed by l3elliard and Berthier, entered the hotel. Caulaincourt speedily arrived at the advanced posts of the enemy. He gave his name, and de- manded a passage. The sentinels, however, re- fused to allow him to enter the lines. Afier an absence of two hours, Caulaincourt returned to the Emperor. They conversed together for a few moments, during which Napoleon, though calm, seemed plunged into the profoundest grief, and Caulaincourt wept bitterly. My dear Caulaincourt, said Napoleon, go again, and try to see the Emperor Alexander. You have full powers from me. I have now no hope but in you, Caulaincourt. Affectionately he extended his hand to his faithful friend. Caulaincourt pressed it fervently to his lips, and said, I go, Sire; dead or alive, I will gain entrance into Paris, and will speak to the Em- peror Alexander. As, several years after, Caulaincourt was re- lating these occurrences, he said, My head is burning; I am feverish; should I live a hundred years, I can never forget these scenes. They are the fixed ideas of my sleepless nights. My re- miniscences are frightful. They kill me. The repose of the tomb is sweet after such sufferings. It was now past midnight. Caulaincourt mounted another horse, and galloped in the deep obscurity by another route to Paris. Napoleon also mounted his horse, and in silence and in sadness took the route to Fontaineblean. A group of officers, dejected, exhausted, and woe- worn, followed in his train. At four oclcck in the morning he arrived at this ancient palace of the kings of France. Conscious of his fallen for- tunes, he seemed to shrink from every thing which could remind him of the grandeurs of royalty. Passing by the state apartments which his glory had embellished, and to which his renown still attracts the footsteps of travelers from all lands, he entered, like a private citizen, into a small and obscure chamber in one angle of the castle. A window opened into a small garden, shaded with funereal firs, which resembled the cemeteries of his native island. Here he threw himself upon a couch, and his noble heart throbbed with the pulsations of an almost unearthly agony. But he was calm and silent in his woe. The troops which had followed him from Troyes, and these which had retired from Paris, soon arrived, and were cantoned around him. They numbered about fifty thousand. Their devotion to the Emperor was never more enthusiastic, and they clamored loudly to be led against the three hundred thou- sand Allies, who were marching proudly into Paris. THE POOR CHILDS CRADLE. BABYHOOD is certainly an important period of human existence. Important, not only to the individual in that juvenile stage, who has his long career of three score and ten before him, and is forming the shape of his legs, the configuration of his features, and, for aught we know, going through an analogous process of mental develop- inent, but also to his anxious parents, and his kindred more or less remote. How important a personage is the first-born of the family on his first appearance! How his coming is heralded, like that of the hero on the stage, by flourish of(their own) trumpets, by nurses and doctors! What stores of baby linen and soft outer wrapping! What consultation over Chris- tian names; what balancing of choice between the plain patronymic and the tempting surname of pet hero, presidential candidate, or parson! The baby is born, and is at once king of the house- hold, Grand Lama of the domestic Thibet. Gen- tle must be the footfall about his couch, that his slumbers be not rudely broken, pleasant-featured the countenance that greets his waking eyes, ten- der the touch, gentle the hand and arms that move and dandle. Not only are father and mother ab- ject slaves themselves of the new comer, but they see to it that all others shall be so as well. The stranger within their gates must play the courtier if he would maintain his occasional right to draw his chair to the fireside, and ply knifc and fork

Poor Child's Cradle 50-57

50 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. After a moments pause, he continued, with impatient voice and gesture: The night is still mine. The enemy only enters at daybreak. My carriage! my carriage! Let us go this instant! Let us get before Blucher and Schwartzenberg! Let Belliard follow me with the cavalry! Let us fight even in the streets and squares of Paris! Ix2y presence, my name, the courage of my troops, the necessity of following me or of dying, will arouse Paris. My army, which is following me, will arrive in the midst of the struggle. It will take the enemy in rear, while we are fighting them in front. Come on! success awaits me perhaps in my last reverse ! General Belliard then acknowledged to him that, by the terms of the capitulation, the army of Paris was bound to fall back upon Fontaine- bleau. For a moment Napoleon was again silent, and then exclaimed: To sui~render the capital to the enemy ! What cowards! Joseph ran off too! my very brother! And so they have capit- ulated! betrayed their brother, their country, their ssvereign; degraded France in the eyes of Eu- rope! Entered into a capital of eight hundred thousand souls without firing a shot! It is too dreadful. What has been done with the artillery~ They should have had two hundred pieces, and ammunition for a month. And yet they had only a battery of six pieces, and an empty magazine, on Montmartre. When I am not there, they do nothing but heap blunder upon blunder. A group of officers successively arriving, now closed sadly around their Emperor. Napoleon became more calm, as he interrogated them, one by one, and listened to the details of the irrepar- able disaster. Then taking Caulaincourt aside, be directed him to ride, with the utmost speed, to the head-quarters of the Allies. See, said he, if I have yet time to interpose in the treaty which is signing already perhaps, without me and against me. I give you full powers. Do not lose an instant. I await you here. Caulain- court mounted his horse and disappeared. Na- poleon then, followed by l3elliard and Berthier, entered the hotel. Caulaincourt speedily arrived at the advanced posts of the enemy. He gave his name, and de- manded a passage. The sentinels, however, re- fused to allow him to enter the lines. Afier an absence of two hours, Caulaincourt returned to the Emperor. They conversed together for a few moments, during which Napoleon, though calm, seemed plunged into the profoundest grief, and Caulaincourt wept bitterly. My dear Caulaincourt, said Napoleon, go again, and try to see the Emperor Alexander. You have full powers from me. I have now no hope but in you, Caulaincourt. Affectionately he extended his hand to his faithful friend. Caulaincourt pressed it fervently to his lips, and said, I go, Sire; dead or alive, I will gain entrance into Paris, and will speak to the Em- peror Alexander. As, several years after, Caulaincourt was re- lating these occurrences, he said, My head is burning; I am feverish; should I live a hundred years, I can never forget these scenes. They are the fixed ideas of my sleepless nights. My re- miniscences are frightful. They kill me. The repose of the tomb is sweet after such sufferings. It was now past midnight. Caulaincourt mounted another horse, and galloped in the deep obscurity by another route to Paris. Napoleon also mounted his horse, and in silence and in sadness took the route to Fontaineblean. A group of officers, dejected, exhausted, and woe- worn, followed in his train. At four oclcck in the morning he arrived at this ancient palace of the kings of France. Conscious of his fallen for- tunes, he seemed to shrink from every thing which could remind him of the grandeurs of royalty. Passing by the state apartments which his glory had embellished, and to which his renown still attracts the footsteps of travelers from all lands, he entered, like a private citizen, into a small and obscure chamber in one angle of the castle. A window opened into a small garden, shaded with funereal firs, which resembled the cemeteries of his native island. Here he threw himself upon a couch, and his noble heart throbbed with the pulsations of an almost unearthly agony. But he was calm and silent in his woe. The troops which had followed him from Troyes, and these which had retired from Paris, soon arrived, and were cantoned around him. They numbered about fifty thousand. Their devotion to the Emperor was never more enthusiastic, and they clamored loudly to be led against the three hundred thou- sand Allies, who were marching proudly into Paris. THE POOR CHILDS CRADLE. BABYHOOD is certainly an important period of human existence. Important, not only to the individual in that juvenile stage, who has his long career of three score and ten before him, and is forming the shape of his legs, the configuration of his features, and, for aught we know, going through an analogous process of mental develop- inent, but also to his anxious parents, and his kindred more or less remote. How important a personage is the first-born of the family on his first appearance! How his coming is heralded, like that of the hero on the stage, by flourish of(their own) trumpets, by nurses and doctors! What stores of baby linen and soft outer wrapping! What consultation over Chris- tian names; what balancing of choice between the plain patronymic and the tempting surname of pet hero, presidential candidate, or parson! The baby is born, and is at once king of the house- hold, Grand Lama of the domestic Thibet. Gen- tle must be the footfall about his couch, that his slumbers be not rudely broken, pleasant-featured the countenance that greets his waking eyes, ten- der the touch, gentle the hand and arms that move and dandle. Not only are father and mother ab- ject slaves themselves of the new comer, but they see to it that all others shall be so as well. The stranger within their gates must play the courtier if he would maintain his occasional right to draw his chair to the fireside, and ply knifc and fork THE POOR CHILDS CRADLE. 51 over the mahogany. He must, forgetful of the allegiance sworn under like circumstances the evening before, at the square below, vow that the red-faced cherub dandled up to his nose is the finest baby he everlaid eyes on, handle the pre- cious burden thrust into his arms as gently as his awkwardness will admit, and restoring Times noblest offspring to awaiting nurse, handle the snow-white, ribbon-bordered blanket which forms the outer robe of the minute dignitary, with as reverential a touch as if it were royal purple. In default, however, of doing justice to our theme of baby-dom in plain prose, we must have recourse to the higher powers of verse, and in this call to our aid the lines of no less a master than Thomas Hood. He describes the accession of the opulent Miss Kilmansegg, distinguished at a later period of her history as the possessor of a golden leg, which replaced the article of a sim- ilar character furnished by nature, but hopelessly damaged by an accident. She was one of those who, by Fortunes boon, Are born, as they say, with a silver spoon In her mouth, not a wooden ladL: To speak according to poets ~vont, Plutus as sponsor stood at her font, And Midas roekd the cradle. At her first d6but she found her head On a pillow of down, in a downy bed, With a damask canopy over; For although, by the vulgar, popular saw, All mothers are said to be in the straw, Seine children are born in clover. 11cr very first draught of vital air, It was not the common chamelion fare Of plebeian lungs and noses. Noher earliest sniff Of this world, was a whiff Of the genuine Otto of Roses Like other babes, at her birth she cried; Which made a sensation far and wide, Ay, for twenty miles around her; For though to the ear twas nothing more Than an infants squall, it was really the roar Of a fifty-thousand pounder! lt shook the next heir In his library chair, And made him cry, lionfound her! And how was the precious baby drest? In a robe of the East, with lace of the West, like one of Crususs issue 11cr best bibs were made Of gold brocade, And the others of silver tissue. And when the baby inclined to nap, She was lulld on a Gros de Naples lap, By a nurse in a modish Paris cap, Of notions so exalted She drank nothing lower than Cura~oa, Maraschino, or pink Noyau, And, on principle, never malted. From a golden boat, with a golden spoon, The babe was fed night, morning, and noon, And although the tale seems fabulocis. Tis said her tops and bottoms were gilt, Like the oats in that stable-yard palace built For the horse of Ileliogabalus. And when she took to squall and kick For pain will wring and pins will prick Een the wealthiest Nabobs daughter They gave her no vulgar Dalby or gin, But a liquor with leaf of gold therein, VidelicctDantzic Water. In shott, she was born, and bred, and nurat, And drest in the best from the very first, To please the genteelest censor And then, as soon as strength would allow, Was vaccinated, as babies are now, With virlis taen from the best-bred cow Of Lord Althorpesnow Esil Spencer. All this, however, presupposes the mouth which so soon after its advent into the world roars so lustily for food, to have brought in it a silver spoon for the furnishing thereof. As, however, the per-centago on babies mouths of silver spoons is a figure so minute as to be a dividend not worth declaring, we must turn our attentionand, as in duty bound, our chief attentionto the majority. We have in this country no foundling hospi- tals with revolving baskets, in which a baby may be dropped as easily as a letter in the post-office, and dispatched on its journey through life with equal confidence in the government by the authors of the flesh and blood as of the literary production. Nor, in truth, do we think we want the basket aforesaid. It is too great a temptation to the needy and the vicious. Foundlings are, however, amply provided for, as they should be, by our city charities. But we have nothing to do at present with anonymous babies. We have an eye to the parent as well as the child. The poor baby (es- pecially if the first-born) is as important an indi- vidual in the eyes of his parents as your heirto thousands. The same pride, pomp, and circum- stance may not attend him, but equal or greater sacrifices are made to his welfare. He is hugged as closely, kissed as heartily, lauded as loudly, dandled as daintily, wrapped as warmly, as his richer contemporary. His mother, however, must live, in order for baby to do so likewise, and ill this getting-a-living process, baby is sadly in the way. The Indian squaw gets over the difficulty by swathing up the small specimen to a board, with a hoop to it, which has the double advantage of helping to make his back straight, and enabling him to be commodiously disposed of on his moth- ers back or a neighboring tree. A French woman on her travels tucks baby up nicely in a shallow one-handled basket. This we know from personal observation, having once, in answer to a polite request from a cherry-checked ]Vormandc, reached down our arm from the ban- qtectte of a French diligence for what we sup- posed to be a basket of eggs, and consequently drew up with a care still more befitting its actual contents of humanity in a more advanced stage of race and age. It appeared to answer the pur- pose, as the infant slept well, and was done up in a much more convenient form for handling than long clothes and blanket, and was an ar- ticle of luggage decidedly preferable, in a qui- escent state, to a bandbox. Neither of these plans would, we fear, answer for the laboring woman. She could not fall to scrubbing a floor with baby pick-a-back, and to hang him up with her bonnet would not answer. For women who work together, as in binderies, large clothing es- tablishments, or factories, it would be still worse, as the most tender-hearted proprietor, the most philoprogenitively organized head, could hardly 52 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. stand the united chorus of sundry shelves or peg- rows tenanted by cryingfor under such circum- stances it is naturally to be expected that they would be cryingbabies. We occasionally see a fruit-stall keeper with a baby in her arms; but how could the active ap- ple-women, who glide about the composing cases in printing-offices, manage a baby as well as a basket; or the energetic femaleswho vend oranges to travelers leaving our city shores balance a pyr- amid of globular fruit in one set of digits, and clutch a baby commodiously in the other If the mother has to go out, therefore, to earn her daily bread, her baby must be left at home. But in whose charge The eldest sisterfor we will suppose our young friend one of the junior mem- bers of the familyshould be out at work, the next oldest at school, the third is too little to be trusted for much supervision. The boys are ready enough for the kindly care; but they should be at work or at school too, and if they are not, are too full of animal spirits, and somewhat too clumsy for the office. It is hardly fair, too, to tax their good-nature continually, even for the welfare of brother or sister. Baby, in place of a never-ending source of delight, at due inter- pals, may degenerate into a bore. Remember Johnny and Moloch in Dickenss Christmas story, and to make sure that you do, we will freshen your recollection Another little boy was tottering to and fro, bent on one side, and considerably affected in his knees, by the weight of a large baby, which he was supposed, by a fiction that obtains sometimes in sanguine families, to be bushing to sleep. But oh! the inexhaustible regions of contemplation and watchfulness into which this babys eyes were then only beginning to compose themselves, to stare over his unconscious shoulder! It was a very Moloch of a baby, on whose insatiate altar the whole existence of this partic- ular young brother was offered up a daily sacri- fice. Its personality may be said to have con- sisted in its never being quiet, in any one place, for five consecutive minutes, and never going to sleep when required. Tetterbys baby was as well known in the neighborhood as the postman or pot-boy. It roved from door-step to door-step in the arms of little Johnny Tetterby, and lagged heavily at the rear of the troops of juveniles who followed the tumblers or the monkey, and came up, all on one si le, a little too late for every thing that was attractive, from Monday morning until Saturday night. Wherever childhood congre- gated to play, there was little Moloch making Johnny fag and toil. Wherever Johnny desired to stay, little Moloch became fractious, and would not remain. Whenever Johnny wanted to go out, Moloch was asleep and must be watched. Whenever Johnny wanted to stay at home, Mo- loch was awake, and must be taken out Yet Johnny was verily persuaded that it was a fault- less baby, without its peer in the realm of En- gland, and was quite content to catch meek glimpses of things in general from behind its skirts, or over its limp, flapping bonnet, and to go staggering about with it like a very little porter with a very large parcel, which was not directed to any body, and could never be delivered any where. There are the other lodgers or the neighbors as an occasional resort; but they have their own little responsibilities, and will require a recipro- cation. It is evident, therefore, that a portion of hard-earned wages must be paid to some old woman or half-grown gal to look after baby, and a proportionate retrenclunent made in beef and bread, or baby must look out for himself. The mother must give a morning kiss, and de- part for her work with her bead full of the awful stories she reads in the papers of little children falling out of the window or on to the stove, or rolling down stairs, being maimed or killed in a hundred ways. This poor baby ought to be looked after; but how is it to be done None of our existing char- ities can do it. They will help to bring the child into the world, and, if its parents abandon it, take care of the bantling. If the parents know their duty better, and shun such a crime as they would infanticide, they must take care of him. The Dis- pensary will vaccinate and drug, if needful; but if the child be healthy, he must not look for any thing more from the city until he is sufficiently advanced for A B C and the Primary school. His future course through the Free-school and Free Academy to manhood is well provided for; the hospitals will attend to him if he fall sick or get run over; and the last scene of all will be kindly and decorously cared for like the first. These infant years are, therefore, the heel of Achilles of the body politic, almost the only chance left, as it seems to us, for the ingenuity of philanthropy to exercise itself upon. The want has been supplied in Paris by insti- tutions called Criches (a childs crib). As, thanks to some philanthropic American ladies, who have brought home ideas as well as bonnets from that great city, an establishment of the kind is about to be opened in New York, we have thought that an illustrated account of a criclie would be acceptable to our readers, and lead to the good example of our New York ladies being copied elsewhere. The object of these establishments is to pro- vide a place where mothers going out to days work may leave their children in the morning and come for them in the evening, secure that, during the interval, their infants will be fed and carefully tended by good nurses. For this they are charged a small sum daily, designed as much to impress upon the parents the duty of providing for their offspring as for the support of the estab- lishment. Infants are received at any age up to two years. The first Parisian cr~iche was that of St. Pierre, at Chaillot, situated in a region inhabited by a poor population, although in the neighborhood of the Champs Elys6es. It was founded by the cur6 of the parish and some ladies who had estab- lished an infant school with success, and saw that this institution was the next step in the same THE POOR CHILDS CRADLE. 53 direction. The doors were opened on the four- teenth of November, 1844. It was provided with twelve cradles and a small cot. This was followed by .the Cr~che St. Philippe du Roule, opened April 29, 1845, and by numerous others in various parts of Paris. M. Jules Delbruck, a gentleman of Paris, has written a little volume on the subject of the Cri~ches. It contains brief reports of the condi- tion of these establishments in the year 1848, and from these, his own researches on the sub- ject, his own ingenuity, and, to some extent, the Phalanx of Fourier, he has drawn a picture of a model establishment of this character, which, with the aid of his illustrations, we shall en- deavor to set before our readers. We enter from a garden the apartments of the Crchc Modele, all of which are on the ground- floor. We are first introduced to the play-room. It is a lofty and well-ventilated hall. In the cen- tre is a circular railing, formed of net-work, just high enough for an infant to reach when stand- ing. Within this, a nurse has a group of children playing about her. The net-work keeps them in bounds, and does not hurt them if they fall against it. Oatside the inclosure is a circular rail-road, in which a joyful car-load of children are pro- pelled by two comrades, a little farther advanced in years, visitors from the neighboring infant school, one pushing, another pulling. Close to the wall, on each side, are two parallel ranges of railinr similar to that in the centre. They are designed to aid the children in learning to walk, by holding on to the rails. If they fall, they can easily pick themselves up by taking hold of the meshes of the net-work. The wall is hung with representations of familiar objects, and on each side of the door is a large cage filled with singing birds, which the children are feeding. A few toys are scattered about the floor, and we see in the little garden beyond a few nurses off duty, sewing. A second apartment is devoted to cribs and din- ing-tables. Both are designed for children from one to two years of age. The cots are, of course, for the use of the infants when tired; but it is found that, with the exception of an hour or ~ after the principal meal, they are little in request, the attention and consequent wakefulness of the children being secured in the play-room during the day, so that their sound sleep, as well as that of their weary mothers, is unbroken on their re- turn at night. The third room is designed for those whose age is reckoned only by days and months. Hero we find a triple row of cradles, not on the obso- lete rockers of our infant days, and which were so readily stumbled over, but suspended from a neat iron frame-work, and so arranged that part can be rocked simultaneously, and part separately. In the aisles between the cradles are net-work railings, as in the play-rooms. A small organ occupies one end of the room, whose notes will soothe the senses to repose, or gently rouse them from their rest. The idea is as old as Montaigne, whose father, he relates in the delightful gossip of THE PLA~-ROOi5. 54 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. his Essays, took great pains with his education, mid had him awaked in the morning by strains of soft music, merging sleeping into waking as gently as Auroras blush dispels the shades of night. The nurses who are seen in these pictures in neat cap and apron, are, of course, the all-import- ant portions of the establishment. Of little use will be its admirable mechanical organization if these, its rulers, are not of kindly heart, winning smile, gentle, patient, motherly endurance. M. Delbruck illustrates the needfulness of this by his statistics regarding the cr~ches in actual opera- tion. The uniform and admirable rule in each is that every infant receivedbmust be clean. If the mother has neglected the duty, the nurses must make vigorous use of the soap and water, sponges and towels provided. This sponging process furnishes M. Delbrucks test question. Do the children cry when sponged If they do, he sets the fault down as much to the nurses hand as to the sponge or child; if they do not, it is a strong proof that the nurse is gentle and kind. These nurses are all dressed in a simple uniform c~f blue and white, colors which have been gen- erally adopted at the existing cr~ches in place of the more sombre tints, or of the appalling black of the religious orders. Those who are familiar with the French bonne, and any one who has ever set eyes on her trim figure, set off by an always admirably-fitted though plain dress, and the little muslin cap which forms her only head-covering summer and winter, in-doors and out, running on an errand around the corner, or crossing the ocean to America, will know that she is a model of neatness, and apparently of good nature. Those of the cr~che should be young and have pleasant faces, and such it is not difficult to find. Blue and white are also the prevailing colors in the simple fittings up and decorations of the rooms, and of the light and simple bed-draperies. Every thing is made as cheerful and simple as possible. M. Delbruck has some excellent remarks on the religious paintings which, as is the custom in Roman Catholic countries in all charitable estab- lishments, decorate the cr~che. The Crucifixion, which he finds in some of the existing establish.. ments, he regards as a more fitting accompani.. ment to the maturity or the close of life than its commencement. Then, the dread import, the blessed significance of the Sacrifice can be under- stoodthe dying man looks upon the dying Say- lour. He would have the infants eyes rest on the Holy Babethe Child in his mothers arms the most beautiful subject within the range of Christian art. This may be accompanied by the beautiful scene of Our Saviour calling little chil- dren unto him. This care in the decoration of the rooms is carried out in minute but wise detail in all the arrangements. In every article of furniture rounded are preferred to angular forms, not only as more graeeful, but as protecting the infant from many contusions young flesh is heir to, in parlor as well as kitchen or garret, from sharp corners. The terminations of the little inclosed THE EATING-HOOTS. THE POOR CHILDS CRADLE. 55 walls are semicircular for this reason, and the model crib is composed entirely of net-work, at- tached to an oval hoop of light iron. It is chosen not only for the superior safety of the heads of the little outsiders, but for the comfort of its oc- cupant, as its pliant material will allow the use of thinner and less heating mattresses. It is a matter worth noticing, that the ends of the up- rights are decorated with little figures of ang~s, keeping their watch and ward. M. Deibruck claims the spiral table, which is found in our pic- ture of the crib-room, as his own invention. He presents it to us again in a somewhat modified, and, we think, improved form. Is it not a cosy and delightful affair Who would have planned it but a Frenchman, familiar with the snug restaurant corners, sociable tables dh& te, and comfortable salles ~ manger, of that city of good dinners and good digestionParis Here we have dinner and digestion combined, the promenade encircling the dining-table. This happy design was the result of deliberation. M. Delbruck found, in his visits to the different crinhes, that the dinner-hour, instead of being, as in advanced civilized society, one of enjoy- ment, was a scene of discord and confusion. Children cried then who cried at no other hour. And good reason had they for doing so; as, while one was dining, seated on the nurses lap, and fed by her with a spoon, five were waitinu their turns. An obvious improvement, on this state of things was to place the six around the nurses knees, and allow the spoon to pass in regular and impartial sequence from mouth to mouth. But there was a difficulty in the way of carrying out this. The children who needed this care were those lately weaned, and just learning to stand. Though their appetites were strong, their legs were weak, and the jar of a rude con- cussion of that part of the youthful frame by which appeal is usually made to the moral senti- ments was calculated to impair good digestion and good temper. Besides, who ever heard of any one, young er old, except through-by-day- light railway travelersand even they are aban- doning the bolting processeating ones dinner standing I The obvious plan to protect the ~x- posed portions of the tender infant frame from too sudden contact with mother earth, was by the compromise measure of a seat. This, and the accompanying tablea virtual extension of the nurses kneesconstructed, its inventor sought at once to have introduced them into the crinhes. To his and our surprise, he was met by an ob- jection, such a thing has never been done, ergoafter a more common mode of logic in the Old than the New Worldcant be done. Re- peated visits and entreaties are of no avail; but the projector, though disgusted at meeting diffi- culties in so small a matter, persisted, until one fine morning he met excellent Doctor Moy- nier, who pointed to the wind-mills of Mont- martre, with the words, Here you will find what you want; the nurses feed several infants at THE CRADLE-ROOM. 56 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. once, & la bccque~e, which, forwant of a better phrase, we translate chicken fashion. M. Deibruck, with com- mendable zeal, at once toils up the hill of Montmartre, and finds there one Madame Vandervin, who makes him witness of her mode of pro- cedure, which was to gather the children about her lap, and feed them in turn. Duly armed with precedent, our projector descends, returns, and conquers. It is worthy of note, that the little half-moon benches are divided by partitions into stalls. It is, no doubt, use- ful in securing each his due space, and avoiding cause of quarrel; but it is amusing to see the French system of or- der applied on 50 minute a scale. This system of stelles especially is found in Paris, in every place of amusement, and in every omnibus, down to the little one drawn by four goats, which runs, with juven ile passengers, up and down LW ~~L______________________ the Champs Elysees. THE TABLE. It must be borne in mind that the institution novelty, the costlier plaything, or the cheaper off- we have described is the model, not the actual hand contrivance to divert the child, the prattled ciclze. It is, however, in its main features, nonsense (best sense to it), the wise imperti- founded on fact; the garden, the cage of sing- nences, the wholesome lies, the apt story inter- ing-birds, the unifonn of the nurses, and one or posed, that puts a stop to present safferings, and two other subordinate, although important mat- awakens the passions of young wonder. It was ters, being all that distinguishes most of the insti- never sung to ; no one ever told to it a tale of the tutions in operation from the standard we have nursery. It was dragged up, to live or die as it presented. These could be added, with the ex- happened. It had no young dreamsit broke at ception, perhaps, of the garden, at inconsiderable once into the iron realities of life. A child ex- expense. ists not for the very poor as any object of dalli- Charles Lamb, in one of his Essays, gives a ance; it is only another mouth to 1)0 fod, a pair picture of the children of the poor, drawn in dark- of little hands to be betimes inured to labor. It er colors than it seems to us needful to use in is the rival, till it can be the co-operator, for food treating the same topic here. Among the ex- with the parent. It is never his mirth, his diver- tremely destitute, however, of our large cities, the sion, his solace: it never makes him young again, sketch may, we fear, be often realized, with recalling his young times. The children of Poor people, said a sensible old nurse to us the very poor have no young times. once, do not bring up their children; they drag How happy a contrast does the criche present them up. The little careless darling of the to this sad, though exquisitely touched picture! wealthier nursery, in their hovel is transformed There, as the statistics of these institutions prove, betimes into a premature reflecting person. No the child is happy and contented. It has its cheap one has time to dandlo it, no one thinks it worth little toys, and better amusement in play-fellows while to coax it, to soothe it, to toss it up and of its own age. If it cries, its wants are relieved, down, to humor it. There is none to kiss away its troubles soothed ; if it is tired, it is gently sung its tears. If it cries, it can only be beaten. It and swung to sleep. Its mother may come to has been prettily said that a babe is fed with nurse it, or if she do not, others will supply the milk and praise. But the aliment of this poor kindly office of providing nourishment. Its babe was thin, unnourishingthe return to its chances of life are as good, the statistics show, little baby tricks, and efforts to engage attention, as those of children brought up at home in afflu- bitter, ceaseless objurgation. It never had a toy, ence, and it is probably quite as happy. The pa~- or knew what a coral meant. It grew up with- rental tie is not weakened, for it is only at the out the lullaby of nurses; it was a stranger to the hours when it can not he supplied that the erhehe patient fondle, the hushing caress, the attractive proffers its aid. THE NEWOOMES. 57 THE NEWOOMES.* MEMOIRS OF A MOST RESPECTABLE FAMILY. BY W, N. THACKERAY. CHAPTER XXI. IS SENTIMENTAL BUT SHORT. WITHOUT wishing to disparage the youth of other nations, I think a well-bred English lad has this advantage over them, that his hearing is commonly more modest than theirs. He does not assume the tailcoat and the manners of man- hood too early: he holds his tongue, and listens to his elders: his mind blushes as well as his cheeks: he does not know how to make bows and pay compliments like the young Frenchman; nor to contradict his seniors as I am informed American striplings do. Boys who learn nothing else at our public schools, learn at least good manners, or what we consider to be suchand, with regard to the person at present under con- sideration, it is certain that all his acquaintances, excepting perhaps his dear cousin Barnes New- come, agreed in considering him as a very frank, manly, modest, and agreeable young fellow. My friend Warrington found a grim pleasure in his company; and his bright face, droll humor, and kindly laughter, were always welcome in our chambers. Honest Fred Bayham was charmed to be in his society; and used pathetically to aver that he himself might have been such a youth, had he been blest with a kind father to watch, and good friends to guide, his early career. In fact, Fred was by far the most didactic of Olives bachelor acquaintances, pursued the young man with endless advice and sermons, and held himself up as a warning to Olive, and a touching example of the evil consequences of early idle- ness and dissipation. Gentlemen of much higher rank in the world took a fancy to the lad. Oap- tam Jack Belsize, introduced him to his own mess, as also to the Guard dinner at St. Jamess; and my Lord Kew invited him to Kewbury, his Lordships house in Oxfordshire, where Olive enjoyed hunting, shooting, and plenty of good company. Mrs. Newcome groaned in spirit when she heard of these proceedings; and feared, feared very much that that unfortunate young man was going to ruin; and Barnes Newcome amiably disseminated reports among his family that the lad was plunged in all sorts of debaucheries: that * Continued from the May Number. he was tipsy every night: that he was engaged, in his sober moments, with dice, the turf, or worse amusements: and that his head was so turned by living with Kew and Belsize, that the little rascals pride and arrogance were perfectly insuf- ferable. Ethel would indignantly deny these charges; then perhaps credit a few of them; and she looked at Olive with melancholy eyes when he came to visit his aunt; and I hope prayed that Heaven might mend his wicked ways. The truth is, the young fellow enjoyed life, as one of his age and spirit might be expected to do; but he did very little harm, and meant less; and was quite unconscious of the reputation which his kind friends were making for him. There had been a long-standing promise tlnit Olive and his father were to go to Newcome at Ohristmas: and I dare say Ethel proposed to re- form the young prodigal, if prodigal he was, for she busied herself delightedly in preparing the apartments which they were to inhabit during their stayspeculated upon it in a hundred pleas- ant ways, putting off her visit to this pleasant neighbor, or that pretty scene in the vicinage, until her uncle should come and they should be enabled to enjoy the excursion together. And before the arrival of her relatives, Ethel, with one of her young brothers, went to see Mrs. Mason; and introduced herself as Oolonel Neweomes niece; and came back charmed with the old lady, and eager once more in defense of Olive (when that young gentlemans character happened to be called in question by her brother Barnes), for had she not seen the kindest letter, which Olive had written to old Mrs. Mason, and the beautiful draw- ing of his father on horseback and in regimentals, waving his sword in front of the gallant th Bengal Oavalry, which the lad had sent down to the good old woman He could not be very bad, Ethel thought, who was so kind and thoughtful for the poor. His fathers son could not be alto- gether a reprobate. When Mrs. Mason, seeing how good and beautiful Ethel was, and thinking in her heart, nothing could be too good or beauti- ful for Olive, nodded her kind old head at Miss Ethel, and said she should like to find a husband for herMiss Ethel blushed, and looked hand- somer than ever; and at home, when she was describing the interview, never mentioned this part of her talk with Mrs. Mason. But the enfant terrible young Alfred did: an- nouncing to all the company at dessert, that Ethel was in lore with Olivethat Olive was coming to marry herthat Mrs. Mason, the old woman at Neweome, had told him so. I daresay she has told the tale all over New- come ! shrieked out Mr. Barnes. I daresay it will be in the Independent next week. By Jove, its a pretty connectionand nice acquaintances this uncle of ours brings us ! A fine battle ensised upon the receipt and discussion of this intelligence: Barnes was more than usually bitter and sarcastic: Ethelhaughtily recriminated, losing her temper, and then her firmness, until, fairly bursting into tears, she taxed Barnes with mean- ness and malignity in forever uttering stories to

W. M. Thackeray Thackeray, W. M. The Newcomes 57-73

THE NEWOOMES. 57 THE NEWOOMES.* MEMOIRS OF A MOST RESPECTABLE FAMILY. BY W, N. THACKERAY. CHAPTER XXI. IS SENTIMENTAL BUT SHORT. WITHOUT wishing to disparage the youth of other nations, I think a well-bred English lad has this advantage over them, that his hearing is commonly more modest than theirs. He does not assume the tailcoat and the manners of man- hood too early: he holds his tongue, and listens to his elders: his mind blushes as well as his cheeks: he does not know how to make bows and pay compliments like the young Frenchman; nor to contradict his seniors as I am informed American striplings do. Boys who learn nothing else at our public schools, learn at least good manners, or what we consider to be suchand, with regard to the person at present under con- sideration, it is certain that all his acquaintances, excepting perhaps his dear cousin Barnes New- come, agreed in considering him as a very frank, manly, modest, and agreeable young fellow. My friend Warrington found a grim pleasure in his company; and his bright face, droll humor, and kindly laughter, were always welcome in our chambers. Honest Fred Bayham was charmed to be in his society; and used pathetically to aver that he himself might have been such a youth, had he been blest with a kind father to watch, and good friends to guide, his early career. In fact, Fred was by far the most didactic of Olives bachelor acquaintances, pursued the young man with endless advice and sermons, and held himself up as a warning to Olive, and a touching example of the evil consequences of early idle- ness and dissipation. Gentlemen of much higher rank in the world took a fancy to the lad. Oap- tam Jack Belsize, introduced him to his own mess, as also to the Guard dinner at St. Jamess; and my Lord Kew invited him to Kewbury, his Lordships house in Oxfordshire, where Olive enjoyed hunting, shooting, and plenty of good company. Mrs. Newcome groaned in spirit when she heard of these proceedings; and feared, feared very much that that unfortunate young man was going to ruin; and Barnes Newcome amiably disseminated reports among his family that the lad was plunged in all sorts of debaucheries: that * Continued from the May Number. he was tipsy every night: that he was engaged, in his sober moments, with dice, the turf, or worse amusements: and that his head was so turned by living with Kew and Belsize, that the little rascals pride and arrogance were perfectly insuf- ferable. Ethel would indignantly deny these charges; then perhaps credit a few of them; and she looked at Olive with melancholy eyes when he came to visit his aunt; and I hope prayed that Heaven might mend his wicked ways. The truth is, the young fellow enjoyed life, as one of his age and spirit might be expected to do; but he did very little harm, and meant less; and was quite unconscious of the reputation which his kind friends were making for him. There had been a long-standing promise tlnit Olive and his father were to go to Newcome at Ohristmas: and I dare say Ethel proposed to re- form the young prodigal, if prodigal he was, for she busied herself delightedly in preparing the apartments which they were to inhabit during their stayspeculated upon it in a hundred pleas- ant ways, putting off her visit to this pleasant neighbor, or that pretty scene in the vicinage, until her uncle should come and they should be enabled to enjoy the excursion together. And before the arrival of her relatives, Ethel, with one of her young brothers, went to see Mrs. Mason; and introduced herself as Oolonel Neweomes niece; and came back charmed with the old lady, and eager once more in defense of Olive (when that young gentlemans character happened to be called in question by her brother Barnes), for had she not seen the kindest letter, which Olive had written to old Mrs. Mason, and the beautiful draw- ing of his father on horseback and in regimentals, waving his sword in front of the gallant th Bengal Oavalry, which the lad had sent down to the good old woman He could not be very bad, Ethel thought, who was so kind and thoughtful for the poor. His fathers son could not be alto- gether a reprobate. When Mrs. Mason, seeing how good and beautiful Ethel was, and thinking in her heart, nothing could be too good or beauti- ful for Olive, nodded her kind old head at Miss Ethel, and said she should like to find a husband for herMiss Ethel blushed, and looked hand- somer than ever; and at home, when she was describing the interview, never mentioned this part of her talk with Mrs. Mason. But the enfant terrible young Alfred did: an- nouncing to all the company at dessert, that Ethel was in lore with Olivethat Olive was coming to marry herthat Mrs. Mason, the old woman at Neweome, had told him so. I daresay she has told the tale all over New- come ! shrieked out Mr. Barnes. I daresay it will be in the Independent next week. By Jove, its a pretty connectionand nice acquaintances this uncle of ours brings us ! A fine battle ensised upon the receipt and discussion of this intelligence: Barnes was more than usually bitter and sarcastic: Ethelhaughtily recriminated, losing her temper, and then her firmness, until, fairly bursting into tears, she taxed Barnes with mean- ness and malignity in forever uttering stories to 58 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. his cousins disadvantage; and pursuing with constant slander and cruelty one of the very best of men. She rose and left the table in great trib- ulationshe went to her room and wrote a letter to her uncle, blistered with tears, in which she besought him not to come to Newcome.Per- haps she went and looked at the apartmentswhich she had adorned and prepared for his reception. It was for him and for his company that she was eager. She had met no one so generous and gentle, so honest and unselfish, until she had seen him. Lady Ann knew the ways of women very well; and when Ethel that night, still in great indigna- tion and scorn against Barnes, announced that she had written a letter to her uncle, begging the Colonel not to come at Christmas, Ethels mother soothed the wounded girl, and treated her with peculiar gentleness and affection; and she wisely gave Mr. Barnes to understand, that if he wished to bring about that very attachment, the idea of which made him so angry, he could use no better means than those which he chose to employ at present, of constantly abusing and insulting poor Clive, and awakening Ethels sympathies by mere opposition. And Ethels sad little letter was ex- tracted from the post-bag: and her mother brought it to her, sealed, in her own room, where the young lady burned it: being easily brought by Lady Anns quiet remonstrances to perceive that it was best no allusion should take place to the silly dispute which had occurred that evening; and that Clive and his father should come for the Christmas holidays, if they were so minded. But when they came, there was no Ethel at Neweome. She was gone on a visit to her sick aunt, Lady Julia. Colonel Newcome passed the holidays sadly without his young favorite, and Clive con- soled himself by knocking down pheasants with Sir Brians keepers : and increased his cousin~ s attachment for him by breaking the knees of Barnes favorite mare out hunting. It was a dreary entertainment; father and son were glad enough to get away from it, and to return to their own humbler quarters in London. Thomas Newcome had now been for three years in the possession of that felicity which his soul longed after; and had any friend of his asked him if he was happy, he would have answered in the a.fflrmative no doubt, and protested that he was in the enjoyment of every thing a reasonable man could desire. And yet, in spite of his happiness, his honest face grew more melancholy: his loose clothes hung only the looser on his lean limbs: he ate his meals without appetite: his nights were restless : and he would sit for hours silent in the midst of his family, so that Mr. Binnie first began jocularly to surmise that Tom was crossed in love; then seriously to think that his health was suffering, and that a doctor should be called to see him; and at last to agree that idleness was not good for the Colonel, and that he missed the military occupation to which he had been for so many years accustomed. The Colonel insisted that he was perfectly happy and contented. What could he want more than he hadthe society of his son, for the pres- eat; and a prospect of quiet for his declining days Binnie vowed that his friends days had no business to decline as yet; that a sober man of fifty ought to be at his best; and that New- come had grown older in three years in Europe, than u a quarter of a century in the Eastall which statements were true, though the Colonel persisted in denying them. He was very restless. He was always finding business in distant quarters of England. He must go visit Tom Barker who was settled in Devonshire, or Harry Johnson who had retired and was living in Wales. He surprised Mrs. Honey- man by the frequency of his visits to Brighton, and always came away much improved in health by the sea air, and by constant riding with the harriers there. He appeared at Bath and at Cheltenham, where, as we know, there are many old Indians. Mr. Binnie was not indisposed to accompany him on some of these jaunts pro- vided, the Civilian said, you dont take young Hopeful, who is much better without us; and let us two old fogies enjoy ourselves together. Clive was not sorry to be left alone. The fa- ther knew that only too well. The young man had occupations, ideas, associates, in whom the elder could take no interest. Sitting below in his blank, cheerless bedroom, Newcome could hear the lad and his friends talking, singing, and making merry, overhead. Something would be said in Clives well-known tones, and a roar of laughter would proceed from the youthful con~- pany. They had all sorts of tricks, by-words, waggeries, of which the father could not under- stand the jest nor the secret. He longed to share in it, but the party would be hushed if he went in to join itand he would come away cad at heart, to think that his presence should be a sig- nal for silence among them; and that his son could not be merry in his company. We must not quarrel with Clive and Clives friends, because they could not julie and be free in the presence of tIme worthy gentleman. If they hushed when ho came in, Thomas Neweomes sad face would seem to look roundappealing to one after another of them, and asking, why dont you go on laughing ~ A company of old com- rades shall be merry and laughing together, and the entrance of a single youngster will stop the conversationand if men of middle age feel this restraint with ~our juniors, the young ones surely have a right to be silent before their elders. The boys are always mum under the eyes of the usher. There is scarce any parent, however friendly or tender with his children, but must feel sometimes that they have thoughts which are not his or hers; and wishes and secrets quite beyond the parental control: and, as people are vain, long after they are fathers, ay, or grandfathers, and not seldom fancy that mere personal desire of domination is overweening anxiety and love for their family; no doubt that common outcry against thankless children might often be shown to prove, not that the son is disobedient, but the father too exacting. When a mother (as fond mothers often will) vows THE NEWCOMES. 59 that she knows every thought in her daughters heart, I think she pretends to know a great deal too much nor can there be a wholesomer task for the elders, as our young subjects grow up, naturally demanding liberty and citizens rights, than for us gracefully to abdicate our sovereign pretensions and claims of absolute control. Theres many a family chief who governs wisely and gently, who is loth to give tJae power up when he should. Ah, be sure, it is not youth alone that has need to learn humility! By their very virtues, and the purity of their lives, many good parents create flatterers for themselves, and so live in the midst of a filial court of parasites and seldom without a pang of unwillingness, and often not at all, will they consent to forego their autocracy, and exchange the tribute they have been wont to exact of love and obedience for the willing offering of love and freedom. Our good Colonel was not of the tyrannous, but of the loving order of fathers: and having fixed his whole heart upon this darling youth, his son, was punished, as I suppose such worldly and selfish love ought to be punished (so Mr. Honeyman says, at least, in his pulpit), by a hundred little mortifications, disappointments, and secret wounds, which stung not the less se- verely, thotigh never mentioned by their victim. Sometimes he would have a company of such gentlemen as Messrs. Warrington, Honeyman, and Pendennis, when haply a literary conversa- tion would ensue after dinner; and the merits of our present poets and writers would be dis- cussed with the claret. Honeyman was well enough read in profane literature, especially of the lighter sort ; and, I daresay, could have passed a satisfactory examination in Balzac, Dumas, and Paul de Kock himself, of all whose works our good host was entirely ignorant,as indeed he was of graver books, and of earlier books, and of books in generalexcept those few which we have said formed his traveling library. He heard opinions that amazed and bewildered him. He heard that Byron was no great poet, though a very clever man. He heard that there had been a wicked persecution against Mr. Popes memory and fame, and that it was time to rein- state him: that his favorite, Dr. Johnson, talked admirably, hut did not write English: that young Keats was a genius to be estimated in future days with young Raphael: and that a young gentleman of Cambridge who had lately published two volumes of verses, might take rank with the greatest poets of all. Doctor John- son not write English! Lord Byron not one of the greatest poets of the world! Sir Walter a poet of the second order! Mr. Pope attacked for inferiority and want of imagination! Mr. Keats and this young Mr. Tennyson of Cam- bridge, the chief of modem poetic literature! What were these new dicta, which Mr. Warring- ton delivered with a puff of tobacco-smoke: to which Mr. Honeyman blandly assented and Clive listened with pleasure Such opinions were not of the Colonels time. He tried in vain to con- strue ~ZEnone; and to make sense of Lamia. Ulysses he could understand; but what were these prodigious laudations bestowed on it And that reverence for Mr. Wordsworth, what did it mean Had he not written Peter Bell, and been turned into deserved ridicule by all the re- views Was that dreary Excursion to be com- pared to Goldsmiths Traveler, or Doctor John- sons Imitation of the Tenth Satire of Juvenal If the young men told the truth, where had been the truth in his own young days; and in what ignorance had our forefathers been brought up Mr. Addison was only an elegant essayist, and shallow trifler! All these opinions were openly uttered over the Colonels claret, as he and Mr. Binnie sat wondering at the speakers, who were knocking the gods of their youth about their ears. To Binnie the shock was not so great; the hard-headed Scotchman had read Hume in his college days, and sneered at some of the gods even at that early time. But with Newcome tho admiration for the literature of the last century was an article of belief: and the incredulity ef the young men seemed rank blasphemy. You will be sneering at Shakspearo next, he said: and was silenced, .though not better pleased, when his youthful guests told him, that Doctor Goldsmith sneered at him too; that Dr. Johnson did not understand him, and that Congreve, in his own day and afterwards, was considered to be, in some points, Shakspeares superior. What do you think a mans criticism is worth, sir, cries Mr. Warrington, who says those lines of Mr. Congreve, about a church how reverend is the face of yen tall pile, Whose ancient pillars rear their inarbL heads, To bear aloft its vast and ponderous roof, By its own weight made stedfast and immovable; Looking tranquillity. It strikes an awe And terror on my aching sight et caters what do you think of a critic who says those lines are finer than any thing Shakapeare ever wrote ! A dim consciousness of danger for Clive, a terror that his son had got into the society of heretics and unbelievers, came over the Coloneland then presently, as was the wont with his modest soul, a gentle sense of humility. He was in the wrong, perhaps, and these younger men were right. Who was he, to set up his judgment against men of letters, educated at College It was better that Clive ehould follow them than him, who had had but a brief schooling, and that neglected, and who had not the original genius of his sons brilliant companions. We particu- larize these talks, and the little incidental morti- fications which one of the best of men endured, not because the conversations are worth the re- membering or recording, hut because they pres- ently very materially influenced his own and his sons future history. In the midst of the artists and their talk the poor Colonel was equally in the dark. They as- saulted this academician and that; laughed at Mr. Haydon, or sneered at Mr. Eastlake, or the contrarydeified Mr. Turner on one side of the table, and on the other scorned him as a madman nor could Neweome comprehend a word of 60 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. their jargon. Some sense their must be in their cant I love the things which he loves ~ thought conversation: Clive joined eagerly in it and took Newcome; why am I blind to the beauties one side or another. But what was all this rap- which he admires so muchand am I unable to ture about a snuffy-brown picture called Titian, comprehend what he evidently understands at his this delight in three flabby nymphs by Rubens, young age ~ and so forth As for the vaunted Antique, and So, as he thought what vain egotistical hopes the Elgin marblesit might be that that battered he used to form about the boy when he was away torso was a miracle, and that broken-nosed bust in Indiahow in his plans for the happy future, a perfect beauty. He tried, and tried to see that Olive was to be always at his side; how they they were. He went away privily and worked were to read, work, play, think, be merry to- at the National Gallery with a catalogue: and gethcra sickening and humiliating sense of the passed hours in the Museum before the ancient reality came over him: and he sadly contrasted statues desperately praying to comprehend them, it with the former fond anticipations. Together and puzzled before them as he remembered he they were, yet hc was alone still. His thoughts was puzzled before the Greek rudiments as a were not the boys: and his affections rewarded child, when he cried over 6 icat ij d2~y6y~ Kctt ro but with a part of the young mans heart. Very d?~y6e~. Whereas when Olive came to look at likely other lovers have suffered equally. Many these sanw things his eyes would lighten up with a man and woman has been incensed and wor- pleasure, and his cheeks flush with enthusiasm. shiped, and has shown no more feeling than is He seemed to drink in color as he would a feast to be expected from idols. There is yonder of wine. Before the statues he would wave his statue in St. Peters, of which the toe is worn finger, following the line of grace, and burst into away with kisses, and which sits, and will sit ejaculations of delight and admiration. Why eternally, prim and cold. As the young man THE NEWOOMES. 61 grew, it seemed to the father as if each day sep- arated them more and more. He himself became more melancholy and silent. His friend the Civilian marked the ennui, and commented on it in his laughing way. Sometimes he announced to the club, that Tom Newcome was in love: then he thought it was not Toms heart hut his liver that was affected, and recommended blue- pill. 0 thou fond fool! who art thou, to know any mans heart save thine alone Wherefore were wings made, and do feathers grow, but that birds should fly2 The instinct that bids you love your nest, leads the young ones to seek a tree and a mate of their own. As if Thomas New- come by poring over poems or pictures ever so much could read them with Clives eyes as if by sitting mum over his wine, but watching till the lad came home with his latch-key (when the Colonel crept back to his own room in his stock- ings), by prodigal bounties, by stealthy affection, by any schemes or prayers, he could hope to re- main first in his sons heart! One day going into Clives study, where the lad was so deeply engaged that he did not hear the fathers steps advancing, Thomas Newcome found his son, pencil in hand, poring over a paper, which blushing he thrust hastily into his breast-pocket, as soon as he saw his visitor. The father was deeply smitten and mortified. II am sorry you have any secrets from me, Clive, he gasped out at length. The boys face lighted up with humor. Here it is, father, if you would like to see :and he pulled out a paper which contained neither more nor less than a copy of very flowery verses, about a certain young lady, who had succeeded (after I know not how many predecessors) to the place of prima-donna assoluta in Clives heart. And be pleased, Madam, not to be too eager with your censureand fancy that Mr. Clive or his Chronicler would insinuate any thing wrong. I daresay you felt a flame or two before you were married yourself: and that the Captain or the Curate, and the interesting young foreigner with whom you danced, caused your heart to heat, before you bestowed that treasure on Mr. Can- dor. Clive was doing no more than your own son will do, when he is eighteen or nineteen years old, himselfif he is a lad of any spirit and a worthy son of so charming a lady as yourself. CHAPTER XXII. DESCaIRES A VISIT TO PARIS; WITH ACCIDENTS AND INCIDENTS IN LONDON. MR. CLIvE, as we have said, had now begun to make acquaintances of his own; and the chimney-glass in his study was decorated with such a number of cards of invitation as made his ex-fellow-student of Gandishs, young Moss, when admitted into that sanctum, stare with re- spectful astonishment. Lady Barry Rowe at obey the young Hebrew read out; Lady Baugh- ton at obe, dadsig! By eyes! what a tip-top swell youre a gettid to be, Newcome! I guess this is a different sort of business to the hops at old Levisons, where you first learned the polka; VOL. IXNo. 49.E and where we had to pay a shilling a glass for negus We had to pay! You never paid any thing, Moss, cries Clive, laughing; and indeed the negus im- bibed by Mr. Moss did not cost that prudent young fellow a penny. Well, well; I sup- pose at these swell par- ties you ave as buch champade as ever you like, continues Moss. Lady Kicklebury at obesmall early party. Why I declare you know the whole peer- age! Isay,ifanyof these swells want a little tip-top lace, a real bargain, or diamonds, you know, you might put in a word forus, and do us a good turn. Give me some of I can distribute them your cards; says Clive; about at the balls I go to. But you must treat my friends better than you serve me. Those cigars which you sent me were abominable, Moss; the groom in the stable wont smoke them. What a regular swell that Newcome has become ! says Mr. Moss to an old companion, another of Clives fellow-students I saw him riding in the Park with the Earl of Kew, and Captain Belsize, and a whole lot of emI know em alland hed hardly nod to me. Ill have a ~l / All) 62 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. horse next Sunday, and 1/zen Ill see whether hell cut me or not. Confound his airs! For all hes such a count, I know hes got an aunt who lets lodgings at Brighton, and an uncle wholl be preaching in the Bench if he dont keep a precious good look out. Newcome is not a hit of a count, answers Mosss companion, indignantly. He dont care a straw whether a fellows poor or rich; and he comes up to my room just as willingly as he would go to a dukes. He is always trying to do a friend a good turn. He draws the figure capi- tally: he looks proud, but he isnt, and is the best- natured fellow I ever saw. He aint been in our place this eighteen months, says Mr. Moss: I know that. Because when he came, you were always screwing him with some bargain or other, cried the intrepid Hicks, Mr. Mosss companion for the moment. He said he couldnt afford to know you; you never let him out of your house without a pin, or a box of Eau de Cologne, or a bundle of cigars. And when you cut the arts for the shop, how were you and Newcome to go on to- gether, I should like to know ~ I know a relative of his who comes to our ouse every three months, to renew a little bill, says Mr. Moss, with a grin and I know this, if I go to the Earl of Kew in the Albany, or the Honorable Captain Belsize, Knightsbridge Bar- racks, they let me in soon enough. Im told his father aint got much money. How the deuce should I know l or what do I care? cries the young artist, stamping the heel of his blucher on the pavement. When I was sick in that confounded Clipstone-street, I know the Colonel came to see me, and Newcome, too, day after day, and night after night. And when I was getting well, they sent me wine and jelly, and all sorts of jolly things. I should like to know how often you came to see me, Moss, and what you did for a fellow ~ Well, I kep away, because I thought you wouldnt like to be re- minded of that two pound three you owe me, Hicks: thats why I kep away, says Mr. Moss, who, I daresay, was good-natured too. And when young Moss appeared at the billiard-room that night, it was evident that Hicks had told the story; for the Wardour-street youth was saluted with a roar of queries, How about that two pound three that Hicks owes you l The artless conversation of the two youths will enable us to under- stand how our Heros life was speed- ing. Connected in one way or an- other with persons in all ranks, it never entered his head to be ashamed of the profession which he had chosen. People in the great world did not in the least trouble them- selves regarding him, or care to know whether Mr. Olive Newcome followed painting or any other pursuit: and though Clive saw many of his school-fellows in the world, these entering into the army, others talking with delight of college, and its pleasures or studies; yet, having made up his mind that art was his calling, he refused to quit her for any other mistress, and plied his easel very stoutly. He passed through the course of study prescribed by Mr. Gandish, and drew every cast and statue in that gentlemans studio. Grindly, his tutor, getting a cur~cy, Clive did not replace him; but he took a course of modern languages, which he learned with con- siderable aptitude and rapidity. And now, being strong enough to paint without a master, it was found that there was no good light in the house in Fitzroy Square; and Mr. Olive must needs have an atelier bard by, where he could pursue his own devices independently. If his kind father felt any pang even at this temporary parting, he was greatly soothed and pleased by a little mark of attention on the young man s part, of which his. present biographer happened to be a witness; for having walked ovor with Colonel Newcome to see the new studio, with its tall centre window, and its curtains, and carved wardrobes, china jars, pieces of armor, and other artistical properties, the lad, with a very sweet smile of kindness and affection lighting up his honest face, took one of two Bramahs house- keys with which he was provided, and gave it to his father: Thats your key, sir, he said to the Colonel; and you must be my first sitter, please, father; for though Im a historical painter, I shall condescend to do a few portraits, you know. The Colonel took his sons hand, and grasped it; as Olive fondly put the other hand on his fathers shoulder. Then Colonel Newcome walked away into the next room for a minute or two, and came back wiping his mustache with his handkerchief, and still holding the key in the other hand. He spoke about some trivial subject when he return- Y~E III U THE NEWOOMES. 63 ed; but his voice quite trembled; and I thought his face seemed to glow with love and pleasure. Olive has never painted any thing better than that head, which he executed in a couple of sittings; and wisely left without subjecting it to the chances of further labor. It is certain the young man worked much better aftcr he had been inducted into this apartment of his own. And the meals at home were gayer; and the rides with his father more frequent and agreeable. The Colonel used his key once or twice, and found Olive and his friend Ridley en- gaged in depicting a life-guardsmanor a mus- cular negroor a Malay from a neighboring crossing, who wonid appear as Othello, conversing with a Clipstone-street nymph, who was ready to represent Desdemona, Diana, Queen Ellinor (sucking poison from the arm of the Plantagenet of the Blues), or any other model of virgin or maiden excellence. Of course our young man commenced as a his- torical painter, deeming that the highest branch of art, and declining (except for preparatory studies) to operate on any but the largest can- vases. He painted a prodigious battle-piece of Assaye, with General Wellesley at the head of the 19th dragoons charging the Mahratta Artillery, and sabering them at their guns. A piece of ord- nance was dragged into the back-yard, and tha Colonels studput into requisition to supply studies fGr this enormous picture. Fred Bayham (a stun- ning likeness) appeared as the principal figure in the foreground, terrifically wounded, but still of undaunted courage, slashing about amidst a group of writhing Malays, and bestriding the body of a dead cab-horse, which Olive painted, until the landlady and rest of the lodgers cried out., and for sanitary reasons the knackers removed the slaughtered charger. So large was this picture that it could only be got out of the great window by means of artifice and coaxing; and its trans- port caused a shout of triumph among the little boys in Charlotte-street. Will it be believed that the Royal Academicians rejected the Battle of Assaye The master-piece was so big that Fitz- roy Square could not hold it; and the Colonel had thoughts of presenting it to the Oriental Club but Olive (who had taken a trip to Paris with his father, as a de~lassemcnt after the fatigues incident on his great work), when he saw it after a months interval, declared the thing was rubbish, and mas- sacred Britons, Malays, Dragoons, Artillery, and all. Hotel de Ia Terrasse, Rue de Rivoli. April 27May 1,183. Mv DEAR PENDENNISYOu said I might write you a line from Paris: and if you find in my correspondence any valuable hints for the Pall Mall Gazettc you are welcome to use them gratis. Now I am here, I wonder I have never been here before; and that I have seen the Dieppe packet a thousand times at Brighton pier without thinking of going on board her. We had a rough little passage to Boulogne. We went into action as we cleared Dover pier, when the first gun was fired, and a stout old lady was carried off by a steward to the cabin; half a dozen more dropped immediately, and the crew bustled about, bring- ing basins for the wounded, The Colonel smiled as he saw them fall. Im an old sailor, says he to a gentleman on board, As I was coming home, Sir, and we had plenty of rough weather on the voyage, I never thought of being unwell. My boy here, who made the voyage twelve years ago last May, may have lost his sea-legs; but for me, Sir Here a great wave dashed over the three of us; and would you believe it in five minutes after, the dear old governor was as ill as all the rest of the passengers. When we arrived, we went through a line of ropes to the custom-house, with a crowd of snobs jeering at us on each side; and then were carried off by a bawling commissioner to an hotel, where the Colonel, who speaks French beautifully, ybu know, told the waiter to get us a petit dijeuner soignt~ on which the fellow, grinning, said, a nice fried sole, Sirnice mutton chop, Sir, in regular Temple-bar English; and brought us Harvey sauce with the chops, and the last Bells Life to amuse us after our luncheon. I wondered if all the Frenchmen read Bells Life and if all the inns smelt so of brandy-and-water. We walked out to see the town, which I dare say you know, and therefore shant describe. We saw some good studies of fishwomen with bare legs; and remarked that the soldiers were very dumpy and small. We were glad when the time came to set off by the diligence; and having the coup6 to ourselves, made a very comfortable journey to Paris. It was jolly to hear the pos- tillions crying to their horses, and the bells of the team, and to feel ourselves really in France. We took in provender at Abbeville and Amiens, and were comfortably landed here after.~bout six-and.. twenty hours of coaching Didnt I get up the next morning and have a good walk in the Tuil- eries The chestnuts were out, and the statues all shining; and all the windows of the palace in a blaze. It looks big enough for the king of the giants to live in. How grand it is! I like the barbarous splendor of the architecture, and the ornaments profuse and enormous with which it is overladen. Think of Louis XVI. with a thou- sand gentlemen at his back, and a mob of yelling ruffians in front of him, giving up his crown with- out a fight for it; leaving his friends to be butch- ered, and himself sneaking into prison! No end of little children were skipping and playing in the sunshiny walks, with dresses as bright and cheeks as red as the flowers and roses in the par- terres. I couldnt help thinking of Barbaroux and his bloody pikemen swarming in the gardens, and fancied the Swiss in the windows yonder; where they were to be slaughtered when the King had turned his back. What a great man that Carlyle is! I have read the battle in his His- tory so often, that I knew it before I had seen it. Our windows look out on the obelisk where the guillotine stood. The Colonel doesnt admire Carlyle. He says Mrs. Grahams Letters from Paris are excellent, and we bought Scotts Visit to Paris, and Paris Re-visited, and read them 64 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. in the diligence. They are famous gdod reading; but the Palais Royal is very much altered since Scott~s time: no end of handsome shops; I went there directlythe same night we arrived, when the Colonel went to bc~d. But there is none of the fun going on which Scott describes. The laqueis de place says Charles X. put an end to it all. Next morning the governor had letters to de- liver after breakfast; and left me at the Louvre door. I shall come and live here I think. I feel as if I never want to go away. I had not been ten minutes in the place before I fell in love with the most beautiful creature the world has ever seen. She was standing silent and majestic in the centre of one of the rooms of the statue gal- lery; and the very first glimpse of her struck one breathless with the sense of her beauty. I could not see the color of her eyes and hair exactly, but the latter is light, and the eyes I should think are gray. Her complexion is of a beautiful warm marble tinge. She is not a clever woman, evi- dently; I do not think she laughs or talks much she seems too lazy to do more than smile. She is only beautiful. This divine creature has lost an arm which has been cut off at the shoulder, but she looks none the less lovely for the accident. She may be some two-and-thirty years old; and she was horn about two thousand years ago. Her name is the Venus of Milo. 0, Victrix! 0, lucky Paris! (I dont mean this present Lute- tia, but Priams son.) How could he give the apple to any else but this enslaverthis joy of gods and men l at whose benign pr~sence the flowers spring up, and the smiling ocean sparkles, and the soft skies beam with serene light! I wish we might sacrifice. I would bring a spot- less kid, snowy-coated, and a pair of doves, and a jar of honeyyea, honey from Morels in Pic- cadilly, thyme-flavored, narbonian, and we would acknowledge the Sovereign Loveliness; and adjure the Divine Aphrodite. Did you ever see my pretty young cousin, Miss Newcome, Sir Brians daughter She has a great look of the huntress Diana. It is sometimes too proud and too cold for me. The blare of those horns is too shrill, and the rapid pursuit through bush and bramble too daring. 0, thou generous Venus! 0, thou beautiful bountiful calm! At thy soft feet let me kneelon cushions of Tyrian purple. Dont show this to Warrington, please. I never thought when I began that Pegasus was going to run away with me. I wish I had read Greek a little more at school: its too late at my age; I shall~be nine- teen soon, and have got my own business; but when we return I think I shall try and read it with Cribs. What have I been doing, spending six months over a picture of Sepoys and Dra- goons cutting each others throats Art ought not to be a fever. It ought to be a calm; not a screaming bull-fight or a battle of gladiators, but a temple for placid contemplation, wrapt worship, stately rhythmic ceremony, and music solemn and tender. I shall take down my Snyders and Rubens when I get home; and turn quietist. To think I have spent weeks in depicting bony Life Guardsmen delivering cut one, or Saint George, and painting black beggars off a cross- ing! What a grand thing it is to think of half a mile of pictures at the Louvre! Not but that there are a score under the old pepper-boxes in Trafalgar Square as fine as the best here. I dont care for any Raphael here, as much as our own St. Catharine. There is nothing more grand. Could the pyramids of Egypt or the Colossus of Rhodes be greater than our Sebastian; and for our Bacchus and Ariadne, you can not beat the best, you know. But if we have fine jewels, here there are whole sets of them: there are kings and all their splendid courts round about them. J. J. and I must come and live here. 0, such por- traits of Titian! 0, such swells by Vandyke! Im sure he must have been as fine a gentleman as any he painted! Its a shame they havent got a Sir Joshua or two. At a feast of painters he has a right to a place, and at the high table too. Do you remember Tom Rogers, of Gan- dishs I He used to come to my roomsmy other rooms in the Square. Tom is here, with a fine carrotty beard, and a velvet jacket, cut open at the sleeves, to show that Tom has a shirt. I dare say it was clean last Sunday. He has not learned French yet, but pretends to have forgotten En- glish; and promises to introduce me to a set of the French artists, his carnarades. There seems to be a scarcity of soap among these young fel- lows; and I think I shall cut off my mustaches; only Warrington will have nothing to laugh at when I come home. The Colonel and I went to dine at the Caf6 de Paris, and afterward to the opera. Ask for 1luitr~s de Marenne when you dine here. We dined with a tremendous French swell, the Vi- comte de Florac, officicr dordonnance to one of the princes, and son of some old friends of my fathers. They are of very high birth, hut very poor. He will be a duke when his cousin, the Duc dIvry, dies. His father is quite old. The vicomte was born in England. He pointed out to us no end of famous people at the operaa few of the Fauxbourg St. Germain, and ever so many of the present people :M. Thiers, and Count Mol6, and Georges Sand, and Victor Hugo, and Jules JaninI forget half their names. And yesterday we went to see his mother, Madame de Florac. I suppose she was an old flame of the Colonels, for their meeting was uncommonly ceremonious and tender. It was like an elderly Sir Charles Grandison saluting a middle-aged Miss Byron. And only fancy! the Colonel has been here once before since his return to England! It must have been last year, when he was away for ten days, while I was painting that rubbish- ing picture of the Black Prince waiting on King John. Madame de F. is a very grand lady, and must have been a great beauty in her time. There are two pictures by Gerard in her salonof her and M. de Florac. M. de Florac, old swell, powder, thick eyebrows, hooked nose; no end of stars, ribbons, and embroidery. Madame also in THE NEWOOMES. 65 the dress of the Empirepensive, beautiful, black velvet, and a look something like my cousins. She wore a little old-fashioned brooch yesterday, and said, Voila, la reconnoissez-vous? Last year when you were here, it was in the country; and she smiled at him; and the dear old boy gave a sort of groan and dropped his head in his hand. I know what it is. Ive gone through it myself. I kept for six months an absurd ribbon of that infernal little flirt, Fanny Freeman. Dont you remember how angry I was when you abused her? Your father and I knew each other when we were children, my friend, the Countess said to me (in the sweetest French accent). He was looking into the garden of the house where they live, in the Rue Saint Dominique. You must come and see me often, always. You remind me of him, and she added, with a very sweet, kind smile, Do you like best to think that he was better-looking than you, or that you excel him3 I said I should like to be like him. But who is There are cleverer fellows, I dare say; but where is there such a good one I wonder whether he was very fond of Madame de Florac The old Count doesnt show. He is quite old, and wears a pigtail. We saw it bobbing over his garden chair. He lets the upper part of his house; Major-General the Honorable Zeno F. Pokey, of Cincinnati, U. S., lives in it. We saw Mrs. Pokeys carriage in the court, and her foot- men smoking cigars there; a tottering old man with feeble legs, as old as old Count de Florac, seemed to be the only domestic who waited on the family below. Madame de Florac and my father talked about my profession. The Countess said it was a belle carri& e. The Colonel said it was better than the army. Ah oui, Monsieur, says she, very sadly. And then he said, that presently I should very likely come to study at Paris, when he knew there would be a kind friend to watch over son gar9ofl. But you will be here to watch over him yourself, mon emil says the French lady. Father shook his head. I shall very prob- ably have to go back to India, he said. My furlough is expired. I am now taking my extra leave. If I can get my promotion, I need not return. Without that I can not afford to live in Europe. But my absence in all probability will be but very short, he said. And Clive is old enough now to go on without me. Is this the reason why father has been so gloomy for some months past I thought it might have been some of my follies which made him uncomfortable; and you know I have been trying my best to amendI have not half such a tailors bill this year as last. I owe scarcely anything. I have paid off Moss every halfpenny for his confounded rings and gimcracks. I asked father about this melancholy news as we walked away from Madame de Florac. He is not near so rich as we thought. Since he has been at home he says he has spent greatly more than his income, and is quite angry at his own extravagance. At first he thought he might have retired from the army altogether; but after three years at home, he finds he can not live upon his income. When he gets his promotion as full Colonel, he will be entitled to a thousand a year; that, and what he has invested in India, and a little in this country, will be plenty for both of us. He never seems to think of my making money by my profession. Why, sup- pose I sell the Battle of Assaye for 500 3 that will be enough to carry me on ever so long, without dipping into the purse of the dear old father. The Viscount de Florac called to dine with us. The Colonel said he did not care about go- ing out: and so the Viscount and I went to- gether. Trois Frres Provanpauxhe ordered the dinner, and of course I paid. Then we went to a little theatre, and he took me behind the scenessuch a queer place! We went to the loge of Mademoiselle Finette, who acted the part of Le petit Tambour, in which she sings a famous song with a drum. He asked her and several literary fellows to supper at the Caf6 Anglais. And I came home ever so late, and lost twenty Napoleons at a game called Bouillott~. It was all the change out of a twenty-pound note which dear old Binnie gave me before we set out, with a quotation out of Horace you know, about Neque tu clioreas sperne puer. Oh me! how guilty I felt as I walked home at ever so much oclock to the Hotel de la Terrasse, and sneaked into our apartment! But the Colonel was sound asleep. His dear old boots stood sentries at his bedroom door, and I slunk into mine as silently as I could. P.S. Wednesday. Theres just one scrap of paper left. I have got J. J.s letter. He has been to the private view of the Academy (so that his own picture is in), and the Battle of Assaye is refused. Smee told him it was too big. I dare say its very bad. Im glad Im away, and the fellows are not condoling with me. Please go and see Mr. Binnie. He has come to grief. He rode the Colonels horse; came down on the pavement and wrenched his leg, and Im afraid the grays. Please look at his legs; we cant understand Johns report of them. He, I mean Mr. B., was going to Scotland to see his relations when the accident happened. You know he has always been going to Scotland to see his relations. He makes light of the busi- ness, and says the Colonel is not to think of coming to him: and I dont want to go back just yet, to see all the fellows from Gandishs, and the Life Academy, and have them grinning at my misfortune. The governor would send his regards I dare say, but he is out, and I am always yours affee- tionately, CLIvE NEwcOME. P.S. He tipped me himself this morning; isnt he a kind dear old fellow 3 66 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. ARTHUR PENDENNIS, ESQ., TO CLIVE NEW COME, ESQ. Pall Mall Gazette, Journal of Politics, Literature, and Fashion. 225, Catherine Street, Strand. DEAR CLIvEI regret very much for Fred Bayhams sake (who has lately taken the respon- sible office of Fine Arts Critic for the P. G.) that your extensive picture of the Battle of As- saye has not found a place in the Royal Academy Exhibition. F. B. is at least fifteen shillings out of pocket by its rejection, as he had prepared a flaming eulogium of your work, which of course is so much waste paper in consequence of this calamity. Never mind. Courage, my son. The Duke of Wellington you know was beat back at Seringapatam before he succeeded at Assaye. I hope you will fight other battles, and that fortune in future years will be more favorable to you. The town does not talk very much of your dis- comfiture. You see the parliamentary debates are very interesting just now, and somehow the Battle of Assaye does not seem to excite the public mind. I have been to Fitzroy Square; both to the stables and the house. The Houyhnhms legs are very well; the horse slipped on his side and not on his knees, and has received no sort of injury. Not so Mr. Binnie, his ancle is much wrenched and inflamed. He must keep his sofa for many days, perhaps weeks. But you know he is a very cheerful philosopher, and endures the evils of life with much equanimity. His sis- ter has come to him. I dont know whether that may be considered as a consolation of his evil or an aggravation of it. You know he uses the sarcastic method in his talk, and it was difficult to understand from him whether he was pleased or bored by the embraces of his relative. She was an infant when he last beheld her, on his departure to India. She is now (to speak with respect) a very brisk, plump, pretty little widow; having, seemingly, recovered from her grief at the death of her husband, Captain Mackenzie, in the West Indies. Mr. Binnie was just on the point of visiting his relatives who reside at Mus- selburgh, near Edinburgh, when he met with the fatal accident which prevented his visit to his native shores. His account of his misfortune and his lonely condition was so pathetic that Mrs. Mackenzie and her daughter put themselves into the Edinburgh steamer, and rushed to con- sole his sofa. They occupy your bedroom and sitting-room, which latter Mrs. Mackenzie says no longer smells of tobacco smoke, as it did when she took possession of your den. If you have left any papers about, any bills, any billets-doux, I make no doubt the ladies have read every single one of them, according to the amiable habits of their sex. The daughter is a bright little blue- eyed fair-haired lass, with a very sweet voice, in which she sings (unaided by instrumental music, and seated on a chair in the middle of the room) the artless ballads of her native country. I had the pleasure of hearing the Bonnets of Bonny Dundee, and Jack of Hazeldean, from her ruby lips two evenings since; not indeed for the first time in my life, but never from such a pretty lit- tle singer. Though both ladies speak our lan- guage with something of the tone usually em- ployed by the inhabitants of the northern part of Britain, their accent is exceedingly pleasant, and indeed by no means so strong as Mr. Binnies own; for Captain Mackenzie was an Englishman, for whose sake his lady modified her native Mus- selburgh pronunciation. She tells many inter- esting anecdotes of him, of the West Indies, and of the distinguished regiment of Infantry to which the captain belonged. Miss Rosa is agreat fa- vorite with her uncle, and I have had the good fortune to make their stay in the metropolis more pleasant, by sending them orders, from the Pall Mall Gazette, for the theatres, panoramas, and the principal sights in town. For pictures they do not seem to care much; they thought the National Gallery a dreary exhibition, and in the Royal Academy could be got to admire nothing but the picture of McCollop of McCollop, by our friend of the like name, but they think Madame Tussauds interesting exhibition of wax-work the most delightful in London; and there I had the happiness of introducing them to our friend Mr. Frederick Bayham; who, subsequently, on com- ing to this office with his valuable contributions on the Fine Arts, made particular inquiries as to their pecuniary means, and expressed himself instantly ready to bestow his hand upon the mother or daughter, provided old Mr. Binnie would make a satisfactory settlement. Igot the ladies a box at the opera, whither they were at- tended by Captain Goby of their regiment, god- father to Miss, and where I had the honor of paying them a visit. I saw your fair young cousin, Miss Newcome, in the lobby with her grand-mamma, Lady Kew. Mr. Bayham with great eloquence pointed out to the Scotch ladies the various distinguished characters in the house. The opera delighted them; but they were as- tounded at the ballet, from which mother and daughter retreated in the midst of a fire of pleas- antries of Captain Goby. I can fancy that offi- cer at mess, and how brilliant his anecdotes must be when the company of ladies does not restrain his genial flow of humor. Here comes Mr. Baker with the proofs. In case you dont see the P. G. at Galignanis, I send you an extract from Bayhams article on the Royal Academy, where you will have the benefit of his opinion on the works of some of your friends: 617. Moses bringing Home the Gross of green Spectacles. Smith, RAPerhaps poor Goldsmiths exquisite little work has neverbeen so great a favorite as in the present age. We have here, in a work by one of our mest eminent art- ists, a homage to the genius of him who touched nothing which he did not adorn : and the charm- ing subject is handled in the most delicious man- ner by Mr. Smith. The chiaroscuro is admira- ble: the impasto is perfect. Perhaps a very captious critic might object to the foreshortening of Mosess left leg; but where there is so much THE NEWCOMES. 67 to praise justly, the Pall-Mall Gazette does not care to condemn. 420. Our (and the publics) favorite, Brown, HA., treats us to a subject from the best of all stories, the tale which laughed Spains chivalry away, the ever-new Don Quixote. The inci- dent which Brown has selected is the Dons Attack on the Flock of Sheep ; the sheep are in Browns best manner, painted with all his well- known facility and brio. Mr. Browns friendly rival, Hopkins, lina selected Gil Blas for an illus- tration this year; and the Robbers Cavern is one of the most masterly of Hopkinss produc- tions. Great Rooms. 33. Portrait of Cardinal Cospetto. OGogstay, ARA.; and Neigh- borhood of CorpodibaccoEveninga Contadina and a Trasteverino dancing at the door of a Lo- canda to the music of a Pifferaro. Since his visit to Italy Mr. OGogstay seems to have given up the scenes of Irish humor with which he used to delight us; and the romance, the poetry, the religion of Italia Ia bella form the subjects of his pencil. The scene near Corpodibacco (we know the spot well, and have spent many a happy month in its romantic mountains) is most char- acteristic. Cardinal Cospetto, we must say, is a most truculent prelate, and not certainly an orna- ment to his church. 49,210,311. Smee, R.A.Portraitswhich a Reynolds might be proud of; a Vandyke or Claude might not disown. Sir Brian Newcome, i.n the costume of a Deputy-Lieutenant. Ma- jor-General Sir Thomas de Boots, K.C.B., l)ainted for the 50th Dragoons, are triumphs, in- deed, of this noble painter. Why have we no picture of the sovereign and her august consort from Smees brush When Charles II. picked up Titians mahl-stick, he observed to a courtier, A king you can always have; a genius comes but rarely. While we have a Smee among us, and a monarch whom we admire, may the one lie employed to transmit to posterity the beloved features of the other! We know our lucubra- tions are read in high places, and respectfully in- ninuate verham sapienti. 1906. The MCollop of MCollop,A. MCollop,is a noble work of a young artist, who, in depicting the gallant chief of a hardy Scottish clan, has also represented a romantic Highland landscape, in the midst of which, his foot upon his native heath, stands a man of splendid symmetrical figure and great facial ad- vantages. We shtll keep our eye on Mr. MCol- lop. 1367. Oberon and Titania. Ridley. This sweet and fanciful little picture draws crowds round about it, and is one of the most charming and delightful works of the present exhibition. We echo the universal opinion in declaring that it shows not only the greatest promise, but the most delicate and beautiful performance. The Earl of Kew, we understand, bought the picture at the private view; and we congratulate the young painter heartily upon his successful de%ut. He is, we understand, a pupil of Mr. Gandish. Where is that admirable painter We miss his bold canvases and grand historic outline. I shall alter a few inaccuracies in the com- position of our friend F. B., who has, as he says, drawn it uncommonly mild in the above criti- cism. In fact, two days since, he brought in an article of quite a different tendency, of which he retains only the two last paragraphs; but he has, with great magnanimity, recalled his previous ob- servations; and, indeed, he knows as much about pictures as some critics I could name. Good-by, my dear Clive! I send my kind- est regards to your father; and think you had best see as little as possible of your bouillotte- playing French friend and his friends. This ad- vice I know you will follow, as young men al- ways follow the advice of their seniors and well- wishers. I dine in Fitzroy Square to-day with the pretty widow and her daughter, and am, yours always, dear Clive, A. P. ChAPTER XXIII. IN WHICH WE HEAR A SOPRANO AND A CONTRALTO. THE most hospitable and polite of Colonels would not hear of Mrs. Mackenzie and her daugh- ter quitting his house when he returned to it, after six weeks pleasant sojourn in Paris; nor, indeed, did his fair guest show the least anxiety or intention to go away. Mrs. Macken- zie had a fine merry humor of her own. She was an old soldiers wife, she said, and knew when her quarters were good; and I suppose, since her honeymoon, when the captain took her to Harrogate and Cheltenham, stopping at the first hotels, and traveling in a chaise and pair the whole way, she had never been so well off as in that roomy mansion near Tottenham Court Road. Of her mothers house at Musselburgh she gave a ludicrous but dismal account. Eh, James, she said, I think if you had come to mamma, as you threatened, you would not have staid very long. Its a wearisome place. Dr. MCraw boards with her; and its sermons and psaha-singing from morning tilInight. My little Josey takes kindly to the life there, and I left her~ behind, poor little darling! It was not fair to~ bring three of us to take possession of your house, dear James; but my poor little Rosey was just withering away there. Its good for the dear child to see the world a. little, and a kind uncle, who is not afraid of us now he sees us, is he ~ 68 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. Kind Uncle James was not at all afraid of little Rosey, whose pretty face and modest manners, and sweet songs, and blue eyes, cheered and soothed the old bachelor. Nor was Roseys mother less agreeable and pleasant. She had married the captain (it was a love-match, against the will of her parents, who had destined her to be the third wife of old Dr. MMull) when very young. Many sorrows she had had, including poverty, the captains imprisonment for debt, and his demise; but she was of a gay and lightsome spirit. She was but three-and-thirty years old, and looked five-and-twenty. She was active, brisk, jovial, and alert; and so good-looking, that it was a wonder she had not taken a successor to Captain Mackenzie. James Binnie cautioned his friend the Colonel against the attractions of the buxom syren; and laughingly would ask Clive how he would like Mrs. Mackenzie for a mamaw 3 Colonel Newcome felt himself very much at ease regarding his future prospects. He was very glad that his friend James was reconciled to his family, and hinted to Clive that the late Cap- tain Mackenzies extravagance had been the cause of the rupture between him and his brother-in- law, who had helped that prodigal captain re- peatedly during his life; and in spite of family quarrels, had never ceased to act generously to his widowed sister and her family. But I think, Mr. Clive, said he, that as Miss Rosa is very pretty, and you have a spare room at your studio, you had best take up your quarters in Charlotte Street as long as the ladies are liv- me with us. Clive was nothing loth to be in- dependent; but he showed himself to be a very good home-loving youth. He walked home to breakfast every morning, dined often, and spent the evenings with the family. Indeed, the house was a great deal more cheerful for the presence of the two pleasant ladies. Nothing could be prettier than to see the two ladies tripping down stairs together, mammas pretty arm round Roseys pretty waist. Mammas talk was perpetually of Rosey. That child was always gay, always good, always happy! That darling girl woke with a smile on her faceit was sweet to see her! Uncle James, in his dry way, said, he dared to say it was very pretty. Go away, you droll, dear old kind Uncle James ! Roseys mamma would cry out. You old bachelors are wicked old things ! Uncle James used to kiss Rosey very kindly and pleasantly. She was as modest, as gentle, as eager to please Colonel Newcome as any little girl could be. It was pretty to see her tripping across the room with his coffee-cup; or peeling walnuts for him after dinner with her white, plump little fingers. Mrs. Irons, the housekeeper, naturally detested Mrs. Mackenzie, and was jealous of her: though the latter did every thing to soothe and coax the governess of the two gentlemens establishment. She praised her dinners, delighted in her puddings, must beg Mrs. Irons to allow her to see one of those delicious puddings made, and to write the receipt for her, that Mrs. Mackenzie might use it when she was away. It was Mrs. Irons belief that Mrs. Mackenzie never intended to go away. She had no ideer of ladies, as were ladies, com- ing into her kitchen. The maids vowed that they heard Miss Rosa crying, and mamma scold- ing in her bedroom, for all she was so soft- spoken. How was that jug broke, and that chair smashed in the bedroom, that day there was such a awful row up there 3 Mrs. Mackenzie played admirably, in the old- fashioned way, dances, reels, and Scotch and Irish tunes, the former of which filled James Binnies soul with delectation. The good mother naturally desired that her darling should have a few good lessons of the piano while she was in London. Rosey was eternally strumming upon an instru- ment which had been taken up stairs for her special practice; and the Colonel, who was al- ways seeking to do harmless jobs of kindness for his friends, bethought him of little Miss Cann, the governess at Ridleys, whom he recommended as an instructress. Any body whom you recom- mend Im sure, dear Colonel, we shall like, said Mrs. Mackenzie, who looked as black as thunder, and had probably intended to have Monsieur Quatremains or Signor Twankeydillo; and the little governess came to her pupil. Mrs. Mac- kenzie treated her very gruffly and haughtily at first; but as soon as she heard Miss Cann play, the widow was pacified, nay charmed. Monsieur Quatremains charged a guinea for three quarters of an hour; while Miss Cann thankfully took five shillings for an hour and a half; and the difference of twenty lessons, for which dear Uncle James paid, went into Mrs. Mackenzies pocket, and thence probably on to her pretty shoulders and head in the shape of a fine silk dress and a beau- tiful French bonnet, in which Captain Goby said, upon his life, she didnt look twenty. The little governess trotting home after her lesson would often look into Clives studio in Charlotte Street, where her two boys, as she called Clive and J. J., were at work each at his easel. Clive used to laugh, and tell us who joked him about the widow and her daughter, what Miss Cann said about them. Mrs. Mack w,~ms not all honey it appeared. If Rosey played incorrectly, mamma flew at her with prodigious vehemence of language; and sometimes with a slap on poor Roseys back. She must make Rosey wear tight boots, and stamp on her little feet if they refused to enter into the slipper. I blush for the indiscre- tion of Miss Cann; but she actually told J. J., that mamma insisted upon lacing h~r so tight, as nearly to choke the poor little lass. Rosey did not fight: Rosey always yielded; and the scolding over and the tears dried, would come simpering down stairs withmamma s arm round her waist, and her pretty, artless, happy smile for the gentlemen below. Be- sides the Scottish songs without music, she sang ballads at the piano very sweetly. Mamma used to cry at these ditties. That childs voice brings tears into my eyes, Mr. Newcome, she would say. She has never known a moments sorrow yet! Heaven grant, Heaven grant, she may be happy! But what shall I be when I lose her 3 THE NEWOOMES. 69 Why, my dear, when you lose Rosey, yell console yourself with Josey, says droll Mr. Binnie from the sofa, who perhaps saw the ma- nmuvre of the widow. The widow laughs heartily and really. She places a handkerchief over her mouth. She glances at her brother with a pair of eyes full of knowing mischief. Ah, dear James, she says, you dont know what it is to have a mothers feelings. I can partly understand them, says James. Rosey, sing me that pretty little French song. Mrs. Mackenzies attention to Clive was really quite affecting. If any of his friends came to the house, she took them aside and praised Clive to them. The Colonel she adored. She had never met with such a man or seen such a manner. The manners of the Bishop of Tobago were beautiful, and he certainly had one of the softest and finest hands in the world; but not finer than Colonel Newcomes. Look at his foot ! (and she put out her own, which was uncommonly pretty, and suddenly withdrew it, with an arch glance meant to represent a blush) my shoe would fit it! When we were at Coventry Island, Sir Peregrine Blandy, who succeeded poor dear Sir Rawdon CrawleyI saw his dear boy was gazetted to a lieutenant-colQnelcy in the Guards last weekSir Peregrine, who was one of the Prince of Waless most intimate friends, was always said to have the finest, manner and presence of any man of his day; and very grand and noble he was, but I dont think he was equal to Colonel Newcome; I really dont think so. Do you think so, Mr. Honeyman What a charming discourse that was last Sunday! I know there were two pair of eyes not dry in the church. I could not see the other people just for crying myself. 0, but I wish we could have you at Musselburgh! I was bred a Presbyterian of course; but in much traveling through the world with my dear hus- band, I came to love his church. At home we sit under Dr. McCraw, of course; but he is so awfully long! Four hours every Sunday at least, morning and afternoon! It nearly kills poor Rosey. Did you hear her voice at your church The dear girl is delighted with the chants. Rosey, were you not delighted with the chants 3 If she is delighted with the chants, Honeyman is delighted with the chantress and her mamma. He dashes the fair hair from his brow: he sits down to the piano, and plays one or two of them, warbling a faint vocal accompaniment, and look- ing as if he would be lifted off the screw music- stool, and flutter up to the ceiling. 0, its just seraphic ! says the widow. Its just the breath of incense, and the pealing of the organ at the Cathedral at Montreal. She was a wee wee child. She was born ~n the voyage out, and christened at sea. You remember, Goby. Gad, I promised and vowed to teach her her catechism; but gad, I havent, says Captain Goby. We were between Montreal and Que- bec for three years with the Hundredth, the Hun- dred and Twentieth Highlanders, and the Thirty- third Dragoon Guards a part of the time; Fipley commanded them, and a very jolly time we had. Much better than the West Indies, where a fel- lows liver goes to the deuce with hot pickles and sangaree. Mackenzie was a devlish wild fellow, whispers Captain Goby to his neighbor (the pres- ent biographer indeed), and Mrs. Mack was was as pretty a little woman as ever you set eyes on. (Captain Goby winks, and looks peculiarly sly as he makes this statement.) Our regiment wasnt on your side of India, Colonel. And in the interchange of such delightful re- marks, and with music and song the evening passes away. Since the house had been adorned by the fair presence of Mrs. Mackenzie and her daughter, Honeyman said, always gallant in be- havior and flowery in expression, it seemed as if spring had visited it. Its hospitality was in- vested with a new grace ; its ever welcome little reunzons were doubly charming. But why did did these ladies come, if they were to go away again 3 Howhow would Mr. Binnie console himself (not to mention others), if they left him in solitude 3 We have no wish to leave my brother James in solitude, cries Mrs. Mackenzie, frankly laugh- ing. SvVe like London a great deal better than Musselburgh. 0, that we do ! ejaculates the blushing Rosey. And we will stay as long as ever my brother will keep us, continues the widow. Uncle James is so kind and dear, says Rosey. I hope he wont send me and mamma away. He were a brutea savage, if he did ! cries Binnie, with glances of rapture toward the two pretty faces. Every body liked them. Binnie re- ceived their caresses very good-humoredly. The Colonel liked every woman under the sun. Clive laughed, and joked, and waltzed, alternately with Rosey and her mamma. The latter was the briskest partner of the two. The unsuspicious widow, poor dear innocent, would leave her girl at the painting-room, and go shopping herself; but little J. J. also worked there, being occupied with his second picture: and he was almost the only one of Clives friends whom the widow did not like. She pronounced the quiet little painter a pert little obtrusive, under-bred creature. In a word, Mrs. Mackenzie was, as the phrase is, setting her cap so openly at Clive, that none of us could avoid seeing her play: and Clive laughed at her simple manceuvres as merrily as the rest. She was a merry little woman. We gave her and her pretty daughter a luncheon in Lamb Court, Temple; in Sibwrigbts chambers luncheon from Dicks Coffee Houseices and dessert from Partingtons in the Strand. Miss Rosey, Mr. Sibwright, our neighbor in Lamb Court, and the Rev. Charles Honeyman sang very delightfully after lunch; there was quite a crowd of porters, laundresses, and boys to listen in the Court. Mr. Paley was disgusted with the noise we madein fact, the party was perfectly suc- cessful. We all liked the widow, and if she did 70 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. set her pretty ribbons at Clive, why should not had differences with Captain Mackenzie, who she 3 We all liked the pretty, fresh, modest was headstrong and imprudent, and I own my Rosey. Why, even the grave old benchers in the poor dear husband was in the wrong. James Temple church, when the ladies visited it on Sun- could not live with my poor mother. Neither day, winked their revered eyes with pleasure, as could by possibility suit the other. I have often, they looked at those two uncommonly smart, I own, longed to come and keep house for him. pretty, well-dressed, fashionable women. Ladies, His home, the society he sees, of men of talents go to the Temple church. You will see more likeMr. Warrington andandI wont mention young men, and receive more respectful attention names, or pay compliments to a man who knows there than in any place, except perhaps at Oxford human nature so well as the author of Walter or Cambridge. Go to the Temple churchnot, of Lorraine: this house is pleasanter a thousand course, for the admiration which you will excite times than Musselburghpleasanter for me and and which you can not help; but because the ser- my dearest Rosey, whose delicate nature shrunk mon is excellent, the choral services beautifully and withered up in poor mamma s society. She performed, and the church so interesting as a mon- was never happy except in my room, the dear ument of the thirteenth century, and as it con- child! Shes all gentleness and affection. She tains the tombs of those dear Knights Templars! doesnt seem to show it; but she has the most Mrs. Mackenzie could be grave or gay, accord- wonderful appreciation of wit, of genius, and ing to her company: nor could any woman be talent of all kinds. She always hides her feel- of more edifying behavior when an occasional ings, except from her fond old mother. I went Scottish friend, bringing a letter from darling up into our room yesterday, and found her in Josey, or a recommendatory letter from Joseys tears. I cant bear to see her eyes red or to grandmother, paid a visit in Fitzroy Square. think of her suffering. I asked her what ailed Little Miss Cann used to laugh and wink know- her, and kissed her. She is a tender plant, Mr. ingly, saying, You will never get back your Pendennis! Heaven knows with what care I bedroom, Mr. Clive. You may be sure that have nurtured her! She looked up smiling on Miss Josey will come in a few months; and per- my shoulder. She looked so pretty! 0, main- haps old Mrs. Binnie, only no doubt she and her ma, the darling child said, I couldnt help it. daughter do not agree. But the widow has I have been crying over Walter Lorraine!~ taken possession of Uncle James; and she will (Enter Rosey.) Rosey, darling! I have been carry off somebody else if I am not mistaken, telling Mr. Pendennis what a naughty, naughty Should you like a stepmother, Mr. Clive, or child you were yesterday, and how you read a should you prefer a wife 3 book which I told you you shouldnt read; for it Whether the fair lady tried her wiles upon is a very wicked book; and though it contains Colonel Newcome the present writer has no cer- some sad, sad truths, it is a great deal too misan- tam means of ascertaining: but I think another thropic (is that the right word 3 Im a poor sol- image occupied his heart; and this Circe tempted diers wife, and no scholar, you know), and a him no more than a score of other enchantresses great deal too bitter; and though the Reviews who had tried their spells upon him. If she praise it, and the clever peoplewe are poor sum- tried she failed. She was a very shrewd woman, ple country peoplewe wont praise it. Sing, quite frank in her talk when such frankness dearest, that little song (profuse kisses to Rosey) suited her. She said to me, Colonel Newcome that pretty thing that Mr. Pendennis likes. has had some great passion, once upon a time, I am sure that I will sing any thing that Mr. I am sure of that, and has no more heart to Pendennis likes, says Rosey, with her candid give away. The woman who had his must have bright eyes; and she goes to the piano and war- been a very lucky woman: though I dare say she bles Batti, Batti, with her sweet fresh artless did not value what she had; or did not live to voice. enjoy itoror something or other. You see More caresses follow. Mamma is in a rapture. tragedies in some peoples faces. I recollect How pretty they lookthe mother and daughter when we were in Coventry Islandthere was a two lilies twining together. The necessity of chaplain therea very good mana Mr. Bell, an entertainment at the Temple lunch from and married to a pretty little woman who died. Dicks (as before mentioned), dessert from Par- The first day I saw him I said, I know that man tingtons, Sibwrights spoons, his boy to aid ours has had a great grief in life. I am sure that he nay, Sib himself, and his rooms, which are so left his heart in England. You gentlemen who much more elegant than ours, and where there is write books, Mr. Pendennis, and stop at the third a piano and guitar: all these thoughts pass in volume, know very well that the real story often rapid and brilliant combination in the pleasant begins afterward. My third volume ended when Mr. Pendenniss mind. How delighted the la- I was sixteen, and was married to my poor bus- dies are with the proposal! Mrs. Mackenzie band. Do you think all our adventures ended claps her pretty hands, and kisses Rosey again. then, and that we lived happy ever after 3 I If osculation is a mark of love, surely Mrs. Mack live for my darling girls now. All I want is to is the best of mothers. I may say, without false see them comfortable in life. Nothing can be modesty, that our little entertainment was most more generous than my dear brother James has successful. The Champagne was iced to a nice- been. I am only his half-sister, you know, and ty. The ladies did not perceive that our laun- was an infant in arms when he went away. He dress, Mrs. Flanagan, was intoxicated very early THE NEWCOMES. 71 in the afternoon. Percy Sibwright sang admira- bly, and with the greatest spirit, ditties in many languages. I am sure Miss Rosey thought him (as indeed he is) one of the most fascinating young fellows about town. To her mothers ex- cellent accompaniment Rosey sang her favorite songs (by the way, her stock was very small five, I think, was the number). Then the table ~vas moved into a corner, where the quivering moulds of jelly seemed to keep time to the music; and while Percy played, two couple of waltzers actually whirled round the little room. No won- der that the court below was thronged with ad- mirers, that Paley, the reading man, was in a rage, and Mrs. Flanagan in a state of excite- ment. Ah! pleasant days, happy old dingy chambers illuminated by youthful sunshine! mer- ry songs and kind facesit is pleasant to recall you. Some of those bright eyes shine no more: some of those smiling lips do not speak. Some are not less kind, but sadder than in those days; of which the memories revisit us for a moment, and sink back into the gray past. The dear old Colonel beat time with great delight to the songs; the widow lit his cigar with her own fair fingers. That was the only smoke permitted during the entertainmentGeorge Warrington himself not being allowed to use his cutty-pipethough the gay little widow said that she haa been used to smoking in the West Indies, and I dare say spoke the truth. Our entertainment lasted actually un- til after dark: and a particularly neat cab being called from St. Clements by Mr. Binnies boy, you may be sure we all conducted the ladies to their vehicle: and many a fellow returning from his lonely club that evening into chambers must have envied us the pleasure of having received two such beauties. The clerical bachelor was not to be outdone by the gentlemen of the bar; and the entertainment at the Temple was followed by one at Honey- mans lodgings, which, I must own, greatly ex- ceeded ours in splendor, for Honeyman had his luncheon from Gunters; and if he had been Miss Roseys mother, giving a breakfast to the dear girl on her marriage, the affair could not have been more elegant and handsome. We had but two bouquets at our entertainment; at Honey- mans there were four upon the breakfast-table, besides a great pine-apple, which must have cost the rogue three or four guineas, and which Percy Sibwright delicately cut up. Rosey thought the pine-apple delicious. The dear thing does not remember the pine-apples in the West Indies cries Mrs. Mackenzie; and she gave us many exciting narratives of entertainments at which she had been present at various colonial govern- ors tables. After luncheon, our host hoped we should have a little music. Dancing of course, could not be allowed. That, said Honeyman, with his soft-bleating sigh, were scarcely clerical. You know, besides, you are in a her- mitege; and (with a glance round the table) must put up with Cenobites fare. The fare was, as I have said, excellent. The wine was bad, as George, and I, and Sib agreed; and in so far we flattered ourselves that our feast alto- gether excelled the parsons. The Champagne especially was such stuff, that Warrington re- marked on it to his neighbor, a dark gentleman, with a tuft to his chin, and splendid rings and chains. The dark gentlemans wife and daughter were the other two ladies invited by our host. The elder was splendidly dressed. Poor Mrs. Mac- kenzies simple gimcracks, though she displayed them to the most advantage, and could make an ormolu bracelet go as far as another woman s emerald clasps, were as nothing compared to the other ladys gorgeous jewelry. Her fingers glittered with rings innumerable. The head of her smelling-bottle was as big as her husbands gold snuff-box, and of the same splendid mate- rial. Our ladies, it must be confessed, came in a modest cab from Fitzroy Square; these arrived in a splendid little open carriage with white po- nies, and harness all over brass, which the lady of the rings drove with a whip that was a parasol. Mrs. Mackenzie? standing at Honey- man s window, with her arm round Roseys waist, viewed this arrival perhaps with envy. My dear Mr. Honeyman, whose are those beau- tiful horses 3 cries Rosey, with enthusiasm. The divine says with a faint blush It is ahit is Mrs. Sherrick and Miss Sherrick, who have done me the favor to come to luncheon. Wine merchant. Oh ! thinks Mrs. Mae- kenzie, who has seen Sherricks brass-plate on the cellar-door of Lady Whittleseas chapel; and hence, perhaps, she was a trifle more magnilo- quent than usual, and entertained us with stories of colonial governors and their ladies, mentioning no persons but those who had handles to their names, as the phrase is. Although Sherrick had actually supplied the Champagne which Warrington abused to him in confidence, the wine-merchant was not wound- ed; on the contrary, he roared with laughter at the remark, and some of us smiled who under- stood the humor of the joke. As for George Warrington, he scarce knew more about the town than the ladies opposite to him, who, yet more innocent than George, thought the Champagne very good. Mrs. Sherrick was silent during the meal, looking constantly up at her husband, as if alarmed and always in the habit of appealing to that gentleman, who gave her, as I thought, knowing glances and savage winks, which made me augur that he bullied her at home. Miss Sherrick was exceedingly handsome: she kept the fringed curtains of her eyes constantly down; but when she lifted them up toward Clive, who was very attentive to her (the rogue never sees a handsome woman, but to this day he continues the same practice) when she looked up and smiled, she was indeed a beautiful young crea- ture to beholdwith her pale forehead, her thick arched eyebrows, her rounded cheeks, and her full lips slightly shadedhow shall I mention the word 3slightly penciled, after the manner of the lips of the French governess, Mademoiselle Lenoir. 72 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. Percy Sibwright engaged Miss Mackenzie with his usual grace and affability. Mrs. Mackenzie did her very utmost to be gracious; but it was evident the party was not altogether to her liking. Poor Percy, about whose means and expectations she had in the most natural way in the world asked information from me, was not perhaps a very eligible admirer for darling Rosey. She knew not that Percy can no more help gallantry than the sun can help shining. As soon as Rosey had done eating up her pine-apple, art- lessly confessing (to Percy Sibwrights inquiries) that she preferred it to the rasps and hinnyblobs in her grandmammas garden, Now, dearest Rosey, cries Mrs. Mack, now, a little song. You promised Mr. Pendennis a little song. Honeyman whisks open the piano in a moment. The widow takes off her cleaned gloves (Mrs. Sherncks were new, and of the best Paris make), nnd little Rosey sings, No. 1 followed by No. 2, with very great applause. Mother and daughter entwine as they quit the piano. Brava! bra- va ! says Percy Sibwright. Does Mr. Clive Newcome say nothing His back is turned to the piano, and he is looking with all his might into the eyes of Miss Sherrick. Percy sings a Spanish seguidella, or a German lied, or a French romance, or a Neapolitan can- zonet, which, I am bound to say, excites very little attention. Mrs. Ridley is sending in coffee at this juncture, of which Mrs. Sherrick partakes, with lots of sugar, as she has partaken of num- berless things before. Chickens, plovers eggs, prawns, aspics, jellies, creams, grapes, and what not. Mr. Honeyman advances, and with deep respect asks if Mrs. Sherrick and Miss Sherrick will not be persuaded to sing. She rises and bows, and again takes off the French gloves, and shows the large white hands glittering with rings, and, summoning Emily her daughter, they go to the piano. Can she sing? whispers Mrs. Mackenzie, can she sing after eating so much 3 Can she sing, indeed! 0, you poor ignorant Mrs. Mac- kenzie! Why, when you were in the West In- dies, if you ever read the English newspapers, you must have read of the fame of Miss Folthorpe. Mrs. Sherrick is no other than the famous artist, who, after three years of brilliant triumphs at the Scala, the Pergola, the San Carlo, the opera in England, forsook her profession, rejected a hund- red suitors, and married Sherrick, who was Mr. Coxs lawyer, who failed, as every body knows, as manager of Drury Lane. Sherrick, like a man of spirit, would not allow his wife to sing in pub- lic after his marriage ; but in private society, of course, she is welcome to perform: and now, with her daughter, who possesses a noble con- tralto voice, she takes her place royally at the pi- ano, and the two sing so magnificently that every SHARPENING THE SCYTHE. 73 body in the room, with one single exception, is charmed and delighted; and that little Miss Cann herself creeps up the stairs, and stands with Mrs. Ridley at the door to listen to the music. Miss Sherrick looks doubly handsome as she sings. Clive Newcome is in a rapture; so is good- natured Miss Rosey, whose little heart beats with pleasure, and who says quite unaffectedly to Miss Sherrick, with delight and gratitude beaming from her blue eyes, Why did you ask me to sing, when you sing so wonderfully, so beautifully yourself! Do not leave the piano, please; do sing again. And she puts out a kind little hand to- ward the superior artist, and, blushing, leads her back to the instrument. Im sure me and Emily will sing for you as much as you like, dear, says Mrs. Sherrick, nodding to Rosey good-naturedly. Mrs. Mackenzie, who has been biting her lips and drumming the time on a side-table, forgets at last the pain of being vanquished, in admiration of the conquerors. It was cruel of you not to tell us, Mr. Honeyman, she says, of theof the treat you had in store for us. I had no idea we were going to meet professional people; Mrs. Sherricks singing is indeed beautiful. If you come up to our place in the Regents Park, Mr. Newcome, Mr. Sherrick says, Mrs. S. and Emily will give you as many songs as you like. How do you like the house in Fitzroy Square Any thing wanting doing there Im a good landlord to a good tenant. Dont care what I spend on my houses. Lose by em some- times. Name a day when youll come to us; and Ill ask some good fellows to meet you. Your father and Mr. Binnie came once. That was when you were a young chap. They didnt have a bad evening, I believe. You just come and try usI can give you as good a glass of wine as most, I think, and he smiles, perhaps thinking of the champagne which Mr. Warrington had slighted. Ive ad the close carriage for my wife this evenincY he continues, looking out of win- dow at a very handsome brougham which has just drawn up there. That little pair of horses steps prettily together, dont they Fond of horses 1 know you are. See you in the park; and going by our house sometimes. The Colonel sits a horse uncommonly well: so do you, Mr. New- come. Ive often said, Why dont they get off their horses and say, Sherrick, were come for a bit of lunch and a glass of sherry 3 Name a day, Sir. Mr. P., will you be in it 3 Clive Newcome named a day, and told his father of the circumstance in the evening. The Colonel looked grave. There was something which I did not quite like about Mr. Sherrick, said that acute observer of human nature. It was easy to see that the man is not quite a gentleman. I dont care what a mans trade is, Clive. Indeed, who are we, to give ourselves airs upon that sub- ject But when I am gone, my boy, and there is nobody near you who knows the world as I do, you may fall into designing hands, and rogues may lead you into mischief: keep a sharp look out, Clive. Mr. Pendennis, here, knows that there are designing fellows abroad (and the dear old gentleman gives a very knowing nod as he speaks). When I am gone, keep the lad from harms way, Pendennis. Meanwhile Mr. Sherrick has been a very good and obliging landlord; and a man who sells wine may certainly give a friend a bottle. I am glad you had a pleasant evening, boys. Ladies! I hope you have had a pleasant afternoon. Miss Rosey, you are come back to make tea for the old gentlemen 3 James begins to get about briskly now. He walked to Hanover Square, Mrs. Mackenzie, without hurting his ankle in the least. Im almost sorry that he is getting well, says Mrs. Mackenzie, sincerely. He wont want us when he is quite cured. Indeed, my dear creature ! cries the Colonel, taking her pretty hand and kissing it. He will want you, and he shall v;ant you. James no more knows the world than Miss Rosey here; and if I had not been with him, would have been perfectly unable to take care of himself. When I am gone to India, somebody must stay with him; and and my boy must have a home to go to, says the kind soldier, his voice dropping. I had been in hopes that his own relatives would have received him more; but never mind about that, he cried more cheerfully. Why, I may not be absent a year! perhaps need not go at allI am second for promotion. A couple of our old generals may drop any day; and when. I get my regiment I come back to stay, to live at home. Meantime, while I am gone, my dear lady, you will take care of James; and you will be kind to my boy ! That I will ! said the widow, radiant with pleasure, and she took one of Clives hands and pressed it for an instant; and from Clives fathers kind face there beamed out that benediction, which always made his countenance appear to me among the most beautiful of human faces. SHARPENING THE SCYTHE. IN the heart of a high table-land that overlooks many square leagues of the rich scenery of Devonshire, the best scythe-stone is found. The whole face of the enormous cliff in which it is contained is honeycombed with minute quarries; half-way down there is a wagon road, entirely formed of the sand cast out from them. To walk along that vast soft terrace on a July evening is to enjoy one of the most delightful scenes in England. Forests of fir rise overhead like cloud on cloud; through openings of these there peeps the purple moorland stretching far southward to the Roman Camp, and barrows from which spears and skulls are dug continually. What- ever may be underground, it is all soft and bright above, with heath and wild flowers, about which a breeze will linger in the hottest noon. Down to the sand road the breeze does not come; there we may walk in calm, and only see that it is quivering among the topmost trees. From the camp the Atlantic can be seen, but from the sand road the view is more limited, though many a bay and headland far beneath show where the ocean of a past age rolled. Fossils and shells are almost as plentiful within the cliff as the

Sharpening the Scythe 73-76

SHARPENING THE SCYTHE. 73 body in the room, with one single exception, is charmed and delighted; and that little Miss Cann herself creeps up the stairs, and stands with Mrs. Ridley at the door to listen to the music. Miss Sherrick looks doubly handsome as she sings. Clive Newcome is in a rapture; so is good- natured Miss Rosey, whose little heart beats with pleasure, and who says quite unaffectedly to Miss Sherrick, with delight and gratitude beaming from her blue eyes, Why did you ask me to sing, when you sing so wonderfully, so beautifully yourself! Do not leave the piano, please; do sing again. And she puts out a kind little hand to- ward the superior artist, and, blushing, leads her back to the instrument. Im sure me and Emily will sing for you as much as you like, dear, says Mrs. Sherrick, nodding to Rosey good-naturedly. Mrs. Mackenzie, who has been biting her lips and drumming the time on a side-table, forgets at last the pain of being vanquished, in admiration of the conquerors. It was cruel of you not to tell us, Mr. Honeyman, she says, of theof the treat you had in store for us. I had no idea we were going to meet professional people; Mrs. Sherricks singing is indeed beautiful. If you come up to our place in the Regents Park, Mr. Newcome, Mr. Sherrick says, Mrs. S. and Emily will give you as many songs as you like. How do you like the house in Fitzroy Square Any thing wanting doing there Im a good landlord to a good tenant. Dont care what I spend on my houses. Lose by em some- times. Name a day when youll come to us; and Ill ask some good fellows to meet you. Your father and Mr. Binnie came once. That was when you were a young chap. They didnt have a bad evening, I believe. You just come and try usI can give you as good a glass of wine as most, I think, and he smiles, perhaps thinking of the champagne which Mr. Warrington had slighted. Ive ad the close carriage for my wife this evenincY he continues, looking out of win- dow at a very handsome brougham which has just drawn up there. That little pair of horses steps prettily together, dont they Fond of horses 1 know you are. See you in the park; and going by our house sometimes. The Colonel sits a horse uncommonly well: so do you, Mr. New- come. Ive often said, Why dont they get off their horses and say, Sherrick, were come for a bit of lunch and a glass of sherry 3 Name a day, Sir. Mr. P., will you be in it 3 Clive Newcome named a day, and told his father of the circumstance in the evening. The Colonel looked grave. There was something which I did not quite like about Mr. Sherrick, said that acute observer of human nature. It was easy to see that the man is not quite a gentleman. I dont care what a mans trade is, Clive. Indeed, who are we, to give ourselves airs upon that sub- ject But when I am gone, my boy, and there is nobody near you who knows the world as I do, you may fall into designing hands, and rogues may lead you into mischief: keep a sharp look out, Clive. Mr. Pendennis, here, knows that there are designing fellows abroad (and the dear old gentleman gives a very knowing nod as he speaks). When I am gone, keep the lad from harms way, Pendennis. Meanwhile Mr. Sherrick has been a very good and obliging landlord; and a man who sells wine may certainly give a friend a bottle. I am glad you had a pleasant evening, boys. Ladies! I hope you have had a pleasant afternoon. Miss Rosey, you are come back to make tea for the old gentlemen 3 James begins to get about briskly now. He walked to Hanover Square, Mrs. Mackenzie, without hurting his ankle in the least. Im almost sorry that he is getting well, says Mrs. Mackenzie, sincerely. He wont want us when he is quite cured. Indeed, my dear creature ! cries the Colonel, taking her pretty hand and kissing it. He will want you, and he shall v;ant you. James no more knows the world than Miss Rosey here; and if I had not been with him, would have been perfectly unable to take care of himself. When I am gone to India, somebody must stay with him; and and my boy must have a home to go to, says the kind soldier, his voice dropping. I had been in hopes that his own relatives would have received him more; but never mind about that, he cried more cheerfully. Why, I may not be absent a year! perhaps need not go at allI am second for promotion. A couple of our old generals may drop any day; and when. I get my regiment I come back to stay, to live at home. Meantime, while I am gone, my dear lady, you will take care of James; and you will be kind to my boy ! That I will ! said the widow, radiant with pleasure, and she took one of Clives hands and pressed it for an instant; and from Clives fathers kind face there beamed out that benediction, which always made his countenance appear to me among the most beautiful of human faces. SHARPENING THE SCYTHE. IN the heart of a high table-land that overlooks many square leagues of the rich scenery of Devonshire, the best scythe-stone is found. The whole face of the enormous cliff in which it is contained is honeycombed with minute quarries; half-way down there is a wagon road, entirely formed of the sand cast out from them. To walk along that vast soft terrace on a July evening is to enjoy one of the most delightful scenes in England. Forests of fir rise overhead like cloud on cloud; through openings of these there peeps the purple moorland stretching far southward to the Roman Camp, and barrows from which spears and skulls are dug continually. What- ever may be underground, it is all soft and bright above, with heath and wild flowers, about which a breeze will linger in the hottest noon. Down to the sand road the breeze does not come; there we may walk in calm, and only see that it is quivering among the topmost trees. From the camp the Atlantic can be seen, but from the sand road the view is more limited, though many a bay and headland far beneath show where the ocean of a past age rolled. Fossils and shells are almost as plentiful within the cliff as the 74 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. scythe-stone itself, and wondrous bones of ex- tinct animals are often brought to light. All day long, summer and winter, in the som- bre fir-groves may be heard the stroke of the spade and the click of the hammer; a hundred men are at work like bees upon the cliff, each in his own cell of the great honeycomb, his private passage. The right to dig in his own burrow each of these men has purchased for a trifling sum, and he toils in it daily. Though it is a narrow space, in which he is not able to stand upright, and can scarcely turnthough the air in it that he breathes is damp and deadlythough the color in his cheek is commonly the hectic of consumption, and he has a cough that never leaves him night or daythough he will himself remark that he does not know among his neigh- bors one old manand though, all marrying early, few ever see a father with his grown-up son, yet, for all this, the scythe-stone cutter works in his accustomed way, and lives his short life merrily, that is to say, he drinks down any sense or care that he might have. These poor men are almost without exception sickly drunk- ards. The women of this community are not much healthier. It is their task to cut and shape the rough-hewn stone into those pieces where- with the mower whets his scythe. The thin particles of dust that escape during this process are very pernicious to the lungs; but, as usual, it is found impossible to help the ignorant sufferers by any thing in the form of an idea from without; a number of masks and respirators have been more than once provided for them by the charity of the neighboring gentry, hut scarcely one woman has given them her countenance. The short life of the scythe-stone cutter is also always liable to be abruptly ended. Safety re- quires that fir-poles from the neighboring wood should be driven in one by one on either side of him, and a third flat stake be laid across to make the walls and roof safe, as the digger pushes his long burrow forward. Cheap as these fir-poles are, they are too often dispensed with. There is scarcely one of the hundred mined entrances of disused caverns here to be seen, through which some crushed or suffocated workman has not been brought out dead. The case is common. A man can not pay the trifle that is necessary to buy fir-poles for the support of his cell walls; the consequence is, that sooner or later, it must almost inevitably happen that one stroke of the pickax shall produce a fall of sand behind him, and set an impassable barrier between him and the world without. It will then be to little pur- pose that another may he working near him, prompt to give the alarm and get assistance; tons upon tons of heavy sand divide the victim from the rescuers, and they must prop and roof their way at every step, lest they too perish. Such accidents are therefore mostly fatal; if the man was not at once crushed by a fall of sand upon him, he has been cut off from the outer air, and suffocated in his narrow worm-hole. White- knights is a small village at the foot of this cliff, inhabited almost entirely by persons following this scythe-stone trade. The few agiicultural laborers there to be met with may be distinguished at a glance from their brethren of the pits ; the bronzed cheeks from the hectic, the muscular frames from the bodies which disease has weak- ened, and which dissipation helps to a more swift decay. The cottages are not ill-built, and gen- erally stand detached in a small garden; their little porches may be seen of an evening thronged with dirty pretty children, helping father outside his cavern by carrying the stone away in little baskets, as he brings it out to them. Beside the Luta rivulet, which has pleasanter nooks, more flowery banks, and falls more musical than any stream in Devon; beside this brook, and parted by a little wood of beeches and wild laurel from the village, is a very pearl of cottages. Honeysuckle, red-rose, and sweet-briar hold it entangled in a fragrant net-work; they fall over the little windows, making twilight at midnoon, yet nobody has ever thought of cutting them away or tying up a single tendril. Grandfather Markham and his daughter Alice, with John Drewit, her husband and master of the house, used to live there, and they had three little chil- dren, Jane, Henry, and Joe. A little room over the porch was especially neat. It was the best room in the cottage, and therein was lodged old Markham, who had, so far as the means of his children went, the best of hoard as well. He was not a very old man, but looked ten years older than he was, and his hand shook through an infirmity more grievous than age. He was a gin-drinker. John Drewit had to work very hard to keep not only his own household in food and clothing, but also his poor old father-in-law in drink. John was a hale young man when first I knew him, but he soon began to alter. As soon as it was light he was away to the sand-cliff by a pleasant winding path through the beechwood and up the steps which his own spade had cut. One or two of them he had made broader than the rest, at intervals, where one might willingly sit down to survey the glory spread beneath; the low, white, straw-thatched farms gleaming like light among the pasture-lands, the little towns each with its shining river, and the great old city in the hazy distance; the high beacon hills, the woods, and far as eye could see, the mist that hung over the immense Atlantic. This resting on the upward path, at first a pleasure, became soon a matter of necessity, and that, too, long before the cough had settled down upon him; few men in Whiteknights have their lungs so whole that they can climb up to their pits without a halt or two. The old man helped his son-in-law sometimes; he was a good sort of old man by nature, and not a hit more selfish than a drunkard always must he. He ground the rough stones into shape at home, minded the children in his daughters absence, and even used the pick himself when he was sober. John, too, was for his wifes sake tolerant of the old mans infirmity, though half his little earnings went to gratify the old mans SHARPENING THE SCYTHE. 75 appetite. At last necessity compelled him to be, as he thought, undutiful. Print after print van- ished from the cottage walls, every little orna- ment, not actually necessary furniture, was sold: absolute want threatened the household, when John at last stated firmly, though tenderly, that grandfather must give up the gin-bottle or find some other dwelling. Alice was overcome with tears, but when appealed to by the old man, pointed to her dear husband, and bowed her head to his wise words. For two months after this time, there were no more drunken words nor angry tongues to be heard within Johns pleasant cottage. Nothing was said by daughter or by son-in-law of the long score at the public-house that was being paid off by instalments; the daughter looked no longer at her father with reproachful eyes, and the children never again had to be taken to bed before their timehurried away from the sight of their grandfathers shame. At last, however, on one S anday evening in July, the ruling passion had again the mastery; Markham came home in a worse state than ever; and in addition to the usual debasement, it was evident that he was possessed also by some maudlin terror, that he had no power to express. Leaving him on his bed in a lethargic sleep, John sallied forth as usual at dawn; his boys, Harry and Joe, carrying up for him his miners spade and basket. Heavy-hearted as he was, he could not help being gladdened by the wonderful beauty of the landscape. His daughter told me that she never saw him stand so long looking at the countryhe seemed unwillingly to leave the sunlight for his dark, far-winding burrow. His burrow he had no reason to dread. Poverty never had pressed so hard upon John Drewit as to in- duce him to sell away the fir-props that assured the safety of his life. Often and often had his voice been loud against those men, who, knowing of the mortal danger to which they exposed their neighbors, gave drink or money in exchange for them to the foolhardy and vicious. Great, there- fore, was his horror when he went into his cave that morning, and found that his own props had been removed. They had not been taken from the entrance, where a passer-by might have ob- served their absence; all was right for the first twenty yards, but beyond that distance down to the end of his long toil-worn labyrinth every pole was stripped away. Surely he knew at once that it was not an enemy wlo had done this; he knew that the wretched old man who lay stupefied at home, had stolen and sold his life defense for drink. All that the poor fellow told his boys was that they should keep within the safe part of the digging while he himself worked on into the rock as usual. Three or four times he brought out a heap of scythe-stones in his basket, and then he was seen alive no more. Harry, his eldest son, was nearest to the un- propped passage when the sand cliff fell. When he heard his father call out suddenly, he ran at once eagerly, running toward the candle by which the miner worked, but on a sudden all was dark; there was no light from candle or from sun before and behind was utter blackness, and there was a noise like thunder in his ears. The whole hill seemed to have fallen upon them both, and many tons of earth parted the father from his child. The sand about the boy did not press on him closely. A heavy piece of cliff that held to- gether was supported by the narrow walls of the passage, and his fate was undetermined. He attended only to the muffled sounds within the rock, from which he knew that his father, though they might be the sounds of his death struggle, still lived. To the people outside the alarm had instantly been given by the other child, and in an incredibly short space of time the laborers from field and cave came hurrying up to the rescue. Two only could dig together, two more propped the way behind them foot by foot; relays eagerly waited at the entrance; and not an instant was lost in replacing the exhausted workmen. Every thing was done as quickly, and, at the same time, as judiciously as possible; the surgeon had at the first been ridden for, at full speed, to the neigh- boring town; brandy and other stimulants, a rude lancetwith which many of the men were but too well practiced operatorsbandages and blank- ets were all placed ready at hand: for the dis- aster was so common at Whiteknights that every man at once knew what was proper to be done. Those who were not actively engaged about the cave, were busy in the construction of a litter perhaps a bierfor the unhappy victims. How this could have happened 3 was the whis- pered wonder. John was known to be far too prudent a man to have been working without props, and yet fresh ones had to be supplied t? the rescuers, for they found none as they ad- vanced. The poor widowevery moment made more sure of her bereavementstood a little way aside; having begged for a spade and been re- fused, she stood with her two children hanging to her apron, staring fixedly at the pits mouth. IDown at the cottage there was an old man in- voking Heavens vengeance on his own gray head and reproaching himself fiercely with the consequences of his brutal vice; he had stolen the poles from his sons pit on the previous morn- ing, to provide himself with drink; and on that very day, even before he was quite recovered from his yesterdays debauch, he was to see the victim of his recklessness brought home a lifeless heap. He saw John so brought in, hut with the eyes of a madman; his brain, ~veakened by drunkenness, never recovered from that shock. Basket and barrow had been brought full out of the pit a hundred times; and it was almost noon before, from the bowels of the very mount- am as it seemed, there came up a low moaning cry. My child, my child, murmured the mother: and the digging became straightway even yet more earnest, almost frantic in its speed and violence. Presently into the arms of Alice little Harry was delivered, pale and corpse-like, but alive; and then a shout as of an army was set up by all the men. 76 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. They dug on until after sunsetlong after they had lost all hope of finding John alive. His body was at last found. It was placed upon the litter, and taken, under the soft evening sky, down through the beech wood home. Alice walked hy its side, holding its hand in hers, speechless, and with dry eyes. She never knew until after her fathers death, how her dear John was murdered. She used to wonder why the old man shrank from her when she visited him, as she often did, in his confinement. The poor widow is living now, though she has suffered grief and want. Her daughter Jane has married a field laborer, and her sons, by whom she is now well supported, have never set foot in a pit since they lost their father. RIGHTS AND WRONGS OF WOMEN. 0 denies the fact that women have one wrongs; we wrangle only over the alphabet of amelioration. Some advocate her being un- sexed as the best means of doing her justice; others propose her intellectual annihilation, and the further suppression of her individuality, on the homceopathic principle of giving as a cure the cause of the disease. How few open the golden gates which lead to the middle Sacred Way, whose stillness offends the noisy, and whose retirement disgusts the restless; the middle path of a noble, unpretend- ing, redeeming, domestic, usefulness: stretching out from Home, like the rays of a beautiful star, all over the world! Yet here have walked the holy women of all ages; a long line of saints and heroines; whose virtues have influenced count- less generations, and who have done more for the advancement of humanity than all the Pub- lic Functionists together. Not that the compar- ison bespeaks much, or is worthy of the sacred Truth. A word with ye, 0 Public Functionistsye damagers of a good cause by loading it with ridiculeye assassins of truth by burying it be- neath exaggeration! A woman such as ye would make herteaching, preaching, voting, judging, commanding a man-of-war, and charg- ing at the head of a battalionwould be simply an amorphous monster, not worth the little finger of the wife we would all secure if we could, the tacens et placens uxor, the gentle helpmeet of our burdens, the soother of our sorrows, and the enhancer of our joys! Imagine a follower of a certain Miss Betsy Millar, who for twelve years commanded the Scotch brig, Cloetusimagine such an one at the head of ones table, with horny hands covered with fiery red scars and blackened with tar, her voice hoarse and cracked, her skin tanned and hardened, her language seasoned with nautical allusions and quarter-deck imagery, and her gait and step the rollicking roll of a bluff Jack-tar. She might be very estimable as a hu- man being, honorable, brave, and generous, but she would not he a woman: she would not fulfill one condition of womanhood, and therefore she would he unfit and imperfect, unsuited to her place and unequal to her functions. What man (moderately sane) would prefer a woman who had been a sea captain ten or twelve years, to the most ordinary of piano-playing and flower-paint~. ing young ladies Mindless as the one might be, the rough practicality of the other would be worse; and helpless as fashionable education makes young ladies, Heaven defend us from the virile energy of a race of Betsy Millars! Yet one philosopher has actually been found, who has had the moral courage to quote this ladys career as a proof that women are fitted by nature for ofli- ces which men have always assumed to them- selves, and that it would be a wise, and healthful, and a natural state of society which should man brigs with boarding-school girls, and appoint emancipated females as their commanders. We wish Mr. Thomas Wentworth Iligginson, the heroic champion of Betsy Millar, no worse fate than to marry one of his favorite sea captain- esses. In the Utopia that is to come, women are to be voters, barristers, members of congress, and judges. They are to rush to the polling-booth, and mount the hustings, defiant of brickhats and careless of eggs and cabbages. They are to mingle with the passions and violences of men by way of asserting their equality, and to take part in their vices by way of gaining their rights. They are to be barristers, too, with real blue bags, pleading for murderers and sifting the evidence of divorce cases; offices, no doubt, highly con- ducive to their moral advancement and the main- tenance of their purity, but such as we, being of the old-fashioned and eminently unenlightened school, would rather not see our wives or daugh- ters engaged in. Of doctoresses we will say no- thing. The care and the ~ure of the sick belong to women, as do all things gentle and loving. And though we can scarcely reconcile it with our present notions of the fitness of things, that a gentlewoman of refinement and delicacy should frequent dissecting-rooms among the crowd of young students, and cut up dead bodies and liv- ing ones as her mother cut out baby-clothes, yet the care of the sick is so holy a duty, that if these terrible means are necessary, they are sanctified by the end, and God prosper those who under- take them! But they are not necessary. Wom- en are better as medical assistants than as in- dependent practitioners; their services are more valuable when obeying than when originating orders; and as nurses they do more good than as doctors. Besides, it would be rather an in- convenient profession at times. A handsome woman, under fortyor over itwould be a dangerous doctor for most men; and as special- ities in medicine are quackeries, it would be humbug and affectation to shrink from any cases. For, admitting the principle that woman~ s mis- sionat least one of themis to doctor, it must he extended in practice to all alike. And we may imagine various circumstances in which a young doctress would be somewhat embarrassing, if not embarrassed; yet what are we to do when all the doctors are driven out of the field, and we have no choice left us And if women are to

Rights and Wrongs of Woman 76-78

76 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. They dug on until after sunsetlong after they had lost all hope of finding John alive. His body was at last found. It was placed upon the litter, and taken, under the soft evening sky, down through the beech wood home. Alice walked hy its side, holding its hand in hers, speechless, and with dry eyes. She never knew until after her fathers death, how her dear John was murdered. She used to wonder why the old man shrank from her when she visited him, as she often did, in his confinement. The poor widow is living now, though she has suffered grief and want. Her daughter Jane has married a field laborer, and her sons, by whom she is now well supported, have never set foot in a pit since they lost their father. RIGHTS AND WRONGS OF WOMEN. 0 denies the fact that women have one wrongs; we wrangle only over the alphabet of amelioration. Some advocate her being un- sexed as the best means of doing her justice; others propose her intellectual annihilation, and the further suppression of her individuality, on the homceopathic principle of giving as a cure the cause of the disease. How few open the golden gates which lead to the middle Sacred Way, whose stillness offends the noisy, and whose retirement disgusts the restless; the middle path of a noble, unpretend- ing, redeeming, domestic, usefulness: stretching out from Home, like the rays of a beautiful star, all over the world! Yet here have walked the holy women of all ages; a long line of saints and heroines; whose virtues have influenced count- less generations, and who have done more for the advancement of humanity than all the Pub- lic Functionists together. Not that the compar- ison bespeaks much, or is worthy of the sacred Truth. A word with ye, 0 Public Functionistsye damagers of a good cause by loading it with ridiculeye assassins of truth by burying it be- neath exaggeration! A woman such as ye would make herteaching, preaching, voting, judging, commanding a man-of-war, and charg- ing at the head of a battalionwould be simply an amorphous monster, not worth the little finger of the wife we would all secure if we could, the tacens et placens uxor, the gentle helpmeet of our burdens, the soother of our sorrows, and the enhancer of our joys! Imagine a follower of a certain Miss Betsy Millar, who for twelve years commanded the Scotch brig, Cloetusimagine such an one at the head of ones table, with horny hands covered with fiery red scars and blackened with tar, her voice hoarse and cracked, her skin tanned and hardened, her language seasoned with nautical allusions and quarter-deck imagery, and her gait and step the rollicking roll of a bluff Jack-tar. She might be very estimable as a hu- man being, honorable, brave, and generous, but she would not he a woman: she would not fulfill one condition of womanhood, and therefore she would he unfit and imperfect, unsuited to her place and unequal to her functions. What man (moderately sane) would prefer a woman who had been a sea captain ten or twelve years, to the most ordinary of piano-playing and flower-paint~. ing young ladies Mindless as the one might be, the rough practicality of the other would be worse; and helpless as fashionable education makes young ladies, Heaven defend us from the virile energy of a race of Betsy Millars! Yet one philosopher has actually been found, who has had the moral courage to quote this ladys career as a proof that women are fitted by nature for ofli- ces which men have always assumed to them- selves, and that it would be a wise, and healthful, and a natural state of society which should man brigs with boarding-school girls, and appoint emancipated females as their commanders. We wish Mr. Thomas Wentworth Iligginson, the heroic champion of Betsy Millar, no worse fate than to marry one of his favorite sea captain- esses. In the Utopia that is to come, women are to be voters, barristers, members of congress, and judges. They are to rush to the polling-booth, and mount the hustings, defiant of brickhats and careless of eggs and cabbages. They are to mingle with the passions and violences of men by way of asserting their equality, and to take part in their vices by way of gaining their rights. They are to be barristers, too, with real blue bags, pleading for murderers and sifting the evidence of divorce cases; offices, no doubt, highly con- ducive to their moral advancement and the main- tenance of their purity, but such as we, being of the old-fashioned and eminently unenlightened school, would rather not see our wives or daugh- ters engaged in. Of doctoresses we will say no- thing. The care and the ~ure of the sick belong to women, as do all things gentle and loving. And though we can scarcely reconcile it with our present notions of the fitness of things, that a gentlewoman of refinement and delicacy should frequent dissecting-rooms among the crowd of young students, and cut up dead bodies and liv- ing ones as her mother cut out baby-clothes, yet the care of the sick is so holy a duty, that if these terrible means are necessary, they are sanctified by the end, and God prosper those who under- take them! But they are not necessary. Wom- en are better as medical assistants than as in- dependent practitioners; their services are more valuable when obeying than when originating orders; and as nurses they do more good than as doctors. Besides, it would be rather an in- convenient profession at times. A handsome woman, under fortyor over itwould be a dangerous doctor for most men; and as special- ities in medicine are quackeries, it would be humbug and affectation to shrink from any cases. For, admitting the principle that woman~ s mis- sionat least one of themis to doctor, it must he extended in practice to all alike. And we may imagine various circumstances in which a young doctress would be somewhat embarrassing, if not embarrassed; yet what are we to do when all the doctors are driven out of the field, and we have no choice left us And if women are to RIGHTS AND WRONGS OF WOMEN. 77 be our doctors, will they be only old women, and ugly oneswill there never be bright eyes or dimpled cheeks among them 1 It might be very delightful to be cured by a beautiful young wo- man, instead of by a crabbed old man, yet for prudence sake we should recommend most wives and mothers to send for the crabbed old man when their sons and husbands are ill, and to be particularly cautious of feminine M. Ds in gen- eral. One or two points of human nature the Public Functionists and emancipated women either sink or pervert. The instincts above all. The in- stinct of protection in man and the instinct of dependence in woman they decline to know any thing about; they see nothing sacred in the fact of maternity, no fulfillment of natural destiny in marriage, and they find no sanctifying power in the grace ofself-sacrifice. These are in their eyes the causes of womans degradation. To be equal with man, she must join in the strife with him, wrestle for the distinctions, and scramble for the good places. She must no longer stand in the shade apart, shedding the blessing of peace and and calmness on the combatants, when they re- turn home heated and weary, but she must be out in the blazing sun, toiling and fighting too, and marking every victory by the grave-stone of some dear virtue, canonized since the world be- gan. Homes deserted, childrenthe most sol- emn responsibility of allgiven to a strangers hand, modesty, unselfishness, patience, obedi- ence, endurance, all that has made angels of hu- manity must be trampled under foot, while the Emancipated Woman walks proudly forward to the goal of the glittering honors of public life, her true honors lying crushed beneath her, un- noticed. This these noisy gentry think will ele- vate woman. Women have grave legal and social wrongs, but will this absurd advocacy of exaggeration remedy theml The laws which deny the indi- viduality of a wife, under the shallow pretense of a legal lie; which award different punish- ments for the same vice; the laws which class women with infants and idiots, and which re- cognize principles they neither extend nor act on; these are the real and substantial Wrongs of Women, which will not, however, be amended by making them commanders in the navy or judges on the bench. To fling them into the thick of the strife would be but to teach them the egotism and hardness, the grasping selfishness, and the vain-glory of men, which it has been their mission, since the world began, to repress, to elevate, to soften, and to purify. Give woman public functions, and you destroy the very springs of her influence. For her influence is, and must be, moral more than intellectualintellectual only as filtering through the moral nature; and if you destroy the moral nature, if you weaken its vir- tues and sully its holiness, what of power or in- fl ience remains 1 She will gain place and lose power; she will gain honors and lose virtues, when she has pushed her father or her son to the wall, and usurped the seats consecrated by nature VOL. IXNo. 49.F to them alone. Yes, by nature; in spite of the denial of the Public Functionists. Her flaccid muscles, tender skin, highly nervous organiza- tion, and aptitude for internal injury, decide the question of offices involving hard bodily labor; while the predominance of instinct over reason, and of feeling over intellect, as a rule, unfits her for judicial or legislative command. Her power is essentially a silent and unseen moral influence; her functions are those of a wife and mother. The emancipatists rate these functions very light- ly, compared with the duty and delight of hauling in main-top-sails or speechifying at an election. They seem to regard the maternal race as a race apart, a kind of necessary cattle, just to keep up the stock; and even of these natural drudges the most gifted souls may give up their children to the care of others, as queen-bees give their young to the workers. Yet no woman who does her duty faithfully to her husband and children, will find her time unemployed, or her life incomplete. The education of her children alone would suffi- ciently employ any true-hearted woman; for ed- ucation is not a matter of school-hours, but of that subtle influence of example which makes every moment a seed-time of future good or ill. And the woman who is too gifted, too intellectual, to find scope for her mind and heart in the edu- cation of her child, who pants for a more impor- tant work than the training of an immortal soul, who prefers quarter-decks and pulpits to a still home and a school-desk, is not a sea-captain, nor a preacher by missionshe is simply not a wo- man. She is a natural blunder, a mere unfinished sketch; fit neither for quarter-decks nor for home, able neither to command men nor to educate children. But the true Woman, for whose ambition a husbands love and her childrens adoration are sufficient, who applies her military instincts to the discipline of her household, and wnise legis- latiVe faculties exercise themselves in making laws for her nursery; whose intellect has field enough for her in communion with her husband, and whose heart asks no other honors than his love and admiration; a woman who does not think it a weakness to attend to her toilette, and who does not disdain to be beautiful; who be- lieves in the virtue of glossy hair and well-fitting gowns, and who eschews rents and raveled edges, slipshod shoes, and audacious make-ups; a woman who speaks low and who does not speak much; who is patient and gentle, and intellectual and industrious; who loves more than she rea-. sons, and yet does not love blindly; who never scolds, and rarely argues, but who rebukes with a caress, and adjusts with a smile: a woman who is the wife we all have dreamt of once in our lives, and who is the mother we still worship in the backward distance of the past: such a woman as this does more for human nature, and more for womans cause, than all the sea-captains, judges, barristers, and members of parliament put togetherGod-given and God-blessed as she is! If such a wife as this has leisure which she wishes to employ actively, he will always find 78 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. occupation, and of a right kind too. There are the poor and the sick round her home; she will visit them, and nurse them, and teach their child- ren, and lecture their drunken husbands; she will fulfill her duty better thus than by walking the hospitals, or preaching on Sundays! There are meetings to attend also, and school commit- tees, and clothing-clubs, and ragged schools to organize; and her voice will sound more sweet and natural there than when shrieking through a speaking-trumpet or echoing in court. All - are books to read, andthen to discuss by the fire- side with her husband, when he comes home in the eveningthough perhaps his attention may sometimes wander from the subject to her little foot, peeping out from under the flounces over the fender, or to the white hands stitching so busilyand is not this better than a public lecture in a Bloomer costume I And then, perhaps, she can help her husband in his profession, write out a clear manuscript for his editor, or copy a deed, find out references and mark them for him, or perhaps correct his sermon~ to the general ad- vantage of his congregationwhich, we contend, is a fitter occupation than arguing divorce cases in a wig and blue bag, or floundering in the quagmires of theology in bands and a scholars hood. Our natural woman, too, loves her child- ren, and looks after them; but the babies of our emancipated woman belong as much to the state as to her, and as much to chance as to either. Our natural woman plays with her children, and lets them pull down her thick hair into a curtain over her face, and ruffle even her clean gown with their tiny hands: but the emancipated wo- man holds baby-playing a degradation, and re- signs it to servants and governesses. Give us the loving, quiet wife, the good mother, the sweet, unselfish sister; give us women beau- tiful and womanly, and we will dispense with their tweL~ years service on board a brig,, or two or three years close attendance in a dissect- ing-room. Give us gentlewomen, who believe in milliners, and know the art of needlework; who can sew on buttons and make baby-clothes; who, while they use their heads, do not leave their hands idle; who, while claiming to be intel- lectual beings, claim also to be natural and loving beingsnay, even obedient and self-sacrificing beings, two virtues of the Old World which our Utopians count as no virtues at all. Oh, Utopi- ans! Leave natures loveliest work alone! Let women have their rights, in Heavens name, but do not thrust them into places which they can not fill, and give them functions they can not performexcept to their own disadvantage, and the darkening of the brightest side of this world. Reflect (if ye ever do reflect) on the destiny of woman, which nature has graven on her soul and body; a wife, a mother, a help-meet and a friend; but not by mind or by person ever meant to be an inferior man, doing his work badly while neglect- ing her own. The shadow of man darkens the path of woman, and while walking by his side, she yet walks not in the same light with him. Her home is in the shade, and her duties are still and noiseless; his is in the broad daylight, and his works are stormy and tumultuous; but the one is the complement of the other, and while he labors for her she watches for him, and energy and love leave nothing incomplete in their lives. Rest in the shade, dear woman! Find your happiness in love, in quiet, in home activity and in natural duties; turn as from your ruin from all those glaring images of honor which a weak ambition places before you. BELLADONNA. W H AT are you looking at so attentively, my friend Your eyes wander round the room ceaselessly. You inspect every thing, and you seem half pleased, half sorrowful. What is it that ails you Ah you are looking now at my wife. Yes! I quite agree with you, that she is very pretty. It is pleasant to see the lamp-light falling on those dark glossy bands of hair that sweep about her forehead. It is pleasant to see her small white fingers glide so nimbly all over that tiny cap which she is embroidering. The steam from the tea-urn rises in wreaths through the room. The sea-coal fire blazes brightly, and sheds a red and flickering light on the silver spoons and tea-service. You, my friend, sit on one side of the hearth, with your legs stretched out, and the cigar, which in consideration of our friendship my wife permits you to smoke, held between your thumb and forefinger. I, on the other side, with the last number of Bleak House in my hand, have just turned from that mournful death of Lady Dedlock to the happy picture set before me, and, as my eyes fall on that rounded and graceful figure seated near the table, working so quietly, and ever and anon casting a stray and loving glance hjtherward, I thank God from my heart that she is not wandering off through the cold, bleak country, with the memory of guilt tracking her steps, while the husband lies at home faint and speecbless with sorrow I was lucky, you say, to get her? Well! no matter; if you did not say it, you looked it, and I answer all the sameI agree with you, my friend. But I had my little difficulties, too. It is true that no terrible spectre of secret sin and undying sorrow loomed up between us, through which we could not pierce; but we went through many sad hours, and experienced many a biting wind before we turned that corner of our Lifes journey where our present happiness lay waiting for us. Now I see by those widely-opened eyes and half- parted lips that you are eagerly wishing for the story of my love. If my wife permits it, you shall have it. May I, Belladonna? The dark eyes are lifted from the tiny cap, and turn on me with a consenting glance; but in their brown depths I see stirring many very mournful memories, that rise higher and higher as I tell the story of the past, until at last they overflow in tears. A kiss, dear Belladonna, before I begin. * * * * * I have told you before, my friend, that Bella- donna is an only child. You know, also, that she

Belladonna 78-83

78 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. occupation, and of a right kind too. There are the poor and the sick round her home; she will visit them, and nurse them, and teach their child- ren, and lecture their drunken husbands; she will fulfill her duty better thus than by walking the hospitals, or preaching on Sundays! There are meetings to attend also, and school commit- tees, and clothing-clubs, and ragged schools to organize; and her voice will sound more sweet and natural there than when shrieking through a speaking-trumpet or echoing in court. All - are books to read, andthen to discuss by the fire- side with her husband, when he comes home in the eveningthough perhaps his attention may sometimes wander from the subject to her little foot, peeping out from under the flounces over the fender, or to the white hands stitching so busilyand is not this better than a public lecture in a Bloomer costume I And then, perhaps, she can help her husband in his profession, write out a clear manuscript for his editor, or copy a deed, find out references and mark them for him, or perhaps correct his sermon~ to the general ad- vantage of his congregationwhich, we contend, is a fitter occupation than arguing divorce cases in a wig and blue bag, or floundering in the quagmires of theology in bands and a scholars hood. Our natural woman, too, loves her child- ren, and looks after them; but the babies of our emancipated woman belong as much to the state as to her, and as much to chance as to either. Our natural woman plays with her children, and lets them pull down her thick hair into a curtain over her face, and ruffle even her clean gown with their tiny hands: but the emancipated wo- man holds baby-playing a degradation, and re- signs it to servants and governesses. Give us the loving, quiet wife, the good mother, the sweet, unselfish sister; give us women beau- tiful and womanly, and we will dispense with their tweL~ years service on board a brig,, or two or three years close attendance in a dissect- ing-room. Give us gentlewomen, who believe in milliners, and know the art of needlework; who can sew on buttons and make baby-clothes; who, while they use their heads, do not leave their hands idle; who, while claiming to be intel- lectual beings, claim also to be natural and loving beingsnay, even obedient and self-sacrificing beings, two virtues of the Old World which our Utopians count as no virtues at all. Oh, Utopi- ans! Leave natures loveliest work alone! Let women have their rights, in Heavens name, but do not thrust them into places which they can not fill, and give them functions they can not performexcept to their own disadvantage, and the darkening of the brightest side of this world. Reflect (if ye ever do reflect) on the destiny of woman, which nature has graven on her soul and body; a wife, a mother, a help-meet and a friend; but not by mind or by person ever meant to be an inferior man, doing his work badly while neglect- ing her own. The shadow of man darkens the path of woman, and while walking by his side, she yet walks not in the same light with him. Her home is in the shade, and her duties are still and noiseless; his is in the broad daylight, and his works are stormy and tumultuous; but the one is the complement of the other, and while he labors for her she watches for him, and energy and love leave nothing incomplete in their lives. Rest in the shade, dear woman! Find your happiness in love, in quiet, in home activity and in natural duties; turn as from your ruin from all those glaring images of honor which a weak ambition places before you. BELLADONNA. W H AT are you looking at so attentively, my friend Your eyes wander round the room ceaselessly. You inspect every thing, and you seem half pleased, half sorrowful. What is it that ails you Ah you are looking now at my wife. Yes! I quite agree with you, that she is very pretty. It is pleasant to see the lamp-light falling on those dark glossy bands of hair that sweep about her forehead. It is pleasant to see her small white fingers glide so nimbly all over that tiny cap which she is embroidering. The steam from the tea-urn rises in wreaths through the room. The sea-coal fire blazes brightly, and sheds a red and flickering light on the silver spoons and tea-service. You, my friend, sit on one side of the hearth, with your legs stretched out, and the cigar, which in consideration of our friendship my wife permits you to smoke, held between your thumb and forefinger. I, on the other side, with the last number of Bleak House in my hand, have just turned from that mournful death of Lady Dedlock to the happy picture set before me, and, as my eyes fall on that rounded and graceful figure seated near the table, working so quietly, and ever and anon casting a stray and loving glance hjtherward, I thank God from my heart that she is not wandering off through the cold, bleak country, with the memory of guilt tracking her steps, while the husband lies at home faint and speecbless with sorrow I was lucky, you say, to get her? Well! no matter; if you did not say it, you looked it, and I answer all the sameI agree with you, my friend. But I had my little difficulties, too. It is true that no terrible spectre of secret sin and undying sorrow loomed up between us, through which we could not pierce; but we went through many sad hours, and experienced many a biting wind before we turned that corner of our Lifes journey where our present happiness lay waiting for us. Now I see by those widely-opened eyes and half- parted lips that you are eagerly wishing for the story of my love. If my wife permits it, you shall have it. May I, Belladonna? The dark eyes are lifted from the tiny cap, and turn on me with a consenting glance; but in their brown depths I see stirring many very mournful memories, that rise higher and higher as I tell the story of the past, until at last they overflow in tears. A kiss, dear Belladonna, before I begin. * * * * * I have told you before, my friend, that Bella- donna is an only child. You know, also, that she BELLADONNA. 79 is of Spanish blood, though educated in France. In France I met her. She was very young: almost a child. I was, though a few years older than herself, in truth a boy. Love has, however, nothing to do with age. Walking along a road one day in the neighborhood of Dijon, I heard a clatter of hoofs behind me. I turned round and saw a young lady mounted on a donkey who would not go. The young lady seemed in a very evident passion. She had nothing in her hand but a delicate whip; but with this she belabored the donkey with tremendous good-will. The animal, however, took his punishment with the utmost indifference. He laid his long ears back on his neck and scarcely stirred, except now and then to give a very slight and playful kick with his hind legs, as if he were rather tickled with the whole affair. He even went so far as to crop some herbs from the road-side in the midst of what his rider intended to be a tre- mendc#us flogging. The young lady was quite pale, and her dark eyes sparkled with rage at this contumacious and insulting behavior on the part of the donkey. Once or twice she glanced toward me, and seemed to wish that the heavy cane which I carried in my hand was, for the time being, in hers. I could not resist such ap- peals long. Besides, I love a woman who can get into a good downright rage; so I stepped for- ward, without saying a word, and raising my cane let it fall with all my strength upon the donkeys buttocks. The application evidently took the animal by surprise. He could scarcely believe his nerves. Where could such a blow have come from He knew the exact force of his mistresss whip, but this was a difThntnt thing altogether. For a moment he seemed lost in reverie ; then, as I was lifting the stick, with the intention of administering a second and heavier dose, he suddenly shook his ears, gave a snort of apprehension, and set off at a round gallop; while his mistress, as she flew along, turned round in her Aaddle and gave me an exulting and at the sazn~ time grateful wave of the hand. That was my first interview with Belladonna. The next time I met her was at chapel. She was going to confession, poor thing! and looked very sad and mournful. I was standing on the steps of the church (a favorite lounge with idle young men who wished to see pretty girls with- out much trouble) as she came up, attended by her aunt, a horrid old woman with a perpetual cold in the head. Poor Belladonna! you niust have had a great many sins to confess that day, for your face was pale, and your lips pressed tight- ly together, and you walked very reluctantly in- deed! As she ascended the steps her eyes met mine, andno! she did not colorshe grew paler than before if possible, and made me such a pretty little bow, that I would have walked to Spitz- bergen to have got another. The aunt saw it, and by the whispering and nodding that took place between them as they passed, I could infer that poor Belladonna was getting a lecture. You may be sure that, from that time forward. I was pretty often to be seen standing on the steps of the church. And the pretty little bow soon came to be an established thing; and when Belladonna came without her aunt, which she sometimes did, the bow was much prettier and warmer, and even occasionally a few pleasant little sentences escaped, neither of us well knew how, but we spoke to each other, and chatted a little; and I once made her a compliment. But when the aunt came along, Lord! how formal we were; and how little the bow became, and how very stiff I stood beneath the great stone effigy of St. Denis, with his head under his arm! Things, of course, could not long remain so. Belladonna and I were in love with each other, and knew it; and formal salutations on church steps would not satisfy us, so we met in secret. You must know, my friend, that at this time I was exceedingly poor. My father left a large family when he died, and I came in for a slender portion, which, however, if I had been prudent, I might have turned to account. But we young Americans were just then wild about travel, and the moment my money was lodged at the bankers for me I bade adieu to New York and trade, and set out on my European tour. I spent all my money, and was too proud to ask my friends for more; so, at the time I speak of, I was literally cash-bound at Dijon. I was en- tirely destitute of means. My clothes were in that worst of all possible states of seediness they were unequal. I had a very nice pair of trowsers; but then the coat! Good Lord, that coat! It had been once a German students coat, braided and frogged magnificently, and orna- mented with a huge velvet collar. But now the seams were white, and the velvet collar looked as if all the snails in Eden had been walking over it and left their tracks there, while the braid and frogs clung only here and there, like the last vine leaves clinging to the garden-wall in winter. I owed a bill, too, at my lodgings. My landlady was poor but kind-hearted; and, knowing my position, she seldom troubled me. Many is the time, my dear friend, I have walked out as if to get my dinner, when I had not the price of a crust of bread in my pocket, and returned pick- ing my teeth elaborately as I went up stairs, in order to induce my landlady to believe that I had been dining sumptuously. She found out the truth, however, at last, and, good soul that she was! used to call me to dine with her; but I did not go. I was too proud for that. I could have swept a crossing, mark you! but I could not tres- pass on that poor old womans scanty support. Well! I onlymention these details to show you that at the time I am speaking of I was very poor. My poverty did not annoy me as long as it interfered only with my own comfort. But when I came to meet Belladonna so often, and walk with her in the charming environs that surround Dijon, no one can imagine what anguish I suffered. Flower- girls used to accost us with bouquets, and I knew that Belladonna loved flowers passionately. But I was pennihiss. She would feel faint after her walk, and look longingly at the tea-gardens which 80 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. lined the road. I dare not enter, however, for I had no money to pay for the refreshments. Once I had to pretend to be taken suddenly ill, when she asked me to take her to see a panorama of New York which was then exhibiting in some building which we were passing. If ever the temptation to become a thief was strong upon me, it was then. I seriously revolved for several nights the propriety of turning highway-robber. At last I summoned up courage to tell her my cir- cumstances. I disclosed all my poverty in fear and trembling. How I was often dinnerless how my clothes were in pawnhow I expected a remittancethat remittance which poor men are always expectingwhich, if I did not receive, I should have to seek some mendicity asylum; all these things I told her, earnestly, truthfully, nay, almost tearfully How beautifully she heard it! How beautifully she spoke to me! With her little hand pushed trustingly into mine, and her little arm thrown around my broad shoulders, as if she, poor weak little woman, would, from sheer strength of love, shelter me from all those evils I spoke of, she cheered me up, and bade me take good heart, and offered to share with me all earthly ills. I wept with joy to find her so true but did not accept her offer. I loved her too well to thrust my pangs of misery upon her. Did I not, Belladonna Meanwhile I grew thin and pale, for I was starving; and my old German-student coat grew whiter and whiter at the seams, and my only pair of boots were in the last stage of dissolution. I know no load that sits more heavily on a poor gen- tlemans heart than bad boots. A shabby hat may pass with a thousand different excuses. Some one may have sat upon your new one the night before at the opera, and obliged you to make a shift with your second best; or it may have been blown off of your head crossing a bridge, and floated mock- ingly away on the rough waters of the river; or it may have been taken by mistake at a fashion- able ball, and the indifferent tile you are now wearing left in its stead. All these theories may surround and fortify a shabby hat, but broken boots are inexcusable. No such accidents ever happen to boots. You can not be supposed to lose them. No mans boots were ever blown into a river, and sitting on them would not do them the slightest harm. A split across the uppers, or a loose sole are evident and inexcusable signs of poverty. If you have a hole in the side of one of them, every one in the street looks at it. It is of little use to ink your stocking, which shows through. I have tried that. The inked portion of the stocking remains in its proper place for the first few minutes, and the boot looks well enough; but after a quarter of an hours walking, it shifts its place somehow, and an agonizing patch of white displays itself. Then, when the soles are very thin, with what inward terror one walks over rough pavements. How certain one is to knock his toe violently against some projecting flag-stone, thereby increasing the incipient crack in the side, and, mayhap, utterly tearing the sole from ,the upper leather! Believe me, my dear fellow, that bad boots are the very acme of misery. Mine were very bad. I had lost a heel off the left one, and my great toe had made its appear- ance through a hole in the top of the other, which hole nothing would efface. I tried every thing, from sewing a patch of black cloth under- neath, to painting my stocking with black paint, but all would not do. The hole grew larger and larger every day, and the hour did not seem far distant when my foot, grub-like, would triumph- antly cast its shell, and emerge into the world un- trammeled by any calf-skin fetters. Dear Noble, said Belladonna to me, as we strolled one morning together down the street, your boots are shockingly bad. Why dont you get another pair! and she looked at me as she spoke with such a charming forgetfulness of my financial position, that it was impossible to be angry with her. You forget, Belladonna, that in order to buy boots it is necessary to have money, and just at present Dear Noble, forgive me, and she pressed my hand. Indeed, I never thought, or I would notbut theres my bootmaker, she cried, as if struck by a sudden thought; why not go to him! if you mean Pliquois, Belladonna, I must again recall a fact to your recollection, namely, that he makes only ladies boots, and I dont think I could very well pass for a young damsel in a coat like this. I never thought of that either, she answer- ed, musingly. How I wish papa would give me some money! But he never seems to think I want any, and I am ashamed to ask him. Hush, child! And do you suppose that even if you had money I would take it from you! No, no! Noble Sydale has not reached that point yet. Theres the remittance which I expect every I stopped suddenly. Poor Belladonna, in spite of all her sympathy for me, could not prevent an inward smile from twinkling through her eyes at the mention of this eternal remittance, which was always on the point of arriving. Well, laugh away, Belladonna; I dont blame you, though really I have no doubtWell, I declare Ill never mention that remittance again! But theres my Uncle Jacob Starr, who is worth ever so many millions of dollarsdo you know that a presentiment continually haunts me that he will leave me something handsome when he dies~! I wrote to him about six months ago, and never got any answer. He is very old, and, Heaven knows, may be dead by this time. How delightful it would be if I grew suddenly rich, Belladonna ! Oh! wouldnt it! Wed go immediately to papano! wed go first to a bootmakers, and get you a pair of beautiful patent-leather boots with red tops. That would be splendor, Belladonna ! Yes! and then wed go to the best tailor in town, and get you a charming suit ofof Blue and silver would look well with the red tops, dear. BELLADONNA. 81 Pshaw! Noble, youre laughing at me. Well, then wed hire a carriage with four gray horses and a postillionan open carriage it should be and wed prance down the principal streets in great state, until we came opposite papas house. And as the carriage drew up with a great noise, he would look out of the window to see who it was, and then, goodness gracious! how surprised he would be to see his little Belladonna sitting beside a tall, elegant Belladonna ! Distinguished looking foreigner Belladonna! Im blushing. With a lovely dark mustache And boots with red tops ! Papa would be very angry at first, of course; and hed swear out a terrible word, and run to the door, and then And then! And then you would step out of the carriage, and explain to him, in a few rapid but well-chosen words, your position and circumstances, and how you loved me to distraction Yes! distraction is a very good word, its so new. Dont interrupt me, sir !to distraction, and conclude by asking him if he would consent to surrender his treasure into the hands of one to whom it would be more precious thanthan than the diamonds of Hesperides. Exquisite simile! and papa would reply! Oh! he would smile, and, taking you by the hand, turn to me and saygracious Heaven! is that dog mad! Oh! hed say that, would he! Look! look, Noble! hes coming this way oh! save me! save me ! I turned suddenly to Belladonna. She was deadly pale, and clutched my arm convulsively with one hand, while with the other she pointed, quiveringly, up the street. A hasty glance show- ed me the danger. Coming straight toward us, pursued by half-a-dozen ragged boys, I beheld a large, ill-conditioned-looking dog. He had his tail between his legs, his eyes glared furiously, and a huge red tongue lolled out of one side of his mouth. On he came at a swift gallop, utter- ing now and then a low, fierce bark, and looking the very ideal of Hydrophobia. It was horrible. There seemed no escape, for so occupied had Bel- ladonna and myself been with our aerial castles, that we had noticed nothing until the brute was actually within a few yards of us. There was no time for deliberation now. I pushed Bella- donna rudely against the wall, placed myself in front of her, and waited breathlessly. The foot- path on which we were standing was very nar- row; so narrow that, with Belladonna behind me, I nearly blocked it all up; while on came the dog, panting and growling, with scarce a foot of space for him to pass. He came. I saw his red eyes glare upon me, and he uttered a savage, low bark as he drew near. I saw there was nothing for it but to be the aggressor, and so perhaps frighten him out of our path, and thus at least save Belladonna; so, as he came within reach, I made a violent kick at him. I felt my foot strike something. A shriek from Belladonnaa hor- rible growl from the animaland I pitched heav- ily forward and fell. I was on my legs again in an instant, but trembling with terror. Belladon- na was leaning against the wall, very pale. The dog Are you bitten, Belladonna! No! no ! she said. We are safe ; and she pointed as she spoke to the retreating form of the dog as he scudded down the street. But you must be hurt, she continued. Oh, no! only my foot is a little I looked down as I spoke. Good Heavens! my boot! Instead of striking the dog, as I intended, I had struck my foot against the edge of one of the flat stones with which the path was rudely paved, and my right boot had been literally torn into atoms. It had been leaky before; but now it was a total wreck. The sole had been rent from the upper leather as far back as the heel, while the upper itself was, in addition, split right across the instep. Not even the most ingen- ious professor of legerdepied could make it, under any circumstances whatever, pass for a boot. What is to be done! said I, mournfully re- garding the tattered remains. I can never walk through the streets in this plight; and my lodgings are half a mile off at the very least. Ive a good mind to break my leg, and then some one must have me taken home on a litter. What am Ito do, Belladonna! Belladonna, I blush to say, instead of pity- ing me was laughingyou neednt look so, my dear, for you know you wereand she burst into a perfect peal, as I repeated in a heart-broken tone, What am Ito do, Belladonna! Ill tell you what you must do, Mr. Noble Sydale, said she, as soon as she could compose her countenance sufficiently to speak. You must do exactly as I tell you. Our house is, as you know, round the next corner. My aunt is gone on a visit to her sister, about five miles from the city, and will not be home until to-morrow, and papa never returns from his office until seven oclock. Before that time it will be dusk; and by remaining in our house until half-past six, you can walk home without any body noticing you. I suppose you can contrive to pass five hours in my company without being very weary, Mr. No- ble SydaleP A thousand, dear Belladonnabut if your father should return! Oh! theres no fear of that; his business always detains him until seven, and sometimes even later. Ah! Belladonna, said I, as we entered the house together, I acknowledge that I should like very much to have a pair of those patent- leather boots with the red tops, which you d.e- scribed so charmingly a few minutes ago. Hum! I would have no objection to your obtaining them at half-past six, this evening. Until then I prefer you as you are, because. because HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. Because I cant go away, selfish girl Here somebody had the unpardonable pre- sumption to kiss somebody on the stairs; but who that somebody was that did it, and who the somebody was that allowed it to be done, you should never learn, my friend, even if you were to torture me until the day of judgment. Those five hours passed away with extraordi- nary rapidity. All the more extraordinary was it, because I can not possibly recollect any thing that was said on that eventful occasion. I re- collect distinctly sitting on a sofa, with Bella- donnas hand in mine for an indefinite period of time, but as to what we conversed about I am to this day profoundly ignorant. One thing only I remember, which can scarcely be called a con- versation. I wanted Belladonna to let me try on her boot, which request she seemed to think was a mere pretext to see her foot, and she boxed my ears for suggesting it; but that could not properly be called an observation. Well, we sat there, for I dont know how long, as of course we forgot all about the hour, when we were suddenly awakened from our trance by the sound of odious manly boots upon the stair- case, and Belladonna jumped from the sofa with a smothered shriek, exclaiming that it was her fathers step. It is not every man who has the courage to face a danger in his night dress. Even a dress- ing-gown has a dispiriting effect upon one s daring; but what are they all, compared to having but one boot? A man might do wonders in bare feet. Even in stockings it would be possible for him to distinguish himself; but there is some- thing utterly humiliating in the idea of presenting oneself before an enemy with one boot on. It is a lop-sided business. A unity which is no unity, but the paltry remnant of what was once a fact. In short, a man with one boot on must morally as well as physicallylimp! I confess. at the sound of those paternal foot- steps, my heart went down into myI was going to say, boots; but, as I had only one, the simile wont answermy heart, then, went down into my boot. Poor Belladonna grew a~ white as the jessamine blossoms that peeped in at the windows, and gazed about expectantly, as if she thought the walls would open somewhere, as they usually do in fairy tales, and accommoda- tingly inclose Mr. Noble Sydale in a crystal grotto, where he was to be kept till called for. There being no such magical response, however, to Belladonnas imploring look, nor any conven- ient stage-closet in the apartment, there was nothing left for me but to make a rush to the deep window, and close the heavy curtains be- fore me, thereby darkening the room into a deep twilight. The next moment the door opened, and in stepped a tall, precise-looking old gentle- man, who exclaimed as he entered, Why, what have you made the room so very dark for, Belladonna? one can hardly see, child. And as I heard the steps moving toward the window where I was hidden, I believe I would have sacrificed ten years of my life at that mo- ment for another boot. Oh! papa, papa ! cried poor Belladonna, eagerly, pray dont draw the curtains. My eyes are quite weak, and I cant .bear the light, I assure you. Thats lately come to you, dear. I never saw any lack of lustre in your eyes since you were born. Come here to the window and let me look at them. If there is any thing wrong, we must have in Doctor Sartelles. I dont mean that theyre exactly weak, you know, papa, butbut and poor Bella- donna stammered, and stopped, and began again, and finally burst into a flood of tears. Hey! whats this, child? Crying! why, something must be the matter. Let us see. And he moved toward the window as he spoke. I thought that I might as well save him any further trouble, so I pulled the red cord inside, the curtains opened, and Belladonnas papa did scO. I never saw a man less pleased, however, with what he saw than that old gentleman. He grew ashen white, and his lips suddenly met as if they were going to grow together from that moment, and never part any more. They thought better of it, however, for they opened presently, and a terribly cold, stern, determined voice issued out of them. Well, Sir! what may your business be here? Is it the silver-spoons or my daughter ? I did not make any answer, but walked delib- erately over to where Belladonna lay upon the sofa, sobbing as if her poor heart would break, and said to her, taking her hand in my own, Belladonna! may I speak? Oh! Noble, she sobbed, say any thing every thingas for me I know that I shall die Let my daughters hand loose, instantly, scoundrel ! thundered the old man. If you do not, I will dash your brains out on the floor My dear Sir! if you will only let me ex- plain I will not, Sir. Who are you what do you want here? Belladonna, was it to break my heart that you present to me a tatterdemalion like this fellow, in the character, I suppose, of your lover ? I assure you, Sir, that my position is every thing that That is disgraceful, Sir. You come into my house like a thief, during my absence; you make love to my daughter, and tell her some in- fernal lies, I suppose, about your respectability and so forth, and then you have, the presumption to believe that you will bamboozle me with your explanations. A ragged, adventurous foreigner! Wheres your boot, Sir? I was prepared to answer any question but this. It was really too bad. There I stood, a gentleman, with good expectations, and the hon- estest of purposes, struck completely dumb by the miserable conviction that I had only one boot THE FLIGHT OF YOUTH. 83 on. I declare, my friend, I never felt so ashamed of myself in my whole life; and instead of re- plying to the insulting question of Belladonnas father, which was accompanied by a still more contemptuous glance at my feet, I stood there, growing red and pale by turns, and looking at poor Belladonna, who was burying her head in the sofa pillows, as if, like the ostrich, she fancied that by such means she could shelter herself from further attack. Leave my house instantly, rascal ! stormed the old gentleman, who was growing more furious every instant. Leave my house, before I sum- mon the authorities to lodge you in a place where Ive no doubt you have often been before. Go ! I went. I limped to the door with my one boot, utterly crushed and humiliated. The old gentleman stood at the door, determined evi- dently to see me to the very extremity of the threshold. I did not utter a remonstrance. I did not even speak a farewell to BeUadonna, but went down the stairs like a coward. With my hand on the hall-door my courage rose a little. I was so nearly out of the old gentlemans house that I felt almost independent again; so I turned and said a few words to him as he stood on the second stair from the bottom, looking as if he would have given worlds to kick me. -Sir, said I, you have wronged me. That I can pass over. Do not, however, wrong your daughter, or visit on her head punishment for which, if you had allowed me to explain, there exists no cause. I, SirI, Noble Sydale What name did you say ~ inquired the old man with a andden alteration in his tone. Noble Sydale. You have seen that I am a foreigner, but you may not know that I am an American, and a gentleman. Staystay a moment, Sir. I have a word to say to you. So saying, he put his hand into a wide coat-pocket and pulled out a bundle of letters. You are an American, you say: from what portion of the United States t New York. Have you an uncle residing there ~ Yes.Mr. Jacob Starr. Has he written to me ! and my heart leaped into my mouth, as I observed him fumbling among the bundle of letters. Yes ! said he, here it is. Mr. Noble Sydale, your uncle has not written to you, but his lawyer, has to me. I regret to inform you that your uncle is dead. It may alleviate the pain of such a communication, however, to tell you that he has left you property to the amount of eighty thousand dollars, a considerable portion of which has been placed to your credit in our house. You can draw on us, Mr. Sydale, when- ever you please. Sir, Sir ! said I, without almost waiting to think, will you have the goodness to lend me fifty francs? Certainly, with very much pleasure, and he pulled out his purse, with a pleasant smile. I will not apologize to you, Mr. Sydale, for the manner in which I treated you just now, he continued, giving me the money, because you were in the wrong and deserved it; but if you will sup with us this evening, I will endeavor to banish whatever unfavorable impression I may have created. I suppose Belladonna, he added with a laugh, will reconcile you to the short- ness of the invitation. I stammered out an acceptance, rushed out of the house, and five minutes afterward had pur- chased and put on a pair of the tightest patent- leather boots it was possible to find. And do you really know, interposed Bella- donna, just at this point, they had actually red tops. I need not ask the conclusion of the story, Noble, said my friend, flinging his cigar into the fire as he spoke. No, my friend, it is here. Kiss me, Bella- donna ! THE FLIGHT OF YOUTH. NO, though all the winds that lie In the circle of the sky Trace him out, and pray and moan, Each in its most plaintive tone, No, though earth be split with sighs, And all the Kings that reign Over Natures mysteries Be our faithfullest allies, Allallis vain: They may follow on his track, But He never will come back Never again! Youth is gone away, Cruel, cruel youth, Full of gentleness and ruth Did we think him all his stay; How had he the heart to wreak Such a woe on us so weak, He that was so tender-meek I How could he be made to learn To find pleasure in our pain Could he leave us to return Never again! Bow your heads very low, Solemn-measured be your paces, Gathered up in grief your faces, Sing sad music as ye go; In disordered handfuls strew Strips of cypress, sprigs of rue; In your hands be borne the bloom, Whose long petals once and only Look from their pale-leav& I tomb In the midnight lonely; Let the nightshades beaded coral Fall in melancholy moral Your wan brows atound, While in very scorn ye fling The amaranth upon the ground As an unbelieved thing; What care we for its fair tale Of beauties that can never fail,

Flight of Youth 83-84

THE FLIGHT OF YOUTH. 83 on. I declare, my friend, I never felt so ashamed of myself in my whole life; and instead of re- plying to the insulting question of Belladonnas father, which was accompanied by a still more contemptuous glance at my feet, I stood there, growing red and pale by turns, and looking at poor Belladonna, who was burying her head in the sofa pillows, as if, like the ostrich, she fancied that by such means she could shelter herself from further attack. Leave my house instantly, rascal ! stormed the old gentleman, who was growing more furious every instant. Leave my house, before I sum- mon the authorities to lodge you in a place where Ive no doubt you have often been before. Go ! I went. I limped to the door with my one boot, utterly crushed and humiliated. The old gentleman stood at the door, determined evi- dently to see me to the very extremity of the threshold. I did not utter a remonstrance. I did not even speak a farewell to BeUadonna, but went down the stairs like a coward. With my hand on the hall-door my courage rose a little. I was so nearly out of the old gentlemans house that I felt almost independent again; so I turned and said a few words to him as he stood on the second stair from the bottom, looking as if he would have given worlds to kick me. -Sir, said I, you have wronged me. That I can pass over. Do not, however, wrong your daughter, or visit on her head punishment for which, if you had allowed me to explain, there exists no cause. I, SirI, Noble Sydale What name did you say ~ inquired the old man with a andden alteration in his tone. Noble Sydale. You have seen that I am a foreigner, but you may not know that I am an American, and a gentleman. Staystay a moment, Sir. I have a word to say to you. So saying, he put his hand into a wide coat-pocket and pulled out a bundle of letters. You are an American, you say: from what portion of the United States t New York. Have you an uncle residing there ~ Yes.Mr. Jacob Starr. Has he written to me ! and my heart leaped into my mouth, as I observed him fumbling among the bundle of letters. Yes ! said he, here it is. Mr. Noble Sydale, your uncle has not written to you, but his lawyer, has to me. I regret to inform you that your uncle is dead. It may alleviate the pain of such a communication, however, to tell you that he has left you property to the amount of eighty thousand dollars, a considerable portion of which has been placed to your credit in our house. You can draw on us, Mr. Sydale, when- ever you please. Sir, Sir ! said I, without almost waiting to think, will you have the goodness to lend me fifty francs? Certainly, with very much pleasure, and he pulled out his purse, with a pleasant smile. I will not apologize to you, Mr. Sydale, for the manner in which I treated you just now, he continued, giving me the money, because you were in the wrong and deserved it; but if you will sup with us this evening, I will endeavor to banish whatever unfavorable impression I may have created. I suppose Belladonna, he added with a laugh, will reconcile you to the short- ness of the invitation. I stammered out an acceptance, rushed out of the house, and five minutes afterward had pur- chased and put on a pair of the tightest patent- leather boots it was possible to find. And do you really know, interposed Bella- donna, just at this point, they had actually red tops. I need not ask the conclusion of the story, Noble, said my friend, flinging his cigar into the fire as he spoke. No, my friend, it is here. Kiss me, Bella- donna ! THE FLIGHT OF YOUTH. NO, though all the winds that lie In the circle of the sky Trace him out, and pray and moan, Each in its most plaintive tone, No, though earth be split with sighs, And all the Kings that reign Over Natures mysteries Be our faithfullest allies, Allallis vain: They may follow on his track, But He never will come back Never again! Youth is gone away, Cruel, cruel youth, Full of gentleness and ruth Did we think him all his stay; How had he the heart to wreak Such a woe on us so weak, He that was so tender-meek I How could he be made to learn To find pleasure in our pain Could he leave us to return Never again! Bow your heads very low, Solemn-measured be your paces, Gathered up in grief your faces, Sing sad music as ye go; In disordered handfuls strew Strips of cypress, sprigs of rue; In your hands be borne the bloom, Whose long petals once and only Look from their pale-leav& I tomb In the midnight lonely; Let the nightshades beaded coral Fall in melancholy moral Your wan brows atound, While in very scorn ye fling The amaranth upon the ground As an unbelieved thing; What care we for its fair tale Of beauties that can never fail, 84 KARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. Glories that can never wane No such blooms are on the track He has past, who will come back Never again! Alas! we know not hoW he went, We knew not he was going, For had our tears once found a vent, We had stayed him with their flowing. It was an earthquake, when We awoke and found him gone, We were miserable men, We were hopeless, every one! Yes, he must have gone away In his guise of every day, In his common dress, the same Perfect face and perfect frame; For in feature, for in limb, Who could be compared to him Firm his step, as one who knows He is free whereer he goes, And withal as light of spring As the arrow from the string; His impassioned eye had got Fire which the sun has not; Silk to feel, and gold to see, Fell his tresses full and free, Like the morning mitts that glide Soft adown the mountain side; Most delicious twas to hear When his voice was trilling clear As a silver-hearted bell, Or to follow its low swell, When, as dreamy winds that stray Fainting mid .~Eolian chords, Inner music seemed to play Symphony to all his words; In his hand was poised a spear, Deftly poised, as to appear Resting of its proper will, Thus a merry hunter still, And engarlanded with bay, Must our Youth have gone away, Though we half remember now, He had borne some little while Something mournful in his smile Something serious on his brow: Gentle Heart, perhaps he knew The cruel deed he was about to do! Now, between us all and Him There are rising mountains dim, Forests of uncounted trees, Spaces of unmeasured seas: Think with Him how gay of yore We made sunshine out of shade, Think with Him how light we bore All the burden sorrow laid; All went happily about Him, How shall we toil on without Him How without his cheering eye Constant strength embreathing ever! How without Him standing by Aiding every hard endeavour! For when faintness or disease Had usurped upon our knees, If he deigned our lips to kiss With those living lips of his, We were lightened of our pain, We were up and hale again: Now, without one blessing glance From his rose-lit countenance, We shall die, deserted men, And not see him, even then! We are cold, very cold, All our blood is drying old, And a terrible heart-dearth Reigns for us in heaven and earth: Forth we stretch our chilly fingers In poor effort to attain Tepid embers, where still lingers Some preserving warmth, in vain. Oh! if Love, the Sister dear Of Youth that we have lost, Come not in swift pity here, Come not, with a host Of Affections, strong and kind, To hold up our sinking mind, If She will not, of her grace, Take her Brothers holy place, And be to us, at least, a part Of what He was, in Life and Heart, The faintness that is on our breath Can have no other end but Death. LOVE AND SELF-LOVE. IT was during the very brightest days of the republic of Venice, when her power was in its prime, together ~Iiith the arts which have made her, like every Italian state, celebrated all over the worldfor Italy has produced in poetry and painting, and in the humbler walk of musical composition, the greatest of the worlds marvels that Paolo Zustana was charged by the Mar- quis di Bembo to paint several pictures to adorn his gallery. Paolo had come from Rome at the request of the Marquis, who had received a very favorable account of the young artisthe was but thirty. Paolo was handsome, of middle height, dark, and pale; he had deep Mack eyes, a small mouth, a finely-traced mustache, a short curling beard, and a forehead of remarkable intellectual- ity. There was a slight savageness in his man- ner, a brief, sharp way of speaking, a restlessness in his eye, which did not increase the number of his friends. But when men knew him better, and were admitted into his intimacya very rare occurrencethey loved him. Then, he was generous-hearted and noble; his time, his purse, his advice, were nil at their serv- ice. But his whole soul was in his art. Night and day, day and night, he seemed to think of nothing but his painting. In Rome he had been looked upon as mad, for in the day he was not content with remaining close at work in his mas- ters studio, but at night he invariably shut him- self up in an old half-ruined house, in the out- skirts, where none of his friends were ever in- vited, and where no man ever penetrated, and no women save an old nurse, who had known him from a child. It was believed, with considerable

Love and Self-Love 84-88

84 KARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. Glories that can never wane No such blooms are on the track He has past, who will come back Never again! Alas! we know not hoW he went, We knew not he was going, For had our tears once found a vent, We had stayed him with their flowing. It was an earthquake, when We awoke and found him gone, We were miserable men, We were hopeless, every one! Yes, he must have gone away In his guise of every day, In his common dress, the same Perfect face and perfect frame; For in feature, for in limb, Who could be compared to him Firm his step, as one who knows He is free whereer he goes, And withal as light of spring As the arrow from the string; His impassioned eye had got Fire which the sun has not; Silk to feel, and gold to see, Fell his tresses full and free, Like the morning mitts that glide Soft adown the mountain side; Most delicious twas to hear When his voice was trilling clear As a silver-hearted bell, Or to follow its low swell, When, as dreamy winds that stray Fainting mid .~Eolian chords, Inner music seemed to play Symphony to all his words; In his hand was poised a spear, Deftly poised, as to appear Resting of its proper will, Thus a merry hunter still, And engarlanded with bay, Must our Youth have gone away, Though we half remember now, He had borne some little while Something mournful in his smile Something serious on his brow: Gentle Heart, perhaps he knew The cruel deed he was about to do! Now, between us all and Him There are rising mountains dim, Forests of uncounted trees, Spaces of unmeasured seas: Think with Him how gay of yore We made sunshine out of shade, Think with Him how light we bore All the burden sorrow laid; All went happily about Him, How shall we toil on without Him How without his cheering eye Constant strength embreathing ever! How without Him standing by Aiding every hard endeavour! For when faintness or disease Had usurped upon our knees, If he deigned our lips to kiss With those living lips of his, We were lightened of our pain, We were up and hale again: Now, without one blessing glance From his rose-lit countenance, We shall die, deserted men, And not see him, even then! We are cold, very cold, All our blood is drying old, And a terrible heart-dearth Reigns for us in heaven and earth: Forth we stretch our chilly fingers In poor effort to attain Tepid embers, where still lingers Some preserving warmth, in vain. Oh! if Love, the Sister dear Of Youth that we have lost, Come not in swift pity here, Come not, with a host Of Affections, strong and kind, To hold up our sinking mind, If She will not, of her grace, Take her Brothers holy place, And be to us, at least, a part Of what He was, in Life and Heart, The faintness that is on our breath Can have no other end but Death. LOVE AND SELF-LOVE. IT was during the very brightest days of the republic of Venice, when her power was in its prime, together ~Iiith the arts which have made her, like every Italian state, celebrated all over the worldfor Italy has produced in poetry and painting, and in the humbler walk of musical composition, the greatest of the worlds marvels that Paolo Zustana was charged by the Mar- quis di Bembo to paint several pictures to adorn his gallery. Paolo had come from Rome at the request of the Marquis, who had received a very favorable account of the young artisthe was but thirty. Paolo was handsome, of middle height, dark, and pale; he had deep Mack eyes, a small mouth, a finely-traced mustache, a short curling beard, and a forehead of remarkable intellectual- ity. There was a slight savageness in his man- ner, a brief, sharp way of speaking, a restlessness in his eye, which did not increase the number of his friends. But when men knew him better, and were admitted into his intimacya very rare occurrencethey loved him. Then, he was generous-hearted and noble; his time, his purse, his advice, were nil at their serv- ice. But his whole soul was in his art. Night and day, day and night, he seemed to think of nothing but his painting. In Rome he had been looked upon as mad, for in the day he was not content with remaining close at work in his mas- ters studio, but at night he invariably shut him- self up in an old half-ruined house, in the out- skirts, where none of his friends were ever in- vited, and where no man ever penetrated, and no women save an old nurse, who had known him from a child. It was believed, with considerable LOVE AND SELF-LOVE. 85 plausability, that the artist had a picture in hand, and that he passed his night even in study. He rarely left this retreat before mid-day, and gener- ally returned to his hermitage early, after a cas- ual visit to his lodgings, though he could not occasionally refuse being present at large parties given by his patrons. On arriving in Venice he resumed his former mode of life. He had an apartment at the Palace Bembo; he took his meals there, but at night- fall, when there was no grand reception, he wrap- ped himself in his cloak, put on his mask, and, drawing his sword-hilt close to his hand, went forth. He took a gondola until he reached a cer- tain narrow street, and then, gliding down that, he disappeared in the gloom caused by the lofty houses. No one noticed much this mode of life~ he did his duty, he was polite, affable, and re- spectful with his patron; he was gallant with the ladies, but no more. He did not make the slight- est effort to win the affections of those around him. Now all this passed in general without much observation. Still, there was one person whom this wildness and eccentricity of characterall that has a stamp of originality is called eccentriccaused to feel deep interest in him. The Marquis had a daugh- ter, who at sixteen had been married, from in- terested motives, to the old uncle of the Doge, now dead. Clorinda was a beautiful widow of one-and-twenty, who, rich, independent, of a de- termined and thoughtful character, had made up her mind to marry a second time, not to please relations, but herself. From the first she noticed Paolo favorably; he received her friendly advances respectfully but coldly, and rarely stopped his work to converse. She asked for lessons to im- prove her slight knowledge of painting; he gave them freely, but without ever adding a single word to the necessary observations of the inter- view. He seemed absorbed in his art. One day Clorinda stood behind him; she had been watch- ing him with patient attention for an hour; she now came and took up her quarters in the gallery all day, with her attendant girl, reading or paint- ing. Paolo had not spoken one word during that hour. Suddenly Olorinda rose and uttered the exclamation, How beautiful ! Is it not, signoraV Most beautiful, she returned, astonished both at the artists mariner, and the enthusiasm with which he alluded to his own creation. I am honored by your approval, said Paolo, laying down his pallet and folding his arms to gaze at the picturea Cupid and Psychewith actual rapture. It was the face of the womanof the girl, timidly impassioned and tender, filling the air around with beautythat had struck Clorinda. With golden hair, that waved and shone in the sun; with a white, small, but exquisitely-shaped forehead; with deep blue eyes, fixed with admir- ing love on the tormenting god; with cheeks on which lay so softly the bloom of health that it seemed ready to fade before the breath from the painting; with a mouth and chin moulded on some perfect Grecian statue, she thought he had never seen ~ny thing so divine. Ah ! she said, with a sigh, you painters are dreadful enemies of woman. Who would look at reality after gazing on this glorious ideal P It is reality, replied the painter. I paint from memory.~~ Impossible! You must have combined the beauty of fifty girls in that exquisite creation. No ! said the artist, gravely; that face ex- ists. I saw it in the mountains of Sicily. I have often painted it before: never so successfully. I would, give the world to gaze on the orig- inal, replied Clorinda. I adore a beautiful woman. It is Gods greatest work of art. It is, signora, said Paolo; and he turned away to his work. Women born in the climate of Italy, under her deep blue sky, and in that air that breathes of poetry, painting, music, and love, are not guided by the same impulses and feelings as in our colder and more practical north. Clorinda did not wait for Paolos admiration; she loved him, and every day added to her passion. His undoubted genius, his intellectual brow, his no- ble features and mien, had awakened her long pent-up and sleeping affections. She was her- self a woman of superior mind, and had reveled in the delights of Petrarch, Dante, Ariosto, and Boccaccio. Now, she felt. How deeply, she alone knew. But Zustana remained obstinately insensible to all her charms: to her friendship, and her condescending tone, as well as to her in- tellect and beauty. He saw all, save her love, and admired and respected her much. But there wasat all events, at presentno germ of rising passion in his heart. It was not long before she began to remark his early departure from the palace, his myste- rious way of going, and the fact that he never returned until the next day at early dawn, which always now saw him at his labors. The idea at once flashed across her mind that he had found in Venice some person on whom to lavish the riches of his affection, and that he went every evening to plead his passion at her feet. Jealousy took possession of her. She spent a whole night in reflection; she turned over in her mind every supposition; and she rose, feverish and ill. That day, pleading illness, she remained in her room, shut up with her books. About an hour after dark, Paolo, his hat drawn over his eyes, his cloak wrapped round him, and his mask on, stepped into a gondola which await- ed him, and started. Another boat lay on the opposite side of the canal, with curtains closely drawn. Scarcely had the artists been set in mo- tion than it followed. Paolo, who had never, since his arrival in Venice, been watched or fol- lowed, paid no attention to it. The two gondo- las then moved side by side without remark, and that of Zustana stopped as usual, allowed the artist to land, and continued on its way. A man, also wrapped in a cloak, masked, and with a hat and plumes, leaped out also from the other gon 86 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. dola, and, creeping close against the wall, follow- ed him. The stranger seemed, by his gazing at the dirty walls and low shopschiefly old clothes, rag shops, and warehouses devoted to small trades very much surprised, but, for fear of losing the track of the other, followed closely. Suddenly Zustana disappeared. The other moved rapidly forward in time to observe that he had entered a dark alley, and was ascending witb heavy step a gloomy and winding staircase. The stranger followed cautiously, stepping in time with Paolo, and feeling his way with his hands. Zustana only halted when he reached the summit of the house. He then placed a key in a door a blaze of light was seen, and he disappeared, locking the door behind him. The man stood irresolute, but only for a moment. The house was built round a square court, like a well: there was a terraced roof. Gliding noiselessly along, the stranger was in the open air; moving along like a midnight-thief he gained a position whence the windows of the rooms entered by Zustana were distinctly visible. A groan, a sigh from the stranger, who sank behind a kind of pillar, revealed the Countess. The groan, the sigh, was occasioned by the as- tounding discovery she now made. The room into which she was looking, was brilliantly lighted up, and beautifully furnished, while beyondfor Clorinda could see as plainly as if she had been in itwas a small bedroom, and near the bed sat an old woman, who was preparing to bring in a child to Zustana. Just withdrawing herself from the embrace of Zustana was a beautiful young girl, simply and elegantly dressedthe original of the Pysche which she had so much admired. Now she understood all; that look, which she had thought the conscious- ness of his own beautiful creation, was for the beloved original. The child, a beautiful boy nearly a year old, was brought to Zustana to kiss. Now, all his savageness was gone; now, he stood no longer the artist, the creator, the genius of art; but the man. He smiled, he patted the babe upon the cheek, he let it clutch his lingers with its little hands, he laughed outright a rich, happy, merry, ordinary laugh; and then, turning to the enrap- tured mother, embraced her once more, and drew her to a table near the opened window. What progress to-day ~ asked the painter gayly. See, replied the young mother, handing him a copy-book, and speaking in the somewhat harsh dialect of a Sicilian peasant girl. I think, at last, I can write a page pretty well. Excellent, continued the painter smiling. My Eleanora is a perfect little fairy. A pret- tier handwriting you will not see. I need give no more lessons. But the reading, said the young girl, speak- ing like a timid scholar; I shall never please you there. You always please me, exclaimed Zustana; but you must get rid of your accent. I will try, said Eleanora earnestly, and tak ing up a book she began to read, with much of the imperfection of a young school-girl, but so eagerly, so prettily, with such an evident desire to please, that, as she concluded her lesson, the artist clasped her warmly to his bosom, and cried with love in his eyes and in his tone, My wife, how I adore you ! One summer morning a young man, with a knapsack on his back, a pair of pistols in his belt, a staff to assist him in climbing the hills and mountains, and in crossing the torrents, was standing on the brow of a bill overlooking a small but delicious plain. It was half meadow, half pasture land; here, trees; there, a winding stream, little hilloeks, green and grassy plots; beyond, a lofty mountain, on which hung a som- bre-tinted pine forest ; the whole illumined by the joyous sun of Sicily, which flooded all nature, and spread as it were a violet and metallic vail over her. After gazing nearly half an hour at the delicious landscape, the young man moved slowly down a winding path that led to the river side. Suddenly he heard the tinkling of sheep- bells, the barking of dogs, and looked around to discover whence the sound came. In a small corner of pasture-land, at no great distance from the stream, he saw the flock, and seated beneath the shadow of a huge tree, a young girl. He advanced at once toward her, not being sure of his way. She was a young girl of sixteen, the same del~ icate and exq~uisite creation which had so struck Clorinda on the canvas, and in the garret of Venice. The eye of the artist was delighted, the heart of the man was filled with emotion. He spoke to her: she answered timidly but sweetly. He forgot his intended question; he alluded to the beautiful country, to the delight of dwelling in such a land, to the pleasures of her calm and placid existence; he asked if he could obtain a room in that neighborhood in which to reside while he took a series of sketches. The girl listened with attention and interest for nearly half an hour, during which time lie was using his pencil. She then replied that her father would gladly offer him a shelter in their small house, if he could be satisfied with very humble lodging and very humble fare. The young man accepted with many thanks, and then showed her his sketch-book. Holy Virgin ! she cried, as she recognized herself. You are pleased, said the artist, smiling. Oh! its beautiful; how can you do that with a pencil ? Come quick, and show it to fa- ther ! The young man followed her, as she slowly drove her sheep along, and soon found himself within sight of a small house with a garden, which she anununced as her fathers. She had the drawing in her hand, looking at it with de- light. Unable to restrain her feelings, she ran forward, and, entering the house, disappeared. Zustanaof course it was be~laughed as be picked up the crook of the impetuous young LOVE AND SELF-LOVE. 87 shepherdess, and, aided by the faithful dog, began driving home the patient animals. In ten min- utes Eleanora reappeared, accompanied by her father, her brother and sister: regular Sicilian peasants, without one atom of resemblance to this extraordinary pearl concealed from human eye in the beautiful valley of Arnola. They were all, however, str4ck by the portrait, and received the artist with rude hospitality. He took up his residence with)hem; he sought to please, and he succeeded. After a very few days he became the constant companion of El- eanora. They went out together, he to paint, she to look after her sheepboth to talk. Paolo found her totally uneducated, ignorant of every thing, unable to read or write, and narrow-minded, as all such natures must be. But, there was a foundation of sweetness, and a quickness of in- tellect, which demonstrated that circumstances alone had made her what she was, and Paolo loved her~ He had been a fortnight at Arnola, and he had made up his mind. One beautiful morning, soon after they had taken up their usual position, he spoke. Eleanora, I love you, with a love that is of my life. I adore, I worship you; you are the artists ideal of loveliness; your soul only wants culture to be as lovely as your body. Will you be my wife Will you make my home your home, my country your country, my life your life I am an artist; I battle for my bread, but I am already gaining riches. Speak! Will you be mine i - I will, replied the young girl, who had no conception of hiding her feelings of pride and joy. But you do not know me. I am jealous and suspicious, I am proud and sensitive. You are beautiful, you are lovely; others will dispute you with me. I would slay the Pope if he sought you; I would kill the Emperor if he offered you a gift. You are a simple peasant girl; those around me might smile at your want of town knowledge; might jeer at you for not having the accomplishments and vices of the town ladies: I should challenge the first who smiled or jeered. You must then, if you can be mine, and will make me happy, live apart frorE~ men, for me alone; you must know of no existence but mine; you must abandon all society, all converse with your fellow-creatures. I must be your world, your life, your whole being. I will be what pleases you best, said the young girl gently. The picture does not alarm you V Will you always love me P she asked timidly. While I live, my art, my idol, my goddess! Eleanora, while I breathe. Do with me as you will, replied the young girl. A month later they were married, her parents being proud indeed of the elevated position to which their daughter attained. They went in the autumn to Rome, where Paolo had prepared for his mysterious existence by means of his faithful and attached nurse. He devoted to her every moment not directed to his art, and at once began her education systematically. He found an, apt and earnest scholar, and at the time of which I speak, Eleanora was possessed of all the mental advantages to be derived from constant intercourse with a man of genius. But Paolo Zustana, out of his home, was a changed and unhappy man; he lived in constant dread of his treasure being discovered; he saw, with secret impatience, the many. defects which still existed in his beloved idol; he felt the re- straint of confining her always within a suite of rooms; he longed to give her air and space; but he dreaded her being seen by powerful and un- scrupulous men; he dreaded ridicule for her peasant origin and imperfect education. Hence the defects in his character. It was on the afternoon of the next day, and Zustana, who had been giving some finishing touches to the Psyche, was absorbed in its con- templation He held the brush in his hand, and stood back a little way, examining it with atten- tion. It is beautiful! The Countess Clorinda was right, he exclaimed. Not nearly so beautiful as the original, re- plied that lady in a low tone. Great Heaven ! cried Paolo, turning rovnd pale and fiercely, to start back in silent amaze- ment. There was Eleanora, blushing, trembling, timid, hanging a little back, and yet leaning on the arm of the Countess, who smiled a sweet sad smile of triumph. Be not angry, Signor Zustana, she said; it is all my fault. You excited my curiosity relative to the original of this picture. You said it existed. I immediately connected your mys- terious absences with something which might ex- plain all. Last night I followed you home, I saw this beaigiful creature, I understQod the motives of her seclusion. This day I went to see her early; I forced my way in. Half by threats, half by coaxing, I extracted the truth from her. Signor Paolo, your conduct is selfish; to save yourself from imaginary evils you condemn this angel to a prison life; you deprive her of air and libertythe very life of ~ Sicilian girl; you pre- vent her from enjoying the manifold blessings which God intended for all; you deprive us of the satisfaction of admiring a face so divine, and a mind so exquisite. But then, you will say, she is beautiful enough to excite love; she is simple enough to excite a smile. Signor Paolo, she is good enough to scorn the first word of lawless passion; she is educated enough to learn every thing that becomes a lady, and befits the wife of a man of genius, if you will but let her mix with the world. You are yourself miserable; your life is a torment. I, the friend, the confidante, the sister of this innocent, good girl, declare to you that you must change your mode of exist- ence. Countess, you have conquered, cried Zus 88 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. tana, who guessed the truth, and who intuitively felt that her generous heart would find, in devo- tion to Eleanora, means of withdrawing her at- tention from her unfortunate passion. Do with her as you please. When the Countess Clorinda, only child of my generous patron, calls my wife her sister, my wife is hers for life. The result was natural. Paolo Zustana ceased to be suspicious and restless. Eleanora was uni- versally admired; and when, ten years later, the artist, after finishing the paintings for the gallery of the Palace Bembo, took up his residence per- manently in Venice, his wife had become an ac- complished and unaffected lady, capable of hold- ing her position in the elevated circles to which the genius of her husband, and the friendship of Clorinda, established her right to belong. Clo- rinda remained true to her friendship all her life; delighted and happy at being the ensurer of per- inanent happiness two loving hearts, which, under the system of suspicion, fear, and seclusion adopted by one of them, must ultimately have been utterly wretched. No one can be happy and useful in this world, who is not of it. If it were not our duty to be of it, we may be very sure we should not be in it. BEHIND THE LOUVRE. pEOPLE may wish to know why I pull up -I. here, and begin to play the fool. I am a pencil manufacturer; nothing more. I know that my pencils are good: look here! (Exhibits a medal.) This medal was given to me, as the manufacturer of these superlative pencils, by the promoters of the Great Exhibition in London. With this preliminary address, a very fashion- able-looking gentleman, who has drawn up his carriage at the roadside behind the Louvre in Paris, opens an address to a number of persons who begin to gather about him. His equipage is handsome; and people wonder what he means by this curious proceeding. Presently they per- ceive that in the buggy there is an organ, and that the individual perched behind the gentleman fulfills the double functions of footman and organ- grinder. They perceive also that the servant wears a magnificent livery, part of it consisting of a huge brass helmet, from the summit of which immense tricolor feathers flutter conspicuously in the breeze. The gentleman suddenly rings a bell; and forthwith the footman in the buggy grinds a lively air. The crowd rapidly increases. The gentleman is very grave: he looks quietly at the people about him, and then addresses them a second time, having rung the little bell again to stop his footmans organ: Now I dare say you wonder what I am going to do. Well, I will be- gin with the story which led me to this charlatan lifefor I am a charlatantheres no denying it. I was, as you all know, an ordinary pencil mer- chant; and, although I sold my pencils in the street from my carriage-seat, I was dressed like any of you. Well, one day, when I was selling my pencils at a rapid rate, a low fellow set up his puppet-show close by meand all my customers rushed away from me. This occurred to me many times. Wherever I drew up my carriage to sell my pencils in a quiet way some charlatan came, and drew all my customers from me. I found that my trade was tapering away to a point as fine as the finest point of my finest pencil; and, as you may imagine, I was not very pleased. But suddenly I thought that if the public taste encourages charlatans, and if I am to secure the patronage of that public, I too must become a charlatan. And here I ama charlatan from the tips of my hair to the heel of my boot, selling excellent pencils for forty centimes each, as you shall presently see. This second speech concluded in the most serious manner, the gentleman produces from the carriage-seat a splendid coat embroidered with gold: this he puts on with the utmost gravity then turns to the crowd to watch its effect upon them. Then he takes his hat off, picks up a huge brass helmet from the bottom of the car- riage, and tries it on. Again he looks gravely at the crowd, suddenly removes the helmet, and places, singly, three plumes representing the national tricolor, watching the effect upon the spectators, as he adds each feather. Having surveyed the general effect of the helmet thus decorated, he again puts it on; and, turning now full upon the crowd, folds his arms and looks steadfastly before him. After a pause, he rings his little hell, and the plumed organist be- hind him plays a soft and soothing air. To this tune he again speaks: Well, here I am: as you see, a charlatan. I have done this to please you: you mustnt blame me. As I told you, I am the well-known manu- facturer of pencils. They are cheap and they are good, as I shall presently show you. Look hereI have a portfolio ! The gentleman then lifts a large portfolio or bookopens it, and exhibits to the crowd three or four rough caricatures. He presently pretends to perceive doubts floating about as to the capa- bility of his pencils to produce such splendid pic- tures. Suddenly he snatches up one of them, brandishes it in the airturns over the leaves of the bookfinds a blank pagethen places him- self in an attitude to indicate intense thought. He frowns; he throws up his eyes; he taps the pencil impatiently against his chin; he traces imaginary lines in the air; he stands for some seconds with upturned face, raptwaiting, in fact, to be inspired. Suddenly he is struck by an irresistible and overpowering thought, and begins to draw the rough outlines of a sketch. He proceeds with his work in the most earncst manner. No spectator can detect a smile upon that serious face. Now he holds the book far away from him, to catch the general effect, marks little errors here and there ; then sets vigorously to work again. At last the great conception is upon the paper. He turns it most seriously, and with the air of a man doing a very great favor, to the crowd. The picture produces a burst of laughter. The pencil manufacturer does not laugh, but continues solemnly, to the sounds of his organ in the buggy, to exhibit his production.

Behind the Louvre 88-91

88 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. tana, who guessed the truth, and who intuitively felt that her generous heart would find, in devo- tion to Eleanora, means of withdrawing her at- tention from her unfortunate passion. Do with her as you please. When the Countess Clorinda, only child of my generous patron, calls my wife her sister, my wife is hers for life. The result was natural. Paolo Zustana ceased to be suspicious and restless. Eleanora was uni- versally admired; and when, ten years later, the artist, after finishing the paintings for the gallery of the Palace Bembo, took up his residence per- manently in Venice, his wife had become an ac- complished and unaffected lady, capable of hold- ing her position in the elevated circles to which the genius of her husband, and the friendship of Clorinda, established her right to belong. Clo- rinda remained true to her friendship all her life; delighted and happy at being the ensurer of per- inanent happiness two loving hearts, which, under the system of suspicion, fear, and seclusion adopted by one of them, must ultimately have been utterly wretched. No one can be happy and useful in this world, who is not of it. If it were not our duty to be of it, we may be very sure we should not be in it. BEHIND THE LOUVRE. pEOPLE may wish to know why I pull up -I. here, and begin to play the fool. I am a pencil manufacturer; nothing more. I know that my pencils are good: look here! (Exhibits a medal.) This medal was given to me, as the manufacturer of these superlative pencils, by the promoters of the Great Exhibition in London. With this preliminary address, a very fashion- able-looking gentleman, who has drawn up his carriage at the roadside behind the Louvre in Paris, opens an address to a number of persons who begin to gather about him. His equipage is handsome; and people wonder what he means by this curious proceeding. Presently they per- ceive that in the buggy there is an organ, and that the individual perched behind the gentleman fulfills the double functions of footman and organ- grinder. They perceive also that the servant wears a magnificent livery, part of it consisting of a huge brass helmet, from the summit of which immense tricolor feathers flutter conspicuously in the breeze. The gentleman suddenly rings a bell; and forthwith the footman in the buggy grinds a lively air. The crowd rapidly increases. The gentleman is very grave: he looks quietly at the people about him, and then addresses them a second time, having rung the little bell again to stop his footmans organ: Now I dare say you wonder what I am going to do. Well, I will be- gin with the story which led me to this charlatan lifefor I am a charlatantheres no denying it. I was, as you all know, an ordinary pencil mer- chant; and, although I sold my pencils in the street from my carriage-seat, I was dressed like any of you. Well, one day, when I was selling my pencils at a rapid rate, a low fellow set up his puppet-show close by meand all my customers rushed away from me. This occurred to me many times. Wherever I drew up my carriage to sell my pencils in a quiet way some charlatan came, and drew all my customers from me. I found that my trade was tapering away to a point as fine as the finest point of my finest pencil; and, as you may imagine, I was not very pleased. But suddenly I thought that if the public taste encourages charlatans, and if I am to secure the patronage of that public, I too must become a charlatan. And here I ama charlatan from the tips of my hair to the heel of my boot, selling excellent pencils for forty centimes each, as you shall presently see. This second speech concluded in the most serious manner, the gentleman produces from the carriage-seat a splendid coat embroidered with gold: this he puts on with the utmost gravity then turns to the crowd to watch its effect upon them. Then he takes his hat off, picks up a huge brass helmet from the bottom of the car- riage, and tries it on. Again he looks gravely at the crowd, suddenly removes the helmet, and places, singly, three plumes representing the national tricolor, watching the effect upon the spectators, as he adds each feather. Having surveyed the general effect of the helmet thus decorated, he again puts it on; and, turning now full upon the crowd, folds his arms and looks steadfastly before him. After a pause, he rings his little hell, and the plumed organist be- hind him plays a soft and soothing air. To this tune he again speaks: Well, here I am: as you see, a charlatan. I have done this to please you: you mustnt blame me. As I told you, I am the well-known manu- facturer of pencils. They are cheap and they are good, as I shall presently show you. Look hereI have a portfolio ! The gentleman then lifts a large portfolio or bookopens it, and exhibits to the crowd three or four rough caricatures. He presently pretends to perceive doubts floating about as to the capa- bility of his pencils to produce such splendid pic- tures. Suddenly he snatches up one of them, brandishes it in the airturns over the leaves of the bookfinds a blank pagethen places him- self in an attitude to indicate intense thought. He frowns; he throws up his eyes; he taps the pencil impatiently against his chin; he traces imaginary lines in the air; he stands for some seconds with upturned face, raptwaiting, in fact, to be inspired. Suddenly he is struck by an irresistible and overpowering thought, and begins to draw the rough outlines of a sketch. He proceeds with his work in the most earncst manner. No spectator can detect a smile upon that serious face. Now he holds the book far away from him, to catch the general effect, marks little errors here and there ; then sets vigorously to work again. At last the great conception is upon the paper. He turns it most seriously, and with the air of a man doing a very great favor, to the crowd. The picture produces a burst of laughter. The pencil manufacturer does not laugh, but continues solemnly, to the sounds of his organ in the buggy, to exhibit his production. BEHIND THE LOUVRE. 89 Presently, however, he closes the book with the appearance of a man who is satiated with the applauses of the world. A moment afterward he opens it a second time; puts the point of the pencil to his tongue, and looks eagerly at the peo- ple. He is selecting some individual, sufficient- ly eccentric and sufficiently prominent to be rec- ognized by the general assembly when sketched. He has caught sight of one at last. He looks at him intensely, to the irrepressible amusement of the spectators, who all follow his eyes with theirs. The individual selected generally smiles, and bears his public position very calmly. For Mercys sake, do not stir the artist fervently ejaculates, as he sets vigorously to work. This proceeding, in the open street, conducted with the utmost gravity, and with the most finished acting, is irresistibly ludicrous. As the portrait advances toward completion, the organ plays a triumphant melody. In five minutes a rough and bold sketch has been produced, resem- bling only in the faintest manner the original, yet sufficiently like him to be recognized, and to create amusement. As the artist holds up the portrait, to be seen by the crowd, he again rings his little bell to silence his musical attendant in the buggy. And now he dwells emphatically upon the virtues of his pencils. He declares that they are at once black and hard. He pretends, once more, to detect an air of incredulity in the crowd. He is indignant. He seizes a block of oakinforms his imaginary detractors that it is the hardest known woodand, with a hammer, drives the point of one of his pencils through it. The wood is split, the pencil is not injured: and he tells his imaginary detractors that even if they are not in the habit of using pencils for art, they are at liberty to split wood with them for winter firing. All they have to do is to buy them. This is of course a very popular point in the performances. The next is the display, to the melancholy grind of the organ in the buggy, of a huge box full of silver money. This box is opened and exhibited to the crowd as the astonishing result of these wonderful pen- cils. And then the charlatan goes through all that pantomime which usually describes a man utterly tired of all the enjoyments wealth can give him. He seizes a handful of the money, and then lazily drops it into the box. He throws himself back and pushes the box from him, to in- dicate that he is tired of riches. At last he jumps up, and, seizing a five-franc piece, raises his arm to throw it among the spectators: but he is pre- vented, apparently, by a sudden impulse. Once, he explains, I threw a five-franc piece in the midst of my customers, when it un- fortunately struck a man in the eye. That acci- dent gave me a lesson which I should do wrong to forget to-day. So he closes the box, throws it to the bottom of the carriage, and calls upon the crowd to be- come purchasers of pencils, which will never break, and which are patronized by the most dis- tinguished artists. The droll thing about this per- formance is that the pencils sold really are good, and that they actually did obtain honorable men- tion from the English Exhibition Committee in eighteen hundred and fifty-one. The crowd having decided to purchase or to reject the merchandise of this extraordinary pen- cil manufacturer, are soon drawn away to the occupant of another elegant carriage. Truly, this little licensed space, at the back of the Louvre presents odd pictures to strangers. This is a serious business. The crowd are lis- tening to a lecture on teeth, and on the virtue of certain drugs for the teeth, the composition of which the lecturer alone knows the secret ofa secret that has been rigidly handed down in his family from the time of the ancient Gauls. He is a well-known dentist in Paris, and is in part- nership with his father. The senior dentist re- mains at home to perform operations of dental surgery which are the result of the remarkable advertising system pursued by the young man in the carriage. The business, I am led to believe, is a most flourishing one in the cite; and, when the father was young, he himself was his fathers advertiser. The scientific gentleman now haranguing the crowd is certainly the worthy representative of his parent. It is reported indeed that the man is a skillful dentist. At the present moment he offers to prove his dexterity upon any individual present who may be troubled by a refractory tooth. He looks about eagerly for a patient. Presently a boy is thrust forward to be operated upon. The poor little fellow is rapidly hoisted into the vehicle. To suffer the extraction of a tooth in an eiegant drawing-room, or in the pri- vacy of a fashionable dentists apartment, is not a pleasant operation, even for a man with the strongest nerve; but to have a singularly happy illustration of the ills to whichteeth are subject, drawn from your head, and exhibited to a crowd of curious strangers, is an ordeal from which all people, save philosophers and small French boys, would shrink with horror. The little victim, how- ever, does not seem to be ashamed of his public position. He seats himself in the presence of the crowd, and allows the operator to fasten a towel about his neck, without displaying the least nervousness. The business-like manner of the operator is very amusing. He looks upon the boy only as a model. When the patient is fully prepared, he displays him to the crowd with much the same expression as that adopted by all p~- rental exhibitors of wonderful little children. The operation is then performed, and the boys head is rapidly buried in a convenient basin. This ac- complished, the dentist, with an air of triumph, begins to sell his tooth-powders, and other toilet necessaries, and to refer the crowd to his fathers establishment. We pass the conjuror as an old and well- known friend, to enjoy the performances of the sergeant of the old guard. This sergeant is re- presented by an old, care-worn looking poodle a poodle that appears to be utterly tired of the worldto have exhausted all the enjoyments of S 90 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. two ordinary poodles lives, and to take good and evil fortune now with equal calmness. This ca- nine representation of the old guard is dressed so far as his poodles proportions can be adapted to those of the human formin the regimentals of the old Imperial soldiers, and his long gray mustaches and shaggy heard give to his head an appearance not altogether dissimilar to his as- sumed character. He stands upon his hind legs; he carries his musket with military precision; his most conspicuous fault, which he seems to have abandoned as quite insurmountable, is his tail. True it is a very little tail, but there it is, and he can not help it. His master, or superior officer, is an old man, with silver hair, enjoying the ad- vantages of a singularly even pair of silver mus- taches. The master and the subaltern appear to have a family likeness. The master is dressed in a blue blouse and wide, trowsers, and wears a low, half-military cap. In his hand he carries a little drum and a whip. The poor old guard as he walks round the cir- cle formed by the people, to the time of the drum, looks wistfully at his officer, and sadly at his offi- cers whip. To describe the military movements through which the old guard passes would be as tedious to the reader as they are certainly tedious to the poodle; but the officer is really impressive. He is a serious old man, with a military severity in his look. He talks to the poodle in a voice of thunder, and comments on the slightest laxity of discipline with tremendous earnestness. He re- minds the old sergeant (who absolutely looks con- scious of his disgrace) that he is an unworthy re- presentative of the Emperors noble veterans. He tells him that he has twice been fined for drunk- enness, and that he spends every sous he gets in Cognac. The sergeant looks very much ashamed. And then the angey of his officer rises to a terrific pitch. The end of the matter is, that the sergeant goes through all the forms of a military trial, and is condemned to be shot. The severe old gentle- man then solemnly beats his drum, and with a mournful look, places the condemned soldier in the position he is to occupy while his sentence is cerried out. The poodle, with a hang-dog look, then suffers his master to fire a percussion cap at him, and falls dead. But the business does not end here. The old man proceeds with the utmost gravity to bury the sergeant with military honors. Aided by a little boy, he carries the defunct slow- ly round the circle, and then sings a dirge over his grave. After the funeral, the dog wakes to a lively air, and performs a country dance with his serious old master. The animal is a character, but his master is a study. His age, his dignified man- ner, the imperturbable seriousness with which he goes through the military forms, the well-acted pathos with which he pronounces the old ser- geants sentence, the severity with which he re- bukes any levity in the people, and the insensi- bility to ridicule with which he dances the coun- try dance, are perfect in themselves. And, as he talks to the dog, his ingenuity in carrying round his discourse to money matters, and to the duty which his spectators owe to themselves not to forget the little ceremony of throwing a few cen- times into the arena, is a matter which gives zest to the performance. He never appeals directly to the peoplehe seldom recognizes them in any way; he talks at them in an incidental way, to the old sergeant. Another public exhibitor claims popular atten- tion behind the Louvre. He is said to share a goodly proportion of Parisian patronage, and to be rewarded with an indefinite number of cen- times. His performance is at once rapid and astonishing. All he does is to break a huge stoneto crum- ble it up into small pieces. He begins by declar- ing to the crowd that this process may be per- formed by a blow of the hand. He lets the crowd examine the stone he is about to crush with a blow of his mighty arm; all are satisfied that it is a solid mass. He places it upon another stone, and, with one blow with his naked hand, shatters it to atoms. This performance is, of course, both rapid and astonishing; and sagacious men have endeavored to account for it by explaining that the underneath stone is so arranged that the whole force of the blow falls upon one point, and so acts like a sharp instrumenta pickax, for instance. This may be the right or it may be a wrong interpretation of the performance; but that it is a legitimate thingthat there is no cheat about itI am well assured. I might linger here to watch, other perf6rm- ances of this class; but my attention is drawn to a gentleman dressed quietly and well, who has just taken his hat off, and is bowing to us from the high curb-stone. His expression is serious, even sad. He has an intellectual face, a high forehead, a thoughtful look. People flock about him very fast; evidently he has something to say. He has a bundle of papers under one arm. He remains, while a crowd gathers, looking sadly round, and still holding his hat respectfully in his hand. Presently he murmurs a few words; and, by degrees, bursts into an oratorical display, at once dramatic and effective. He is a poet. He felt the soul of poetry within him when he was an obscure boy in his native village. He longed to be knownto catch the applauses oi~ the world. At last he resolved to travel to Paris; Paris, where generous sentiments were always welcomed; Paris, the natural home of the poet. Full of youthful hope, be presented himself to a publisher, offering his poems. The reply he ob- tained was, that he was unknown. He went to a second publisher, to a third, to a fourth; all were polite to him, but all rejected his works. He was in despair. Was he, with the soul of poesy burning within him, to starve in Paris, the cradle of poesy! He was tempted often in that dark time to sully the purity of his muse. But he said, no; he might be poor, but he would be without stain. At last he was compelled to write songs for obscure caf6s ehantants; but he should be unworthy to address that assembly could he not assure them that all these songs breathed a high moral purpose. Well, one of these songs CONFESSION; OR, THE LAW OF ACOUSTICS. 91 became last year the ragethousands of copies were sold. And what did the author get for that most popular production Here the orator pauses, and looks sternly about him. Presently he raises his arm, and, shaking it in the air, shouts, with the countenance of a roused fiend, Troisfrancs ! After this burst, he proceeds, in a subdued voice, to describe his struggle. How he resolved to fight his hard battle bravely; and how, at last, stung by the neglect of publishers, he resolved to place himself in the streets, face to face with the Paris public. He knew that they reverenced poets. He believed that, while his muse was pure, he might appeal to them with confidence. They may judge by his language that he is no common impostor; and he confidently believes that the time will come when it will be a popular wonder that the known man once in that way sought a public in the streets of Paris. To that time he looks courageously forward; and only asks his audience to buy a number of his works which he has under his arm, and which may be had for three sous each, in confirmation of all he has said. And, forthwith, the poet bows to the crowd, who press about him to buy his works. This last exhibition behind the Louvre sent me away, thinking seriously of the strange things to be seen in the by-ways of Paris, where few strangers penetrate. Indeed, these licensed street performers form a class peculiar to the French capital. Their ingenuity is as extraordinary as their knowledge of French taste and sentiment is truthful. From the prosperous pencil manu- facturer down to the old man who carries a mag- ic-lantern about the neighborhood of the Lux- embourg every night, for hire, all the people who get their living in the streets of this giddy place are worth loitering in a by-way to see and to hear. CONFESSION; OR, THE LAW OF ACOUSTICS. THE preparations had been made for a grand festival in the Church of the Magdalen, at Girgenti, and, according to the usage on such occasions, the whole interior was decorated with flowers and tapestry. The workmen had quitted the sacred edifice in a body at mid-day; and throughout reigned that solemn and peculiar still- ness which, in the temples of the Catholic faith, is felt to exercise an influence the most edifying and sublime. Two gentlemen paced to and fro in the long aisle which skirts the north side of the building; they were conversing in subdued tones, and seemed to regard the cool, shady church as being well adapted for the purposes of a public prome- nade. One of them, who might be of the age of about fifty, was of robust frame, tall, and strongly built, with a countenance thoughtful and some- what stern, but in which no single passion seemed to have left a trace. The other, of slender figure, and in the first bloom of manhood, whose hand- some features were characterized by an expres- sion the most intellectual and refined, turned his dark and almost feminine eyes with an earnest glance in every direction, as if he had something of especial interest to communicate. It was the architect who had designed and superintended the decorations for the fete of the ensuing day. He had but recently completed his studies at Rome. His name was Giulio Balzetti. On a sudden the younger man stood still. Marquis, he said, in that confidential tone which is used in addressing a person with whom one is in habits of daily intercourse I will impart to youhalf in jesta secret which, I believe, is known to no human being except myself. You have perhaps heard of the strange tricks which are sometimes played upon builders by that law of nature which regulates the transmission of sounds, and which modern science has denominated Acoustics played upon us, indeed, when we have the least reason to expect or deserve them. Through na every-day occurrenceby the merest accident I was lately made acquainted with the singular fact that from this spot, on the very slab of white marble on which we are standing, the slightest whisper at the other extremity of the aisleI mean in the last of the confessional boxes which you seeis distinctly audible, though a person stationed on any other part of the intervening groundhow near soever to the place whence the sounds proceededwould not be able to catch a single word. Remain where you are for a few minutes, while I proceed to the confessional which I have indicatedand you will indeed be wonder-struck by this extraordinary freak of Na- ture. The architect hastened away; but he had not proceeded many paces, when the Marquis heard a significant whisperthe purport of which suf- ficed in an instant to agitate his whole frame with the most fearful emotions. He stood transfixed to the ground, as though he had been touched by a wand of enchantmenthis features pale and rigid as the marble; while the extreme of atten- tiveness portrayed in his ordinarily tranquil visage betokened that some tidings of awful import were falling upon his ears. He moved not a limb; he scarcely breathedhe was like one standing on the brink of a precipice, in all the horror of an impending fall into the abyssand his rolling eyeballs and visibly throbbing heart were the only signs of existence. Balzetti was now seen returning. The ex- periment can not be tried at present, he said, with a smile, before he had rejoined his compan- ion. The confessional is at this moment occu- pied, and as far as I could observe, by a lady closely vailed ;but, gracious heavensMarquis what has come over you on a sudden ~ The Marquis pressed one finger upon his lips, in the manner usual with Italians, and continued in the same unmovable position. At the end of a few minutes he drew a deep sighthe statue then became instinct with life, and stepped forth from the magic circle. It is nothing, my dear Giulio, he said, in his usual familiar tone. Above all things do not imagine that I am superstitious; but, to speak candidly, the surprising and ipysterious nature

Confession; Or, the Law of Acoustics 91-93

CONFESSION; OR, THE LAW OF ACOUSTICS. 91 became last year the ragethousands of copies were sold. And what did the author get for that most popular production Here the orator pauses, and looks sternly about him. Presently he raises his arm, and, shaking it in the air, shouts, with the countenance of a roused fiend, Troisfrancs ! After this burst, he proceeds, in a subdued voice, to describe his struggle. How he resolved to fight his hard battle bravely; and how, at last, stung by the neglect of publishers, he resolved to place himself in the streets, face to face with the Paris public. He knew that they reverenced poets. He believed that, while his muse was pure, he might appeal to them with confidence. They may judge by his language that he is no common impostor; and he confidently believes that the time will come when it will be a popular wonder that the known man once in that way sought a public in the streets of Paris. To that time he looks courageously forward; and only asks his audience to buy a number of his works which he has under his arm, and which may be had for three sous each, in confirmation of all he has said. And, forthwith, the poet bows to the crowd, who press about him to buy his works. This last exhibition behind the Louvre sent me away, thinking seriously of the strange things to be seen in the by-ways of Paris, where few strangers penetrate. Indeed, these licensed street performers form a class peculiar to the French capital. Their ingenuity is as extraordinary as their knowledge of French taste and sentiment is truthful. From the prosperous pencil manu- facturer down to the old man who carries a mag- ic-lantern about the neighborhood of the Lux- embourg every night, for hire, all the people who get their living in the streets of this giddy place are worth loitering in a by-way to see and to hear. CONFESSION; OR, THE LAW OF ACOUSTICS. THE preparations had been made for a grand festival in the Church of the Magdalen, at Girgenti, and, according to the usage on such occasions, the whole interior was decorated with flowers and tapestry. The workmen had quitted the sacred edifice in a body at mid-day; and throughout reigned that solemn and peculiar still- ness which, in the temples of the Catholic faith, is felt to exercise an influence the most edifying and sublime. Two gentlemen paced to and fro in the long aisle which skirts the north side of the building; they were conversing in subdued tones, and seemed to regard the cool, shady church as being well adapted for the purposes of a public prome- nade. One of them, who might be of the age of about fifty, was of robust frame, tall, and strongly built, with a countenance thoughtful and some- what stern, but in which no single passion seemed to have left a trace. The other, of slender figure, and in the first bloom of manhood, whose hand- some features were characterized by an expres- sion the most intellectual and refined, turned his dark and almost feminine eyes with an earnest glance in every direction, as if he had something of especial interest to communicate. It was the architect who had designed and superintended the decorations for the fete of the ensuing day. He had but recently completed his studies at Rome. His name was Giulio Balzetti. On a sudden the younger man stood still. Marquis, he said, in that confidential tone which is used in addressing a person with whom one is in habits of daily intercourse I will impart to youhalf in jesta secret which, I believe, is known to no human being except myself. You have perhaps heard of the strange tricks which are sometimes played upon builders by that law of nature which regulates the transmission of sounds, and which modern science has denominated Acoustics played upon us, indeed, when we have the least reason to expect or deserve them. Through na every-day occurrenceby the merest accident I was lately made acquainted with the singular fact that from this spot, on the very slab of white marble on which we are standing, the slightest whisper at the other extremity of the aisleI mean in the last of the confessional boxes which you seeis distinctly audible, though a person stationed on any other part of the intervening groundhow near soever to the place whence the sounds proceededwould not be able to catch a single word. Remain where you are for a few minutes, while I proceed to the confessional which I have indicatedand you will indeed be wonder-struck by this extraordinary freak of Na- ture. The architect hastened away; but he had not proceeded many paces, when the Marquis heard a significant whisperthe purport of which suf- ficed in an instant to agitate his whole frame with the most fearful emotions. He stood transfixed to the ground, as though he had been touched by a wand of enchantmenthis features pale and rigid as the marble; while the extreme of atten- tiveness portrayed in his ordinarily tranquil visage betokened that some tidings of awful import were falling upon his ears. He moved not a limb; he scarcely breathedhe was like one standing on the brink of a precipice, in all the horror of an impending fall into the abyssand his rolling eyeballs and visibly throbbing heart were the only signs of existence. Balzetti was now seen returning. The ex- periment can not be tried at present, he said, with a smile, before he had rejoined his compan- ion. The confessional is at this moment occu- pied, and as far as I could observe, by a lady closely vailed ;but, gracious heavensMarquis what has come over you on a sudden ~ The Marquis pressed one finger upon his lips, in the manner usual with Italians, and continued in the same unmovable position. At the end of a few minutes he drew a deep sighthe statue then became instinct with life, and stepped forth from the magic circle. It is nothing, my dear Giulio, he said, in his usual familiar tone. Above all things do not imagine that I am superstitious; but, to speak candidly, the surprising and ipysterious nature 92 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. of your communication has affected me in a way I can not explain. Let us be gone. I shall soon recover myself in the open air. As he spoke, he took the arm of Baizetti familiarly, and accom- panied him beyond the city gate to the public walk, when, after a few turns, the two gentlemen separated. We shall see you to-morrow, after the cere- mony, at the villa, said the nobleman. Fare- well. * * * * * At an early hour on the following morning the Marquis opened the door of the ante-chamber of his wifes apartment. At the same moment the femme~de-chambre, her looks betraying the ut- most astonishment and alarm, entered the room by a door on the opposite side. Has your lady rung the bell ~ asked the Marquis. Not yet, your Excellency, answered the girl, curtseying and blushing deeply. Then wait here until you are summoned, returned the Marquis, opening the door which led from the dressing-room into the bedchamber. He was on the point of stepping within the latter, when his young and beautiful wife stood before him in a morning robe, hastily thrown on, as she had risen from her bed. The Marquis paused it might be in a momentary resistless transport of admiration of her charms; but without betok- ening the least observation of her uneasiness of the inward tempest which had already chased the color from her cheek, and was yet more sen- sibly manifested as her bosom began to heave tumultuously beneath the snowy night-dress. You are up unusually early this morning, Antonio, she said, in a voice scarcely audible, and with a faint smile, blushing significantly at the same moment. Can you wonder, Lauretta, my hearts treas- ure, said the Marquis, in the most endearing tones, can you wonder that I seek your pres- ence early and late And yet, my beloved, the present visit has an additional object. You are aware that this is the fete of the Holy Magdalen, and that a grand ceremony will be solemnized in honor of the day. It has occurred to me that I might prepare myself for my devotions by the contemplation of that exquisite Magdalen of Gui- do which hangs in your chamber. May I ven- ture 1 he continued, with the extreme of defer- ence in his manner, approaching the door slowly but with determination, as he spoke. Allis in disorder within, said the young wife, casting a hurried glance through the half- open door: but go in for a few moments; I will meanwhile begin to dress in this room. How beautiful ! he exclaimed, in a voice of simulated rapture. How bewitching is this disarray! These robes carelessly scattered aboutthese biny slippers that protect and grace the most delicate of feet! There is a balminess in the airsomething celestial and ecstatic. The spirit of poetry breathes around me. He fixed a scrutinizing glance on the bed, the silken coverlet of which appeared to have been taken up and then carefully spread out, while underneath he could discern the contour of a human figure, which, to be as little observable as possible, was stretched at full length. I will sit down for a short time, said the Marquis, in a tone the most gentle and com- posed, and feast my eyes at my leisure on this master-piece of genius. As he uttered these words he took the large white pillow, profusely trimmed with Brussels lace, and deliberately placed it on the part of the bed on which he judged that the head of the intruder must be restingthen flung himself upon it with the whole weight of his stalwart frame, pressing at the same time with his right hand and with his utmost strength op the breast of the concealed author of his dishonor. With- out seeming to be in the least degree aware of the convulsive death-struggles of his victim, the Marquis proceeded in unfaltering tones: How absolutely perfect is this work of art! With what a chaste and dignified reserve the lovely penitent is striving to conceal her bosom and snowy neck with her finely-moulded arms and long auburn tresses; while, with a tearful glance of pious remorse, she gazes upward to the throne of mercy and forgiveness! One al- most becomes a poet in the contemplation of such a master-piece! Alas! that I am without the gift of the Improvisatore! Lauretta, as I know not how to poetize on this inspiring theme, I will relate to you an incident which occurred yesterday. Our young friend, Giulio Balzetti, accompanied me to the Church of La Maddalena, and as we were promenading in one of the aisles he made me remark a particular point of the floor, on which he requested that I would stand still, for from that spot, he said, I should distinctly hear a whisper uttered at the remotest part of the building. And, indeed, so it was! At the other point stands the confessional box, Number 6. I had scarcely stationed myself on the slab of marble which he had indicated to me, when I heard a whisper of angelic sweetnesswhose whispered voice is known to Heaven above heard the fair penitent unbosom herself to the father confessor of her hearts pain and her little venial sins. She had a husband, she said, whom she loved; yes, and he loved her in returnhe was so kind to herhe allowed to her the utmost libertyin short, she was disposed to do him justiceshe would requite his affection as far as lay in her powerGod help her! but, the truth must be declared, she loved another. She did not mention his name; it would have amused me to hear itsome one of our handsome young cavaliers, no doubt. Wellshe loved another It was impossible to do less, she said; but she had room in her heart, she believc,1, for her husband besides. He was so noble of soul so intellectual and refinedso handsomeshe meant the otherso worthy to be loved. Then, he pressed his suit with such a passionate ar- dor. No! it was impossible to deny him any thing. Besides, if her husband should know no- MORE FACTS WORTH KNOWiNG. 93 thing about the matter, what harm was done 3 And if he chanced to discover the secret, surely he would forgive herforgive and love her still, if his affection was sincere, and more to that ef- fect. She further related that she had consented to meet him at an early hour the next morning (per- haps, at this very moment, his happiness is com- plete!) and, for his peace and her own, to grant him all! Afterward, she thought (do you hear me, Lauretta!) afterward., this affair du cceur would soon be- at an end. (This is what the French ladies call passer les caprices !) In conclusion, she timidly begged forabsolution beforehand! It would be so comforting and she obtained it from the holy man! How has this little history pleased you, my love 3 continued the Marquis, raising himself from his horrible seat, on which no sign of motion was discernible. - Of a truth, he proceeded in a sportive tone, our reverend pastors are somewhat too indul- gent to the tender passion. I speak of the greater number of them. No doubt our excellent old friend and spiritual counselor, Father Gregorio, would have taken a fair lady to task in a differ- ent way; if you, for example, Lauretta, had As he spoke, he slowly returned the pillow to its place, and dashed aside the coverlet. Before him lay the architect, Giulio Balzetti! He had ceased to breathe. Have you been lately to confession, Laura3 asked the Marquis. There, you have pins in your mouth, though I have so often warned you against the practice. Tell me, is it long since you were at ednfession3 he proceeded, in a somewhat louder tone. Not long, returned his wife, with almost stifled accents. Apropos, resumed the Marquis, again hid- ing the hard and frightfully distorted features with the counterpane, we are to go together to the grand ceremony at the Church of the Holy Magdalen. Precisely at twelve the procession will commence, and I must take my place at that hour. I can delay no longer. He stepped into the dressing-room. His wife sat reclined in a large arm-chair, her luxuriant raven locks hanging in wild disorder about her neck. A death-like paleness overspread her cheeks and forehead; and both hands rested on her knees. What ails thee, my child 3 said the Mar- quis, with an air of deep concern, and with un- altered cordiality of tone. You have risen too early this morning, and it must be fatiguing to make your toilette without assistance. Has not Rebecca been summoned 3 Shall I ring for her 3 He touched the bell-string; then, approaching his wife, imprinted a kiss on her forehead, and left the room. * * * * * At mid-day, while all the bells of the city were chiming together in a festive discordance, the magnificent state-carriage of the Marquis, drawn by four horses, richly caparisoned, drove through VoL. IXNo. 49.G the arched gateway of the palace, where a troop of bedizened pages, lacqueys, chasseurs, and run- ning footmen awaited the arrival of the lord and lady. But a short interval had elapsed when the Marquis, attired in a magnificent court-suitthe star of knighthood glittering on his breastwas seen descending the broad marble staircase. In one hand he carried his hat; .with the other he led, with a ceremonious courtesy, his young, beautiful, and almost unconscious wife. Her face was of the hue of deathstone-cold and rigid as the statues past which she glided with a spirit-like motion. His countenance was lit up with unwonted animation; his eye sparlded with a peculiar brightness. The attendants flew to their several poststhe carriage emerged from the court-yard, ~tnd moved at a slow pace through the crowded streets and squares; while not a few passers-by, as they stood still to contemplate the passage of the no- ble pair, exclaimed involuntarily, There goes a loving couple The absence of Baizetti was the subject of general remark at the church. No one suspected that on the day of the fete, to which his presiding genius had imparted the chief ecldt, the artist lay cold and stiff in death, with livid and frightfully distorted visage, amid a confused heap of robes, laces, slippers, and band- boxes, on the floor of a ladys dressing-room; or that his body was transported at midnight, on the back of a mule, by a confidential servant of the Marchioness, to a neighboring gorge of the mount- ain, and hurled from the precipice into the tor -rent beneath. A convent of the Magdalen was endowed with a considerable sum for masses for the repose of his soul. Don Gregorio, the popular father-confessor of the aristocratic world, was missing soon after- ward; but he was allowed to pine away the re- mainder of his days in a subterranean dungeon of a monastery of Camaldolese,. whither he had been conveyed by the influence of the Marquis. As may be surmised, the confessional box, No. 6, was removed from its place. The Marquis never once alluded to the fore- going transaction in the presence of his wife In society, and at home, he continued to deport himself toward her with the most perfect courte- sy; at times, indeed, with a tenderness altogether foreign from his character. Within her chamber he never again set foot. MORE FACTS WORTH KNOWING. LET a man roll a little air in his mouth, and what is that 3 Let Napoleon twist it be- tween his lips and all the world is at wargive it to Fin6lon and he shall so manage it with his tongue that there shall be every where peace. It is but a little agitated air that sets mankind in motion. If we could live without air we could not talk, sing, or hear any sounds without it. There would be a blazing sun in a black sky sunshine mingled with thick darkness, and there

More Facts Worth Knowing 93-95

MORE FACTS WORTH KNOWiNG. 93 thing about the matter, what harm was done 3 And if he chanced to discover the secret, surely he would forgive herforgive and love her still, if his affection was sincere, and more to that ef- fect. She further related that she had consented to meet him at an early hour the next morning (per- haps, at this very moment, his happiness is com- plete!) and, for his peace and her own, to grant him all! Afterward, she thought (do you hear me, Lauretta!) afterward., this affair du cceur would soon be- at an end. (This is what the French ladies call passer les caprices !) In conclusion, she timidly begged forabsolution beforehand! It would be so comforting and she obtained it from the holy man! How has this little history pleased you, my love 3 continued the Marquis, raising himself from his horrible seat, on which no sign of motion was discernible. - Of a truth, he proceeded in a sportive tone, our reverend pastors are somewhat too indul- gent to the tender passion. I speak of the greater number of them. No doubt our excellent old friend and spiritual counselor, Father Gregorio, would have taken a fair lady to task in a differ- ent way; if you, for example, Lauretta, had As he spoke, he slowly returned the pillow to its place, and dashed aside the coverlet. Before him lay the architect, Giulio Balzetti! He had ceased to breathe. Have you been lately to confession, Laura3 asked the Marquis. There, you have pins in your mouth, though I have so often warned you against the practice. Tell me, is it long since you were at ednfession3 he proceeded, in a somewhat louder tone. Not long, returned his wife, with almost stifled accents. Apropos, resumed the Marquis, again hid- ing the hard and frightfully distorted features with the counterpane, we are to go together to the grand ceremony at the Church of the Holy Magdalen. Precisely at twelve the procession will commence, and I must take my place at that hour. I can delay no longer. He stepped into the dressing-room. His wife sat reclined in a large arm-chair, her luxuriant raven locks hanging in wild disorder about her neck. A death-like paleness overspread her cheeks and forehead; and both hands rested on her knees. What ails thee, my child 3 said the Mar- quis, with an air of deep concern, and with un- altered cordiality of tone. You have risen too early this morning, and it must be fatiguing to make your toilette without assistance. Has not Rebecca been summoned 3 Shall I ring for her 3 He touched the bell-string; then, approaching his wife, imprinted a kiss on her forehead, and left the room. * * * * * At mid-day, while all the bells of the city were chiming together in a festive discordance, the magnificent state-carriage of the Marquis, drawn by four horses, richly caparisoned, drove through VoL. IXNo. 49.G the arched gateway of the palace, where a troop of bedizened pages, lacqueys, chasseurs, and run- ning footmen awaited the arrival of the lord and lady. But a short interval had elapsed when the Marquis, attired in a magnificent court-suitthe star of knighthood glittering on his breastwas seen descending the broad marble staircase. In one hand he carried his hat; .with the other he led, with a ceremonious courtesy, his young, beautiful, and almost unconscious wife. Her face was of the hue of deathstone-cold and rigid as the statues past which she glided with a spirit-like motion. His countenance was lit up with unwonted animation; his eye sparlded with a peculiar brightness. The attendants flew to their several poststhe carriage emerged from the court-yard, ~tnd moved at a slow pace through the crowded streets and squares; while not a few passers-by, as they stood still to contemplate the passage of the no- ble pair, exclaimed involuntarily, There goes a loving couple The absence of Baizetti was the subject of general remark at the church. No one suspected that on the day of the fete, to which his presiding genius had imparted the chief ecldt, the artist lay cold and stiff in death, with livid and frightfully distorted visage, amid a confused heap of robes, laces, slippers, and band- boxes, on the floor of a ladys dressing-room; or that his body was transported at midnight, on the back of a mule, by a confidential servant of the Marchioness, to a neighboring gorge of the mount- ain, and hurled from the precipice into the tor -rent beneath. A convent of the Magdalen was endowed with a considerable sum for masses for the repose of his soul. Don Gregorio, the popular father-confessor of the aristocratic world, was missing soon after- ward; but he was allowed to pine away the re- mainder of his days in a subterranean dungeon of a monastery of Camaldolese,. whither he had been conveyed by the influence of the Marquis. As may be surmised, the confessional box, No. 6, was removed from its place. The Marquis never once alluded to the fore- going transaction in the presence of his wife In society, and at home, he continued to deport himself toward her with the most perfect courte- sy; at times, indeed, with a tenderness altogether foreign from his character. Within her chamber he never again set foot. MORE FACTS WORTH KNOWING. LET a man roll a little air in his mouth, and what is that 3 Let Napoleon twist it be- tween his lips and all the world is at wargive it to Fin6lon and he shall so manage it with his tongue that there shall be every where peace. It is but a little agitated air that sets mankind in motion. If we could live without air we could not talk, sing, or hear any sounds without it. There would be a blazing sun in a black sky sunshine mingled with thick darkness, and there HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAzrNE. would be every where an awful silence. There is less air in the upper than in the lower regions of the atmosphere; the bottom crust of air is, of course, densest. Saussure fired a pistol on the summit of Mont Blanc, and the report was like the snapping of a stick. There is a well at Fulda three hundred palms deep; throw a stone down it, and the noise it makes in its descent will be like the firing of a park of cannon. It goes down among dense air, and also it reverb- erates. When a man speaks he strikes air with his throat and mouth as a stone strikes water, and from his tongue, as from the stone, spread undulating circles with immense rapidity. Those circles may be checked and beaten back in their course, as it is with the waves of sound made by the stone tumbling down a well, beaten back and curiously multiplied. At the Castle of Simonetti, near Milan, one low note of music will beget a concert, for the note is echoed to and fro by the great wings of the building that reflect and multiply a sound just as two mirrors reflect and multiply a lighted candle. Sound is, in fact, reflected just as light is, and may be brought quite in the same way to a focus. A word spoken in the focus of one ellipse will be heard in the focus of an opposite ellipse hundreds of yards away. Such a principle was illustrated oddly in the great church of Agrigentum in Sicily. The architectperhaps intentionally built several confessionals of an elliptic form, with corresponding opposite ellipses, in which whoever stood heard all the secrets whispered to the priest. A horrible amount of scandal sprang up in the town; nobodys sins were safe from getting into unaccountable publicity. Intriguing ladies changed their lovers and their priests. It was in vain; their misdeeds still remained town property. The church soon became such a tem- ple of truth that nothing was left to be hidden in it, but at last by chance a discovery was niede of the character of the tale-telling stones, and the walls had their ears stopped. Yxom the sounds that travel through the air, ~we svill turn once more to the substances, the birds, and say a word or two of them: regarding them especially as travelers, by whom oceans are crossed and countries traversed. The mi gration of birds used to be denied, or sometimes it was asserted that they did not migrate but wintered with the fishes at the bottom of lakes and rivers. Dr. Mather taught that they flew to an undiscovered satellite, a little moon that had escaped observation, but was at no very great distance from the earth. The fact of their mi- gration is now not only established but so very notorious in almost all its details that little need be here said about it. Only we must remark upon the marvelousness of the fact that every bird knows when to go abroad, and times its departure not to an exact date but to the exact and fit time every season. Birds arrive in their foreign haunts just when the fruits are ripe on which they go to feed, or which they are sent to protect by the suppression of any too great rav- ages from insects. How does the loriot, resident near Paris, know every year precisely on what day there will be the first ripe figs in islands of the Southern Archipelago He is neverno migratory bird ever ischeated of his dues by a late season. If the season be late he arrives late. How can a bird know, hundreds of miles away, what sort of weather there will be in Greece, in Egypt, or in England Eastern nations that observed this close agreement between the move- ments of birds and the appearance of insects or of fruits, observed or invented sometimes a like concord between birds and flowers. When the nightingales appear, it is said, in certain parts of India, the roses burst spontaneously into blossom. Then there are other things that travel through the air, of mans invention, simple applications to useor to no useof the powers of nature, balloons. There were balloons before Mongolfier. The Father Menestrier, a historian of Lyons, relates that at the end of the reign of Charle- magne there fell in that town a balloon with several people. The skymen were surrounded by the towns-people, who took them for magi- cians sent to devastate the land by Grimwald, Duke of Benevento, and they were only saved from destruction by the interference of the learned and enlightened bishop Agoberd~ Father Kircher also tells how, long ago, some Jesuits imprisoned among Indians tried in vain by vari- ous ways to recover liberty, and at last one of them, who was free, constructed a big dragon of paper. He then went to the barbarians and told them that they Were menaced by the wrath of Heaven with great evils, which they could avert only by the liberation of his countrymen. The savages laughed. The priest then went to his dragon, and having suspended in the midst of it a composition of pitch, wax, and sulphur, fastened behind it a portentous tail, and sent the beast up into the clouds, where it appeared to vomit fire. There was written on it, in the language of the country, The wrath of God is about to fall or~ you ! The barbarians in great terror ran to free the Jesuits. Soon afterward, the paper having caught fire, the dragon fluttered, struggled, and disappeared in flame, and the barbarians took its withdrawal for a sign of the divine approval of their conduct. Let us turn our faces now to the great fire dragon of the sky, the sun. Every one knows that there are spots upon its face. Leibnitz, writing in a courtly way for the edification of an old-world Queen of Prussia, called them beauty-spots, giving them out for a sublime justi- fication of the use of patches. The sun is a long way off, its light is eight minutes on the road before it reaches us, although light travels with amazing speed. A cannon-ball, if it could be fired up at the sun, its speed never diminishing, would about hit its mark at the end of eighteen years. Yet, though the sun is so distant, and light travels so far in eight minutes, there are other stars so distant that their light is six years on the journey to our eyes. Let such a star be now annihilated, and for six years we shall still POOR MANS PUDDING AND RICH MANS CRUMBS. 95 see it. The light of other stars that make a mist before our telescopes comes from so far away that it has been traveling even for two millions of years before it reached the point in space that this our world (as we call it) occupies. We might see more or less with other senses. The eagle has a telescopic eye, sunk in its orbit as within a tube, and possibly the eagle sees the moons of Saturn glittering, has long since known that in our moon there are mountains and val- leys, and had at a very remote period of our history discovered more stars than Herschell, or Adams, or Hind. There are stars upon earth apart from the operafire-flies and luminous insects. An old traveler tells a pretty story about them. says that on the coast of Guinea he used to see the blacks preparing to go out to fish soon after sunset. The young girls were the fishers, who pushed out to sea in boats and made long tracks of light on the phosphorescent water. They seemed to be at work in fire where they were stirring about with fish baskets, seizing fishes and detaching shells from rocks. After a time they returned singing, wet from their task, and their whole persons covered with living fire. They brought with them gigantic crabs and frightful rays, and thousands of shells all glitter- ing with light, which they poured out upon the grass, and then often they would dance, naked savages as they were, about their huts, and look like fairies, or fire-spirits. Now that we are by the sea, we will abide upon it. What if there were no waves nor tides, nor currents in the ocean What if it were not salt To take only one consideration. What if it were possible for the sea to become frozen over like the Serpentine Put upon a short al- lowance of vapor, when all the summer supply had been duly condensed and discharged in rain, we should have dry winters and springs, we should want clouds, want rain, want water- springs and water. The sand islands and marsh- es, and the many diverging channels, naturally formed as a delta at the mouth of most great rivers, are very ugly; but they are formed natu- rally, and, like all things in nature, have their use. We may say that they exist where it is geogra- phically inevitable that they should exist, but He who made alike the laws and the things under the laws, so made them, that whatever accident may arise from their working, whatever second- ary or other combinations they may run into, every thing has more than one use for good. Where we see no use the fault is in our igno- rance; for we have millions of years of work to do, before we can say that we have turned out all the knowledge that is locked up in this little cabinet we call our world. The marshes and low islands at a rivers mouth serve1 we may say, as breakwaters for the protection of the inner country. When we feel inclined to pride ourselves on our great wisdom, let us think how very little they appeared to know of nature who lived in the world before us, and feel that the very rapidity with which new informatiox is now pouring in will in the end tell of our ignorance more tales than of our wisdom, since it will cause us also hereafter to appear marvelously abort- sighted in the eyes of those by whom our places will be taken. The tides to which we have been just referring, Kepler took for the respirations of the earth, which he regarded as a living ani- mal, and Elackmore attributed the eruptions of Mount Etna to fits of colic. We have pushed out into somewhat deeper soundings, but they still will deepen as we go, and of the sea of knowledge we may say too, as of the salt water sea, that there are parts of it which no man may ever expect to fathom. POOR MANS PUDDING AND RICH MANS CRUMBS. PICTURE FIRST. POOR MAN 5 PUOOINO. VOU see, said poet Blandmour, enthusi- lastically as some forty years ago we walked along the road in a soft, moist snow-fall, toward the end of March you see, my friend, that the blessed almoner, Nature, is in all things beneficent; and not only so, but considerate in her charities, as any discreet human philanthro- pist might be. This snow, now, which seems so unseasonable, is in fact just what a poor husband- man needs. Rightly is this soft March snow, falling just before seed-time, rightly is it called Poor Mans Manure. Distilling from kind heaven upon the soil, by a gentle penetration it nourishes every clod, ridge, and furrow. To the poor farmer it is as good as the rich farmers farm-yard enrichments. And the poor man has no trouble to spread it, while the rich man has to spread his. Perhaps so, said I, without equal enthusi- asm, brushing some of the damp flakes from my chest. It may be as you say, dear Bland- mour. But tell me, how is it that the wind drives yonder drifts of Poor Mans Manure off poor Coulters two-acre patch here, and piles it up yonder on rich Squire Teamsters twenty- acre field ~ Ah! to be sureyes---.well; Coulters field, I suppose, is sufficiently moist without further moistenings. Enough is as good as a feast, you know. Yes, replied I, of this sort of damp fare, shaking another shower of the damp flakes from my person. But tell me, this warm spring- snow may answer very well, as you say; but how is it with the cold snows of the long, long winters here~ Why, do you not remember the words of the Psalmist ! ~fhe Lord giveth snow like wool; meaning not only that snow is white as wool, but warm, too, as wool. For the only reason, as I take it, that wool is comfortable, is because air is entangled, and therefore warmed among its fibres. Just so, then, take the temperature of a December field when covered with this snow- fleece, and you will no doubt find it several de

Poor Man's Pudding and Rich Man's Crumbs 95-101

POOR MANS PUDDING AND RICH MANS CRUMBS. 95 see it. The light of other stars that make a mist before our telescopes comes from so far away that it has been traveling even for two millions of years before it reached the point in space that this our world (as we call it) occupies. We might see more or less with other senses. The eagle has a telescopic eye, sunk in its orbit as within a tube, and possibly the eagle sees the moons of Saturn glittering, has long since known that in our moon there are mountains and val- leys, and had at a very remote period of our history discovered more stars than Herschell, or Adams, or Hind. There are stars upon earth apart from the operafire-flies and luminous insects. An old traveler tells a pretty story about them. says that on the coast of Guinea he used to see the blacks preparing to go out to fish soon after sunset. The young girls were the fishers, who pushed out to sea in boats and made long tracks of light on the phosphorescent water. They seemed to be at work in fire where they were stirring about with fish baskets, seizing fishes and detaching shells from rocks. After a time they returned singing, wet from their task, and their whole persons covered with living fire. They brought with them gigantic crabs and frightful rays, and thousands of shells all glitter- ing with light, which they poured out upon the grass, and then often they would dance, naked savages as they were, about their huts, and look like fairies, or fire-spirits. Now that we are by the sea, we will abide upon it. What if there were no waves nor tides, nor currents in the ocean What if it were not salt To take only one consideration. What if it were possible for the sea to become frozen over like the Serpentine Put upon a short al- lowance of vapor, when all the summer supply had been duly condensed and discharged in rain, we should have dry winters and springs, we should want clouds, want rain, want water- springs and water. The sand islands and marsh- es, and the many diverging channels, naturally formed as a delta at the mouth of most great rivers, are very ugly; but they are formed natu- rally, and, like all things in nature, have their use. We may say that they exist where it is geogra- phically inevitable that they should exist, but He who made alike the laws and the things under the laws, so made them, that whatever accident may arise from their working, whatever second- ary or other combinations they may run into, every thing has more than one use for good. Where we see no use the fault is in our igno- rance; for we have millions of years of work to do, before we can say that we have turned out all the knowledge that is locked up in this little cabinet we call our world. The marshes and low islands at a rivers mouth serve1 we may say, as breakwaters for the protection of the inner country. When we feel inclined to pride ourselves on our great wisdom, let us think how very little they appeared to know of nature who lived in the world before us, and feel that the very rapidity with which new informatiox is now pouring in will in the end tell of our ignorance more tales than of our wisdom, since it will cause us also hereafter to appear marvelously abort- sighted in the eyes of those by whom our places will be taken. The tides to which we have been just referring, Kepler took for the respirations of the earth, which he regarded as a living ani- mal, and Elackmore attributed the eruptions of Mount Etna to fits of colic. We have pushed out into somewhat deeper soundings, but they still will deepen as we go, and of the sea of knowledge we may say too, as of the salt water sea, that there are parts of it which no man may ever expect to fathom. POOR MANS PUDDING AND RICH MANS CRUMBS. PICTURE FIRST. POOR MAN 5 PUOOINO. VOU see, said poet Blandmour, enthusi- lastically as some forty years ago we walked along the road in a soft, moist snow-fall, toward the end of March you see, my friend, that the blessed almoner, Nature, is in all things beneficent; and not only so, but considerate in her charities, as any discreet human philanthro- pist might be. This snow, now, which seems so unseasonable, is in fact just what a poor husband- man needs. Rightly is this soft March snow, falling just before seed-time, rightly is it called Poor Mans Manure. Distilling from kind heaven upon the soil, by a gentle penetration it nourishes every clod, ridge, and furrow. To the poor farmer it is as good as the rich farmers farm-yard enrichments. And the poor man has no trouble to spread it, while the rich man has to spread his. Perhaps so, said I, without equal enthusi- asm, brushing some of the damp flakes from my chest. It may be as you say, dear Bland- mour. But tell me, how is it that the wind drives yonder drifts of Poor Mans Manure off poor Coulters two-acre patch here, and piles it up yonder on rich Squire Teamsters twenty- acre field ~ Ah! to be sureyes---.well; Coulters field, I suppose, is sufficiently moist without further moistenings. Enough is as good as a feast, you know. Yes, replied I, of this sort of damp fare, shaking another shower of the damp flakes from my person. But tell me, this warm spring- snow may answer very well, as you say; but how is it with the cold snows of the long, long winters here~ Why, do you not remember the words of the Psalmist ! ~fhe Lord giveth snow like wool; meaning not only that snow is white as wool, but warm, too, as wool. For the only reason, as I take it, that wool is comfortable, is because air is entangled, and therefore warmed among its fibres. Just so, then, take the temperature of a December field when covered with this snow- fleece, and you will no doubt find it several de 96 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. grees abeve that of the air. So, you see, the winters snow itself is beneficent; under the pre- tense of frosta son of gruff philanthropist actually warming the earth, which afterward is to be fertilizingly moistened by these gentle flakes of March. I like to hear you talk, dear Blandmour; and, guided by your benevolent heart, can only wish to poor Coulter plenty of this Poor Mans Manure. But that is not all, said Blandmour, eager- ly. Did you never hear of the Poor Mans Eye-water? Never. Take this soft March snow, melt it, and bot- tle it. It keeps pure as alcohol. The very best thing in the world for weak eyes. I have a whole demijohn of it myself. But the poorest man, afflicted in his eyes, can freely help himself to this same all-bountiful remedy. Now, what a kind provision is that ! Then Poor Mans Manure is Poor Mans Eye-water too V Exactly. And what could be more economi- cally contrived One thing answering two ends ends so very distinct. Very distinct, indeed. Ah! that is your way. Making sport of earnest. But never mind. We have been talking of snow; but common rain-watersuch as falls all the year roundis still more kindly. Not to speak of its known fertilizing quality as to fields, consider it in one of its minor lights. Pray, did you ever hear of a Poor Mans Egg? Never. What is that, now ? Why, in making some culinary preparations of meal and flour, where eggs are recommended in the receipt-book, a substitute for the eggs may be had in a cup of cold rain-water, which acts as leaven. And so a cup of cold rain-water thus used is called by housewives a Poor Mans Egg. And many rich mens ~housekeepers sometimes use it. But only when they are out of hens eggs, I presume, dear Blandmour. But your talk isI sincerely say .itmost agreeable to me. Talk on. Then theres Poor Mans Plaster for wounds and other bodily harms; an alleviativd and curative, compounded of simple, natural things and so, being very cheap, is accessible to the poorest of sufferers. Rich men often use Poor Mans Plaster. But not without the judicious advice of a feed physician, dear Blandmour. Doubtless, they first consult the physician; but that may be an unnecessary precaution. Perhaps so. I do not gainsa,y it. Go on. Well, then, did you ever eat of a Poor Mans Pudding P I never so much asheard of it before. Indeed! Well, now you shall eat of one; and you shall eat it, too, as made, unprompted, by a poor mans Wife, and you shall eat it at a poor mans table, and in a poor mans house. Come now, and if after this eating, you do not say that a Poor Mans Pudding is as relish- able as a rich mans, I will give up the point al- together; which briefly is: that, through kind Nature, the poor, out of their very poverty, ex- tract comfort. Not to narrate any more of our conversations upon this subject (for we had severalI being at that time the guest of Blandmour in the coun- try, for the benefit of my health), suffice it that, acting upon Blandmours hint, I introduced my- self into Coulters house on a wet Monday noon (for the snow had thawed), under the innocent pretense of craving a pedestrians rest and re- freshment for an hour or two. I was greeted, not without much embarrass- mentowing, I suppose, to my dressbut still with unaffected and honest kindness. Dame Coulter was just leaving the wash-tub to get ready her one oclock meal against her good man s return from a deep wood about a mile distant among the hills, where he was chopping by days~work.~~.seventyfive cents per day and found himself. The washing being done outside the main building, under an infirm-looking old shed, the dame stood upon a half-rotten, soaked board to protect her feet, as well as might be, from the penetrating damp of the bare ground; hence she looked pale and chill. But her pale- ness had still another and more secret causethe paleness of a mother to be. A quiet, fathomless heart-trouble, too, couched beneath the mild, re- signed blue of her soft and wife~like eye. But she smiled upon me, as apologizing for the una- voidable disorder of a Monday and a washing- day, and, conducting me into the kitchen, set me down in the best seat it hadan old-fash- ioned chair of an enfeebled constitution. I thanked her; and sat rubbing my hands be- fore the ineffectual low fire, andunobservantly as I couldglancing now and then about the room, while the good woman, throwing on more sticks, said she was sorry the room was no warmer. Something more she said, toonot repiningly, howeverof the fuel, as old and damp; picked-up, sticks in Squire Teamsters forest, where her husband was chopping the sappy logs of the living tree for the Squires fires. It needed not her remark, whatever it was, to convince me of the inferior quality of the sticks ; some being quite mossy and toad-stooled with long lying bedded among the accumulated dead leaves of many autumns. They made a sad hissing, and vain spluttering enough. You must rest yourself here till dinner-time, at least, said the dame; what I have you are heartily welcome to. I thanked her again, and begged her not to heed my presence in the least, but go on with her usual affairs. I was struck by the aspect of the room. The house was old, and constitutionally damp. The window-sills had beads of exuded dampness upon them. The shriveled sashes shook in their frames, and the green panes of glass were cloud- ed with the long thaw. On some little errand the dame passed into an adjoining chamber, leav POOR MANS PUDDING AND RICH MANS CRUMBS. 97 ing the door partly open. The floor of that room was carpetless, as the kitchens was. Nothing but bare necessaries were about me; and those not of the best sort. Not a print on the wall; but an old volume of Doddridge lay on the smoked chimney-shelf. You must have walked a long way, sir; you sigh so with weariness. No, I am not nigh so weary as yourself, I dare say.~~ Oh, but I am accustomed to that; you are not, I should think, and her soft, sad blue eye ran over my dress. But I must sweep these shavings away; husband made him a new ax- helve this morning before sunrise, and I have been so busy washing, that I have had no time to clear up. But now they are just the thing I want for the fire. Theyd be much better though, were they not so green. Now if Blandmour were here, thought I to myself, he would call those green shavings Poor Mans Matches, or Poor Mans Tin- der, or some pleasant name of that sort. I do not know, said the good woman, turn- ing round to me againas she stirred among her pots on the smoky fire I do not know how you will like our pudding. It is only rice, milk; and salt boiled together. Ah, what they call Poor Mans Pudding, I suppose you mean.~~ A quick flush, halfresentful, passed over her face. We do not call it so, sir, she said, and was silent. Upbraiding myself for my inadvertence, I could not but again think to myself what Blandmour would have said, had he heard those words and seen that flush. At last a slow, heavy footfall was heard; then a scraping at the door, and another voice said, Come, wife; come, come I must be back again in .a jifif you say I must take all my meals at home, you must be speedy; because the SquireGood-day, sir, he exclaimed, now first catching sight of me as h~ entered the room. He turned toward.his wife, inquiringly, and stood stock-still, while the moisture oozed from his patched boots to the floor. This gentleman stops here awhile to rest and refresh: he will take dinner with us, too. All will be ready now in a trice: so sit down on the bench, husband, and be patient, I pray. You see, sir, she continued, turning to me, Wil- liam there wants, of mornings, to carry a cold meal into the woods with him, to save the long one-oclock walk across the fields to and fro. But I wont let him. A warm dinner is more than pay for the long walk. I dont know about that, said William, shak- ing his head. I have often debated in my mind whether it really paid. Theres not much odds, either way, between a wet walk after hard work, and a wet dinner before it. But I like to oblige a good wife like Martha. And you know, sir, that women will have their whimseys. I wish they all had as kind whimseys as your wife has, said I. Well, Ive heard that some women aint all maple-sugar; but, content with dear Martha, I dont know much about others. You find rare wisdom in the woods, mused I. Now, husband, if you aint too tired, just lend a hand to draw the table out. Nay, said I; let him rest, and let me help. No, said William, rising. Sit still, said his wife to me. The table set, in due time we all found our- selves with plates before us. You see what we have, said Coulter salt pork, rye-bread, and pudding. Let me help you. I got this pork of the Squire; some of his last years pork, which he let me have on account. It isnt quite so sweet as this years would be; but I find it hearty enough to work on, and thats all I eat for. Only let the rheumatiz and other sicknesses keep clear of me, and I ask no flavors or favors from any. But you dont eat of the pork I see, said the wife, gently and gravely, that the gentleman knows the difference be- tween this years and last years pork. But per- haps he will like the pudding.? I summoned up all my self-control, and smil- ingly assented to the proposition of the pudding, without by roy looks casting any reflections upon the pork. But, to tell the truth, it was quite im- possible for me (not being ravenous, but only a little hungry at the time) to eat of the latter. It had a yellowish crust all round it, and was rather rankish, I thought, to the taste. I observed, too, that the dame did not eat of it, though she suffered some to be put on her plate, and pretended to be busy with it when Coulter looked that way. But she ate of the rye-bread, and so did I. Now, then, for the pudding, said Coulter. Quick, wife; the Squire sits in his sitting-room window, looking far out across the fields. His time-piece is true. He dont play the spy on you, does he ~ said I. Oh, no !I dont say that. Hes a good- enough man. He gives me work. But hes particular. Wife, help the gentleman. You see, sir, if I lose the Squires work, what will become of and, with a look for which I honored hu- manity, with sly significance he glanced toward his wife; then, a little changing his voice, in- stantly continued that fine horse I am going to buy. I guess, said the dame, with a strange, sub- dued sort of inefficient pleasantry I guess that fine horse you sometimes so merrily dream of will long stay in the Squires stall. But some- times his man gives me a Sunday ride. A Sunday ride ! said T. You see, resumed Coulter, wife loves to go to church; but the nighest is four miles off, over yon snowy hills. So she cant walk it; and I cant carry her in my arms, though I have car- ned her up-stairs before now. But, as she says, the Squires man sometimes gives her a lift on the road; and for this cause it is that I speak of 98 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. a horse I am going to have one of these fine sunny days. And already, before having it, I have christened it Martha. But what am I about Come, come, wife! the pudding! Help the gentleman, do! The Squire! the Squire think of the Squire! and help round the pud- ding. There, onetwothree mouthfuls must do me. Good-by, wife. Good-by, sir. Im off. And, snatching his soaked hat, the noble Poor Man hurriedly went out into the soak and the mire. I suppose now, thinks I to myself, that Bland- mour would poetically say, He goes to take a Poor Mans saunter. You have a fine husband, said I to the wo- man, as we were now left together. William loves me this day as on the wed- ding-day, sir. Some hasty words, but never a harsh one. I wish I were better and stronger for his sake. And, oh! sir, both for his sake and mine (and the soft, blue, beautiful eyes turned into two well-springs), how I wish lit- tle William and Martha livedit is so lonely-like now. William named after him, and Martha for me. When a companions heart of itself overflows, the best one can do is to do nothing. I sat look- ing down on my as yet untasted pudding. You should have seen little William, sir. Such a bright, manly boy, only six years old cold, cold now Plunging my spoon into the pudding, I forced some into my mouth to stop it. And little MarthaOh! sir, she was the beauty! Bitter, bitter! but needs must be borne. The mouthful of pudding now touched my pal- ate, and touched it with a mouldy, briny taste. The rice, I knew, was of that damaged sort sold cheap; and the salt from the last years pork barrel. Ab, sir, if those little ones yet to enter the world were the same little ones which so sadly have left it; returning friends, not strangers, strangers, always strangers! Yet does a mother soon learn to love them; for certain, sir, they come from where the others have gone. Dont you believe that, sir Yes, I kxiow all good peo- ple must. But, still, stilland I fear it is wick- ed, and very black-hearted, toostill, strive how I may to cheer me with thinking of little William and Martha in heaven, and with reading Dr. Doddridge therestill, still does dark grief leak in, just like the rain through our roof. I am left so lonesome now; day after day, all the day long, dear William is gone; and all the damp day long grief drizzles and drizzles down on my soul. But I pray to God to forgive me for this; and for the rest, manage it as well as I may. Bitter and mouldy is the Poor Mans Pud- ding, groaned I to myself, half choked with but one littlemouthful of it, which would hardly go down. I could stay no longer to hear of sorrows for which the sincerest sympathies could give no ad- equate relief; of a fond persuasion, to which there could be furnished no further proof than already was hada persuasion, too, of that sort which much speaking is sure more or less to mar; of causeless self-upbraidings, which no ex- postulations could have dispelled. I offered no pay for hospitalities gratuitous and honorable as those of a prince. I knew that such offerings would have been more than declined; charity re- sented. The, native American poor never lose their del- icacy or pride; hence, though unreduced to the physical degradation of the European pauper, they yet suffer more in mind than the poor of any other people in the world. Those peculiar social sensibilities nourished by our own pecul- iar political principles, while they enhance the true dignity of a prosperous American, do but minister to the added wr~chedness of the unfor- tunate; first, by prohibiting their acceptance of what little random relief charity may offer; and, second, by furnishing them with the keenest ap- preciation of the smartiiig distinction between their ideal of universal equality and their grind- stone experience of the practical misery and in- famy of povertya misery and infamy which is, ever has been, and ever will be, precisely the same in India, England, and America. Under Pretense that my journey called me forthwith, I bade the dame good-by; shook her cold hand; looked my last into her blue, resigned eye, and went out into the wet. But cheerless as it was, and damp, damp, dampthe heavy at- mosphere charged with all sorts of incipiencies I yet became conscious, by the suddenness of the contrast, that the house air I had quitted was laden down with that peculiar deleterious quality, the, height of whichinsiifferable to some visit- antswill be found in a poor-house ward. This ill-ventilation in winter of the rooms of the poora thing, too, so stubbornly persisted in is usually charged upon them as their disgrace- ful neglect of the most simple means to health. But the instinct of the poor is wiser than we think. The air which ventilates, likewise cools. And to any shiverer, ill-ventilated warmth is better than well-ventilated cold. Of all the pre- posterous assumptions of hum~inity over human- ity, nothing exceeds most of the criticisms made on the habits of the poor by the well-housed, well-warmed, and well-fed. * * * * * * Blandmour, said I that evening, as after tea: I sat on his comfortable sofa, before a blazing fire, with one of his two ruddy little children on my knee, you are not what may rightly be called a rich man; you have a fair competence; no more. Is it not so Well then, I do not include you, when I say, that if ever a Rich Man speaks prosperously to me of a Poor Man, I shall set it down as I wont mention the word. PICTURE SECOND. RICH MANS CRUMBS. IN the year 1814, during the summer following my first taste of the Poor Mans Pudding, a sea-voyage was recommended to me by my phy- sician. The Battle of Waterloo having closed the long drama of Napoleons wars, many stran POOR MANS PUDDING AND RICH MANS CRUMBS. 99 gers were visiting Europe. I arrived in London at the time the victorious princes were there as- sembled enjoying the Arabian Nights hospitali- ties of a grateful and gorgeous aristocracy, and the courtliest of gentlemen and kingsGeorge the Prince Regent. I had declined all letters but one to my banker. I wandered about for the beAt reception an ad- venturous traveler can havethe reception, I mean, which unsolicited chance and accident throw in his venturous way. But I omit all else to recount one hours hap under the lead of a very friendly man, whose ac- quaintance I made in the open street of Cheap- side. He wore a uniform, and was some sort of a civic subordinate; I forget exactly what. He was off duty that day. His discourse was chiefly of the noble charities of London. He took me to two or three, and made admiring mention of many more. But, said he, as we turned into Cheapside again, if you are at all curious about such things, let me take youif it be not too lateto one of the most interesting of allour Lord Mayors Charities, sir; nay, the charities not only of a Lord Mayor, but, I may truly say, in this one instance, of emperors, regents, and kings. You remember the event of yesterday 3 That sad fire on the river-side, you mean, unhousing so many~ of the poor I No. The grand Guildhall Banquet to the princes. Who can forget it Sir, the dinner was served on nothing but solid silver and gold plate, worth at the least 200,000that is, 1,000,000 of your dollars; while the mere ex- penditure of meats, wines, attendance and up- holstery, & c., can not be footed under 25,000 125,000 dollars of your hard cash. But, surely, my friend, you do not call that charityfeeding kings at that rate 3 No. The feast came firstyesterday; and the charity afterto-day. How else would you have it, where princes are concerned Bt~t I think we shall be quite in timecome; here we are at King Street, and down there is Guildhall. Will you go3 Gladly, my good friend. Take me where you will. I come but to roam and see. Avoiding the main entrance of the hall, which was barred, he took me through some private way, and we found ourselves in a rear blind- walled place in the open air. I looked round amazed. The spot was grimy as a back-yard in the Five Points. It was packed with a mass of lean, famished, ferocious creatures, struggling and fighting for some mysterious precedency, and all holding soiled blue tickets in their hands. There is no other way, said my guide; we can only get in with the crowd. Will you try it 3 I hope you have not on your drawing-room suit 3 What do you say 3 It will be well worth your sight. So noble a charity does not often offer. The one following the annual banquet of Lord Mayors dayfine a charity as that cer- tainly isis not to be mentioned with what will be seen to-day. Is it, ay3 As he spoke, a basement door in the distance was thrown open, and the squalid mass made a rush for the dark vault beyond. I nodded to my guide, and sideways we joined in with the rest. Ere long we found our retreat cut off by the yelping crowd behind, and I could not but congratulate myself on having a civic, as well as civil guide; one, too, whose uniforih made evident his authority. It was just the same as if I were pressed by a mob of cannibals on some pagan beach. The beings round me roared with famine. For in this mighty London misery but maddens. In the country it softens. As I gazed on the mea- gre, murderous pack, I thought of the blue eye of the gentle wife of poor Coulter. Some sort of curved, glittering steel thing (not a sword; I know not what it was), before worn in his belt, was now flourished overhead by my guide, men- acing the creatures to forbear offering the stran- ger violence. As we drove, slow and wedge-like, into the gloomy vault, the howls of the mass reverberated. I seemed seething in the Pit with the Lost. On and on, through the dark and the damp, and then up a stone stairway to a wide portal; when, dif- fusing, the pestiferous mob poured in bright day between painted walls and beneath a painted dome. I thought of the anarchic sack of Ver- sailles. A few moments more and I stood bewildered among the beggars in the famous Guildhall. Where I stoodwhere the thronged rabble stood, less than twelve hours before sat His Im- perial Majesty, Alexander of Russia; His Royal Majesty, Frederic William, King of Prussia; His Royal Highness, George, Prince Regent of En- gland; His world-renowned Grace, the Duke of Wellington; with a mob of magnificoes, made up of conquering field-marshals, earls, counts, and innumerable other nobles of mark. The walls swept to and fro, like the foliage of a forest with blazonings of conquerors flags. Naught outside the hall was visible. No win- dows were within four-and-twenty feet of the floor. Cut off from all other sights, I was hem- med in by one splendid spectaclesplendid, I mean, every where, but as the eye fell toward the floor. That was foul as a hovelsas a ken- nels; the naked boards being strewed with the smaller and more wasteful fragments of the feast, while the two long parallel lines, up and down the hall, of now unrobed, shabby, dirty pine-tables were piled with less trampled wrecks. The dyed banners were in keeping with the last nights kings; the floor suited the beggars of to-day. The banners looked down upon the floor as from his balcony Dives upon Lazarus. A line of livened men kept back with their staves the im- patient jam of the mob, who, otherwise, might have instantaneously converted the Charity into a Pillage. A4other body of gowned and gilded officials distributed the broken meatsthe cold victuals and crumbs of kings. One after another the beggars held up their dirty blue tickets, and were served with the plundered wreck of a pheas 100 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. ant, or the rim of a pastylike the detached crown of an old hatthe solids and meats stolen out. What a noble charity ! whispered my guide. See that pasty now, snatched by that pale girl; I dare say the Emperor of Russia ate of that last night. Vhry probably, murmured I; it looks as though some omnivorous Emperor or other had had a finger in that pie. And see yon pheasant tootherethat one the boy in the torn shirt has it nowlook! The Prince Regent might have dined off that. The two breasts were gouged ruthlessly out, exposing the bare bones, embellished with the untouched pinions and legs. Yes, who knows ! said my guide, his Royal Highness the Prince Regent might have eaten of that identical pheasant. I dont doubt it, murmured I, he is said to be uncommonly fond of the breast. But where is Napoleons head in a charger I should fancy that ought to have been the principal dish. You are merry. Sir, even Cossacks are charitable here in Guildhall. Look! the famous Platoff, the Hetman himself(he was here last night with the rest)no doubt he thrust a lance into yon fat pork-pie there. Look! the old shirt- less man has it now. How he licks his chops over it, little thinking of or thanking the good, kind Cossack that left it him! Ah! anothera stouter has grabbed it. It falls; bless my soul! the dish is quite emptyonly a bit of the hacked crust. The Cossacks, my friend, are said to be im- moderately fond of fat, observed I. The Het- man was hardly so charitable as you thought. A noble charity, upon the whole, for all that. See, even Gog and Magog yonder, at the other end of the hall, fairly laugh out their delight at the scene. But dont you think, though, hinted I, that the sculptor, whoever he was, carved the laugh too much into a grina sort of sardonical grin? Well, thats as you take it, sir. But see now Id wager a guinea the Lord Mayors lady dipped her golden spoon into yonder golden-hued jelly. See, the jelly-eyed old body has slipped it, in one broad gulp, down his throat. Peace to that jelly ! breathed I. What a generous, noble, magnanimous char- ity this is! unheard of in any country but En- gland, which feeds her very beggars with golden- hued jellies. But not three times every day, my friend. And do you really think that jellies are the best sort of relief you can furnish to beggars Would not plain beef and bread, with something to do, and be paid for, be better ? But plain beef and bread were not eaten here. Emperors, and prince-regents, and kings, and field marshals dont often dine on plain beef and bread. So the leavings are according. Tell me, can you expect that the crumbs of kings can be like the crumbs of squirrels? You! I mean you! stand aside, or else he served and away! Here, take this pasty, and be thankful that you taste of the same dish with her Grace the Duchess of Devonshire. Graceless ragamuffin, do you hear? These words were bellowed at me through the din by a red-gowned official nigh the board. Surely he does not mean mc, said I to my guide; he has t~ot confounded me with the rest. One is known by the company he keeps, smiled my guide. See! not only stands your hat awry and bunged on your head, but your coat is fouled and torn. Nay, he cried to the red-gown, this is an unfortunate friend; a Ample spectator, I assure you.. Ah! is that you, old lad ?~ responded the red-gown, in familiar recognition of my guidea personal friend as it seemed; well, convey your friend out forthwith. Mind the grand crash; it will soon be coming; hark! now! away with him ! Too late. The last dish had been seized. The yet unglutted mob raised a fierce yell, which wafted the banners like a strong gust, and filled the air with a reek as from sewers. They surged against the tables, broke through all barriers, and billowed over the halltheir bare tossed arms like the dashed ribs of a wreck. It seemed to me as if a sudden impotent fury of fell envy possessed them. That one half-hours peep at the mere remnants of the glories of the Banquets of Kings; the unsatisfying mouthfuls of disem- bowelled pasties, plundered pheasants, and half- sacked jellies, served to remind them of the in- trinsic contempt of the alms. In this sudden mood, or whatever mysterious thing it was that now seized them, these Lazaruses seemed ready to spew up in repentant scorn the contumelious crumbs of Dives. This way, this way! stick like a bee to my back, intensely whispered my guide. My friend there has answered my beck, and thrown open yon private door for us two. Wedge wedge inquickthere goes your bunged hat never stop for your coat-tailhit that man strike him down! hold! jam! now! now! wrench along for your life! ha! here we breathe freely; thank God! You faint. Ho Never mind. This fresh air revives me. I inhaled a few more breaths of it, and felt ready to proceed. And now conduct me, my good friend, by some front passage into Cheapside, forthwith. I must home. Not by the side-walk though. Look at your dress. I must get a hack for you. Yes, I suppose so, said I, ruefully eying my tatters, and then glancing in envy at the close-bodied coat and flat cap of my guide, which defied all tumblings and tearings. There, now, sir, said the honest fellow, as he put me into the hack, and tucked in me and my rags, when you get back to your own coun- try, you can say you have witnessed the greatest of all Englands noble charities. Of course, you will make reasonable allowances for the unavoid- able jam. Good-by. Mind, Jebuaddressing A CHAPTER ON IDIOTS. 101 the driver on the box this is a gentleman you carry. He is just from the Guildhall Charity, which accounts for his appearance. Go on now. London Tavern, Fleet Street, remember, is the place. * * * * * Now, Heaven in its kind mercy save me from the noble charities of London, sighed I, as that night I lay bruised and battered on my bed; and Heaven save me equally from the Poor Mans Pudding and the Rich Mans Crumbs. A CHAPTER ON IDIOTS. PEOPLE whose ancestors came in at the Con- quest, are apt to have one idea over-ruling all othersthat nobody is worthy of their alliance whose ancestors did not come in at the Conquest. Of course this has been an idea ever since the Conquest began to be considered an old event; and, of course, there have been fewer and fewer families who had a right to it. Of course, also, those families have intermarried, and the inter- marriage has been more and more restricted. Another of course follows, on which we need not enlarge. Everybody knows the consequences of prolonged intermarriages between any sort of people who are few enough to be almost all blood relations. The world was shocked and grieved, some years since, at the oldest baronage in En- gland going out at the ace of diamondsex- piring in the disgrace of cheating at cards. The world ought to be quite as much shocked and grieved at seeingwhat has been seen, and may be seen againthe honors of the same ancient birth being extinguished in a lunatic asylum. It used to be thought a very religious and beautiful thing (it certainly was the easiest thing) to say that it pleased God to send idiots, and other defective or diseased children, to try and dis- cipline their parents by affliction, and so on; but religions physicians now tell us (showing reason for what they say) that there is something very like blasphemy in talking soin imputing to Providence the sufferings which we bring upon ourselves, precisely by disobedience to the great natural laws which it is the best piety to obey. It is a common saying, that families who inter- marry too often, die out; but no account is taken of the miseries which precede that dying out. Those miseries of disease of body and mind are ascribed to Providence, as if Providence had not given us abundant warning to avoid them! Dr. Howe, the wise and benevolent teacher of Laura Bridginan, says in his Report on Idiocy in Mas- sachusetts, that the law against the marriage of relatives is made out as clearly as though it were written on tables of stone. He gives his reasons for saying so; and of those reasons, the following sample will, we think, be enough. When the tables of health and disease were com- piled for Massachusetts, a few years ago, the fol- lowing was found to be the state of seventeen families, where the father and mother were re- lated by blood. Some of the parents were un- healthy, and some were intemperatebut to set against this disadvantage to begin with, there is the fact, that the evil consequences of such inter- marriage very often do not appear until the second generation, or even later. However, in these seventeen households there were ninety-five chil- dren. What were these children like Imagine a school of ninety-five children, of all ages, or the children of a hamlet at play, and think what the little crowd would look like; and then read this! Of these ninety-five children, one was a dwarf. Well, that might easily be. One was deaf. Well, no great wonder in that. Twelve were scrofulous. That is a large number, cer- tainly; but scrofula is sadly common, and es- pecially in unhealthy situations. Well, but FORTy- FOUR were IOIOTS. Of all the long and weary pains of mind to which the unselfish can be subject, we know of none so terrible as that of the mother att4in- ing the certainty that her child is an idiot. Re- viewing the whole case as we have ourselves ob- served it, it seem to us an affliction made tolerable only by its gradual growth, and the length of years over which it is spread. How sweet was the prospect of the little one comingnot only in the sacred anticipations of the parents, but when the elder children were told, in quiet, joyful moments of confidence, that there would be a baby in the house by-and-by! And when it came, how amiable, and helpful, and happy every body waskeepingthe house quiet for the mothers sake, and wondering at the baby, and not mind- ing any irregularity or little uncomfortableness while the mother was up-stairs. Perhaps there was a wager that baby would take notice, turn its eyes to a bright watch, or spoon, or looking- glass, at the end of ten days or a fortnight, and the wager was lost. Here, perhaps, was the first faint indication. But it would not be thought much of, the child was so very young! As the weeks pass, however, and still the child takes no notice, a sick misgiving sometimes enters the mothers minda dread of she does not know what, but it does not last long. You may trust a mother for finding out charms and promise of one sort or another in her babybe it what it may. Time goes on; and the singularity is am parent that the baby makes no response to any thing. He is not deaf. Very distant street music probably causes a kind of quiver through his whole frame. He sees very well. He cer- tainly is aware of the flies which are performing minuets and reels between him and the ceiling. As for his other senses, there never was any thing like his keenness of smell and taste. He is ravenous for foodeven already unpleasantly so; but excessively difficult to please. The terrible thing is his still taking no notice. His mother longs to feel the clasp of his arms round her neck; but her fondlings receive no return. His arm hangs lax over her shoulder. She longs for a look from him, and lays him back on her lap, hoping that they may look into each others eyes; but he looks at nobody. All his life long nobody will ever meet his eyes; and neither in that way nor any other way will his mind expressly meet that of any body else. When he does at length

Chapter on Idiots 101-104

A CHAPTER ON IDIOTS. 101 the driver on the box this is a gentleman you carry. He is just from the Guildhall Charity, which accounts for his appearance. Go on now. London Tavern, Fleet Street, remember, is the place. * * * * * Now, Heaven in its kind mercy save me from the noble charities of London, sighed I, as that night I lay bruised and battered on my bed; and Heaven save me equally from the Poor Mans Pudding and the Rich Mans Crumbs. A CHAPTER ON IDIOTS. PEOPLE whose ancestors came in at the Con- quest, are apt to have one idea over-ruling all othersthat nobody is worthy of their alliance whose ancestors did not come in at the Conquest. Of course this has been an idea ever since the Conquest began to be considered an old event; and, of course, there have been fewer and fewer families who had a right to it. Of course, also, those families have intermarried, and the inter- marriage has been more and more restricted. Another of course follows, on which we need not enlarge. Everybody knows the consequences of prolonged intermarriages between any sort of people who are few enough to be almost all blood relations. The world was shocked and grieved, some years since, at the oldest baronage in En- gland going out at the ace of diamondsex- piring in the disgrace of cheating at cards. The world ought to be quite as much shocked and grieved at seeingwhat has been seen, and may be seen againthe honors of the same ancient birth being extinguished in a lunatic asylum. It used to be thought a very religious and beautiful thing (it certainly was the easiest thing) to say that it pleased God to send idiots, and other defective or diseased children, to try and dis- cipline their parents by affliction, and so on; but religions physicians now tell us (showing reason for what they say) that there is something very like blasphemy in talking soin imputing to Providence the sufferings which we bring upon ourselves, precisely by disobedience to the great natural laws which it is the best piety to obey. It is a common saying, that families who inter- marry too often, die out; but no account is taken of the miseries which precede that dying out. Those miseries of disease of body and mind are ascribed to Providence, as if Providence had not given us abundant warning to avoid them! Dr. Howe, the wise and benevolent teacher of Laura Bridginan, says in his Report on Idiocy in Mas- sachusetts, that the law against the marriage of relatives is made out as clearly as though it were written on tables of stone. He gives his reasons for saying so; and of those reasons, the following sample will, we think, be enough. When the tables of health and disease were com- piled for Massachusetts, a few years ago, the fol- lowing was found to be the state of seventeen families, where the father and mother were re- lated by blood. Some of the parents were un- healthy, and some were intemperatebut to set against this disadvantage to begin with, there is the fact, that the evil consequences of such inter- marriage very often do not appear until the second generation, or even later. However, in these seventeen households there were ninety-five chil- dren. What were these children like Imagine a school of ninety-five children, of all ages, or the children of a hamlet at play, and think what the little crowd would look like; and then read this! Of these ninety-five children, one was a dwarf. Well, that might easily be. One was deaf. Well, no great wonder in that. Twelve were scrofulous. That is a large number, cer- tainly; but scrofula is sadly common, and es- pecially in unhealthy situations. Well, but FORTy- FOUR were IOIOTS. Of all the long and weary pains of mind to which the unselfish can be subject, we know of none so terrible as that of the mother att4in- ing the certainty that her child is an idiot. Re- viewing the whole case as we have ourselves ob- served it, it seem to us an affliction made tolerable only by its gradual growth, and the length of years over which it is spread. How sweet was the prospect of the little one comingnot only in the sacred anticipations of the parents, but when the elder children were told, in quiet, joyful moments of confidence, that there would be a baby in the house by-and-by! And when it came, how amiable, and helpful, and happy every body waskeepingthe house quiet for the mothers sake, and wondering at the baby, and not mind- ing any irregularity or little uncomfortableness while the mother was up-stairs. Perhaps there was a wager that baby would take notice, turn its eyes to a bright watch, or spoon, or looking- glass, at the end of ten days or a fortnight, and the wager was lost. Here, perhaps, was the first faint indication. But it would not be thought much of, the child was so very young! As the weeks pass, however, and still the child takes no notice, a sick misgiving sometimes enters the mothers minda dread of she does not know what, but it does not last long. You may trust a mother for finding out charms and promise of one sort or another in her babybe it what it may. Time goes on; and the singularity is am parent that the baby makes no response to any thing. He is not deaf. Very distant street music probably causes a kind of quiver through his whole frame. He sees very well. He cer- tainly is aware of the flies which are performing minuets and reels between him and the ceiling. As for his other senses, there never was any thing like his keenness of smell and taste. He is ravenous for foodeven already unpleasantly so; but excessively difficult to please. The terrible thing is his still taking no notice. His mother longs to feel the clasp of his arms round her neck; but her fondlings receive no return. His arm hangs lax over her shoulder. She longs for a look from him, and lays him back on her lap, hoping that they may look into each others eyes; but he looks at nobody. All his life long nobody will ever meet his eyes; and neither in that way nor any other way will his mind expressly meet that of any body else. When he does at length 102 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. look at any thing, it is at his own hand. He spreads the fingers, and holds up the hand close before his face, and moves his head from side to side. At first, the mother and the rest laugh, and call it a baby trick; hut after a time the laughter is rather forced, and they begin to wish he would not do so. We once saw a child on her mothers lap laughing at the spinning of a half- crown on the table, when, in an instant, the mother put the little creature down almost threw her down on the carpet, with an expres- sion of anguish in her face perfectly astonishing. The child had chanced to hold up her open hand before her face in her merry fidget; and the mother,. who had watched over an idiot brother from her youth up, could not bear that terrible token, although in this case it was a mere acci- dent. The wearing uncertainty of many years suc- ceeds the infancy. The ignorant notions of idiocy that prevailed before we knew even the little that we yet know of the brain, prevent the parents recognizing the state of the case. The old legal accounts of idiocy, and the old supposi- tions of what it is, are very unlike what they see. The child ought not, according to legal definition, to know his own name, hut he certainly does; for when his own plate or cup is declared to be ready, be rushes to it. He ought not to be able, by law, to know letters; yet he can read, and even write, perhaps, although nobody can tell how he learned, for he neyer seemed to attend when taught. It was just as if his lingers and tongue went of themselves, while his mind was in the moon. Again, the law declared any body an idiot who could not count twenty pence; whereas this boy seems, in some unaccountable way, to know more about sums (of money and of every thing else) than any body in the family. He does not want to learn figures, his arithmetic is strong without them, and always instantaneous- ly ready. Of course we do not mean that every idiot has these particular powers. Many can not speak; more can not read. But almost every one of the thousands of idiots in England has some power that the legal definition declares him not to have, and that popular prejudice will not believe. Thus does the mother go on from year to year, hardly admitting that her boy is deficient, and quite sure that he is not an idiotthere being some things in which he is so very clever! The great improvement in the treatment of idiots and lunatics since science began to throw light on the separate organization of the human faculties, is one of the most striking instances in all human experience of the practical blessedness induced by knowledge. The public is already familiar with the way in which, by beneficent training, the apparent faculties of idiots are made to bring out the latent ones, and the strong powers to exercise the weaker, until the whole class are found to be capable of a cultivation never dreamed of in the old days when the name IDIOT swallowed up all the rights and all the chances of the unfor- tunate creature who was so described. In those days the mother might well deny the description, and refuse the term. She would point to the wonderful faculty her child had in some one direc- tion, and admit no more than that he was not like other children. Well, t~is is enough. She need not be driven further. If her Harry is not like other children, that is enough for his own training, and that of the rest of the household. A training it may be truly called for them all, from the father to the kitchen-maid. The house that has an idiot in it can never be like any other. The discipline is very painful, but, when well conducted and borne, it is wonderfully beautiful. Harry spoils things, probably: cuts with scissors whatever can be cutthe leaves of books, the daily newspaper, the new shirt his mother is making, the dolls arm, the rigging of the boat his brother has been fitting up for a week, the maids cap ribbon, his fathers silk purse. It would be barbarous to take scissors from him, and inconvenient too; for he spends hours in cutting out the oddest and prettiest things symmetrical figures, in paper; figures that seem to be fetched out of the kaleidoscope. Lapfuls of such shapes does he cut out in a week, wag- ging his head, and seeming not to look at the scissors; but never making a wrong snip. The same orderliness of faculty seems to prevail throughout his life. He must do precisely the same thing at precisely the same moment every day; must have always the same chair, wailing or pushing in great distress if any body else is using it; and must wear the same clothes, so that it is a serious ~trouble to get any new clothes put on. However carefully they may be changed while he is asleep, there is no getting him dressed in the morning without sad distress. One such Harry, whom we knew very well, had a present one day of a plaything most happily chosena pack of cards. There was symmetry in plenty! When he first took them into his hands, they happened to be all properly sorted, except that the court-cards were all in a batch at the top, and one otherthe ten of spades-which had slipped out, and was put at the top of all. For all the rest of his life (he died at nineteen) the cards must be in that order and no other; and his fingers quivered nervously with haste to put them in that order if they were disarranged. One day while he was out walking, we took that top card away and shuffled the rest. On his return, he went to work as usual. When he could not find the ten of spades, he turned his head about in the way which was his sign of distress, gave that most pathetic sort of sighthat drawn-in, instead of breathed-out sigh, which is so com- mon among his classand searched every where for the card. When obliged to give the matter up, he mournfully drew out the ten of clubs, and made that do instead. We could hold out no longer, and gave him his card; and he seized upon it as eagerly as any digger on any nugget, and chucked and chuckled, and wagged his head, and was perfectly happy. We once poured some comfits into his hand. They happened to be seven. At the same moment every day after, he would hold out his hand, as if by mechanism, while his A CHAPTER ON IDIOTS. 103 head was turned another way. We poured six comfits into his palm. Still he did not look, but would not eat them, and was restless till we gave him one more. Next day, we gave him nine; and he would not touch them till he had thrust back two upon us. In all matters of number, quantity, order, and punctuality, Harry must be humored. It is a harmless peculiarity, and there will be no peace if he is crossed. If he insists upon laying his little brothers tricks only in rows, or only in diamonds or sqI~res, he must he coaxed into another room, unless the little brother be capable of the self-denial of giving up the point and taking to some other play. It is often a hard matter enough for the parents to do justice among the little ones: but we can testify, be- cause we have seen, what wonders of magna- nimity may be wrought among little children, servants, and every body, by fine sense, and sweet and cheerful patience on the part of the govern- ing powers of the household. They may have sudden occasion for patience on their own ac- count too Perhaps the father comes home very tired, needing his coffee. His coffee is made and ready. So they think: but lo poor Harry, who has an irresistible propensity to pour into each other all things that can be poured, has turned the coffee into the brine that the hams have just come out of; and then the brine and the coffee and the cream all back again into the coffee-pot, and so on. Such things, happening every day, make a vast difference in the ease, cheerfulness and economy of a household. They are, in truth, a most serious and unintermitting trial. They make the discipline of the house- hold: and they indicate what must be the bless- ing of such institutions for the care and training of idiots as were celebrated in the paper we have referred to. As for the discipline of Harry himself, it must be discipline; for every consideration of human- ity, and, of course, of parental affection, points out the sin of spoiling him. To humor, in the sense of spoiling, an idiot, is to level him with the brutes at once. One might as well do with him what used to be done with such beings consign him to the sty, to sleep with the pigs, or chain him up like the dogas indulge the animal part of a being who does Aot possess the faculties that counteract animality in other people. Most idiots have a remarkable tendency to imitation: and this is an admirable means of domestic trainingfor both the defective child and the rest. The youngest will smother its sobs at the soap in its eye, if appealed to, to let poor Harry see how cheerfully every body ought to be washed every morning. The youngest will take the hint not to ask for more pudding, because Harry must take what is given him, and not see any body cry for more. Crying is con- queredself-conqueredthroughout the house, because Harry imitates every thing; and it would be very sad if he got a habit of crying, because he could not be comforted like other people. As the other children learn self-con- quest from motive, in this way Harry will be learning it from imitation. He will insist upon being properly washed and combed, and upon having no more than his platefulor his two platesfulat dinner: and so on. The difficult thing to manage at home is the occupation: and this is where lies the great superiority of schools or asylums for his class. His father may per- haps get him taught basket-making, or spinning with a wheel, or cabinet-making, in a purely mechanical way; but this is less easily done at home than in a school. Done it must be, in the one place or the other, if the sufferer and his companions in life are to have any justice, and any domestic leisure and comfort. The strong faculty of imitation usually existing among the class, seems (as~we said just now, in reference to the faculties of idiots in general) a sort of miracle before the nature of the brain-organization was truly conceived of. How many elderly people now remember how aghast they were, as children, at the story of the idiot youth, not being able to do without the mother, who had never left him while she lived: and how, when every body supposed him asleep, and the neigh- bors were themselves asleep, he went out and got the body, and set it up in the fireside chair, and made a roaring fire, and heated some broth, rand was found, restlessly moaning with distress, while trying to feed the corpse. And that other storya counterpart to which ~ve know of our own knowledgeof the idiot boy who had lived close under a church steeple, and had always struck the hours with the clock; and who, when removed into the country, far away from church, clock, and watch, still went on striking the hours, and quite correctly, without any visible means of knowing the time. What could we, in childhood, and the rest of the world, in the ignorance of that day, make of such facts, but that they must be miraculous The most mar- velous, to our mind, is a trait which, again, we know of our own knowledge. An idiot, who died many years ago at the age of thirty, lost his mother when he was under two years old. His idiocy had been obvious from the earliest time that it could be manifested; and when the eldest sister took the mothers place, the child appeared to find no difference. From the mode of feeling of the family, the mother was never spoken of; and if she had been, such mention would have been nothing to the idiot son, who comprehended no conversation. He spent his life in scribbling on the slate, and hopping round the play-ground of the school. kept by his brother-in-law, singing after his own fashion. He had one special piece of business besides, and one prodigious pleasure. The business was going daily, after breakfast, to speak to the birds in the wood behind the house; and the supreme pleasure was turning the mangle. Most of us would have reversed the business and pleasure. When his last illnessconsumption came upon him at the age of thirty, the sister had been long dead; and there were none of his own family, we believe, living; certainly none 104 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. had for many years had any intercourse with him. For some days before his death, when he ought to have been in bed, nothing but a too distressing force could keep him from going to the birds. On the last day, when his weakness was ex- treme, he tried to rise, managed to sit up in bed, and said he must gothe birds would won- der so! The brother-in-law offered to go and explain to the birds; and this must perforce do. The dying man lay, with his eyes closed, and breathing his life away in slower and slower gasps, when he suddenly turned his head, looked bright and sensible, and exclaimed in a tone never heard from him before, Oh! my mother! how beautiful ! and sank round againdead. There are not a few instances of that action of the brain at the moment before death by which long-buried impressions rise again like ghosts or visions; but we have known none so striking as this, from the lapse of time, the peculiarity of the case, and the unquestionable blank between. There are flashes of faculty now and then in the midst of the twilight of idiot existence without waiting for the moment of death. One such, to the last degree impressive, is recorded by the late Sir Thomas Dick Lauder, in his ac- count of the great Morayshire floods, about a quarter of a century since. An innkeeper, who, after a merry evening of dancing, turned out to help his neighbors in the rising of the Spey, carelessly got ~ipon some planks which were floated apart, and was carried down the stream on one. He was driven against a tree, which he climbed, and his wife and neighbors saw him lodged in it before dark. As the floods rose, there began to be fears for the tree; and the shrill whistle which came from it, showed that the man felthimself in danger, and wanted help. Every body concluded help to be out of the question, as no boats could get near; and they could only preach patience until morning, to the poor wife, or until the flood should go down. Hour after hour the whistle grew wilder and shriller; and at last it was almost continuous. It suddenly ceased; and those who could hardly bear it before, longed to hear it again. Dawn showed that the tree was down. The body of the innkeeper was found far awaywith the watch in his fob stopped at the hour that the tree must have fallen. The event being talked over in the presence of the village idiot, he laughed. Being noticed, he said he would have saved the man. Being humored, he showed how a tub fastened to a long rope would have been floated, as the plank with the man on it was floated, to the tree. If this poor creature had but spoken in time, his apparent inspiration would have gone some way to confirm the Scotch superstition, which holdswith that of the uni- versal ancient world of theologythat Inno- cents are favorites of Heaven. It is for us to act upon the medium view sanctioned alike by science and moralsneither to cast out our idiots, like the savages who leave their helpless ones to perish; nor to worship them, as the pious Egyptians did, and other nations who believed that the gods dwelt in them, more or less, and made oracles of them a perfectly natural belief in the case of beings who manifest a very few faculties in extraordinary perfection, in the apparent absence of all others. Our business is, in the first place, to reduce the number of idiots to the utmost of our power, by attending to the conditions of sound life and health, and especially by discountenancing, as a crime, the marriage of blood relations; and, in the next place, by trying to make the most and the best of such faculties as these imperfect beings possess. It is not enough to repeat the celebrated epitaph on an idiot, and to hope that his privations here will be made up to him here- after. We must lessen those privations to the utmost, by the careful application of science in understanding his case; and of skill, and inex- haustible patience and love, in treating it. Hap- pily, there are now institutions, by aiding which any of us may do something toward raising the lowest, and blessing the most afflicted, members of our race. A SAINTS BROTHER. HE was the brother of a saint, and his friends were rich; so they dressed him in his best, and they put his turban on his head (for he was of the old school), and they bore him to the tomb upon a bier, and coffinless, after the custom of the East. I joined the procession as it swept chanting along the narrow street; and we all entered the illuminated church together. The Archbishop strode solemnly up the aisle, with the priests swinging censers before him, and with the ordor of sanctity exhaling from his splendid robes. On went the procession, making its way through a stand-up fight which was taking place in the church, on through weeping relatives, and sobered friends, till at last the Archbishop was seated on his throne, and the dead man lay before him stiff and stark. Then the same unct- uous individual whom I fancy I have observed taking a part in religious ceremonies all over the world, being yet neither priest nor deacon, bus- tles up, and he places some savory herbs on the breast of the corpse, chanting lustily as he does so to save time. Then the Archbishop takes two waxen tapers in each hand; they are crossed and set in a splendid hand-candlestick. He extends it toward the crowd, and seems to bless it mutely, for he does not speak. There is silence, only disturbed by a short sob which has broken from the over- burdened heart of the dead mans son. Hush it is the Archbishop giving out a psalm, and now it begins lowly, solemnly, mournfully: at first, the lusty lungs of the burly priests seem to be chanting a dirge; all at once they are joined by the glad voices of childrenoh! so clear and so pure, sounding sweet and far-off, rejoicing for the bliss of the departed soul. They cease, and there comes a priest dressed in black robes; he prostrates himself before the throne of the Archbishop, and carries the dust of the prelates feet to his forehead. Then he

A Saint's Brother 104-106

104 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. had for many years had any intercourse with him. For some days before his death, when he ought to have been in bed, nothing but a too distressing force could keep him from going to the birds. On the last day, when his weakness was ex- treme, he tried to rise, managed to sit up in bed, and said he must gothe birds would won- der so! The brother-in-law offered to go and explain to the birds; and this must perforce do. The dying man lay, with his eyes closed, and breathing his life away in slower and slower gasps, when he suddenly turned his head, looked bright and sensible, and exclaimed in a tone never heard from him before, Oh! my mother! how beautiful ! and sank round againdead. There are not a few instances of that action of the brain at the moment before death by which long-buried impressions rise again like ghosts or visions; but we have known none so striking as this, from the lapse of time, the peculiarity of the case, and the unquestionable blank between. There are flashes of faculty now and then in the midst of the twilight of idiot existence without waiting for the moment of death. One such, to the last degree impressive, is recorded by the late Sir Thomas Dick Lauder, in his ac- count of the great Morayshire floods, about a quarter of a century since. An innkeeper, who, after a merry evening of dancing, turned out to help his neighbors in the rising of the Spey, carelessly got ~ipon some planks which were floated apart, and was carried down the stream on one. He was driven against a tree, which he climbed, and his wife and neighbors saw him lodged in it before dark. As the floods rose, there began to be fears for the tree; and the shrill whistle which came from it, showed that the man felthimself in danger, and wanted help. Every body concluded help to be out of the question, as no boats could get near; and they could only preach patience until morning, to the poor wife, or until the flood should go down. Hour after hour the whistle grew wilder and shriller; and at last it was almost continuous. It suddenly ceased; and those who could hardly bear it before, longed to hear it again. Dawn showed that the tree was down. The body of the innkeeper was found far awaywith the watch in his fob stopped at the hour that the tree must have fallen. The event being talked over in the presence of the village idiot, he laughed. Being noticed, he said he would have saved the man. Being humored, he showed how a tub fastened to a long rope would have been floated, as the plank with the man on it was floated, to the tree. If this poor creature had but spoken in time, his apparent inspiration would have gone some way to confirm the Scotch superstition, which holdswith that of the uni- versal ancient world of theologythat Inno- cents are favorites of Heaven. It is for us to act upon the medium view sanctioned alike by science and moralsneither to cast out our idiots, like the savages who leave their helpless ones to perish; nor to worship them, as the pious Egyptians did, and other nations who believed that the gods dwelt in them, more or less, and made oracles of them a perfectly natural belief in the case of beings who manifest a very few faculties in extraordinary perfection, in the apparent absence of all others. Our business is, in the first place, to reduce the number of idiots to the utmost of our power, by attending to the conditions of sound life and health, and especially by discountenancing, as a crime, the marriage of blood relations; and, in the next place, by trying to make the most and the best of such faculties as these imperfect beings possess. It is not enough to repeat the celebrated epitaph on an idiot, and to hope that his privations here will be made up to him here- after. We must lessen those privations to the utmost, by the careful application of science in understanding his case; and of skill, and inex- haustible patience and love, in treating it. Hap- pily, there are now institutions, by aiding which any of us may do something toward raising the lowest, and blessing the most afflicted, members of our race. A SAINTS BROTHER. HE was the brother of a saint, and his friends were rich; so they dressed him in his best, and they put his turban on his head (for he was of the old school), and they bore him to the tomb upon a bier, and coffinless, after the custom of the East. I joined the procession as it swept chanting along the narrow street; and we all entered the illuminated church together. The Archbishop strode solemnly up the aisle, with the priests swinging censers before him, and with the ordor of sanctity exhaling from his splendid robes. On went the procession, making its way through a stand-up fight which was taking place in the church, on through weeping relatives, and sobered friends, till at last the Archbishop was seated on his throne, and the dead man lay before him stiff and stark. Then the same unct- uous individual whom I fancy I have observed taking a part in religious ceremonies all over the world, being yet neither priest nor deacon, bus- tles up, and he places some savory herbs on the breast of the corpse, chanting lustily as he does so to save time. Then the Archbishop takes two waxen tapers in each hand; they are crossed and set in a splendid hand-candlestick. He extends it toward the crowd, and seems to bless it mutely, for he does not speak. There is silence, only disturbed by a short sob which has broken from the over- burdened heart of the dead mans son. Hush it is the Archbishop giving out a psalm, and now it begins lowly, solemnly, mournfully: at first, the lusty lungs of the burly priests seem to be chanting a dirge; all at once they are joined by the glad voices of childrenoh! so clear and so pure, sounding sweet and far-off, rejoicing for the bliss of the departed soul. They cease, and there comes a priest dressed in black robes; he prostrates himself before the throne of the Archbishop, and carries the dust of the prelates feet to his forehead. Then he A SAINTS BROTHER. 105 kisses the Archbishops hand, and mounts the pulpit to deliver a funeral oration. I am sorry for this; he is evidently a beginner, and twice he breaks down, and gasps hopelessly at the con- gregation; but the Archbishop prompts him and gets him out of this difficulty. A rascally young Greek at my elbow nudges me to laugh, but I pay no attention to him. Then the priests begin to swing their censers again, and their deep voices mingle chanting with the fresh song of the children, and again the Archbishop blesses the crowd. So now the relatives of the dead man approach him one by one, crossing themselves devoutly. They take the nosegay of savory herbs from his breast, and they press it to their lips. Then they kiss the dead mans forehead. When the son approaches, he sobs convulsively, and has afterward to be removed by gentle force from the body. So the relatives continue kissing the body, fearless of contagion, and the chant of the priests and choristers swells through the church, and there lies the dead man, with the sickly glare of the lamps struggling with the daylight, and fall- ing with a ghastly gleam upon his upturned face. Twice I thought he moved, but it was only fancy. The Archbishop has left the church, and the relatives of the dead man are bearing h4 to his last home without further ceremony. It is a nar- row vault just outside the church, and the Greeks courteously make way for mea stranger. A man jumps briskly into the grave; it is scarcely three feet deep; he arranges a pillow for the head of the corpse, then he springs out again, laughing at his own agility. The crowd lm~ugh too. Joy and grief elbow each other every where in life: why not also at the gates of the tomb Then two stout men seize the corpse in their stalwart arms, and they lift it from the bier. They are lowering it now, quite dressed, but coffinless, into the vault. They brush me as they do so, and the daylight falls full on the face of the dead. It is very peaceful and composed, but looking tired, weary of the world; relieved that the journey is over! Stay! for here comes a priest walking slowly from the church, with his mass-book and censer. He says a few more prayers over the body, and one of the deceaseds kindred drops a stone into the grave. While the priest prays, he pours some consecrated oil upon the body, and some more upon a spadeful of earth which is brought to him. This is also thrown into the grave. It is not filled up; a stone is merely fastened with clay roughly over the aperture, and at night there will be a lamp placed there, which will be replen- ished every night for a year. At the end of that time the body will be disinterred; if the bones have not been thoroughly rotted away from the flesh and separated, the Archbishop will be called again to pray over the body ; for there is a super- stition among Greeks, that a man whose body does not decay within a year is accursed. When the bones have divided, they will be collected and tied up in a linen bag, which will hang on a nail against the church wall. By-and-by, this will decay, and the bones which have swung about in the wind and rain will be shaken out one by one to make daylight ghastly where they lie. Years hence they.may be swept into the charnel-house, or they may not, as chance directs. I have said that he was the brother of a saint. It is well, therefore, that I should also say some- thing of the saint himself. The saint was St. Theodore, one of the most recent martyrs of the Greek Church. St. Theodore was born about fifty years ago, of very humble parents, who lived at the village of Neo Chori, near Constantinople. He was brought up to the trade of a house-painter, an art of some pretension in Turkey, where it is often carried to very great perfection. The lad was clever, and soon attained such excellence in his craft that he was employed at the Palace of the Sultan. The splendor of the palace, and of the gorgeous dresses of some of the Sultans servants, fired his imagination. He desired to remain among them; so he changed his faith for that of Islam, and was immediately appointed to a petty post about the palace. Three years after his apostasy and circumcis- ion a great plague broke out at Constantinople, sweeping away the Sultans subjects by hundreds, with short warning. The future saint grew alarmed, a species of religious mania seized upon him. He tried to escape from the palace, but was brought back. At last, he got ~vay, in the dis- guise of a water-carrier, and fled to the island of Scio. Here he made the acquaintance of a priest, to whom he confided his intention of becoming a martyr. The priest is said warmly to have com- mended this view of the case; for martyrs had been lately growing scarce. Instead of convey- ing the young man, therefore, to a lunatic asylum, he took him to the neighboring island of Mity- lene; seeing, doubtless, sufficient reasons why the martyrdom should not take place at Scio; where he might have been exposed to awkward remonstrances from his friends, for countenan- cing such a horror. So the priest accompanied him to Mitylene, where the first act of the tragedy commenced by the martyr presenting himself before the Cadi or Turkish Judge. Before the Cadi he began to curse the Mussulman faith, and threw his turban at that magistrates head. Taking from his bosom a green handkerchief, with which he had been provided, he trampled it under foot; and green is a sacred color with the Turks. The Cadi was desirous of getting rid of him quietly, considering him as mad, as doubtless he was. But he continued cursing the Turks so bitterly, that at last an angry mob of fanatics bore him away to the Pasha. This functionary, a quiet, amiable man, tried also to get out of the disa- greeable affair; but the young man raved so violently that the Turks around began to beat him; and he was put into a sort of stocks till he should be quiet. At last the Turks lost patience with him, and his martyrdom began in earnest. He was subjected (say the Greek chronicles from 106 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. which this history was taken) to the cruel torture of having hot earthen plates bound to his temples, and his neck was then twisted by fanatic men till his eyes started from their sockets; they also drew several of his teeth. He now Laid that he had returned to the Greek faith in consequence of the advice of an Englishman; which so ap- peased the Turks, that they offered him a pipe, and wanted to dismiss him. But he soon broke out again, and asked for the sacrament. He also asked for some soup. Both were given to him, the Turks offering no opposition to the adminis- tering of the former. When, however, he once more began to curse and revile the prophet, some fanatic proposed that he should be shortened by having an inch cut from his body every time he blasphemed, beginning at his feet. The Cadi shud- dered, and interposed, saying, that such a proceed- ing would be contrary to the law; which provid- ed that a renegade should be at once put to death, that the faith of Islam might not be insulted. Then the mob got a cord to hang him. Like many other things in Turkey, this cord does not seem to have been fit for the purpose to which it was applied; and the struggles of the maniac were so violent that it broke. But they did hang him at last; thus completing the title to martyr- dom with which he has come down to us. For three days his hanging body offended the daylight, and the simple country folk cut off bits of his clothes for relies. After a while lie was carried away and buried with a great fuss; the Turks having too profound a contempt for the Greeks to interfere with their doings in any way. Then, after a while, application was made to the Patri- arch of Constantinople to canonize the mad house- painter; and canonized he was. His body was disinterred, and mummified with great care. It is wrapped up in cotton, and the head is inclosed in a silver case. Both are shownto the devout on the anniversary of his martyrdom. The cotton sells well, for it is said to have worked many miracles, and to he especially beneficial in cases of epilepsy. The anniversary of the Martyrdom of St. The- odore occurred on the same day as his brothers funeral. I asked if the reputation of the saint had any thing to do with the honors paid to his brother Yes, was the answer; the rela- tives of the saint are naturally anxious to keep up his reputation, which is like a patent of no- bility to them. None dare to offer them injury or wrong, for fear of the martyrs anger. For the rest, the festival of St. Theodore was as pretty a sight as I would wish to see. His body was enshrined in a neat temple of green leaves, and was placed in the centre of the church. The pilgrims arrived at dead of night to pray there. They were mostly women, and seemed earnest enough in what they were about. I did not like to see them, however, buying those little bits of cotton which lay mouldering round the mummy, and putting them into their bosoms. The church was well lighted; for Mitylene is an oil country. Innumerable lamps hung sus- pended from the roof every where, and some were decorated with very pretty transparencies. If you shut your eye for a minute, they seemed to open on fairy land rather than reality. The hushed scene, the stillness of which was only broken by the pattering feet of some religious maiden approaching the shrine, shawled and m~is- terious, even here, had something very quaint and fanciful in it. I could have stopped there all night watching them as they passed, dropping buttons (substitutes for small coin given in church- es) into the salver ofa dingy priest, who sat in the aisle, tablet in hand, to receive orders for masses to be said for the sick or the dead. I liked to watch the business manner in which he raised his reverend hand to get the light well upon his tablet, and adjusted his spectacles as he inscribed each new order from the pilgrims. At last, how- ever, he gathered up his buttons and money, tying them in a bag; and glancing round once more in vain for customers, he Went his way into the sac- risty. I ibllowed his waddling figure with my eyes till the last lock of his long hair, which caught in the brocaded curtain, had been disen- tangled, and he disappeared. Then, as the active individual in rusty black, whom I have mentioned as so busy in the ceremony of the morning, seem- ed desirous of having a few minutes conversation with me, I indulged him. It was not difficult to perceive, from the tenor of his discourse, that he was desirous of receiving some token of my esteem in small change. It cost little to gratify him.; and then, as the church was quite deserted, we marched off together. A NEWFOUNDLAND FISHERMAN. SOME twelve years ago, a desolate, dread, and ominously-named locality in Newfoundland had, among its other occupants, George Harvey, a worthy of sixty years standing, born and bred on the spot, who may still be one of its living tenants, as he was then a hale and hearty man. The particular-site to which we refer is toward the south-west extremity, between the settlement of La Poile and Cape Ray, where there is a clus- ter of small, low, rocky islets, separated from the main land by a narrow channel. They are called the Dead Islands, flex aux Morts of the French maps, but are portions of the dominions of Queen Victoria. The isles and the main shore are compos- ed of mica-slate and gneiss, the latter being inter- sected with enormous granite veins. Their super- ficial aspect is the most rugged and broken im- aginable, grooved in every direction by small valleys or ravines, and covered with round hum- mocky knobs and hills with precipitous sides. Mosses, low bushes, and berry-bearing plants partially cover the surface; and a few dwarf firs appear huddled together in sheltered nooks, where sufficient soil has been lodged to form a support for the roots. But the majority of the isles are bare rocks, frequently in the shape of a low dome, with a tuft of bushes growing at the summit. Sometimes, when the breeze is blowing from the east, the fog which pours over the great bank is driven to this neighborhood, and adds to its uninviting aspect. The few

Newfoundland Fisherman 106-109

106 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. which this history was taken) to the cruel torture of having hot earthen plates bound to his temples, and his neck was then twisted by fanatic men till his eyes started from their sockets; they also drew several of his teeth. He now Laid that he had returned to the Greek faith in consequence of the advice of an Englishman; which so ap- peased the Turks, that they offered him a pipe, and wanted to dismiss him. But he soon broke out again, and asked for the sacrament. He also asked for some soup. Both were given to him, the Turks offering no opposition to the adminis- tering of the former. When, however, he once more began to curse and revile the prophet, some fanatic proposed that he should be shortened by having an inch cut from his body every time he blasphemed, beginning at his feet. The Cadi shud- dered, and interposed, saying, that such a proceed- ing would be contrary to the law; which provid- ed that a renegade should be at once put to death, that the faith of Islam might not be insulted. Then the mob got a cord to hang him. Like many other things in Turkey, this cord does not seem to have been fit for the purpose to which it was applied; and the struggles of the maniac were so violent that it broke. But they did hang him at last; thus completing the title to martyr- dom with which he has come down to us. For three days his hanging body offended the daylight, and the simple country folk cut off bits of his clothes for relies. After a while lie was carried away and buried with a great fuss; the Turks having too profound a contempt for the Greeks to interfere with their doings in any way. Then, after a while, application was made to the Patri- arch of Constantinople to canonize the mad house- painter; and canonized he was. His body was disinterred, and mummified with great care. It is wrapped up in cotton, and the head is inclosed in a silver case. Both are shownto the devout on the anniversary of his martyrdom. The cotton sells well, for it is said to have worked many miracles, and to he especially beneficial in cases of epilepsy. The anniversary of the Martyrdom of St. The- odore occurred on the same day as his brothers funeral. I asked if the reputation of the saint had any thing to do with the honors paid to his brother Yes, was the answer; the rela- tives of the saint are naturally anxious to keep up his reputation, which is like a patent of no- bility to them. None dare to offer them injury or wrong, for fear of the martyrs anger. For the rest, the festival of St. Theodore was as pretty a sight as I would wish to see. His body was enshrined in a neat temple of green leaves, and was placed in the centre of the church. The pilgrims arrived at dead of night to pray there. They were mostly women, and seemed earnest enough in what they were about. I did not like to see them, however, buying those little bits of cotton which lay mouldering round the mummy, and putting them into their bosoms. The church was well lighted; for Mitylene is an oil country. Innumerable lamps hung sus- pended from the roof every where, and some were decorated with very pretty transparencies. If you shut your eye for a minute, they seemed to open on fairy land rather than reality. The hushed scene, the stillness of which was only broken by the pattering feet of some religious maiden approaching the shrine, shawled and m~is- terious, even here, had something very quaint and fanciful in it. I could have stopped there all night watching them as they passed, dropping buttons (substitutes for small coin given in church- es) into the salver ofa dingy priest, who sat in the aisle, tablet in hand, to receive orders for masses to be said for the sick or the dead. I liked to watch the business manner in which he raised his reverend hand to get the light well upon his tablet, and adjusted his spectacles as he inscribed each new order from the pilgrims. At last, how- ever, he gathered up his buttons and money, tying them in a bag; and glancing round once more in vain for customers, he Went his way into the sac- risty. I ibllowed his waddling figure with my eyes till the last lock of his long hair, which caught in the brocaded curtain, had been disen- tangled, and he disappeared. Then, as the active individual in rusty black, whom I have mentioned as so busy in the ceremony of the morning, seem- ed desirous of having a few minutes conversation with me, I indulged him. It was not difficult to perceive, from the tenor of his discourse, that he was desirous of receiving some token of my esteem in small change. It cost little to gratify him.; and then, as the church was quite deserted, we marched off together. A NEWFOUNDLAND FISHERMAN. SOME twelve years ago, a desolate, dread, and ominously-named locality in Newfoundland had, among its other occupants, George Harvey, a worthy of sixty years standing, born and bred on the spot, who may still be one of its living tenants, as he was then a hale and hearty man. The particular-site to which we refer is toward the south-west extremity, between the settlement of La Poile and Cape Ray, where there is a clus- ter of small, low, rocky islets, separated from the main land by a narrow channel. They are called the Dead Islands, flex aux Morts of the French maps, but are portions of the dominions of Queen Victoria. The isles and the main shore are compos- ed of mica-slate and gneiss, the latter being inter- sected with enormous granite veins. Their super- ficial aspect is the most rugged and broken im- aginable, grooved in every direction by small valleys or ravines, and covered with round hum- mocky knobs and hills with precipitous sides. Mosses, low bushes, and berry-bearing plants partially cover the surface; and a few dwarf firs appear huddled together in sheltered nooks, where sufficient soil has been lodged to form a support for the roots. But the majority of the isles are bare rocks, frequently in the shape of a low dome, with a tuft of bushes growing at the summit. Sometimes, when the breeze is blowing from the east, the fog which pours over the great bank is driven to this neighborhood, and adds to its uninviting aspect. The few A NEWFOUNDLAND FISHERMAN. 107 inhabitants, along with those thinly distributed on the adjoining main, arc chiefly the descend- ants of British settlers, occupied with the in- shore fishery. They are located in the coves, in the general proportion of two or three families to each. Formerly, when there were no clergy or ma- gistrates except at St. Johns, they married by signing papers before witnesses, binding each party to have the ceremony performed as soon as opportunity offereda mode of proceeding equivalent to the Scotch law. They ar~ simple, honest, industrious, and hospitablethe virtues of almost all hardy races exposed to the toils and dangers of an adventurous lifeintensely eager after news, and placing a high value upon trifling articles of intel,~gence, like most people in secluded positions. The melancholy name of the Dead Islands is supposed to be derived from the number and fa- tality of shipwrecks in the neighborhood. George Harvey was accustomed to relate, among other incidents of his life, that he had-been employed for five days, along with some others, in digging graves and interring dead bodies cast ashore on one of these sad occasions. Two vast and differ- ently tempered sea-streams blend their waters on the great bank and its vicinitya polar current from the cold regions of the arctic zone, and the gulf-stream from the warm latitudes of the tropics. It is to the meeting of these currents, charged with such different temperatures, that the fogs are chiefly due, while the numerous and powerful eddies caused by their junction render the navi- gation perplexing and somewhat perilous. The danger is increased by the boundaries of the cur- rents being indefinite. They advance further north and south at one time than another; and of course the minor streams dependent upon them vary in power and extent, according to circum- stances. Hence, along a coast unguarded by lighthouses, in dense fogs, or when a driving gale has been blowing by night, the mariner has often found himself ashore, while thinking of ample sea-room. Evidence of such casualties being fre- quent was in former days to he found in connec- tion with almost every dwelling, in the shape of old rigging, spars, masts, sails, ships bells, rud- ders, wheels, and other articles on the outside of the houses, with telescopes, compasses, and por- tions of incongruous furniture in the interior. At that period, there was obviously no nice observ- ance of the distinction between thine and mine. Infractions of the rights of property were com- mon on the occurrence of disasters by sea and fires on land, the parties loosely reasoning that the goods they appropriated to themselves were muci~ better disposed of than by being left for the flames to consume or the billows to devour. In some cases, this reasoning was legitimate, as when a vessel, deserted by the crew, came ashore, and neither her name nor that of the owners could be ascertained. Public sentiment and feeling have improved upon this point in Newfoundland, as elsewhere, and few persons have more nobly dis- tinguished themselves in helping the stranger in distress, and mitigating the calamities of ship- wreck, than George Harvey. He had a large family of sons and daughters, mostly grown up. On one occasion, during a heavy gale, the brig Dispatch, full of emigrants of the poorer class, struck on a rock about three miles from his house. Though the sea was run- ning high, the old man put off in his punt to the rescue, accompanied by a gallant girl of seventeen and a brave lad of twelve. By dint of great ex- ertions, they succeeded in successively bringing away the whole of the crew and passengers, amounting to one hundred and sixty-three per- sons. This was as heroic an action as that which excited such general admiration in England, when Grace Darling adventured on the stormy deep, with her father, off the coast of Northumberland. Harvey hospitably entertained the shipwrecked emigrants according to his means, and shared-his provisions with them, till tidings could be sent to La Poile, and a vessel arrived to carry them away. They remained more than a fortnight, and so completely exhausted his stores, that the family had neither bread, flour, nor tea through the whole winter, but subsisted chiefly on salt fish. Sir T. Cochrane, then governor of the island, on hearing of his conduct, properly rewarded him with a hundred pounds, and an honorary medal. A few years afterward, the ship Rankin, of Glasgow, struck On a rock, and went to pieces, the crew hanging on to an iron bar or rail that went round the poop, when he fetched them off by six or eight at a time to the number of twenty-five, braving a heavy sea in his punt. Harveys knowledge of the animal kingdom was somewhat singular. He was intimately ac- quainted with the inhabitants of the waters, from the huge finned whale to the beautiful little cape- lin. He knew well enough the black bear, gray wolf, and splendid caribou; and was familiar with the osprey, ptarmigan, eider duck, and great north- ern diver. But frogs, toads, - snakes, and other reptiles he had never seen, there being none in the island, though no legend is current there how St. Patrick banished all the varmint. One of the commonest domesticated quadrupeds also in the empire was equally unknown, except by re- port, till on a visit to some settlement in Fortune Bay, he for the first time encountered a horse! His emotions at the sight were akin to those of the Mexicans on beholding the steeds of the Span- ish invaders. The people wished, he said, to per- suade him into mounting on its back, but he knew better thai~, that, though one fellow did ride it up and do~ several times. It was a feat too daring for the bold fisherman, who would sooner have mounted in his boat the stormiest billow that ever rolled. His description of the size and appearance of the wonderful creature highly interested his family on his return. Mr. Ourzon has recently told the story of a Levantine monk who had never seen a womana relation strange, but true. Yet, had we not the fact on equally respectable authoritythat of Mr. Jukes it would seem incredible, that only a few years ago, there were subjects of Queen Victoria, of 108 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. British descent, speaking the English language, in the oldest of our colonies, to whom the horse was a strange animal. We have said that Harvey was a fisherman; and fishing, or some process connected with it, is the occupation of aln~ost every man, woman, and child in the country. Out of St. Johns, either fish, or some sign of the finny tribe, visible or odoriferous, is met with wherever there is a pop- ulation. At a distance from the capital, in the small settlements, the fishermen live in unpaint- ed wooden cottages, scattered in the coves, now perched upon rocks or hidden in nooks, the neigh- borhood showing small patches of cultivated gar- den ground, and copses of stunted wood. Each cabin has its fish-flake, a kind of rude platform, elevated on poles ten or twelve feet high, covered with a matting of sticks and ,boughs, on which the fish are laid out to dry. At a convenient point on the shore is a stage, much more strong- ly constructed, jutting out over the water. It forms a small pier, made in front to serve the purpose of a ladder, at which a landing frequent- ly is alone possible on the steep and iron-bound coast. On returning from the fishing-ground, the boat is brought to the stage with the cargo, and, striking a prong in the head of each fish, they are thrown upon it one by one, in much the same manner hs hay is pitched into a cart. The operations of cutting open, taking out the entrails, preserving the liver for oil, removing the back- bone, and salting, are immediately performed upon the stage, in which the younger branches of the family are employed, males or females, as the case may be. The drying on the flakes is the last process. It is the in-shore fishery that is prosecuted by the British, not extending gen- erally more than a mile or two from the harbors, that of the Great Bank being abandoned to the Yankees and French. The seas swarm with almost every variety of fish in its season. There are incredible shoals of lance, a small, elongated, silvery, eel-like creature; vast armies of migratory herrings; and hosts of capelin, slight and elegantly- shaped, with a greenish back, silvery under- neath the body, and some scales of a reddish tinge. These are the small fry. They serve as food for the omnivorous cod, and are followed by their rapacious enemy with gaping mouth and helter-skelter movement, through all the sinuos- ities of the coast. The cod, the great object of attraction to the fishermen, is just as actively pursued by his human foes. ~arly in May, the work of preparation commen a ing in pro- visions, arranging hooks, lines, nets, and the rigging of boats. Between the middle and close of the month, the spring herrings, or the first shoal, arrive, and are caught in nets to be used for bait. About the middle of June, the capelin come in, crowding to the shores in countless myriads to spawn, They remain about a month, and, being the fisvourite food of the cod, the fishery is now at its height. In such numbers are they, that wherever there is a strip of beach, every rolling wave strews the sand with hun- dreds, which are swept off, perhaps, by the next billow, or fall an easy prey to the women and children, who stand ready with buckets and harrows to seize upon the precious and plentiful booty. On a fine moonlight night, the appear- ance of a secluded cove, or broader expanse, is often very remarkable, and even splendid. There are whales rising and plunging, throwing up spouts of water; cod-fish flirting their tails above the waves, reflecting the light of the moon from their silvery surface; and legions of cape- lin hurrying away to seek a refuge from the monsters of the deep. Toward the beginning of August, the capelin leave the shores, and are succeeded by the small scuttle-fish, which are followed in September by the autumnal, or fall herrings, the last sho~ft, when the summer fish- ery closes. On some parts of the shores, where the water is shallow, seines and other kinds of nets are employed in the capture of the cod; or when the fish are so gorged that they refuse all baits, jigging is resorted to.. A plummet of lead, armed with hooks, is let down, and moved rapidly to and fro, by which the lish are caught. But, notwithstanding every way, hooking, net- ting, and jigging, and the enormous annual des- truction, the seas swarm with undiminished mul- titudes of cod-fish every recurring season. This is not surprising, when Leewenhoek counted 9,384,000 in the spawn of a single individual of medium size, a number that will defy all the efforts of man to exterminate. The island has not only its fishermen, hut fish- ing dogs; at least Harvey had one of this class, who had not been taught the craft, hut took to it of his own accord, and followed it apparently for amusement. The animal was not of the breed distinguished as the Newfoundland dog, so cele- brated for beauty, sagacity, and fidelity; but one of the short-haired, sharp-nosed Labrador race, the most abundant dogs in the country, not hand- some, but intelligent and useful. When not wanted for the service of his master or the fam- ily, the dog would take his station on a project- ing point of rock, andattentively watch the water, where it might be from six to eight feet deep, the bottom being white with fish bones. Upon a fish appearing, easily discovered over the whitened ground, it was immediately ~ set by the dog, who waited for the favorable opportunity to make a plunge. This was upon the fish turning its broadside toward him, when down he went like a dart, and seldom returned without the struggling prey in his mouth. The animal regularly con- veyed his capture to a particular spot selected by himself, and on a summer day would raise a fish-stack at the place, consisting of fifty or sixty individuals a foot long. To pass from fishermen, fish, and dogs to steamers is an ab- rupt transition. But it may be mentioned as of importance in Newfoundland history, that in 1497, the first ship, Caboto, visited its wa- ters; in 1536, the abundance of cod was dis- covered; and in 1840, the first steam-vessel reached the shore. This was H.M.S. Spitfire, which entered the harbor of St. Johns, to land IMITATION PEARLS AND DIAMONDS. 109 a few troops from Halifax. Great was the as- tonishment and admiration of those who had never been out of the island. Some boatmen off the Narrows were so completely bewildered by the spectacle, that they were nearly run down by the huge novel craft. IMITATION PEARLS AND DIAMONDS. (~NE of the most curious sights in Paris, or in- tl deed in the whole world, is afforded by a visit to the vast atelier of M. Bourguignon, situated at the Barri~mre dii Trone, where the whole process of transforming a few grains of dirty, heavy-look- ing sand into a diamond of the purest water, is daily going on, with the avowed purpose of de- ceiving every body but the buyer. The sand em- ployed, and upon which every thing depends, is found in the forests of Fontainebleau, and enjoys so great a reputation in the trade, that large quantities are exported. The coloring matter for imitating emeralds, rubies and sapphires, is en- tirely mineral, and has been brought to high per- fection by M. Bourguignon. He maintains in constant employment about a hundred workmen, besides a number of women and young girls, whose business it is to polish the colored stones, and line the false pearls with fish-scales and wax. The scales of the roach and dace are chiefly em- ployed fer this purpose, and form a considerable source of profit to the fishermen of the Seine, in the environs of Corbeil, who bring them to Paris in large quantities during the season. They must be stripped from the fish while living, or the glistening hue which we admire so much in the real pearl can not be imitated. It is, however, to the cultivation of the diamond that M. Bour- guignon has devoted the whole of his ingenuity; and were he to detail the mysteries of his craft, some of the most singular histories of family diamonds and heir-looms would be brought to light. A few months ago a lady entered his shop, looking rather flushed and excited, and drawing from her muff a number of morocco cases of many shapes and sizes, opened them one after another, and spread them out on the counter. I wish to learn the price of a parure to be made in exact imitation of this, she said; that is to say, if you can imitate the workmanship with sufficient precision for the distinction never to be observed. Bourguignon examined the articles attentively, named his price, and gave the most unequivocal promise that the parure should be an exact coun- terpart of the one before him. The lady insisted again. She was urgent overmuch, as is the case with the fair sex in general. Was he sure the imitation would be perfect I Had he observed the beauty and purity of these stones Could he imitate the peculiar manner in which they were cut, & c. Soyez tranquille, madame, replied Bourguignon, the same workman shall have the job, and you may rely upon an exact counterpart of his former work. The lady opened her eyes in astonishment and trepidation, and M. Bour- guignon, with unconscious serenity, added, by way of reassuring her: I will attend to the VOL. IXNo. 49.H order myself, as I did when I received the com- mands of the gentleman who ordered this very parure, I think, last February ; and, with the greatest unconcern, he proceeded to search his ledger, to ascertain which of the workmen exe- cuted it, and what the date of its delivery. Not only, however, is domestic deception car- ried on by means of M. Bourguignons artistic skill, but he has often been called upon to lend his aid to diplomatic craft likewise. Numberless are the snuff-boxes, adorned with valuable dia- monds, which issue from his atelier in secret as the reward of public service, or skillful negotia- tion; innumerable portraits, set in brilliants, which have been mounted there, to gladden the hearts of charg6s daffaires, attach6s, and vice- consuls. The great Mehemet Ali, like all great men who, when they commit little actions, always do so on a great scale, may be said to be the first who ever introduced the bright delusions of M. Bourguignon to the unconscious acquaintance ~f the children of that prophet, who suffered no deceivers to live. The wily old Mussulman, who knew the world too well not to be conscious of the value of an appearance of profusion on certain occasions, had announced that every pasha who came to the seat of government, to swear allegiance to his power, would return to his province laden with presents ofjewels for his wives. It may readily be imagined that, under such conditions, the duty became a pleasure, and that there needed no sec- ond bidding. Meanwhile, Mehemet, with char- acteristic caution, had dispatched an order to his envoy, then sojourning in Paris, to send him forthwith as many of the diabolical deceptions of the lying Franks, in the way of mock diamonds, as he could collect. Bourguignon undertook to furnish the order, which was executed in due course, and duly appropriated, no doubt, causing many a Mashallah! of delight to fall from the lips of the harem beauties of Egypt, and many an Allah Hu! of loyalty from those of their hus- bands, at sight of so much generosity. A visit to Bourguignons shop will inspire the mind with wonder to behold the perfection with which art can be made to imitate the most ex- quisite productions of nature. The lustre of the diamond; the richness, the double reflection of the ruby; even the caprice and deviation in the form and color of the pearl, escape not the cun- ning eye of the artist. Some of the parure: are valued as high as five or six thousand francs. The workmanship, however, is as tasteful and costly as any produced by the first jewelers in the world. The setting is always of real gold, and the fashion of the newest kind. A tiara from the shop of Bourguignon, of the price of six hundred francs, will rival in effect and deli- cacy of finish its neighbor which may have cost twenty times as much; none can tell the differ- ence but those who have been allowed to handle it, and breathe upon it, and touch it with the tongue, and apply an acid to it, in order to see whether or no it becomes tarnished.

Imitation Pearls and Diamonds 109-110

IMITATION PEARLS AND DIAMONDS. 109 a few troops from Halifax. Great was the as- tonishment and admiration of those who had never been out of the island. Some boatmen off the Narrows were so completely bewildered by the spectacle, that they were nearly run down by the huge novel craft. IMITATION PEARLS AND DIAMONDS. (~NE of the most curious sights in Paris, or in- tl deed in the whole world, is afforded by a visit to the vast atelier of M. Bourguignon, situated at the Barri~mre dii Trone, where the whole process of transforming a few grains of dirty, heavy-look- ing sand into a diamond of the purest water, is daily going on, with the avowed purpose of de- ceiving every body but the buyer. The sand em- ployed, and upon which every thing depends, is found in the forests of Fontainebleau, and enjoys so great a reputation in the trade, that large quantities are exported. The coloring matter for imitating emeralds, rubies and sapphires, is en- tirely mineral, and has been brought to high per- fection by M. Bourguignon. He maintains in constant employment about a hundred workmen, besides a number of women and young girls, whose business it is to polish the colored stones, and line the false pearls with fish-scales and wax. The scales of the roach and dace are chiefly em- ployed fer this purpose, and form a considerable source of profit to the fishermen of the Seine, in the environs of Corbeil, who bring them to Paris in large quantities during the season. They must be stripped from the fish while living, or the glistening hue which we admire so much in the real pearl can not be imitated. It is, however, to the cultivation of the diamond that M. Bour- guignon has devoted the whole of his ingenuity; and were he to detail the mysteries of his craft, some of the most singular histories of family diamonds and heir-looms would be brought to light. A few months ago a lady entered his shop, looking rather flushed and excited, and drawing from her muff a number of morocco cases of many shapes and sizes, opened them one after another, and spread them out on the counter. I wish to learn the price of a parure to be made in exact imitation of this, she said; that is to say, if you can imitate the workmanship with sufficient precision for the distinction never to be observed. Bourguignon examined the articles attentively, named his price, and gave the most unequivocal promise that the parure should be an exact coun- terpart of the one before him. The lady insisted again. She was urgent overmuch, as is the case with the fair sex in general. Was he sure the imitation would be perfect I Had he observed the beauty and purity of these stones Could he imitate the peculiar manner in which they were cut, & c. Soyez tranquille, madame, replied Bourguignon, the same workman shall have the job, and you may rely upon an exact counterpart of his former work. The lady opened her eyes in astonishment and trepidation, and M. Bour- guignon, with unconscious serenity, added, by way of reassuring her: I will attend to the VOL. IXNo. 49.H order myself, as I did when I received the com- mands of the gentleman who ordered this very parure, I think, last February ; and, with the greatest unconcern, he proceeded to search his ledger, to ascertain which of the workmen exe- cuted it, and what the date of its delivery. Not only, however, is domestic deception car- ried on by means of M. Bourguignons artistic skill, but he has often been called upon to lend his aid to diplomatic craft likewise. Numberless are the snuff-boxes, adorned with valuable dia- monds, which issue from his atelier in secret as the reward of public service, or skillful negotia- tion; innumerable portraits, set in brilliants, which have been mounted there, to gladden the hearts of charg6s daffaires, attach6s, and vice- consuls. The great Mehemet Ali, like all great men who, when they commit little actions, always do so on a great scale, may be said to be the first who ever introduced the bright delusions of M. Bourguignon to the unconscious acquaintance ~f the children of that prophet, who suffered no deceivers to live. The wily old Mussulman, who knew the world too well not to be conscious of the value of an appearance of profusion on certain occasions, had announced that every pasha who came to the seat of government, to swear allegiance to his power, would return to his province laden with presents ofjewels for his wives. It may readily be imagined that, under such conditions, the duty became a pleasure, and that there needed no sec- ond bidding. Meanwhile, Mehemet, with char- acteristic caution, had dispatched an order to his envoy, then sojourning in Paris, to send him forthwith as many of the diabolical deceptions of the lying Franks, in the way of mock diamonds, as he could collect. Bourguignon undertook to furnish the order, which was executed in due course, and duly appropriated, no doubt, causing many a Mashallah! of delight to fall from the lips of the harem beauties of Egypt, and many an Allah Hu! of loyalty from those of their hus- bands, at sight of so much generosity. A visit to Bourguignons shop will inspire the mind with wonder to behold the perfection with which art can be made to imitate the most ex- quisite productions of nature. The lustre of the diamond; the richness, the double reflection of the ruby; even the caprice and deviation in the form and color of the pearl, escape not the cun- ning eye of the artist. Some of the parure: are valued as high as five or six thousand francs. The workmanship, however, is as tasteful and costly as any produced by the first jewelers in the world. The setting is always of real gold, and the fashion of the newest kind. A tiara from the shop of Bourguignon, of the price of six hundred francs, will rival in effect and deli- cacy of finish its neighbor which may have cost twenty times as much; none can tell the differ- ence but those who have been allowed to handle it, and breathe upon it, and touch it with the tongue, and apply an acid to it, in order to see whether or no it becomes tarnished. 3*lnnffihj 1~rnr~ uf ~iThrrrnt @u~nt~. THE UNITED STATES. SEVERAL topics of considerable public import- ance have been discussed in Congress during the past month, but no decisive action has been taken upon any. The controversy on the Nebraska Bill, and the issues connected with it, has to some extent disorganized both the great political parties, and seriously interfered with practical legislation. The most important measure of the Senate has been the ratification of the treaty negotiated with Mexico by Gegeral Gadsden, though this was not effected until the treaty had undergone some very important modifications. The extent of territory to be acquired was reduced one half, the portion purchased including a route for a railroad to the Pacific. The sum to be paid to Mexico is reduced from twenty to ten millions of dollars, and the eleventh article of the treaty of Guadalupe, by which the United States agreed to protect Mexico from the incursions of the Indians on her frontiers, is abrogated. The treaty does not embrace any stipulation for the satisfaction of American claims, but it recognizes, and to some extent protects, the grant for a railroad route across the Isthmus of Te- huantepec. These modifications in the treaty must of course be submitted to the Mexican government for its approvalOn the 2d of May a Message was received in the Senate from the President, giv- ing at length his reasons for withholding his signa- ture from a bill which had passed both branches of Congress, appropriating ten million acres of public land to the several States, for the relief of the in- digent insane within their limits. The President objects that the Constitution does not confer upon the General Government any power to make such appropriations, and that its assumption would be a very dangerous precedent, andwould lead to the com- plete reversal of the true theory of the government, which regards the Union as merely the creature of the several States. He fears, moreover, that if Congress were thus to assume the offices of charity which properly belong to local authorities, the sev- eral States, instead ofrelying on their own resources for such objects, would become suppliants for the bounty of the Federal Government, and that the fountains of charity would thus be dried up at home. The faith of the government is pledged also, by the acceptance of that portion of these lands ceded by the older States, to dispose of them exclusively for the common benefit of all the States; and by the act of 1847 they are still further pledged for the pay- ment of certain portions of the public debt. On grounds, therefore, both of right and of expediency, the President is opposed to the principle of the bill. He refers to the fact that previous donations of land for educational purposes, for the construc- tion of railroads, etc., will probably be cited as precedents to justify the appropriation proposed in this instance. But in these cases, he says, the government merely acted as a wise proprietor, and gave away part of its landa in order to enhance the value of the rest. The only cases in the history of the country which can be properly cited as prece- dents, are an act passed in 1819, granting a town- ship of land to the Connecticut Asylum for the ed- ucation of the Deaf and Dumb, and another passed in 1826, making a similar grant for a similar purpose in Kentucky. Both these cases he is inclined to consider warnings to be shunned, rather than ex amples to be followed. A debate followed the receipt of the Message, in which its positions were sustained by the Democratic Senators, and opposed by the Whigs.Mr. Gwin, on the 4th, moved to take up the Pacific Railroad Billsaying that he should consider the vote on that proposition deci- sive of the fate of the bill at the present session. The Senate refused to take it up, by a vote of 23 to 20.On the 1st, Senator Slidell introduced a resolution authorizing the President to suspend the operation of our neutrality laws so far as Spain is concerned, whenever, in his judgment, such a measure should be expedient. He supported the resolution in an extended speech, in which he cited various facts to prove that the Spanish government, acting under the advice and protection of England and France, was taking steps to abolish slavery in the island of Cubaa measure which, in his judg- ment, would be so hostile to the interests of the United States that it ought to be forbidden and prevented by our government. The repeal of our neutrality laws, he thought, would compel Spain to desist from the policy on which she has entered. He urged the proposition, also, on the ground that it would aid in the emancipation of Cuba, and her ultimate annexation to the United States. The resolution was referred to the Committee on For- eign Relations. The movement of Mr. Slidell ex- cited a good deal of interest throughout the country; especially as rumors at the same time, received from Madrid through the British press, attributed to Mr. Soul6, our Minister in Spain, very peremp- tory demands on the Spanish government for re- dress for injuries sustained by American interests at Havana. These rumors, however, all lack con- firmation. In the House of Representatives the Nebraska Bill has been the principal topic of discussion, al- though debate upon it has been mainly incidental, and while other subjects were before the House. On the 25th of April, Mr. Benton spoke against it, the first part of his speech being a vehement protest against the practice of citing the opinions of the President with a view to influence legislation, which, he said, was unconstitutional, inasmuch as there was only one way in which the President can properly communicate his opinions to Congress; namely, by message. Col. Benton also denounced the newspapers employed to do the public printing, for assuming to dictate to Congress; and proceeded to resist the proposition to repeal the Missouri Com- promise, on the ground that it was one of the three great measures by which the Union had been form- ed and its harmony preservedthe first being the ordinance of 1787, and the second the Federal Con- stitution. He said he came into public life on the Missouri Compromise, and he intended always to stand upon it, even if he should stand alone. It partook of the nature of a contract, and could not be repealed now without a violation of good faith. It had given peace and harmony to the country, and its repeal would inevitably involve us in use- less and mischievous agitations. Not a petition for its repeal had come into Congress from any quarter. The Slave States had nothing to gain by passing it; the pretense that it was necessary in order to carry out the principle of non-intervention, was utterly fallacious; and on every account the bill ought not to passOn the 7th of May, a motion

Monthly Record of Current Events Monthly Record of Current Events 110-115

3*lnnffihj 1~rnr~ uf ~iThrrrnt @u~nt~. THE UNITED STATES. SEVERAL topics of considerable public import- ance have been discussed in Congress during the past month, but no decisive action has been taken upon any. The controversy on the Nebraska Bill, and the issues connected with it, has to some extent disorganized both the great political parties, and seriously interfered with practical legislation. The most important measure of the Senate has been the ratification of the treaty negotiated with Mexico by Gegeral Gadsden, though this was not effected until the treaty had undergone some very important modifications. The extent of territory to be acquired was reduced one half, the portion purchased including a route for a railroad to the Pacific. The sum to be paid to Mexico is reduced from twenty to ten millions of dollars, and the eleventh article of the treaty of Guadalupe, by which the United States agreed to protect Mexico from the incursions of the Indians on her frontiers, is abrogated. The treaty does not embrace any stipulation for the satisfaction of American claims, but it recognizes, and to some extent protects, the grant for a railroad route across the Isthmus of Te- huantepec. These modifications in the treaty must of course be submitted to the Mexican government for its approvalOn the 2d of May a Message was received in the Senate from the President, giv- ing at length his reasons for withholding his signa- ture from a bill which had passed both branches of Congress, appropriating ten million acres of public land to the several States, for the relief of the in- digent insane within their limits. The President objects that the Constitution does not confer upon the General Government any power to make such appropriations, and that its assumption would be a very dangerous precedent, andwould lead to the com- plete reversal of the true theory of the government, which regards the Union as merely the creature of the several States. He fears, moreover, that if Congress were thus to assume the offices of charity which properly belong to local authorities, the sev- eral States, instead ofrelying on their own resources for such objects, would become suppliants for the bounty of the Federal Government, and that the fountains of charity would thus be dried up at home. The faith of the government is pledged also, by the acceptance of that portion of these lands ceded by the older States, to dispose of them exclusively for the common benefit of all the States; and by the act of 1847 they are still further pledged for the pay- ment of certain portions of the public debt. On grounds, therefore, both of right and of expediency, the President is opposed to the principle of the bill. He refers to the fact that previous donations of land for educational purposes, for the construc- tion of railroads, etc., will probably be cited as precedents to justify the appropriation proposed in this instance. But in these cases, he says, the government merely acted as a wise proprietor, and gave away part of its landa in order to enhance the value of the rest. The only cases in the history of the country which can be properly cited as prece- dents, are an act passed in 1819, granting a town- ship of land to the Connecticut Asylum for the ed- ucation of the Deaf and Dumb, and another passed in 1826, making a similar grant for a similar purpose in Kentucky. Both these cases he is inclined to consider warnings to be shunned, rather than ex amples to be followed. A debate followed the receipt of the Message, in which its positions were sustained by the Democratic Senators, and opposed by the Whigs.Mr. Gwin, on the 4th, moved to take up the Pacific Railroad Billsaying that he should consider the vote on that proposition deci- sive of the fate of the bill at the present session. The Senate refused to take it up, by a vote of 23 to 20.On the 1st, Senator Slidell introduced a resolution authorizing the President to suspend the operation of our neutrality laws so far as Spain is concerned, whenever, in his judgment, such a measure should be expedient. He supported the resolution in an extended speech, in which he cited various facts to prove that the Spanish government, acting under the advice and protection of England and France, was taking steps to abolish slavery in the island of Cubaa measure which, in his judg- ment, would be so hostile to the interests of the United States that it ought to be forbidden and prevented by our government. The repeal of our neutrality laws, he thought, would compel Spain to desist from the policy on which she has entered. He urged the proposition, also, on the ground that it would aid in the emancipation of Cuba, and her ultimate annexation to the United States. The resolution was referred to the Committee on For- eign Relations. The movement of Mr. Slidell ex- cited a good deal of interest throughout the country; especially as rumors at the same time, received from Madrid through the British press, attributed to Mr. Soul6, our Minister in Spain, very peremp- tory demands on the Spanish government for re- dress for injuries sustained by American interests at Havana. These rumors, however, all lack con- firmation. In the House of Representatives the Nebraska Bill has been the principal topic of discussion, al- though debate upon it has been mainly incidental, and while other subjects were before the House. On the 25th of April, Mr. Benton spoke against it, the first part of his speech being a vehement protest against the practice of citing the opinions of the President with a view to influence legislation, which, he said, was unconstitutional, inasmuch as there was only one way in which the President can properly communicate his opinions to Congress; namely, by message. Col. Benton also denounced the newspapers employed to do the public printing, for assuming to dictate to Congress; and proceeded to resist the proposition to repeal the Missouri Com- promise, on the ground that it was one of the three great measures by which the Union had been form- ed and its harmony preservedthe first being the ordinance of 1787, and the second the Federal Con- stitution. He said he came into public life on the Missouri Compromise, and he intended always to stand upon it, even if he should stand alone. It partook of the nature of a contract, and could not be repealed now without a violation of good faith. It had given peace and harmony to the country, and its repeal would inevitably involve us in use- less and mischievous agitations. Not a petition for its repeal had come into Congress from any quarter. The Slave States had nothing to gain by passing it; the pretense that it was necessary in order to carry out the principle of non-intervention, was utterly fallacious; and on every account the bill ought not to passOn the 7th of May, a motion MONTHLY RECORD OF CURRENT EVENTS. 111 was made to lay aside all other public business be- Hon. J. J. Crittenden appeared as a volunteer for fore the House, in order to take up the Nebraska ~Vard. The defense was that Butler struck Ward Bill, which bad been referred to tbe Committee of first, and that the latter shot him under that provo- the Whole. This proposition was considered as a cation, if not in self-defense. Ward was acquitted test of the opinions of the House in regard to the not only of murder, but also of manslaughter. Pub- bill. The result was, that it was carried by a vote lic demonstrations have taken place in various parts of 109 to 88; and at the time of closing this Record of the State, denouncing the verdict. the bill was under discussion. From California we have intelligence to the 15th The American Association for the Advancement of April. Some excitement had been occasioned of Science held its sixth annual meeting at Wash- in San Francisco by an attempt on the part of the rngton, the session commencing on the 27th of Mexican Consul to enlist an armed force of three April, and lasting five days. A large number of thousand men, mainly Germans and Frenchmen, for interesting and valuable papers were read on a great servico~ in Mexico, to be employed chiefly in sup- variety of scientific subjects, some of which were pressing revol~itions and repelling aggressions in directly connected with the general interests of the Sonora and Lower California. Some three or four country. Among them were several from Lieut. hundred of the persons enlisted were embarked on Maury and the gentlemen connected with the Coast board a British ship, the Challenge, which was pur- Survey. The various exploring expeditions now sued, however, by a U. S. revenue cutter and in progress under the direction of the government brought back. The Mexican Consul was arrested, ~vere discussed at length, and the results which may and on subsequent examination was indicted for a be expected from them were clearly set forth. The breach of the neutrality laws of the United States. meeting was even more interesting than usual, Captain Watkins, who had returned to San Fran. and will contribute essentially to direct popular at- cisco after having taken Part in Captain Walkers tention to the worth and claims of science. A expedition against Sonora, had also been tried and Southern Convention, composed of delegates from convicted of the same offense, for which he was the several Southern States, met at Charleston, sentenced to pay a fine of fifteen hundred dollars. S. C., on the 11th of April, for the purpose of de- Walkers expedition seems to.have been effectually vising measures to promote the interests and inde- broken up. At the latest dates it had retreated pendence of the slaveholding section of the Union, from the valley of the Trinidad toward the Colorado, and held a session of a week. Hon. George Daw- on their way to Texas through New Mexico, arid son,U. S. Senatorfrom Georgia, presided, and Lieut. had been reduced to a total of fifty officers and Maury was placed at the head of a committee to twenty men. The mining news is favorable, and prepare business for the Convention. The project the farming prospects of the State are in the high- of a railroad to the Pacific by a Southern route was eat degree encouraging. The coming crop of wheat the leading topic of discussion. The Convention alone is estimated at twenty millions of bushels. was unanimous in the opinion that the road ought Indian difficulties still prevail, especially on the to be built, but was divided on the point whether it Northern frontiers. should be done by the Federal Government or by Frqm Oregon, our dates being to the 25th of the Southern States alone. The decision was March, we hear that the admission of Oregon into finally in favor of the latter plan. It is proposed the Union as a State is considerably agitated. A that each of the Southern States shall subscribe to very large amount of wheat has been sown, and the the stock of the road, and that all shall form them- crops in general promise to yield abundantly. The selves into a body corporate for the purpose of volcanic mountain of St. Helena is in a state of building it. Resolutions were adopted in favor of eruption. acquiring the right to navigate the river Amazon, of MEXICO. promoting manufactures in the Southern States, From Mexico, the only intelligence of interest is and of opening direct commercial intercourse with in regard to a formidable revolt against the Central Europe. Government, in the southwestern district, led by Public attention has been largely directed to the General Alvarez. The accounts of its progress are result of a trial for murder in Kentucky. The facts vague and unreliable. The strength of the insur- of the case, as developed on the trial, were these: gents is not accurately known, nor is it believed to Professor Butler, teacher of a school in Louisville, be very considerable. At the latest dates Santa Kentucky, had chastised one of his pupils, a lad Anna was in the vicinity of Acapulco, with an army fomrrteen years old, named William Ward, for viola- of about five thousand men, intending to attack the tion of the rules, and for alleged falsehood in deny- town, which was the head-quarters of the rebel- ing the offense. The lads brother, Matt. F. Ward, lion. The port had been blockaded, and one of the the next day went to the school-room, armed with American Pacific steamers, which attempted to two loaded pistols, and accompanied by his brother enter, had been driven away. The object of the Robert, who was armed with a bowie knife, and do- blockade is to prevent supplies reaching the in- manded an explanation from Professor Butler, who surgents. offered to make one, and invited him into his private room. Ward refused to go, saying that was the GREAT BRITAIN. place to receive it. Butler declined to discuss the The Eastern War continues to absorb public at- subject in presence of his pupils, upon which Ward tention. The withdrawal of the Russian embas- denounced him in violent terms as a scoundrel and sadors from London and Paris has been already a coward. It was contended that upon this Butler noted: that event was speedily followed by a form. struck him; but the only direct evidence to this al Declaration of War. On the 27th of February the fact was that of Robert Ward, who was under in- Earl of Clarendon dispatched a messenger to St. dictment as an accomplice. Matt. Ward drew his Petersburg with a letter declaring that, if the Rus- pistol and shot Butler, who lived till evening. The sian government did not immediately announce its venue was removed from Louisville to Elizabeth- intention of ordering its troops to recross the Pruth, town, in Hardin County, where the trial was held, so that the provinces of Wallachia and Moldavia In addition to a strong array of retained counsel, should be completely evacuated by the 30th of 112 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. April, her refusal or silence would be considered of Derby followed in a long speech, the main object equivalent to a declaration of war, and tbe British of which was to show, from the recent correspond- government would take its measures accordingly. ence between the two governments, that Russia The messenger was directed to wait but six days for had not deceived the English government in regard a reply. The note was presented to Count Nessel- to her intentions, and that nothing but the utmost rode on the 17th of March by M. Michele, the Brit- blindness could excuse the English Ministry for ish Consul; and the Counts reply was, that he the course they had taken. It was very evident, had taken His Majestys commands with refer- he thought, that the Emperor counted with some ence to Lord Clarendons note, and the Emperor reason on the friendly disposition of Lord Aber- did not think it becoming to make any reply to it. deen, and that but for his accession to power those The receipt of this response led to the immediate attempts on the integrity of Turkey would never issue, on the 28th of March, of the Declaration of have been made which had resulted in war. He War. This important document rehearsed rapidly pledged his support to the war, which he hoped the successive steps in the progress of the diffi- would be conducted with perseverance as well as cuity, conceding at the outset that the Emperor of enthusiasm. Lord Aberdeen retorted the l)ersonal Russia had some cause of complaint against the attack of the Earl of Derby by reminding him that Sultan with regard to the Holy Places, but declar. he himself, when Prime Minister, had been com- ing that these had been amicably adjusted by the plimented by the only Austrian Minister who had advice of the British Minister, and that the Russian ever been the bitter foe of England, and that he Envoy, Prince Mensehikoff, was meantime urging had acknowledged these complimentary expres- still more important demands, concerning the posi- sions with declarations of gratitu(le: for his own lion of the Christian subjects of the Sultan, which part, he could say the Emperor of Russia hsd re- ho carefully concealed from the British embassa- ceived no such grateful recognition from him. Lord dor. These demands were rejected, and the Em- Brougham, without entering into any extended dis- peror of Russia immediately sent large bodies of cussion of the question, expressed his fears that troops to the frontier, and took possession of the the war would not prove to be a short oneand Principalities for the purpose of enforcing compli- said that his principal anxiety related to the south- ance with them. The object sought was virtual em and central parts of Europe; for nothing was control of the nine millions of the Christian sub- to be more dreaded than a war of propagandism, jects of the Sultan; which the Porte could not and nothing was more to be deprecated than an ap- grant without yielding to Russia the substantial peal to insurrectionary movementsIn the House sovereignty over his territories. It was therefore of Commons, LordJohn Russell moved the Address, refused, and the French and English governments and supported it in a speech briefly sketching the had felt called uponby regard for an ally, the in- history of the case, and regretting that even the teirrity and independence of whose empire have passage of the Danube by the Russian troops had been recognized as essential to the peace of Eu- not elicited from Austria a declaration of war. Mr. rope, by the sympathies of their people with right Layard followed, charging upon Lord Aberdeen against wrong, by a desire to avert from their do- that he had actually abetted the designs of Russia minions the most injurious consequences, and to by his course from a very early date, and severely sue Europe fram the preponderance of a Power censuring the action of the Ministry, in not having which had violated the faith of treaties and defied more promptly ordered the fleet in the Bosphorus to the opinion of the civilized worldto take up arms the assistance of the Sultan. Mr. Bright denounced for the defense of the SultanThe Declaration was the war as utterly unjust and unwise, and ridiculed debated in Parliament at great length on the 31st the pretense that England was to preserve the hal- of March. In the House of Lords, the Earl of ance of power in Europe. lf the United Stxtes Clarendon contended that the object of the Empe- should remain at peace fur seven years longer, they mr of Russia had been to obtain such an ascend- would show Europe where the balance of power ency and right of interference in Turkey as would would lie. The whole notion of the European have enabled him at any time to possess himself equilibrium was one of the most false and mis- of Constantinople; and that this design had been chievous delusions thcy had inherited from the steadily pursued in the face of the most distinct past. Lord Palmerston defended the policy of the and solemn assurances to the English government Government, saying it was impossible for any man, that he had no such purpose in view. If he had able to see and capable of drawing a conclusion, to been allowed to carry this design into execution, doubt that there was a settled intention on the part Lord C. thought it would not be too much to say of Russia to overrun and overthrow the Turkish that more than one Western power would have Empire, for the purpose of establishing in the tern- been made to undergo the fate of Poland. It was tory of Turkey the ascendency and domination of not to protect her trade, nor to defend her India Russia; and the reason why the Emperor chose possessions, that England had resolved to go to the present moment for pushing this design, was war. For neither of these objects would she make that he feared that the progress of reform in Tur- the sacrifices she was about to make; but it was key would soon put its accomplishment out of his to maintain her honor, and to sustain the cause of l)ower. The European balance of power, which civilization against barbarism. Russia had already Mr. Bright had declared himself unable to under- reduced several of the German powers to a state stand, was simply the doctrine of self-preservation; of virtual dependence upon her, and it became ab- and the only question for England to consider now, solntely necessary to place a check upon her fur- was whether one Power is to bestride the globe from thee aggressions on the independence of Europe. North to South, from tha Baltic to the Mediterra- Austria and Prussia had both resolved to maintain neanto dictate to Germany, to domineer in the a position of complete neutrality. This would be Mediterranean, to have the whole of the rest of found in the end impossible; but thus far England Europe at its mercy, to deal with it as it pleases; had reason to be perfectly satisfied with the course or whether that Power shall be taught that there they had adopted, although she had received no are limits even to the ambition of a Czar. Mr. guarantee as to their ultimate action. The Earl Disraeli followed with an elaborate attempt to MONTHLY RECORD OF CURRENT EVENTS. 113 convict the Ministry, from the secret correspond- ence, of having connived with the Czar in his schemes for the partition of Turkey, and to show that the war had been produced exclusively by one man. Several other members participated in the debate, at the end of which the Address, respond- ing to the Queens announcement that war had been declared, was unanimously voted in both Houses. The English government immediately on the proclamation of war, issued a declaration of a good deal of interest concerning the rights of neutrals. In order to render the war as little onerous as pos- sible to the powers with whom she remained at peace, the declaration says England is willing to waive, for the present, a part of the belligerent rights appertaining to her by the law of nations. She could not forego the exercise of her right of seizing articles contraband of war, and of preventing neu- trals from conveying the enemys dispatches; and she must also maintain the right of a belligerent to prevent neutrals from breaking any effective block- ade sustained by an adequate force. But she would waive the right of seizing enemys property laden on board a neutral vessel, unless it be contraband of war; nor would she claim the confiscation of neutral property, not being contraband of war, found on board enemys ships. Being anxious; moreover, to lessen as much as possible the evils of war, and to restrict its operations to the regularly organized forces of the country, it is declared that it is not her present intention to issue letters of marque for the commissioning of privateers. On the 11th of April, Lord John Russell with- drew the Reform Bill which he had introduced as a Government measure at the beginning of the session. He acknowledged that the Ministry was ~5ledged to it, and said that his confidence in its justice and propriety had not been in the least degree shaken by the criticisms to ~vhich it had been subjected. But he ssid it was evident that the attention of Parliament and of the country was absorbed by the war, and that there was, therefore, no general desire that this measure should be pressed just at present. The Ministry, moreover, must stake its existence on its success, and he did not think the immediate importance of the measure was sufficient to justify them in so doing on the eve of a general war. He declared himself indifferent to the censures which the act would elicit from the opposition, but ex- hibited and professed deep sensibility to the opin- ions of the sincere friends and advocates of reform. The withdrawal of the bill was acquiesced in as necessary and proper by the House. FRANCE. In France, proceedings in regard to the formal opening of the war have taken place analogous in all respects to those of Great Britain. An Im- perial message was read to the Chambers on the 27th of March, announcing that the last resolution of the Cabinet of St. Petersburg had placed Russia in a state of war with respect to Francea war, it is added, the responsibility of which belonged wholly and entirely to the Russian government. The Chambers unanimously pledged the support of France to the war. The same regulations in re- gard to the rights of neutrals, and the commission- ing of privateers, have been adopted in France as in England, and the action of the two countries is made to harmonize on all points. The Duke of Cambridge and Lord Raglan, with a large number of subordinate officers in the British army destined for the East, passed through Paris on the llth of April, and were received with imposing demonstra- tions on the part of the French government and people. A grand review inhonor of the Duke took place on the 12th, in the Champ de Mars.It is stated that the amount of the French contingent will not be limited to 50,000; indeed it is expected that before the war is over it will exceed 100,000. The Meniteur has published the text of the con- vention between France and England, which was signed by the representatives of the two powers at London on the 10th of April. The two powers agree (1.) To. do what depends on them to bring about the re-establishment of peace between Russia and Turkey on a solid and durable basis, and to guarantee Europe against the return of those la- mentable complications which have so disturbed the general peace; (2.) To receive into their alliance, for the sake of co-operating in the proposed object, any of the other powers of Europe who may wish to join it; (3.) Not to accept, in any event, any overtures for peace, nor to enter into any arrange- ment with Russia, without having previously de- liberated upon it in common; (1.) They renounce in advance any particular advaiirage to themselves from the events that may result; (5.) They agree to supply, according to the necessities of the war, de- termined by a common agreement, land and sea forces sufficient to meet them. THE GERMAN STATES. The position of Austria and Prussia in reference to the Eastern war, continues to be a source of perplex~y and anxiety. Both these powers have declared their determination to maintain a complete neutrality. The Prussian Chambers granted per- mission to the King to raise a loan required, but not until after very positive assurances from the Minis- ter of War that tinion with Russia was utterly im- possible, and then only upon the adoption of reso- lutions designed to pledge the government to a close co-operation with the other German States, and to efforts for the speedy restoration of peace on the basis of the Vienna Conference. The lean- ings of the Prussian Court are supposed to be to- ward Russia; but the sentiment of the Chambers and of the people is very decidedly the other way. It is stated that a private treaty has been negotiated between Prussia and Austria, intended to pledge them to a united and concerted action, and likely to exert a controlling influence on the action of the smaller German States. The Austrian govern- ment continues to give assurances to the Western Powers which are pronounced satisfactory in Par- liament, and she has recently sent a very large force to her Eastern frontiers. A good deal of discontent is evinced at her failure to regard the crossing of the Danube by the Russians as a hostile act, and to resent it as such.The state of siege in Hungary has been abolished; but the condition of the coun- try is very far from tranquil. EASTERN EUROPE. On the 12th of April the Russian government published its counter statement in reply to the En- glish Declaration of War. In the presence of such declarations and demands as those made to him by England and France, the Emperor has only to ac- cept the situation assigned to him, reserving to himself to employ all the means which Providence has put in his hands to defend with energy and constancy the honor, indepondence, and safety, of his empire. All the imputations which they have 114 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. made against Russia are declared to rest on no foundation whatever. If their honor has been placed in jeopardy, it has been by their own act; for, from the beginning, they have adopted a sys- tem of intimidation, which would naturally fail. They made it a point of honor that Russia should bend to them; and because she would not consent to her own humiliation, they say they are hurt in their moral dignity. The policy of aggrandizement, which they attribute to Russia, is refuted by all her acts since 1815. None of her neighbors have had to complain of an attack. The desire of pos- sessing Constantinople haa been too solemnly dis- avowed for any doubts to be entertained on that point which do not originate in a distrust which no- thing can cure. Events will soon decide whether Russia or the Western Powers have struck the most fatal blow at the independence of Turkey. The Sultan has already renounced, by treaty, the distinguishing privilege of every sovereign power, that of making peace or war at its own free will; and changes in her internal policy have already been exacted, far greater and far more fatal to her independence than any Russia ever desired to se- cure. It is for Europe, and not for the Western Powers alone, to decide whether the general equi- librium is menaced by the supposed preponderance of Russia; and to consider which weighs heaviest on the freedom of action of statesRussia, left to herself, or a formidable alliance, the pressure of which alarms every neutrality, and uses by turns caresses or threats to compel them to follow in its wake. The true motive of the was has been avow- ed by the British Ministry to be the abateent of the influence of Russia; and it is to defend that influencenot less necessary to the Russian na- tion than it is essential to the maintenance of the order and security of the other statesthat the Emperor, obliged to embark in war in spite of him- self, is about to devote all the means of resistance which are furnished by the devotion and patriotism of his people. He closes by denying that the re- sponsibility of the war rests upon him, and invokes the aid of God, who has so often protected Russia in the day of trial, to assist him once more in this formidable struggle. The progress of the war thus far has not been marked by any general or decisive engagement. The English fleet in the Baltic, under Admiral Sir Charles Napier, has seized ten Russian mer- chant vessels, and, at the latest dates, was off Goth- land. All the Russian ports have been blockaded. The Russian forces have crossed the Danube at several points, and have taken possession of the Dobrudscha, the peninsular country inclosed be- tween the Danube and the Black Sea. They had also attempted to cross at other points, but were repulsed. About 50,000 Russian troops were on the Turkish side of the river, and were fortifying themselves at various points. The Turks had fall- en back upon Yarns, which was supposed to be menaced by the Russian movement, and the En- glish and French fleet in the Black Sea had also moved up to its defense. The Russians have also sent a force into Servia. Rumors are abundant concerning frequent engagements of severity be- tween the Russian and Turkish forces, but they are evidently greatly exaggerated accounts of mere skirmishes. The war with Russia and the alliance with the West, are making themselves very sensibly felt on the internal affairs of Turkey. The Sultan has just declared that the possessions of the mosques are the property of the State, and has deposed the Sheik br refusing his assent. This is one of the most important changes to which the internal policy of the Ottoman empire has ever been subjected. The mosques in Turkey form religious corporations, independent of the State, and exercising over it at times unbounded authority, through the ulemas, or doctors of the law and the Koran, who are the sole possessors of the vast wealth belonging to these re- ligious foundations. Turkish landholders, from gen- eration to generation, in consequence of the inse- curity of property, and other causes, have been in the habit of making over the fee-simple of their property to the mosques, reserving to themselves only the use of them for life. In this way it is said that full three-fourths of the soil of Turkey has come to be the property of these religious founda- tions, held by the ulcmas, of whom the Sheik is the head. The confiscation of such a vast amount of the property of the Church to the purposes of the State can not fail to exert a very marked influence on the internal affairs of the empire. The extensive insurrections of the Greeks, fo- mented undoubtedly by Russian agents, have been so far countenanced by the Greek government as to lead to the rupture of all diplom tic relations be- tween Greece and Turkey. The Turkish Minister of Foreign Affairs, in a note dated April 1, to the Greek Minister, M. Metaxa, sent him his pass- ports, and announced that all diplomatic and com- mercial relations between the two countries were at an end. It had been proved, he alleged, incon- testably, that the Greek government had actually tolerated and aided the insurrectionary movements of which ~omplaint was made. The Greek Cham- bers had previously refused to concede the meas- ures demanded by the Sultan, but had positively denied all participation in the insurrection. M. Metaxa replied to the Ministers note, appealing to that Supreme Tribunal whose judgments are uner- ring, and whose decrees are infallible, to decide whether Greece was justly responsible for the re- volts which discontent had provoked in Epirus and Thessaly. The British Minister, Lord Stratford de Redeliffe, had issued a circular letter repudiat- ing all sympathy with the Greek insurrection, and declaring the purpose of England and France to sustain the Sultan against all who might threaten the peace and safety of his Empire. From Japan we have intelligence of some inter- est concerning the movements of the Russians. From accounts that reach us by way of China, it seems that a Russian fleet, which had been rapidly augmented during the past year, entered the port of Nangasaki, and was received with great pomp by the Governor, after the departure of the squad- ron of Commodore Perry. A letter from the Rus- sian Chancellor was immediately forwarded to Jed- do; and it is reported that assurances were re- ceived in return, that the Emperor had decided within the coming year to throw- the commerce of the country open to the whole world, under certain restrictions necessary for the interests of Japan. The American squadron had gone to Loo Choo in January, where Commodore Perry had purchased a naval depot and erected a fort; an officer and small garrison had been left in this fort, and the Commodore had sailed for Jeddo. The report of the death of the Emperor of Japan is confirmed. THE POSITION OF THE CLERGY among the powers of the age, is a topic closely sug- gested by the remarks we ventured to make in a previous editorial. Would that we could discuss it in a manner which its importance demands. One thing, however, may be safely affirmed. Whatever may be thought of our strictures or our commenda- tions, they are certainly from the hands of a friend. We yield to no one, not merely in respect for the clergy, but in an earnest desire to see them occupy the place which alone befits the intrinsic dignity of their calling and its relation to all that is highest or most saving in our humanity. There is, then, only one place they should occu- py. We rejoice when we see them in possession of it; we grieve deeply, as for a most deplorable and calamitous event, when compelled to admit that they have fallen, or are falling, behind it. This place is in the extreme van of the worlds true pro- gress, in the forefront of the hottest battle with the powers of evil, whether they be the fiends of sin, of ignorance, of false knowledge, false theol- ogy, false philosophy, or that most deadly of all Satanic falsitiesfalse sentiment. When we thus speak of the worlds progress, no one will mistake our meaning. We have but one idea in the use of the termprogress in truth. And here, too, another kind of cant necessitates a caution in the use of language. It is progress, not so much in new4ruths there may be a vast accumulation of these with- out any substantial advanceas in the wider diffu- sion, the deeper appreciation, and stronger hold of those truths it is most important for man to know those ancient truths, those never obsolete truths, without which all other progress is but progress in a labyrinth, and all other light but a darkness vis- ible. Do our clergy stand boldly and strongly upon this advance position? If any of our remarks take the form of censure, it is in reference to this alone. We can not hear to see Christs army, and especially his commissioned hosts, occupying any rank behind the first, or falling in the wake of any other move- ments originated and directed by other and secular minds, whether those movements be for good or evil, in harmony with revelation, or directly opposed to its most vital teachings. There is among us a tendency to make almost every thing subservient to the political. The Church and the clergy share in it. It is a very common de- ception to suppose that they are in no danger of such an influence, in consequence of the abolition of all outward connection between the Church and the State; but mere forms here, or the want of forms, can furnish no protection. The true position of the clergy may be as much affected by falling into the current of poliular sentiment in a democracy, as by dependence on any of the ruling powers in a mon- archy. But in other modes besides that of direct sub- serviency may this vantage ground be lost. Even where the object aimed at is right, is religious, there may be too much importance attached to it in its mere political aspectan aspect which, if made prominent, is sure, in time, to cast a shade upon the more vital and essential features. Thus Mission- nry and Bible societies will doubtless advance civil- ization; Sunday-schools aid the cause of law and order; they promote morals, and are not morals the Loundation of our liberties? It is thought good pol icy to dwell on these secular benefits. Pious people and clergymen, therefore, rejoice when they can get a member of Congress, or an actual or Ex-Goverm- or, or better yet, some old hero of a General to harangue on such utilities before the annual re- ligious gatherings. Politicians, too, are very glad of opportunities for such display. it may be a con- venient currency wherewith to buy them votes in some time of political need; or, if it is a want of charity to suspect them of so poor a motive as this, it enables them, at all events, to occupy a ney and flattering position, where their political greatness appears to more striking advantage in their con- descendingpatronage ofthe Church and the Churchs movements. Now in all this it is doubtless sup- posed that the State and statesmen are made sub- servient to the spiritual kingdom; and yet there may be room for a doubt, at least, whether the real effect may not he directly the reverse. Through the con- tinued dwelling upon the secular benefitseither by politicians directly, on such occasions, or by clergy- men out of a conciliating deference to the politician the worldly side of all these questions becomes predominant, the spiritual power is lost, and thus there is eventually a failure even in that secular good which might have been secured had it only been kept in its subordinate place. Religion will cease to be politically useful when its political utility is presented as the true or pretended ground of its support. In other words, it will no longer be re- ligion, hut a base and far from harmless counterfeit. The best things, when debased, are ever the source of the direst mischiefs. This is the peril at which we hold those priceless giftsthe Christian Revela- tion and the Christian Church. There can be no doubt that the tendency, at the present day, is to magnify the political, the social, the secular, or what may be called the worldly- humanitarian aspects connected with professedly religious movements. Even on the anniversary platform it is becoming almost as common to hear about the regeneration of the ruce as the salvation of seuls. The millennimsm is to be ushered in by political movements, and be itself a sort of politico- religious golden age. Christianity is to cover the earth with railroads and telegraphs, and these, again, to diffuse Christianity with a speed unknown to apostolic times. It may be thought that this is making fast friends of the Mammon of unrighteous- ness; but is there not some reason to fear that in such a course, instead of the Churchs spiritualiz- ing the world, the world will secularize the Church, or that it will be made as completely subservient as though it had been bound to the State by some direct and clearly-defined connection? It is this same feeling that leads religious men, and especially clergymen, to be peculiarly sensitive about certain points in which the State may be sup- posed to possess an outward religious character, and which are, therefore, prized at far more than their intrinsic value. We have an example in what is often said in respect to Congressional chaplains. A nation that expressly banishes prayer, or religious acts of any kind, from its public proceedings, can not he called a Christian nation. And yet if the practice is only the result of a hollow condescen- sion, if it is only adopted to show how graciously the politician can manifest his respect for the util- ities of religion; above all, if it comes to he looked upon as furnishing a part of the spoils, as the

Editor's Table Editor's Table 115-119

THE POSITION OF THE CLERGY among the powers of the age, is a topic closely sug- gested by the remarks we ventured to make in a previous editorial. Would that we could discuss it in a manner which its importance demands. One thing, however, may be safely affirmed. Whatever may be thought of our strictures or our commenda- tions, they are certainly from the hands of a friend. We yield to no one, not merely in respect for the clergy, but in an earnest desire to see them occupy the place which alone befits the intrinsic dignity of their calling and its relation to all that is highest or most saving in our humanity. There is, then, only one place they should occu- py. We rejoice when we see them in possession of it; we grieve deeply, as for a most deplorable and calamitous event, when compelled to admit that they have fallen, or are falling, behind it. This place is in the extreme van of the worlds true pro- gress, in the forefront of the hottest battle with the powers of evil, whether they be the fiends of sin, of ignorance, of false knowledge, false theol- ogy, false philosophy, or that most deadly of all Satanic falsitiesfalse sentiment. When we thus speak of the worlds progress, no one will mistake our meaning. We have but one idea in the use of the termprogress in truth. And here, too, another kind of cant necessitates a caution in the use of language. It is progress, not so much in new4ruths there may be a vast accumulation of these with- out any substantial advanceas in the wider diffu- sion, the deeper appreciation, and stronger hold of those truths it is most important for man to know those ancient truths, those never obsolete truths, without which all other progress is but progress in a labyrinth, and all other light but a darkness vis- ible. Do our clergy stand boldly and strongly upon this advance position? If any of our remarks take the form of censure, it is in reference to this alone. We can not hear to see Christs army, and especially his commissioned hosts, occupying any rank behind the first, or falling in the wake of any other move- ments originated and directed by other and secular minds, whether those movements be for good or evil, in harmony with revelation, or directly opposed to its most vital teachings. There is among us a tendency to make almost every thing subservient to the political. The Church and the clergy share in it. It is a very common de- ception to suppose that they are in no danger of such an influence, in consequence of the abolition of all outward connection between the Church and the State; but mere forms here, or the want of forms, can furnish no protection. The true position of the clergy may be as much affected by falling into the current of poliular sentiment in a democracy, as by dependence on any of the ruling powers in a mon- archy. But in other modes besides that of direct sub- serviency may this vantage ground be lost. Even where the object aimed at is right, is religious, there may be too much importance attached to it in its mere political aspectan aspect which, if made prominent, is sure, in time, to cast a shade upon the more vital and essential features. Thus Mission- nry and Bible societies will doubtless advance civil- ization; Sunday-schools aid the cause of law and order; they promote morals, and are not morals the Loundation of our liberties? It is thought good pol icy to dwell on these secular benefits. Pious people and clergymen, therefore, rejoice when they can get a member of Congress, or an actual or Ex-Goverm- or, or better yet, some old hero of a General to harangue on such utilities before the annual re- ligious gatherings. Politicians, too, are very glad of opportunities for such display. it may be a con- venient currency wherewith to buy them votes in some time of political need; or, if it is a want of charity to suspect them of so poor a motive as this, it enables them, at all events, to occupy a ney and flattering position, where their political greatness appears to more striking advantage in their con- descendingpatronage ofthe Church and the Churchs movements. Now in all this it is doubtless sup- posed that the State and statesmen are made sub- servient to the spiritual kingdom; and yet there may be room for a doubt, at least, whether the real effect may not he directly the reverse. Through the con- tinued dwelling upon the secular benefitseither by politicians directly, on such occasions, or by clergy- men out of a conciliating deference to the politician the worldly side of all these questions becomes predominant, the spiritual power is lost, and thus there is eventually a failure even in that secular good which might have been secured had it only been kept in its subordinate place. Religion will cease to be politically useful when its political utility is presented as the true or pretended ground of its support. In other words, it will no longer be re- ligion, hut a base and far from harmless counterfeit. The best things, when debased, are ever the source of the direst mischiefs. This is the peril at which we hold those priceless giftsthe Christian Revela- tion and the Christian Church. There can be no doubt that the tendency, at the present day, is to magnify the political, the social, the secular, or what may be called the worldly- humanitarian aspects connected with professedly religious movements. Even on the anniversary platform it is becoming almost as common to hear about the regeneration of the ruce as the salvation of seuls. The millennimsm is to be ushered in by political movements, and be itself a sort of politico- religious golden age. Christianity is to cover the earth with railroads and telegraphs, and these, again, to diffuse Christianity with a speed unknown to apostolic times. It may be thought that this is making fast friends of the Mammon of unrighteous- ness; but is there not some reason to fear that in such a course, instead of the Churchs spiritualiz- ing the world, the world will secularize the Church, or that it will be made as completely subservient as though it had been bound to the State by some direct and clearly-defined connection? It is this same feeling that leads religious men, and especially clergymen, to be peculiarly sensitive about certain points in which the State may be sup- posed to possess an outward religious character, and which are, therefore, prized at far more than their intrinsic value. We have an example in what is often said in respect to Congressional chaplains. A nation that expressly banishes prayer, or religious acts of any kind, from its public proceedings, can not he called a Christian nation. And yet if the practice is only the result of a hollow condescen- sion, if it is only adopted to show how graciously the politician can manifest his respect for the util- ities of religion; above all, if it comes to he looked upon as furnishing a part of the spoils, as the 116 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. prize and the temptation of worldly and time-serv- ing clergymen, it is hard to say which would be worse, the heathenism of the exclusion, or the blas- phemy of the observance. We would touch lightly upon this point, but there are other cases where charity must be strained to the utmost to invent even the semblance of truthfulness. When we hear of the political caucus being openedhyprayerwhen we call to mind the long course of selfish, dark in- trigue that has preceded some one of these patriotic gatheringswhen we think ofthe train ofmanceuvres that have attended its organization, and then that some clergyman has been invited to invoke Heav- ens ~aidance for men who have come there with minds made up to follow the guidance alone of their own corrupt party interestswhen we read the formal resolution by which be has been graciously requested to implore divine illumination for a body whose whole machinery of action has been planned by the wisd,om that is of the earth, if not from below the earth, and which does not expect to be influenced in one single vote or measure by the wisdom which is from aboveno language can characterize too severely the profanity of the whole proceeding. The political trifling with the highest earthly interests of mankind, bad as that may be, is not so bad as this direct insult to Heaven. The clergymanhonest and pious mandoes doubtless fancy that he is doing great service to the cause of religion. He is filled with hope and triumph, per- haps, at the thought of the worldly powers thus seeking aid of the spiritual kingdom. But alas, it all contributes to the movement of which we have been speaking. The spoil-bunting faction has felt the need of no divine guidance, has cared for no divine guidance, has received no divine guidance; but another step has been taken in that movement which would make the spiritual subservient to the secular, and the chief value of the Church to con- sist in its political utility. No clergyman should ever officiate clerically in such a caucus, until he has some reason to believe that its after-scenes will not be in most direct contrast with its religious in- itiation. Our clerical friends will bear with us, if we point out some other cases which, in our editorialjudgment, furnish illustrations of the same tendency. Too much importance is attached to mere religious pro- fession in our public men. From the way in which it is sometimes treated in our religious newspapers, it would really seem as though they regarded it as a boon to Christianity that it should be professed by a member of Congress, or the Governor of a State. Above all, that a President should show respect to religion, is thought worthy of the most grateful acknowledgment. The testimony of so great a man as he must surely be, is certainly in- valuable. That he should maintain a devout atti- tu.de during the service, should clearly pronounce the responses, or should actually stand up during the whole of the prayer, are facts worthy to be trum- peted throughout the land, as full of hope for the progress and triumph of the Gospel. A few years ago we well recollect reading, in one of our religious papers, a letter from a correspondent in Washington, containing a statement of the mem- bers of Congress who were also members of the Church. The writer had obtained his information from the most reliable sources; and itwas doubtless thought that the publicalionwould do greatgood to the cause of Christianity. We doubt not the perfect purity of motive which influenced the editor and his correspondent. They were good men, intelligent men, learned men, better men every way than their censorand yet we can not help distrusting the wis- dom of thb proceeding. The malign, cunning, sneer- ing infidel might well askWhat is this professed Christianity which is thus to be hunted out like a light under a bed or a bushel? What kind of professors are those who, instead of being known by their acts, must have the census of their unknown statistics so laboriously taken? The discovery is all the more remarkable from the strange coincidences it brings to light. How comes it that the votes of these followers of Christ should ever be found in such exact correspondence with certain party con- nections? No exceptions here. There they stand ever, rank and file, column against column, like pieces upon a chess-boardmen of the same re- ligious profession in this strange and unaccountable relation to each otherthe same steady disagree- ment with their Christian brethren of the opposite political party, the same unvarying agreement with the men of the world who belong to their own. What explanation can be given of this remarkable phenomenon? Should not religious sympathy some- times snap the political cord? Are both parties al- ways in the right? Or is there some evidence here of an allegiance which is stronger, if not higher, than the spiritual? Akin to this is the practice of obtaining testimo- nials from the great men at Washington to the truth and velue of our holy religion. It is not long since a tract was published entirely made up of such matters. We had the opinion of Cass, and Everett, and Douglassalthough of this we are not quite certainand Seward, and Sumner, and Clay- ton, and Benton, if we are not mistaken, that the Bible was true, that Christianity was a most useful institution, and the foundation of our liberties. Now we would not say a word against all or any of the very respectable and distinguished gentlemen whose names have been mentioned. But then, again, the questions will come up, What is the real value of such testimony? Toward which sidethe supremacy of the Church or the worldis the real tendency of the proceeding by which it is obtained? It is gathered for the sake of the young, to strengthen them in their faith. But does it not really argue distrust? Can there be true confidence in a note which has to be strengthened by so many and such endorsements? With all respect for the persons named, their testimony is not to be compared, for real value, with other that can be obtained from some of the obseurest walks of life. What is this to that witness of the power ef Christianity which a man may find, if he seeks for it, in the humblest Christian who ever taught in a Sabbath-school, or told his experience in a Methodist class-meeting? Do our young men want testimonies? Let them read the history and martyrology of the Church. We say again, we would not disparage these names but what is the chaff to the wheat ? What are all these, and ten thousand more like them, to one life like that of Paul, or Augustin, or Luther, or Fene- hon or Ken, or Wesley, or Edwards? Ay, but these were professed theologians; we want some- thing which shall operate more powerfully on the young heart, because coming from men in the secu- lar ways of life, and who are therefore the more im- pertiel witnesses. It comes then to thisand this is the sophism which such teaching would put at the commencement of a religious coursethe cas- ual endorsement of a worldly politician, even grant. ing it all supposable purity of motive, is worth more, because more disinterested, than that of one who EDITORS TABLE. 117 has given his whole life, and perhaps a martyr death, to the truth which he professes. Christianity, we may well believe, had suffered some deterioration in the days of Constantine. There was more of the worldly in the Church than in some of the preceding centuries. But what would we think, should we read in authentic Church historythat the pious people and cler~y of those days were in the habit of seeking testimonials to the truth and utility of their religion from Roman Senators, or Roman Prators, or Roman Generals? In view of such modern practices, we find an argument for the truth of revelation a thousand times stronger than was ever gathered in the purliens of the Capitol. Christianity must be indeed divine when it still maintains its hold upon the human soul under cir- cumstances so calculated to shake all faith. It has fought many a hard battle with its malignant foes, but one of the highest proofs of its heavenly origin is found in the fact that it can stand such treatment from the hands of its professed friends. The dead- liest attack of the infidel is not so faith-destroying as these attempts to prop up our belief by the en- dorsement of the politician, or the patronizing cer- tificate of the minimifidian man of science, neither of whom, it may very possibly be, knows as much of the Scriprores and Christianity as the once dark savage who sits clothed and in his right mind at the feet of the missionary of the cross. One great cause which has contributed to give the clergy the false rearward position of which we have been speaking, is the wrong opinion enter- tained of the nature, and hence of the true rank, of their officean opinion to which they themselves, or many of them, at least, have greatly contributed. We refer to that very common view which regards them as merely moral lecturers instead of men clothed with a divine commission, and charged with the delivery of a divine message. The differ- ence between the two ideas is immense; and im- mense, too, must be the difference in the practical consequences. Especially is it worthy of note, that the lower opinion should prevail in an age distin- guished above all others by its cant about mis- sions. The editor has his mission, the school- master has his mission, the author, the poet, the novelist, even the actor and the actress, each have their mission; but the clergyman, forsooth, is get- ting to be more and more thought of, and spoken of, as a voluntary, self-sent lecturer on morals. Now we know well enough that the language, as com- monly used, is nothing but cant and bubble. Still there is something significant in the fact that its general prevalence should be accompanied with such a denial of the truest and highest mission indeed we may say the only real mission on our earthor that apparent recognition of it which nul- lifies by putting it simply on a par with every other calling, trade, or profession in human life. The clergy, we say, have contributed to this. They have thought to conciliate the world, and thus gain power with the world, by lowering their claims, or rather the claims of their office. They would fain be more rational men, more practical, more sensible, and hence more useful men, than their pious but mistaken predecessors. Hence the call to the ministry, about which there used to be so much superstitious sacredness, has come to be ex- plained as a rational conviction of fitness for doing good to the world by teaching the truths of Chris- tianity. All else is undervalued, if not wholly re- jected; the outward call is but priestly formality, the inward little better than a false and irrational enthusiasm. It is the same feeling which has led to that most false position that the moral power of the clergy would be increased, the more they min- gled in the world, and took part in all secular move- ments. Many who are tending to these views, would still retain, in some sense, the idea of a special mission. Others have arrived at so transcendent a rationalism that they can afford utterly to discard the thought. All men are inspired, all days are alike religious, all life is faith, all acts are worship, all emotion is prayer, all truth is holyscience is Christianity, all conceivable measures of social reform are Chris- tianity, political economy is Christianitythe man who lectures on trade, or astronomy, or the moral significance of the Crystal Palace, is preaching the Gospel as truly as ever Paul preached it at Corinth, or Xavier in the Indies, orWhitfield among the colliers of England. And yet some ofthese men have nohes- itation in suffering themselves to be styledReverend, after having, as far as they could, destroyed all rev- erence; just as they have no moral scruple in call- ing themselves, and suffering others to call them, ministers of Christ, wh~le sitting in judgment on their master, and talking of the mistakes of Jesus. Such is the natural result of this view of the clerical office. If the clergyman is a moral lecturer, his truths, his doctrines, are his own as much as those of any other lecturer. He may make progress in them; he may adapt them to the age; he may claim themerit of new discoveries; he may get up a new gospel, such as the founders of Christianity would doubtless have preached, had they possessed his light. His hearers, too, may hear by the same rule. The preacher is to them no divine embassador; his message is no divine message, to be received with solemn deference for Him who sent it. The lec- turer himself has taught them to discard every such thought, and hence its moral power, if it have any moral power at all, must suffer a corresponding de- basement. We may be very much interested in the rhetoric of Mr. Gilfillan, his stilted exaggerations, his wondrous talent of turning all science into gos- pel, or all gospel into science; but then it is only the rhetoric of Mr. Gilfillan after all. It has no other moral power than his genius, whatever we may think of it, or his personal merit, whatever that may be, may impart to it. We may be quite certain that he, and Mr. Cummings, and Mr. Mau- rice will never do the work of John Knox, or An drew Melville, or Richard Baxter. Mr. Parker we mean no disrespect in naming him after such evangelical clergymenmay delight us with his extremely liberal sentimentalisms, or make us an- gry with his fierce and intolerant invectives, but it is Mr. Parkers inspiration after allnothing more nor less. It is the moral power o~ man, not seat, but coming in his own name, and w~ose doctrine is his owna man of some striking traits of charac- ter, but many imperfectionsa man very much like ourselvesa man who possibly may deceive him- self, as other men have often done, with a show of zeal for philanthropy, which is, after all, but an ac- rimonious spirit of party, or a malignant spirit of opinion often more bigoted than party feeling, and more intolerant than any fanaticism that ever mis- takingly assumed the name of a message from Heaven. What is worse, we cannot know at all how long the new gospel will last, or when the new light shall come which will make it all comparative dark- ness. lodeecl, we may be certain it will soon pass away. The speculations that many regard as stand- ing highest in philosophy, and newest in theology, 118 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. will, in another generation, be among the things that are remembered, and remembered, too, by few. These bubbles must burst. Such a result is dis- tinctly known by the conservative mindthe only mind that truly sees beyond its age, because ground- ed on those truths that overlook all ages, that sur- vive all ages, and that are the same for all ages. But are not the clergy, in any view that can be taken of them, men of like passions with others? True indeedmost deplorably true, and, therefore, the more important the fact, or the belief at least in the fact, that the moral power of their mission comes from something higher, purer, more stable, than their own personality. We can only listen to them intently, earnestly, and we may also add, rationally, when we regard them as messengers from Heaven. Their words have weight with us for the very cause that their doctrine is not their own. Aside from express revelation on the subject, our position is made out by the shortest and simplest reasoning. The argument is both a posterieri from experience, and a priori from the very nature of truth itself. We appeal to every mans personal knowledge. Where are the conversios, sudden or gradual, from the preaching that claims no such mission? When has it made the proud humble, or the worldly man spiritually-minded? When has it ever reclaimed the profligate, or rendered charitable the malevolent, or broken down the hardened wretch to penitence and faith? It has indeed sometimes produced very marked effects, but not like those which characler- ized the day of Pentecost, when men were pricked in their hearts and smote upon their breasts. It may boast of its reforms, but we fear that it has set men to reforming every thing but themselves, and to cleansing every thing but the defiled sanctu- ary of their own spirits. There comes the same conclusion when we reason from the very nature of things or ideas. The soul of the serious bearer in- stinctively demands the hieher sanction for the higher truth. A man may lecture to us on science, on political economy, on utilitarian ethics, and we listen to him with complacency, although he comes in his own name. We take his instructions for what they are worth, or for what we may regard him as being worth. But what right has a fellow mortal to preach to us of perdition, and salvation, and the life to come, unless he has a message from the univgrsal Judge, or believes, at least, that he has such message, or is delivering the doctrine, not as his own, hut as having come from those who were the inspired media through whom it was at first specially given to our blind and wandering race? If he discard this idea of embassadorship from the clerical office, we will not listen to him. Let the order be abolished as a deception, and therefore a mopl nuisance, if it take not that high ground which reason and conscience as well as Scripture would assign to it as its only legitimate, its only tenable position. We have presented our idea in its most catholic aspect. We meddle not with the vexed questions respecting the mode and validities of ministerial succession. It is not essential to our general argu- ment. We do not say whether an unwarranted priestly assumption on the one hand, may not have led to this lax latitudinarianism on the other. We contend not for or against the priestly idea, strictly so called, which consists in the offering of sacrifice and prayer. We are content with taking the more clearly revealed, and, as we think, the higher ground, of the embassadorial characterhigher, we say, be- cause the one suggests the idea of a request or an offering from earth to Heaven, the other of a mes- sage from Heaven to earth. This, we maintain, must belong to all, or must be assumed by all, who undertake to proclaim to their fellow men the truths that relate to an eternal kingdom. Is the assump.. tion a proud one? How much more arrogant the delivery of such a message without it. The affected humility here is more irrational than any false priestly claim that ever came from ignorant or fa- natical excess. The tendency of which we speak shows itself in what is getting to be the prevalent style of preach.. ing. This is becoming too sentimental and declama- tory on the one hand, or too argumentative on the other, as though men could be converted by sheer force of eloquence, or logic, or fairly reasoned out of the unreasonableness of sin. The Bible supplies the preacher with the text, but his own brain fur- nishes the sermon. A divine declaration is taken as an exordial motto, and then we have a discus- sion of abilities and disabilities, and subjective and objective, and moral this and moral that, and an everlasting proving of moral obligation, until there may arise in the hearers minds the most se- rious doubts whether men are moral beings at all, or moral convictions any the less speculations of the intellect than the axioms of geometry or the statements of algebraic equations. Oh, it is indeed a piteous spectacle, to see one who stands in the place of the divine embassador thus spinning out his own poor web from his own psychological materials, while the rich Bible lies all neglected before him. that Broad land of wealth unknown, XVbere hidden glory lies that mine of ideas unfathomable, which it is his great business to study, to interpret, to illustrate by all the aids that can be drawn from the knowledge of language, of antiquities, of the history of the Church, and then to apply it to the consciences of his hear- ers with the clearness and conviction of one who knows that whatever rosy be his own personal merit or demerit, he is delivering a message that came from Heaven. Is there a real objective body of revealed truth in the world? It matters not, for the sake of our main argument, which we adopt of the three great opin- ions that have prevailed respecting it in the Chris- tian Churchwhether it is the Scriptures and pon- tifical decision, or the Scriptures and general church tradition grounded thereon, or the Scriptures alone of the Old and New Testament, as they were handed down by the Church, and received at the Protestant Reformationin either case the fundamental posi- tion is unaffected. It is the preachers business to study this objective truth, this outward rule of faith, to interpret it, to ascertain it, to deliver it to the world, whether men will hear or whether they will forbear. He hises all moral power, and forfeits all respect, even the respect that might be paid to the scientific lecturer, if he present religious doc- trines as his own thoughts, or the result of his own reasoning, except in that field where his reasoning may be legitimately employedthe field of sober, devout, faithful interpretation. The very title he bears shows the falsity of this. common tendency. His nsme in the Scriptures is Kr~v~, Herald, Crier, Proclaimer. He is art Apos- tle, a man sent to make a proclamation. He is a Prwco, Prwdicans, Preacherall conveying the same idea, and having no meaning on the argu- mentative or lecturing hypothesis. From this tendency to take a low and secular EDITORS EASY CHAIR. 119 view of the clerical calling, has mainly come that rearward tendency and position of the clergy which is so lamentable forthe world as well as the Church. There must be assumed and maintained by them more of the true ministerial or embassadorial char- acter. They must do this fearless of consequences, and with a full trust that the simple truth thus an- nounced will be attended by its own intrinsic moral power. Learning, of course, is demanded as a re- quisitea learning which shall meet and conquer all that science or philosophy can bring against it, a learning which knows well how much this world needs revelation, and how very, very dark it ever has been, and ever will be, without it. But the other is the essential element of force. In the ex- ercise of this, not merely assumed on certain ecclesi- astical occasions, but firmly and consistently main- tained, the clerical character will take its true rank; and in the nineteenth century, as well as in the days of our fathers, the corrupt politician, instead of drawing the clergy into his ignominious wake, will stand abashed and confounded by their rebuke. pICTURES of manners and satires upon society are always interesting. The pleasautest part of old honks of travel is generally that which treats of the familiar habits which History does not deign to recognize. So much the worse for History! The consequence is, that where one man reads his- tory conscientiously, fifty men devour with eager- ness private diaries and the letters of unambitious observers. It is from these last that the best im- pression of places is generally derived. A man puts all his individuality into a letter which is destined for friendly eyes only, and in which he allows full play to his conceits, and feelings, and fancy. But a book is a serious affair. Just as a man is the soul of humor in the unrestrained con- versation of a circle, and, when he rises to address an assembly, becomes stiff, conscious, and ineffect- ive, so a man who sketches life around him with a sparkling pen when he writes a letter to a friend, becomes solemn and heavy and pointless when he writes a letter to the world. We thought of all this lately, as we were looking over a volume of Italian travels, written nearly a century since, by a smug Londoner, who went down into italystopping to visit Voltaire upon the way and who never suffers himself to be seduced into enthusiasm by any blandishment of romance, but, like a sagacious smug Londoner, couldnt keep his one eye idle, and recorded all that he saw with 0 the precision of an accountant. The result was that his letters, written to a circle of friends, are now one of the most interesting memoirs of Italian life in the latter part of the last century, and are par- ticularly rich in their account of the decline of the Venetian republic. The book shows how utterly effete was the society which Napoleon had no sooner touched than it crumbled, and abounds in interest- ing statistics and details, which would be invaluable to any future historian of the gloomy and gorgeous state of the Lagunes. We thought of it all lately, but not only in refer- ence to Venice. An Easy Chair like this has al- ways its own diocese at heart. If some smug Lou- doner, or pert Parisian, or lazy Italian, or heavy German, who may be now among us, and weekly writing home to his friends, should be persuaded to publish his letiers, and they should be found a cen- tury hence upon an out-door book-stall in Paris, or Vienna, or St. Petersburg, how much clearer a view of us and our society the lucky purchaser would enjoy, than they who shall only read of us in some future dignified historical octavo. The reason of the interest, undoubtedly, is that the genuine and peculiar character of a people best exhibits itself in the unconscious play of its individuality, which appears, of course, most fully in its social life. In great historical events it stands upon its interest and dignity, and national interest and dignity are the same at all times and in all places. This supposititious observer being, we will say, in New York, during this winter, would have a singular report to make. He would state that, after being well battered by all kinds of sarcasm and ridicule, for its manifest attempt to affect a social state which does not and can not really exist here, society rushed into other extremes with the same ardor and the same characteristics, but, happily, with much more tangible and agreeable results. We, who pass life sitting in our Easy Chair, whence we note and criticise the world, know of these things only by report. We depend mainly upon our young friend, and ornament of polished circles, Agneau, who strolls in to see us during these warm Spring mornings, and enlivens our solitude with his chat of society and the gossip of the upper world. The amiable., Agneau came in, not many days since, and, pulling a paper from his pocket, in- quired if we would subscribe something to the Young Ladies Charitable Trowser-patching So- ciety. He knew our weakness. He knew that we always subscribe to all societies of young ladies: he also knew, and ventured smilingly to suggest it as a reason for our alacrity in pulling out our purse, that we should probably apply for the aid of the Society in behalf of breeches exhausted by too con- stant and severe sittiiig in this very Easy Chair. The subscription was much too insignificant to mention here, especially to you, who have con- tributed so generously to the Ragged Schools and the News-boys Aid Society, but it was a large sum for us, and the whole heart of this old Easy Chair went with it. The evidence of approval and syns pathy touched the tender Agneau. We all go in for charity now, said he. Char- ity is quite the thing. Was it not always the thing I we asked, with deference to Agneaus superior experience of the thing. Oh, yes! Sundays, and all that, you know, he replied blandly. But all the first people are charitable this winter. Why, Miss Bottomrybond herself goes to teach in the Ragged School twice a week, and all the girls meet about at each others houses, and cut garments, and go and visit the poor people in such places as you can hardly conceive. Dancing has quite gone out, I assure you, and all the good young men are coming in. There has even beeii a charity concert, at which you might have heard singing better than any since Sontag and Alboni went, and which netted the very handsome sum of fifteen hundred dollars for the Society. I tell you what, old Easy Chair, charitys all the go. Now there have been sharp criticisms upon Mr. Dickenss Mrs. Jellyby, with her profound interest in Borrioboola-Gha, and her profound contempt for any misery of any people of her own color and country. it has been said that it was an unfair and unnecessary satire upon the generous efforts of hu- mane people to reduce the amount of human suffer- ing, and that no man who sincerely wished well to

Editor's Easy Chair Editor's Easy Chair 119-129

EDITORS EASY CHAIR. 119 view of the clerical calling, has mainly come that rearward tendency and position of the clergy which is so lamentable forthe world as well as the Church. There must be assumed and maintained by them more of the true ministerial or embassadorial char- acter. They must do this fearless of consequences, and with a full trust that the simple truth thus an- nounced will be attended by its own intrinsic moral power. Learning, of course, is demanded as a re- quisitea learning which shall meet and conquer all that science or philosophy can bring against it, a learning which knows well how much this world needs revelation, and how very, very dark it ever has been, and ever will be, without it. But the other is the essential element of force. In the ex- ercise of this, not merely assumed on certain ecclesi- astical occasions, but firmly and consistently main- tained, the clerical character will take its true rank; and in the nineteenth century, as well as in the days of our fathers, the corrupt politician, instead of drawing the clergy into his ignominious wake, will stand abashed and confounded by their rebuke. pICTURES of manners and satires upon society are always interesting. The pleasautest part of old honks of travel is generally that which treats of the familiar habits which History does not deign to recognize. So much the worse for History! The consequence is, that where one man reads his- tory conscientiously, fifty men devour with eager- ness private diaries and the letters of unambitious observers. It is from these last that the best im- pression of places is generally derived. A man puts all his individuality into a letter which is destined for friendly eyes only, and in which he allows full play to his conceits, and feelings, and fancy. But a book is a serious affair. Just as a man is the soul of humor in the unrestrained con- versation of a circle, and, when he rises to address an assembly, becomes stiff, conscious, and ineffect- ive, so a man who sketches life around him with a sparkling pen when he writes a letter to a friend, becomes solemn and heavy and pointless when he writes a letter to the world. We thought of all this lately, as we were looking over a volume of Italian travels, written nearly a century since, by a smug Londoner, who went down into italystopping to visit Voltaire upon the way and who never suffers himself to be seduced into enthusiasm by any blandishment of romance, but, like a sagacious smug Londoner, couldnt keep his one eye idle, and recorded all that he saw with 0 the precision of an accountant. The result was that his letters, written to a circle of friends, are now one of the most interesting memoirs of Italian life in the latter part of the last century, and are par- ticularly rich in their account of the decline of the Venetian republic. The book shows how utterly effete was the society which Napoleon had no sooner touched than it crumbled, and abounds in interest- ing statistics and details, which would be invaluable to any future historian of the gloomy and gorgeous state of the Lagunes. We thought of it all lately, but not only in refer- ence to Venice. An Easy Chair like this has al- ways its own diocese at heart. If some smug Lou- doner, or pert Parisian, or lazy Italian, or heavy German, who may be now among us, and weekly writing home to his friends, should be persuaded to publish his letiers, and they should be found a cen- tury hence upon an out-door book-stall in Paris, or Vienna, or St. Petersburg, how much clearer a view of us and our society the lucky purchaser would enjoy, than they who shall only read of us in some future dignified historical octavo. The reason of the interest, undoubtedly, is that the genuine and peculiar character of a people best exhibits itself in the unconscious play of its individuality, which appears, of course, most fully in its social life. In great historical events it stands upon its interest and dignity, and national interest and dignity are the same at all times and in all places. This supposititious observer being, we will say, in New York, during this winter, would have a singular report to make. He would state that, after being well battered by all kinds of sarcasm and ridicule, for its manifest attempt to affect a social state which does not and can not really exist here, society rushed into other extremes with the same ardor and the same characteristics, but, happily, with much more tangible and agreeable results. We, who pass life sitting in our Easy Chair, whence we note and criticise the world, know of these things only by report. We depend mainly upon our young friend, and ornament of polished circles, Agneau, who strolls in to see us during these warm Spring mornings, and enlivens our solitude with his chat of society and the gossip of the upper world. The amiable., Agneau came in, not many days since, and, pulling a paper from his pocket, in- quired if we would subscribe something to the Young Ladies Charitable Trowser-patching So- ciety. He knew our weakness. He knew that we always subscribe to all societies of young ladies: he also knew, and ventured smilingly to suggest it as a reason for our alacrity in pulling out our purse, that we should probably apply for the aid of the Society in behalf of breeches exhausted by too con- stant and severe sittiiig in this very Easy Chair. The subscription was much too insignificant to mention here, especially to you, who have con- tributed so generously to the Ragged Schools and the News-boys Aid Society, but it was a large sum for us, and the whole heart of this old Easy Chair went with it. The evidence of approval and syns pathy touched the tender Agneau. We all go in for charity now, said he. Char- ity is quite the thing. Was it not always the thing I we asked, with deference to Agneaus superior experience of the thing. Oh, yes! Sundays, and all that, you know, he replied blandly. But all the first people are charitable this winter. Why, Miss Bottomrybond herself goes to teach in the Ragged School twice a week, and all the girls meet about at each others houses, and cut garments, and go and visit the poor people in such places as you can hardly conceive. Dancing has quite gone out, I assure you, and all the good young men are coming in. There has even beeii a charity concert, at which you might have heard singing better than any since Sontag and Alboni went, and which netted the very handsome sum of fifteen hundred dollars for the Society. I tell you what, old Easy Chair, charitys all the go. Now there have been sharp criticisms upon Mr. Dickenss Mrs. Jellyby, with her profound interest in Borrioboola-Gha, and her profound contempt for any misery of any people of her own color and country. it has been said that it was an unfair and unnecessary satire upon the generous efforts of hu- mane people to reduce the amount of human suffer- ing, and that no man who sincerely wished well to 120 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. charitable efforts of any kind would have been ers were splitting upon all sides in a moat fearful guilty of dealing such a stab to the cause. manner, and although she was really very anxious As usual, whenever Dickens is censured, we do to do something to arrest the evil, until Mrs. B. and not agree. We believe that the satire was the re- C. joined. It siiriply shows that her feeling, though suIt of very shrewd observation and a wise con- real, is not strong enough to stand and act by itself; sideration. Mr. Dickens sees, with great clearness, but when, under favorable circumstances, it has that the field for English charity is England; that once commenced that action, it will not be v~ry the lachrymose Londoner may find around the cor- likely to stop or shift with the fashion. Moral ner more misery than he bewails in Timbucton, and shame will prevent her discontinuing a work which that, in every possible light in which the subject can moral conviction was not strong enougla to make he regarded, it is better, and absolutely essential, her practically begin. to begin at home. The Borrioboola-Gha style of Besides, all niotives are so mixed. Little Ag- philanthropy is the most fatal blow to real charity. neau always insists that his cousin Polyhymniamar- Factitious feeling exhales in a fancied sympathy, ned old Baggs merely because he was rich. Ag- which not only tends to bring the actual sympathy neau will not allow that Polly could have had the into disrepute, but dissipates the action and the slightest sympathy with any taste or predilection charity of those who are truly, but not wisely, gen- of her spouse. He is a good, generous, hearty fel- erous. low, not much cultivated, and of rather coarse than It is easy enough to fancy how pleased we were fine sympathics; but because lie is a good deal older to learn that, since charity was all the go, it was than Polyhymnia, Agneau is resolved that it was a wise and not a foolish charity; that it was not a only the money. Yet, to tell the truth, his cousin, charity which merely bemoaned the unhappiness of who, in the early days, confided much to this Easy Sodom and Gomorrah, but alleviated the misery of Chair, has confessed that abe would have married New York. Baggs had he been only half as wealthy. She want- There had been so much said of Five-Point Mis- ed to be married; she wanted a certain kind of sions, and so many moral dramas had been played freedom; she loved the country (Baggs has a place for the benefit of immoral personages, and there was up the river); she found Bagga a generous, kind such a generalposting, in large letters and bewilder- companion; she had given up Byron and the hero- ing hand-bills, of the public virtue and sympathy, ics, and she was discreetly married to John Ba~gs. that we began to have the usual fear of such a uni- To say that his money did it all, is a libel upon versal whitening and beautifying. And yet it makes Mrs. Pohyhymnia Bagga. It helpedof course it not so much difference by what means the bread helped. We say simply that motives are mixed. gets into the mouth of the famishing, if it only does Agneau insists, until he is black in the face, that it get there, and life is saved. A charity concert, at was all mercenary. lt was no more purely mer- which Mrs. C. and D. sing because Mrs. A. and B. cenary than the prevalent charity is purely fashion- are going to sing, and which keeps itself fashionably able. Agneau and his friends can not criticise and fine and unspotted from the vulgar, is absurd enough condemn in this wholesale mannem~. if you choose to contemplate it from some points of The fact is that we heard another account of the view. It is as hollow, so far as genuine charity or concert, and from a woman. real human tenderness and sympathy are concerned, It was a glorious sight, she said; a church as the family prayers of Sir Brian Newcome, which croivded as soon as the doors were opened, and by Thackeray berates so roundly. Yet, as those family a throng such as few occasions assemble. It was prayers, cold, hard, and unreal as he describes them, Easter-time, and the spring bonnets were fresh and and as they so often really are, may be the means gay, and the galleries brilliant with smiles and of consolation and strength to some obscure serv- bright with silks and ribbons. The church itself ant, so a fashionable charity concert may, by its re- was gloomy, being one of the pseudo-Gothic cathe- suits, really wipe away tears and pour balm into drals in which we so muchs delight; but it was il- broken and breaking hearts. luminated by the loveliness that shone in every So we ventured to say to Agneso, who was evi- pew. The seats all faced the choir, so thast it was dently at bottom rather skeptical of the whole thing. not necessary to rise when the music commenced. He clearly regarded the present charitable move- The choir is very lofty, and a high screen of colored menta among the fashionable circles as itself a silk protects the singers from the eager gaze of the mere fashion, a new form of excitement, spectators below. They seemed, on this evening, Do you suppose, said he, that my sister lifted up and separated from the audience, as in the Lucia attends to the ragged children at the school Monte Trinitd at Rome the nuns are inelosed in a with any different feeling from that with which she gallery high up uimder the ceiling, and there sing, woulmi tend sick kittens at home? All womens invisibly. Presently from the depth of the lofty hearts are tender, and they please themselves, in choir rolled out a full stream of chords from the this case, by gratifying their instincts and sopping organ, and the concert began. Sweet, tender, trem- their consciences. However, I look upon the whole ulous voices, fresh with youth and half-hushed by thing as a very fortunate fashion; but I as cer- the novelty of time place and occasion, overflowed tainly believe that at will be as evanescent as other the screen and poured into time solemn church. The fashions. concert was a long strain of music, sometimes sink- But remember, we replied, if fashion forces ing quite away into modulations pianissimo; then people into charity, so it often shames them away gathering again, and ringing jubilant through the from it. Forourpart, it seems clear enoughthat many church and through the heart ofevery listener. It was of those who are now ardent in the cause are really a singular success. The thought of such a concert ardent, and have hitherto only waited for social per- was generous and humane, its fulfillment was entire- mission to begin. That argues some weakness, of ly adequate. It was very foolish for Mr. Agneau to course; but in such matters we Americans at the pull his gloves and smile, half-scornfully, and say North are especially weak. Mrs. D. would never that the charity of the singers was only sumpassed join the Society for Trowacra-patching, although by that of the audience. In fact, said our gentle she might be conscientiously convinced that trows- informant, since his cousin Polyhymnia became EDITORS EASY CHAIR. 121 Mrs. Baggs, Mr. Agneau is very severe upon so- ciety. We consider him judged by that informant. At least, if it be only a fashion, is it not a good fash- ion? Suppose that it was the fashion to have all our rooms well ventilated. Mrs. Renferm6 would then have her house built in that fashion, and so prolong her life and that of her family. Would it not be a good result? Is it better that Mrs. Renfermd should have a close, hot house, be. cause that would show that she was not subject to fashion? Quite the contrary. If we can have so potent an ally as Fashion, what cause can afford to part with it? and when Fashion is well-direct- ed, why should we undertake to sniff and destroy what good it may be doing? Dear young Agnean, there is not such an excess of unadulterated good. ness, sympathy, and beneficence in this world that we can dispense with all that has the suspicion of taint. You are very forward and eloquent in satir- izing fashionable charity; will you have the kind- ness to point out your own charities, fashionable or unfashionable? And, in default of finding them, may it not be worth your while to consider whether Mrs. Baggs, who gives six hours a week to the ragged children, is not doing more for the palliation and prevention of suffering, and consequently of sin, than you who curiously spy her motives, and laugh at the unusual spectacle of Mrs. Baggs in a charity school? Agneau has one more gun, which we will let him discharge. He says that the condition of fashionable girls is peculiar. Like all other women, their natural con- dition is marriage; but the claims of society are so exaggerated and artificial, that now, instead of mar- riage being a mutual help to the man and woman, it has become a luxury in which only rich men can indulge: consequently, as the number of men who can support luxuries is limited, there must be many girls who are not married, and are yet so educated that every avenue of action is closed to them. They perish of ennui, and plunge with ardor into any thing that promises to distract and amuse them. Thus their charity is no evidence of real sympathy with suffering, nor of a genuine humanity, but only of a despairing ennui which snatches at any straw of dissipation. They are violently charitable, says Agneau; they sew and cut garments, they teach in schools, they carry soup and soap to poor houses, precisely as they dance violently and flirt. They have missed their destiny, and any thing they can contrive to do is a pis-allsr, a make-shift, a re- source a~ainst ennui. Amen; and then what? Are not the hungry fed and the naked cloth~d? Shall these offices be de- ferred because the hand that feeds and clothes is somewhat moved by personal and individual con- siderations? Is there nothing in such acts to ben- efit the doer? Even if undertaken to distract the mind from too intent a self-consciousness, may it not result in giving it that peace which it could not supply to itself? Charity is twice blessed, you know; it blesses the giver as well as the receiver. Besides, Agneau, before you condemn a charity whose good results you do not emulate, should you not at least be a little charitable to motives? It is a kind of charity that will not increase your pecu- niary outlay, but it will greatly benefit your char- acter. Ah! for the rarity Of Christian charity Tinder the sun But remember it is not for you to echo that. It is your want of Christian charity for the good actions of others that the poet bewails. The young Agneau always forces us into this half-sermonic style. It is so easy for people to in- quire, when they are asked to subscribe their sym- pathy or their money to some causewhether Mrs. Jellyby is interested in the movevent? It is a witty way of saying no. John Baggs on the other hand, always says, Well, I dont know about this par- ticular thing, but, my dear Polyhymnia, I know that you will do some good with this money, and I know that there is a great deal of good to be done with money in the world. Take it Agnean sniffs, and says that it goes to impostors, and that a man has no right to waste his money; and Agneau gives eight hundred dollars for a two- thirty-five trotter. Now if he really believes that the money goes to impostors, let him look into the matter, and see that it goes right. But if he only puts his hands into his breeches pockets, and says so without stirring a step to see, then Mr. Agneau merely makes his will- ful ignorance an excuse for his intentional avarice. IN these days of universal subscription for every possible object, we have heard a good deal of talk around our Easy Chair about the Egyptian Museum of Dr. Abbott, of which we have before spoken. It was early felt by many gentlemen and scholars most conversant with the subject, that the opportunity of securing to this country and to this city so unique and valuable a collection ought not to be lost. It was clear enough that the enterprise would be diffi- cult. But the facts were these: During a residence of more than twenty years in Egypt, whither he originally went to serve as a physician in the army of Mehemet Ali during the Syrian war, Dr. Abbott spared no time or care in the accumulation of a mu- seum of Egyptian antiquities, which it is impossible to collect under other circumstances than those of constant residence and close attention. It soon became known to the dragomans and explorers of the ruins that this Frank was interested in every new discovery, and that he would give the best p~ices for the best things. Consequently every thing came to him. He was receiver-general of the recovered treasures of Pharaonic times, and his collection, annually ins~asing, became gradually one of the sights and lions of Cairo. It is within a half- dozen years that he made one of the most interest- ing additions possible to any collection of the anti- quities of any country. This was the ring of Cheops, who built the great pyramid which bears his name. It is a signet-ring, with the carteuehe corresponding to the narrow coat of arms. Miss Martineau, in her thoughtful book of Eastern travel, says that the loss of this ring from some English collection would be a national loss. All the other modern travelers in Egypt, as well as the most eminent of Egyptian scholars, unite in testifying to the great value of the museum. Sir Gardner Wil- kinson, who has achieved ajost and large reputation by the work embodying the results of his profound Egyptian study and investigation, is especially warm in his praises, and had already offered a large sum to Dr. Abbott, on behalf of an English nobleman of the highest rank, for the purchase of the collection. But it was already shipped for America, and the Doctor determined to trust to the interest of the youngest nation in these invaluablg relies of the eldest. He has undoubtedly been disappointed. America 122 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. cares as little for Egypt as Egypt thought of Amer- ica. The filial sentiment is unknown to us. We are so busy in improving what the Past has be- queathed to us, that we forget we owe it any thing. In our eagernessand, it is true enough~, our neces- sary eagernessto get money, we lose every thing else. We get money, but we do not get comfort, nor ease, nor civilization. Several friends of Dr. Abbott, however, and many gentlemen of influence and means, interested more or less in the collection itself, and particularly interested in the fair fame of the city, resolved that an effort should be made to call public attention to the matter, and to secure the sum necessary to purchase and retain the collection. Peter Cooper, Esq., whose name we record with pleasure as one of the men whose usc of money shows how truly he estimates its relative importance to other and higher possessions, and whose career so well confirms the truth that Lorenzo de Medici was the Magnificent, not because he was rich, but because he knew the use of riches, generously offer- ed an apartment in the new Institute now erecting under his auspices in Astor Place, for the perma- nent accommodation of the collection. A general subscription has been organized, a public meeting has been held, at which eminent men, both clergy- men and others, spoke warmly in favor of the pro- ject, and there is every reason to suppose that the necessary amount will be secured. The amount required is only about fifty or sixty thousand dollarsthe object is the purchase of an unequaled collection, illustrating, in a hundred ways, Scriptural times and religious historya col- lection which would be the nucleus of a generous and extensive historical, scientific, and artistic museum, which would give New York an elevated rank as a real and not a pretended and assumed metropolis among the great cities of the world. It is for precisely such purposes as thisfor the con- centration in one city of all possible sources of in- formation and reference in all possible departments of human studythat money is worth getting. With- out this conviction and without this principle we labor in vain to build a great city. It can not be done. A million houses and five millions of people do not make a metropolis. Athens was a small city. New York, if it had fifty times as many inhabitants as now, and stretched its stately ranges of tumble- do~vn buildings for twenty miles along the Hudson, would be as far from a real metropolis as it is at this moment, when, if it should by any chance be ruin- ed, the only remains of the slightest interest to the next age would be the Astor Library, and some of the humane and charitable institutions. For what is a metropolis? It is the head of the State, the fountain of learning, art, and intellectual influence, It is the brain of the country; the point to which its scholars, artisans, artists, of whatever kind, throng to consult the wisdom of experience and the inspiration of the moment. Itis in the State what a Crystal Palace is among the workshops of industry. Athens, Rome, the truly great cities of antiquity, were great by reason of results to which wealth was only subsidiary. Had they been marts only, and not templeshad their people served Plutus only, and not Apollo and all the Muses, they would have shriveled out of history like Carthage. And what to-day makes London, Paris, Rome, and Vienna, each a metropolis? It is precisely the same thing. It is the devotion of money to humane and permanent purposesto the endowing of libraries, galleries, and institutions of every kind, for the in- tellectual benefit of the population. This is true, however much the New Yorker may sniff at the un- happy workmen of other countries. We are not praising them beyond the fact. We know how often the opulent Library and the beautiful Gallery seem melancholy mockeries of pinching poverty and grind- ing toil. But if under such political organizations such actual intellectual chances may exist, may they not also exist among us I Is there any secret affinity betweeii despotism and knowledge? You say, with intrepid ardor and great contempt, Quite the reverse. Will you then explain how it is that this country is so slow to recognize the necessity of teaching people something more than reading and writing and ciphering? Those branches ought to be as natural and common as breathing, and never referred to except as matters of course. We New Yorkers have a complacent way of smiling at Boston and other cities, and patronizingly hinting that they are provincial. But does a city cease to be provincial because it is large? New York is, after all, nothing but a great trading port. It is a commercial city. What is the difference be- tween New York and Boston, for instance? It is size only. It is melancholy, if you choose, but it is equally true, that in the great essentials ofametrop- ohs Boston is, if not superior, certainly not infe- rior to this great and glorious counting-house called New York. When a flourishing and opulent city so far scorns universal interests, and is so destitute of true pride that it can not see how often the best investment is that which produces no net pecuniary result, it may well claim to he a sharp, shrewd trader, but it shows nothing of the man. This opportunity, once lost, can never return. Collections of antiquities are not to be imported at will, nor can any commission be sent out at any moment to recover what is now offered. Think, too, how the Englishman who knows that Lombard- street is not the true glory of London, and the French- man who knows that the Bourse is not Paris, will smile with secret scorn at the city which proposes to represent America, and, therefore, to encourage and in every way support the human race and hu- man hope and improvement, and yet which treats with insolent and ignorant contempt the opportu- nity of achieving a permanently illustrious result for its own character and fame. We take pleasure in saying this to the eager men who pause a moment upon their way to Wall-street, and lean over our Easy Chair, and talk about the great metropolis of America. Jusv as our last Number was published, sod we were resuming our seat for a fresh monthly observa- tion of the world and its ways, one of the frightful fires occurred to which we have already alluded, and which are the blight and bane of New York. Why it should be so is only too clear. We pay heavy penalties for our freedom. The liberty of building colossal card-houses is one of them: and the consequent fearful destructioii of life and property is another. We have no expectation of any improve- inent in the matter. In a country utterly devoted to money-making at any price, the controlling princi- ple will always be, Devil-take-the-hindmost; every man will shrug his shoulders, and insist that it is none of his businessuntil? Until his father, brother, or son is brought home crushed, mangled, and dead, and the happiness of his household is shat- tered forever. In a republic, individual responsi- bility for the common weal is a duty, and it can not be escaped. In Paris a man says justly, Oh! the government will see that Monsieur Voisin builds EDITORS EASY CHAIR. 123 his house securely ; and all Paris knows that it stands as firmly as a city needs to stand, and con- sequently people live in the sixth and seventh sto- ries with a consciousness of safety as great as the dwellers upon the first floor: consequently millions and billions of francs are not lost in conflagration or insurance every year; and consequently we do not shudder and sicken over the record of twenty men crushed by a falling house, of which only an upper story was burning. But if Monsieur Voisin builds a house in New York, we all hurry by as fast as possible while the process goes on, lest the walls should tumble while we are passing; and we know that if it stands up long enough to take fire, it will all sink in tremen- dous and disastrous ruin as soon as the fire gets well under way. So the flimsy structures flame and fall, and we read eagerly the sickening history, and shudder, and say not a word, and lift not a finger to arrest the evil. A few newspapers utter a manly and vigorous protest; there is a vague and transi- tory invigoration; then we all admire the exquisite Corinthian marble-front of the enterprising Messrs. Badger and Bats new emporium of trade; and then begin again to bewail the victims of that shocking accident caused by its destruction. Intelligent foreigners are always struck, first of all, by the fact that our work in every kind is that which will just do. There is no conscience, no completeness. If the table will stand until one of the children runs against it; if the house will hold up until the family moves in; if the dust is wiped from the chairs where the visitors sit, it is quite enough. Then, when the accident happens, why, the thing did itself. Was there ever a mirror bro- ken, or a choice tea-set, or a bottle of wine shaken, or a hook inked by any body in the house, child or servant? Never. It always shook, broke, and inked itself. The same flimsy appearance characterizes every thing else. You think old Magog, the millionaire, has built a sumptuous free-stone house upon the avenue. Great mistake! Magog, the millionaire, has put a miserable thin facing of free-stone over an unsightly mass of stone and rubble. Or the splendid hotel of Gog, his partner, is a palatial structure of white marble? Error the second! The hotel is a whited sepulchre. If it holds up long enough for you to examine, you will discover that it is only a smooth marble complexion. It is a spar of white stone put edge-wise upon the street-front. If you go inside, you find the same foolish pretense; gilt and gauds are employed to hide the want of richness and elegance. A gentleman or a lady feels uncomfortably in the midst of this cheap splendor. If we are not mistaken the gentleman actually blushes. We know not where he could have seen such flaring mirrors, such vulgar carpets, such daz- zling damask; but clearly he has seen it somewhere at some time, and he does not like to remember it as he seats himself upon the gaudy sofa with his young wife. The ~ge of gold, of iron, and of brass; but is not the age of tinsel worse than any? It is not ludicrous only, but tragical, when it oc- casions such fearful results as we continually ob- serve; and yet there is the very sublimity of ludi- crousness and absurdity in the eager renunciation of oae moment, and the comfortable resignation of the next. Tis nt my affair, say Messrs. Gog and Magog; and its so hard to tell where the blame ought to rest. You may investigate, if you choose; but you must really excuse us, its steamer day.~ Yes; but Mr. Gog, the hope of your age, the heir of your name, the light of your solitary home, in whose youth you lived again, the manly boy, the noble son, lies dead beneath the ruins. Goodmorning.~~ To-morrow it may be Magogs turn. It must be somebodys turn. THE spring air is melodious with the rumors of coming music. The great temple of the Muses in Fourteenth Strcet is completed; and upon the site of Metropolitan Hallone of the most festal and brilliant public-rooms we have ever seen, and over whose destruction by fire this Easy Chair has al- ready mournedMr. Lafarge, the proprietor of the late hotel of that name, which fortunately did not hold up long enough to be crowded with guests in which case there would have been a loss of life too inhumanly shocking to consideris erecting a hall, or theatre, or opera-house, which will serve as a chapel-of-ease to the greater edifice near Union Park. lt is rumored that in this latter place Grisi and Mario will make their ddbfit, if they make any ddbfit at all in America. But after this long inter- regnum, how delightful it will he to hear music once more, and such music as we have not often had! To those of our readers who are less famil- iar with such matters, it may be interesting to know that Grisi has reigned queen-paramount of the Ital- ian operaalthough not of music since the advent of Jenny Lindduring the last twenty years. She immediately succeeded Pasta and Malibran, al- though undoubtedly inferior to the first in broad dramatic power, and to the last in passionate in- tensity and fervor. Her characteristic style is that which is best displayed in Bellinis Nerma, which is beyond question her greatest nile. She has a queenly person, tending to embonpoint, dark hair and eyes, a neck of alabaster beauty, and arms of fatuous form. She plays dexterously with Time, and, like the Countess Rossi (Sontag), cheats him deliciously. In fact the light reflected from his scythe only illuminates her charms. Mario, her husbandfor we believe they are now marriedis much younger, and the universally ac- knowledged successor of the great tenor Rubini, whose death was lately recorded. Like all power, the charm of a tenor-voice is hereditary only in name. Mario is not so great as Rubini, but he is the greatest and most exquisite of living tenors. He is personally handsome, after the Italian and barber model. He has rosy cheeks and delicate features, and clustering, curling black hair. He is altogether a love of a man. Now, excepting the stability of New York build- ing, nothing is so uncertain as the permanence of a singers whim. We confess our doubts frankly, therefore, as to our seeing and hearing the great pair this aide of the sea. If they should come, we hope sincerely that they will inaugurate the new opera-house. It would continue to it the tradition of European success; and undoubtedly their career in it would help to solve the problem which is at present the despair of the musical circles, whether the opera could be a permanent institution in New York. THE financial friends of this Easy Chair, Messrs. Dry, Sly, and Lye, of whom we have already spok- en, lately began to buy Crystal Palace stock again with great eagerness. We, who were not homeo- pathically inclined, and did not care to be cured by a hair of the dog that bit us, looked very wisely 124 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. when we heard it, but slapped our pockets, like wise men, and sai(l, Lets see And we have seen. We have seen Mr. Barnum placed at the head of affairs, and the stock rose st the announcement, even as the mercury in the thermometer when the warm South breathes upon it. We have seen Mr. Barnum, as President, pre- ceded by banners and trumpets and shawms, pro- ceeding in state to re-inaugurate the Palace, which was so imperfectly inaugurated last year by the President of the United States. We have seen close behind Mr. Barnum, walking in solemn pro- cession and in blue kid gloves, the Honorable Ho- race Greeley, one of the Board of Directors. We have seen, in the Palace itself, a mass of interested and curious spectators; and through the airy spa- ciousness of that exquisite building we have heard ringing the brilliant bursts of triumphal music, the sacred swell of anthems, the voice of prayer, and the glowing and genuine eloquence of impassioned and interested men. And as we saw and heard, we were ready to be- lievewe almost did believethat the temple was re-inaugurated to success, and not to failure; to a permanent, and popular, and noble influence. When one of the old Board of Directors said of his colleagues, They are all the best of men, but too respectable, he said a true thing, and express- ed what many felt to be the reason of the limited success of the first season of the Exhibition. The whole thing was begun and continued wrongly, under the old regime. Because the nubility and wealthy men of England had succeeded in the ful- fillment of a most happy conception, by the united presti,~e of royalty, religion, and wealth, it was simply foolish to hope to do the same thing here within a year or two afterward. It was especially foolish not to see that, if the enterprise were un- dertaken at allwhich did not seem at all desir- able, since it was especially a thing not to be re- peatedit must be done strictly according to our genius. To put it under the protection of certain gentlemen of generous education and refined social position, and who, in some degree, correspond to the class who supported the Worlds Fair in Lon- don, was by no means to insure success. The ir- refragable social fact against which we are perpet- ually dashing our heads in this country, is that there is no aristocracy available for any other than purely social purposes. There is no permanent aristocratic interest and influence, as in England, upon which a man may surely count. The things that succeed with us are those which appeal di- rectly to the popular interest, by showing that they are in charge of those whose names insure at least seven per cent. per annum. So we thought, as we leaned from the gallery of the Crystal Palace on the half-rainy May day of the re-inauguration. It was easy enough to see that we do not believe in pumps and shows. What a poor spectacle we produce when we try to have a spec- tacle Is there any thing so dreary as a Fourth of July procession, except it be one going to re-in- augurate a Crystal iPalace? We ought to give up the procession. It is not cognate to our iristitu- tions. A mass of figures, all of whose individuality is lost, and who are all draped in awkward black, is not festive, especially when they all have the sad, sallow face of the American. In Rome, with the scarlet splendors of a pompous priesthood, with violet, and gold, and crimson, and whitewith golden vessels and silver vessels, with crosses, jewels, crosiers, and mitreswith swinging censers of burning incense, and the multitudinous chant of acolyteswith streets gorgeously draped, and car- peted with flashing colors, and strewn with bay leaves and crushed flowers, and lined with a pie- turesque and adoring crowd of romantic beautyia Rome a procession, which the Triumph of Aerelian leading Zenobia captive did not surpass, is possi- ble. And so in England, with the gauds of royalty, the ermine and trains and coronets of a nobility, the lawn robes of bishops, and the brilliant acces- sories of gilded carriages and livened servants, a procession is possible. But in omnibus-jammed Broadway, draped with threatening clouds, what can a multitude of gentlemen in black coats do which will be at once so unseemly and unreason- able as to parade solemnly, with banners and bass- drums, to any possible point for any possible pur- pose? If they are truly sensible, they will take the cars at Canal-street, or the omnibuses at the Park, and say nothing about it. Of all melancholy and attenuated processions, that of the re-inauguration was the superlative de- gree. But that was all that was amusing, or in any sense a failure. Mr. Frys music was admirably performed, and the speeches were stirring. Espe- cially that of Mr. OGorman sent constant volleys of applause echoing along the aisles. It was pleas- ant to hear such men, and to hear such sentiments. It was pleasant to believe that every thing which can be done to rescue the Palace from its decline will be dunethat able, thoughtful, and practical men have it in chargethat the appe 1 is made to the practical genius of the country by men in whom that practical genius confidesand that a gentleman who has achieved such successes elsewhere has consented to try his power here. There has been some great mistake about the whole affair until now. Whether it lay as deep as the very conception of the enterprise, remains to be seen. If it is any where above that, it will now be removed. And, speaking with a full sense of the responsi- bility of an Easy Chair, we say to our friends in the country, that, in every way, the Crystal Palsee deserves a visit and a careful study. The sight of the building itself well rewards a long journey. Its graceful intricacy of delicate lines, its airy dome, which it seems as if a breeze might waft away, and which, seen across the buildings of the city, lies in the summer air like a dream of the Orient; its space, its solitude,, its societyall these combine to complete an architectural triumph. Yet that black coat which does not become a procession is a sharp and terrible critic. Whats the use l it says, as it glooms about the Palace. Black coat! let us answer, the use to you, the measurable, practical use, is, when some shy and susceptible boy from your factory comes here, and, impressed by beauty and grace, and enamored of airy symmetry, returns and makes designs for your cloths which command the market and pour gold into your purse. That is the palpable and direct use of all beautiful and sublime things to a black coat, which ia called Gradgrind, and demands the facts. But to that boy, that J. J. (as he appears in The Newcomrs), a voice sweeter than ours shall sing: So, Lady Flora, take my lay, And if you find no morat there, Go took in any glass, and say, What moral is in being fair? Oh! to what uses shall we put- The wild weed-flower that simply blows? EDITORS EASY CHAIR. 1213 And is there any moral shut XVithin the bosom of the rose? But any man that watks the mead, In bud, or blade, or bloom may find, According as his humors tead, A meaning suited to his mind. And liberal applications tie In Art like N ature, dearest friend: So ewere to cramp its use, if I Should hook it to some useful end. OUR FOREIGN GOSSIP. Iv is very odd to find what an accurate idea one can get of How things look the other side of the water, by a mere collation of the little by-para- graphs which arc scattered over the columns of the foreign journals. Thus, we have Paris in our eye this morning (a blessed Spring morning, which almost tempts the geranium in our office to bloom before its time) as plainly as if we were there. We seem to see the brilliant Rue Rivoli opened up (as they tell us it is) as far as the quaint old Hotel do Ville. We see the new houses rising, wtth their sunny balconies, and their cozy entresols, on the site of the lumber- tog old shops which used to threaten every passer- by with their leaning walls. We see the light- hearted masons, in blouses, clambering over the timber scaffoldings, and dressing up with statues, and clean cut cornices, and finials, the huge tower of the Jacquerie. And we remark (though the con- trast shatnes us at home) that all the building mate- rtal is confined within narrow compass, surrounded by substantial palings; so that no passer-by is in danger for his life, and no horde of carriages is brought to a stand-still by accumulated piles of brick and mortar. We have heard many times of projected reforms in these things; and once deceived ourselves into the belief, that by putting our name to a paper which declared its signers members of a reform party, who would, independent of politics, make the city gov- ernment what it ought to be; we say, we innocently thought that the change would be wrought, and that thenceforward a man could pass from Bowling Green to Union Square under the safe care of some such patron saint as Mr. Westervelt. Still, how- ever, we tremble, and venture on the journey with very much the same apprehension of danger with which Crusoe and his man Friday put to sea in an open boat. To pass again to the city of Napoleon, we find the walls of the New Palace Extension rising fast, and fast inclosing a court, which is to be the grand- eat and most splendid of the world. We wonder at it all the more, when we read, as we do, of the new one- hundred-gun ships which are slipping every week from the water-ways of Brest an4 of Toulon; and when we hear of the tens of thousands who are tak- ing passage, at government cost, for the pleasant shooting excursion to the banks of the Bosphorus. Is the money of the new Emperor so plenty that the city can grow by a kind of Aladdin magic, and all the while his armies and his fleets keep pace wtth the over-rich neighbor on the other side of the Channel? Are we not to hold our breaths presently, with the tale of some sad crisis, which shall shake the Paris Bourse so hard, that the tremor shall reach even to Wall Street? Let the men of the money articles tell us. Least of all would one expect to find the gigantic Palace of Industry climbing, day by day, above the trees of the Champs Elysades; and not only this, but we hear even that the idea is mooted of extend- VOL. IXNo. 49.I ing its area into still grander proportions, and stretching from the Place de Ia Concorde as far as the Rood Point. If this be done, people might well leave their war in the East, to look on the hugest building which cumbers Europe. But from what quarter are the tokens of industry to come, with which to stock such a palace? Riss- sia will probably have no humor to be making show of her vases of malachite; and Austria and Prussia will have other occupation than the dress- ing of ormolu tables for a Paris fair. And if the Spanish breezewhich at our present writing is blowing strongshould grow into a gale, our Cormicks, and Daguerreotype men, will be looking for prize-money on the shores of Cuba. And while this war-thought is upon our mind, we can not avoid a glance, in the way of the moralists, upon the strange and eventful designs which Prov- idence seems to be putting in store for the two years which now face us. Hereabouts (meaning upon our shores), we have the Cuban soreness, never curing itself, and never getting cured; we have the Acapulco revolt, and men fighting, brigand-like, among the mountains; we have a Sonora Republic, set up by a gang of pirates, and not a State with energy or vigor enough to drive them out; we have the old vexed questions of Central America; and three-hours-lou orations from his Excellency, Mr. Borland, which cover the Belize in deeper and darker fog than ever; we have, from our Home authorities, tretnendous orders about diplomatic dress, and the men in plain clothes fight- ing duels, or dancing (by ingenuous confession) a dance of fools in Piedmont. Beyond the water, England and France are clos- ing factories to drive the Northern monarch back, with his million soldiers, to his lair in the ice. Poor bed-ridden Turkey, galvanized into a liveliness which almost redeems Iter heathenism, is battling with Greek Christians, and sticking her crescent in the caps of French generals. Austria, before this. shall have met the eye of the reader, moving her troops against her old Northern ally; attd Russia matching the lost friendship, by promising an inde- pendent kingdom to Hungary, and a state and gov- ernment of their own to the Lombardo-Venetians. Thus, who knows but the extretnes of Republican- ism and of Despotism may coalesce, antI Mazzini accept Russian gold, and Kossuth put on the coat of a Cossack? We tltrow out these fancies because they drift tous upon the tide of forecoming events; for who can tell, or whocats guess, what shall be the fate, four years hence, of Sonora, or lIonduras, or Cuba, or Hungary, or Turkey, or even of Russia? In addition to all this, why not name the terrible bugbear of the coalition of France and England to resist the aggression of the United Statesa pleas- ant bngbear, doubtless, to many; and doubly so to its first entertainer (perhaps inventor), the late min- ister to the court of France, from Virginia. We do not profess great foreknowledge in matters of so un- certain complexion as those of European diplomacy; yet we do venture an expression of the belief that France and England, in cotamon with the other powers of Western Europe, have entertained, and do still entertain, the thought of a mutual conven- tion, in virtue of whiels the several states who are parties to the convention, shall be guaranteed in perpetuity their present boundaries; and, if bound- aries, perhaps colonies. This will explain Napo- leons phrase, that the age of conquest was passed by. 126 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. How far this may be supposed to interfere with the so-called Monroe doctrine, and how far that doctrine would be worth the price of war, we throw mit as a juicy nut for the political wiseacres to crack their teeth withal!. By a pleasant circumbendibus, we pounce again upon the Paris papers. We find there, that the agreeable fish-story of Agassiz and the Californian has found its way to the other side of the water, and, natu rally enough, has excited the wonderment of the quidnencs in the world of science. The reader knows of the story, doubtless; how a certain Cali- fornian (an odd nativity for scientific discovery !), wishing to tempt his appetite with a broiled fish to his breakfast, threw his line, baited with shrimp, into a bay of that country of.golden sands. He presently took, one after the other, a male and fe- male fish: their appearance does not seem particu- larly to have attracted his attention. He threw his line again, and again, and again. But luck was gone. He bethought himself of changing his bait; and, naturally enough for a fisherman (though most unnatural in any one else than a fisherman or a Cal- ifornian), he sliced a fragment from the stomach of one of his victims. The wound revealed a nest of some twenty lively little fishes, within the parent fish; and on being thrown into the water, they swam (says the graphic and truthful Californian) as if they had spent their lives in the sea. The odd thing about it was the fact, that no fish ever heard of in nature, except this California fish, caught by a Mr. Jackson (a name for generals), ever produced young before, in any other way than by dropping spawn in the water. But, as we said, the story is setting the Paris naturalists agog; and Mr. Jackson may congratulate himself in having given currency to a triumphant hoax, or to a most discouraging discovery. For already, in France and in Belgium, articles had been signed for the formation of a great company to rear jab, and stock preserves, by protecting vivifying spawn; but if the fish are to change their tactics, the shares in the new corporation must fall. If the stock had been offered at the New York board, we ahould be compelled to regard the whole affair as a fabrication, and M. Agassiz himself as writingin the interest of the bears. A NOTABLE death belongs to the French news, since last we bethumbed the Paris files in the in- terest of our readers. It is that of the strange old man, the Abb6 Lammenais. The record of it will have already fallen under the eye even of American readers. He was a strange French compound of saint and sinner; being full of humanity, and yet ignoring the laws upon which society rests; indulg- ing in grand conceptions aboutfaith and immortality, and yet (as we ordinarily use language) thoroughly irreligious and infidel; he was intensely intellect- ual, and yet, at times, in his long life, sensualto a crime. The mild and genial Sergeant Talfourd, too, whose name, many years ago, gained an almost Greek lus- tre by the authorship of Ion, has fallen among the dead ones, from his bench in the Justice Court. The summer past he was traveling, with the rational joy- ousness of a healthful old man, among the watering- places ofGermany, attended by a pleasant-faced son. And people who read books of worth, pointed him out as the author of a glowing and severe English tragedy. In England, too, up to a very much later date, he seemed well; and only showed such token of apoplectic tendency as belongs to almost every En- glish squire who has no dislike of mottled beef and Cambridge aleto wit, a pleasant rosiness of face. But, as he sat on the Bench of the Court-room, after delivering an impressive charge, he was observed to nod, and gradually to sink: the servitors of the court ran to his assistance, and removed his heavy wig; but he was too far gone to speak, and by the time they had fairly carried him out of the court, he was dead. It was an English death. And now, for contrast, as our theme is gloomy, we will look at a French death. Maitre (we will call him by that name) was n gardener to a gentlemans establishment, not far away from Paris. He had a strange love for flowers and trees, and tended them as gently as a mother would tend a child. But he conceived a strange, and a truly French desire, to discover the secret principle by which plants grew. It was not enough for him that the showers and sunshine, and the earth he put about his plants, made them luxurious and fruitful; but he watched for hours together the un- folding of a bud, and traced, so far as he was able, the little fibres leading from root to blossom. The old man in the story of Picciola made the flower a companion; but our gardener made his all subjects for dissection. At length he wearied of the unavailing pursuit, wrote a line of explanation upon the gravel walk, and hung himself upon a tree of his garden. The line he wrote might be written by many at dying; it was, I can not find it out - But what is a man, hanging on a tree, stone dead, to the thought that crowds on one as the tidings come in from the banks of the Danube? They say that poor Turgot, the party to the Sould duel, is still suffering excruciatingly, and that the atirgeon dispatched from Paris has not succeeded in ex- tracting the ball. But what is a solitary Turgot to the thousands who will be howling soon with the strange pains of splintered bones, or lost limbs, or deep sword-cuts? How the sight of even what provident humanity is doing brings home to one the ills, snore frightful than pestilence, which one ambitious man is pour- ing out un Europe! Look at these hospital wagons; how coolly the paragraphist talks of them, as if no son or brother might be jolted in them over the hogs of Servia! These wagons are designed to carry the wounded from the field of battle, and the sick and disabled upon the march, until they can be deposited in hos- pital. They are upon four wheels, arranged to turn in the shortest possible space, and are furnished with springs of unusual length, strength, and elas- ticity. The bodies are divided into four horizontal compartments, 6j feet long by 2 feet in breadth and depth; each compartment is fitted with a movable stretcher, carefully webbed and pillowed, on which the severely wounded will be raised from the field uf battle and placed, thus reclining in a compart- ment for removal. The compartments are amply ventilated and protected by Venetian shutters from the sun and night air, and over all is a waterproof cover, supported on light hoops of wood. A door closes these compartments behind, which, as it is necessarily deep and large, can be converted into a table whereon wounds may be conveniently dressed. In front of one wagon body is a capacious locker designed to carry water casks, surgical instruments, and drugs, and on it arc seats capable of holding aix men, whose wounds do not prevent them tray- EDITORS EASY CHAIR. 127 eling in a sitting posture; these seats are provided with guards to support the wounded if faint. A FRENCH provincial paper l)rings in the story of two young fellows of Bretagne, who, to escape the hazard of conscriptiolt and foreign service, married latterly a couple of old girls, aged respectively sev- enty-seven and eighty. The happy pairs are said to have made a bridal promenade to the neighhor- ing village, returning the same day to pass the hon- eymoon in their native town! But all are not so fortunate (we do not speak of husbands, but of conscripts). Many a way-side home, in the far provinces of France, is this year feeling a blight which comes closer to the heart and the fears of the cottagers than the famine or a fever. The lot which governs French army enrollment takes no cognizance of only sons, or of dependent widow- ed mothers; and the recruiting sergeants are not given to sentimental tendencies, or to any weak- ness for distressed parents. Here and there some strong case, in which the agony is very bitter, makes itself beard as far as the willing ears of the tender-hearted Empress, and by her voice the sorrow is turned into gladness. But these are exceptional; and the fumes of wine and pipes, with a roistering Vive la France! gives a short-lived courage to many a parting whose memory will bring up the first tears on days of battle. EVERY body, long ago, will have read and di- gested the speeches in the British Parliament, in connection with the Royal declaration of war; but we want to put on the record of our Gossiping col- umns a fragment of the Earl of Derbys speech, where he says, No human being imagines that this war can be brought to a close at the end of six months. No human being supposes that the call now made upon the Parliament (of a doubled income-tax) will be sufficient even for a tenth part of the expenditure that will be incurred by the country. And from the debate in the House of Commons, let us drop on record also, this little wlzimsey from the observations of Mr. Bright: Give us seven years, says he, of this infatuated struggle, and let America have the same period of peace, and she would show us where the balance of power lay, and whether England would retain her vaunted supremacy of industry, and on the seas. Let the reader put these things in his pigeon- hole, and when a twelvemonth has gone by, we will call them to his mind again; and so measure the foresight of the statesmen of England. There are those of us who remember, long ago, when England was at war; and when the slow- sailing ships, with weeks between their arrivals (as there are now only hours), brought the eagerly- sought-for news of Wellesleys marches on the Peninsula, and of the swoop of Nelsons great fleet. There are those who can recall (when school-jack- ets were not yet cast off, nor the Columbian class- book abandoned) how caps were tossed high in the air, and a boyish hurra ! rung out, when news came that the Trafalgar fight was a glorious vic- tory! We are curious to see, and to compare, the war-tidings of our age with those which came over when the wee days of tops and marhles made us joyful. There are other elements now blended in the great bulk of what makes our nationality; and Celtic, and maybe Slavic blood, has crept into the veins of American school-boys: will they shout over a victory in the Baltic, as we once shouted over one of Aboukir? And will news-reading mothers name their new-born sons Charley Na- pier, as the matrons of our frisk days called their children Horatio or Bronte 1? But, like the whole world of news-writers now- a-days, our pen runs insensibly to war; whereas our good readers will be looking here for a relief to the paper-talk of battles. And they shall have it; first, in a little resumd of a French stage-piece, which is just now attracting attention in the chief theatre of Paris, and which is the work of Madame de Girardin, wife of the famous jour- nalist. No story at all belongs to it; but its interest de- pends wholly on its graceful language and render- ing of Gosling, and upon that nice psychologic power so peculiar to the lady-writer. Its title may be rendered, Joy is fearful. The scene opens with a family in deep affliction; a son is supposed to have been lost at sea; the mother is utterly subdued; a sister, of natural live- liness, is clouded by grief; a young girl, the affi- anced of the drowned one, is endeavoring to recall, by a drawing, some trace of the features of the lost lover. Even the old domestic of the family is un- manned by his kind-hearted sympathy, and the whole scene is triste to the last degree. The feeling of the reader (and, ii faction, of the spectator, on the boards of the Theatre Fran~ais) is painfully subdued to the mournful spirit of the piece. With French extravagance (and, we may add, with French infidelity), the mother is buoyed up by no hope, either social or Christian; the young life of the daughter seems clouded by a grief as dark as crime; the affianced girl is wilder, and less reasonable in her lament, than either parent or sis- ter. A brother, who is more moderate in his ex- pressions of sorrow, gives token (in true French spirit) of a wish to supply the place of the ship- wrecked one, in the affections of the affianced; but is repelled with scorn. Thus matters stand, when the old gray-haired domestic (whose part is the best one of the play), talking with himself, as he busies himsdf about the salon, indulges in the chimera that perhaps the boy is not lost; aiid he paints to himself how joyous a thing it would be, if only the story of the shipwreck were to prove untrue; and if it should appear that his young master were really safe; and if he were to come back again, in the old way, with what a quiet pleasure he would shake him by the hand No sooner said than done. The boy does ap- pear! But so far from quiet, the old man trembles, cries, and would have fallen to the floor but for the help of the lost one, who has come suddenly to life again. When the old man recovers, the young sailer explains to him how a complication of strange re- verses have given rise to the story, and delayed his return. He inquires eagerly about the family; but the old man, now fairly himself again, and remem- bering how joy had nearly bee~i the death of him, contrived a system of cautious manmuvres by which the recovery of the lost son, and brother, and lover shall be brought to the knowledge of the sorrowing friends. The whole art and design of the piece lies in tibe strange nicety with which Madame de Girardin has painted the action of an unexpected joy upon the varying temperaments, first of the simple old do- mestic, and then of the sister, the betrothed girl, -a 128 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. and, lastly, the incredulous and broken-hearted mother. The sister finds the old white-haired domestic, who had been so crest-fallen, chirruping and sing- ing at his work. Amazed at the change, she de- mands indignantly an explanation, and guesses it before it is complete. The brother has been cau- tioned; and even when he overhears his sisters glad expressions of delight, of her desire to meet him again, he hesitates to approach. Even when he has come from his hiding-place, and is fairly in her view, he seems to dread some terrible explosion of feelisig. But the girl, with a natural and healthful out- burst of joy (which we are sure must bring down the house), says, Venez done, ye nai pas pear I The communication of the joyful change is, how- ever, conveyed to the other parties with minute and fearful caution. The reader, or spectator, is kept in constant anxiety lest it may break too sud- denly; scenes pass, all tending, by insensible gra- dations, toward the denouement, which,with strange artistic skill, is put far away. And when, finally, the whole truth is borne down to the heart of the desolate mother, and the son him- self appears, and rushes forward, and is clasped in Iser arms, and kissed over and over with frantic joy, the whole house (say the journals) is in uproar, with clapping hands, and with .the sobs of the women. We have noted and sketched the piece to show on how frail and attenuated a thread is hung even a successful drama, and how French histrinnic art will equip even the commonest emotions with an interest that absorbs attention. AND now we add to this a little drama of our own, and with it we close our budget for the month. We say, a drama of our own, since it has never before, to our knowledge, been rendered in type; gud yet its facts are all substantially true. A v~ calthy nobleman of England, who had an only son, grown to manhood, was living, not five years ago, upon a magnificent country estate, on the borders of the manufacturing town of. There was scandal attaching to the life of the old man; and it was said that one, who was not his wife, and who lived at his villa, exercised too great an influence over his actions, and prevented full confidence between the father and the son. However this may be, the son, who was possessed pf most rare manly beauty, left his fathers estate, went up to London, and being utterly without re- sources, enlisted as a private in the Household Guards of the Queen. His appearance and his ac- quirements (for he was possessed of a University education) soon attracted attention. The matter was talked of, even by those in high position about ~he Court; and soon the handsome young guards- man became an object of general curiosity. Among those who heard this mention of the dis- carded son, was an amiable girl, the daughter and heiress of a noble house. She was attracted by his story; and the sight of his manly graces, not concealed even by the humble uniform he wore, made entire conquest of her affections. Under the circum~ taices, the initiative could come only from the lady ; but interest was too strong for the inter- vention of any ordinary laws of etiquette or pro- priety.; and the young Guardsman was given to understandthat the heart of a high-born lady, whose we Ith was equal to her rank, was at his dis- pos-4. The Guardsman, like a sensible man, contrasted favorably the new alliance with his dull service at the doors of the Royal barracks; and in due time the parties were joined in marriage. Nothing could be happier than their wedded lot for a six-month. After that time the health of the bride failed: they journeyed to a milder region; where, after a few months of lingering illness, the young wife died; leaving to her husband the whole of her vast property. He, with rare disinterested- ness, at once alienated a large portion of it in favor of some charitable foundation in which his deceased wife had, once upon a time, expressed deep con- cern. Returning to England, to look after the accom- plishment of this scheme of benevolence, he chanced, in the autumn of 18, to be present at the great yacht race off Cowes, in which the America won such glorious laurels. The winning yacht was un- derstood to be for sale; the gentleman who serves as the hero of this bit of story was desirous of re- visiting again the scenes of his wifes illness and death. He loved the sea; he admired the staunch little American vessel; and he bought the yacht. Some months after, she lay moored in the South- ampton waters, fully equipped for a trip to the Med- iterranean. The owner was about setting sail, when he received special advices from London, desiring his immediate presence. He hurried up to town, and learned from his solicitor that his father had died under distressing circumstances two nights before. The son and father had not met since the angry parting three years previous. The person through whom the estrangement had arisen was understood to be still an occupant of the paternal mansion; and to be in virtual, and perhaps legal, possession of the greater part of the estate. The son had no desire for greater wealth than he now possessed: and the circumstance only of some mystery attachng to the death of his father, induced him to revisit his old home. He arrived before the funeral ceremony: a sight of what remained of his father, revealed, with fearful force, the reasons for the mysterious communications respecting his death. The face was horribly disfigured, and the jaw and skull shattered by a pistol-ball. It appeared that the old gentleman, always proud of his fine person and countenance (which the son had inherited in a double degree), bad been seized with the small-pox; and, shocked and humiliated by the terrific change it had wrought in his features, he had, in a moment of frenzy, put an end to his life. Of the elegance which marked him as a descend- ant of a long line of aristocratic fathers, nothing was visible now, in the narrow coffin, but the fair and delicate hand. The son took the hand and kissed it; then hur- ried back to London, and thence to his yacht in the bay of Southampton. In a week he was at sea. A fever overtook him; and soon the disease which he had gained from a touch of the fathers hand. The crew gave bins such treatment as they could; but the exposure, and the lack of medical attention, gave to the disease strange force; and when the vessel cast anchor before Gibraltar, not a vestige remained of the manly beauty which had given a romance to his life. Was it a visiting of the sins of the fathers upon the children ? At any rate, the old moral we may whip at the end is made fearfully true: That noble blood does not guard a man from suffering or shame; and that our mortal sorrows cut through the thickest shields of gold. 4 EDITORS DRAWER. 129 AS we write, it is May ; hut when what we write and select from our stores of things new and old shall come before our readers, it will be the leafy month of June ; June, the fairest of all the sister-seasons. It is strange, but it is true, that the brightness, the joyousness, the very life of nature, to many a one under whose eyes these words will fall, will prove any thing butjoyous. What of the bereaved? what of the suffering ?what of the dead? By- ron has well expressed, what thousands have felt, in his lines (as immortal as any thing that ever came from his undying pen) upon the death in bat- tle, at the ensanguined field of Waterloo, of the young, the gallant Howard But when I stood beneath the fresh green tree, That living waved where thou didst cease to live, And saw around me the wide field revive With fruits and fertile promise, and the Spring Come forth, its work of gladness to contrive, With all its reckless birds upon the wing, I turned from alt she brought to those she could not bring. This is the perfection of pathos; and how many a bereaved parenthow many, who only a short year ago, saw around them father, mother, sister, brother, childwill call these lines to mind as records of their own thoughts, when they remem- ber those who saw the last years foliage in its ten- der green, and the expanding, perfect bud Verily, We all do fade as a leaf. Say not that these reflections are untimely ; that they are morbida deaths head at a wedding feast. There is many a sad heart, that the spells of the spring-time can arouse no more As msny a bosom knows and feels, Left in the flower of life alone, And many an epitaph reveals, On the cold monumental stone. THE following picture of an intelligent Coroners Jury is copied from an English newspaper, pub- lished twelve years ago: CORONER- Did you know the defunct ? WITNEss. Whos he ? Coit. Why, the dead man. Wsv. Yes. Con. intimately 1 WIT. Werry. Con. How often have you been in company with him ? - Wsv. Only once. Con. Do you call that intimately ? WIT. Yes for he were drunk, and I were werry drunk, and that made us like two brothers. Con. Who recognized the body ? WIT. Jack Adams. Con. How did he recognize him ? WIT. By standing on his body, to let the water run out Coa. I mean how did he know him ! WIT. By his plush jacket. Con. Any thing else ? WIT. No; his face was so swelled his mother wouldnt ha knowd him. Con. Then how did you know him ? WIT. Cause I warnt his mother ! (Applause in the Court.) Con. What do you colisider the cause of his death? Wsv. Drownding, in course. Con. Was any attempt made to resuscitate him ? WIT. Yes. Coa. How? WIT. We sarched his pockets 1 Coa. I mean, did you try to bring him to ? Wsv. Yesto the public-house. Coa. I mean, to recover him 7 WIT. No; we werent told to. Coa. Did you ever suspect the deceased of mental alienation ? WIT. Yes, the whole village suspected him. Coa. Why 7 WIT. Cause he ailinated one of the Squires pigs. Coa. You misunderstand me. I allude to mental aberration. WIT. Some think he was Con. On what grounds ? Wsv. I believe they belonged to Squire Wa- ters Con. Pshaw! I mean, was he mad ? WIT. Sartenly he were Con. What! devoid of reason WIT. Oh, he had no reason to drown hisself, as I knows of. Con. That will do, sir. (To the Jury): Gen- tlemen, you have heard the evidence, and will con- sider your verdict. FOnEMAN. Your worship, we are all of one mind Con. Well, what is it 7 FOnEMAN. We dont mind what; were agree- able to any thing your worship pleases. Con. No, gentlemen: I have no right to dic- tate : you had better consult together. FOREMAN. We have, your worship, afore wc came, and we are all unanimous.~~ Con. I am happy to hear it, gentlemen. (To the clerk): Mr. Clerk, take down the verdict. Now then, gentlemen. FOREMAN. Why then, your worship, its Jus- tffiahle Suicide; but begs to recommend to mercy, and hopes we shall be allowed our expenses Lest this scene should be thought to be exagger- ated, the journalist affirms its truth to the letter, in every particular. THE ensuing anecdote of Charles Lamb has never appeared in any English sketches or anec- dotes of his life, but it is pronounced to be entirely authentic At a dinner-table one evening, a sea-faring guest was describing a terrific naval engagement, of which he was spectator, on board a British man- of-war. While I was watching the effects of the galling fire upon the masts and rigging, said he, there came a cannon ball, which look off both legs from a poor sailor who was in the shrouds He fell toward the deck, but at that moment another cannon ball whizzed over us, which, strange to say, took off both his arms, which fell upon deck, while the poor fellows limbless trunk was carried over- board. Heavens! exclaimed Lamb; didnt you ease him! No replied the naval Munchausen; he couldnt swim, of course, and he sank before assist- ance could be rendered him. It was a sad, sad loss! said Lamb, musingly; if he could have been picked up, what an ornament to society he might have become!

Editor's Drawer Editor's Drawer 129-135

EDITORS DRAWER. 129 AS we write, it is May ; hut when what we write and select from our stores of things new and old shall come before our readers, it will be the leafy month of June ; June, the fairest of all the sister-seasons. It is strange, but it is true, that the brightness, the joyousness, the very life of nature, to many a one under whose eyes these words will fall, will prove any thing butjoyous. What of the bereaved? what of the suffering ?what of the dead? By- ron has well expressed, what thousands have felt, in his lines (as immortal as any thing that ever came from his undying pen) upon the death in bat- tle, at the ensanguined field of Waterloo, of the young, the gallant Howard But when I stood beneath the fresh green tree, That living waved where thou didst cease to live, And saw around me the wide field revive With fruits and fertile promise, and the Spring Come forth, its work of gladness to contrive, With all its reckless birds upon the wing, I turned from alt she brought to those she could not bring. This is the perfection of pathos; and how many a bereaved parenthow many, who only a short year ago, saw around them father, mother, sister, brother, childwill call these lines to mind as records of their own thoughts, when they remem- ber those who saw the last years foliage in its ten- der green, and the expanding, perfect bud Verily, We all do fade as a leaf. Say not that these reflections are untimely ; that they are morbida deaths head at a wedding feast. There is many a sad heart, that the spells of the spring-time can arouse no more As msny a bosom knows and feels, Left in the flower of life alone, And many an epitaph reveals, On the cold monumental stone. THE following picture of an intelligent Coroners Jury is copied from an English newspaper, pub- lished twelve years ago: CORONER- Did you know the defunct ? WITNEss. Whos he ? Coit. Why, the dead man. Wsv. Yes. Con. intimately 1 WIT. Werry. Con. How often have you been in company with him ? - Wsv. Only once. Con. Do you call that intimately ? WIT. Yes for he were drunk, and I were werry drunk, and that made us like two brothers. Con. Who recognized the body ? WIT. Jack Adams. Con. How did he recognize him ? WIT. By standing on his body, to let the water run out Coa. I mean how did he know him ! WIT. By his plush jacket. Con. Any thing else ? WIT. No; his face was so swelled his mother wouldnt ha knowd him. Con. Then how did you know him ? WIT. Cause I warnt his mother ! (Applause in the Court.) Con. What do you colisider the cause of his death? Wsv. Drownding, in course. Con. Was any attempt made to resuscitate him ? WIT. Yes. Coa. How? WIT. We sarched his pockets 1 Coa. I mean, did you try to bring him to ? Wsv. Yesto the public-house. Coa. I mean, to recover him 7 WIT. No; we werent told to. Coa. Did you ever suspect the deceased of mental alienation ? WIT. Yes, the whole village suspected him. Coa. Why 7 WIT. Cause he ailinated one of the Squires pigs. Coa. You misunderstand me. I allude to mental aberration. WIT. Some think he was Con. On what grounds ? Wsv. I believe they belonged to Squire Wa- ters Con. Pshaw! I mean, was he mad ? WIT. Sartenly he were Con. What! devoid of reason WIT. Oh, he had no reason to drown hisself, as I knows of. Con. That will do, sir. (To the Jury): Gen- tlemen, you have heard the evidence, and will con- sider your verdict. FOnEMAN. Your worship, we are all of one mind Con. Well, what is it 7 FOnEMAN. We dont mind what; were agree- able to any thing your worship pleases. Con. No, gentlemen: I have no right to dic- tate : you had better consult together. FOREMAN. We have, your worship, afore wc came, and we are all unanimous.~~ Con. I am happy to hear it, gentlemen. (To the clerk): Mr. Clerk, take down the verdict. Now then, gentlemen. FOREMAN. Why then, your worship, its Jus- tffiahle Suicide; but begs to recommend to mercy, and hopes we shall be allowed our expenses Lest this scene should be thought to be exagger- ated, the journalist affirms its truth to the letter, in every particular. THE ensuing anecdote of Charles Lamb has never appeared in any English sketches or anec- dotes of his life, but it is pronounced to be entirely authentic At a dinner-table one evening, a sea-faring guest was describing a terrific naval engagement, of which he was spectator, on board a British man- of-war. While I was watching the effects of the galling fire upon the masts and rigging, said he, there came a cannon ball, which look off both legs from a poor sailor who was in the shrouds He fell toward the deck, but at that moment another cannon ball whizzed over us, which, strange to say, took off both his arms, which fell upon deck, while the poor fellows limbless trunk was carried over- board. Heavens! exclaimed Lamb; didnt you ease him! No replied the naval Munchausen; he couldnt swim, of course, and he sank before assist- ance could be rendered him. It was a sad, sad loss! said Lamb, musingly; if he could have been picked up, what an ornament to society he might have become! 130 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. NEVER say dye! would seem to be the maxim of the fond wife who writes the ensuing lines. But, punning apart, there are touches of pathos in them which dispel the thought of humorous fancy: A WIFES PETITION TO HEE HU5BAND NOT TO DYE HIS HAIR. On! touch not with cosmetic art One of those silver hairs! Thy cherished image in my heart No other plumage wears. Thy dark-gray locks are dear, my love, As part of that sweet time, When my fingers fondly through them wove, In my gay girlhoods prime. They were not all of sable hue When, in that forest nook, You came a little maid to woo, With honeyd word and look; And from amid her mountains blue Your silly wife you took, And she, in fondest love for you, Her childhoods home forsook. They mind me of those by-gone days, When oft you sought niy bower, With noble, old poetic lays To charm the evening hour; Or neath the full moons sheeny rays, Dropping their golden shower, We trod the gardens fragrant maze Scented by jasmine flowers! Ive seen my childrens rosy hands Play in their wavy mass, While lifes swift-rolling golden sands Beneath our feet did pass. Tan thousand memries to them cling. I would not change a hair! No locks, though black as ravens wing, Could I with i/scm compare! Wheo DEATH shall take our souls, my love, Where we must soon appear, Where kindred spirits blissful rove, Seeking Earths lost and dear I fear I should not knew thee, love, If, in that radiant sphere, Thy silver locks waved not above Thy spirits brow as here! Memphis, Tenn. MARY. A WELL-KNOWN penurious character invited a friend to dinner, and had provided only two small mutton chops. Upon removing the cover, he said: My friend, we have a Lenten entertainment; you see your dinner before you ! Tuking the two chops upon his own plate, his frie~nd replied: Yes, I dobut where is your dinner ? WHEN found, make a note of, was the advice of that dear good man, Captain Cuttle. We followed it instinctively, in depositing in our reser- voir the following thoughts, suggested by a second- floor hall and stair-case of a London dwelling, where a coffin, containing the deceased occupant of the house has been placed by the undertaker. If the scene should be remembered by the reader, he will not be the less gratified that it is again newly called to his recollection; and it may induce some who have not yet done so to peruse Thackerays Van- ity Fair, from which it is taken: That staircase, by which young master stealth- ily ascends, having left his boots in the hall and let himself in after dawn from a jolly night at the club; down which Miss comes rustling in fresh ribbons and spreading muslins, brilliant and beautiful, and prepared for conquest and ball; or master Tommy slides, preferring the banisters for a mode of con- veyance, and disdaining danger and the stair; down which the Mother is fondly carried smiling in her strong husbands arms, as he steps steadily step by step, and followed by the monthly nurse, on the day when the medical man has pronounced that the charming patient may go down stairs; up which John lurks to bed, yawning, with a sputtering tal- low candle, and to gather up before sunrise the boots which are awaiting him in the passages; that stair, up or down which babies are carried, old people are helped, guests are marshaled to the ball, the parson walks to the christening, the doctor to the sick-room, and the undertakers men to the upper floor; what a memento of Life, Death, and Vanity it is, that arch and stair, if you choose to consider it, and sit on the landing, looking up and down! The doctor will come up to us, too, for the last time there, my friend in motley. The nurse will look in at the curtains, and you take no notice; and then she will fling open the window for a little, and let in the air. Your comedy and mine will have been played then, and we shall be removed, o how far, from the trumpets, and the shouting, and the posture making However much you may be mourned, your widow will like to have her weeds neatly made, the cook will send or come up to ask about dinner: the survivors will soon hear to look at your picture over the mantle-piece, which will presently be deposed from the place of honor, to make way for the portrait of the son who reigns. Which of the dead are most tenderly and pas- sionately deplored? The death of a child occasions a passion of grief and frantic tears, such as your end, brother reader, will never inspire. The death of an infant which scarce knew you, which a weeks absence from you would have caused to forget you, will strike you down more than the loss of your closest friend or your first-born son; a man grown like yourself, with children of his own. We may be harsh and stern with Judah and Simeon; our love and pity gush out for Benjamin, the little one. And if you are old, as some reader of this may be, or shall beold and rich, or old and pooryou may one day be thisiking for yourself: These people are very good round about me; but they wont grieve too much when I am gone. I am very rich, and they want my inheritance; or very poor, and they are tired of supporting me. Which, I wonder, brother reader, is the better lot, to die pros- perous and famous, or poor and disappointed? To have, and to be forced to yield; or to sink out of life, having played and lost the game? That must be a strange feeling, when a day of our life comes and we say, To-morrow, success or failure wont matter much: and the sun will rise, and all the myriads of mankind go to their work or their pleasure as usual, but I shall be out of the tur- moil. SOME years ago the following conversation actu- ally took place between a lawyer and his client in a certain city of Down-East LAWYER. Whats the name of the other party, sir? CLIENT. Name? let me see; I declare, it has escaped my mind. LAWYER. What does it sound like ? CLIENT. It didnt seem to sound like any thing. I had it at the tip of my tongue just now. Its something to teke. LAWYER. Like something to take? Like what, then ? EDITORS DRAWER. 131 CLIENT. I have it! I knew I had it at my tongues end. Its Bitters I LAWYER. Bitters! are you sure? Bitters is a curious name. I never heard of it before. CLIENT. Yes, its BittersI know its Bitters. LAWYER. It cant be. CLIENT. Yes it isI am positive. Bitters is the man. LAWYER. Isnt it Butters? There is such a name as Butters; or isnt it Betts, or Beattie ? CLIENT. No! I tell you its Bitters! The lawyer, thus so positively reassured, pro- ceeded to draw up the agreement accordingly. He then handed it to his client, who read down to the name Bitters, and then exclaimed: Good gracious! the name isnt Bitters, after all! Its Stoughton, as true as Im alive It is easy to see how the man was misled by the two words. It is barely possible, however, that he may have been a little befogged in his memory by having previously taken a little somethingand a little too muchwith his Stoughton Bitters. WOULD it not be a good plan to substitute for the modern custom of duelling (under the miscalled code of honor) with pistols, rifles, or swords, the plan adopted in Kordafan? It is as follows: When a gentleman of that nation considers himself aggrieved, he sends the offender a formal challenge, which, it is presumed, is always aerepted. The duel takes place on some open plain, and all the friends of the combatants assemble as spectators. An agoreb, or couch, is then brought forth, and the two combatants place a foot close to the edge of the couch, the breadth of which alone divides them. A formidable whip, made of Hippopotumus leather, is then placed in the bands of each, and renewed attempts aremade by their friends to re- concile them. If, however, they are bent on carry- ing out their affair of honor, the signal for battle is at last given. He who is entitled to the first blow, then inflicts as hard a lash as he can on his opponent, who stands perfectly still to receive the compliment, and then prepares to return it. They thus continue, turn and turn about, to flog each others backs and shoulder (the head must on no account be struck), while the bloodflows copiously at every streke. Not an acknowledgment of pain escapes the lips uf either, and all the spec- tators remain equally mute. This continues until one of the combatants, generally from aheer ex- haustion, drops his instrument of torture, where- upon the victor immediately does the same. The rivals now shake hands, declaring that they have received sufficient satisfaction; their friends congratulate them on the reconciliation; their wounds are washed, and sundry jugs of me- risso, the national beverage, provided beforehand, are produced, and emptied by the spectators in honor of the gallant opponents. This seems to be administering equal and ex- act justice ; and the style is like the play of cuttingjockets, by which country boys sometimes ~est each others prowess. A wo-nECONE lover, out at the pockets, and (l.oubtful of success in the end, is a sad subject; as may be abundantly gleaned from the subjoined pathetic lines I am down in the mouth, I am out at the pockets! Ah, mc! Ive no pockets at all; And alt I have left, is a braid and a locket: Thats all. It was rather solemn; quite touching, alas.! As she got on a stool to be higher, I acted, no doubt, the entire jack-ass Yes, entire.! Arms and lips came together, and staid, as I reckon, With as much as you please of a linger, Till a finger was seen at the window to beckon A finger! Wed forgotten the shutters the world was forgot, Tilt we saw that sign from her father, Which was rather a poser, just then, was it not! Twas, rather! He knew I was ruinedall gone to smash! And he was a man of that stamp, Would call you a scamp, if you hadnt the cash Ay, a scamp His bonds and investmentsnot in such brains As a poet makes up into verses; His remarksupon never so beautiful strains, Were curses! I called the next day, but the stool was removed, And the delicate foot, with a twirl, Walked off somewhere with the girl that I loved The girl. A CORRESPONDENT in Washington sends for iii- sertion in the Drawer the following account of Mr. Schenck in the Ministry, which we quite agree with him in thinking is altogether too good to be lost: Every one who has heard Hon. Robert C. Schenck speak for the first time, in a case where his feelings were deeply interested, knows what a vivid impression his withering sarcasm and impas- sioned manner are calculated to produce upon per- sons unaccustomed to listen to animated debates. An unsophisticated Methodist fainter, whe lived in a distant portion of the country, and whose avocation seldom called him to Conrt, accident- ally heard that Mr. Schenck was appointed Min- ister to Brazil, a country in South America. The terms minister, and preacher of the gospel, were inseparably associated in his mind; and he took it for granted that Mr. Scheuck had turned preacher, and had seen sent off on a professional mission.~ With this impression he went home. Wife, he said, what do you think I heard at Dayton, to- day? That little white-headed lawyer you have heard me speak of so often, has been converted, and turned preacher to aheathen nation away down in South America! If the Devil ever met his match, I guess he has got him now; for if grace dont change him too much, be will give no rest to the reprobate for the sole of his foot until he leaves the country! AN amusing anecdote, connected with the cele- brated Whisky Insurrection of Pennsylvania, is related of one of the citizen-soldiers in the expedi- tion of the Macpherson Blues against the insurgents in 1794, which is worthy of being recorded. The person referred to was a German by birth, of the name of Koch, who was well known in Philadel- phia as a large out-door underwriter, in his day and generation. He died in Paris, leaving a fortune of over a million and a half of dollars. Koch was a private in the Macpherson Blues. lt fell to his lot one night to be placed sentinel over a baggage-wagon. The weather was cold, raw, stormy, and wet. This set the sentinel to musing. After remaining at his post for an hour, he was heard calling out lustily: Gorpral of der Guartz! Gorpral of der Guartz 132 The Corporal came, and inquired what was wanting. Koch wished to be relieved for a few minutes, having something to say to Macpher- son. He was gratified, and in a few momeqts stood in presence of the General. Well, Mr. Koch, what is your pleasure ? ask- ed Macpherson. Why, General, I likes to know what may be der value of der wagon over which I am der shen- tinel ? How should I know, Koch? asked the Gen- eral. Well someting like itnot to be bartickler? Wella thousand dollars, perhaps. Very well, General Macpherson; I writes a check for der moneys, and den I shall go to my beds! A CAPITAL hit at the snobhy English often to he found traveling in Italy, is contained in the annex- ed letter from a man of leather in London, writ- ing from the Hfitel de lEurope, in Rome, to his partner in the city I see Blink, Twist, and Co. have failed. Dont accept less than seven shillings in the pound. Our account is 2861. Leathers, I see, are up. Im a melancholy man. But when youre at Rome you must do as Rome do, which aint much, except ruinationing all over. You know the crack things here are the Pope and his toe, and the Fo- rum, and the Coliseum, which is in the shape of the oval box-bed before old Twists house at Pen- tonville. I say, confound Mrs. Starke, who wrote the Guide-Book. Shes the author of half my mis- ery; pinting out all then, old ancient buildings, about which some people cipher all day; but for me, its like casting a paid account. Theres the Watican of the Pope, full of old ancient images and stone-work. Weve seen hund- reds of pictures. You ought to admire Raphaels most, and call him Reugh-file. Theres the Arch of Titus, and several others, which would look nuch cleaner if white-washed; and Im dreadfully bit up by vermin. Romes dirty and dull; in fact, nothing looks clean in italy but the sky, which is really very blue. The color of the Tiber is not yellow, as the books say, but a dark table-ale color. (Tell John to bot- tle off last years brewing before I come back.) You often say, Hes a Trojan. Ive seen ihat gentlemans stone-works. His column repre- sents nothing; while the brass flames of our Mon- ument do give an idea of the great fire in London. The bridges here are called pants, no doubt because in antique times they were held up by flat-bottomed boats THE following odd sort of relationship was act- ually formed by a pair of nuptials extraordinary in North Carolina: A widower, who was not very young, became smitten by a beautiful girl, and married her. A short time after, the son of this man, by a former wife, became also in love, not with a younger per- son, but with the mother of the fathers new wife a widow lady, still in the bloom of her years. He offered himself, and soon the young man and the widow were united in the bonds of matrimony; so that, in consequence of these two connections, a father became the son-in-law ofhis own son, and the wife not only the daughter-in-law of her own son- in-law, but still more, the mother-in-law of her own HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. mother; while the husband ofthe latter is the father. in-law- of his mother-in-law, and father-in-law of his own father This reads almost as pizzlingly as the ques. tion asked of an American by a waggish English~ man: Can a man, in America, marry the sister of his widow? 0 yes, was the reply; its a matter of very frequent occurrence. Indeed! Well, in oar country it is quite dif- ferent. It is never done there, although it is not against the law ONE cold winter evening a knot of village wor- thies were convened around the stove of a country store, in a Western town, warming their fingers by the stove-pipe, and telling stories and cracking jokes. The schoolmaster, the blacksmith, and the barber, and the constable, and the storekeeper, and the clerk, all were there. After they had drunk eider and smoked cigars to their hearts content, and when all the current top- ics of the day had been exhausted, the schoolmas- ter proposed a new kind of game to relieve the mo- notony of the evening. Each one was to propound a puzzle to his neighbors and whoever should ask a question that he himself could not solve, was to pay the cider-reckoning for the entire party. The idea took at once; and the schoolmaster, by virtue of his office, called on Dick D, whom most folks thought a fool, and a few a knave, to put the first question. Wal, neighbors, said Dick, drawling out his words, and looking ineffably dull and stupid, Youve seen where squirrels dig their holes, havent you? Can any of you tell me the reasoii why they never throw out any dirt ? This was a poser ; and even the master had to give it up. It now devolved on Dick to explain: The reason is, said Dick, that they first be- gin at thc bottom of the hole Stop! stop ! cried the schoolmaster, ~tartled out of all prudence by so monstrous an assertion: Pray, how does the sqairrel get therc ? Ah, master, replied the cunning fool, thats a question of your own asking The result had not been anticipated. The school- master was abroad at that particular juncture! WHAT harm is there in. a pipe ? says young PUFFWELL. None that I know of, replied his companion; except that smoking induces drinking; drinking induces intoxication; intoxication indticcs the bile - bile induces jaundice; jaundice leads to the drop. sy; dropsy terminates in death. Put that in your pipe, and smoke it! PERHAPS there is a hit in the following at the prevailing style of ladies evening dresses: When dressed for the evening, the girls, now a days, Scarce an atom of dress on them leave; None blame themfor what is an evening dress, But a dress that is suited for Eve ? Iv is a Britisher traveling among us who thus records his impressions of the rapid manner in which meals are bolted at the hotels of our bus- tling Western cities, where, as some modern writer says, the citizens have too much to do to waste much time at their meals. Aside from all other in- EDITORS DRAWER. 133 centives, however, to the deliberate partaking of our meals, one ought, especially, to have weight; and that is, that hasty, indigestive cramming of food is a serious, and almost a certain cause of ill- health: Chair, sir? there, sir ! soup, sir P yes, sir! Glass of waterbill of fare Jabbers on my dark oppressor Alligator i~roasted bear P Onetwo-three! that wide-mouthed vulture Can not have already dined! By my gastronomic culture! Hes a specimen refined. Call this dining ?its devouring, Like the beasts in Raymonds show, Oer the mighty desert scouring, Devastating as they go. Wheres that waiter Pone breath later And the cabbage is no more Disappearing in the clearing Of tile gent it stands before. Are we on the eve of busting Generally up, br good? Are we seriously distrusting Our prospective chance of food? Are we to be hung to-morrow, Executed to a man, That we seek surcease of sorrow, By devouring all we can? Are we cramming beef and lamb in From an unsubstantial fear Of a grand potato famine Shipped from Ireland, coming here? Whats the reason that we seize on Grub like birds and beasts of prey 1 Is the question indigestion, That quack medicines may pay? * * * * Oh! a hideous apprehension Often oer toy bosom steals, With a strong and nervous tension, Thrilling me from head to heels! Tis that, some day, some collection Of the hungry guests Ive seen, In voracitys perfection, Itaving swept the table clean, Will, their appetites to smother Wildly on the waiters fall, Then, devouring one another Eat up landlord, cooks, and all THE following amusing example of Book-keep- ing; or the Rich Man in Spite of Himself, was pub- lished some years ago, acid was at the time declared to he a perfectly authentic anecdote of an old New York merchant: In old times it was the custom of the merchants of the city of New York to keep their accounts in pounds shillings and pence currency. About fifty years ago a frugal, industrious Scotch merchant, well known to the then small mercantile community of this city, had, by dint of fortunate commercial adventure and economy, been enabled to save some- thing ltke four thousand pounds; a considerable sum of money at that period, and one which secured to its possessor a degree of enviable independence. His places of business and residence were, as was customary at that time, under the same roof. He had a clerk in his employment whose reputation as an accountant inspired the utmost confidence of his master, whose frugal habits he emulated with the true spirit and feeling of a genuine Caledonian. It was usual for the accountant to make an annual balance sheet, for the inspection of his toaster, isv order that he might see what had been the l)rofits of his business for the past year. On this occasion the balance-sheet showed to the credit of the busi- ness six thousand pounds, which somewhat aston- ished the incredulous merchant. It canna be, said he; ye had better count up agen. I dinna think I ha had sac profitable a beesness as this represents. The clerk, with his usual patience, re-examined the statetnent, and declared that it was a right, and that he was willing to wager his salary upon its correctness. The somewhat puzzled merchant scratched his head with sctrprise, and commenced adding up both sides of the account for himself. It proved right. I did na think, said he, that I was worth over four thousand pounds, but ye ha made me a much richer man. Wool, weel, I may ha been mair successful than I had tbot, and Ill na quarrel wi mysel for being worth six thousand instead. At early candle-light the store was regularly closed by the faithful accountant; and as soon as he had gone, the sorely-perplexed and incredulous merchant commenced the painful task of going over and examining all the accounts for himself Night after night did he labor in his solitary counting- house alone, to look for the error; but every exam- ination confirmed the correctness of the clerk, until the old Scotchman began to believe it possible that he was really worth sax thousand pounds. Stimulated by this addition to his wealth, be soon felt a desire to improve the condition of his household; and with that view, made purchase of new furniture, carl)ets, and other elegancies, con- sistent with the position of a man possessing the large fortune of six thousand pounds. Painters and carpenters were set to work to tear down and build up; and in a short time the gloomy-looking residence in Stone Street was renovated to such a degree as to attract the curiosity and envy of all his neighbors. The doubts of the old man would still, however, obtrude themselves 01)00 his tnind; and he determined once more to make a thoroueh ex- amination of his accounts. On a dark and stormy night he commenced his labors, with the patient investigatin~ spirit of a man determined to probe the matter to the very bottom. It was past the hour of midnight, yet he had not been able to detect a single error; hut still he went on. His heart beat high with hope, for he had nearly reached the end of his labor. A quick sus- picion seized his mind as to one item in the account. Eureka! He had found it. With the frenzy of a madman he drew his broad-brimmed white hat over his eyes, and rushed into the street. The rain and storm were nothing to him. He hurried to the residence of his clerk, in Wall Street; reached the door, and seized the handle of the huge knocker, with which he rapped until the neighborhood was roused with the loud alarm. The unfortunate clerk poked his nightcap out of an upper window, and demanded: Whas there V Its me, you scoundrel! said the frenzied merchant; yeve added up the year of our Laird among the pounds! Such was the fact. The addition of the year of our Lord among the items had swelled the fortune of the merchant some two thousand pounds beyond the amount. HERE are a couple of love-songs, at once both 134 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. Latin and English, one of the amusements of Dean Swift. There is a mine of wit and originality in :he learned trifles: Apud ie is almi de si re, Mimis tres I ne veT re qui re, Ala ver Ijindit a gestis, His miseri ne ver at Testis. A pudding is all my desire, My mistress I never require, A lover I find it a jest is, His misery never at rest is. The next, in the same style and vein, is equally happy: ilIollis abuti, Has an acuti, No lasso finis, Moth divinis. o mi de ai-mis tres, I mina dis tres, Cantu disco ver Meas alo ver? Moll is a beauty, Has an acute eye, No lass so fine is, Molly divine is. o my dear mistress, Im in a distress, Cant you discover Me as a lover ? We remember another of Swifts exercitations in this kind: Lcetus paco fit tis time: Let us pack offtis time Jones, said a sympathizing neighbor to a friend, what in the world put matrimony into your head ? Well, the fact is, I was getting short of shirts ! A DSALOGUE between a fathera dissipated and extravagant manand his son, as to how to expend five-and-twenty shillings, which a new situation was to give the former, is one of the laughable, and, at the same time, instructive things that have found their way into our omnium-gatherum. It runs as follows Now, Johnny, my boy, the old man would say, let me see; I owe eight shillings at the por- ter-house, sign of The Saddle; well, thats that. (Putting the amount on one side.) Yes, says Johnny. Well, then I promised to pay a score at the Blue Pig Tavernsay fivs shillings. How much does that make, John ? Why, thirteen shillings, says the boy, count- ing on his fingers. But I mean, you goose, how much have I got left ? How should I know 7 says John; count it yourself: youve got the money. But you ought to know, says the father, with true parental authority. Take thirteen from twen- ty-fivehow many remains? Why twelve, to be sure, counting the balance slyly in his hand. Thats the way you are neglecting your education, is it? I shall have to talk to your schoolmaster. Yes, youd better talk to him! He told me yesterday that unless you let him have some money I neednt come to school any more. Ah, true, my boytrue; you mustnt lose your education, at any rate. Take him round five shillings after dinner. I had a pot of beer with him last night, and he agreed if I would let him have that much now, he would be satisfied fsr the pres- ent. I want a pair of shoes, father, says John. I can get a capital pair for three.and.sixpcnce.H You must get them for three shillings, John: we owe the butcher four, and he must be paid, or we get no meat: there, that ends it, said the poor old man, with a satisfied air; but his vision of in- dependence was in an instant destroyed, by John~s simply saying: Youve forgotten the landlady, father Yes, John, thats trueso I have. She must have her pay, or out we go. She must ! echoed John. John, says the father, Ill tell you how Ill contrive it. Ill put The Saddle off with four shillings, and open a branch account with The Yew-Tree (another drinking-house). But, said John, we owed her a shilling last week, and she paid for the washing. Oh !ay; well, how much does the washing come to, John ? Two and tuppence, replied the boy. Well, then give her three shillings instead of five, said the father. But then, father, that wont do; and we want tea. Who wants tea? Idont care a fig for tea. But I do, replied the boy, with most provok- ing calmness. You want lea I said the father; you young rascal, youll want bread yet. Bread thats true, exclaimed John; you have forgotten the baker The old mans schemes to pacify his creditors with five-and-twenty shillings were all dissipated by the recollection of the baker, and sweeping the money off the table into his breeches-pocket, he roared out, in a great passion: Let em all go Ill not pay a farthing to any of em How this may strike others, we do not know; but to our minds this dialogue, and the circum- stances (call them rather weaknesses and vices) which led to it, involve a very fruitful lesson. It illustrates very forcibly the denunciation of the Scriptures: Wo unto them who rise up in the morning to pursue strong drinkwho continue until night; un- til wine inflame them W. T. H., ofBaltimore, sends for the Drawer the ensuing, with the accompanying note: Herewith is a piece, found among some very old papers, which it is there stated has never be- fore been published. For severe wit and sarcasm, it strikes me as possessing very great merit, and I think it will afford the readers of the Drawer some amusement. The explanatory caption was found with the piece, which, as I have said, has been among old family papers for many years. There can be, I should think, no doubt whatever about the authenticity of the piece. Mr. Wall, of West J3romwich, was, many years since, land steward to T. C. Tervoise, Esq., a large landed pro- prietor in Warwickahire; and, by his vexatious and op- pressive conduct, had occasioned much uneasiness among the inhabitants. Mr. Canning, then a young man, was on a visit to the clergyman of he parish, and entering into the grief of the people, wrote the following sarcastic lines. Wall and Mr. Tervoise were very much enraged, and offered five hundred pounds for the discovery of the author. MUSUS AHENEUS EaT. Will Shakspeare of old, for the pleasure of all, Presented a man in the shape of a wall; LITERARY NOTICES. 135 Our landlord, alas! for a different plan, has dressed up a Watt in the shape of a man: Of such rude materials, so heavy and thick, With a heart of hard stone, and a facing of bride, That tis plain from its blundering form and its feat- ures, Twas built by some journeyman mason of Natures; And, spoilt by its masters continued neglect, Oppresses the land it was meant to protect. This Wall, this cursd Wall, ever since it was raised, With qttarrels and squabbles the country has teased, And its office thereby it performs with precision, For the grand use of Walls we all know is division. Some people maintain that no prospect is good, But the varied expanse of plain, water, and wood; Our hopes are confined, our taste is but small, For we only request to behold a deed Wall. The trees on the Wall are pleasant to see, Much more so to us were the Wall on the tree; And if to exalt it would please Mr. Tervoise, Any tree in the parish is much at his service.~~ IT was an ancient PUNCH, if we remember rightly, who gave the annexed as a passage from The Cooks Oracle What is a spider ? A thing the maid kills with a brush, after I have done breaking breakfast-cakes in it. How could you cook your mistress ? By getting her into a stew ? How can you make a venison-pie without flour? Put deer meat inside, and make the crust of doe. What patron saint do you worship ? The god PAN. Who was the first cook 1 Prometheus: he stole fire from the skies to warm a small .Pig-malion for his breakfast. How do you bone a turkey ? Poke the stuffing in with my knuckles. If you know nothing about boiling a goose, how do you expec-to.rate as a cook ? As a spitter, of course. The late Dr. Chapman, of Philadelphia, one of the dryest and slyest of humorists, furnished, many years ago, the material of this last-named play upon a word. WE have omitted to mention in compliance with a request, and information furnished by a corre- spondent at Fayette (Miss.) in March last, that the droll Arkansas Noatis, which appeared in the February number, and was credited to the Spirit of the Times, originally appeared in the Southern Watchrower, of Fayette, to which journal it was contributed by Joshua S. Morris, Esq., a resident of that town. If the paper in question has many such contributors, it will be a Tower of strength in its humorous department. THERE have been sent, in correction of the alleged authorship of the lines written by a blind Quaker woman of Philadelphiapublished recent- ly in the Drawernumerous letters, attributing the lines to Milton. But the lines wrre written, as stated, by Elizabeth Lloyd, a Quaker woman, and blind, of Philadelphia. They appear in no early edition of Miltons Poems; but in the last Cain- bridge edition they are published as a newly-dis- covered effusion from the pen of the immortal au- thor of Paradise Lost and Paradise Regained. BEsIDEs the numerous reprints of valuable for- eign books, our literary record for the present month comprises but a scanty number of publications, some of which, however, present very favorable specimens of native talent in various walks of literature. A theological work of considerable importance is The Divine Character Vindicated, by the Rev. MosEs BALLOU, being a review of some of the principal features of Dr. Edward Beechers celebrated Con- flict of Ates. Mr. BaIlou presents a copious an- alysis of that ~-:ork, treating the statements of the author with candor and justice, and then proceeds to an examination of its remarkable theory in the light of reason and Scripture. His own views are f6unded on the essen~ial benignity of the Divine character, and the limited consequences of sin, and though they must fail of giving satisfaction to the religious world in general, they are sustained with a good deal of argumentative skill, and are often suggestive of profound reflections. In its trans- parent simplicity, the style of the volume affords a good model of theological discussion. (Published by Redfield.) The Exiles is the title of an American novel by TALvI (Mrs. RonINsoN), in which that accom- plished lady brings the fruits of her wide experience of social life in this country to the illustration of a powerful and touching fictitious narrative. The story describes the varied fortunes of a couple of German emigrants, from the higher walks of society, who are induced to take up their residence in this country, and after a series of painfully disastrous events, find a tragic winding-up of their history in a remote town of Vermont. The most striking merits of the productionwhich are numerous and of a high orderare its vivid and subtle delinea- tions of passion, the admirable fidelity of its char- acter-drawing, its frequent touches of pathos, its graphic and effective descriptions of nature, and its life-like, home-like :ures of American manners, drawn sometimes perhaps with a little too much intensity, but always with essential truthfulness, and never sacrificing a kindly and generous spirit to the love of satire. In the management of the plot, which we think is too complicated in its de- tails, Mrs. Robinson shows not a little ingenuity and artistic skill. She constantly keeps the curi- osity of the reader on the stretch, and escapes from the most difficult situations by adroit arrangements which have the effect of a pleasing surprise. The narrative is full of action and incident, and, cover- ing a wide space, admits of a remarkable variety of scenes, derived from opposite extremities of the American continent. Apart from its interest as a novelwhich is guaranteed by a plot of high-wrought romanceits acute remarks on American institu- tions and society, illustrated by a succession of lively sketches, evidentlytaken from the life, chal- lenge the attention of readers, and can not fail to reward them for its perusal. Like the other produc- tions of TALvI, which have given her such a high

Literary Notices Literary Notices 135-141

LITERARY NOTICES. 135 Our landlord, alas! for a different plan, has dressed up a Watt in the shape of a man: Of such rude materials, so heavy and thick, With a heart of hard stone, and a facing of bride, That tis plain from its blundering form and its feat- ures, Twas built by some journeyman mason of Natures; And, spoilt by its masters continued neglect, Oppresses the land it was meant to protect. This Wall, this cursd Wall, ever since it was raised, With qttarrels and squabbles the country has teased, And its office thereby it performs with precision, For the grand use of Walls we all know is division. Some people maintain that no prospect is good, But the varied expanse of plain, water, and wood; Our hopes are confined, our taste is but small, For we only request to behold a deed Wall. The trees on the Wall are pleasant to see, Much more so to us were the Wall on the tree; And if to exalt it would please Mr. Tervoise, Any tree in the parish is much at his service.~~ IT was an ancient PUNCH, if we remember rightly, who gave the annexed as a passage from The Cooks Oracle What is a spider ? A thing the maid kills with a brush, after I have done breaking breakfast-cakes in it. How could you cook your mistress ? By getting her into a stew ? How can you make a venison-pie without flour? Put deer meat inside, and make the crust of doe. What patron saint do you worship ? The god PAN. Who was the first cook 1 Prometheus: he stole fire from the skies to warm a small .Pig-malion for his breakfast. How do you bone a turkey ? Poke the stuffing in with my knuckles. If you know nothing about boiling a goose, how do you expec-to.rate as a cook ? As a spitter, of course. The late Dr. Chapman, of Philadelphia, one of the dryest and slyest of humorists, furnished, many years ago, the material of this last-named play upon a word. WE have omitted to mention in compliance with a request, and information furnished by a corre- spondent at Fayette (Miss.) in March last, that the droll Arkansas Noatis, which appeared in the February number, and was credited to the Spirit of the Times, originally appeared in the Southern Watchrower, of Fayette, to which journal it was contributed by Joshua S. Morris, Esq., a resident of that town. If the paper in question has many such contributors, it will be a Tower of strength in its humorous department. THERE have been sent, in correction of the alleged authorship of the lines written by a blind Quaker woman of Philadelphiapublished recent- ly in the Drawernumerous letters, attributing the lines to Milton. But the lines wrre written, as stated, by Elizabeth Lloyd, a Quaker woman, and blind, of Philadelphia. They appear in no early edition of Miltons Poems; but in the last Cain- bridge edition they are published as a newly-dis- covered effusion from the pen of the immortal au- thor of Paradise Lost and Paradise Regained. BEsIDEs the numerous reprints of valuable for- eign books, our literary record for the present month comprises but a scanty number of publications, some of which, however, present very favorable specimens of native talent in various walks of literature. A theological work of considerable importance is The Divine Character Vindicated, by the Rev. MosEs BALLOU, being a review of some of the principal features of Dr. Edward Beechers celebrated Con- flict of Ates. Mr. BaIlou presents a copious an- alysis of that ~-:ork, treating the statements of the author with candor and justice, and then proceeds to an examination of its remarkable theory in the light of reason and Scripture. His own views are f6unded on the essen~ial benignity of the Divine character, and the limited consequences of sin, and though they must fail of giving satisfaction to the religious world in general, they are sustained with a good deal of argumentative skill, and are often suggestive of profound reflections. In its trans- parent simplicity, the style of the volume affords a good model of theological discussion. (Published by Redfield.) The Exiles is the title of an American novel by TALvI (Mrs. RonINsoN), in which that accom- plished lady brings the fruits of her wide experience of social life in this country to the illustration of a powerful and touching fictitious narrative. The story describes the varied fortunes of a couple of German emigrants, from the higher walks of society, who are induced to take up their residence in this country, and after a series of painfully disastrous events, find a tragic winding-up of their history in a remote town of Vermont. The most striking merits of the productionwhich are numerous and of a high orderare its vivid and subtle delinea- tions of passion, the admirable fidelity of its char- acter-drawing, its frequent touches of pathos, its graphic and effective descriptions of nature, and its life-like, home-like :ures of American manners, drawn sometimes perhaps with a little too much intensity, but always with essential truthfulness, and never sacrificing a kindly and generous spirit to the love of satire. In the management of the plot, which we think is too complicated in its de- tails, Mrs. Robinson shows not a little ingenuity and artistic skill. She constantly keeps the curi- osity of the reader on the stretch, and escapes from the most difficult situations by adroit arrangements which have the effect of a pleasing surprise. The narrative is full of action and incident, and, cover- ing a wide space, admits of a remarkable variety of scenes, derived from opposite extremities of the American continent. Apart from its interest as a novelwhich is guaranteed by a plot of high-wrought romanceits acute remarks on American institu- tions and society, illustrated by a succession of lively sketches, evidentlytaken from the life, chal- lenge the attention of readers, and can not fail to reward them for its perusal. Like the other produc- tions of TALvI, which have given her such a high 136 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. rank in literature both at home and abroad, this work was originally written in German. It loses iiothing however in the translation, which has been executed with such idiomatic grace as to read like the composition of one to whom the language is native. Manners and Customs ef the Ancient Egyptians, by Sir G. WiLKiNsON. In this important work a com- plete view of Egyptian antiquities is presented, showing the character of the domestic life, political institutions, religious observances, and industrial arts of that remarkable people. It is the product of long and laborious research; it bears the stamp of thoroughness on every page; it is copious, without being confused; the descriptive portions are crowd- ed with information, while they are couched in a flowing and attractive style, clothing the hoary and wasted Past in a fresh and life-like costume. The volume is illustrated by a multitude of engravings, which make the explanations of the writer perfectly clear to the eye. It will be welcomed by the stu- dent of profane histoiy, and no less by the searcher of the Scriptures, as an efficient and most interest- ing aid in their pursuits. (Published by Harper and Brothers.) The Regents Daughter is a dramatic adaptation, founded on the romance of ALExANDRE DUMAs, hinging on a plot for the assassination of the Re- gent, Philip of Orleans, in which the lover of the Regents unacknowledged daughter is the chief actor, and which was detected by the counter-in- trigues of Cardinal Dobois. The translator has executed his task with remarkable success, show- ing a sagacious perception of the sources of dra- matic effect, and a felicitous command of spirited, and nervous English. The play is intended primarily for reading, but, with some unimportant omissions, would be admirably suited to public representation. Its authorship in the present form has been ascribed to the editor of the Aihian, weekly newspaper, Mr. WILLIAM YOUNG, and it certainly betrays the graceful vigor of expression for which the pen of that gentleman is famed. (Published by Appleton and Co.) Among the numerous popular fictions called forth by the Temperance Reform, the story entitled Minnie Herman, by TnuaLow W. BEowN, is as well entitled to commendation as any that have fallen under our critical eye. It presents a series of vivid sketches, many of them marked by true pathos, showing the tragic effects of indulgence in the fatal cup. The facts are evidently taken from real life, and though embellished with a high rhetor- ical coloring, can not be said to exaggerate the evils which they are intended to illustrate. (Published by Miller, Orton, and Mulligan.) The Life and Sayings of Mrs. Partington, by B. P. SHILLABER, have been collected in a neat vol- sime, illustrated by numerous characteristic en- gravings, and published by J. C. Derby. The un- exampled popularity attained by these specimens of native humor, as they have appeawd from time to time in the liublic journals, may safely be taken as a test of their genuine and rare merits. We regard them as among the best productions of the sportive badinage, so congenial to the American taste, that are to be found in our lighter literature. The char- acter of the oracular old dame is sustained with dramatic harmony through the whole of her unique comments; she never by any mischance relapses into orthodox English; and always hides beneath her eccentricity of expression the largest and warm- est soul of grandmotherly kindness. Her biog rapher and honest chronicler has succeeded to a charm in giving the veracious history of her life. His irrepressible love of fun is so blended with the true spirit of wit, as to entitle him to a high rank in the walk to which he has so cordially devoted him- self. He is certainly a master in this lineat the very top of the scaleand his imitators areno- where. Crosby and Nichols have issued a posthumous work by the late Rev. SyLVEsTER Juno, consist- ing of a series of discourses on The Church. Mr. Judd is well remembered as the gifted but erratic author of Margaret, Richard Edney, and other pro- ductions, which have obtained a limited circle of devoted admirers. Several of his friends havc thought it desirable to bring before the public his views concerning Church principles, plans, and or- ganization, and the result is the present volume. The discourses which it contains are written in a plain and unambitious style, and in a tone of un- mistakable earnestness. An edition of Professor SMITHS History of Greece is issued by Ilarper and Brothers, expressly prepared by a competent American editor. As a popular manual of Grecian history this work is en- tirely without a rival in English literature. It embodies the best fruits of modern researches in a style of remarkable elegance and grace, and presents the oft-told story of Grecian development not only with critical discrimination but with picturesque beauty. The high rank of Professor Smith as a classical scholar vouches for the accuracy of his narrative, while the charms of its diction offer a rare enticement to every tasteful reader. Spirit Manifestations Examined and Explained, by JOHN BOvEE Dous. (Published by Dewitt and Davenport.) After the elaborate defense of the so- called Spiritual Manifestations by Judge Edmonds, and some other writers of ability and official posi- tion, the subject has assumed an importance in the public eye which we think is quite out of proportion to the value of any communications obtained by this peculiar agencymysterious, preternatural, spirit- ual, psychological, or by whatever term it is desig- nated. As an illustration of certain remarkable powers in the human systemnot yet sufficiently explainedthis volume, however, is seasonable, and well adapted to gratify a laudable curiosity. The writer, who has devoted his attention for many years to the subject, and who is undoubtedly a man of scientific research, as well as of candor and im- partiality, professes to have discovered the origin of the phenomena in question in the involuntary powers of the mind, the physical instruments of which are seated in the cerebellum. He adduces a multitude of very curious factsin support ofhis theory, which, if they do not give it the force of demonstration, have a great deal of plausibility, considered in that point of view, and are well worth the study of the anthropological inquirer. Dr. Dods handles his subject without bitterness or partisan zeal. He im- putes no sinister motives to the believers in spirit- ual manifestations. I-Ic thinks them in a great error, and endeavors to show them the ground of their error. His volume is eminently readablere- plete with singular instances of abnormal phenom- ena, both from ancient and modern timesand is not surpassed, either in instruction or entertain- ment, by any work yet called forth by the spiritual controversy. D. Appleton and Co. have issued a neat and con- venient edition of SUEENl%tEs French and English Dictionary, thoroughly revised and improved by LITERARY NOTICES. 137 additions from standard authorities, forming one of the best manuals for constant reference now in use. The recent publications of T. B. Peterson in- clude, among others, T. S. ARTHuRs excellent domestic stories of The Iron Rule; or, Tyranny in the Household, and The Lady at Home; or, Happi- ness in the Household; a compact and well-printed edition of DISRAELIS novels, Venetia, The Young Duke, Miriam, Airoy, Henrietta Temple, and Con- tarini Fleming, each work, comprising three volumes in the original, in one handsome volume; and Kate Clarendon and Viola, by EMERSON BENNETT. The numerous popular fictions brought out by Mr. Pe- terson, have given his name a wide celebrity among book-purchasers, and have contributed greatly to the promotion of a cheap literature. The prevailing interest in the war now waging between Russia and the Allied Powers has called forth numerous publications relating to the condi- tion of Russia and Turkey, which can not fail to be received with general satisfaction. Of these the most original and able is Russia as it is, by Count DR GunowsEs, a Polish nobleman, now resident in this country, and a thinker of great depth and pen. etration, profoundly versed in the civil and military affairs of Europe, and warmly devoted to the for- tunes of the Sclavonic race. His work abounds in rare and valuable information, in comprehensive general statements, and in copious statistical ac- eounts of the resources of Russia. The style is lucid and vigorous, and presents a remarkable in- stance of effective idiomatic expression by one who writes in a foreign language. This work is published by the Appletons. The Russian Shores of the Black Sea, by LAW- RENCE OLIPHANT, is an entertaining narrative of a voyage down the river Volga, and a tour through the country of the Don Cossacks. It is filled with lively pictures ofthe peculiar manners of the people, and of the natural scenery of that portion of the Russian Empire. (Published by Redfield.) Redfield has also issued A Year with the Turks, by WARINOTON W. SMYTH, containiug sketches of travel in the European and Asiatic dominions of the Sultan. It presents a highly favorable view of the Turkish character, which it defends with the spirit of a partisan. A work of great interest on the Russian policy, en- titled the Knout and the Russians, from the French of GEEMAIN DE LAGNY, is published by Harper and Brothers. It presents a detailed and very lively description of the interior of Russian society, with a lucid exposition of the prominent public institu- tions. The author is no friend to the Czar, and no doubt occasionally permits his hostility to color his statements. We do not think, however, that the substantial accuracy of his work can be called in question, and the strong feeling under which he writes gives a piquant zest to his descriptions, and effectually prevents the reader from falling asleep. His chapters on the army, the nobility, the clergy, the navy, the magistracy, and the finances, are in- forming and valuable. His account of Russian serfdom is full of novel and striking views. In de- scribing the punishment of the knout, he brings for- ward several terrible instances showing the severity of Russian criminal law, in spite of the abolition of capital punishment. The vivacity of style with which this volume is written makes it more readable thax a large proportion of the works which have been suggested by the Russian question. Another work issued by Harper and Brothers, in relation to Turkey, is CuazoNs Armenia, an agree- able account of travels performed in connection with the joint English and Russian commission for set- tling the boundary between Turkey and Persia in the region occupied by the Koordish tribes. In addi- tion to the lively sketches of Eastern manners and scenery, the volume abounds with copious and valu- able notices of Armenian history, and the progress of Russian aggression in that quarter. Mason Brothers publish A History of the Old Hundredth Psalm Tune, by the Rev. W. H. HAVER- CALL, with an introductory notice by the Rt. Rev. Bishop WAINwRICHT. It furnishes a curious his- tory of that ancient piece of psalmody, with an account of the successive changes which it has un- dergone. Its authorship is ascribed, not to Martin Luther, according to the traditional opinion, but to William Franc, an obscure composer, whose name is known only in connection with the Genevan Psalter. The tune, however, has since been sub- jected to so many variations as almost to have lost its original identity. A new edition of TALFOURDS Critical and Mis- cellaneous IVritings is published by Phillips, Samp- son, and Co., containing the most important essays and reviews of their late lamented author. As a sound and impartial critic, Talfourd occupies a high lilace in English literature. If he did not affect the brilliant audacity of Jeffrey, he ~vas far muore cath- olic in his tastes, and more profoundly appreciative in his judgments. Free from the love of paradox, which, to a great extent, vitiated the remarkable critical acuteness of Hazlitt, and never, like Cole- ridge, overlaying the original and subtle distinctions of transcendental speculation with a cloud of va- porous phraseology, Talfourd brought an honest and masculine judgment, a keen perception of truth, a singularly refined taste, a profound and universal culture, and a most gracious sympathy with every genuine manifestation of intellect, to the criticism of the great literary productions of the age. His verdicts, in almost all cases, will stand the test of time. He was apparently almost wholly devoid of prejudicecertainly, he had not a trace of malignity or captiousness in his naturehe never sought to amuse himself or the public at the expense of an unfortunate authorhe did not mistake severity for acuteness, nor wholesale censure for just discrim- inationhe never condemned without cause though, perhaps, it may be admitted that his heart was tinctured with an excess of favoritism for those whom he deemed great intellectual benefac- tors, and who had not met with the due mood of honor from the public. His native kindliness pro- tected him from the bitterness which is often thought to be an essential element of criticism; while his wakeful good sense and delicately sensitive taste, prevented him from becoming the dupe of preten- sion. In our opinion, his critical essays possess far more than an ephemeral value; we know of no better comments on recent English literature; and their diligent study cnn not fail to produce the most wholesome effects on the public taste. My Schools and Schoolmasters, by Huen MILLER, is an admirable specimen of autobiography, detail- ing the varied experiences of his early years, and the successive steps by which, from a working me- chanic, he attained his present scientific distinction. It is a work replete with instruction and encourage- ment, especially to those who have not enjoyed the benefits of a regular scholastic education. (Pub- lished by Gould and Lincoln.) An Art-Student in Munich, by ANNA MARY How- ITT. A delightful record of personal experiences, 138 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. belonging to a peculiarly poetical chapter in the life of a woman studying Art. The author is a daughter of the celebrated Howitts, and writes with an enthusiasm and naivete that are quite fascina- ting. Her notices of art and artists in Munich are not only spirited, but full of information. (Pub- lished by Ticknor, Reed, and Fields.) The Dodd Family Abroad, the latest production of C HARLE5 LEVER (published by Harper and Broth- ers), is one of the finest and funniest specimens of his inimitable humor and satire. It relates the ad- ventures of an Irish family, who leave their kindred bog-trotters at home, and go in search of the gen- teel on an European tour. They fall into all sorts of scrapes, constantly suffer from their own absurd- ities, but learn no wisdom from the experience. The characters of the ambitious and most foolish mamma, the long-suffering papa, the graceless wretch of a son, and the (leluded beauty of a daugh- ter, are sustained with infinite spirit, and afford an endless fund of amusement. Farm Implements, and the Principles of their Con- struction and Use, by JOHN J. TisostAs (published by Harper and Brothers), is a volume for the farm- ers library, the like of which is not to be found in the extensive range of agricultural literature. It originally appeared in the Transactions of the New York State Agricultural Society, under the title of Agricultural Dynamics; or, the Science of Farm Forces. The edition now published is based on that essay, which has been revised and enlarged, and the number of illustrations more than doubled. In applying the principles of Natural Philosophy, in their different branches, to the practices of modern farming, it avoids the use of technical phraseology, and presents the subject in a form adspted to the comprehension of every reader. The practical farmer will find in it a description of the tools in daily use, with an exposition of the scientific prin- ciples of their construction, and numerous valuable hints for the improvement of their convenience and utility. The work is adapted to recitation in schools as well as to private reading. Speaking of the original edition, the late accomplished horti- culturist Downing remarked: We should like to see this work priated, bound, and hung up in every work-shop, tool-room, and farmers book-shelf in the country. DEATH OF PROFESSOR WILSON. IN recording the death of this distinguished man, which took place on the 3d of April, we are re- minded of the disruption of another link, which con- nected the rich, imaginative, and picturesque poet- ical movement of the last half century with the intellectual development of the present day. Under the pseudonym of Christopher North, the deceased was known to every cultivated reader in our own country; in spite of strong political differences, he was cherished with enthusiastic and loving admi- ration; and his death, though at a ripe old age, has sent a pang to many American hearts like that felt on the loss of a personal friend. The subjoined notice, which embodies the language of several of the leading British literary journals, presents the character of the departed poet in a favorable light, and will not be thought to do more than justice to his memory. Professor Wilson was horn at Paisley in 1788, his father being a wealthy manufacturer there. He entered Glasgow University at the age of 13, and in four years more went to Magdalen College, Ox- ford, where his extraordinary quality was recog nized at once. He was the leader in all sports, from his great bodily strength, as well as his enthu- siasm for pleasure of that kind; and he gained the Newdegate prize for an English poem of sixty lines. On leaving college he bought the Elleray estate, on Windermere, and cultivated the acquaintance of the Great Lake Poet, becoming himself, in latter days, the Admiral of the Lakes, and acting as such when Bolton entertained Canning and Scott with a splendid waterflte on Windermere. In these days Wilson played many wild feats. He attended all the fairs, fights, running matches, races, and so forth, in the country. He was a capital boxer, sin- glestick man, and wrestler; no great sportsman, ex- cept as an angler, and now and then in pursuit ef the red deer. For some time he took up his abode among the gipsies, learned a great deal oftheir slang, and adopted their costume and their habits. After- ward he partially settled down, and went to study law in Edinburgh. As might be expected, little profit resulted from this experiment, but he took to literature, and produced several isolated works, such as the Lights and Shadows of Scottish Life, which attained great popularity; the Trials of Margaret Lindsay, a pathetic Scottish story; the Isle of Palms ; and the City of the Plague. But two things occurred in Edinburgh about 1818 the Professorship of Moral Philosophy in the University became vacant, and Maga was estab- lished. Wilson immediately became a candidate for office in the one, and contributor to the other. Sir Walter Scotts patronage mainly contributed to his success in the first, his own abilities won the second. Before this time he had commenced that connection with Blackwoods Magazine which, for years after, identified him with all the brilliant fancy and exquisite taste with which its pages were adorned. The productions of his eloquent pen were, in 1842, published in a collected form, under the title of Recreations of Christopher North A singularly vigorous and healthy physique, animated by an impulsive and restless spirit, drew him on in youth to undertake featsgenerally displays of ath- letic strengthout of the ordinary course; and the alternations of indolence, so often remarked in tem- peraments like his, led him in more advanced life to indulge in an unusual disregard of external ap- pearances; and upon those slight grounds the moat adventurous tales of his eccentricity were circulat- ed: bu~ even at the most extravagant period of his youth, John Wilson was always restrained by a high and pure sense of morality. The drinking feats attributed to him are either gross inventions, or literal acceptations of the humorous caricatures of the Noctes Ambrosianm : they who were in- timate with Wilson know that he neither required nor used to excess the stimulus of strong drink. He enjoyed the most extravagant hilarity of the social board, but could work himself up to the high- est pitch by the sheer effort of talking. His literary genius was so entirely akin to his physical temper- ament, as to appear simply an emanation from it. Looking at his productions with the cool critical eye with which one is accustomed to examine the works of a past time, we can not but perceive that they are characterized by a want of condensation by an absence of exact, subtle, or deep analytic- al or critical powerthat their style is sometimes inflated, and verging on the tawdry; and yet, with all these defects, they are informed with a vitality which entitles them to be numbered in the class of works which men will not willingly let die. There is a bewitching combination of vague, dreamy wild- LITERARY NOTICES. 139 uess, pathos, and ethereal fancy, in his Isle of Palms and Unimore ; while in his City of the Plague there is an irregular splendor and vigor that sometimes reminds one of the old English dra- matists. His prose writings are the outpourings of an irnprovisatore; unequal, but fascinating, full of power and varietyranging from pictures of ideal beauty to defiant humor, now throwing out sugges- tions pregnant with materials for thought, and again dashing off graphic descriptions that place their subjects visibly before the eye. If the marvel of his eloquence is not lessened, it is at least account- ed for to those who have seen him. One writer says Such a presence is rarely seen; and more than one person has said that he reminded them of the first man, Adam; so full was that large frame of vitality, force, and sentience. His tread seemed almost to shake the streets, his eye almost saw through stone walls; and as for his voice, there was no heart that could stand before it. He swept away all hearts whithersoever he would. No less strik- ing was it to see him in a mood of repose, as when he steered the old packet boat that used to pass be- tween Bowness and Ambleside, before the steam- ers were put upon the lake. Sitting motionless, with his hand upon the rudder, in the presence of journeymen and market-women, with his eye ap- parently looking beyond every thing into nothing, and his mouth closed under his beard, as if he meant never to speak again, he was quite as im- pressive and immortal an image as he could have been to the students of his class or the comrades of his jovial hours. Another describes him as a stout, tall, athletic man, with broad shoulders and chest, and prodigiously muscular limbs. His face was magnificent; his hair, which he wore long and flowing, fell round his massive features like a lions mane, to which, indeed, it was often compared, be- ing much of the same hue. His lips were always working, while his gray flashing eyes had a weird sort of a look which was highly characteristic. As Professor of Moral Philosophy, he possessed a rare power of winning the affections and confidence of his pupils, and instigating them by a certain con- tagion of eloquence to self-exertion. Properly speaking, he founded no school; for his discursive turn of mind was unfavorable to the maturing of systematic, precise opinions: but he set his hear- ers to think, and inspired them with ambition to distinguish themselves as thinkers, and not a few able and successful inquirers were thus launched upon their philosophical career. He also imparted a new character to the Moral Philosophy chair of Edinburgh. Stewart and Brown had each con- fined his instructions almost exclusively to intel- lectual analysishad made his class as it were a double of the Logic class: the genial and imagina- tive Wilson naturally applied himself more to the analysis of the fancy and the passions, and the il- lustration of their influence on the willthe most essential branch of ethical inquiry. But it was in his own family, and among the wide and varied cir- cle of friends and acquaintances he loved to bring around him, that Wilson was seen in all the most engaging features of his character. His domestic affections were intense: we believe he never en- tirely recovered from the blow inflicted by the death of Mrs. Wilsonand if ever there was a woman to be sorrowed for throughout a widowed. life, it was she; so opposite to the dazzling impetuous spirit of her mate, in the beautiful gentleness and equa- nimity of her temper, yet adapting herself so en- tirely to his tastes, and repaid by such a deep and lasting affection. As for friends and others not belonging to his own family circle, there perhaps never was a man gifted with such an universality of sympathy with all that is intellectual. He had points in common with allwith the elegant fas- tidiousness of Lockhart, the broad humor and in- spired idiotcy of the Ettrick Shepherd, the polished coterieism of Moore, the masculine benevolence of Chalmers, the disputatious logic of De Quincey, the playful humor of Lamb, the enjoui and often felicitous criticism of Hunt, and the honest aspira- tions of less gifted individuals. In the society of the northern capital he will be long and sadly miss- ed. The accounts of his eccentricity of manners and appearance have been much exaggerated. He had no great respect for the commonplace conven- tionalities of artificial life, nor had he any rever- ence for tailors and masters of ceremonies; but the statements about his buttonless shirts, his thread- bare coats, and tattered academical robes, are pic- torial fictions. With all his apparent eccentricity, he had sotind judgment and a genial kindly heart; and in his warm love, especially in his latter years, of all that was generous and good and sacred, and his sincere affection for Dr. Chalmers and others of his colleagues most eminent for piety and active philanthropy, he gave proof of a religious principle far deeper than any mere sentimental feeling or philosophical persuasion could have inspired. He was much beloved in the neighborhood of Elleray. Every old boatman and young angler, every hoary shepherd and primitive dame among the hills of the district, knew him and enjoyed his presence. He was a steady and genial friend to Hartley Cole- ridge for a long course of years. He made others happy by being so intensely happy himself when his brighter moods were on him. He felt, and en- joyed too, intensely, and paid the penalty in the deep melancholy of the close of his life. He could not chasten the exuberance of his love of nature and of genial human intercourse; and he was cut off from both long before his death. The sad spec- tacle was witnessed with respectful sorrow, for all who had ever known him felt deeply in debt to him. He underwent an attack of pressure on the brain some years before his death; and an access of paralysis closed the scene. In his death, those who knew him best will feel that one of the great and good men of our time has passed away. The Author of Mary Powell has commenced a series of The Chronicles of Merry England, a history written in chronicle style, and affecting some of its quaintnesses, to which we object, as to all affecta- tions and imitations. This first volume advances no further than the reign of Stephen. It is pictori- ally written, and therefore well calculated for school and family reading. The Edinburgh Review is just 50 years old; the Quarterly, 44; the New Monthly Magazine, 33; Blackwood, 38; and Fraser, 24. Punch was concocted in the dark hack-parlor of a public-house behind Drury-lane Theatre. The paper was started; it struggled on for about a year, and was then sold for 100 to Messrs. Bradhury and Evans, the printers. In their hands it rose to eminence. All the wit in England hastened to their standard. It has had the honor of being ex- pelled from several kingdoms on the continent of Europe. One night, at Lady Blessingtons,~ said a certain literary gentleman, Lord Brougham 140 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. told me that he would rather stand a six weeks roasting in the House of Peers than a single scari- fying joke in Punch. Among the recent English publications the fol- lowing are worth noting: Volumes one to three of the Rev. H. H. MILMANs History of Latin Chris- tionity, including that of the Popes to the Pontifi- cate of Nicholas V.; STEPHENS Central America, revised by Mr. CATHERWOOD, in one volume; The Life and Times of John Perry, the Pilgrim 1l1nrtyr; Werking Women of the last Half Century, the Lesson of their Lives, by C. L. BALFOUR; Re- mains of the late Bishop Copleston, with an Introduc- tion containing Reminiscences of his Life, by Arch- bishop WHATELY; Mr. HARDMAN5 Translation of Weiss History of the French Protestant Refugees; Atherton, a new work by Miss MITFORD, author of Our Village. Among the most recent publications of interest in Paris we may cite the first volumes of the works of ARACO, with a charming introductory memoir by his early and constant friend and brother in science, ALEXANDER VON HuaiaoLoT. The political and economical papers of ARMAND CARREL have also been collected and arranged, judiciously annotated by M. CHARLEs HOMEY, and preceded by a biogra- phical notice from the pen of M. LITTRE. These papers throw a new light on the high qualities of that chivalrous individual. The Paris correspondent of the Literary Gazette writes, About once a month or so, a new work by Lamartine is talked of; at this moment it is said that he is writing a volume of Turkish tales, which he intends shall form a sort of companion volume to the Arabian Nights. But of nIl the many new works of his that have been promised during the last year, not onehis soi-disant History of the Constituent Assembly excepted (it is being pub- lished piecemeal in a newspaper, but excites little attention)not one hes seen the light. Neverthe- less, it is quite certain that he labors hard with his pen, even to the injury of his health. This is most honorable to him, as his political career has made him poor and embarrassed, and as he is anxious to leave, on going to his last home, no debts behind him. In one respect he is very fortunate: an emi- nent stockjobber, named Mirks, who is the proprie- tor of three or four newspapers and periodicals, feels such warm admiration of his genius and per- sonal character, that he insists on purchasing all the manuscript works he writes or plans, and on giving him, in ready money, a higher sum than, if left to himself, he would venture to ask. It is not often that the Stock Exchange produces a Meccenas; and it is much to the credit of M. Mirks to be the pro~sidiem et dulce decus meum of such a man as Lamartine, the greatest living poet of France, and, in spite of his political errors, one of the noblest of her citizens. A new work of Michelets is announced, The Women of the Revolution. The illustrious histo- rian is still at Nice; his health is improved. A work is published in Paris bearing this singu- lar title, Eternity Unveiled; or, the future life of souls after death. The author is lvi. H. Delsage, the grandson of Chantal. The French Government has decided that a pen- odical, containing reports and papers of scientific and literary societies, accounts of missions, & c., shall henceforth be published, under the title of Bulletin des Socidt6s Savants. An unpublished Latin treatise by Leibnitz, in refutation of Spinoza, has lately been discovered and translated into French by M. Foucher do Careil. A Florence correspondent of a London journal writes: I met at a soirde the other evening, the lady who, about thirty years since, wrote Rome in the Nineteenth Century, and the poet, Mr. Browning the former a talkative and bustling, the latter a silent and thoughtful guest. His gifted lady is hardly to be met with in such circles, for Mrs. Browning dedicates herself here, as I understand, to the retired, studious life conformable with her habits in earlier years, as with the inclinations of her gentle and elevated nature. The publishing house of Messrs. J. W. Parker and Son, who have just given to the public Mr. FREDERIcK TENNYsONs Poems and the Poetical Remains of PRARD, will shortly issue a volume of new Poetry from the pen of the Rev. CHARLES KtNess.Ev, which it may be hoped will consist rather of many short pieces than two or three long ones, remembering the touching and picturesque ballad of Call the cattle home, in his novel of Alton Locke. The late recall of Chevalier BUNSEN by the Prus- sian Government produces much excitement among his English friends. A London journal says: Literaryrnen as well as politicians will be sorry to learn the removal of the Chevalier Bunsen from the ollice of Prussian minister at the English court. The Chevalier had so long been connected with this country, had made himself so deeply acquainted with our language, literature, and science, that lie may be said to have bee~n of us, us well as among us; some of his best works are written in the En- glish language; and it may be said more truly of him than of most students, nihil tetigit quod non ornavit. At any period the removal of such a man would be a matter of regret, and now more espe- cially, when it is clearly the consequence of politi- cal intrigues at the court of Prussia, unworthy in themselves, and arising from parties openly and avowedly hostile to this country. Southey, Moore, Wordsworth, Campbell, Cole- ridge, Scott, Wilsonnever did a brighter galaxy of poets adorn any age. It is curious and sad to remark that in the case of almost all of these illus- trious mencertainly of all of them who reached old agethe overtasked brain more or less gave way. A lately-published decree of the Index includes, among other prohibited works, in French and ital- ian, the Theological Essays of Mr. F. DENISON MAU- RICE. It is not frequently that English publications appear in this list; and though the theory ofeeclesias- tical censorship is severe, its enforcement in Rome is tempered by modifications. Permission to read prohibited books, which is necessary for those de- siring freely to avail themselves of public libraries, is easily obtained by application to proper authority and statement of a legitimate object in view, the petitioner receiving a formula in Latin, in the name of the Pontiff and the Inquisition, at the expense, for expedition fees, of about tenpence. ~CCL~1 ~ C~ ~ CL ~ CCL~~ o CCL~ ~C~CL CL ~ ~ 0 C CL 0 CL CL C~ -CCL CL CL~ --C -ICL (~ C ~ CCCL C- C C ~ ~CL ~CL CL CL C CL~ C ~ ~CL CCC U1721 CL~~0 C CL CCL C C -~ CL -LI o ~CL CL 0 ~ CL C-C-CL C- CL -C E~CL ~CL CCL ~CL p / ~ VOL IXNo. 49.~I* ~nung Thucrirn ut t~w ~ca-~i~it.

Comicalities, Original and Selected "Comicalities, Original and Selected" 141

~CCL~1 ~ C~ ~ CL ~ CCL~~ o CCL~ ~C~CL CL ~ ~ 0 C CL 0 CL CL C~ -CCL CL CL~ --C -ICL (~ C ~ CCCL C- C C ~ ~CL ~CL CL CL C CL~ C ~ ~CL CCC U1721 CL~~0 C CL CCL C C -~ CL -LI o ~CL CL 0 ~ CL C-C-CL C- CL -C E~CL ~CL CCL ~CL p / ~ VOL IXNo. 49.~I* ~nung Thucrirn ut t~w ~ca-~i~it.

Young America At the Seaside 141-143

~CCL~1 ~ C~ ~ CL ~ CCL~~ o CCL~ ~C~CL CL ~ ~ 0 C CL 0 CL CL C~ -CCL CL CL~ --C -ICL (~ C ~ CCCL C- C C ~ ~CL ~CL CL CL C CL~ C ~ ~CL CCC U1721 CL~~0 C CL CCL C C -~ CL -LI o ~CL CL 0 ~ CL C-C-CL C- CL -C E~CL ~CL CCL ~CL p / ~ VOL IXNo. 49.~I* ~nung Thucrirn ut t~w ~ca-~i~it. HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. ! 7/i 142 ~) +~ ~I2 ,-~- ~) ~ o ~ C) ~ W 0~ o ~ C)0 rn 0 Cd 0 ~r. CCC) ICC) ~0cC CC ~C) ~cf2 CC~ +00 .~ 0 ICC) CC~C) .0 C). C) ~Pa~jinn~ tin: ~nn~+ Furnished by Mr. G. BRODIE, 51 Canal-street, New York, and drawn by YOIGT from actual articles of Costume. THE Illustrations which wepresent require but brief comment. Figure 1 is aVIrITINo DRESS. It is 2i disposition, although for this may be substi- tuted a trimming of embroidery, braid, or boujilonie. Figure 2 is a WALKING DRESS for a young lady. It is high in the neck at the back, with a basque some- what deeper in front and behind than at the sides. The sleeves are cut at the outside in points, which are united by fanby buttons, forming lozenge-shaped openings, through which the under-sleeves appear. The under-sleeves are plainwith embroidered wrist- bands. The body is ornamented with a shirred rib- bon, which terminates in small bows at the sleeves. Wben the hair is copious the mode of dressing given above is very becomipg. BONNETS are made of almost every material and combination ofmaterials. Though smallerthan have previously been wOrn, they are extremely pretty; and recede further than ever from the face. The eraamenrs are chiefly displayed upon the edges and front, the crown being comparatively plain. Re- dundancy of ornament is the distinguishing char- acteristic of the foreign modes. Flowers, laces, marabouts, and ribbons are usedwith the utmost pro- fusion. The cap-crown is a special favorite. Trans- parent tissues are in great request. The same pro- fusion of trimming is worn upon dresses. Flounces and basques are the prevailing modes. .In MANTELETtES the modistes have put forth all their resources, and never has their success been so decided. Every variety of this beautiful cos- tume has tasked their inventive powersthe stately P~lisse, the bewitching Mantilla, the graceful Scarf, the elegant Talma, and combinations of all these every thing, in short, that the exigencies of any style offigure or complexion could require, is at the dis- posal of the fair. From Mr. BRousEs latest im- portations and productions we present the three illustrations of these articles given on the follow- ing page. k ~ V 2 0 FIGUREs 1 AND 2 VIsITING AND WALKING CosTuMEs.

Fashions for June 143-144

~Pa~jinn~ tin: ~nn~+ Furnished by Mr. G. BRODIE, 51 Canal-street, New York, and drawn by YOIGT from actual articles of Costume. THE Illustrations which wepresent require but brief comment. Figure 1 is aVIrITINo DRESS. It is 2i disposition, although for this may be substi- tuted a trimming of embroidery, braid, or boujilonie. Figure 2 is a WALKING DRESS for a young lady. It is high in the neck at the back, with a basque some- what deeper in front and behind than at the sides. The sleeves are cut at the outside in points, which are united by fanby buttons, forming lozenge-shaped openings, through which the under-sleeves appear. The under-sleeves are plainwith embroidered wrist- bands. The body is ornamented with a shirred rib- bon, which terminates in small bows at the sleeves. Wben the hair is copious the mode of dressing given above is very becomipg. BONNETS are made of almost every material and combination ofmaterials. Though smallerthan have previously been wOrn, they are extremely pretty; and recede further than ever from the face. The eraamenrs are chiefly displayed upon the edges and front, the crown being comparatively plain. Re- dundancy of ornament is the distinguishing char- acteristic of the foreign modes. Flowers, laces, marabouts, and ribbons are usedwith the utmost pro- fusion. The cap-crown is a special favorite. Trans- parent tissues are in great request. The same pro- fusion of trimming is worn upon dresses. Flounces and basques are the prevailing modes. .In MANTELETtES the modistes have put forth all their resources, and never has their success been so decided. Every variety of this beautiful cos- tume has tasked their inventive powersthe stately P~lisse, the bewitching Mantilla, the graceful Scarf, the elegant Talma, and combinations of all these every thing, in short, that the exigencies of any style offigure or complexion could require, is at the dis- posal of the fair. From Mr. BRousEs latest im- portations and productions we present the three illustrations of these articles given on the follow- ing page. k ~ V 2 0 FIGUREs 1 AND 2 VIsITING AND WALKING CosTuMEs. 144 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. r.~ o~5 H )t~ ~ C~s ~ C.) ~ H S S~ C-~ bO C2~ ~ Q b))C~~ ~ .~ )1) ~ 0 .~ o~t~, b-~ ~ I. 0. ~ 0 0.-~ b~j bL-d 5- 0).. 0 z ~ ~ ~0 ~ -S ~ H ~ SCS ~ H ~ -oH CS 0 C-.0 0. - ~ Q cS )~

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Harper's new monthly magazine. / Volume 9, Issue 50 International monthly magazine Harper's monthly magazine Harper & Bros. New York July 1854 0009 050
T. Addison Richards Richards, T. Addison The Catskills 145-158

IIARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. No. L.JULY, 1854.VOL. IX. THE CATSKILLS. BY T. ADDISON RICHARDS. THE Catskills follow a grand course from north to south in the eastern part of the State of New York. Their position is at an aggregate remove of ten miles west of the Hudson. The interval of undulating and fertile country is thick- lv studded with cities and villages and highly cultivated farms. Geologically speaking, the Catskills occupy the counties of Sullivan, Ulster, Greene, Schoharie, and Albany; but pictorially considered, they are in the county of Greene alone; within whose limits are found all the lof- tiest peaks, and all the chief resorts of the tourist and the artist. VOL. IX.No. 50.K The village of Catskill, upon the Catskill Creek, nearits confluence with the Hudson, is one hundred and eleven miles above New York; and is accessible from that city almost hourly by steamboat or rail- way. Good coaches are always waiting to convey travelers thence, over a glorious route of twel. a miles of enchanting valley and hill country, to tI c regal halls of that famous cloud-capped palace the Mountain House. This noble edifice, liftin its grand fa~ade above a rocky cliff twenty-five hundred feet in air, forms a curious and beautiful feature of the mountain landscape, in the passage of the river, from all the distant towns and eleva- tions to the eastward; and as it comes again and again into view in the gradual approach from THE CATSKILL CREEK. 146 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. Catskill; and finally, as it rises proudly above our heads, while slowly ascending the precipices which it so grandly caps. The Mountain House is a spacious structure of wood, oririnally built by the people of Catskill at a cost of more than twenty thousand dollars. It has from time to time been since refitted and enlarged, until it now afibrds all the conveniences and ele- gances of our most recherch6 metropolitan hotels. ~How the proprietor, says Mr. Willis, can have dragged up, and keeps dragging up, so many superfluities from the river level to that eagles nest, excites your wonder. It is the more strange, because in climbing a mountain, the feeling is natural that you leave such enervating luxuries below. The mountain-top is too near heaven. It should be a monastery to lodge in, so higha St. Gothard or a Vallombrosa. But here you choose between Hermitages, white or red, Burgun- dies, Madeiras, French dishes and French dances, as if you had descended upon Capua. The grand and precipitous height of the Mountain House, reveals a scene which in extent and beauty is scarcely rivaled by any panoramic view in the land. The eye glories in a boundless sweep of cultivated champaign, sparkling with busy towns and happy homes, bending rivers and mystic mountain chains, between the remote hills of Vermont on the one hand, and the dim waters of the Atlantic on the other. Miss Martineau. musing here on a sunny, quiet Sabbath morn, thus records her impressions of the morale of this suggestive picture: To the philosopher what is it not? The fields and waters seem to him to-day no more truly property than the skies which shine down THE MOUNTAIN HOUSE. THE CATSKILLS. 147 upon them; and to think how some below are busying their thoughts ahout how they shall hedge in another field, or multiply their flocks in yonder meadows, gives him a taste of the same pity which Jesus felt in his solitude, when his followers were contending about which should he crreatest. Every fashionable resort has its especial points or lionsits great staple sights. The staple, par excellence, of the Mountain House is the sunrisine. Though every hody does the sunrise, and every body rhapsodizes thereon, and though it forms now one of our own themes, yet it never has been and never can be looked, or talked, or scribbled up or down. There are here extraordinary facilities for en- joying this high delight of nature. The orient is before you, unobstructed by intervening hill or object whatsoever. Thi~first smiles of the mon- arch of the morn are yours, dimmed by the inter- vention of a few jealous or, perhaps, welcoming clouds, for they laugh and dance with radiant beauty arid grace as his burning caress calls the roses to their cheeks. The dense sea of vapor which overhangs the wide valley far below, is broken as by the wand of an enchanter, and it rises into the upper air, like the smoke of a thou- sand watch-fires, bringing hill, and vale, and stream, with all their myriad details into active and joyous life and motion. It is a curious and oftentimes an amusing study, to observe the vary- ing degrees of emotion or indifference with which more poetic or obtuser natures witness this sub- lime spectacle the highly spiritual temperament worshiping with religious oneness and fervor; the intelligent and philosophic mind satisfied with its grand beauties; the simply wondering observ- er gazing with new and pleased astonishment; down through all the shades of coolness and in- sensibilitylazily scanning the scene from cham- ber window, or enduring terrible martyrdom, standing in the shivering chilliness of the early morning air. A pleasant morning may be spent in a tramp to the North Mountain, a neighboring eminence, overlooking the Mountain House and its surround- ings. The Two Lakes, of which anon, sleep peacefully below in their soaring hammocks, while the great valley of the Hudson spreads away to the east and south. Glorious is the sparkle and freshness of the air at this lofty altitude, giving one a feeling and relish of life, of a vigor and intens- ity undreamed of in the thronged city. We may perhaps be permitted to relate here a little ad- venture incident to our first pilgrimage to the North Mountain. This part of the Catskills was always a favorite range of the bear; and they may yet lx~ readily found here when sought at the proper sea- son. We were duly posted in respect to this fact. as also touching a habit this animal has of lea~- ing marks of his passage, in the shape of up-turn- ed stones. Our companion kept a sharp eye upon all the rocks in our path, and seemed to be in mortal fear of encountering one of the black gentry. It so happened that in returning we lost our way, and the better to re-find it, we agreed to search each in a different direction, being careful, how- ever, not to lose one another. We at length dis- covered the path, and our fancy was so enlivened by our good fortune that it suggested to us a FROM TilE NORTH MOUNTAIN. 118 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. itile play upon the fears of our friend. We ex- ned ourself successfully to overturn a number f the largest stones around us, and then, joy- iilly announcing the success of our search, we ponited with an affected shudder to the freshly listurbed rocks. B turned pale with fright, ad grasping us by the arm literally pulled us tong the path. We intimated to him, pointing our sketch-box, that with such a load it would impossihle for us to proceed so fast. Taking lie hint, h& added our burden to his own, and thus relieved us to the end of the journey. When he rime to a realizing sense of the nature of the use played upon him, which we very triumph- utly laid bare to his imagination, he vowed never cain, under any circumstances whatever, to carry or box, and at the same time condemned us to fine of a pitcher of the very best milk-punch which the borough of Palenville (our head-quar- irs at the time) would afford. On the opposite side of the hotel is another rrand look-out which visitors delicht in, under a programme of a jaunt to the South Mountain. ft overlooks the clove of the Kauterskill, the finest -liapter of the Catskill scenery, and which we ~hall read con amour, when we have sufficiently :!auced at the Mouiitain House localities. The next pilgrimage which the tourist is ex- acted to make is to the two charming lakelets, which, in their strange mountain bed, add so !reatly t.o the interest of the surrounding points. Their waters supply the renowned Catskill Falls, a hich we shall reach in due order. An easy wagon passes the lakes at iutervals throughout the day, on its way from the hotel to tha cascades, but an orthodox Syntax will indignantly scorn this vulgar mode of locomotion, and bless the man who first invented boots. A few minutes walk will bring you to the margin of the Upper or Sylvan Lake, a view of which we add to the list of our pic- torial memories. You may pass an hour or two de- lightfully in strolling upon the pleasant shores, or you may enter one of the skiffs which skim the waters, and mingle your voice in happy carol with the murmur of the breeze, which never fails to play with the bright image east by tree and rock and sail on the pellucid bosom of the lake. When these more demonstrative expressions of pleasure. which the scene will always draw from the cold- est hearts, are spent, you may give your thoughts to the poetic page, or to the dreams of the ro- mancer, occasionally glancing at the fly which you have cast upon the water to lure the wary trout. In short, unless you can find here some or other source of pleasure, God pity you, un- happy man! The footpath to the Falls is another and much shorter one than the carriage way. It leaves the lakes to the right and traverses the forest. We did it for the first time by moonlight, after linger- ing too long in the shadows of the ravines below The density of the leafage made the way ver~ sombre. Late rains had left innumerable pools here and there, and our foot often sank into their treacherous depths, when we thought we were firmly stepping upon inviting hits of polished rock. Now we nearly lost our equilibrium~ as like a drunken man we made a lofty step over some nothing, which, in the partial obscurity, ap- peared to be a considerable obstruction in the syLvAN LAKE THE CATSKILLS. 149 path. Now a dripping bough cooled our per- spiring phiz with its saucy greetings, and then our thoughtless heel crushed the head of some unsuspecting reptile. It was a lonely walk, and despite our romance, we were not a little relieved when we emerged from the wilderness upon the larger path which leads over the plain of the Pine Orchard to the Mountain House. The sight of that beautiful structure, in its wild insu- lation, and with its many illumined windows, ob- scured only by the passings and repassings of gentle forms, was as grateful to our eye as was the sound of the distant music to our ear. Now for the Falls. Approaching from the Mountain House, you of course see them first from above. Before you commence the descent of the long flights of wooden steps which lead to the baso of the cataracts, you enter a very pleasant sort of cafd, where you may strengthen your physical man with any species of refresh- ment, from brandy-punch (in the quality of which you may place the extremest confidence of true love) to a cooling ice-cream or a draught of sparkling lemonade. At the same time you may relieve yourself still further by lightening your purse to the extent of a quarter~ which the pla- cards posted aroumid will instruct you it is ex- pected that gentlemen will pay to keep the stairs, the Falls, and the guides, in order. This assess- ment also rewards the Neptune of the spotour venerated friend Peter Schntt, whom you must cultivatefor letting off the water ! For, be it known unto you, that a dana is built above these Falls; by which ingenious means the stream, restrained from wastimig its sweetness on the des- ert air, is peddled out, wholesale and retail, at THE mimismi FALLS. 150 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. the tale of two and a half dimes a splash! Cooper says, in the Pioneer, touching these cascades: The stream is, may be, such an one as would turn a mill, if so useless a thing was wanted in the wilderness; but the hand that made that leap never made a mill ! Alas! since Coo- pers hero lived, the wilderness has blossomed as the rose, and the once free torrent is now chained by the cold shackles of the spirit of gain. Happily, after being thus bound, it laughs with the greater glee when released; and one will for- get while he gazes, spell-bound, upon the world of spray, that, like the sunshine in his own heart, it will not always last. To continue our loan from the gray ~ic picture in the Pioneer: The water comes roaking and winding among the rocks, first ~ slow that a trout might swim in it, and the starting and running, like any creature that ~ nted to make a fair spring, till it gets to where ~e mountain divides like the cleft foot of a deer, ieaving a deep hollow for the brook to tumble into. The first pitch is nigh two hundred feet; and the water looks like flakes of snow before it touches the bottom, and then gathers itself to- gether again for a new start: and, may he, flut- ters over fifty feet of flat rock, before it falls for another hundred feet, when it jumps from shelf to shelf, first running this way and that way. striving to get out of the hollow, till it finally gets to the plain. When you reach the base of the first Fall, your guide will perhaps conduct you over a narrow ledge behind the falling torrent, as at Termina- tion Rock at Niagara. Then reaching the green sward on the opposite side of the stream, you may make a signal to Peter Schutt, who will be look- ing over the piazza of his caf6 above, and if you have duly settled between you the telegraphic al- phabet, in such case made and provided, he will attach a basket to the projecting pole, and incon- tinently there will descend sundry bottles of the very coolest Champagne of which the vineyards of France ever dreamed. You may then repose yourself half an hour or more upon the mossy couch aforesaid, imbibe Neptunes nectar, and when your quarters worth of cascade is spent, you may remount the steps to the summit of the Fall, or may accompany us and the stream down the ravine to the great clove below. One moment, though, before we tumble through brush and brake, and over rock and rapid. On one occasion, while we were sketching the beauties of certain other cascades in the neighborhood called Little Falls. we were discovered by Peter Schutt, who accused PALENvILLE. THE CATSKILLS. 151 us bitterly of forgetting our first love, and strictly forbade us, or any body, to paint the Little Falls bigger than his ! Peter Schutt can bear no rival near the throne. The passage of the gorge we now traverse is replete with interest. Up and down we go for a varied mile, urging our way through the deep tangled wild wood, leaping from rock to rock across the brawling stream, contesting the track with prostrate trees, gazing reverently upward upon sullen cliffs, or far below into the deep chasms where the plunging waters lie inert for a Inoment after their unwonted toil. At the close of this brief but brilliant episode in our tour, we open upon the fine turnpike road which crosses the mountains through the clove of the Kauters- kill. We shall perhaps explore this picturesque gorge more intelligently if we commence the jaunt at the mouth of the passa,,e, where one or other of the little inns of Palenville will afford us a very tolerable if not luxurious bivouac. Very few of the thousands who annually visit the Mountain House ever explore this, the most coarming part of the Catskills. The village of Palenville, apart from its location, is a hamlet of the most shabby sort. It barely supports one ill- furnished store, two primitive way-side taverns, a Methodist chapel, a school, a post-office, and a small woolen factory. With the exception of such gentry as the blacksmith, the wagon-maker, the cobbler, and the tailor, the inhabitants employ themselves in the factory, in neighboring saw- mills, tanneries, and in the transportation of lum- ber and leather to the river landings. In the vicinity are a few of the better class of homesteads and small farms. The situation of Palenville, at the portals of the hills, gives you an equal and ready access to the great valley on one side, and to the mountain solitudes on the other. Ease- ward from the hamlet, half a mile is a most lovabit cascade, too much neglected by the few travelers who come to the clove. A minutes walk through a dense copse will bring you to an unexception- able point of observation. Seated upon a moss- grown rock, and shaded by the sloping eaves of giant hemlocks, you muse on flood and fell. At your feet lies the deep basin of dark waters, the clustering foliage toying with their busy bub- bles. The cascade and its accompanying rock- ledges fills the middle ground, exposing beyond the entire stretch of the southern line of bill, until it is lost in the golden haze of the setting sun. At this evening hour, too, the sunlight kisses only the tops of the trees and shrubs, and glimmers upon the upper edge alone of the falling water. A little way below and this picture occurs again, in a scarcely less pleasing form. Still further eastward are other smaller yet exceedingly agree- able glimpses of cascade and copse. The greater beauties, however, lie west of the village, and along the bed of the torrent, rather than on the frequented path. You must make a thousand d~toers to properly explore the varying course of the brook which dashes and leaps through this magnificent pass. You must risk your neck now and then in descending to the arcana of a ghostly glen far below the roadside, and anon you must struggle manfully to pull your aching limbs back again. After the passage of a mile and a half you cross the creek on a wooden bridge, rickety CASCADE NEAR PALENvITLE. 152 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. and insecure enough for all the requisitions of the picturesque, at the favorite point of High Rocks. Beneath this bridge is a fall of great extent and beauty. To see it to advantage, you must hunt up the footpath, which will lead you to the edge of the water on the opposite bank, where a good granite lounge looks the roystering spray full in the face. Beyond this point the highway offers very lit- tle of interest, excepting in the general vistas of the ravine, up and down, as you ascend the ridge. The waters may, however, still be followed two or three hundred yards, to the base of another fall, not less noticeable, though of totally opposite character to that which you have just left. This is known to all hebitui~s of the clove as the Dog- Hole. It is a perpendicular leap of some sixty feet. The stream here, extremely narrowed by the rocky banks, rushes over an immense concave edge, into a caldron from which a fish could searcely emerge. We were once passing the day here sketchino; ondisturbed, save by the music of the waters, and the melody of birds; when, as we finished our drawing and were examining it with inward sat- isfaction, we were suddenly startled by a near and unusual noise. Remembering that the much dreaded snake moves more silemitly, we ascribed the fracas to the passage of stray cattle, or to the noisy amours of the winds, and resumed our meditations. Again were we startled, and this time, with a consoinusness of some extraordinary presence; when looking up, we caught the won- dering eye of a remarkable old denizen of Palen- ville, and heard him ejaculate, as he stared at our picture, Tis most onaccountable ! This is a favorite expression of the good old man s. Is that you, IJncle Joe ! we exclaimed, much relieved, we took you for a bear 0 no ! said he, there aint many bears in these parts now, and they never disturb a body. When they hear a man coming, they always bear away! he, he, he! Tis tnost onaccountable Uncle Joe looks out and observes the clouds gathering or rolling away, and each circumstance strikes him as most unaccountable; in the long winter evenings he loses at dominoes in the sit- ting-room of the village i.~n, and in his peculiar nasal utterance still thinks it most onaccount- able ! He once undertook to pilot us over a short cut to the Mountain House, when he com- pletely lost his way, yet found every consolation THE HIOH HacKs. THE CATSKILLS. 153 in the reflection that it was must onaccount- able At the Dog-Hole you must again betake your- self to the road, arid you will do well to keep therein, until you reach the sprawling shanties of a deserted tannery in the Upper Clove. These tanneries are numerous in the Catskills ~uid the business affords employment and bread to very many people. The great abundance of the hemlock, which supplies the necessary bark, gives extraordinary f cilities for the labor. In Prattsville, some thirty miles west of the Clove, Colonel Zadoc Pratt has established one of the most extensive tanneries in the laud. This feature of the country is not at all calculated to win the love of the hunter of the picturesque. It destroys the beauty of many a fair landscapediscolors the once pure watersand, what is worse than all, drives the fish from the streams ! Thiiik of the sacrilege! The bright-tinted trout offered up upon the ignoble altar of calf-skin, sheep-skin, ;~rmd cow-skin! It boots nothing to protest against the infamy, or, 0 ! ye gods and little tishes ! we would summon the venerated shade of our beloved Walton, to share our indirnation at the shameful innovation. Let us then pass the fdlin~ tanneries without even a rcquicscat in pace, and again springing and stumbling from rock to rock, and from log to log, make our way up the stream. The brook which now comes in from the ravine on the right, is that which we have already followed in our descent from the High Fallsnear the Mountaimi Houseto the Clove. We pass it by now, and advance upon the other bramich. The rest of our way is as novel aiad romantic in its continually changing revelations, as it is arduous in achieve- meut. Here is the favorite studio of the many artists, whom the aummuer mouths always bring to the Catskills. Nowhere else do they find, within the same nar.. ow range, so great and rich a field for study. Every step is over noble piles of well- marked rocks, and among the most grotesque forest fragmuemits while each successive bend in the brook discloses a new and different cascade. The total abseimce of a nomenclature prevents any successful attemul)t to individualize the many fine points here, until we reach the base of the last amid highest of the cascades, the Little Falls, to which we have already referred as having excited the jealousy of good Peter Schutt, time Prospero of thin 1-Iirh Falls. Often in these wild glens have we looked mrpward where TIlE DOG HOLE. 154 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. Higher yet the pine-tree hung Its dsrksome trunk, and frequent flung- Where seemd the cliffs to meet on high His bows athwart the narrowed sky. Or we have gazed below, where Rock upon rock incumbent hung; And torrents down the gullies flung, Joind the rude river that brawid on, Recoiling now from crag and stone. With Uncle Joe as a guide, and accompanied by two of our friends, we took our first walk up this devious path, resolute in purpose and step as the youth who bore the banner with the stranoc device. We sallied forth in high glee on that lovely morn, with health on every zephyrs wing ; and even Uncle Joe failed to look upon it as most onaccountable, when one of our party vented his superabundant enthusiasm in a recita- tion of Mrs. Elliss verses Were I a prince, it is not all The charms of court or crowded halt. Could keep me from the lovelier sight Of blooming earth and rivers bright; lint here id come, And find my home, Sweet scene of peace, no more to roam. As we trudged joyously along, our chat upon the comparative charms of Nature, in her varying aspects, with the seasons change. One loved the fresh and sparkling emeralds of spring. and her pure and buoyattt airs; another rejoiceti and dreamed happy dreams, fanned by the warmer and more soothing breezes of summer; while a third reveled in the fanciful and gorgeous appar- eling of motley autumnin the rainbow beauty of the forest leaves. Uncle Joe listened with truthful sympathy to all their varying prefer- ences; but he thought the terrors of winter, when the fathomless depths of snow buried the hills, and tlte giant stalactites of ice ~entinel- ed their narrow passesthe most onaccount- able. You shoulti see, said be, as we stood be- neath the towering rocks of Little Falls, you should see those thousand rills, trickling and leap- ing down so merrily from the sutantit of the mountain, as they appear in winter, in the shape of glittering icicles a hundred feet in length! You should look upon those waters when hitter frosts have chilled them with tlteir own icy mon- uments. As our worthy thus discoursed, though in more fell homely phrase, the fanciful poem of Bryant sug vtrw THtSOUOH THE cLovE. THE CATSKILLS. 155 gested by similar scenes at the Mountain House Cascades, came to our mind: Midst greens and shades the Catterskill leaps From cliffs where the wood-flower clings; All summer he moistens his verdant steeps, With the light spray of the mountain springs; And he shakes the woods on the mountain side, When they drip with the rains of autumn tide. But when in the forest, bare and old, The blast of December calls, lIe builds in the star-liglst, clear and cold, A palace of ice where his torrent bills. With turret and arch and fret-work fair, And pillars blue as the summer air. From the top of the Little Falls, we have a noble view of the gorge of the Kauterskill, with the distant glimpse of the valley of the Hudson, and the remote plains of Connecticut. There, as Miss Martineau writes. where a blue expanse lies beyond the triple range of hills, are the churches of religious Massachusetts, sending up their Sabbath psalmspraise which we are too high to bear, while God is not. Half a dozen miles onward, we may enter the Stony Clove, a pass in the western chain of these hills, generally known as the Shandaken Mountains. This gorge had been described to us as one of sublime beauty; so narrow as scarcely to admit of the passage of more than a single file of voyagers; and with such mighty walls as to exclude the faintest beam of sunshine; while ice and snow were to be seen there at all seasons of the year. Our experience afterward corrected this report. Compared with other regions of tlse Catskills, we thought the Stony Clove extremely monotonous; and indeed we found ourself at the other extremity, while we were yet vaitily await- ing a realization of our magnificent expectations. There is a lakelet in this pass from which a certain author once drew a trout weighing five pounds; but in a second edition of his travels he reduced the extraordinary fishat our particular and most conscientious requestto a tonnage of a pound and a half! Plauterkill, the second of the two great cloves of the Catskills, is entered five miles south of Palenville. It is scarcely less fruitful in the pic- turesque than is tIme Kauterskill ; while it retains yet more of its native luxuriance and wildness. The hand of man, however, is now busy in its forest hauntsfelling the royal treeobstructing its foaming torrents, and winding the smooth and trodden path tlsrough its fastnesses. The stream which muokes its rugged way in the gorge of tI Plauterskill, falls, in the passage of two miles, no less than twenty-five hutsdred feet. Its banlcs rise in colossal mountain walls, towering high in air, and groaning with all their mighty strength, beneath the weight of their dense for- ests. A monarch among these hills is South Peak, with its crown lifted four thousand feet toward heaven. It is full of remarkable locali- ties, each enwrapt in legendary lore. Not the least lovely of its possessions is a gentle lake, perched in solitude upon its summit. Before we take our leave of those hills, we must go back a while to the Kauterskill, and ascend tlsose giant spurs looking down into its glensth.e lofty Round Top and the illustrious High Peak. From these grand elevations the Mountain House and its soaring perch are seen far, far BRIDGE ON THE KAUTERaKILL. 156 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. below in the valley. Glorious are the vistas of account of this same memorable expedition. To plain and river opened here and there in the great this end we shall venture to draw at pleasure, as forests, which shelter you in all your long ascent, we have already done throughout this paper, upon When the dawning is auspicious, you may gaze letters and descriptions of the Catskills which we in wonder as upon a vast expanse of ocean, with have written for other occasions than the present. the surface here and there writhing in mad bil- Gazing from the window of our little hostelry, in lows now it is a frozen sea, with huge heaps of the mountains, one sunny morn in July, as the ~mow-drift, which anon is rent into mighty squad- sounil of many wheels struck upon our ears, we rons of giant icebergs. Magical is the effect of beheld a suite of carriages, heavily laden with fair Lhe sunbeams upon this great sea of mist, making dames and gallant lords, bent, as was evident it a Proteus in form, and a chameleon in color, from their excess of glee and basketry, upon a Once, after passing an adventurous night with a frolic of some sort. A single glance was sufficient large and merry party of dames and cavaliers, for much mutual recognition between the travel- upon the proudest heights of the High Peak, we ers arid ourselves and as some of the party watched such a scene as this until the sun, rising aliebt ed to greet us, we felt that marching orders high in heaven, bathed farm and cot below in the for our idle feet had at length arrived. So it fell full effulgence and glory of the day. We can not out and we were speedily enrolled a full private, perhaps better amuse our readers than with some in the largest and most genial expedition which THE PLAUTERKILL. THE CATSKILLS. 157 ever set forth for the conquest of High Peak. Our troupe was to reach the head of the Clove (the average summit of the mountains) in the car- riages, and proceed thence, on foot, six miles to the crest of High Peak, where we were to pass the night. Preceded by our guides, laden with stores, we made a very gallant appearance, not lessened by the orthodox costume of both ladies and gen- tlementhe former in a demi-composite Bloomer rig. Through bush and brake, wading in deep mosses and clambering over and under fearful rocks, we merrily urged our way; now and then halting for a general council of travel, by the side of the cool mountain springs. The ladies per- formed the journey stoutly, until, without let or hindrance from bears, snakes, or panthers, we rested on the crown of the noble peak, upon a grand table-rock covered with mosses of extra- ordinary length, and of the softest texture. The promised land thus gained, we set about selecting a site for our camp, which we formed under the ledge of our trysting rock. Then what an indus- trious colony we were, to be sure !some felling trees for the construction of the castle, others gathering mosses and hemlock sprigs for roofing and bedding, building fires, boiling coffee, and other preparations for the evening meal and the nights repose. All this while a heavy storm, which had been long gathering, threatened mo- mnentarily to break upon us, in anger at our bold invasion of cloud-land. Night grew apace, and the newly risen moon hid herself in aifright: nearer and louder boomed the deep thunder, and more fiercely and frightfully flashed th~ lightning, until our huge camp fires looked dim and pale in the electric glare. The bough-house, which we had fully completed, was soon crowded, in the vain hope of shelter. The water quickly pene- trated its dense roof of leaves, until every devoted noddle served as a rock for the gambols of a mis- chievous little cascade. It was soon found to rain harder inside than without, those exposed to the full blast of the storm having the heat of the fires as an antidote. Thus passed a long hour, when the storm, wearied with our obstinate resistance, took itself off, with the whole baggage of mist and cloud. The moon again gleamed forth, decking the dripping forest leaves with pearl and diamond. The scene which followed, as one after another emerged from the bower, and gathered around the fires to dry, was grand and solemn in the ex- treme. The artists of our party madeas artists always willgood use of the occasion. Each strove to rival the other in excess of caricature; but no exaggeration could exceed the reality We had no idea that we possessed so large a stock of dry goods (wet goods we mean), until we be- held the vast array of submerged beaver, dripping broad-cloth, and innundated muslin and linen, steaming on rock and bough. As it was deemed unsafe to sleep after the rain, we were reduced to the necessity of sitting up throughout the night, an alternative which proved, however, to be no great hardship. Each member of the party seemed to feel the necessity of being more than usually amP able, and all discomfort was quickly exorcised by the magic wand of cheerfulness. Story and jest and song followed rapidly, and none wee permitted to take cold, either physically or men- tally, by remaining quiet and unoccupied. Among CASCADE IN THE PLAUTEaRILL. 158 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. our divertissements, a series of grand tableaux vivants had eminent success. For the drama of Pocahontas and Captain Smith, the partyespe- cially the ladieswere already in admirable cos- tume; and with the wild glare of the fires, and the ghostly forest back-ground, the representation was very tragic. Of the rewards of all our enterprise and trials, in the sublime spectacle of the succeeding dawn, we have already discoursed. After a very matu- tinal breakfast we made a successful descent, re- gaining the habitable globe in good condition, and with none but pleasant memories of our advent- urous night on High Peak. We have less agreeable memories of our first acquaintance with Round Top, the neighboring summit, and next in elevation to the High Peak. We had been assured that from the crest of the Round Top we should be able, at least by climb- ing a tree, to see all creation. But, alas! when our destination was reached, our only re- ward was the consciousness of duty discharged; for so thick were the forest leaves, that look which way we would, our vision was every where obstructed We knew that all creation wasas we had been toldspread out beneath us, but that knowledge was merely a Tantalus- cup, while creation was so effectually hidden from view. We recollected the supeme alterna- tive of climbing a tree ; but then, too, we re- membered not only the ten miles which we had walked, but the other ten still to be trudged over in returning; and we felt ourselves much too fa- tigued to venture upon any rash exploit. Our feelings at that critical moment might be happily expressed by a slight parody of some lines in the soliloquy of Hamlets uncle: What then? what rests? Try what the tree-tops can! What can they not ? And yet, what can they when one can not climb up. Here was a quandary! After lugging our- selves and our sketch-boxes to the height of this great argument, not a glimpse could we get of all the marvelous beauties around us. Some- thing, however, we were determined to draw, by way of memento of the visit. As good luck would have it, our eyes unanimously fell upon the picturesque figure of our guide, old Uncle Joe, as he gracefully reclined upon a moss-grown bank, filling the air with the perfumes of the fragrant weed, As he thus arrested our atten- tion, we thoughtto use again the speech of the Danish king all may yet be well ! Uncle Joe was a doomed mansacrificed upon the altar of the picturesque and of High Art. Enjoining upon him the most statuesque quiet, we rapidly transferred his undying beauties to the spotless page; one assailing him in the van; a second on his flank; while a third worried his rear; un- til he soon fell a victim to black lead, and was carried at the point of the pencil. Thus provided with reminiscences of Round Top, we began the descent of the monntain a little more rapidly than we went up. While hurrying down tkn steep declivity, Uncle Joe, who led the file, overturned a hornets nest; but the speed at which he was moving placed him beyond the reach of the venge- ful insects by the time they were fairly aroused. He shouted the alarm, but too late for the well- being of the next in pursuit. Those still behind hastily avoided the fatal track and escaped. While we were quizzing our fellow-traveler upon his swelled eye, incident to the warm reception giv- en him by the hornets, Uncle Joe fell over a pros- trate tree and bruised his back. Very soon after, another slipped upon a mossy rock and damaged his ankle; while we, to save ourself from a like fall, stupidly grasped at a thorn bush, and lace- rated our hands. Condoling with each other, we hobbled along, one with his hand over his smart- ing eye, another seeking to straighten his dorsal latitudes, a third limping heavily, and we with our digits wrapped in a white cambric. To in- crease the pleasures of the day, we lost the path, and after wandering hither and thither, very much befogged, finally emerged upon the turn- pike, some miles further from our inn than the point at which we had left it. Here, after the fatigues of a night on High Peak, and of a day on the Round Top, we end our wanderings in the Catskills. THE HOLY WEEK AT ROME. SECOND ARTICLE. THE grand object of the Roman Catholic hurch in its observance of the Easter festi- val, as stated by Bishop England, is to use the most natural and efficacious mode of so exhibiting to a redeemed race the tragic occurrences of the very catasttophe by which that redemption was effectuated, as to produce deep impressions for their religious improvement, and he hazards the fol- lowing observation, that if the multiplication of religious rites be superstition, then is the God of Sinai its most powerful abettor. Acting upon this view of the inspired Word, the Church of Rome combines music, scenery, action and poetry, with a grand melodrama to excite those emotions in the minds of its disciples which it substitutes for religion, or to use the words of its expounder, to bring the mind to any particular frame, so that the effect is almost irresistible. There was a period doubtless in the history of Christianity when certain religious transactions, simply given in a pictorial manner, were not without efficacy in arousing heathen minds to inquiry and interest; but multiplied and diverted as they since have been from their original pur- poses, they are now presented to us more as a theatrical resource to sustain and show off priest- craft than as illustrating the truths of the Bible. Yet I would not be understood as asserting that there are no hearts moved even in this age to a clearer appreciation ofthe sublime doctrines which they are intended to illustrate, by these subtle appeals to the senses and imagination. Many a simple Romanist bows in adoring faith before image or relic, and arises from his devotion jus- tified before God, as was the poor publican in the Temple who beat his breast and cried, Have mer- cy upon me a miserable sinner, while the skepti- cal Pharisee, who thanked heaven that he was not

Holy Week at Rome 158-171

158 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. our divertissements, a series of grand tableaux vivants had eminent success. For the drama of Pocahontas and Captain Smith, the partyespe- cially the ladieswere already in admirable cos- tume; and with the wild glare of the fires, and the ghostly forest back-ground, the representation was very tragic. Of the rewards of all our enterprise and trials, in the sublime spectacle of the succeeding dawn, we have already discoursed. After a very matu- tinal breakfast we made a successful descent, re- gaining the habitable globe in good condition, and with none but pleasant memories of our advent- urous night on High Peak. We have less agreeable memories of our first acquaintance with Round Top, the neighboring summit, and next in elevation to the High Peak. We had been assured that from the crest of the Round Top we should be able, at least by climb- ing a tree, to see all creation. But, alas! when our destination was reached, our only re- ward was the consciousness of duty discharged; for so thick were the forest leaves, that look which way we would, our vision was every where obstructed We knew that all creation wasas we had been toldspread out beneath us, but that knowledge was merely a Tantalus- cup, while creation was so effectually hidden from view. We recollected the supeme alterna- tive of climbing a tree ; but then, too, we re- membered not only the ten miles which we had walked, but the other ten still to be trudged over in returning; and we felt ourselves much too fa- tigued to venture upon any rash exploit. Our feelings at that critical moment might be happily expressed by a slight parody of some lines in the soliloquy of Hamlets uncle: What then? what rests? Try what the tree-tops can! What can they not ? And yet, what can they when one can not climb up. Here was a quandary! After lugging our- selves and our sketch-boxes to the height of this great argument, not a glimpse could we get of all the marvelous beauties around us. Some- thing, however, we were determined to draw, by way of memento of the visit. As good luck would have it, our eyes unanimously fell upon the picturesque figure of our guide, old Uncle Joe, as he gracefully reclined upon a moss-grown bank, filling the air with the perfumes of the fragrant weed, As he thus arrested our atten- tion, we thoughtto use again the speech of the Danish king all may yet be well ! Uncle Joe was a doomed mansacrificed upon the altar of the picturesque and of High Art. Enjoining upon him the most statuesque quiet, we rapidly transferred his undying beauties to the spotless page; one assailing him in the van; a second on his flank; while a third worried his rear; un- til he soon fell a victim to black lead, and was carried at the point of the pencil. Thus provided with reminiscences of Round Top, we began the descent of the monntain a little more rapidly than we went up. While hurrying down tkn steep declivity, Uncle Joe, who led the file, overturned a hornets nest; but the speed at which he was moving placed him beyond the reach of the venge- ful insects by the time they were fairly aroused. He shouted the alarm, but too late for the well- being of the next in pursuit. Those still behind hastily avoided the fatal track and escaped. While we were quizzing our fellow-traveler upon his swelled eye, incident to the warm reception giv- en him by the hornets, Uncle Joe fell over a pros- trate tree and bruised his back. Very soon after, another slipped upon a mossy rock and damaged his ankle; while we, to save ourself from a like fall, stupidly grasped at a thorn bush, and lace- rated our hands. Condoling with each other, we hobbled along, one with his hand over his smart- ing eye, another seeking to straighten his dorsal latitudes, a third limping heavily, and we with our digits wrapped in a white cambric. To in- crease the pleasures of the day, we lost the path, and after wandering hither and thither, very much befogged, finally emerged upon the turn- pike, some miles further from our inn than the point at which we had left it. Here, after the fatigues of a night on High Peak, and of a day on the Round Top, we end our wanderings in the Catskills. THE HOLY WEEK AT ROME. SECOND ARTICLE. THE grand object of the Roman Catholic hurch in its observance of the Easter festi- val, as stated by Bishop England, is to use the most natural and efficacious mode of so exhibiting to a redeemed race the tragic occurrences of the very catasttophe by which that redemption was effectuated, as to produce deep impressions for their religious improvement, and he hazards the fol- lowing observation, that if the multiplication of religious rites be superstition, then is the God of Sinai its most powerful abettor. Acting upon this view of the inspired Word, the Church of Rome combines music, scenery, action and poetry, with a grand melodrama to excite those emotions in the minds of its disciples which it substitutes for religion, or to use the words of its expounder, to bring the mind to any particular frame, so that the effect is almost irresistible. There was a period doubtless in the history of Christianity when certain religious transactions, simply given in a pictorial manner, were not without efficacy in arousing heathen minds to inquiry and interest; but multiplied and diverted as they since have been from their original pur- poses, they are now presented to us more as a theatrical resource to sustain and show off priest- craft than as illustrating the truths of the Bible. Yet I would not be understood as asserting that there are no hearts moved even in this age to a clearer appreciation ofthe sublime doctrines which they are intended to illustrate, by these subtle appeals to the senses and imagination. Many a simple Romanist bows in adoring faith before image or relic, and arises from his devotion jus- tified before God, as was the poor publican in the Temple who beat his breast and cried, Have mer- cy upon me a miserable sinner, while the skepti- cal Pharisee, who thanked heaven that he was not THE HOLY WEEK AT ROME. 159 1~ as other men, left with additional sin upon his heart. The sin lies not with those who believe, hut upon them who deceive those that hunger and thirst after righteousness. If the ceremno- nies of the floinan Catholic Church, to which I shall allude, are the bread of life, then is her skirt free from this great wickedness. But if, on the contrary, they confirm mankind in superstition, substituting evanescent emotion for practical piety, and shut the gates of heaven to all except those who how before their idols and leave their gifts at her shrine, then indeed have the enlight- ened men, who have upheld and sanctioned a system so much at variance with the simple pre- cepts of the gospel and the example of its author, incurred a weighty responsibility. A fortnight hefore Easter the church edifices are all pat in mourning, the ornaments generally removed, pictures vailed, and crosses clothed in violet in token of grief and penance. During this period the greatest activity prevails in pre- parations for the comincr solemnities. Each church seeks to distinvuish itself above its rivals by the splendor of its decorations, its pomp, music, lights, and all those outward ap- pliances to attract the eye, in which the Roman people for upward of two thousand years have been so curious and critical. All the communi- ties of sisters are as busy as so many hives of bees with the needle embroidery, sewing, plait- ing, bleaching, or repairing the linen of the altar, the damasks and velvet hangings of the churches, and the robes of the priesthood. To them as to their isolated brothers, the monks, the coining spectacles are an event in their monotonous lives. and they enter upon the work of preparation with all the zest of secular ambition, all striving P exalt the object of their labors before God and man by the splendor of their work. Their degree of success promotes correspondingly the venera- tion or enthusiasm of the people toward the par- ticular patron saint they thus delight to honor. Consequently upon the good works of their hand5 hangs, in no small part, the piety of their congre- gations, for, as we have seen, their avowed object is to create a powerful impression upon the im- agination. The Holy Week comprises the pro- foundest griefs and the greatest joys of the Church comprising as it does the crucifixion and resur- rection of the Saviour. All that human ingenuity and expense can provide, to make apparent the one and give echat to the other, is lavished upon the ceremonies of this festival. Rome overflows with a gaping, wondering. worshiping, or skeptical multitude. Whatever may be the creed of each individual, or whether of no creed at all, the entire mass come up to gaze upon the show. Albano, Frascati, Tivohi, and all the neighboring towns pour in their picturesque and handsome population by tens of thousands. On a transalpine stranger no portion of this grand gala makes a more agreeable impression than the variety and beauty of the costumes and races about Rome. Slouched capped pilgrims, with staves, cockle shells, and scrips, are scarcer now than a few centuries back, but enough are to be PANTHEON AT ROME. 160 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. seen to complete the romantic human variety which Rome calls from the four quarters of the globe, to witness the pride of her abasement. Every European country sends its representa- tives, and even the republicans of America add greatly to the throng. Rome at no time has much to boast of in the extent and cleanliness of its accommodations. It it is a city a century behind all other European capitals in every public convenience except good water, in which, a legacy from Imperial Rome, it is as far ahead of them, possessing fountains and aqueducts sufficient for the wants of a million souls. The result is, that during Holy Week, Rome is crowded to an extent that Paris in its most brilliant fites never realized. Prices are quadrupled. Indeed there is no limit to the de- mand of a Roman where the necessity is press- ing. Every hotel and apartment is crammed at prices which rival those of California when houses were scarcer than golden ingots. Alas for those tardy ones who arrive but a few days before Palm Sunday! They are to be seen anxiously driving from hotel to hotel, and from apartment to apart- ment, imploring to be taken in on any terms, paying for the carriage gold in lieu of silver, and at last content to mount some hundred steps, grimed, one would suppose with the accumu- lated filth of centuries, to some dimly-lighted hack room, a few feet square, containing little else but an apology for a bed on which some two or three are to take their slumbers at the rate of ten dollars per night. Such is not a rare experi- ence. Others fare worse and pay less. Some are compelled to pass the night in their carriages. Friends of mine paid a dollar each for the use of chairs at a cafd until morninga counter to sleep upon was an unexpected luxurysome even are compelled to find quarters in towns ten or twelve miles from Rome. A Roman shop-keeper or landlord is at all times a stolid, proud character, indifferent whether you buy, and careless whether you are a& ommodated. The former at times is too lazy to take down his own wares for a purchaser; the latter does bet- ter, but both during Holy Week are sublimely ele- vated above all personal exertions beyond raising their prices, to swell the stream of cash which is sure to flow into them, like their own golden Ti- her in a flood. Above all considerations of dirt, punctuality, or even a sufficiency of food, the traveler must take his meals at hotel or caf6 as he can get them. The table laid, there is a rush of the first comers, who soon leave but a few cold fragments for those whose intuition could not tell them that the table-dh6te of yesterday, at the fixed hour of seven, was to-day at four. The desperate mob at cafes is amusing. All the world being anxious to arrive at some solemn spectacle at the same moment, they all are equally anxious to breakfast in season. Pell-mell they tumble into the cafds demanding coffee and toast in a dozen languages in one breath, carrying one forcibly back to the first breakfast-scene after the polyglot confusion at the Tower of Babel. The waiter slaps on the table an unwiped cup, and a napkin that has seen a weeks hard service. After waiting in an agony of impatience, for fear th Pope will bless the faithful and you be found not among them, and no coffee in sight, you angrily cA~AicAaE ON PALM ~ THE HOLY WEEK AT ROME 161 atrain summon the waiter. who comes when he can. To your emphatic remonstrance he replies, What would you have, Sir it is Holy Week : the stereotyped answer to every species of annoy- ance and extortion to which strangers are sub- jcted during this most unholy of periods, and with which they must be comforted, for none other xviii be vouchsafed. To all the principal sights of the Church there are reserved seats or positiona, for which tickets are issued in the ratio of about live to one as to accommodation. These are given to the several embassadors in proportion to the number of their applications, which of course greatly exceed the number of tickets they receive for distribution. Hence arises another scramble for these permits to xvitness the sacred mysteries within the privi- leged limits. Women are required to go in black and veiled; men in a ball dress or uniform. By a strange anomaly, in all Catholic countries, the sword has the preference of entry to all temples of the PRINCE of PEACE. To return to the tick- ets. A hapless week is the Holy Week for the eml)assador or banker. He is besieged by notes, d.ittery, interest, and every weapon, feminine and masculine, to furnish the required billets of entry. i-low to gratify one, and not irritate five whom lie can not provide for, is a moral problem our diplomatic Solons, and financial Rothschilds, are not always successful in solving. However, they do their best, and distribute the papal tickets, a different color for each day, as far as they will go. XOL. IXNo. 50.I Palm-Sunday, so called from Christs triumphal entry into Jerusalem, is the first grand day of the holy series. But precediur this there xvas for- merly a stately cavalcade, xvhen popes and cardi- nals were better riders than at present ; but as it became necessary to tie some of the eminentis- simm, as the cardinals are called, on their steeds, on account of their defective horsenianship, and Pius VII., who succeeded the handsome Pins ~m I., Icing an infirm Juan, the custom was changed. Since then, xvhen tIme procession passes into the street, the lange papal state-coach is used, in which the Pope follows the man carrying the cross, mounted on a white mule, his Holiness the meanwhile scattering his blessings over the crowd by an incessant twirl of three fingers, reminding one of the favorite Italian game of morra. This coach, notwithstanding its color, was the sIJecial object of hate to the Red Republicans in 1848, who would have destroyed it hail they not had more respect for a sacred doll called time most holy baby, to which it was given for its daily airings. On Palmia-Sunday the cardinals pay homage to his Holiness on his tlmroiae, by going according to precedence and bowing three times before the Popea bow for each member of the Trinity and theim kissing the border of tIme cope which covers his right hamad. The choir commences with the Hosanna of the children, after which come appropriate prayers and chants. TIme Gospel fin- ished, the second umaster of cerenaunies gives ar THE merEs cARRIAGE. 162 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. tificial palm-branches to the sacristan, deacon, of the Popes choir is the best that Italy can pro. and subdeacon, who, kneeling before the pontitl, vide, and the procession, seen for the first time hold them up for his blessing. While the sign in St. Peters in all its elaborate pageantry, i~ of the cross is made over them, a prayer is olbired worth perhaps all the squeezing and wrangling that God will bless all those who will carry them for room which it occasions, to say nothing of with right sentiments. the odors arising from an unwashed, uneombed, It would be impossible as well as unprofitable garlic-fed Roman peasantry. Vast as is St. Pu- to describe all the etiquette accompanying each tersso vast and massive that the same t in- religious ceremony of the Holy Week. The pro- perature is maintained during summer and win- gramme of the procession for Easter Sunday will terthe smells nnisin~ from foul humanity over- serve to show the variety and extent of the sa- power the fragrant fumes of the numberless Cemi- cred household, each member of which has not sers, and, for days after the great festivals, leave only his appropriate costume but his specific the church in a disarreeable condition. amount of kissing, homage, and genuflexions to One of the drollesi. sights of the Holy Week is perform, or to fulfill some petty duty expressly to see the Cardinal Grand Penitentiary from his created to give him something to do. No little throne dispensing absolution to the crowds that time, and not a few learned heads, are constantly flock to him. He alone can absolve in those employed to regulate the numberless questions cases which the Pope reserves to himself; be- of duty and precedence, and all the nonsense of sides granting dispensation for contravention of bombastic etiquette that naturally find groxvtlm I civil laxv, illegitinom te births, vovs, sinlommy, and in so prolific a soil of folly and absurdity. Thus every sin or error, which, for canse good or bad. the Pope reads in broad daylight, by a liobted the Chnrcli takes opoim herself to pardon. That candle, some sacred lesson which no one can pardon for every crime has its price is no fiction in hear, the annals of Rome ; not that tIme traffic in absolo The cardinals again pay homage, as each re- tion is openly indulged or always abused, lint that ceives a palm from the Pope, by kissing the hand it is in some cases openly avowed I know, and that gives it, the palm itself, and the right knee i sermons l)reache(l liroelsiming the detestable doe- of the holy father. After them, in the order of trine, and the irice attached to the greatest crimes the procession, follow the different hierarchal against the law of Coil. Such an one was heanmi ranks down to the mitred abbots, who, with all by a friend of mine in Spain, in which the tanili that succeed them, kiss simply the pontiffs foot. was distinctly laid down. Good priests of every Last of all come the military and the foreigners persuasion will reprobate this evil; but the Church of distinction at Rome who are admitted to this of Rome, from which it sprung, still permits a honor, each bearing away a palm. This, with practice so frnitful in profit to her treasury. Time the acconpanying service, takes up a great deal instances of absolution witnessed by myself bore of time, n,nd is a very tiresome affair. The music a very ludicrous aspect. A large crowd so- KISSiNO rOE POPES FOOT. THE HOLY WEEK AT ROME 163 rounded the confessional box in which the car- dinal sat. Several valets preserved order, and made the crowd approach and (lisappear as rap- idly as possible Some five or six would kneel at once. He touched in silence their heads light- ly, and as rapidly as one could count, with the tip of a long brass rod, and the ceremony for them was over. A woman brought up two daugh- ters of six and four years of age At first he declined putting the rod to their heads; but the hildren, who evidently had been taught to con- sider that some mysterious good was connected with the operation, refused to budge. The car- dinal at last impatiently gave the elder the re- quired tap; while the youn~er, who kept bowing nd kneeling, was thrust aside unabsolved to make way for fresh sinners. Perhaps lie con- sidered her as one of the little ones who need iio absolution from man The interval between Palm-Sunday an(l Wed- nesday-eve is not without its catalogue of sights to the profane or pious who are moved to attend. But there are enough grand ceremonies to weary hMh soul and body. without giving heed to the lesser otlices of the Holy Week. The great rush is to hear the three Miscreres in the Sistine chapel. The first is on Wednesday. The office is called the tenehr~. or darkness ; though why, no one knows. At the epistle side of the sanctuary there is a large candlestick. surmount- ed by a triangle, on the ascendina sides of which are stuck fourteen yellow candles, with one at the apex. There are various conjectures among the Roman Catholic writers as to what these mourning candles are intended to typify. Some say the Apostles and the Three Manes; others, the patriarchs and prophets; but the plain truth is, that as no one knows any thing about the original meaning of the ceremony, any one has the right to conjecture what he pleases. These lights arc gradually put out dunn0 the office, and this extinction testifies grief. The uses of many of the articles that find such conspicuous positions in Roman Catholic worship are an enigma to the most enlightened Papists theniselves. They are retained because custom has made them venerable, and they add to the show. But the reasons which ecclesiastical ingenuity iiivents to justify many palpable absurdities are quite worthy of the era which originated the learn- ed discussion as to how many angels could dance at one time on a needles point. For instance, the large fans, or flahelli, imide of peacocks feathers, which were originally miothing but fly-brushes, are now exalted into monitors for the Pope. The brushing away of insects from the altar is con- sidered as typical of the endeavor to banish the distractions of idle though/s from the mind of him who approached to offer the holy sacrifiec. Being fornme(l of peacocks feathers, end crea now, when eyes are secn in the plomes, it admon- ishes the Pontiff that a general observation is fixed upon him, and shons the necessity of eir- cumspcetion mu his own conduet. My quotations, when not otherwise mentioned, are from Bishop Englands Explanations of the GRANTING ABSOLUTION IN ST. raTERS. 164 HARPEB2S NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. Ceremonies of the Holy Week. I consider it necessary to mention this, lest some of my read- ers in their simplicity should accuse me of satir- izing what I can not commend. I go to Rome to view the Papal Church, because it is there, in the city of its choice and power, that we expect to find it in its purest forms. I quote its doc- trines from its own historians and clergy, so that my authorities shall be above impeachment. If either fact or faith appear too strange to be true, reader mine, make a pilgrimage of doubt to the Eternal City to relieve, through the me- dium of, your own eyes and ears, a skepticism excusable, it must be confessed, but without Ibundation. Hours before the commencement of the Mat- tutino delle Tenebre, as the Italians call this impressive service, the royal staircase of the Vat- ican, which leads toward the Sistine Chapel, is crowded with the impatient multitude of both sexes, who have the right of entry. Until the doors are opened they have no resource but to remain quiet, forming queue, as at the French theatres. But the moment the head of the mass fii.~ds itself in motion, there commences a rush and scene of confusion frightful to witness and dangerous to experience. If the salvation of each individual depended upon being first within the chapel, greater and more desperate efforts nature could not make to win that goal. It is no vulgar mob that writhes, pushes, pants, and struggles, like a knot of impaled worms, within those sacred walls. There are there the distin- guished of all countriesnoblemen and noble ladiesthe curious traveler and the pious pilgrim the delicate invalid, who would die despairing- ly without hearing those more than mortal notes; and the gallant soldier, whose brilliant uniform gives bins precedence over the black vails of women and the dress-coats of menall push for- ward in one selfish effort to secure the coveted position within those narrow precincts. In the mUsic, the stalwart Swiss guards that endeavor to control this livints torrent into something like order and respect for the sanctuary, are not un- Frequently roughly borne back, and obliged to ex- ert no slight violence to disengage themselves. They are often more rude than necessity requires, and I have heard fierce words exchanged even dur- ing the service, between them and visitors whose tempers were not proof against their insolence and roughness. In general, however, they are as- siduous to protect the weaker sex, and to keep the two sexes as distinct as possible, for the pa- pal rule, like the Jewish, is, that they shall not mingle during these holy offices. To speak to- gether, whatever may be the necessity, is prompt- ~ly rebuked by the presiding officers. The ladies ire rapidly hustled into their reserved seats. The gentlemen and the superfluous ladies remain standing, wedged firmly together, in the restrict- ed limits below the tribune reserved for royal families and embassadors. I had literally in my arms a lovely English girl, who threatened every moment to faint from the heat and pressure, while, I am quite sure, our double weight was sustained in great part by ladies in our rear. Some do faint, and it is with the greatest difficulty that they are borne out. Dresses are torn and jewels lost as a matter of course. More serious accidents have occurred on these occasions. A gentleman had Isis leg broken, and a young girl wes killed not long rince, or rather died from the effects of the injuries she received. From what I saw, I should say that there is no place equal to the Sistine Chapel for testing what amount of danger, inconvenience, and even rude- ness, delicate females will submit to for the grat- ification of their curiosity. The excitement seems to develop in them a spirit of ferocity toward each othercf cour~e, I refcr only to the excep- tions to their general amiabilitybut the curious will observe stout ladies slyly making their way by sticking pins into those in front, and slipping by as they turn to discover the aggressor; others seize hold of gentlensen, or make use of them to aid their progress, as if the idea delicacy had become obsolete; while one powerful French girl, who wished the situation of an Italian lady of my acquaintance in front of her, abruptly de- manded it. Being respectfully declined, she, by a process well known to schoolboys, knocked the ladys legs from under her by striking her in the hollow of her knees, so that she fell as suddenly as if she had been shot. Before she could re- cover herself, or her presence of mind, her place was gone. The first portion of the service is the ordinary chant, a long and drowsy performance, includiiig the Lamentations of Jeremiah, severely trying tl;e patience of the standing spectators. As this pro- ceeds, one by one, the candles are extinguished, except that which typifies the Virgin Mary, who alone of the household of Christ is supposed, in his hour of trial, to have retained her faith unshaken. As the day declines, the gloom of the chapel, unre- lieved except by the hidden lights of the choristers and the soft rays of twilight, becomes exceed- ingly impressive. The faces of those severely- grand Prophets, and the speaking Sybils of Mi- chael Angelo, look down with supeiiiatural force from the lofty ceiling, as if from out of the firma- mentofheaven; while high up on the distant wall, amidst the shadows of evening, the awe-struck spectator beholds the terrible outline of the aveng- ing Judge, hurling the damned to endless woe. Beneath, amidst the fires of the bottomless pit, grinning devils savagely seize their prey. The Virgin-Mother pleads with the stern Son, whose mercy has now turned to justice. Saints and martyrs, bearing the instruments of their earthly tortures, are arising from their graves, and float- ing upward to the glory that awaits them. At this hour, and with such music subduing the soul to breathless silence, the Last Judgment stands forth as the greatest triumph of earthly art. Human strength at times faints beneath the emotions produced by the combination of such powerful appeals to the fears and sympathies. The chords of the heart and imagination vibrate in unison, and nsany vainly struggle to suppress their distress as the Miserere proceeds. After THE HOLY WEEK AT ROME. 165 pauses of silence, which, like utter darkness, seems as if it could be felt, a hundred accordant voices, as one, sue Heaven for pardon to a guilty world, in strains such as human ears might well conceive to arise from penitent spirits; solitary voices of wonderful sweetness and power, in al- ternate verses, continue the lamentation, all min- gling in the last passages, when the full choir again is faintly heard in notes that die away like the expiring wail of lost humanity, but end in one final burst of choral harmony, which sends its thrill through the very soul. Previous to the Miserere of Allegri, the Pope comes down from his throne, and kneels while two treble voices sing, Christ was made for us obedient even unto death, aud the Lords Pray- er is silently repeated. After the singing, the Pope reads the closing prayer in an inaudible voice, and the service is concluded by the choirs imitating the confusion of nature at the death of the Redeemer, and the fear and grief of the at- tendant soldiers and spectators. The pathos of music is now exhausted; neither art nor sympa- thy could bear more. The effect of this service varies, of course, ac- cording to individual temperament. Many do not consider it worthy of the fatigue and exertion it requires. ]3ut no one would consider Rome as visited unless he had heard the Miserere, by the Popes choir in the Sistine Chapel. It can be heard in perfection nowhere else, because there alone are those wonderful associations of art that contribute so greatly to its effect. There is no accompaniment to the voices. Holy Thursday is the busiest day of the sacred seven. The mass is, if possible, more tedious than usual. There are endless shiftings of vest- ments, the yellow candles of the altar are changed for white, and the ornaments covered with white instead of purple, as indicating a less degree of mourning. The bells, and even the clocks, are all tied up until Saturday noon, or after the Res- urrection, which is then announced by all the uproar they can make. The Pope blesses the THE SISTINE CHAPEL PURINa MASS. 166 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. incense which is used to perfume the altar, aud overlook neglect of courtesy toward the Pope, then submits to being incensed himself by the aud even disrespect of saints and images; but senior cardinal priest. This is by no means a want of reverence to the body of Christ strikes pleasant operation, if the incense be very pow- them as the unpardonable offense against the ertul. Holy Ghost. The doctrine of transubstantiation The officiating prelates are incensed also in is the widest of all the gulfs between the two their turn ; a rite which strikes one as wholly creeds. Imagine the horror of the Italian land- pagan iii its origin and application. The kissing lord, when called upon for a dish of pigeons by of the robes and toes goes on as usual, but nut an Englishman, who could make himself under- the kiss of peace, because it is the anniversary of stood only by repeating the name given to the the betrayal of Judas. The Pope in solemn pro- dove in religious l)rucessiuns, viz., .Espiri/e San- cession, bare-headed, and with inceiise burning toliterally, a dish of Holy Ghost. - hebre him, deposits the body of Christ on the As tile papal benediction oii Thursday extends altar in the Pauline Chapel, which is brilliantly i only to the city gat(.s, there is no great crowd to illumiuated, by six hundred wax candles, for time receive it. A portion of the Popes prayer is as occasion. All kneel as lie passes. \Xhy the ap- follows XVc ask, through time prayers and amer- parent burial should precede the crucifixion is an its of the blessed Mary, ever virgin, of the bless- anomaly that the Church does not explain, cx- ed John the Baptist, of all the saints & c. after cept so far as it gives the faithful an opportunity fimmisimin~ which he showers dowii plenary iii- to worship time Holy Wafer. The devotion now dul~ences by the hanriful. displayed is one of the most impressive features Ilmave met very fe~v who knew what an induirr- of the Roman Catholic faith No omme caim enter ence was. I Iimmd time general idea among Roman this beautiful chapel, and behold time multitudes Catholics to be, that time inmiuloence of time nine kneeling in silent adoration before tile sacrament, teemmtim century immeans simortemming their timmme so without feeling stim-red within Imimo the spirit of much iii purgatory. Upon timat lmrincilmie heaven devotion. It is no graven image that timey wor- beco nines simply a matter of bargain itim time ship. They- believe that before theism lies time priestimood ; time wealtimy realizing, no doubt, with very flesh and blood of their Saviour. They thmemmm as umuch difficulty in opemmimig the doer as prostrate themselves before timeir (iod. Protest- did time rich amamin siokeim of by our Saviour. But ants may xvonder that thithm can be pushed to in time latter case it was tile ares of time world such a degree ; but can timose who thus believe that stopjmed imis imro ress ; iii time former it is the do less ~! I am not omme of those who are sur- tariff of time Church. prised that time ignorant Roman Catholics resent Time squeeze to see the washing of the feet and time indifference and contempt that Protestamits feedimmg of time pilgrims is equal to flint to hear time tao often simow to the Holy Sacrament. They Miserere. Thmirtecim priests are time selected me ip { I / 7 2 2 rims miLoainNms immassa. THE HOLY WEEK AT ROME. 167 jents of this act of Papal humility. They arc all dressed in loose white gowns, with caps of the same material on their heads. The object of this custom is to give the pontiff the opportunity of learning and practising a lesson ~f humility. This lesson of hunmility is studied in the following manner. A titroac for the Pope is first placed iii the ball, with the usual tokens of sovereian rank. A large retinue of nobles and ecclesiastics ssist his Holiness. Two laold the Popes train a third bears a towel for washing his hands ~vhile two clerks of the chamber aid him in his own ablutions, after his labors on the pilgrims. The pilgrims, alias priests, are seated on a high bench. The right foot, having been previously made most scrupulously clean, is left bare. The Pope changes his uniform for a less splendid oae, and, after being duly incemased, a fine cloth, trimmed with lace, is tied upon him. Attended by his master of ceremonies and deacons, he 1mm- blv proceeds to the washing. A sub-deacon lifts the foot the pontitf kneels, and sprinkles it with water from a silver basin. I-Ic then rul)s it with the laced cloth, kisses it, and goes on to the next. A nosegay and towel, and a gold and sil- ver medal are given to each l)il(rrim. This lesson of humility lasts about two minutes. Another rush, and the crowd find themselves withita the Sal/a (ic/la 7arola, where the pil- grims are fed. The Pope puts on an apron, p~mm~ water on his hands, hurriedly hands the pilgrims a few dishes, which are presented to him by kneeling prelates, 1)lesses them, and re tires. Thus ends lesson two of humility. T~~e dinner is a good one, and all that the pilgrims can not eat they carry away. When the Pope does not feel in the mood for the latter ceremony, lie delegates it to a substitute. The exhibitioia of the Cross of Fire, suspended above the tomb of St. Peter, around which burn night and day two hundred silver lamps, has beemi discontinued for upward of twenty years, owiur to tlac scandalous scenes which took lilace amour the crowd in the church, after its adoration by the Pope and crowned heads then at Rome. On Good-Friday the h)zipal elsapel presents its deepest tone of grief. It is stripped bare of car- Isets and ornaments. The cardiimals wear purple stockings, aii(h leave their rings behind theni. Time lessons are appropriate to the day but the satis- faction whicha would otherwise arise mu the heart at hearina the otlices is wholly lost in the tedi- umn and disgust atteiidant upomi the insipid cere- monies xvhichi acconipany them. Formerly, the clergy came bare-footed now, only the Pope, aiid some of the superior clergy and cardinals take off their shoes during the Adoration of the (ross, from which the violet covering is remove(l. The Pope casts his ollcrimiga purse of red damn- ask trimmed witha goldinto a silver basin. Then there is a procession to amid from the Paul- ine Chapel. l3ut the chief attractions on this day are the music and sermons at the several churches, which rival each other in thacir prepar- ations for the icc Orethe three hours of agony i)f Christ upoma the Cross, lasting from twelve to A ROMAN PiIEACiIEiI. I, 168 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. three. This is a religions drama, and when not and richest in Rome. His sermon was decided- exaggeratedby the action and grimaces of the ly dramatic, both in language and accessories; preachers and the tawdry scenery of the church- but much less so than one might expect from the es to represent Calvaryinto a burlesque, is sol- Roman taste. The style anil arguments were emu and impressive, admirably calculated to arouse the languid devo- tion of his flock, who appeared fully iinl)ressed with the solemn event they had assembled to commemorate. This imniense church was crowd- ed with worshipers. In the evening I drove to the Hospital of the Trinild i/c Pcllc~rriac, to witness the washing of the feet and feeding of pilgrims hw the nobles of Rome. This immense building has accommoja- tion for five thousand pilgrims, who are here gra- tuitously fed and lodged for three (lays (luring Holy XXeek. The washing and feeding here was Th~ service of the Tre Ore is divided into sev- en acts, aunded upon the seven supposed speech- es of Oh ist upon the Cross, at each one of which the Roman Catholics helieve that a dagger en- tered the heart of his mother. She is called, on that acceunt, Our Lady of the Seven Sorrows, and painted, as is often seen in churches and shrines, with a bloody heart on her breast, with seven daggers stuck around it. The preacher I heard was a Jesuit, at the church I that order, the most gaudily decorated PENITENTS ON GOOD-FiiiaAv. THE HOLY WEEK AT ROME. no farce, whatever may have been the motives that induced these acts of humility. Roman gentlemen and nobles, in the garb of domestics, washed and waited upon thesc dirtiest of all mor- tals with the utmost zeal and apparent cheerful- uiesstlie bounty being, as I was informed, so many days indulgence to each. In the female wards, I was told by the ladies that they saw some of the fairest and noblest of Itomes aristocracy on their knees, scrubbing away at feet that had needed ablution for many weeks ~ At ~Pl~~ they attended them as 1mm tily as if they had been bred to serve, and even the loveliest among them took the filthy babies from their motlsers arms, and nursed them as tenderly as they would have nursed their own while their hungry tuothers ate. On this evening there is a performance at some of the churches of aisother m:lnuer of mortifying the flesh. This is the selfti rellation of peni tents, who are clad in vestments of (oare (lark cloth, which completaly disgus~s then leaviur only holes for their eves. After an exoortation from a friar, the lihts are cvi muished and scour~es (histributed. Of course it is inspossible to tell how far the cerensons i~ a I ni . or pen- ance. At all events the scourina and wailiur sound like earnest, while the dinamnal en mtinr of the monks does not tend to enhxtn the scene, which lasts about half an hour, when all depart with the satisfaction of having performed a mer- itorious action. The ceremonies of Saturday attract the at ten- lion of few besidas the actors. They are numer ous, however, aiid, as a matter of curiosity to see how far the Church of Rome carries its typical mysteries, worth noticing. The comiverted Jews, if anyTurks are considered a greater glory are baptized early in the morning at St. John in Lateran. After this, an ordination of priests in which several long hours are occupied in rites sufficiently ~ierile and wearisome to make otie doubt the sanity of the performers. At the Sistine Chapel, we have the blessing of the fire and iiicense, aml the blessitig of the pasehal can (Ile, by a deacon dressed in white, to represent the angel announcing the resurrection. This candle is of imiimmiemise size, and pierced with five holes in the foriii of a cross, to represeiit the five principal wounds of our Saviour. Five graiiis of incense are placel in these holes, as einblenaatic of em balniimig. At this season, too, there is a general blessing aisd sprimmkhing of holy water in private Isouses by hiriests ~vlio grateftilly receive the cur- rent coims of tIn icaho in meturii for their effica- cious bent dictions Even the brutes come in for a share of this ~ labor, but this is somewhat later, isii the amiiiiversary of their guardian Saint Amithommv \.fter eaci sprinkling fruits the sacred Isrushi, the Ismiet mehleats us Latin, By tIme inter- cession of the blessed Aisthiony, thsese animals are delivered front evil, its tIme isanse of thac Father, Son, amid lIohy Ghsost. Aissen Easter-Sunday is the grandest festival of tIme year. To celebrate t he Resurrection, the Roman Imureli puts nit all her ponsp amid pageamstry. Tlse Pope 1merfnrmns high imiass at St. Peters. This occurs but on two other festivals durimsg tlse year, BLESSiNIin ANmMAL5. -~aa 170 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. viz., Christmas, and St. Peters and St Pauls day. taken there and carefully washed. The keeper The order and magnitude of the procession I have of the cellar first (lrul/s soiae of the wine and already given. Those who have seen it, have he- water brought for this ablution. When the Pope held the accumulated magnificence and solcianity goes to thc altar to partake of the body and blood of the Roman Catholic ritual. The courtly splen- of Cllrist, tlle sacristan eats in his presence a por- dor of all other earthly sovereigns pales before tion of the bread provided, and tastes the wine, tile dazzling display of the wealth and magnifi- after which the Pope does not hesitate to follow cence of the successor of the poor fisherman of his example. How strange a comment upon the Judea. As soon as the Pope appears, borne doctrine of transubstantiation, to believe that poi- upon the shoulders of his thronecarriers, the son and the actual presence of divinity can coex choristers intone, in Latin, Thou art Peter, and ist in tlle sailie substances upon this rock I build my Church and the gates Two junior eardillal de~ions stand Oil each siile of Hell shall not prevail against it The deep of the altar, representing tIle angels who were at toned bells chime in with their xx eleonie In the the sel)ulellre. ]Jniiiig tlle service, tIle tisigcrs of ellureb are drawn up the grenadicis national tIle Pope are puri/Nd with much ceremony, and guards, and soldiers of the capital xx hose hands when the iiiitre is Illaceil on his head his entire swell the notes of gratulation to the self styled hoids xre washed. He then goes to the altar representative of the Apostle and Christ s Vicar and concludes the mass. on Earth. For those who admit the title this Ni) sooner is mass fiuiishied than the immense homage is appropriate but to those whose iileas iaultitude ~ out of St. Peters iIlto the piazza of religion are based on thie humility and spiritu- iii front, whiere the iiiilitary are all drawn up, to ality of the true Chxristian cilaracter, and the xvitness the eereiiiony of the beiicdictiomi. This equality of men before God, thais ostentation ap- tiiiie it is saul to e.xteiiih over the entire xv(irld. pears strangely anomalous. On thus occasioii the xvhiole French garrison xvere One ceremony occurs during thus mass which umliler arms, beside the ROillaii troops. The two attests strongly the former depravity and present nIanle a flue naihitary show, dId to my eye fur- fears of tIle Roman court. lile greatest caution ilishled the greater proportion of thie shiectators. is used to prevent the Holy Father from hems Even the conbadini, the coniltry siiVects of tue poisoned while /ie parluAcs of the seereoic,it. Pope, who are iii generah devoted, if not to tue The sacred vessels are carried to a credence-table, Pope, to the eereuiioIiies of the Church, did not called the Popes, on thac gospel side of tue altar. appear in their usual uiiiiiihers. Thuere were En- During the chanting of the creed, the vessels are glishi aiid other foreigners by thousands. All ST. PETEIII NAPOLEON BONAPARTE. gazed anxiously up to the balcony, where the Holy Father was to appear. After considerable delay he made his appcarance, and in an audible prayer invoked the usual blessing. The soldiers knelt, in obedience to the order of their superiors. What must have been the feelings of those disci- plined republicans of skeptical France, thus hu- miliated before an old man whose very existence in Rome was owing to their arms, it is easy to conceive. I noticed that very few of the Romans knelt, and many seemed careless about uncover- ing their heads. The ceremony had e~idently outlived its spirit, or else Pius IX. was unloved in his own capital. The illumination of St. Peters and the fireworks have been too often described to require further allusion. They are the terminating and most agreeable of the spectacles of the Holy Week. St. Peters shines from out thc surrounding darkness a colossal beacon of light; thousands of globes and stars mark its giant outline in vivid bright- ness, while high above all rises the illuminated cross, piercing with its bright rays the dark shad- ows of night. Were the hcads of the Roman Church thus to illumine the moral darkness of the world, she should remain for all time as conspic- uous for her piety as St. Peters appears from artificial splendor. While thinking thus, as I gazed on the beautiful spect~icle a bright star came twinkling out of the cloudy obscurity, and took its place high and serene in the firmament, shed- ding its soft and lucid light in steady rays through the heavens. This was now, as in the infancy of Christianity, its true emblem. How utterly L- significant the borrowed brilliancy of the church appeared beside this single star.! Could we see the nightly beauties of the universe, which Provi- dence has made as free to,the eye as air to the lungs, rarely, as man exhibits his counterfeit glories, we should turn in disgust from their puny attractions, to wonder and worship at the great- ness and goodness of the Author of so celestial a vision. But we gaze in rapture on our own pigmy efforts, and coldly look upon the marvels of nature as the mere truisms of physics. I am not at all disposed to find fault with the Roman government for celebrating after this man- nerI allude to the fireworks and illumination the resurrection of our Saviour. A Christian government does wisely to exalt its Author and celebrate his mission with all possible magnifi- cence. It keeps alive the principles of its origin, and periodically recalls to public mind the memory of events unequaled in their consequences by any others in the history of the human race. In this respect, therefore, I think the Roman Church wise; but in most others connected ~vith the Holy Week, I consider her as degrading mankind and violating the very principles to which it falsely appeals for sanction. As yet we are only upon the threshold of her profitless muir~meries. I shall barely open the door to a few of the princi- pal falsities with which she deludes the world, and leave my readers who may differ from me in sentiment, to explore further, if they will, for their own edification. NAPOLEON BONAPARTE. BY JOHN S. C. ABBOTT. THE ABOICATION. WHILE Napoleon, before the dawn of the dark and lurid morning of the 1st of April, was directing his melancholy steps toward Fon- tainebleau, his faithful embassador, Caulaincourt, was galloping once more toward Paris. The deep obscurity of the night was partially miti- gated by the fires of the bivouacs which glim- mered, in a vast semicircle, around the city. The road which Caulai~court traversed was crowded with officers, soldiers, and fugitives, re- tiring before the triumphant army of the invad- ers. He was often recognized, and groups col- lected around him, inquiring, with the most af- fectionate anxiety, Where is the Emperor 1 We fought for him till night caine on. If he lives, let him but appear. Let us know his wishes. Let him lead us back to Paris. The enemy shall never enter its walls but over the dead body of the last French soldier. If he is dead, let us know it, and lead us against the enemy. We will avenge his fall. Universal enthusiasm and devotion inspired the troops, who, be it remembered, were the peo- ple; for the conscription to which France had been compelled to resort by the unrelenting as- saults of its foes, had gathered recruits from all the villages of the Empire. The veterans of Marengo, of Austerlitz, and of Friedland, had perished beneath the snows of Russia, or in the awful carnage of Leipsic. The youthful soldiers who now surrounded Napoleon with deathless affection, were fresh from the work-shops, the farm-houses, and the saloons of France. They were inspired by that love for the Emperor which they had imbibed at the parental hearth. These faithful followers of the peoples devoted friend, war-worn and haggard, with shriveled lips, and bleeding wounds, and tattered garments, and shoes worn from their feet, were seated by the road- side, or wading through the mud, eager only to meet once more their beloved Emperor. When- ever Caulaincourt told them that Napoleon was alive, and was waiting for theni at Fontaineblean, with hoarse and weakened voices they shouted, Vice lEmpercur ! and hastened on to rejoin him. Truly does Colonel Napier say, the troops idolized Napoleon. Well they might. And to assert that their attachment commenced only when they became soldiers, is to acknowledge that his excellent qualities and greatness of mind turned hatred into devotion the moment he was approached. But Napoleon never was hated by the people of France; he was their own creation, and they loved him so as never monarch was loved before. As Caulaincourt diew near the city, he found it encircled by the ~ncanmpments of the Allies. At whatever post he made his appearance he he was sternly repulsed. Orders had been given that no messenger from Napoleon should be per- mitted to approach the head-quarters of the hos 171

John S. C. Abbott Abbott, John S. C. Napoleon Bonaparte 171-186

NAPOLEON BONAPARTE. gazed anxiously up to the balcony, where the Holy Father was to appear. After considerable delay he made his appcarance, and in an audible prayer invoked the usual blessing. The soldiers knelt, in obedience to the order of their superiors. What must have been the feelings of those disci- plined republicans of skeptical France, thus hu- miliated before an old man whose very existence in Rome was owing to their arms, it is easy to conceive. I noticed that very few of the Romans knelt, and many seemed careless about uncover- ing their heads. The ceremony had e~idently outlived its spirit, or else Pius IX. was unloved in his own capital. The illumination of St. Peters and the fireworks have been too often described to require further allusion. They are the terminating and most agreeable of the spectacles of the Holy Week. St. Peters shines from out thc surrounding darkness a colossal beacon of light; thousands of globes and stars mark its giant outline in vivid bright- ness, while high above all rises the illuminated cross, piercing with its bright rays the dark shad- ows of night. Were the hcads of the Roman Church thus to illumine the moral darkness of the world, she should remain for all time as conspic- uous for her piety as St. Peters appears from artificial splendor. While thinking thus, as I gazed on the beautiful spect~icle a bright star came twinkling out of the cloudy obscurity, and took its place high and serene in the firmament, shed- ding its soft and lucid light in steady rays through the heavens. This was now, as in the infancy of Christianity, its true emblem. How utterly L- significant the borrowed brilliancy of the church appeared beside this single star.! Could we see the nightly beauties of the universe, which Provi- dence has made as free to,the eye as air to the lungs, rarely, as man exhibits his counterfeit glories, we should turn in disgust from their puny attractions, to wonder and worship at the great- ness and goodness of the Author of so celestial a vision. But we gaze in rapture on our own pigmy efforts, and coldly look upon the marvels of nature as the mere truisms of physics. I am not at all disposed to find fault with the Roman government for celebrating after this man- nerI allude to the fireworks and illumination the resurrection of our Saviour. A Christian government does wisely to exalt its Author and celebrate his mission with all possible magnifi- cence. It keeps alive the principles of its origin, and periodically recalls to public mind the memory of events unequaled in their consequences by any others in the history of the human race. In this respect, therefore, I think the Roman Church wise; but in most others connected ~vith the Holy Week, I consider her as degrading mankind and violating the very principles to which it falsely appeals for sanction. As yet we are only upon the threshold of her profitless muir~meries. I shall barely open the door to a few of the princi- pal falsities with which she deludes the world, and leave my readers who may differ from me in sentiment, to explore further, if they will, for their own edification. NAPOLEON BONAPARTE. BY JOHN S. C. ABBOTT. THE ABOICATION. WHILE Napoleon, before the dawn of the dark and lurid morning of the 1st of April, was directing his melancholy steps toward Fon- tainebleau, his faithful embassador, Caulaincourt, was galloping once more toward Paris. The deep obscurity of the night was partially miti- gated by the fires of the bivouacs which glim- mered, in a vast semicircle, around the city. The road which Caulai~court traversed was crowded with officers, soldiers, and fugitives, re- tiring before the triumphant army of the invad- ers. He was often recognized, and groups col- lected around him, inquiring, with the most af- fectionate anxiety, Where is the Emperor 1 We fought for him till night caine on. If he lives, let him but appear. Let us know his wishes. Let him lead us back to Paris. The enemy shall never enter its walls but over the dead body of the last French soldier. If he is dead, let us know it, and lead us against the enemy. We will avenge his fall. Universal enthusiasm and devotion inspired the troops, who, be it remembered, were the peo- ple; for the conscription to which France had been compelled to resort by the unrelenting as- saults of its foes, had gathered recruits from all the villages of the Empire. The veterans of Marengo, of Austerlitz, and of Friedland, had perished beneath the snows of Russia, or in the awful carnage of Leipsic. The youthful soldiers who now surrounded Napoleon with deathless affection, were fresh from the work-shops, the farm-houses, and the saloons of France. They were inspired by that love for the Emperor which they had imbibed at the parental hearth. These faithful followers of the peoples devoted friend, war-worn and haggard, with shriveled lips, and bleeding wounds, and tattered garments, and shoes worn from their feet, were seated by the road- side, or wading through the mud, eager only to meet once more their beloved Emperor. When- ever Caulaincourt told them that Napoleon was alive, and was waiting for theni at Fontaineblean, with hoarse and weakened voices they shouted, Vice lEmpercur ! and hastened on to rejoin him. Truly does Colonel Napier say, the troops idolized Napoleon. Well they might. And to assert that their attachment commenced only when they became soldiers, is to acknowledge that his excellent qualities and greatness of mind turned hatred into devotion the moment he was approached. But Napoleon never was hated by the people of France; he was their own creation, and they loved him so as never monarch was loved before. As Caulaincourt diew near the city, he found it encircled by the ~ncanmpments of the Allies. At whatever post he made his appearance he he was sternly repulsed. Orders had been given that no messenger from Napoleon should be per- mitted to approach the head-quarters of the hos 171 172 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. tile sovereigns. At length the morning gloomily ander, to protect the imperial monuments from dawned, and a shout of exultation and joy as- destruction, issued a decree taking them under cended from the bivouacs of the Allies, which his care. The monument in the Place Yen- covered all the hills. With the roar of artillery, dame, said he, is under the especial safeguard and with gleaming banners, and clarion peals of of the magnanimity of the Emperor Alexander martial music, three hundred thousand men, the and his allies. The statue on its summit will advance guard of a million of invaders, marched not remain there. It will immediately be taken into the humiliated streets of Paris. The masses down. of the people, dejected, looked on in sullen si- During the whole of the day, while these in- leace. They saw the Bourbon princes, protected terminable battalions were taking possession of by the bayonets of foreigners, coming to resume Paris, Caulaincourt sought refuge in a farm- their sway. The royalists did every thing in house in the vicinity of the city. When the their power to get up some semblance of rejoic- evening came, and the uproar of hostile exulta- ing, in view of this sjectacle of national humili- tion was dying away, he emerged from his re- ation. The emissaries of the ancient nobility treat, and again resolutely endeavored to pene- shouted lustily, Vive ic I?oi ! The wives and trate the capital. Every where he was sternly daughters of the Bourbon partisans rode through repulsed. In despair he now slowly commenced the streets in open carriages, scattering smiles retracing his steps toward Fontainebleau. But it en each side of the way, waving white flags, and so happened that, just at this time, he met the tossing out to the listless spectators the white carriage of the Grand Duke Constantine, brother cockade of the Bourbons. Still, says M. Roche- of the Emperor Alexander. The Grand Duke in- foucauld, the silence was most dismal. The stantly recognized Caulaincourt, who had spent masses of the people witnessed the degradation much time as an embassador at St. Petersburg. of France with rage and despair. He immediately took him into his carriage, and As night approached, these enormous armies informed him frankly that Talleyrand, who had of foreign invaders, in numbers apparently num- now abandoned the fallen fortunes of Napoleon. berless, of every variety of language, lineament, and had attached himself to the cause of the and costume, swarmed through all the streets and Bourbons, had inflexibly closed the cabinet of gardens of the captured metropolis. The Cos- the Allies against every messenger of the Em- sacks, in aspect as wild and savage as the wolves peror. But Constantine was moved by the en- which bowl through their native wastes, filled treaties and the noble grief of Caulaincourt. He the Elysian Fields with their bivouac fires, and enveloped him in his own pelisse, and put on danced around. them in barbarian orgies. his head a Russian cap. Thus disguised, and Alexander, who well knew the exalted charac- surrounded by a guard of Cossacks, Caulainceurt, ter and the lofty purposes of Napoleon, was the in the shades of the cvcning. entered the bar- only one of these banded kings who manifested riers. any sympathy in his behalf. Though all the rest The carriage drove directly to the palace of were ready to crush Napoleon utterly, and to the Elysie. Constantine, requesting the Duke compel the people to receive the Bourbons, he to keep muffled up ii~ his cap and cloak, alighted, still hesitated. He doubted whether the nation carefully shut the door with his own hands, and would long submit to rulers thus forced upon gave strict orders to the servants to allow no one them. But a few days ago, said he, a col- to approach the carriage. At this moment a nina of five or six thousand new French troops neighboring clock struck ten. The apartments suffered themselves to be cut in pieces before of the palace were thronged and brilliantly light- my eyes, when a single cry of Vive ic Roi! ed. The court-yard blazed with lamps. Car- would have saved them. riages were continually arriving and departing. And things will continue just so, the Abbi The neighing of the horses, the loud talking and de Pradt replied, until Napoleon is put out of joking of the drivers, the wild hurras of the ex- the way; even although he has at this moment ultant foe, in the distant streets and gardens, a halter round his neck. He alluded, in this presented a festive scene sadly discordant with last sentence, to the fact, that the Bourbonists, the anguish which tortured the bosom of Napo- protected from the rage of the populace by the leons faithful embassador. The Emperor of Rus- sabres of foreigners, had placed ropes around the sia, the King of Prus~.ia, and Prince Schwartzen- statue of Napoleon. to drag it from the Place berg, as representative of the Emperor of Aus- Vend3me. A nations love had placed it on that tria, with others, were assembled within the pal- magnificent pedestal; a faction tore it down. ace in conference. The nation has replaced it, and there it will now Hour after hour of the night passed away, and stand forever, still the Grand Duke did not return. From his The efforts of the royalist mob to drag the concealment Caulaincourt witnessed a vast con- statue of the Emperor from the column were, at course of diplomatists and generals of all na- this time, unavailing. As they, could not throw tions, incessantly coming and going. Toward it down with their ropes, they covered the sta- morning the Grand Duke again made his appear- tue with a white sheet to conceal it from view. ance. He informed Caulaincourt that, with great When Napoleon was afterward informed of this difficulty, he had obtained the consent of Alex- fact, he simply remarked, They did well to con- ander to grant him a private audience. Caulain- ceal from me the sight of their baseness. Alex- court descended from the carriage, and, still en- NAPOLEON BONAPARTE. 173 veloped in his Russian disguise, conducted by the Grand Duke, passed unrecognizcd through the brilliant saloons, which were crowded with the exultant enemies of his sovereign and friend. Caulaincourt was a man of imposing figure, and endowed with great dignity and elegance of man- ners. The unaffected majesty of his presence commanded the deference even of those monarchs who stood upon the highest pinnacles of earthly power. He was received by Alexander with great iourtesy and kindness, but with much secrecy, in a private apartment. The Russian emperor had formerly loved Napoleon; he had been forced by his nobles into acts of aggression against him; he had even been so much charmed with Napo- leons political principles as to have been accused of the wish to introduce liberal ideas into Russia. They had called him contemptuously the liberal emperor. To sustain his position, he had found it necessary to yield to the pressure, and to join in the crusade against his old friend. In this hour of triumph he alone, of all the confederates, man- ifested synapathy for their victini. The Emperor of Russia was alone as Caulaincourt entered his cabinet. He was agitated by a strong conflict bct~veen the natural naarnanimity of his character and his desire to vindicate his own conduct. Caulaincoorts attachment to Alexander was so strong that Napoleon occasionally had bantered him with it. Caulaincourt considered the pleas- antry rather too severe, when Napoleon, evidently hinaself a little piqued, sometimes, in allusion to tlaese predilections, called the friend whose con- stancy he could not doubt, The Russian. My dear Duke, said Alexander, clasping both hands of Caulaincourt warmly ima his own, I feel for you with all my heart. You may rely upoma me as upon a brother. But what can I do for you? For me, Sire, nothing, Caulaincourt replied; but for tlac Emperor, every thing. This is just what I dreaded, resumed Alex- ander. I must refuse and afflict you. I can do nothing for Napoleon. I am bound by my en- gagements with tiac allied sovereigns. But your Majestys wish, replied Caulain- court, must have great weight. And ifAustria should also interpose iia behalf of Francefor surely the Emperor Francis doea not wish to de- throne his daughter and his grandsona peace may still be concluded wlaich shall insure general tranquillity. Austria, my dear Duke, Alexander replied, will second no proposition which leaves Napo- leon on the throne of France. 1rancis will sacri- fice all his personal affections for the repose of Europe. The allied sovereigns have resolved, irrevocably resolved, to be forever done with the Empefor Napoleon. Any endeavor to change this decision would be useless. Caulaincourt was struck, as by a thunderbolt, with this declaration. The idea tlaat the victors would proceed to such an extremity as the de- thronenaent of Napoleon, had not seriously en- tered his mind. It was a terrible erisis. Not a moment was to be lost. A few hours would settle every thing. After a moment of silence, he said, Be it so! lint is it just to include the Em- press and the King of Rome in thais proscription I CAULAiNCOCLIT AND TilE ORANO DUKE CONSTANTINE. 174 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. The son of Napoleon surely is not an object of fear to the allies. A regency We have thought of that, Alexander ex- claimed, interrupting him. But what shall we do with Napoleon He will doubtless yield, for the moment, to necessity. But restless ambition will rouse all the energy of his character, and Europe will be once more in flames. I see, said Caulaincourt sadly, that the Emperors ruin has been resolved upon. Whose fault is itP eagerly resumed Alex- ander. What have I not done to prevent these terrible extremities? In the imprudent sincerity of youth I said to him, The Powers, wearied with insults, are formimr alliances among them- selves against your domination. One signature alone is wanti