Harper's new monthly magazine. / Volume 11, Note on Digital Production Creation of machine-readable edition. Cornell University Library 874 page images in volume Cornell University Library Ithaca, NY 1999 ABK4014-0011 /moa/harp/harp0011/

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

Harper's new monthly magazine. / Volume 11, Note on Digital Production 0011 000
Harper's new monthly magazine. / Volume 11, Note on Digital Production A-B

Harper's new monthly magazine. / Volume 11, Issue 61 [an electronic edition] Creation of machine-readable edition. Cornell University Library 874 page images in volume Cornell University Library Ithaca, NY 1999 ABK4014-0011 /moa/harp/harp0011/

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

Harper's new monthly magazine. / Volume 11, Issue 61 International monthly magazine Harper's monthly magazine Harper & Bros. New York June 1855 0011 061
Harper's new monthly magazine. / Volume 11, Issue 61, miscellaneous front pages i-viii

HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. VOLUME XL JUNE TO NOVEMBER, 1855. HARPER & NEW YORK: BROTHERS, PUBLISHERS, 329 & 331 PEARL STREET, FRANKLIN SQUARE. 1855. A. 4~j76; c5b7~r~~j ELL AR CONTENTS OF VOLUME XI. AMERICAN BEFORE SEBASTOPOL 221 AN EARTHQUAKE OR TWO 795 APPARITIONS AND VISIONS 376 ARAUCANIANS 607 AUTUMN LEAVES FROM THE SOUTH 825 BEARS AND BEAR-HUNTING 591 BEAU BRUMMELL 185 BIRD GOSSIP 820 BOHEMIAN 233 BUCCANEERS OF THE SPANISH MAIN 514 CALIFORNIA THROUGH ENGLISH EYES 15 COMICALITIES, ORIGINAL AND SELECTED 141 CORALIE 676 DAY AT POMPEII 721 DAY-DREAM 663 DESSERT DISH FOR TRAVELERS 242 DOCTORING BEGINS AT HOME 673 DRAWING-ROOM DRAMA 397 DUKE HUMPHREYS DINNER 352 EARLY PRINTING AND PRINTERS 466 EDITORS DRAWER. The Wisdom of Folly; Good Parson Fairfield; Mind Grace; A Sharp Bargain, 427. Getting Pay for a Por- your Stops; Travel Fancies, 133. Advice for Young trait; Perfectly Justifiable; The Generous Enemy; Ladies; Reminiscences of Webster; A Modern Dog- Short but Tedious; a Letter ~sith a double Reading, 428. berry; Nothing like Leather; Jeremy Taylor, 134. Saint P6ray; Swearing up a Fence; Giving Fits; Saxe Beautiful Similes; A Batch of Puns; David Ditsons on Pride and Pedigree, 565. Absence of Mind; Wes- Weather Prophecies, 135. Jemmy Caidwells Joke; ley and Bradford; Jeremy Taylor and Southey on the The Roses, 136. The Clergy; Joan and the Ale; The Vine; Old Ben Russell; General Wolfe and Grays Fifth Avenue Beau, 137. Our Faults and those of 0th- Elegy; Simon Bacchus and the Quaker, 566. Inten- ers; Operatic Criticism; Wives and Dress, 138. A tionally hitting at Random; Getting Tight; Spot where Steady Drink; Anecdote of Lorenzo Dow; Artistic Feel- Warren fell; Transcendental Preaching; Daguerreo~ ing, 139. The Professor and his Sausage; Chance for type of a Victory; A nice Residence, 5ti7. Come and an Investment; A Shocking Story, 140. Fourth of Eat; Psoriasis Septennis; Command of ones Feelings; July, 275. The Taxation of North America; Rival Vil- Napoleon and the Lieutenant; Walking with the Wise; lages; Dependencies of Society, 276. The Cat in the Cotchin Chiner; Well-Mated, 568. Be gentle to Chil- Car-Wheel; The Old Farmer; Taking a Vehicle, 277. dren; The Fish Convention; Vermin in Texas, 569. Having the Papers; New Poem by Byron, 278. A Run Superecriptions to Letters; Counting a Billion; Prais- upon a Bank; A Kiss in Black and White; Dirty Boots, lug God by Steam; Love in a Cottage; Anecdotes of and Hands, 279. Punctual to the Last; Tea Anecdotes; Grattan, 570. The Chiropodist; Nothing is Lost; The Taking Something; Change in the Marriage Ceremony, Voracious Carpet-Bag; Broadway Quadrilles, 571. A 280. I didnt know twas you; One Fishball; Two Oh- Bachelors Lament; A rich Mans Wages; Outstrippiag stacles to Matrimony; Seeing Double; Testimony to the Party; The Ruling Passion in Death, 572. A Character; The Honest Man, 281. Bell Smith Abroad; Buckle without a tongue; Cry here ; Jokes from Mr. Jones and Son at the Masked Ball; Definition of a the Pulpit, 706. Bishop Lyons; Beauty and the Beast; Dentist, 282. Fat Jokes; An Alternative; Pertinacious Spit on the Fuses; Old Bailey Juries, 707. The Diffi- Questioning; Dont be in a Hurry; Pulpit Anecdotes, dent Barrister; A Jewel of a Nose; Bestir yourself; 283. Getting through the World; Clearing the Table; Sylvester Whitelsouses Wooden Leg; A Legal Bull; A Wise Legislator, 284. Death of Andrd, 419. June Good Advice; Setting a Jewel; Two Solemn Things, Musing; Staggering Language, 420. Lord Tomnoddy; 708. Domestic Economy of the Czar; A Tough Ques- A Pair of Lovyers, 421. A Good Smoker; The Land tien; Our Ancestors, 709. The noblest Work of God; of the Living and the Dying; Duels; The Baptist Ryan- A Triad of Puns; Rat versus Mouse; Truth; The gelist, 422. Truth and Falsehood; Virtue; Medical Drunkards Dod,,e, 710. Emptiness of Fame; The Items; Irish Blunders; Anti-Connubial, 423. Mather Ladies Depository; Holding on to the Seals; Liquor Byles and his Hymns; A First-Rate Epitaph; Young for Mechanical and Medicinal Purposes; Pat and the America, 424. Memory; Typographical Blunders; Sam Leg of Bacon, 711. The Cow and the Holy Water; Slicks Heavey Horse, 425. Measuring for the Leath- Washing versus Missions; Married too soon; A Ba h era; Making it Even; The Keys of Sehastopol; More of Epigrams, 712. Condition of the BisifaloJail; Sound about Duels, 426. The Baby; Mr. Wilsons Ride; Blue of a Kiss; Avoiding Sprinkling; No Nose-Pulilug, 713. Dan; Keep out of Debt; True Wit; Oliver Millikins A Wiot ; Slander upon Old Maids; Rowland Hilis iv CONTENTS. EDITORS DaAwsmcontinued. Physician; Settlement of the States; S nding out against the Weevil, 714. The Sea-Serpent; Location for a Physician; Cash versus Color; Autumnal Leaves; Love Potions, 115. Eliots Indian Bible; Poem com- posed in Prison; The Painter and the Ladies, 716. November; A Whole Man; The Pig in the Bucket; Forty save One; Sandys Ghost, 552. Obituary Verses; A Grammatical Question, 853. Popping the Question; Trimming for Bonnets; A Barberous Drama, 854. A Wooden-legged Wife; Eloquent Appeal; Conferring Favors; School Children, 555. Lynz to the Mune; EDITORS EASY CHAIR. The Mayor and his new Broom; The new Liquor Law, 123. Great Pan is Dead; Mr. Gunnybsgs on our Government, 124. Our Public Park, and what Young Kid thinks of it; An Indignant Free American; Ad- vent of Rachel, 125. Her Characteristics as an Artiste; Probable Extent of her Triumpls; Statues to our Great Men, 126. Greenoughs Franklin, 127. Charlotte BrontS; Paris Easter, 128. Bonnets and lint-Cross Buns; The Emperor in London; Napoleon and Mons. Berryer; Mons. Vattemare and Gisizot, 129. The North American Review; The Great Exhibition and our Show there; Plsotographs; The Other World as seen by Ma- dame do Grandfort, 130. Her Ladyship not appreciated and not appreciative; What she thinks of us; Her Gen- tleman Peddler; her Friend Julienne, 131. Some Hope for us yet; Guizot on Washington; Sliding Scale for Wounds; The English Aristocracy at a Discount, 132. A Sphere for Women; Miss Nightingale, 268. Our Model Sister; Shakspeares Model Woman; The Mys- tery of the Opera; The Opera never Pays; Why and Wherefore, 269. Heroic Managers; The Singers on Print; Public Indifference; The Newspaper Criticisms; How the Public feel; The Committee and their Man- agement, 270. Technical Criticism on Art; City and Country; Who write the Pastoral Pleas, 271. The Country not romantic to the Countryman; Town Life and Country Life; Both helter than either; The Shot at Napoleon, 272. The Execution; The Palace of In- dustry; Paris Improvements, 273. The English Gar- den; The Russians in Paris, 274. The Republicans and the Poles; America in the Palace; An American Galig- asni; The Telegraph from the Seat of War, 275. The Duello; Young America Pistol in hand; Pistol and Bowie-Knife Legislators, 411. Major OGrady and Honorable Instinct; No better Time Coming; Fdtes and Funerals, 412. Ovations to Prize-Fighters and Scarlet Women; Christian Charity for the Unfortunate; False Philanthrophy; The Needy Knife-Grinder, 413. The Fourth of July; Mr. Puffs Oration; Floral Fdtes; Professor Agassizs National Work, 414. Mr. Greeley in Prison; The Paris Exlsibition, 415. Perpetual Pa- risian Exhibitions; The London and Paris Exhibitions compared; Their Comparative Success and its Cause; Abraham and the Ark; Chewing and Lying; Present- ing a Bill; Deaconing Apples, 856. Sidney Breess Epitaph; Taken for Another; The Dilatory Squire; Anagrams; A Dollar cheaper than a Sixpence; Chil- drens Exaggerations, 857. Wit and Wisdom; The Art of Dunning; A Sanguine Author; Compliments, 858. Gipsy Tricks; Punishment for Gossips; A Model Kiss; New Use for the Telegraph; Printers Errata, 859. The Parson going to Mill; New Reading of Shakspeare; Cour hip; The Stomach-ache, 860. Madame Ristosi, 416. Ex-Presidents and Boy-Kings on their Travels; The Qiscens Drawing-Room; Perils of seeing the Queen, 417. The Lord Chamberisins Sale; Condition of England Question; Americans in Europe, 418. Free Discussion upon Foreign Affairs, 555. American Affairs Tabooed; Honorable Indian Corn and General Sugar Cane; Dickens as a Political Speaker, 556. False Criticism upon him; Russia and the Allies; Complaints from the Watering-Places, 557. The Belles have lost a Summer; A Word about the Astor Library and its Officials, 558. Rachel and Ris- toil; The Rising Star and herWorshipers; Rachel and the Feullietonistes, 559. The Tragedienne in America; Prognostications; Why we did not visit Gunnybags, 560. True Hospitality; A Glance at England; The Ex-Ministers; The Old London and Manchester Inn, 561. A Peep at the Alps; A Swiss Village, 562. An Alpine Road; The hospice of St. Louis; Away to Flor- ence; Street Scenes, 563. Our Imaginary Villa, 564. Pilgrimages and Shrines; Death of a true Merchant- Prince; The quiet Virtue of Every-day Life; Business and Goodness; The Worth of a good Man, 701. The Englishman on his Travels; Ills prerequisites for an Italian Tour; For an American Tour, 702. A few Ex- tracts from a Travelers Narrative; Broadway and Wig- wams; The Rattlesnake Boots; Search for Buffaloes; Wit of the Natives; Ball Costumes; The Great Tupper and his International Services, 703. The Great Men of this new Country; Hints for Americans Abroad, 704. John and Jonathan; Farewell to the Newcomes; Ten- nyson, 705. Sydney Smith, 706. Rachels First Night; Dsibfsts in general, 842. The Audience and the Artiste, 843. A Problem for Managers; Monsieur Fdlix and his Manifestoes, 844. The Teachings of Experience; Queen Anne come back; The Meeting of the Hoops, 845. Fashion and Sense; The Opera; Miss Hensler, 846. Orange Peel and Violets; The Advance of the Pestilence; A Famous Victo , 847. A First Visit to Paris; The Queen and the Emperor, 848. The Lion and the Cock; Letters from Soldiers, 849. The To Deum at Paris. 850. Another Picture of the Russians, 851. EDITORS TABLE. Two Hundred Years A~o 120 The United States Army 552 The War in Europe 264 The Post-Office 697 A Revolution in England 408 Are we responsible for our Conscience9 EVENING AT NEWPORT 226 FASHIONS FOR JUNE 143 FASHIONS FOR JULY 287 FASHIONS FOR AUGUST 431 FASHIONS FOR SEPTEMBER It) FASHIONS FOR OCTOBER 719 FASHIONS FOR NOVEMBER 863 FIRST AND LAST LOVE 653 GIRLS DILEMMA 86 HINTS FOR COUNTRY HOUSE BUILDERS 763 HISTORY AND MYSTERY OF TOBACCO 1 JIMMY ROSE 803 JOHN PAUL JONES 145 JOURNEY THROUGH CHINA 51 JUDGES DAUGHTER 523 CONTENTS. I LITEI~ARY NOTICES. OLt5GINAL SSOTICE5. glot Reader; Light and Darkness; Olie; The Hidden Bancrofts Miscellanies; The Whole French Lan- Path; The Iroquois; Dixs Unholy Alliance; Dorans guage, ilL Harshas Orators and Statesmen; Hases Habits and Men, 695. Memoirs of S. S. Prentiss, 555. 1-Ilsiory of the Christian Church; Spencers Sermons, The Newcomes, 834. Harpers Classical Library; 118. Haywards Medical Reports and Papers; The Spensers Poetical Works; Herberts Memoirs of Hen- ODoherty Papers; Le Curd Manqud; The Old Inn; ry Viii.; Life of Curran; Grays Elegy; Springs Con- Adventures of Captain Priest; Howitts Boys Adven- trast, 835. Private Life of an Eastern King; Pilgrim tures in Australia; harpers Book List, 119. Mrs. Memorials; Indian Legends; The Descried Wife; Iso- Jamesons Commonplace Book; Constance herbert; A ras Child; The Old Homestead; The Old Farm- School of Life; Bell Smith Abroad; Hilliards Speeches I-louse; Cora and the Doctor; Aspirations; Ethel; The and Addresses, 260. History for Boys; Wheelers homes Elder Sister, 836. for the People; Norton on the Gospels; Our Country- men, 26i; Gillespies Land Surveying; Life of Sir Will- FONEJON NOTIcES AND INTELITOENCE. ism Pepperell, 262. Jarvess Art hints; Lewiss Six Books about to be published, 119, 262, 406, 550, 695, Days of Creation, 403. Waikus; The Heiress of 836. Moredun; Autobiographies, 119. Irvings Wash- hlaughton; Shakopeare; Self-Interpreting Bible; Bur- ington; Owen Meredith; Tennyson; Macaulays En- naps Christianity, 404. Star Papers; Kirwans Letters gland; Parisian Books; Sue and Dumas; Autographs; to Bishop Hughes; Chief Justices of the Supreme Court; Life of Edwards; New Review, 263. Maurys Physical Christie Johustone; Peg Woifingtsn; The Golden Geography of the Sea; Russian Review; Lamartines Reed; Joy and Care, 405. Bungeners Council of Russia, 406. Cheap Papers, 263, 406, 695. Russell on Trent Memoirs of James Gordon Bennet, 547. Let- the War; Bailey; Thackeray; Lever; Sydney Sketch ters to the People on Health and Happiness; Cone Cut Book; St. Arnauds Letters, 551. Turner; Autographs, Corners; Ellie; The Jealous Wife; Guernseys Hand- 695. Caxtons Chess; Spontaneous Combustion; Ens- Book of Homeopathy; Abbotts New Juvenile Series; sian Review; Consciences Tales; handel; Photogra- Female Life among the Mormons, 549. Panama in phy; French and German Books, 696. Maud; Mac- 1855. The Watchman; Visit to the Camp before Se- aulays England; Carlyles Frederick; Broughams bastopol; Eutaxia; Coltons Atlas of the World, 550. Statesmen; Moores and Lockharts Libraries; The Hildreths Japan, 692. Christian Theism; National Quarteriy Review; French and German Books, 837. Portrait Gallery; Uphams Letters from Europe, Obituaries of Do la Beche, Henry Bishop, Inglis, head, Egypt, and Palestine; Bartols Pictures from Europe, Lady Davy, Duvernay, Gauss, 263. Strangford, Gals- 693. Annals of San Francisco; Life and Times of ford, Rose, Cochrane, Schiessinger, Lavigne, Rosini, hiedding; Life of Robert Newton; Mathematical Die- 407. Madame Girardin, Parry, Buckiugham, Frank tionary; Sargents Standard Reader; Roomers Poly- Marryatt, Black, Pusey, Arnot, 551. Colburn, 696. LITTLE CHORISTER 665 MARRYING A COUNTESS 782 MILLY DOVE 535 MONTHLY RECORD OF CURRENT EVENTS. UNITED STATES. The Liquor Law in New York, 112, 399, 688. In oth- er States, 112, 257. Message of the Governor of Con- necticut, 112. The American Order, in New Hamp- shire, 113; Convention at Syracuse, 256; at Philadel- phia, 257; the Platform, 399; Dissatisfaction and With- drawal of Delegates, 399. The Black Warrior Affair, 255. Messrs. Perry and Sould, 256. The El Dorado, 256. Arrest of Baker, 256. Arctic Relief Expedition, 256. Riot at Portland, 256. Judge Loring, 256. Per- sonal Liberiy Bill in Massachusetts, 256; Vetoed by the Governor, 257. Amendments to Constitution of Massachusetts, 257. Colored Voters in Connecticut, 257. Indian Hostilities, 257, 689, 830. Indian Mur- derers in Utah, 257. Everetts Fourth of July Speech, 399. Pacific Exploring Expedition, 399. Instructions to Commodore Macauley, 400. New Haven Railroad Stock, 400. Wheeler and Williamson Case, 544, 829. Letter of General Quitman, 545. Indian Council, 545. P llroad Accident at Burlington, 688. Yellow Fever in Virginia, 688. The President in Virginia, 688. At- tempt to lay Submarine Telegraph, 688. The Danish Sound Duties, 689. The Greytown Bombardment, 689. The President at Harrisburgh, 829. Trials for Foreign Enlistment, 829. Battle witis the Sioux, 830. Treat- los with Indians in New Mexico, 830. Election in Vir- ginia, 257; in Kansas, 257; in New Hampshire, 400; in Oregon, 400; in Tennessee, North Carolina, and Kentucky, 544; in Vermont, Maine, and Georgia, 829. California Items, 113, 257, 400, 545, 689. The Kinney Expedition, 256, 399, 544, 689, 831. The Walker Ex- pedition, 399, 545, 689, 831. Kansas: Slavery and Anti- Slavery Excitement, 257; hlomicido by MCrea, 257; Meeting of Legislature, 544; Charges against the Gov- ernor. 544; Pro-Slavery Action of the Legislature, 688. Removal of Judge Elmore, 688. Free Soil Convention at Lawrence, 689; At Big Spring, 829; Governor Reed- or: His Speech at Easton, 113; Course approved by the Legislature of Pennsylvania, 257; Correspondence with Mr. Marcy, 399; His Removal from Office, 544; Candi- date for Congressional Delegate, 830. Casualties, 258, 399, 545, 688. Return of the Arctic Expedition. 829. GITEAT NEITAIN. Visit from Napoleon, 114. His Speeds at Gulidhall, 114. The Committee of Investigation, 114, 400. The Baltic Fleet, 115. New Loan, 115. Speeches by Messrs. Layard, Bright, and Bouverie, 115. Of Lord Ellen- borough, 258. The Government sustained, 258, 400. Crimean Medals, 258. Mr. Layard on Reform, 400. Decimal Courage, 401. Speech by Prince Albert, 401. Repeal of Newspaper Stamp, 401. Withdrawal of Rus- sell from the Cabinet, 545. His Speeds on the Vienna Ne,,otiations, 545. Turkish Loan, 546. Sunday Act Riot, 546. Death of Lord Raglan, 546. Queens Speech at the Prorogation of Parliament, 691. Rejoicings at the Fail of Sebastopol, 832. THE CONTINENT. Return of Napoleon from England, 115. The Exhi- bition, 115, 259, 401. Official Statement respecting the War, 115. Attempts to assassinate the Emperor, 258, 691, 832. Industrial Discontents, 401. New Loan and Levy, 546. Visit of Queen Victoria, 691. The Emper- ors Fdte, 691. A new Prophetess, 691. Trial of Mow- ing Machines, 691. Public Rejoicings, 832. Failure of Crops, 832. The Negotiations at Vienna, 116, 401. Position of Austria and Prnssia, 116, 259, 401, 546. Affairs in Spain, 116, 402, 832. Affairs in Italy, 401, 546, 832. TIlE WAR. The Bombardment of June, 116, 259. Action of March 22, 116. Review of French Troops, 259. Un- successful Sortie, 259. Resignation of Canrobert, and Appointment of Pelissier, 259. Reinforcements, 259. Expedition to the Sea of ATof, 402. New Positions of the Allies, 402. Unsuccessful Attack upon the Mala- kof, 402, 546. The Baltic, 259, 402. Affair at Hango, 402. Death of Lord Raglan, 546. The War in Asia, 546. Mutiny of Turkish Troops, 546. Battle of the Tehernays, 691, 832. Bombardment of Sweaborg, 691. Successful Assault upon Sebastopol, 832. THE EAST. The Insurgents at Canton, 116. Attitude of Foreign Powers, 116. The Imperialists at Canton and Shang- hai, 259. SIMPKINSS EXPERIMENT IN HOUSEKEEPING 285 SLIMS AQUATIC EXPERIENCE 429 SLIMS EXPERIENCE AT SEA 573 SLIMS FIRST PISCATORIAL EXPERIENCE 717 SLIMS FINAL PISCATORIAL EXPERIENCE 861 MR. MR. MR. MI~ MR. vi CONTENTS. MY WIFE, AND MY THEORY ABOUT WIVES 779 MYSTERIOUS OCCURRENCE AT LAMBETH. By G. P. H. JAMES 357 NICARAGUA. By E. G. SQUIER 577, 744 OLD MANS REVENGE 391 OLD PASTOR 814 OUR BOOKS AND AUTHORS 658 PASSING FACES 91 PICTURES OF THE RUSSIANS 433 POT OF TULIPS 807 RACHEL 681 SCOTTS BATTLES IN MEXICO 311 SKETCHES IN BRAZIL 34 SKETCHES IN THE EAST INDIESPULO PINANG 324 SOMETHING ABOUT THE MOSQUITOS 456 SYDNEY SMITH 367 TAYLORS BATTLES IN MEXICO 170 THE BEAUTY 193 THE DUEL 649 THE NEWCOMES. By W. M. THACKERAY 47, 205, 335, 479, 622 THE SISTERS A PARSONS STORY 64 THE THIRD BOWL 373 THE TREE OF LIFE 75 THISTLE FIGS; OR GRAPES THAT GROW ON THORNS 384 TRIP ON THE PANAMA RAILROAD 616 VIRGINIA ILLUSTRATED 289 WATER CURE 94 WEAK POINTS OF GREAT MEN 253 WHAT WE DRINK 495 WHAT WE EAT 196 WHY OUR MINISTER DIDNT MARRY 507 WORTH FIVE HUNDRED MILLIONS 246 YOUR HEALTH 531 LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS. 1. The Smokers of all Nations 2. The Great Spirit 3. Reveries of the Cigar 4. Tobacco Plant 5. Tobacco Plantation 6. indian Pipe-Bowls 7. Pipes of all Nations 8. The Hookah 9. Mexican Balcony 10. The Rising Generation 11. Bond of Sympathy 12. Comfort of Smoke 13. Crossing the Isthmus of Panama 14. Drinking Saloon in California 15. Vaccaro and Indian 16. Seilor Quilp 17. Camping Out 18. The Three Martyrs 19. The Hunting Lodge 20. Out Prospecting 21. Rowes Horses 22. John Chinaman 23. Chinese Horsemanship 24. The Sonora Stage 1 3 6 7 8 10 11 12 14 15 16 17 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 28 28 29 30 25. The Horse Market at Sonora 31 26. An Invaluable Possession 31 27. Judge Browns Court 32 28. Mr. Bobbins and the Californians 33 29. Receptacle for Foundlings, Rio Janeiro 34 30. Meeting of Our Lady and Isabel 35 31. Brazilian Coffin Closed 38 32. Coffin Opened 38 33. Cemetery of the Paula Church 39 34. The Black Benedict 40 35. Saint Anthony of Padua 42 36. The NewcomesHead-Piece 48 37. Sir Barnes Newcome in Trouble 49 38. The FarewellHead.Piece 51 39. Ethel and the Marquis of Farintosh 59 40. Emblematic Head.Piece 60 41. A New Newcome 62 42. A Wonderful Discovery 141 43. Airy Nothings 141 44. Up in the World and Down in the World. 142 45. An Unpleasant Situation 142 46. Fashions for June 143 47. Mantilla 144 48. Cap 144 ILLUSTRATIONS. vii 49. Portrait of John Paul Jones 145 50. Jones hoisting the American Flag 148 51. Jones before the American Commissioners 151 52. Jones at St. Marys Isle 153 53. Prayer on the Beach at Kirkealdy 155 54. Fight on the Deck of the Serapis 157 55. Gold Medal awarded to Jones 159 56. Jones invested with the Order of Merit.. 161 57. Jones crossing the Baltic 163 58. Jones before the Empress Catharine 164 59. Attack on the Turkish Galleys 165 60. Jones signing the Will 169 61. Mays Charge at Resaca de laPalma.... 176 62. The Attack on Monterey 177 63. Battle of Buena Vista 184 64. Beau Brummell 185 65. Beau Brummell and his Tailor 186 66. A Broadway Brummell 188 67. A Bowery Brummell 188 68. The NewcomesHead.Piece 206 69. Mrs. Clive at Home 209 70. The Blackwall Festival 213 71. Mr. F. Bayham 214 72. ToBoulogne 216 73. Sir Barness Lecture 220 74. Mr. Simpkins in Search of a Servant... 285 75. The Result of the Search 285 76. The Mystery about Bridget 285 77. The Mystery Explained 285 78. Bridget gets Leave of Absence 285 79. Misunderstanding in the Case 285 80. An Excitement about it 286 81. Modern Chivalry 286 82. Mr. Simpkins arrested 286 83. Mr. Simpkins in the Tombs 286 84. Mr. Simpkins in Court 286 85. Mr. Simpkins at Home 286 86. Fashions for July 287 87. Lace Mantilla 288 88. Chemisette 288 89. Sleeve 288 90. Tim Longbow 289 91. The Triumph of Porte Crayon 291 92. Anon 292 93. Houyhnhnm Repast 293 94. The Student 293 95. White Sulphur Springs 294 96. Fans of Pheasant Tails 295 97. Kindling the Fire 295 98. The Butter Flies 296 99. Crossing the Log 297 100. The Fording 299 101. The hunters 300 102. Rockbridge Alum 301 103. Alum Cliff 302 104. Cakes and Beer 303 105. The Heroine 304 106. The Natural Bridge 305 107. The Bridge, upper Side 306 108. Adventure in the Cave 308 109. Youths forward Slip 309 110. Distant View of Natural Bridge 309 111. The Bridge from the Cliff 310 112. Battle of Cerro Gordo 314 113. Charge of the Palmettos at Cherubusco.. 318 114. Storming of Molino del Rey 321 115. Scotts Entry into Mexico 323 116. Boat, Sahib! Boat 325 117. Gari, with Cargo of Jacks 325 118. Buddhist Priests 327 119. Klinghs and Chinamen 328 120. Malay Nurses and Children 329 121. Malay Assassin 329 122. Convicts and Peons 331 123. Hill Bungalow 332 124. Bazaar Man 332 125. Group of Servants 332 126. The NewcomesHead.Piece 335 127. The Electors at Newcome .. 340 128. The Colonel and his Constituents 341 129. The Election 343 130. ReconciliationHead.Piece 344 131. The BattleHead-Piece 347 132. Mr. Slim on the Beach 429 133. Mr. Slim at the Office 429 134. He takes Precautions 429 135. He receives Directions 429 136. In the Bathing-House 429 137. A Dash for the Water 429 138. The Breaker Coming 429 139. Effects of the Breaker 429 140. High and Dry 430 141. Tryit again 430 142. Group of Mermaids 430 143. A Dilemma 430 144. An Adjustment 430 145. Further Difficulties 430 146. Mr. Slim makes a Sensation 430 147. The Endof it 430 148. Fashions for August 431 149. Wreaths 432 150. Head-Dress 432 151. Winter and Summer in Russia 433 152. Kabak at Cronstadt 437 153. Russian and Finn 438 154. Russian Isvoshtshiks 439 155. Russian Merchant and Family 440 156. Young Peasants 441 157. Dvornick and Postman 442 158. Glazier, Painter, and Carpenters 443 159. Coopers Shop and Residence 444 160. Tobacconists, Postillion, and Overseer.. 445 161. Merchant, Peddlers, and Coachman 446 162. Russian Beggars 447 163. The Little Water 448 164. Effects of Vodki 449 165. CabinetMakers 450 166. Tea Sellers 451 167. Hay Gatherers 452 168. Carpenters 453 169. Indian Ruins in Central America 456 170. The Landladys Portrait 456 171. Antonio 456 172. The Shipwreck 457 173. El Roncador 457 174. Shelling Turtles 458 175. Approach of the Turtle-Hunters 458 176. A Mosquito Burial 459 177. On the Moonlit Sea 460 178. On the River 460 179. Chased by Indians 461 180. Captain Drummer 461 181. General Peter Slam 462 182. Towkas Indians 463 183. Effects of Chica 463 184. Village of Quamwatla 463 185. Sukiaof Sandy Bay 464 186. The Mother of the Tigers 464 187. Embarcadero on the Tirolas 464 188. The Wreck 465 189. Parting with Antonio 465 190. A Lagoon 465 191. Guttembergs First Proof 466 192. Fac-Similes of Manuscripts 468 193. Portrait of Laurentius Coster 469 194. Portrait of Guttemberg 470 195. Fac-Simile of Mentels Type 471 196. Fac-Simile of Caxtons Type 472 197. Caxtons Device 472 198. Portrait of Caxton 472 199. Initial Letter 473 200. Early Roman Type 473 201. The Sacriliceoflsaac 474 202. Fac-Simile of the Aldine Greek 474 203. Alduss Device 476 204. Frobens Device . 476 205. Henry Peters Device 477 206. Fac-Simile from Ximeness Bible 478 207. The NeweomesHead-Piece 480 208. Sale of the Cocoa-Nut 482 209. Emblematic Head-Piece 483 210. The RuinsHead-Piece 488 viii ILLUSTRATIONS. __________ 211. Colonel Newcome in Exile 489 292. Mantilla 720 212. Emblematic Head-Piece 491 293. Boys Costume 720 213. Mr. Slim goes to Sea 573 294. Chemisette 720 214. Getting to the Ship 573 295. Lazzaroni at Naples 721 215. The Embarkation 573 296. Neapolitan Cabriolet 723 216. It grows Squally 573 297. Diomedess Villa, Pompeii 725 217. At the State-Room Door 573 298. Street in Pompeii 726 218. Getting into the State-Room 573 299. Scene in Pompeii 728 219. In the Room.Position No. 1 573 300. Achilles delivering up Briseis 729 220. In the Room.Position No. 2 573 301. Picture in the House of Pansa 729 221. In the RoomPosition No. 3 574 302. Atrium in the House of Pasna 730 222. At Dinner 574 303. Candelabra and Vase 731 223. After Dinner 574 304. Lamp and Stand 731 224. Coming on Deck 574 305. Gold Pin 733 225. Going Forward 574 306. Ring 733 226. A Mishap 574 307. A Supper Party 733 227. The old Feeling again 574 308. Beware of the Dog 735 228. Sea-Sick 574 309. Tepidarium 739 229. Fashions for September 575 310. Hacienda in Nicaragua 745 230. Riding Hat and Gloves 576 311. Indigo Works 746 231. Riding Boots 576 312. Lake of Massaya 748 232. Lake Nicaragua 577 313. Lava FieldVolcano of Massaya 749 233. View on San Juan River 578 314. La Favorita 751 234. Fort San Carlos 579 315. Mozo, en Grande Tenue 751 235. The Columbus on the Lake 580 316. Guarda Barranca 752 236. Playa of Granada 582 317. Palo de Genisero 753 237. Granada de Nicaragua 585 318. Cosas Antiguas 753 238. Volcano of Mombacho 587 319. Great Plain of Leon 754 239. View of the Crater 589 320. Approach to Leon 754 240. Crater Lake 590 321. Cathedral of Leon 755 241. Young Grizzly Bears at Play 591 322. Calla Real, Leon 755 242. The Bear at Bay ~593 323. Bridge at Leon 756 243. Spring-Gun 596 324. Procession of Holy Week 758 244. Bears Dancing 597 325. Terra Cotta Idol 760 245. The Camp Fire 602 326. Terra Cottas 760 246. Bear Climbing a Fence 603 327. Shores of the Pacific 761 247. Shooting Bear from a Tree 605 328. Entrance to Port of Realejo 761 248. Fight of Dogs and Bear 606 329. Landing at Realejo 762 249. Indian Mode of Sleeping 608 330. El Puerto de Zempisque 762 250. Hanging Bridge 608 331. School-House and Plan 764 251. Chilian Cart 609 332. Log-House, and Plan 765 252. The Zamacuca 609 333. Simple Suburban Cottage, and Plan .... 766 253. Pehuenche Indians 610 334. Small Suburban House, and Plan 767 254. Trading with the Indians 611 335. Farm House, and Plan 768 255. Papoose and Cradle 612 336. Double House, and Plan 768 256. Woman of Araucania 612 337. Model Cottage, and Plan 769 257. Making Mudia 614 338. Story and a Half Cottage 770 258. Indian Grave 615 339. Irregular Villa, with Attics 770 259. Mapuches Gambling 615 340. Picturesque Cottage, and Plan 771 260. City of Aspinwall 617 341. Irregular Villa, and Plan 772 261. The Summit, Panama Railroad 618 342. Symmetrical Villa, Front View 773 262. Pacific Terminus of Panama Railroad 619 343. The Same, Rear View 773 263. Padre 620 344. Studies of Roofs 773 264. Negro Woman and Child 620 345. Suburban House, and Plan 774 265. Indian Woman and Child 620 346. Country House of Brick and Stone 774 266. Water Carrier 620 347. Villa, with Tower and Attics 775 267. The Rampart of Panama 620 348. Villa with Tower, without Attics 775 268. Map of Panama Railroad 621 349. Old House Altered 776 269. The NeweomesHead-Piece 623 350. The S me, before Alteration 776 270. Emblematic Head-Piece 627 351. Irregular Country I-louse, with Wing.... 777 271. The Good Samaritan 634 352. Country House, without Wing, and Plan 777 272. The Letter 635 353. Picturesque Mansion, and Plan ~78 273. Ethel and the Lawyer 636 354. Mr. Slim tries a Fly 861 274. Boy says Our Father 645 355. A Fly tries Mr. Slim 861 275. Mr. Slim reads up about Fishes 717 356. He tries the Patent Goggles 861 276. He purchases Fishing Tackle 717 357. Appearance of the Flies 861 277. Provides Fishing Costume 717 358.. Combat with the Flies 861 278. The Original Packages 717 359. Mr. Slim Faints 861 279. Arrives at the Stream 717 360. Revives, and Experiments with Goggles 861 280. Is alarmed at the Fishes 717 361. Mr. Slim after the Action 861 281. The First Piscatorial Trophy 717 362. Hostilities Renewed 862 282. Catches a Saw-Mill 717 363. Second View of Mr. Slims Face 862 283. Meets with an Accident 718 364. Third View of Mr. Slims Face 862 284. Goes cautiously to work 718 365. Mr. Slim gets a Fall 862 285. Has a Bite 718 366. Mr. Slim in a bad Way 862 286. Catches an Artist 718 367. Astonishes a Boy 862 287. Offers an Apology 718 368. Mr. Slims Departure 862 288. Has another Bite 718 369. Fashions for November 863 289. Lands his Prize 718 370. Mantilla 864 290. Secures his Prize 718 371. Bonnet with soft Crown 864 291. Fashions for October 719 372. Bonnet with flat Crown 864

History and Mystery of Tobacco 1-18

HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. No. LXI.JUNE, i8~.YoL XI, TO what extent active stimulants are neces isary for the health of the body and the development of the intellect, affords a subject of speculation which, it seems, will never be brought to a satisfactory conclusion. Speaking without referring to the experience of all ages, we would say that, beyond a sufficiency of wholesome food, nothing more was necessary to sustain the hu- man body in its greatest perfection; yet it is notorious that, from the earliest ages and among ~ all peoples, the custom has prevailed of using a thousand substances, evidently for no other pur & ~ pose than to give unnatural acceleration to the system; and thus, through the body, add im THE HISTORY AKI) MYSTERY OF TOBACCO. Entered according to Act of Congress. in the year 1855, by Harper and Brothers, in the Clerks Office of the District Court for the Southern District of New York. VOL. XI.No. 61.A 2 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. pulse to the workings of the immaterial and im- mortal principle. Tobacco, if not a necessary of life, has be- come very essential to human happiness; for its use is seen among all nations, and in- eludes every class of people, from the most savage to the most refined. Considering the comparatively short time that the plant has been known, its universality is past comprehen- sion, and the mind is lost in the attempt to dis- cern the elements of its propagation. In some countries, men, women, and even children, are its slaves. Witness the devotion to it among the Turks, the Persians, and other Eastern na- tionswe can not recall them to our minds without imagining the pipe. In the Berman Empire it is said that both sexes smoke inces- santly. In China an indispensable article of a ladys dress is a pocket in which to carry a pipe and tohacco. In all South America the women as well as the men indulge in the weed; and in Lima the sex, in every condition of life, puff their cigaritos in the streets. In Mexico the la- dies have their little cigar, and use it~with a grace that goes far to reconcile one to the cus- tom. The French, Spanish, and Italians also use tobacco, but less than all other nations are amenable to the charge of abusing it. The En- glish consume an immense quantity, and take the lead in snuffing. Tobacco is every where to he met among the northern nations of Europe. The Germans smoke all the time, in all places, and often when asleep as well as when awake. Americans who have gone to their conntry ap- parently as smoke-hardened as a ham, have in- timation that, by comparison, they were not capable of sustaining the reputation of being great consumers of the weed. In the United States more tobacco is raised and destroyed, in proportion to the population, than in any other country; but we waste, by our extravagance, qnite as much as we consume. What were the vegetable substances used by the ancients to prodnce inspiration is not known. We have information enough, how- ever, to enlighten ns as to their effects, in the descriptions of the celebrations of the Egyptian mysteries, of the strange infatuations of the GrecIan oracles, and in the grosser entertain- ments of decaying Rome. In the East Indies there has been nsed from time immemorial an extract of hemp, which is said to be infinitely more pernicious than any other stimulant, and much more exhilarating. The betel is also universally used in Ceylon, and the women are more inveterate chewers than the men, as it is said that a lady never appears abroad without her little silver box of betel leaves and prepared lime. The habit is represented as most repuls- ive; and, as might be supposed, kissing is there unknowna lover meeting his mistress applies his nose to her cheek much after the Laputan style of salutation. A traveler speaking of this matter, says: So ntterly abhorent do I hold this hetel-chewing propensity, that if Venus, the laughter-loving goddess herself; decked with the most bewitching of her wreathed smiles, were to appear with betel-stained lips, I really doubt whether the most impassioned of her admirers would not experience some slight disgust. With such examples before us, we are forced to the conclusion that there is a leaven of evil in our natures which constantly demands what appears to be unnecessary for our health or existence; and, even while we may ourselves he arrayed in the panoply of the reformer, we often only dis- pense with one bad habit to yield ourselves to another. With the discovery of tobacco was rapidly abandoned nearly every other substance used for similar purposes; and the lightning- speed with which it spread over the world is one of the greatest miracles in the history of commerce and the L coincident appetite of the human family. How .did the people of all time, up to 1500, manage without the weed ? What was Cu- sar s way when for the moment annoyed ?did he bite his fingers, pace his room, or rap his knuckles on his armor? Napoleon, under such circumstances, t6ok snuff. It would seem that the portrait of Diogenes, housed iii his tub, was never complete, because he had not a rude pipe sticking through the opening, while the blue smoke curled about his independent head Yet this might have spoiled his best accredited saying, because his telling Alexander to get out of his sunshine, is more sublime than say- ing that he did not care a whiff of tobacco smoke for any king in pagandom, as is daily observed by kindred philosophers in these mod- ern times. Columbus and his companions were the first Europeans who discovered tobacco, and their surprise atwitnessing the Indians ejecting smoke from their mouth and nostrils is warmly ex- pressed. The first allusion to the subject is as follows: Among other evil customs, they (the Indians) persist in one which is very periiicious, that of smoking, called by them tobacco, for the purpose of producing insensibility. This they effect by a certain herb, which, as far as I can learn, is of a poisonous quality. The chiefs, or principal men, have small hollow sticks, about a span long, made in a forked manner, the two ends of which are inserted into the nostrils, while the other extremity is applied to the burning leaves, which are rolled up in the manner of pas- tiles. They inhale the smoke fill they fail down in a state of insensibility, in which they remain as if intoxicated. It has been generally be- lieved, as by Cortez (who was led to examine the quality of the weed from its universal use among the tribes of Tabaca, in Yucatan), that the name Tobacco originated there; but Hum- boldt, with great apparent truth, asserts, that the familiar word is used in the Haytien lan- guage to designate the pipe, and that, by an error of the Spaniards, they transferred the name of the pipe to the plant itself. Sacred as the Yucatan and other aboriginal tribes considered tobacco, it attracted very lit- tle attention from the immediate followers of THE HISTORY AND MYSTERY OF TOBACCO. 3 Columbus, who looked upon its use with the many looked upon as the most valuable product same contempt that they did upon other of- reaped from the discovery of the New World. fensive customs of the savages; and its first in- Finally, attracting the attention of the great troductioa into Spain, by Hernandez Toledo, Catharine de Medicis, she ordered that, in honor in 1559, was only as a curiosity; it was princi- of her sovereign self, the plant should be called pally noticed on account of its supposed medic- Ilerba Regime; and thus endorsed, in the course inal qualities, of a few years its consumption became univer Gradually, as the Western World became sal among a nation acknowledged to be the more and more known, it was found that the most polished in Europe. Meanwhile, a legate North American Indians made the use of to- of the Pope, Santa Croce, who was distinguished bacco not only a matter of social and personal for bringing a piece of the true cross from the pleasure, but that every where the calumet was Holy Land, added to his celebrity by also intro- the emblem of peace, and, of course, the mdi- ducing tobacco into Italy. It was not, however, cation of their highest civilization, until after Sir Francis Drake returned from Vir- Nearly half a century after the discovery of ginia, in 1583, that the custom of using tobacco tobacco, Jean Nicot, Embassador of France to obtained any prominent place in England; but Portugal, became acquainted in that country once introduced, it not only became popular, with its uses, and was soon an enthusiastic ad- but there was created in its favor an enthusiasm mirer of it. On his return home, he appears to unknown on the Continent. This, no doubt, have taken a great deal of pride in urging its arose from the fact that it was from the begin- virtues upon the fashionable kebitn6s of the court. ning patronized not only by persons distinguished As he was the teacher of a foreign fashion, no for their position at court, but also for their wit doubt he soon had many followers. Nicots dis- and great learning. Tradition says that, in the ciples, in accordance with the spirit of the age, time of Queen Elizabeth, Sir Walter Raleigh and no doubt desirous of justifying their own used to sit at his door with Sir Hugh Middleton conduct, gave currency to the exaggerated sto- and smoke. The custom was thus sanctioned, ries o9 the virtues of the weed, and it was by through the public manner in which it was ex ~nz mAT sriair. 4 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. hibited; and the passers-by inhaling the aro- matic flavor, imitated the example. Says a contemporary, speaking of its intro- duction into England, Men used it every where; some for wantonness, some for healths sake; and with that insatiable greediness past understanding, they sucked the reeking, stenchy smoke thereof through an earthen pipe, which they presently blew out again through their nostrils; so that Englishmens bodies were so delighted with the plant, that they seemed, as it were, degenerated into barbarians. The French embassador at Elizabeths court, in 1600, only seventeen years after Sir Francis Drake returned from America, and set the ex- ample of using tobacco, writes, in his dispatches to Paris, that the peers, while engaged in the trials of Essex and Southampton, deliberated upon their verdict with pipes in their mouths! The enemies of Raleigh charged upon him that he looked out of a ~:indow in the Tower and smoked while Essex was going to execution; it is certain that he went to his own, pipe in mouth. How far this was a crime in Raleigh smokers must determine; the times were troublous when he gazed upon his fellow-courtier speeding to an untimely death, and the pipe may have been his only consolationall that was left to him in his misfortunes. Raleigh, in the sad pageant be- fore him, may have anticipated his own unhappy fate; and he, no doubt, in the philosophy of his thoughts, compared life to the fleeting cloud of his own creation, and thus prepared himself for his impending doom. To persons who habitu- ally smoke, the soothing influence of the weed, and the firmness it adds to the nerves when presence of mind is needed, is proverbial. It was only recently that we read of a street fight out West, where a gentleman was unexpect- edly fired upon by several persons, and being without weapons, retreated a considerable dis- tance, the bullets from revolvers and the shot from double barls rattling past him; and, says the editor, in the enthusiasm of his descrip- tion, the gentleman was so cool throughout the attempted assassination, that he never once ceased to puff his cigar. Popular as tobacco became, it was finally des- tined to meet with powerful opposition; yet it maintained itself in spite of the wrath of those who could, with ease, destroy principalities and powers. Governments made laws against its use. The terrible Turk, Amurath the Fourth, caused its votaries to be strangled. Ia Russia, its admirers had a pipe-stem run through the cartilage of their nose; and, for a second of- fense, were torn to pieces by the knout. In some parts of Switzerland the public authorities placed smoking among the sins forbidden by the Decalogue. The Popes of Rome issued their bulls against the evil habit, Urban VII. abso- lutely excommunicating all persons found in- dulging in the practice. Queen Elizabeth, be- fore her death, showed a desire to discounte- nance tobacco; but it was not until her successor, James, ascended the throne, that royal edicts were, with any severity, brought to bear upon it in England. This monarch seems to have in- herited as great a dread of tobacco as he had for a naked sword; and having disposed of his pa- tronage, and become possessed of leisure, he commenced a systematic attack upon the fas- cinating plant, and, much to the edification of his admiring subjects, and the amusement of the antiquarians of the present day, he publish- ed his celebrated Counterbiast of Tobacco, in which he shows himself capable of calling hard names, and very proficient in abuse. It is pos- sible that this weak-minded and weak-headed monarch essayed the use of the pipe, and, in his vanity, supposed his royal prerogative would have relieved him of the penalty of its first using; for no one who has not felt the deadly sickness could so vividly describe the sensation. Our very head swims as we read it. The use of tobacco, says his Majesty, is a custom loath- some to the eyes, baleful to the nose, harmful to the brain, dangerous to the lungs, and in the black reeking fumes thereof, nearest resembling the horrible Stygian smoke of the pit that is bottomless. But King James, amidst his denunciations, lets us into a bit of history which must surprise every one who remembers how recently the cus- tom of smoking was introduced, and how diffi- cult it was to obtain the weed. He says: And for the vanities committed in this filthy custom, is it not great vanity and uselessness that at table, a place of respect, of cleanness, and of modesty, men should not be ashamed to sit tossing of tobacco-pipes, and puffing of the smoke one to another, making the filthy fumes thereof to exhale across the dishes, and infect the air, when very ofteu men that abhor it are at their repast? But not only meal time, but no other time, nor action, is exempted from the public use of this uncivil trick. Is it not a great vanity that a man can not welcome his friend now, but straightway they must be in hand with tobacco? No, it has become, in place of a curse, a point of good-fellowship; and he that will refuse to take a pipe with his fellows is accounted peevish, and no good company; yea, the mistress can not in more mannerly kind en- tertain her servant than by giving him, out of her fair hand, a pipe of tobacco. Much as we are disposed to marvel at the universal use of the plant in our day, we find, with all of our abundance of means to gratify our appetites, no such abuses as spoken of by the British Sol- omon. Gentlemen never intrude their smoke at tables where sit those who abhor it, nor would it be an act of courtesy to expect a friend to smoke who signified a distaste to do so; and, above all, so far are the mistresses of our hearts and homes from being expected to hand us the pipe, that their presence for the time being com- mands, as a mark of respect, that an end be put to the enjoyment of the fragrant Havana. As might be expected, a plant of such uni- versal favor has called forth many treatises; more than sixty-three in the English language THE HISTORY AND MYSTERY OF TOBACCO. have been given to the world, many of which Then the Dame Quickly of the establishment possess rare literary excellence; some extrava- would appear with the said Canary, perhaps gantly extol its virtues, while others (which, imported in one of Raleighs own ships, while the by the way, are far the greater portion) as vio- philosophical and poetical navigator detailed to lently de~claim against and deprecate its use. the members of the club the wonders he had In addition to these, there have appeared many witnessed in his many voyages, the strange papers in the different languages of Europe. sights he had encountered on the plantations of The titles of some of the fulminations that fol- Virginia, and the probabilities of his realizing lowed the Counterblast afford us a very his day-dreams offinding ElDorado. Meanwhile good idea of their merits. Among the many, pipes would be introduced, and after all were we have: A chew of Tobacco for Gentlemen in well filled and lighted, the prejudice of the king livery ; also quite an extensive pamphlet en- againsttheuse ofthe weedwonldhe discussed, the titled Tobacco battered, and the Pipes shattered necessity of appearing to fall in with the humor (about their ears that idolize so base and barbarous of the court commended, when old Ben Jonson a weed; or at leastwise overlove so loathsome a laurmite and office-holder as he waswould vanitie), by a volley of holy shot thundered from become excited, and, curling an extra whiff of Mount Helicon. A devotee gives the world A smoke around his well-bronzed face, exclaim, right pleasant and veritable discourse, touching Tobacco, I do assert, and ~vill affirm it before divers choice, rare, and curious particulars concern- any prince in Europe, to be the most sovereign my the historie of the Holy Herb. and precious weed that ever the earth tendered Charles the Second wrote to the University to the use of man of Cambridge, forbidding its members to wear Among the amusing epigrams that have been periwigs or smoke tobacco; yet the members preserved, written in praise of tobacco, the fol- of that ancient seat of learning have continued, lowing is perhaps one of the very best: even unto this day, to render their heads hide- Much meat doth gluttony procure ous by the masquerade of false hair, and to make To feed men fat as swine, themselves comfortable by the free use of the But hes a frugal man indeed proscribed plant. Under the reign of Louis the That on a leaf can dine. He needs no napkin for his hands, Fourteenth, the wish of the monarch was the ISis fingers~ ends to wipe, law of the landthe breath and vitality of the That hath his kitchen in a box, courtiers. Catching his cue from the Vatican, ISis roast meat in apipe. Louis set his face against the use of snufl and Writers have not been wanting, who have desired Fagon, the physician of the court, to de- spent much time and ingenuity in the endeavor liver a philippic against its use. The learned to prove that tobacco was centuries ago known doctor proceeded with due solemnity with his to the Eastern nations; but nothing to make task, but astonished the multitude, amidst one of us give credence to such an idea has ever been hi5 grandest flights of eloquence, by producing eliminated. The use of pungent herbs in the his box and taking a lusty pinch; and then, cv- form of snuff; however, is a very ancient ens- idently unconscious of his inconsistency, he tom; for ever since the time of Hippocrates resumed the thread of his denunciations with sneezing powders, or sternutatories, are said to increased vigor, have been in vogue. It has been supposed that Sir Walter Raleigh, before he became in- Shakspeare refers to this custom in his play of volved in political troubles, instituted stated Henry the Fourth, when, in describinnafopof meetings of the wits of his day, who met at the those early days, he says Mermaid, then a popular tavern in London. lie was perfumed like a milliner, Around this social board assembled more genius And twixt his finger and thumb he held and talent than the world ever witnessed before, A ponucet box, which ever and anon or will probably see again. Among the con- He gave his nose. stant attendants were Selden, Beaumont, Fletch- The Chinese, according to their accustomed er, Ben Jonson, and Shakspeare. If the social vanity, pretend to have been acquainted many and convivial conversation of these wonderful ages with tobacco. It is presumable that they men could have been preserved as uttered, while first received the plantfrom India (to which coun- thus unrestrainedly indulging in the f~lings of try it was conveyed by the Portuguese), as no al- friendship and the flow of wit, what book, unin- lusions to it are found in any authentic Oriental spired, that we now possess, would equal in in- works written previous to the time of this intro- terest the records of this? Jonson was eminent- duction. The reader will also remember that ly a free liver, and no doubt the noisy one of the the stories of the Arabian Nights, although illus- circle. There was a roystering character about tinting the social habits and customs of a people old Ben that makes a fine contrast to the conduct now proverbially fond of tobacco, make not a of his companions. We can imagine him, with single allusion to the custom of smoking. The Shakspeare on one side and Raleigh on the Turks must have received the commodity from other, giving forth one of his own songs, and Europe about the same time that Persia received putting particular emphasis upon the lines: it from the East. Sandysan Oriental traveler, But that which most doth take my purse and me, who was in Constantinople in 1610says, that Is a fins cup of rich Canary wine, the Turks delight in tobacco; which they take Which is the Mermaids now, hut shall be mine. through reeds, that have joined unto them great 6 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. heads of wood to contain it, and learned the custom from the English. An enthnsiastic son of the Emerald Isle hecame inspired with the idea of appropriating to his countrymen the honor of using the weed as early as the tenth century, and attempted to prove the fact hy the alleged discovery of some antique pipes, which, it is contended, once helonged to the Danes. The whole story can he found in the Antho- logia Hihernica ; hut as the author has ne- glected to show that a hollow tuhe could not he used to hum any thing else than tohacco, we are, of course, left in douht, and must consider the whole theory as mere smoke. The advocates of the use of the narcotic have the authority of great names. Milton solaced himself, upon going to hed, with a single pipe and a glass of watera hahit which displays his temperance and neatness. The gentle Sir Isaac Newton, in his palmiest days, was urged by his friends to choose a wife; hut he made his intended spouse mortally offended hy tak- ing her hand and using the tapering fore- finger to clear out his pipe. Old Isaac Wal- ton was as fond of tobacco as he was of angling. The members of the famous Kit- kat club became celebrated for their consump- tion of the Virginian weed. Dr. Willis, in his accoui~ of the great plague of London, says, that during the whole sickness it was ob- served that no tobacconists house was ever known to have been infected, or indeed those who smoked. The immortal Locke writes: Bread or tohacco may he neglected; hut rea- son at first recommends their trial, and custom makes them pleasant. Burton, author of the Anatomie of Melanchollie, pronounces the weed a sovereign remedy to all diseases; virtuous herh, if it be well qualified, opportune- ly taken, and medicinally used. Tobacco grows well in almost every part of the world; and, so far from heing a tropical plant, aEvEnIES OF TIlE cleAn. THE HISTORY AND MYSTERY OF TOBACCO. 7 its best qualities are developed in temperate climates. Europeaa governments have found it profitable, iu most cases, to prohibit its culti- vation in their dominions except ia limited quantities, preferring to receive it from abroad, and make it a source of revenue. It is raised in most of the southern and western parts of Russia. In Holland and Belgium it is only l)roduced for the leaves used as the coverings of cigars. In Prussia, Austria, and France its cultivation is almost prohibited. Spain gets her supply from Cuba and Brazil. In England no tobacco is now allowed to be grown. Sir Walter Raleigh introduced it into Ireland along with the potatoe, and produced both, side by side, upon his estate at Gongall. In Mexico it is a government monopoly, and her citizens are not allowed even to import it without incurring heavy penalties. It has been successfully cul- tivated in every State of our Union; but with Virginia is it more particularly associated in historic interest; for her name, in early times, was synonymous with the plant itself. Previous to 1616 there seems to have been no systematic cultivation of tobacco in that State~ but in that year Sir Francis Dale commenced planting on an extensive scale, and only seven years afterward a large quantity was exported to the mother country. In 1639, the Grand Assem- bly, in consideration of the excessive quantity of late years planted in the colony, passed an act that all tobacco raised in the present and two succeeding years be absolutely destroyed and burned, excepting and reserving so much, in equal proportion to each planter, as shall make, on the whole, the just quantity of one hundred and twenty thousand pounds, stripped and smoothed. So prominent is the place that tobacco occupies in the early records of the middle Southern States, that its cultivation and commercial associations may be said to form the basis of their history. It was the direct source of their wealth, and became for a while the representative of gold and silver; the stand- ard value of other merchantable products; and this tradition was further preserved by the stamping of a tobacco-leaf upon the old conti- nental money used in the Revolution. The wives of a number of the first colonists of Virginia, it will be remembered, were ex- ported from England at the price of one hun- dred pounds of tobacco each; and as the Gov- ernors of the Colony selected young women who were well recommended for their vir- tues, education, and demeanor, the demand in- creased, and higher prices still were gladly given for such agreeable help mates. Among other things illustrative of the times, the ministers salary was paid in tobacco, and the claim had priority over all other debts; and whoever was absent from church without a valid excuse was fined a pound thereof; and if absent a m~ith, fifty pounds; and for abusing the minister the penalty was a forfeiture of the whole crop! There are more than forty known varieties of tobacco; but the differences are mainly the result of climate and the mode of culture. The plant is an annual, and may be generally de- scribed as having a strong, erect stem, with luxuriantly flowing foliage. The leaves are of a rich green, and grow alternately on the stalk, at intervals of two or three inches; they are oblong and spear-shaped; those near the ground obtain the length of twenty inches, and they gracefully decrease in size to the top of the plant. The flowers are externally yellow, and red within, and crown the pyramidal foliage in rich clusters, which are succeeded by kidney- shaped capsules of a rich brown color, each one of which contains ten hundred most minute but perfect seedsthe united number of each plant averaging one hundred and fifty thousand! Of all known vegetable productions, says an enthusiastic writer, tobacco is constituted and composed of the richest, strongest, most de- licious, and delightful ingredients. The alco- hol or spirit, the oil and opium, the sugar or saccharine matter, the mucilaginous wax or gums, the acids and nitre, with many other of the volatile salts, all harmoniously combined, constitute this the richest and most delicious compound ever engendered and generated in any one plant. In the cultivation of tobacco the very best lands are required. Every one has noticed how large a proportion of a cigar is incombustible, at least one fourth or fifth of the whole weight of the dried leaf. Now, these ashes, so carelessly thrown away, are composed of the most im- portant mineral matters necessary for vegeta- tion; and their vast quantity, when considered relatively to the whole crop, exposes the reason TOaACCO PLANT. 8 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. why, of all vegetable productions, tobacco is most exhausting to the soil. To facilitate tbe advancement of tbe crop, the planter, in early spring, prepares a hot-bed for plants, and thus anticipates the lagging season. The ground iu which they are to be perfected is carefully plowed, pulverized, and drained. This having been done, parallel furrows with a small seed- ing plow, are run two and a half feet apart, then crossed again at right angles, which di- vides the ground into exact squares. The la- borers then commence with the hoes, and draw the earth in each square into a hill smoothed on the top, and patted by one blow of the hoe. Upon the first fine rain the plants are removed from the seed-beds, and are delicately placed in each hill. If the work has been properly per- formed, replanting is not necessary, and the crop is in. Now commences the constant la- hor of cultivation. Every few days the weeds have to be cleared away and the soil broken np. As the young plant gains strength, plows are substituted in place of the hoe, and the grass growing near the roots of the plant is pulled out by the hand. Finally, the plants becoming too large to admit of horses between the rows, the hoes are resumed until the work is complete. The moment the blossom appears, after a few of the finest plants are selected for seed, the remainder are topped. From this time until the crop is safely housed, it is a source of con- stant anxiety to the planter. He is fearful of storms, of frost, of wormshis worst enemy; then the suckers are to be pulled oW and the ground leaves are to be saved. The tobacco-worm, so voracious in its appe- tite, disgusting in its appearance, and so re- markable as being the only living creature, ex- cept man, that habitually eats tobacco, grows to the length of three inches and upward, has a black head, is of a greenish color, marked with rings. These destructive creatures come in what the planters term gluts. The first one takes place when the plant is half grown, the second when it is ready for cutting. If they were not killed as fast as they appear, they would soon destroy the crop. Turkeys are called in to aid the negroes in the extermination, and their in- TOBACCO PLABTATiON. THE HISTORY AND MYSTERY OF TOBACCO. 9 dustry and perseverance are quite animating. They eat thousands, but seem to enjoy the sport of killing for the amusement alone. Upon the appearance of the second glut, the plant is too high to allow the enemy to come within reach of even the tallest gobblers; the labor, therefore, devolves exclusively upon the gang, the members of which are constantly on the watch, destroying the eggs and the just-devel- oped insect. No other business, for the time, is attended to, and the destroyer is generally conquered; and when the worm disappears the second time they are no longer a source of trouble to the growing crop. When the plant is thoroughly ripe, and be- gins to yellow, the stalk is cut off close to the ground, and taken to the dryin,,-houses or sheds and hung up. Once dry and well cured, the stem of the leaf being free from sap, it is stripped from the stalk and tied in bundles of a quarter of a pound weight. The leaves, as may be supposed, present different degrees of excel- lence, and they are duly assorted and known as yellow, bright, dull, etc. After a vari- ety of processes which they go through to be brought to their most perfect form, which re- quire constant attention from the producer, the staple is finally prepared for market, and then packed in the hogsheads that are so familiar through the world. It has been calculated, with great apparent truth, that about one-tenth of the whole popu- lation of the United States is occupied in the cultivation and manufacture of tobacco. The amount of the present production is about two hundred millions of poundstwenty millions less than it was ten years ago. Meanwhile, the home consumption has increased, not only in proportion to the population, but also in .the ratio per individual! The States engaged most largely in the staple at present, are Virginia, Kentucky, Tennessee, Maryland, North Caro- lina, and Ohio. Singular as it may seem, Con- necticut raises considerable tobacco, and much of it is of the very best quality known to the trale. It is a curious fact in its history, that the ex- ports from this country have varied but very little in the last fifty years; in 1790 our country, in round numbers, sent abroad one hundred and eighteen thousand hogsheads, in 1840 one hun- dred and nineteen thousand. This is one of the most curious facts developed in statistics, and may probably be directly traced to the fact that the population and wealth of European countries have not increased, and that the duties levied upon its introduction are as high as can pos- sibly be borne. No article of commerce pays a duty so enor- mous, compared with its home price, as Amer- ican tobacco. From it is derived an important part of the revenue of almost every European Governmen4. In Great Britain, the import duty is three shillings sterling (seventy-five cents) per poundabout twelve hundred per cent. upon the original costand two dollars per pound on manufactured tobacco, thus for what her people give us less than two millions of dollars, they pay to their own Government, for the privilege of using it, twenty-two millions of dollars, which is twice the sum realized by the American pro- ducer for all the tobacco exported to every part of the world! As might be supposed, the most stringent laws govern its introduction into that country, and a large fleet of ships and a heavy marine are supported to detect smugglers who alone traffic in this article. It is therefore not surprising that among all the wonders of London, and all the creations of that great Babylon dedicated to commerce, few are so re- markable as the government warehouses used for bonding or storing tobacco. Their interiors present such vast areas of ground that they be- come bewildering to the eye, and they never had any rivals in size until the erection of the Crystal Palace. Almost as far as the eye can reach are alleys of hogsheads, whose number is immense. In all convenient places are large scales forweighing, togetherwith otherapparatus cofinected with the operation of examining the staple. To accomplish this purpose, a hogshead having been selected, the bead is knocked out, some of the staves loosened, and, by a dexterous movement, the wooden covering is taken com- pletely oW so that the contents remain standing uprighta dense, impenetrable mass of tobacco leaves. Supposing that, upon examination, tbe inspectors find that the exterior, through the action of sea-water, bad packing, or any other cause, has become damaged, they call in labor- ers, who chop the defective parts away. This accomplished, the remainder is weighed, in or- der that the duty accruing to the Government may be determined upon; the hogshead is re- placed, and the purged contents are ready for sale in the market, eventually to appear in the form of cigars or snuff. The damaged tobacco, which accumulates in vast quantities, and would be of immense value if thrown into the market, is all burned up within the walls of the warehouses, lest its sale should diminish the revenue of the kingdom. The kiln in which the destruction takes place is called the Queens tobacco-pipe. As the smoke might be deleterious, the stem of the vast pipe is carried to an immense height. The ashes that remain after the conflagration are sold to enrich the garden beds in the vicinity of all the great ports. The adulteration of tobacco would form a novel history of itself. We know but compara- tively little of the extent of this fraud in the United States, the staple being too abundant to make it an object of great importance. In En- gland the artificial creations of tobacco are car- ried on with wonderful ingenuity and success. It is the exception to the rule to find a genuine article exposed in the shops of London. An extensive trader was on one occasion arrested upon the charge that he mingled foreign sub- stances with his tobacco; but on the trial he was discharged, because he demonstrated that 10 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. he did not adulterate tobacco, having never used the article at all in his manufacture. By many the delicate yellowish-brown spots that are pe- culiar to some tobacco leaves are considered a sign of superior quality; this idea very gener- ally prevails, and it has been asserted that they never show themselves upon an inferior staple. A London dealer, before he was found out, amassed a great fortune, by sprinkling his cigars with a distemper that closely imitated these ad- mired freckles. Another merchant offered a large reward to a celebrated chemist, if he would produce an artificial but permanent imi- tation. Without experiment, the task appeared easy; but the most protracted exertions to ac- complish it resulted in failure. The most common way of using tobacco is in the form of smoke, to accomplish which many expedients have been resorted to. A tribe of Africans, known as the Bechuanas, have a way very characteristic of their general intelligence. They take a limber twig, and bending it in the form of a semicircle, bury it in the mud, after which, having pounded down the earth to stif- ficient hardness, they pull out the twig, and thus est mounds in the Western valleys have been found the most beautifully sculptured pipes, gen- erally of porphyry, and in the form of the hu- man head, or of some bird or beast. Specimens produced by the more modern races of Indians are easily distinguished by the softer materials of which they are made, and they have also less delicacy and beauty of design. The tubes of these pipes were of hollow wood, from twenty inches to three feet in length, and were tastefully ornamented with beads and the plumage of birds, and surpassed in beauty and picturesque effect all modern pipes except the hookah of the East. From the appearance of these relics it is in- ferable that, among the mound builders as among all the tribes of North America, tobacco was known and used. With the whole race, and from the earliest times, the pipe was ever leave a hole that answers the purpose of a pipe- stem; a little tobacco is then set on fire at one end of this underground tube, and the savage, applying his mouth to the other, drinks up the smoke to his entire satisfaction. The Kirgeezes of the same continent, mix a little tobacco with other pungent herbs, and digging a large hole in the ground, put them in it and set them on fire. The savages then lie around the sweet in- cense, head to head, and thus inhale the vapor. A tribe of Indians originally inhabited Panama whose chiefs and great men had their servants blow tobacco smoke in their faces, and indulged in the luxury in no other way. The Hawalians habitually swallow the smoke, and a few whiffs are sufficient to cause complete inebriation. This is an economical mode; for a single pipe, before it is exhausted, by being passed from mouth to mouth in quick succession, will serve to gratify a number of people. The North American Indians exhausted their highest skill on the production of the pipe; and of all their works that remain to us, none dis- play an amount of labor and beauty compara- ble with this domestic ornament. In the old- the grandest implement of diplomacy. In mak- ing war or concluding peace it performed an im- portant part; their deliberations, public as well as private, had to be smoked, and no treaty was duly signalized without the handing round of the calumet. The transfer of the pipe from the lips of one person to another was a token of friendship, a gage of honor among the chi. valrous sons of the forest that was never dis- honored; it was as sacred as is taking salt with the children of the desert. In all religious cer- emonies it was produced with due solemnity, and its fragrant contents were cast toward heaven as grateful incense to the Great Spirit. It is said that a monk, by the name of Ro- man Pine, who accompanied Columbus in his second voyage to America, purchased one of these novel toys from an Indian of San Do- mingo, and learned to use it. Returning to laniAx rn?E-13owL5. THE HISTORY AND MYSTERY OF TOBACCO. 11 Spain he induced many persons to manufacture imitations of the aboriginal pipe, and follow his example in smoking. The pipe was first made, however, in England, by one Ralph Lane, who was a follower of Sir Francis Drake; but the fashion of using it was not established until Raleigh set the example. The Queen, who was giddy-minded and fond of novelty, allowed Raleigh to smoke in her presence, and even ~vent so far as to use a walnut shell and straw in taking an occasional puff herself. It was in these halcyon days of Raleighs history that he is said to have laid a wager with her Majesty, that he would give the exact weight of all the smoke that came from her pipe. This he did by first weighing the tobacco and afterward the ashes, and deciding that the difference between the two was the weight of the smoke. The Queen, upon paying the wager, very charac- teristically remarked, that although she had known many laborers who had turned gold into smoke; he was the first she had found who could turn smoke into gold. For a long time the form of the Indian pipe carried to Europe was imitated, hut gradually inventors sprang up who gave new shapes and finally added many improvements. The Per- sinus, who seem to have been wanting in their true national characteristics until the introduc- tion of tobacco, found the aboriginal manner of using it too gross for their enervated constitu- tions, and to supply their wants, produced what is now every where known as the Oriental Hookah. In this magnificent instrument the smoke is sublimated and cooled by passing through water. Thus relieved of every foreign substance, the Persian drinks it in as the breath of heaven. In many parts of the East it is the mark of signal hospitality to place the hookab in the centre of the apartment, and pass the long flexible tube from guest to guest, each one taking a whiff in turn. Som~times the liquid contained in the bowl is rose water; in such case, the smoke not only loses its solid particles but also acquires additional fragrance. The ornamentation, in diamonds and other precious stones, on some of the hookahs belonging to princes, exceeds belief; in many instances even surpassing all the other crown jewels in value. The Turkish Tehihouk holds a middle place between the hookah and meersehaum. Their tubes are generally from five to eight feet long, and are of cherry or jasmine wood. The bowls are made of earth found near Thebes, and are of handsome design and richly gilt. The mouth- piece is generally of amber; and the tubes are often adorned with precious stones. Among all the higher classes of Oriental life great neatness characterizes the use of tobacco. The Germans have made the form of the pipe a subject of immense study, and the greatest possible variety is to be found among that sturdy people. The commonest, the most complicated, aud the most philosophical consists of four piecesthe Ko~f to hold the weed; the Abqns that serves to catch the pernicious oil which rIrEs OF ALL NATLOaS. 7- 12 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. would otherwise injure the smoke; the RoAr or stem; and the Mendstuck, which is applied to the mouth. This truly scientific instrument was invented hy an Austrian physician more than one hundred and fifty years ago, and has ever maintained its popularity. The term Meerschaum, which is applied so generally to a particular class of pipes, is prop- erly the name of the substance from which they are made. The Turks apply the name keff-kil (foam-earth) to the clay; while the same sub- stance, when formed into pipe-bowls, ohtains the name of meerschaum in Germany, and ~cmae de mer in France, hoth of which signify sea froth. It was for a long time generally supposed that the suhstance was washed up hy the sea; hut it appears that the name originated in the fact that the clay, when dry, will float on the surface of water, and then appears like white foamy hub- bIes. The meerschanm, so far from being the child of the waves, is taken from heds in the solid earth. In its primitive state it is white and soft, and can he cut like cheese. It is found abundantly in Turkey, Russia, Hungary, and in Asia Minor. Upon the manufacture of the meerschaum great labor is expended, and they are costly, not only on account of heing frequently ornamented with silver and gold, hut also because great numhers are destroyed by some hidden imperfection in the material. These celebrated howls, when new, resemhle ivory; in their using they gradually change into a variety of mellow browns, or tortoise-shell hues, arising from the essential oil of the tobacco being liberated in the process of burning. In fact, this coloring of the meerschaum is consider- ed quite an art among the millions who devote their time to such matters; and the approved style, though possessing no intrinsic merit, is as much desired to he gratified as other demands made hy the relentless spirit of fashion. Every one is familiar with the Holland pipe, so perfectly identified with the old Knicker- bockers. It is the cheapest and best pipe, according to our notions, ever used. These are made of fine clay, ~ ~ I and have always been preferred to any other ofsimilarmaterialthe world over. Gouda, the seat of their man- ufacture, is one of the handsomest towns in the Netherlands, and soon after the intro- duction of tobacco into Europe its in- habitants commenced making these pipes, and eventually cre- ated a trade that, in 1720, demanded six- ty millions of pipes, and employed many thousand operatives. Debreezin, in Hun- gary, has long been famous for its manufac- ture of pipes from red clay, their sale being principally confined to the Danube. Ulm, in Bavaria, is noted for its wooden bowls; and the Thuriugian forests of Middle Germany for their porcelain pipes, which are pressed into every possihie shape, and ornamented with every known color. In England the pipe-makers are found in Purbeck, in IDorsetshire, where is to he found a fine-grained white plastic clay, eminent- ly suited to the purpose. As the facilities of obtaining tobacco have increased, cigars have made great innovations upon the use of pipes, and their production of late years has rapidly decreased. We should perhaps be neglectful if we did not speak of the true American pipe, so much used in the West, and immortalized from its being the favorite of General Jackson, while occupying the White House. It con- sists of a piece of dried sweet corn cob, with the pith removed, to form the bowl; the stem, a joint of the cane, or reed. This rural pipe is undoubtedly the most agreeable of all others, for a new one is used at every sitting, and the coh, from its dryness and sponginess, draws out, in the process of combustion, all the pernicious oil of the tobacco, and the pith actually in- creases the fragrance of the tobacco itself. Snuff-taking originated with the people of France, and was the most fashionable folly of the court of Louis the Grand. Under Queen Anne it arrived at its height in England; and the Spectator utters its best wit to throw rid- icule upon the custom. When snuff-taking was at its height in France, to refuse a pinch was considered an affront; hence many carried boxes for fashions sake. A gentleman of this kind, upon going into a puhlic place, was no- ticed for his want of sincerity, and upon reach- ing home he found that his costly snuff-box had disappeared, and the following note in its place: As you made no real use of your treasure, it has been appropriated by one who is honest in his admiration I The melancholy death of Sautenil, at the time of its occurrence, caused THE ~OOKAH. THE HISTORY AND MYSTERY OF TOBACCO. 13 universal sorrow. This celebrated poet, with a offered as a grateful memorial from a British number of his companions, were dining at the soldier for the kind treatment he had received Prince of Condds table, whea all became heated while he was the Generals prisoner. The old with wine. One of the party, by way of a prac- campaigner stated that he had given up the tical joke, unperceived, dropped a pinch of snuff business of arms, and was then profitably em- into Sautenils glass. A few moments after he ployed in the business of making boxes to carry had taken the powder he was seized with sick- snuff. The tobacco-box of Sir Walter Raleigh ness, and expired at the end of two days, after is still in existence, and is of no ordinary di- exhibiting unparalleled suffering. mensions, being seven inches in diameter and The time consumed by a ceremonious snuff- thirteen in height. More than two centuries taker varies from one-tenth to a quarter of his ago, a citizen of Westminster, England, left a whole existence. We knew one of those happy tobacco-box of little value to the Post Over- individuals, who occupied five minutes and seers Society, on condition that every senior twenty seconds in going through the entire officer in succession should produce it at all operation. This included the taking out of the parochial entertainments, and upon retiring box, the tapping on one side, the opening, the from office should add some embellishment to handing around, the pinch seized and placed, it or be subjected to a heavy fine. The conse- the box returned, the handkerchief produced, quence has been that, in the course of two cen- flourished, and then returned to the pocket. An turies, the box has increased ten times its di- ingenious American, residing in Paris, while mensions, being encompassed in numerous sil- dining at his hotel, looked out of the window, ver cases, on which are engraven curious em- and observed a mason employed at work on an blematic devices; making the whole thing per- opposite building. Noticing that the man was feetly unique. in the act of taking a pinch of snuW he promptly In this connection it is perhaps proper to no- bet that he would drink a bottle of Champagne tice a most scandalous report, circulated by some before the mason was through the ceremony. It ill-natured persons to the prejudice of the ladies, is hardly necessary to say that he won the wa- the point of which is, that they use snuff as a ger, and had time to spare. dentifrice. To imagine that a device so shallow The Earl of Stanhope made the following should be resorted to for the purpose of con- curious calculation. He said that every invet- cealing the use of tobacco in its worst form, crate and incurable snuff-taker, at a moderate seems impossible; yet honest men, have been computation, takes one pinch every ten minutes. led astray; for we find this mutilated paragraph Every pinch, with the agreeable concomitants, going the rounds of our most respectable jour- and other incidental circumstances, consumes a nals: Of all the detestable, obnoxious, offens- minute and a half. Deducting a minute and ive, unnecessary, and abominable imitations a half out of every ten, and allowing sixteen which dear woman is guilty of inheriting from hours to every snuff-takers day, it amounts to fallen, depraved, corrupt, and wicked man, that two hours and twenty-four minutes out of every of snuff-dipping stands pre-eminent. How the day, or one day out of ten, and thirty-six and a second edition of angelsthe ne plus ultra of half days in a yearmore than one-twelfth of heavens best workmanshipthe idol of man, a persons whole life, the diamond of songthe gem of prose, and the Ever since snuff became a fashion, the box crowning glory of humanity, can concentrate a used to hold it has been made by Royalty the table spoonful of pulverized poison, that would evidence of esteem. If a crowned head desires kill a rattlesnake, and prove certain death to cv- to acknowledge an obligation to an individual, cry living creature except the tobacco-worm, is it is generally done by the presentation of a to us totally at variance with all philosophy, rca- gold snuff-box set with diamonds. No Govern- son, scripture, taste, and refinement, and utterly ment has been more liberal with such presents incomprehensible. We wish it were a dream than that of Great Britain. Following the bat- we wish it were a romancewe wish it were not tle of Waterloo, the rewards bestowed upon so; but sad reality presents the picture of an d/~lomats and soldiers engaged in the events angel of beauty, with a heavenly smile, a rosy consummated on that field of blood, the House cheek, the eye of a gazelle, standing erect in all of Commons, in one year, appropriated twenty- her majesty, dazzling in her robes of silk and two thousand five hundred pounds for snuff- precious stones, her form reflected in a costly boxes alone, intended for complimentary pres- mirror, holding between her delicate fingers a eats. Napoleon very characteristically com- rattan stick feathered at the end which is con- plained of the time wasted in opening them, so stantly introduced into a box of snuff and he placed his snuW without covering, in his The remainder is torn off, and the extract must vest-pocket. Frederick the Great, who was an therefore ever present an imperfect, but still a inordinate snuff-taker, had his Westentasche vivid, idea of what malice will do when it at- lined with tin, and he strewed the powder over tempts to malign the sex. his person and face with a most profuse hand. The Duk~ of Marlborough was the first dis- While General Jackson was President, he re- tinguished man who rendered chewing tobacco ceived from England the present of a porcelain famousthe next celebrity of historic interest box, of which he seemed to be very proud. In- was a goat belonging to the crew of Decaturs side of the toy was a paper, stating that it was flag-ship. This animal took his quid as regu 14 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. larly as any of the old salts, and, being pos- sessed of a long gray beard, his cud-chewing moved it from side to side, and caused constant amusement among all who witnessed it. One of our later Presidents made the plug some- what conspicuous by sitting in his audience-room with it in his hand, and, while engaged in con- versation, nervously tearing off bits of the com- pressed leaves and placing them in his mouth. Eating tobacco is essentially an American cus- tom, and was no doubt derived from the ex- ample of the worm that lives upon the growing plant. It is particularly a favorite habit with leading politicians, and seems to be a vital qual- ification for a foreign minister. Dealers in tobacco in early times were dis- tinguished for their ingenious devices to attract custom. Not only costly divans were invented by them, but also signs of significancy were orig- inated, many of which retain their popularity nato this day. Hone mentions a man residing on Tower Hill, London, Parr byname, who great- ly increased his fortune by placing conspicuously over his door the following announcement: The best tobacco by Parr. The popular emblem is what is supposed to represent an Indian. The original one was no doubt carved out of wood, in accordance with the imagination of some cockney, and, by a singular love which the human mind has for precedents, all tobacco- shop Indians are made after the same unnatural pattern, whether carved in this country or in Europe. A Scotchman, in his kilts and top- heavy with ostrich-feathers, and holding a rams- horn snuff-box, is sometimes adopted. A Turk, in flowing robes, black beard, green mustache, and goggle-eyes, has his admirers. We once saw one of these singular, but, we dare say, very correct specimens of Oriental life, under which was printed: Let the infidel work his will, Ill trust in my pipe. The most touching appeal ever made, however, was by a dealer in Vienna, who established his business by suspending from his shop ceiling a huge bowl, with a score of long tubes attached, in which ten pounds of to- bacco were fired at once. One crowd followed another in the enjoyment of this leviathan pipe; the reputation of its originator became estab- lished, and, as a consequence, his fortune was made. The feelings that overwhelm a person long addicted to the use of tobacco when deprived of it, are more painful than its positive effects when first taken into the system. We have known soldiers punished for disobedience, who would hold out against the severest discipline, and never succumb until deprived of their tobacco. In a memorable mutiny on board of one of our MEXIcAN l3AacoaY. THE HISTORY AND MYSTERY OF TOBACCO. 15 national vessels, the misguided leader, while under sentence of death, was bold and defiant until his favorite weed was taken from him; he then became despondent, and his nervous sys- tem gave waythe same effect would have fol- lowed had he been innocent of all misdeedshe was sinking under the want of a stimulant long indulged in, and not from the remorse that is supposed to follow crime. It is common for persons suddenly immured in prison to stipu- late for their tobacco, but never for their food. An anecdote is related of a poor German, who attracted attention by continually walking to and fro between a bakers shop and a tobacco store, holding a few pence in his hand. He finally solved the mystery of his movements hy exclaiming: I would like to have some bread, but I ~vonld not miss it after all as much as I would my tobacco. We once had two acquaintances who were remarkable for their abuse of the weed. To such an extent did they use it, that their consti- tutions were seriously impaired, and they de- termined to abandon the habit, to escape from a premature grave. It so happened that they made their pledges of abstinence at night, and the following morning they were some miles in the country on a fishing excursion. After the excitement of arranging their tackle and throw- ing their hooks into the water had subsided, there came the qniet anticipatory of a bite. Presently, said one of the gentlemen, who afterward related the incident, the log on which I sat commenced whirling round, the just rising sun grew dark in the heavens, and all nature dissolved in a death-like tremor, that seemed to divide my soul from my body, and I fell head- long into the lake. Fortunately the cold bath bronght me to consciousness, and, reaching the shore, I found my friend pale and insensible on the grass. Rousing him from his stupor, we jumped into our buggy, leaving our rods, reels, and lunch disregarded on the ground, and gal- loping like mad down the road, never stopped until we reached a country store, and seized, with the avidity of starving men, upon some tobacco, but it was a long time before our systems were restored to quietness, and we were capable of coherently explaining the causes of our, for the time-being, apparently insane conduct. Dr. Nott, in his deed of trust, conveying the enormous sum of money made over by him for the endowment of Union College, makes it a condition that every professor is to avoid the use of tobacco in any of its forms; yet in all future time this clause will probably be a tale that is told, and the drowsy professor, who makes his living through the industry and thrift of Dr. Nott, will, amidst the clouds of smoke of his well-filled pipe, wonder why such an imprac- ticable matter was introduced into the last will and testament of a great and good man. We believe this, because the most despotic laws, the most signal punishmentseven the dictates of the tyrant fashion itselfhave never been able to arrest the habit of using tobacco in those who bad formed it. Nothing will do this but that high moral courage which says, If meat make my brother to offend, I will eat no more flesh while the world standeth. Rare examples of such resolutions are recorded, but they indicate a bravery that the soldier who faces the can- non s mouth can not imagine, and only the soul capable of being a martyr can illustrate. Some persons are so constituted that their systems can never overcome a nervous tremor brought on by the scent of tobaccothe slightest indication of its presence, even upon the open lusINe GENERATION. 16 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. air, making them faint. A gentleman widely known in the fashionable circles of English so- ciety, was absolutely driven into obscurity by this peculiar physical sensitiveness. He had to aban- don all mixed company, and all public places, and confine his associations to individuals who, he could he assnred, would not offend him hy using the weed, or carrying it concealed about their persons. We knew a gentleman, to whom tobacco was hut little less ohnoxious, that was awakened at midnight hy a sense of oppression, a difficulty in hreathing. Snpposing that some of the inmates of his household had offended by indulging in a smoke, he instituted inquiry, hut found no one guilty. The cause of all his tron- hle was finally traced to a short-legged pipe, that some one had dropped in front of his res- idence. This removed, the air was restored to its wonted purity, and the gentleman to his com- fortable nap. Dr. Aldrich, a celebrated scholar and divine in his day, was proverbial for his excessive fond- ness for the pipe. It was so notorious among the students nnder his charge, that on one occa- sion a wager was laid hetween two or three that, although very early in the morning, the Dean, who was at that time in his room, would he found smoking. On their heing admitted to the Doctors presence, and announcing the ohject of their visit, the Dean, with perfect good-humor, replied, You see, Sir, addressing the party who gave the challenge, you have lost your wager, for I am not now smoking, hut only fill- ing my pipe. As one of the divisions of our army, under Scott, was proceeding on toward the city of Mexico, filling the national road for miles with a serpentine train, a number of monks, re- siding in a monastery situated on a neighboring zOaD OF SYMPAThY eminence, in picturesque procession descended to the road-side, chanting hymns, the leader bearing before him a silver box, on the top of which was a lamp burning before a cross, and an aperture to receive contributions from the charitably-disposed. As our soldiers passed along, many of foreign birth contributed of their pay, and received a blessing from the awaiting monks. Finally a tall Yankee, he- longing to one of the New England Reghuents, upon whose clothes still rested the fragrant per- fume of the Aristook pine, stopped before the contribution-box, dropped his musket to the ground, and commenced searching in his pock- ets. It was evident that he would give some- thing. Having completed his explorations, he unhitched a short-stemmed tobacco-pipefrom the string that served as a baud to his slouched hat, and filling the bowl with the tobacco that had taken him so long to find, quietly lighted it at the holy fire, then, perfectly unconscious of having committed an improper, much less a sacrilegious, deed, he wended his way onward toward the fa- bled halls of the Montezumas. The eyes of the old friars, who witnessed this profanation, fairly rolled out of their sockets with surprise and hor- ror, and they felt an additional dread of the bar- barous North Americans, who were, according to their estimation, not only giants in strength and eagles in courage, but also heathens and heretics of the most formidable degree and the most irreclaimable kind. It is related of a Dutch sailor, that while sit- ting on the gallows he asked for a last smoke, which being granted, he was soon absorbed in the luxury, thinking nothing of the future, only of the present. When told that the fated mo- ment had arrived, he carefully laid aside his pipe, and prepared for the terrible leap. Most unexpectedly, his pardon was read, which being concluded, with tears of gratitude in his eyes he seized his still warm pipe, and said, I was sure thou wouldst not be out so fast. Toward the close of the reign of Louis the Fifteenth of France, a Turkish embassador re- siding in Paris, insisted upon smoking while at- tending the theatres. So sacred was his person considered that the police dared not prevent him, althongh the whole audience was annoyed, and constantly expressed disapprobation. Dis- covering the cause of the frequent interruptions of the play, he pronounced the authors of it a mob, and with increased zeal puffed his tell- honk. We well remember an old Irisliwoman, who used to sit at night, to display her apples, be- neath the radiance of one of the gas-lamps near the City Hall. She was an old cronethe very personification of a virago. For hours she would watch the passers-by, repeating to herself in- numerable prayers and maledictions, and al- though a merchant in fruit, never good-natured, even amidst the excitement of a sale. One evening, as we passed, we found her enjoying the pleasures of a short pipe. Here face rested upon her handher eyes were seeing visions N I K THE HISTORY AND MYSTERY OF TOBACCO. 17 her mouth was wreathed in a smile. What did she care for the sordid gains of commerce? Poverty, and its accompanying horrors, had melted into joyous inspirationher soul was wrapped in Elysium. Meanwhile the rude boys had discovered her forgetfulness, and when she awoke from her reverie, it was to find that her property had been filched, and that her trip to dream-land was enjoyment acquired at the ex- lense of comfort in this. Among all the practical evidences of sym- J)athv which the women of France displayed for their suffering kindred in the Crimea, none so deeply excited a universal sentiment of ad- miration as when the ladies of Bordeaux so- licited subscriptions for the specific purpose of purchasing tobacco and pipes for the use of the heroes of Alma and Inkermaun. There seemed to be a universal feeling that this was more genial, more thoughtful, more touching than the sending of even food and raiment; and when the venerablc Archbishop seconded the labors of his flock, by collecting money with which to purchase wine for the sick, enthusi- asm rose to its highest pitch. Some years ago, an American gentleman, who was spending some time in Havana, noticed, one evening, in an obscure street, a person ap- proaching him enveloped in a cloak, his face concealed, yet persistently smoking a cigar. The fragrant perfume, as it spread itself on the evening air, su~gested the enjoyment of the same luxury, and, pulling out his case, he asked VOL. XLNo. 61.B the mysterious perambulator for a light. The desire was granted, and the American for an instant lit up his features by the ignition of his cigar. The stranger started back with surprise, exclaiming, Had I not seen your face, I should have assassinated you for another ierson Frederick William of Prussia, the father of Frederick the Greatunlike King Jameshad a royal liking for tobacco; and a picture, repre- senting his smoking room and its inmates, is still preserved in Berlin. His Majesty, in plain clothes, is sitting in the midst of his company, while the Queen is lighting his pipe; on his right hand and left are his Ministers and Gen- erals, also with pipes. The learned Gundling, evidently in a very loud voice, is reading a news- paper. There is no expensive furniture in the apartment; the table is without a spread, and the seats are merely wooden benches. It was in the smoking room that the irascible and more than half-crazy monarch enjoyed his only pleas- ant hours; for he often enterec~ gloomy and peevish, but never left except in excellent hu- mor. At these social parties every one was permitted to speak his mind frankly, comment upon the Government freely, and even criticise the conduct of the King: thus he had an op- portunity of learning many things which would otherwise have been concealed from his knowl- edge. Fortunate, indeed, would it he, if smok- ing rooms were common among all the rulers of mankind, that they might occasionally hear the language of truth instead of the ever-ful- some strain of interested flattery. Fanny Kemble used to relate, with great gusto, a cigar adventure she met with while traveling in Georgia. It appears that the day was hot, the roads rough, and she an invalid the passengers in the stage, herself and a gen- tleman. As the heavy vehicle rumbled along, there mingled, with the dust that constantly penetrated its interior, the fumes of a most execrable cigar. Every blast of the Stygiari fume sent a tremor of deadly sickness through Fannys heart; the gentleman, her traveling companion, remonstrated with the driver, ex- plained the mischief he was doing, and prom- ised the independent Jehu, at the end of the journey, the reward of twenty-five choice ha- vanas if he would throw away his vile weed. The drivers reply was, Yes, yes, in a minute but the evil complained of continued until final- ly it became insufferable. Then it was that Fanny leaned out of the coach-window, and said, Sir, I appeal to your generosity to throw away that cigar; and I know, from the proverb- ial politeness of the Americans, that my request will be granted. Yes, yes, said the driver with some trepidation, I intended to do it: but I wanted first to smoke it short enough to put in my hat! In conclusion we would say that a curious and instructive work could he written upon the influence of tobacco upon the intellectual char- acter of nations. It makes the French more gay, the Spaniards more grave. It has con- COMFORT OF SMOKE. 18 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. firmed the Germans in their speculative phi- losophies, and made fatalism the constitution, instead of a belief of the Moslem, and weakened the animal activity of all. What was heretofore action is now smoke. The Turks, who, before the discovery of tobacco, were the terror of Christendom, have sunk under its enervating influence into second childhood. The Hollanderswhose ancestors wrested a country from the waves of the ocean, and once swept the seas with a broom, emblematical of their naval prowessnow live upon the exploits of the past, and smoke undismayed amidst all the confusion of the present and the threaten- ings of the future. But in spite of these sad examples of national lethargy before us, we must confess that we sometimes envy the refreshing calmness of their stagnation, particularly when contrasted with the death-inviting activity of the American character. The use of tobacco upon our own people is exhibiting its effects by increasing the mental activity at the expense of the physical frame. It is stripping our men of all corporeal weight, and leaving them, like over-trained steeds, to fly across, not travel, the field of life. Of course the career is brilliant, but necessarily somewhat short. The rising generation is attenuated, but the brain is largethe jaws are shrinking up and crowding the teeth, but the imagination is expanded, and self-confidence knows no bounds. What the future will develop, no ope can de- termine; but if our disregard of natural laws is persisted inif we cultivate only the intellect- ual, and forever neglect the well-being of the earthly templewe must eventually resemble those ambitious steamers whose engines, being too large for the hulls, as a consequence shake themselves rapidly to pieces by the very power that sends them ahead. While contemplating the evils of such a result, we can not but regret that we are not as a nation possessed of a slight infusion of that refreshing slowness so peculiar to the Turks and Hollandersthat our immense consumption of tobacco should not calm our nervesthat its smoke should not encourage us in the occasional practice of quiet aspirations. If this were the case, then tobacco, well-qual- ified and opportunely taken, would indeed be a virtuous herb, and its enemies become as silent as are the ashes that fell from Uncle Tobys pipe. CALIFORNIA THROUGH ENGLISH EYES.* IN April, 1850for aught we know it was on the first day of the monththe good steamer Cherokee landed Mr. FRANK MAIIRYATT, an En- glish gentleman of fortune, together with half a thousand free and independent American citizens in red and blue woolen shirts, at the fever-haunted town of Chagres. Our friend was on his way to California, having in view two very laudable objects: he wished to see lilkt and to add a few thousands to his worldly es- tate. In the first of these objects he succeeded to his hearts content; in the second he failed quite decidedly. His loss is, however, our gain; for to the ill-success of his agricultural, archi- tectural, and mining speculations we owe a very fresh, racy, and good-humored book. Besides his own person, our traveler had in charge a number of rifles of various calibers, three blood-hounds, and his man Barnes, a lusty, good-natured fellow, who commenced life as a poacher, then became a game-keeper, and as our author leaves him in California, we may trust that he is by this time a thriving citizen. At all events he proved himself worthy of being such, instead of remaining the personal attend- ant of any man. Thus accompanied, Mr. Marryatt became an object of decided interest to his fellow-passen- gers across the Isthmus, who showed themselves specially anxious to obtain full particulars re- specting his birth-place, his destination, and the nativity of the blood-hounds aforesaid. Be- coming weary of imparting information upon these interesting subjects, be proceeded to na- turalize himself by a process not recognized in our courts, and assumed the full dignity of a citizen of the Model Republic in general, and of the Old Dominion in particular, bound for California or elsewhere, and thus evaded fur- ther questioning. We must pass over our travelers passage across the Isthmus, letting a single illustration do duty for a page of letter-press. The imag- ination of oar readers may picture the paddling up the river, the floundering through the jungle the doleful night at the Washington Hotel, midway between Chagres and Panamathe musquitoesthe antsand all the tragico-com- ic events that marked the transit across this narrow strip of land five years ago. We have changed all that, now that the iron horse whirls the passenger smoothly over the smooth rails. The voyage from Panama to San Francisco was made in a bark with very limited accom- modations and a very large passenger list. Of the hundred and seventy-five souls on board, a hnndred and sixty are set down as noisy, quarrelsome, discontented, and dirty. When they happened to be in tolerable humor, their chief amusement consisted in picking their teeth with their knives, and flooding the deck with an extract of tobacco manufactured on the spot. When, as was more frequently the case, they were in bad-humor, they spent the time in swearing at the provisions and grumbling at the scanty allowance of water. As, however, there was no liquor on board, the quarreling stopped short of bloodshed. When the excitement threatened to pass all bounds, the wily skipper would place a small keg of sugar on the deck, and knocking in the head, would extend a gen- eral invitation to fall to. At the courteons summons the grumblers unthered like flies around. * Mouatui and Molehills; or, Recollections of a Burnt Jour 1. By FRANK MARRYATT. With numerons Illus- trations by the Author. 1~mo. Harper and l3rethcrs. Just Published.

California Through English Eyes 18-34

18 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. firmed the Germans in their speculative phi- losophies, and made fatalism the constitution, instead of a belief of the Moslem, and weakened the animal activity of all. What was heretofore action is now smoke. The Turks, who, before the discovery of tobacco, were the terror of Christendom, have sunk under its enervating influence into second childhood. The Hollanderswhose ancestors wrested a country from the waves of the ocean, and once swept the seas with a broom, emblematical of their naval prowessnow live upon the exploits of the past, and smoke undismayed amidst all the confusion of the present and the threaten- ings of the future. But in spite of these sad examples of national lethargy before us, we must confess that we sometimes envy the refreshing calmness of their stagnation, particularly when contrasted with the death-inviting activity of the American character. The use of tobacco upon our own people is exhibiting its effects by increasing the mental activity at the expense of the physical frame. It is stripping our men of all corporeal weight, and leaving them, like over-trained steeds, to fly across, not travel, the field of life. Of course the career is brilliant, but necessarily somewhat short. The rising generation is attenuated, but the brain is largethe jaws are shrinking up and crowding the teeth, but the imagination is expanded, and self-confidence knows no bounds. What the future will develop, no ope can de- termine; but if our disregard of natural laws is persisted inif we cultivate only the intellect- ual, and forever neglect the well-being of the earthly templewe must eventually resemble those ambitious steamers whose engines, being too large for the hulls, as a consequence shake themselves rapidly to pieces by the very power that sends them ahead. While contemplating the evils of such a result, we can not but regret that we are not as a nation possessed of a slight infusion of that refreshing slowness so peculiar to the Turks and Hollandersthat our immense consumption of tobacco should not calm our nervesthat its smoke should not encourage us in the occasional practice of quiet aspirations. If this were the case, then tobacco, well-qual- ified and opportunely taken, would indeed be a virtuous herb, and its enemies become as silent as are the ashes that fell from Uncle Tobys pipe. CALIFORNIA THROUGH ENGLISH EYES.* IN April, 1850for aught we know it was on the first day of the monththe good steamer Cherokee landed Mr. FRANK MAIIRYATT, an En- glish gentleman of fortune, together with half a thousand free and independent American citizens in red and blue woolen shirts, at the fever-haunted town of Chagres. Our friend was on his way to California, having in view two very laudable objects: he wished to see lilkt and to add a few thousands to his worldly es- tate. In the first of these objects he succeeded to his hearts content; in the second he failed quite decidedly. His loss is, however, our gain; for to the ill-success of his agricultural, archi- tectural, and mining speculations we owe a very fresh, racy, and good-humored book. Besides his own person, our traveler had in charge a number of rifles of various calibers, three blood-hounds, and his man Barnes, a lusty, good-natured fellow, who commenced life as a poacher, then became a game-keeper, and as our author leaves him in California, we may trust that he is by this time a thriving citizen. At all events he proved himself worthy of being such, instead of remaining the personal attend- ant of any man. Thus accompanied, Mr. Marryatt became an object of decided interest to his fellow-passen- gers across the Isthmus, who showed themselves specially anxious to obtain full particulars re- specting his birth-place, his destination, and the nativity of the blood-hounds aforesaid. Be- coming weary of imparting information upon these interesting subjects, be proceeded to na- turalize himself by a process not recognized in our courts, and assumed the full dignity of a citizen of the Model Republic in general, and of the Old Dominion in particular, bound for California or elsewhere, and thus evaded fur- ther questioning. We must pass over our travelers passage across the Isthmus, letting a single illustration do duty for a page of letter-press. The imag- ination of oar readers may picture the paddling up the river, the floundering through the jungle the doleful night at the Washington Hotel, midway between Chagres and Panamathe musquitoesthe antsand all the tragico-com- ic events that marked the transit across this narrow strip of land five years ago. We have changed all that, now that the iron horse whirls the passenger smoothly over the smooth rails. The voyage from Panama to San Francisco was made in a bark with very limited accom- modations and a very large passenger list. Of the hundred and seventy-five souls on board, a hnndred and sixty are set down as noisy, quarrelsome, discontented, and dirty. When they happened to be in tolerable humor, their chief amusement consisted in picking their teeth with their knives, and flooding the deck with an extract of tobacco manufactured on the spot. When, as was more frequently the case, they were in bad-humor, they spent the time in swearing at the provisions and grumbling at the scanty allowance of water. As, however, there was no liquor on board, the quarreling stopped short of bloodshed. When the excitement threatened to pass all bounds, the wily skipper would place a small keg of sugar on the deck, and knocking in the head, would extend a gen- eral invitation to fall to. At the courteons summons the grumblers unthered like flies around. * Mouatui and Molehills; or, Recollections of a Burnt Jour 1. By FRANK MARRYATT. With numerons Illus- trations by the Author. 1~mo. Harper and l3rethcrs. Just Published. CALIFORNIA THROUGH ENGLISH EYES. 19 the luscious treat, and the contents of the cask were soon, by the aid of their knives, transferred to their mouths. One Sunday they were favored with religious services, conducted hy a personage who claimed to he a minister of some out of the way sect or other. His ministrations were fervent enough, and he possessed a wonderful faculty of shed- ding tears. But the effect of his pathetic ex- hortations was somewhat neutralized by the reminiscence on the part of his hearers of a quarrel iu which he had not long before taken a part, in the course of which he had expressed the amiable intention of ripping np the guts of the vessels cook. Mr. Marryatt reached San Francisco in June, just after one of the great conflagrations that have devastated that combustible city. Nobody, however, seemed to take his losses very deeply to heart; but every one seemed bent on repair- ing them as soon as possible. Mr. Smith, who was superintending the erection of a temporary varehouse to supply the place of one which had heen burned, consoles Mr. Jones, who acknowl- edges to being not only burnt out, but burst np as flat as a pancake, by the cheering assurance that this is a great country ; to which the philosophic Jones emphatically responds, No- thin shorter. Both are in a few days estab- lished in their new quarters, and are apparently once more on the road to fortune. As those principally concerned seemed to take the mat- ter so calmly, our author saw no reason why a stranger, who had lost nothing by the calamity, should allow himself to be plunged into melan- choly reflections. The first thing that impressed our author npon his arrival at San Francisco, was the fe- verish excitement that was every where appar- ent. At that period, life in California was at its wildest. The boldest, most eager, and ad- venturous spirits from every quarter of the world had congregated there. Men of every grade of society and of every degree of culture were flung pell-mell together. The old forms and moralities of life had disappeared, and new ones had not yet risen to replace them. Under the rough hunting-shirt, slouched hat, and heavy boots of the miner might he concealed either the honest man or the desperado, the gamhler or the gentleman. All mingled together upon terms of perfect equality, for there had not yet been time for them to classify themselves ac- cording to their natural affinities. Hence there was no limit to the introductions with which a stranger was favored. If you strolled into i gambling-saloon, the chance was that some casual acquaintance of both would make you acquainted with the dealer at the monte table. Upon one occasion our author found that he %JRO5SLNG TIlE ISThMUS. 20 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. had just had the honor of shaking hands with a man who had not long hefore committed a mur- der, and had escaped hanging only by bribing judge, jury, and witnesses. Clubs, reading-rooms, and female society were things yet to he; hence the places of uni- versal resort were the Drinking Saloon and Gambling House, which were in most cases united iu one establishment. With a keen eye to profit, the proprietors of these establishments had fitted them up with a splendor irresistibly captivating to men who for months had seen no dwitlling more attractive than a rude hnt or tent. Pillars, apparently of crystal, supported the gild- ed roofs. The walls were a-blaze with huge mirrors, alternating with pictnres of the worst French school, of the most brilliant coloring and the most questionable designs. Nothing could be more motley than the aspect of the crowd there assembled. Miners in ragged woolen or greasy buckskin, with long hair and ferocious mustaches; Mexicans in gay scrapes and slouch- ed hats; Chinamen with long tails and basin- like hats; negroes, hodmen, merchants, me- chanics, all in what costume pleased fortune thronged around the liquor bars and the monte tables. It is said that the Arabs have a thousand names to designate the lion. Scarcely less mul- titudinous was the California drinking vocabu- lary. From the time the habitual drinker takes his morning cock-tail, says our author, to stimulate an appetite for breakfast, be sup- plies himself with an indefinite number of racy little compounds that have the effect of keeping him always more or less primed. And where saloons line the streets, and you can not meet a friend, or make a new acquaintance, or strike a bargain without an invitation to drink, which amounts to a commandand where the days are hot, and you see men issuing from the sa- loons licking their lips after their iced mint-ju ~)R1NRINO SALOON. CALIFORNIA THROUGH ENGLISh EYES. 21 lepsand where Brown, who has a party with him, meets you as you enter the saloon, and says Join usand where it is the fashion to accept such invitations, and rude to refuse them what can a thirsty man do? One reason, he continues, for so many drinks heing con- sumed is the fact that there is ever some liheral soul who is not content till he has ranged some twenty of his acquaintances at the har; and when each one is supplied with a drink, he says, My respects to you, gentlemen; when the twenty heads are simultaneously thrown hack, and down go Straight hrandies, Queen Charlottes, Stone fences, and so on through the whole score. Where there are so many ready to treat, there can of course he no lack of those willing to avail themselves of any chance of coming in for a share of the general order for drinks for the crowd. There is a story told of a waggish old Judge who was wont to find some sport in tak- ing advantage of the propensity of these hang- ers-on to indulge their hibulous propensities at the expense of others. Come, let us all take a driuk, he would exclaim to the thirsty group in waiting for such a summons. The har is forthwith lined with the motley crowd, each or- dering his favorite tipple. At the word of com- mand from the Judge the potations are simul- taneously disposed of. And mow, the proposer would say, drawing a long hreath of satisfaction, now lets all pay for our drinks, which each would sorrowfully proceed to do. Our author had the perspicacity to perceive that this was hut a temporary state of affairs; and that this outward show of ceaseless dissipa- tion would soon give place, among so strenuous and eager a people, to a hetter state of things. Before emharking in the serious business of money-making, our Englishman resolved to en- joy himself hy a year of hunting and adventure, at the same time keeping an eye open for any promising scheme of profit. His immediate purpose was to camp out in some snug valley among the mountains and there to live upon the produce of his gun and dogs, eked out, of course, hy sundry lux- uries which a well-fill- ed purse can manage to secure even among the Sierra Nevadas. So one hright July morning he set out from San Francisco for the Russian River re- gion. The party con- sisted of Mr. Marry- att himself, his man Barnes, and a young Englishman, Thomas by name, who had come out to enter the scrv ice of a great mercantile house, which un- luckily happened to hurst up just hefore his arrival. Besides the hipeds there were at the start three dogs, hut one of these, a mighty blood-hound, ran mad shortly after their depart- ure, and was shot, after narrowly missing a snap or two at his master. The party pitched their tent for a day or two at Benicia, a flourishing town upon paper, with sites for numerous public buildings carefully laid down. In fact, it wanted only huildings and inhabitants to constitute it a considerable city. Upon examining the map, they found that they were encamped precisely in the centre of the Public Botanical Gardens. While they were trying to engage mules to carry them on their way, our author hecame acquainted with a cer- tain Don Raymond Castillo, a dashing native Californian, who owned a ronche some forty miles in the interior, from whom he received an invitation to pay him a visit, and remain until the necessary animals for their further advance could he procured. At the mache of Don Raymond our friend had a specimen of the old-time life of a Cali- fornian gentleman, as it was before the advent of los Arnericaaos. The mansion was a long, low adobe house, with a court-yard in front, part- ly sheltered hy a porch. Here the vaccaros, or herdsmen, of the ranche passed their time when. as was usually the case, they had nothing spe- cial to do, lounging about, smoking, playing the guitar, or indolently twisting a lasso out of raw hide or horse-hair. It was very like the court of a baron of the feudal times. A dozen or more of the small wiry horses of the country always stood saddled in the court-yard, in readiness for any emergency. The scene would now and then be varied by the arrival of a miserable Indian bringing in some trifling article of game. Some time in the course of the day a vaccaro would rise slowly up, as though the idea had just oc- vACcARO AND INDIAN. 22 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. curred to him that there might possihly he some- signs of the horse. When he rises, his tormentor thing for him to do. Slowly he saunters up to is still on his hack. He honnds away in terror, his horse, uncoils his lasso, and fastens it Se- urged on hy the sharp thrusts of the spur goring curely to the saddle-how. One and another his sides, and disappears in the distance. In follow his example, until at last the whole group, a few hours he is hronght hack, panting, and looking more asleep than awake, are seated in sohhing, and exhausted. A hncket or two of their saddles. In an instant the scene changes. cold water is dashed over him, the thick hlind The fellows, looking so sleepy while on foot, are is again put over his eyes, and he is left in transformed into new heings when once their darkness to meditate over his luckless fortune feet are fairly in the stirrups. One thrust of a most perplexed horse. The lesson is repeated the long rowels of their spurs into the side of two or three times, with continually decreas- their heasts, who await no second hint, and away ing resistance. In three days his education dash the whole troop, waving their lassos in the is pronounced complete, and he is denom- air, shouting at the top of their voices, plashing mated a ?nanzo, or tamed horse :though, as through the river, scouring across the plain he- may readily he imagined, his taming, like the yond, and sending up a cloud of dust that marks civilization of the Russians, is not more than their course long after they themselves are out skin deep. of sight. Our Englishmen spent a few days hunting These native Californians are superh riders with these rough riders. Having heen long and well they need to he, considering the ani- trained to the saddle, they managed to acquit mals they bestride. When the ranchero finds themselves to their own satisfaction, and to the that his herd of riding horses needs replenish- unhounded admiration of their Californian ac- ing, he dispatches a troop of vaccaros to the quaintances. They, however, suggested to their mountains, who return driving hefore them a host that they would prefer to hunt on foot, baud of wild, lean, vicious-looking colts. They stalking the deer in the Highland fashion. But are driven into the corral, where the best-look- their ardor was not a little damped when it was i ug are selected for use, and the herdsmea enter, hinted to them that rattlesnakes abounded in lasso in hand, to capture the chosen beasts. the long grass. In spite of this ominous warn- The maddened herd fly wildly around the en- ing they made some attempts at hunting in their closure, hut all in vain, a cast of the unerring own fashion; hut our author confesses, with lasso arrests one of them, who is blindfolded and laudable candor, that they were too much occu- dragged, half-strangled, to the gate. Before he pied with looking out for these pleasant reptiles has time to recover from his stupefaction a hri- to pay due attention to their game. die, with a hit so formed that the least pressure The pleasure of their visit to Don Raymond upon the rein forces a sharp prong up into the was much marred hy the hostility of a neighbor- roof of the mouth, is thrust into his jaws, and a ing cebellero, who heing a suitor for the favor of saddle is firmly girt upon his hack. A vaccaro the sister of their host, took it into his head that leaps into the saddle, while a com- rade removes the hlind from the horses eyes, usually getting a bite on the shoulder for his pains. Now comes the contest hetween horse and rider. Backjumps and forward jumps, side jumps and buck jumps, stiff-legged jumps and compound jumpsevery form and combination of jump, kick, and twist of which the sup- ple limbs of a wild horse are ca- pable, are put in almost simul- taneous requisition. But the rider keeps his seat like a Cen- taur, answering every effort of the horse by a fierce dig of his long sharp spurs. For a moment the horse stands still, as though meditating, then gives a series of inmiad plunges in the air, and fling- Pig himself suddenly down upon his side, tries to roll over. Here he Californian saddleat which the uninitiated are apt to sneer manifests its advantages. The mnassy stirrups protect the riders legs, while a stout bar lashed crosswise frustrates the rotary de- QUILP. CALIFORNIA THROUGH ENGLISH EYES. 23 the dashing new-corners were disposed to rival his leg. Down he falls, and is punished till he him in the affections of his lady-love. Upon makes up his mind that the better part of valor this worthy, who was a short, stout, greasy little is discretion, and he contents himself with stalk- fellow, they bestowed the suggestive nickname ing sullenly away to the hills, where he tries to of Qulip. He had a way, after having ex- revenge himself upon the world in general by hausted himself hy his vigorous style of dane- fruitless attempts to gore the largest oak he ~ of taking his seat upon a hench hy the door, can find. What with brandy and hard work and singing in a dolorous tone some love-song the operators become so thoroughly exhausted to his inamorata or hymn to the Blessed Virgin, by nightfall, that even the fandango has no accompanying himself with a villainous twang- charms for them. The performance generally ing upon an old guitar. There was a special ends with a quarrel or two, ahout the speed of hostility between him and Barnes, and our an- some favorite horse, usually accompanied by thor had the greatest difficulty in keeping the some attempts at using the knifea pleasant wrath of his henchman within due bounds, little habit among all the descendants of the They therefore resolved to protract their stay old Castilian stock. only till branding time. This is one of the Having been furnished by Don Raymond great events at a California ranche. For a with mules and a horse, our hunters took leave week the mountains have been scoured to col- of their host, and started across the plains to- lect the herds of neat stock, in order that they ward Russian River. They encamped upon the may be branded with the marks of their owners. The ranchero now keeps open house, and all the neighbor- ing vaccaros, in their holiday bravery, flock together, partly to as- sist in the labor, and get a share of the good cheer, and partly to see to it that none of their own cattle are inter- nilugled with those of their neighbor. The beasts are driven into the corra4 near which a brisk fire is lighted to heat the branding irons. A vaccaro flings his lasso over the horns ofsome beast and drags him to the gate. No sooner has he passed this than another lasso CAMPiNG OUT. is flung over a hind leg, and the cords being drawn tight, the ani- bank of this river one night in great content- mal falls on his side as suddenly as though meat. But when they awoke in the morning he had been shot. While thus helpless, the their animals were missing; they had been hot iron is applied to the quivering flesh; when stolen during the night. Probably some prowl- it is burnt in deeply enough, the lassos are dis- ing Greasers had been on their track. There engaged by a dexterous shake, and the beast, was nothing for them to do but to wade the maddened with pain and wild with aifright, broad shallow stream, carrying their plunder after staring stupidly for a moment at the by- piecemeal upon their heads. stauders darts away again to the hills. As On the further side, apparently beyond the the work goes on, the excitement rises higher. limits of civilization, they found the hut of a Infuriated bulls charge madly upon the vacca- squatter. Its owner was a tall, sinewy Mis- ros. A bull-fight is tame in comparison. The sourian named March. But not only was he shouts of the men who are plied with liquor, the owner of a hut, but he was the proprietor the bellowing of the cattle, the hiss of the hot of a saw-mill also, which he had built with the irons, and the smell of burning hair and flesh assistance of a couple of comrades, far beyond make up a scene of intense excitement. Now the limits of settlement. It was all complete, and then a beast fiercer than the rest, instead with huge wheel and massive dam, and wanted of betaking hiniself to the hills when released, only the saw, which was on its way from San makes a dash at the crowd. But the quick eye Francisco, to begin converting the giant red- of a vaccaro has anticipated his movement and wood trees which grew around into deals and his advance is stopped by a lasso caught around planks, in readiness for the tide of population 24 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. which its proprietor foresaw would before long them with a bed for their first night. In due come thronging into these solitudes. This course of time a hut was constructed under the saw-mill, writes Mr. Marryatt, erected in the trees, with thatched roof and boarded floor. forest and of the forest, raising its long beams Sundry conveniences were added as experience from the midst of the romantic scenery that taught their necessity. Tools, ammunition, a surrounded it, was a glorious instance of what few of the articles which habit has made matter energy will accomplish, and of the rapidity with of necessityincluding a small selection of those which each man in an American colony con- grand old classics in our language which will tributes to the development of the resources of bear reading over and over againwere added, the new country. Even the uneducated back- and they fairly embarked upon the hunters life. woodsman devotes his time and energy to pre- The respective duties of the members of the paring for wants to come, buoyed up by an ad- party were arranged. Barnes was to be wood- mirable confidence in the rapid growth and chopper, and was to transmute the redwoods prosperity of his countrywhich confidence is into rails for inclosing the farm, as they began a part of his education, and one great secret of to call their little valley; our author undertook his success. If the Americans go ahead, it is to see to it that venison was never lacking in because they look ahead. their larder; while Thomas was installed as su The loss of their animals compelled our ad- perintendent of domestic arrangements. This venturers to look about for some suitable place latter office was by no means the sinecure that in which to pitch their camp. The owner of one would at first thought be apt to suppose; the saw-mill described to them a lovely valley for it was found absolutely necessary to take a few miles distant, shut in among huge vol- every thing out of the hut each day, in order to canic hills, as the best place in which they could keep free from the vermin who endeavored to squat. Following his directions, they soon squat in the deer skins, which soon began to reached the secluded valley. It was of barely accumulate; and to see to it that there was no twenty acres in extent, bordered with gigantic scorpion or centipede lodged in some quiet cor- redwood trees, and having at one side a fine ner. Our author found also that hunting was stream. The valley itself was bare of trees, work as well as sport. Every animal that he excepting a single clump in the centre. It was killed he had to bring home on his back at once, unclaimed by mortal man. A paper was there- if he was to secure any part of his prey froni upon fixed conspicuously upon one of these the coyotes who were lurking around. trees, requiring that all men should take due Mr. Marryatts hunting-experience in Cali- notice that F. M. claims, under the laws of fornia is rather tame to one who has read Gor- pre-emption one hundred and fifty acres of don Cummings marvelous lion-hunts in Africa, land, measured from this spot, intending to de- or Bakers elephant-chases in Ceylon. There fend his right by force of arms. Thus our was little or no material for excitement. Deer- John Bull was for the time transformed into a hunting has not danger enough to prevent its Yankee squatter. palling in time; and California is singularly On their way over the hills they had shot destitute of animals of prey, and the few that three hares, which were soon impaled on three exist there did not deign to make their appear- sticks over the firelooking not unlike three ance. They found plenty of signs of wolves, martyrs, undergoing the agreeable process of but never once caught sight of the animals them- an auto daft; and a quantity of straw gathered selves. A single panther was the only speci- from the adjacent fields of wild oats, furnished men of the Californian lion that came in their way; and even the bears perversely kept at a wary distance; so that when our hunter returned to the hut at night he had no marvel- ous adventures to relate. The time was therefore quite as profitably spent in reading aloud for mutual edification the hooks with which they had wisely pro- vided themselves, and iii speculations as to the best means of securing a due share of the golden treas- ures of California. Barnes had never been endowed with that gift of reading and writing which, accord- ing to Dogberry, comes by nature, and his companions spent part of their even- THE TWiXE MARTYRS 1-4 ~ CALIFORNIA THROUGh ENGLISH EYES. 25 ings in imparting to him this accomplish- ment. Barnes became a very expert ax-man, and made terrible havoc among the mighty redwood trees. But he was not the only heing at work npon their gigantic trunks. The hark of the redwood, says Mr. Marryatt, is perforated in every direction, and with great re larity, by a kind of starling, called, from this peculiarity, cc entaro, or en~enter. These birds form cells in the tree with great assiduity, and deposit therein acorns, which fit very tightly. They are very quaint and noisy, and employ them- selves continually, when not fighting, in depos- iting acorns in the redwoods. You may see a dozen of them clinging to the hark of one tree in the most uncomfortable positions, pecking away, each at a hole. But the carpentaros work for the more lazy portion of creation, and one of their enemies is the beautiful gray squirrel which abounds here. I have often watched a gray squirrel ascend a redwood; for the birds work in the upper part of the tree. He is im- mediately surrounded by carpentaros,who, know- lug him of old, are at no loss to divine his ob- ject; but the open day-robber, nothing daunt- ed, at once extracts an acorn, and popping it in his mouth, he turns his head from side to side in the quaintest manner possible, as if to say to the birds that chatter around him, Pray go on, dont mind my feelings. Then down he comes, whisking his beautiful silvery tail. Then the carpentaros assemble round the pillaged hole, and scream over the matter so much that you may imagine them to be abusing the squirrel in their choicest slang; and presently up comes gray squirrel again for anotbei~ acorn, having found the first so good; and then, fresh car- pentaros having arrived, the noise becomes so intolerable that the molt enthusiastic of natu- ralists would walk off wills his fingers in his ears. The grizzly bear also takes ad- vantage of the ex- posed condition of the carpentaro 5 wln- ter provision, and climbs the redwood in much the same fashion as the gray squirrel, though less gracefully; so they say: I never saw a hear in this position, and if unarmed I should not wait to study his habits, if I did; for although nat- uralists tell S1S that the bear is gramin- ivorous, there is no doubt that the grizzly would sacrifice all the acorns that grow for a juicy piece of the calf of ones leg. The carpentaro has a more destructive enemy than even the squirrel or the bear, and a greater beast than eitherthe Digger Indian. These miserable specimens of humanity will light a fire at the root of a well-stocked redwood tree until it falls; they then extract the carpen- taros acorns and fill many baskets full, which they carry away. Eat as much as you like. but pocket none, the justly indignant carpen- taros might say. On one occasion a hear-hunt was got up by the proprietor of the saw-mill for the amuse- ment of his English neighbors. He came over to the valley, accompanied by two backwoods- men named Sheldon and Carter. The whole party of six then set out in search of a bear. In the afternoon they came upon Bruins tracks, which they followed into a thicket of under- wood, into which they pursued him. March got the first shot at the animal, but failed to hit a vital part. Soon the remainder came in sight of him. I was astonished, says Mr. Marryatt, at his size: standing on his hind legs, with his mouth open like a thirsty dog, and working himself up and down, he indicated that he felt the inconvenience of the pellet that March had intended for his heart, but which had lodged in his alimentary canal. However in an instant, and as if by a sudden impulse, he again assumed the position of a quadrnped, and hounded toward March and Sheldon, clearing as much ground at each stride as would have done credit to the winner of the Liverpool steeple-chase. A shot from the right altered his course in that direction, for the grizzly bear will turn to the last assailant. A momentary uncertainty on his part nave me an opportunity of troubling him with one of my ounce-and-a- half balls. But this only elicited a ~rnnt, and a rush in my direction. An ineffectual shot from Sheldon brought the bear ll~Ofl him, an(l rIlE IIUNTINO LoneE. 26 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. in a moment the poor fellow was struck down by a single blow from the huge paw of the beast. The flesh was all torn from one side of his face, and his jaw-bone was fractured in a frightful manner. The bear made off in the confusion, and they saw him no more. The wounded man recovered from his wound, but was much disfigured, and entirely lost one eye. Still Bruin is not a bad-natured fellow, when let alone. His mate, however, is something of a shrew, particularly when put out of temper by the maternal care of her cubs; and perhaps, con- jectures our author, this accounts for the fact that the male bear is seldom seen in her com- pany. To her he leaves the education and sup- port of their progeny while he seeks amuse- ment elsewhereI might say at his club; for it is the habit of bears to congregate in threes and fours under a tree for hours, and dance on their hams in a very ludicrous manner, with no - 3ten3ible object but that of passing the time, and getting away from their wives.~~ In case of encountering one of these irascible ursine dames discretion is the better part of valor, unless one is well-armed. Of course a tree is the best refuge when a suitable one can be found; but such a tree is not always attain- able. It must be just too small for the animal to climb up after you, and just too large for her to pull down; and it is no easy point to hit this golden mean. In default of such a tree, the next best recourse is to run around the side of a steep hill; since the inequality of the ground produces the same practical effect as though the bear had the legs shorter on one side than on the other, which materially interferes with her powers of locomotion. During their whole stay in the valley they never saw a single Indian. But once, while they chanced to be absent, a party of Diggers came upon their huts, and stole every article they could carry with them, including their en- tire stock of candles, and all the clothing be- longing to the party except what they happened to have on their backs at the time. This rob- ouT PROsPEcTiNG. bery was quite too much for our Englishmans philanthropy, and he writes, with a coolness worthy an American backwoodsman that, if after this, one of the Indians had come within rifle-range, he would have shot him down like a coyote; for, he adds, once let an Indian think he can rob or steal with impunity, and he will soon attempt to murder you for the clothes upon your back. They prospected among the hills in hope of finding gold, but without success. In the meanwhile Barnes had exercised his woodcraft with so much skill, that their farm was se- curely fenced in, and the question arose as to the peculiar agricultural product to which it should be devoted. It happened at about this time that onions commanded fabulous prices at San Francisco, and a thriving plot of this odor- ous esculent was a placer richer than any gold mine in the diggings. It was easy to make a fortune upon paper by their cultivation: So many plants to the acreso many bulbs to the bushelso many dollars to be received for a bushel, as per San Francisco Prices Current multiply this by the number of acres in the farm, and the total presented a most imposing array of figures. So onions were fixed upon as the staple crop, and our adventurer made a special journey to San Francisco to procure the seed. This was sown, and in due course of time the green shoots made their appearance above the surface of the ground. So passed the winter, and spring came. Be- fore the result of the onion speculation was de- cided, business matters called Mr. Marryatt back to San Francisco. After narrowly escaping drowning in crossing the Russian River, and making a still more narrow escape at Sonora, where he was attacked by a gang of fellows who had taken offense at something he had said, and beaten him until he was left for dead in the streets, he reached San Francisco. It was in April, 1851, a year after his first landing at Chagres. During his absence the city had assumed a new aspect, so that he hardly knew it. The town had advanced out into the bay, and the spot where he had landed was far in- shore. Society had begun to assume a settled form. The outre costumes of the previous year had in a great measure dis- appeared, and men had begun to cut their hair and trim their whiskers like those of their neigh- bors. Drinking and gambling, as he had foreseen, had ceased to be the sole amuse- ments. Clubs were CALIFORNIA THROUGH ENGLISH EYES. 27 set up and reading-rooms established; and in the operation, for settlers had already begun to flock Dramatic Museum an approximation to a the- in that direction. His speculation, at all events, atre was attempted. Finding time hang heavily had been a lucky one. But Mr. Marryatts had upon his hands while waiting for the arrival of not prospered so welL The onions had indeed a ship from England, on board of which he had come up beautifully, but the ground-squirrels sundry consignments, he joined the Thespians, had set up a pre-emption claim, and had made under an assumed name, and played the leading it good by devouring every plant. The throng- parts, receiving more favor thanhimself being ing settlers, moreover, from whom March was judgehe deserved. I became at last, he reaping so rich a harvest, had scared away the says, so accustomed to seeing my last appear- game, and it required a long days walk to get ance but one displayed upon the advertising a single shot at a deer. And still worse, our posters, that I began to associate myself with author had inadvertently forgotten his extem- the profession altogether, and to believe that pore naturalization, and allowed it to transpire my name was Warren. that not only was he not an American citizen Matters thus went on swimmingly until the but had not the remotest intention of becoming fatal third of May, when the great conflagration one. He was thereupon informed that the of 1851 occurred, bywhich many lives were lost, elaborate Notice posted up on the redwood a thousand houses were consumed, and property trees of his farm was not worth as much as the of the estimated value of ten or twelve millions paper npon which it was written, and that the was destroyed. Among these great losses, was valley belonged to the first citizen who should the small one of the destruction of the Dramatic take a fancy to claim it. The failure of his Museum; and Mr. Warrens occupation, like onion speculation, and the brilliant prospects that of Othello, was gone. of his iron hotel at Yallejo, had put him out of Two events happened about this time which, conceit with his valley, and he gave up his pre- taken together, seemed to give an opportunity emption claim with a good grace, making a for the realizing of a California fortune, which present of the improvements to a backwoods- should fling into the shade even that depending man with whom he had become acquainted. upon the pending onion adventure. The lusty Thus ended Speculation Number One. young State had been for a considerable while Returning to Vallejo, he tried to find by hunt- in search of a site for its future capital; and, lug a little relaxation from the serious cares of like other young ladies with plenty of gold, she money-making. But, adds he, pathetically, was slow in making her selection. She coquet- we had very little sport at Vallejo. Game ted and flirted with Sacramento, and Vallejo, was scarce and shy; the few wild fowl that hung and Benicia, in a shocking manner, and gave about the marshes had an obstinate prejudice each of them in turn the fairest hope of being against being shot, that it was impossible to the favored suitor. The choice at last fell upon overcome; and besides, the sun was awfully a few scrubby-looking hills that formed a por- hot, and the reflection from the naked hills was tion of the ample estates of General Vallejo, absolutely blinding. While thus hard up for and the new city was to bear the name of that amusement, he picked up a new acquaintance valiant commander. Of course there would be in the person of Mr. Rowe, an English engineer an immediate demand for houses far beyond the of a speculative turn of mind, who was just then possibility of supply, and the man who should surveying and laying out the capital. The map be the first to supply this want, might command which adorned the walls of his office must have his own terms. been a sumptuous affair. The sites of the Bo Not very long before, a vessel laden with tanical Gardens, Orphan Asylums, Schools for ready-made iron houses had sank at her moor- the Blind, and other philanthropical institutions ings during a heavy gale. When at length she were all duly laid down. Rowe had at one time was raised, her cargo was found to be in a piti- or another come into possession of a dozen or able plightwhat with mud, clay, and land- so of Indian horses of a breed whose peculiarity crabs, the iron houses would not do for San is that no amount of feeding will ever put any Francisco, where peopre would be satisfied only flesh on their bones, lie kept one of these al- with the best of every thing. But the bright ways saddled at his door, while the others were idea occurred to our friend that they would be turned out to graze on the wild oats which grow just the thing for a hotel at Vallejo. So lie plentifully on the adjacent hills. Almost every bought the whole lot, and removed it to the site day he would turn out, equipped in California of the new capital, where, by the aid of a pre- style, in search of his herd, and would return at paratory washing and plenty of paint and furni- night, driving them into the enclosure, from ture, it was transformed, in the space of a few which they were to be released the next morn- months, into a showy-looking hotel, and its pro- ing. To Mr. Marryatt they seemed hardly worth prietor gazed with no small delectation upon all this trouble. But his new friend soon en- the brilliant butterfly which he had hatched out lightened him on the subject, by informing him of the dirty-looking grub that he had found in that their pasturage cost him nothing, and that the sunken old hulk, he merely kept them for the pleasure of hunting It was now time to look after the onions, and them with the lasso. He invited our author to our author once more turned his face toward assist in the sport, and capital sport it was. No Russian River. Marchs sawmill was in busy sooner did the wild herd catch a glimpse of the 28 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. pair coming after them, than they collected in a one or two excursions to the mining districts, group, watching their pursuers out of the cor- and even tried his hand, with hut indifferent ners of their eyes. Before they could come success, at working a claim or two. Here, nt within striking distance, they would set up a all events, he learned something of the ways of scamper over the hills and down the gulches in the miners; and he hits off very happily the capital style. After two or three hours they prominent characteristics of the various classes would capitulate, and suffer themselves to be of miners. The Mexicans, or, to use the Call- caught, and take their way very demurely to fornia synonym, the Greasers, are the least the corral. The best of the sport was that it successful of any. They will work all night seemed to be equally agreeable to both parties, and during the early morning in their claims, the hunted apparently enjoying it quite as much and spend the day in sleeping and gambling, as the hunters. making an occasional horse-stealing excursion for the sake of variety. The French will work very quietly and stead- ily, if nothing unusual happens to disturb them. But let a compatfiot make his appearance, or a stray copy of the Mon- iteur fall in their way, andpick, and cradle, and shovel are laid aside, and all hands will devote themselves to an eager discussion of the affairs of their own country. But John Chinaman presents the oddest fig- ure. He works away with a grave, elongated HOWEs nORSES face, no laugh ever pro- Meanwhile the erection of the iron hotel had ceeding from his leathern jaws. His whole been going on; but just as it was fairly com being seems absorbed in gathering the shining pleted, the fickle State had altered her mind metal. Gambler as he is by nature, even ava- and after jilting Vallejo, had given ear to the rice can not induce him to risk the golden store seductive promises of Benicia, who was in turn which he accumulates; he limits his stakes to thrown overboard for Sacramento. The city the small copper coin of his country. It is a made to order, writes our disappointed ad- venturer, was then pulled down and sold for old materials, to the great delight, as may be imagined, of myself and the other speculators who had worked so assiduously to raise it, and who had received no com- pensation. It was quite like the story of the Enchanted City, that was up one day and down the next. But somehow, he adds in aphilosophicalvein, I dont find so much pleasure in recalling the history of Yallejo, as I did in reading the fairy tale. Thus end- ed Speculation Num- ber Two. While all thiswas go- ingon, ourauthormade JOHN cHiNAMAN. CALIFORNIA THROUGH ENGLISH EYES. 29 comical sight to see a couple of Chinamen dis- hood of Sonora; and thither our friend accom- puting over a contested claim. The noise and panied the eloquent auctioneer. From San gesticulation are frightful. Their lean arms are Francisco to Stockton the passage was made in extended in every direction; hooked fingers are the Jenny Lind, a dirty little steamer, which, we protruded in indication of nnmbers and dates. are told, became finally purified in the only All the friends of the parties take a share in the possible way, by being blown up. Thence to dispute, which becomes intelligible only when Sonora the transit was made by stage, at tbe the breath of the disputants is thoroughly cx- reduced rate of an ounce of gold for the fare. hausted. They are, however, very ~vary in corn- Under the guidance of a capital whip, who was ing to blowsa terrible tumult being the sum a colonel to boot, they bowled along in capital of the harm done in their vociferous altercations. style as long as the road passed over the plains. Many of the Chinese at the mines have ahan- When they reached the hill country, their Jehn doned their national tails, given over shaving proved himself fully capable of managing his their heads, and suffer their hair to grow in its vehicle among the rocks and gulches. When natural manner. A more villainous-looking they came to an unusually steep pitch, the col- object than such an Americanized Chinaman onel would apply his foot to the break, giving can not be imagined. Their straight hair grows the word to the passengers inside to hard up low down upon the forehead, taking away the to the right or left, as the conch was threatened look of calm benevolence which seems to beam with overturn on one side or the other. Where- from the broad expanse exposed by shaving, and upon the passengers would extend their bodies bringing strongly out the cunning expression of as fnr as possible on the side indicated, and thus their little pig-shaped eyes. Dress out one of manage to keep the stage on its wheels. On these unshaven Chinamen in European costume board was an Irishman who contrived to make of the latest fashion, and mount him on a stub- himself especially disagreeable to the remaining born hack, and you have the fellow in the full passengers, until at last he was quieted by a perfection of absurdity. They are very fond of significant hint from a brawny miner, that if he riding on horseback on their national fbte days. did not dry up, he would chuck him out They have but one mode of equitation, and this of the stage. This worthy subsequently man- is to ride at full gallop, shouting and screaming aged to make the acquaintance of one Judge at the top of their cracked voices; ending the Lynch, a noted gentleman in those parts, for performance by an involuntary tumble into the passing bogus money, or some transacti& n sand or mud. of a like questionable character. Our author reached Sonora at nightfall, and made the best of his way to a 1-lotel to which he had been recommended. The lower floor was a gambling room, and the upper floor, which con- sisted of a single apart- ment, was a sleeping room. Upon payment of a dollar, his name was registered upon a slate, ~ a nd he was informed that No. 80 was destined for his individual use, and he was requested to ascend the stairs and find his bed for himself. Winding his About this time every body had gone wild way through long files of canvas-covered wooden about quartz mining, and all that numerous class stretchers, furnished each with a dark-blue blan- who are on the look-out for something to turn ket, and a bag of hay, which was to do duty for up were off to the mountains in search of gold a pillow, he at length discovered one that bore rock. Our author fell into the hands of one J. the desired number. The bag of hay was there, Bellow, a glib-tongued Yankee auctioneer, who but the blanket had been appropriated by some persuaded him to pay a visit to a mineral dis- neighbor, who was not content with his regular trict upon whose auriferous riches he descanted allowance of a single one. Taking the hint, our in glowing terms. Not content with verbal .de- friend, like an old campaigner as he was, pro- scription, he carried about him, by way of speci- ceeded to strip three neighboring beds of their men brick, a portion of the gold-laden rock. coverings, and wrapping himself snugly up in Seeing is believing. There was the rock, and his spoils, addressed himself to sleep. Toward there was the goldall that was required was daylight he awoke, chilled to his bones, and to extract it from its stony matrix, found that the la~v of reprisal had been put in This mine was somewhere in the neighbor- force against him while he slept, some dexterous curNEsa IIOR5EMAN5II5P. 30 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. marauder having stripped him of all his ill-gotten spoils. He, however, comforted himself with the reflection that the new possessor of the blankets had taken away also the fleas that harhored in them; and as these creatures commence deliber- ately feeding abont daylight, onr author congrat- ulates himself that he had the hest of it, after all. The Mexicans predominated at that time in Sonora, and as horse-stealing is a national weak- ness, and as when a man has come into the own- ership of a hit of horse-flesh by this questionable means, he is naturally disposed to realize as soon as possible, horse anctions were a prom- inent characteristic of the place. And as, fur- thermore, thieves as well as heggars are not apt to he choosers, the animals offered for sale were not always of the most attractive description. The pencil can do more complete justice than the pen to the Horse Market of Sonora. The mines which had given occasion to the eloqnent descriptions of Mr. Bellow were at a village a few miles distant, which bore the eu- phonious designation of Tuttletown. Thither our author, in company with the auctioneer and an engineer, took their way. A careful inspec- tion of the rock showed beyond question that gold was there, and the engineer reportedas engineers will reportthat there could be no doubt of the profits of working it. We have called Tuttletown a village; it cer- tainly deserved the name, if Vallejo had a right to be called a city, since the former place, at the time of the advent of our friend and his party, actually possessed three buildings. In the course of a fortnight this number was in- creased hy a couple of canvas houses, with fireplaces of stones and mud, surmounted by an empty barrel for a chimney pot, in the prevalent style of min- ing architecture. Mr. Marryatt re- solved that, this time at least, his enterprise should not be rashly undertaken. No very great outlay should he made until there was a certainty that it would prove remuner- ative. The whole thing should be thoroughly tested. Two English miners, and some half score of Mexicans were accordingly set to work digging and blasting, while our author and his associates, Rowe and Thomas, superin- tended the operations, and tested the ore. The time passed hap- pily amidst pestles and mortars, windlasses and buckets, retorts and quicksilver. The joys of the happy valley and the prospective onion crop faded before the pleasures of mining in Tuttletown; for they were buoyed up by the confident belief that they were now on the high road to fortune. Nor were the long-bearded Tuttletonian min- ers altogether devoid of sentiment, as was once comically evinced by one of them producing from some cherished receptacle a ladys boot of the tiniest size and most delicate workmanship. See here, boys ! exclaimed the fortunate possessor to the admiring group who had gath- ered around, the chunk aint found that can buy this hoot; taint for sale nohow ! Who can say of how much hoarded affection and no- ble sentiment that boot was the visible symbol? A ladys glove has been from time immemorinl a pledge of love and fealty. Why should the covering of the foot be less symbolical than that of the hand? The foot, we are told by anatom- ists is a more marvelous piece of workmanship than the hand, of whose manifold adaptations Sir Charles Bell has discoursed so eloquently in his famous Bridgwater Treatise. In the course of three months two or three hundred tons of quartz bad been dug out, and as all the tests applied had proved satisfactory, and as the engineer still whispered words of good cheer, Mr. Marryatt resolved to undergo the expense of the steam power and machinery requisite to crush the rock and extract the golden treasure emhedded in it. Long and THE sONORA STAGE. CALIFORNIA THROUGH ENGLISH EYES. 31 careful was his examination of the various deed been tried, but which promised to do more crushers, rollers, grinders, and triturators offer- than machine had done, and all that machine ed for his selection. At last he made choice of could do. With this, and an eight-horse power a newly-invented machine, which had never in- steam engine to drive it, he returned from San r Francisco to Tuttle- town. It was no trifling task to convey the boiler over the moun- tains, for the rainy season had set in, and the mud was terribly deep. At length, by the united strength of sixteen yoke of oxen, and much hard scolding, and very likely no little swear- ing, it was dragged through, and safely planted in Tuttle- town. The arrival of the engine was a great day in the an- nals of the village, the population of which rapidly in- creased in conse- quence. A baker an(l AN INVAlUABLE POSSESSION, a butcher establisik TIlE HORSE MARKET AT SONORA. 32 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. ed themselves there forthwith, and a spe- cial election was held, at which a justice of the peace and consta- ble were duly elected. Rowe, the speculative surveyor of Vallejo, was chosen for the executive office, while the judicial post was conferred upon a wor- thy carpenter named Brown. And an ad- mirable officer he made too his de- cisions, unlike many given hy judges of greater pretensions, never heing reversed by the higher courts. And whatever decis- ion Judge Brown pro- nounced, Constahie Rowe, revolver in hand, was prompt to carry into execution. What with thiev- ish Mexicans and the reckless desperadoes who had begun to flock to these dig- gings, the new functionaries had ample oppor- tunity to exercise their powers. The court was organized with little formality. The Con- stahle brought the culprit to whatever spot the Judge happened to he using his chisel or saw. The Judge seated himself on his tool- chest, hy way of bench, and, with a bit of 1)oard held on his knees for a desk, made out the necessary papers, and the matter was ended. The Lord Chancellor in wig and gown could not have done better. It was by no means universal that so worthy a judge as the honest carpenter was found. In the early days of mining there was a very large proportion of lawyers of the disreputable class; and as it was taken for granted that they must know more of law than their lay neighbors, the justices were usually selected from their num- ber. A couple of Greasers, who had been lucky in digging, disputed the possession of an old mule scarcely worth her keeping. The case was brought before one of these magistrates, who, for the sake of precision, may be designated us Judge Muggins. Before he would listen to the case, he decided that each claimant mnst pay three ounces, as expenses of the court. Each in turn was then suffered to state his case in his own language, of which the judge did not un- derstand a word. This done, his honor in- formed them, through an interpreter, that the case must be decided by a jury. A couple of ounces more having been paid to meet this Qxpense, a jury was summoned. The jury lis tened to the evidence, and decided that the testimony was so conflicting that they could not award the mule to either; but that the parties must draw straws for the possession of the beast, and that the costs should be equally divided The costs, amounting to twenty ounces, besides three ounces for liquor bill, were paid, and the claimants were about to decide the ownership of the mule in the manner directed by the court, when it was announced that they might spare themselves the trouble; for while the court was in session another Greaser had stolcu the mule, and had left for parts unknown. By Christmas the machinery was all in its place ready for trial. The engineer was a man of energy, and he determined to make the steam- engine work. At the very outset he put on about twice as much steam as the boiler was intended to carry; and upon being remonstra- ted, with, asked with an air of surprise, of what use an eight-horse engine was, if you couldnt make her work up to twelve ? So the machinery was set a-going, the quartz was flung in, and all interested awaited the result. They were not long in suspense, for in a few minutes the crusher broke down beyond all remedy. It was one satisfaction, however, that the engine, in the language of the engineer, was bound to go ; and our author set off for San Francisco to secure machinery strong enough to give em- jiloyment to the extra four-horse power of which the engine had proved itself capable. In due course of time Tuttletown was gladdened by its l)resence. It was certainly strong enough to junez azowas counT. CALIFORNIA THROUGH ENGLISH EYES. 33 bear any thing. Success was certain the quartz must now give up its golden spoils. But, alas for the vanity of human wishes! one point, and that an essential one, had been over- looked: the crusher had been made of iron in- stead of the hardest steel, and as the engine, worked to the utmost of its power, whirled the roller around, instead of the mill grinding the quartz, the quartz ground the mill; and the net result was iron-filings instead of gold dust. It was all over: Speculation Number Three had failed. And yet it had wanted little of success. The steam-engine was sold to some more lucky ad- venturers, who took it to a gulch, and set it to work, and they made money by it. But our author had no time to adventure further just then. Letters from home rendered a return to England necessary. So he sold his dogs and horses, made over his tools and canvas houses to his late associates, discharged his Mexican miners, presenting them with certain articles of household gear, and bade adieu to Tuttletown; the worthy carpenter Judge and stout engineer Constable accompanying him for thirty miles on his way. The ill success of all his adventures did not check the buoyant spirit in which Mr. Marryatt narrates them, nor prevent him from taking a hopeful view of the future of the Golden State. He even strikes a balance between the good and the evil of his own California experience, with a more favorable result than could he anticipated. Agriculturally, architecturally, and mineralog- ically, he says, I had been sported with by Ma. aoaal~s ANn THE azTTJzNEn cALifORNIANs. VOL. XI.No. 61.C fate. The plow in the north, the steam-engine in the south, and the hotel in the middle, had been accompanied by pecuniary loss. Yet the days I had passed had been very happy; and Philosophy said: You have had health and contentment, and warm friendship; and if these were purchasable, many would buy them of you for twenty times what you have lost in money.~ Among the passengers on hoard the steamer from San Francisco to Panama was an English city gent, who had got himself np in the most exquisite manner. A waiter, not being duly impressed with the dignity of Mr. Bobbins, was somewhat remiss in his attentions. Aw ! said he, in a supercilious manner, do you take me for a returned Californian ? Nothing was said just then by the bearded gold-diggers who heard the offensive remark. But there was trouble brewing, nevertheless. There was a man on hoard who had brought with him from the mines two young grizzly hear cubs, who were just getting large enough to be dangerous, and that evening, as Mr. Bobbiiis was dreamily enjoying a cigar on deck, he was aroused from the contemplation of his patent leather boots by moonlight with, Sir, allow me to in- troduce to you two returned Californians. Ursa major, thereupon, being held up, scratched Bob- binss face; while ursa minor attacked the patent leathers, which he forcibly removed, together with a toe-nail or so, with his teeth. While one miner held a screeching, biting, ring-tailed monkey over Mr. Bobbinss head, another pro- duced a savage bull-terrier, who, having done his duty at the mines dogfnlly, seemed very anxious indeed to make the acquaintance of Mr. Bobbinss throat. Is was some time befor the returned Califor-- nians could tearthem-. selves away from their new acquaintance, and. when they did, they tore away more of his cross-barred trowsers and cut-away coat than. any tailor could repair. The next day we ar- rived at Havana, and Mr. Bobbins was wise enough to leave the ship and await a pas- sage in another ves- sel, and I only wish that every traveling gent who, puffed out with conceit,causes his countrymen to blush for his ignorance and vulgarity, may get as durable a lesson as that which Mr. Bob- bins received from the- four-footed returnec Californians. 34 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. SKETCHES IN BRAZIL. BY THOMAS EWBANK. THE MIZERACORDIA. THE Mizeracordia, or Public Hospital, is a specimen of genuine Catholicityuntram- meled and nnstained with qualifying adjectives. It is as noble an institution of the kind as any leople can boast of. Its blessings, like those (lescending from above, are showered alike on every age, sex, creed, and condition; on bond and free, foreigners and natives. Wealthy in- dividuals often bequeath their property to it. It is also an asylum for foundlings. The boys are provided for in a building located on Botofogo Bay, and at a certain age are put out to trades. The girls reside in the city estab- lishment, and are taught to read, write, sew, cook, etc. At each anniversary the marriage- able are placed in ranks, and bachelors in want of wives often find here partners for life. When two agree to be united, the managers inquire into the character and prospects of the man if all is satisfactory, the marriage takes place, and a dowry of 400 milreis is given him from the funds of the institution. Rich old men have here sought wives to nurse them, and to whom they have left large fortunes. Having heard much about the daily exposure of infants, and facilities afforded those who drop them to escape unokserved, I concluded to walk over to the place of reception. This, till re- REcEVTACI a a ua~ a vUNBLiNGS. cently, was at the Hospital, but is now in a thinly-occupied street, to the scandal of the Holy Mother of Nuns, after whom it is named. The device for receiving the infants is an up- right, hollow cylinder about three feet high and as many in diameterthe dimensions of a hogs- headrevolving on pivots in the centre of its ends. One-third of the side is removed to give access to the inside, and the bottom is covered with a mattress. As the width of the opening is less than the thickness of the wall, it is im- possible for those on one side to see through into the other. This is the same contrivance by which occupants of nunneries communicate with people outside of the walls who furnish provisions, etc. I walked the entire length of Rua Santa Te- reza without perceiving any thing of the kind; but on returning, a hoard, only a few inches square, over the closed door of an ordinary-look- ing building, caught my attention. The inscrip- tion was decisive: Expostos dci Miza, No. 30. While reading it, corroborative sounds came forth. The only window in front of the house was near the door, and was, in fact, the recep- tacle. What I had taken, on first passing, for a green inside shutter, I now saw was slightly curved. I touched it, found it turned readily, and the opening came in view; whenconfu- sion !a bell connected to it within sounded violently! For a moment I hesitated; but when the inmates of a house opposite raised their win- dows to see who was dropping a foundling in the daytime, I beat a quick retreat. 5AINT ISABEL. I had intended to devote the 2d of July to the Public Library; but it was a high Church- festival, and the anniversary of the Mizeracor- dia, when an interesting public interview takes place between two Church ladies. Who is Isabel ! repeated E, at breakfast, in reply- ing to my inquiry. Why, she is the mother of Saint John and cousin of Our Lady. She is the protectress of Hospitals. To-day is Tke Visit atioa. Our Lady will leave her home in the Carmo Church to visit her cousin; but Isa- bel will meet her half-way in Dereita Street; and after embracing each other, they will pro- ceed together to the Mizeracordia. The apart- ments of the female foundlings ~vill be opened to the public. Young men attend to select wives for themselves; the Emperor and court will be present. You had better go. I thought I had; and if the reader he of the same opinion he will accompany me. The procession is advertised for half past nine A.It. It is near that time. Allowing half an hour for the walk, we can reach the place by ten. And here, at the house of Mercy, we are. The Largo in front is covered with mango leaves; a regiment of the line is drawn up and its fine band playing; but the preparations are not fin- ished, for workmen are busy hanging tapestries from the upper windows. The door and that of the chapel adjoining are trimmed with scarlet

Sketches in Brazil 34-47

34 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. SKETCHES IN BRAZIL. BY THOMAS EWBANK. THE MIZERACORDIA. THE Mizeracordia, or Public Hospital, is a specimen of genuine Catholicityuntram- meled and nnstained with qualifying adjectives. It is as noble an institution of the kind as any leople can boast of. Its blessings, like those (lescending from above, are showered alike on every age, sex, creed, and condition; on bond and free, foreigners and natives. Wealthy in- dividuals often bequeath their property to it. It is also an asylum for foundlings. The boys are provided for in a building located on Botofogo Bay, and at a certain age are put out to trades. The girls reside in the city estab- lishment, and are taught to read, write, sew, cook, etc. At each anniversary the marriage- able are placed in ranks, and bachelors in want of wives often find here partners for life. When two agree to be united, the managers inquire into the character and prospects of the man if all is satisfactory, the marriage takes place, and a dowry of 400 milreis is given him from the funds of the institution. Rich old men have here sought wives to nurse them, and to whom they have left large fortunes. Having heard much about the daily exposure of infants, and facilities afforded those who drop them to escape unokserved, I concluded to walk over to the place of reception. This, till re- REcEVTACI a a ua~ a vUNBLiNGS. cently, was at the Hospital, but is now in a thinly-occupied street, to the scandal of the Holy Mother of Nuns, after whom it is named. The device for receiving the infants is an up- right, hollow cylinder about three feet high and as many in diameterthe dimensions of a hogs- headrevolving on pivots in the centre of its ends. One-third of the side is removed to give access to the inside, and the bottom is covered with a mattress. As the width of the opening is less than the thickness of the wall, it is im- possible for those on one side to see through into the other. This is the same contrivance by which occupants of nunneries communicate with people outside of the walls who furnish provisions, etc. I walked the entire length of Rua Santa Te- reza without perceiving any thing of the kind; but on returning, a hoard, only a few inches square, over the closed door of an ordinary-look- ing building, caught my attention. The inscrip- tion was decisive: Expostos dci Miza, No. 30. While reading it, corroborative sounds came forth. The only window in front of the house was near the door, and was, in fact, the recep- tacle. What I had taken, on first passing, for a green inside shutter, I now saw was slightly curved. I touched it, found it turned readily, and the opening came in view; whenconfu- sion !a bell connected to it within sounded violently! For a moment I hesitated; but when the inmates of a house opposite raised their win- dows to see who was dropping a foundling in the daytime, I beat a quick retreat. 5AINT ISABEL. I had intended to devote the 2d of July to the Public Library; but it was a high Church- festival, and the anniversary of the Mizeracor- dia, when an interesting public interview takes place between two Church ladies. Who is Isabel ! repeated E, at breakfast, in reply- ing to my inquiry. Why, she is the mother of Saint John and cousin of Our Lady. She is the protectress of Hospitals. To-day is Tke Visit atioa. Our Lady will leave her home in the Carmo Church to visit her cousin; but Isa- bel will meet her half-way in Dereita Street; and after embracing each other, they will pro- ceed together to the Mizeracordia. The apart- ments of the female foundlings ~vill be opened to the public. Young men attend to select wives for themselves; the Emperor and court will be present. You had better go. I thought I had; and if the reader he of the same opinion he will accompany me. The procession is advertised for half past nine A.It. It is near that time. Allowing half an hour for the walk, we can reach the place by ten. And here, at the house of Mercy, we are. The Largo in front is covered with mango leaves; a regiment of the line is drawn up and its fine band playing; but the preparations are not fin- ished, for workmen are busy hanging tapestries from the upper windows. The door and that of the chapel adjoining are trimmed with scarlet SKETCHES IN BRAZIL. 35 damask. The troops are of all colorsan as- semblage of the three marked varieties of oar raceblack, red, and white skinswith every shade from Indian-ink to chocolate, and from cinnamon to chalk. One of the officers is very pale and ~van. Spectators begin to assemble; among them are ladies with their heads dressed as for fancy balls, and no covering on their bo- soms bat amalets and jewelry. The majority are short and plomp as partridges, and so also are their hasbands. Here are little boys dressed like old gentlemen, flourishing shoe-hackles and walking-canes, and small misses decked like el- derly ladies. The Carrno is one-foarth of a mile off; sap- pose, instead of standing here, we tarn in that direction, and see what the friends of Oar Lady are doing. We go, and meet her as she issues from her sanctanry. The procession is headed by three men abreast, the middle one bearing on a stave a small cross, and each of his com- panions an artificial bouquet sarmounted with a barning candle. The Carmelite Brotherhood, in cream-colored copes, follow with lighted ta- pers. Priests, monks, and chanting function- aries, a goodly namber, come next; some in white and some in black satainsseveral wear scarlet stockings, and not a few have cambric tippets. The next official is a Tliariferario, swinging a smoking censer. Behind him, and last of all, comes 17w Lady, leaning on the arm of a Bishop, whose conical mitre is decked with rabies, or stones resembling them. Two dignitaries bear the train or lappets of his outer robe. There, theyre past. Bat hows this? Not fifty spectators following, and hardly a dozen decent-looking persons among them! Of a trath, the street part of the pageant is mean enough. Business people are obviously getting tired of sach things, and often, as in this case, pay no more attention to them than we do to militia companies retaining from shooting- matches. I hesitated about joining the shabby escort; bat a wish to view the affair minutely, indaced me to raise my hat and fall in imme- diately behind the Lady. After passing the distance of a couple of blocks, I would have given a dollar to have got decently out of the business. We were all brought to a dead stand by the Bishop. Stop- ping as deliberately as if he had been in his pri- vate chamber, he handed the Lady to one of his associates, slowly drew forth a handkerchief, and blew his nose secuaduma artesa. Full half a minute elapsed crc he resumed his sacred charge, and we moved on again. It was about the coolest thing I ever witnessed. Continuing along the street, music at length was heard, and presently a banner, a cross, and a crowd were seen approachingIsabel and her servants. She had heard of her cousin being on the way, and came thus far to meet her. (I quote popular language on the subject.) There she is, and see! Both Ladies fly into each oth- ers arms, and remain locked together for nearly a minute. Now they draw lx ck, gaze a moment on each others faces, and Isabel once more throws herself on her kinswomans neck, Our Lady meekly receiving the caresses. But the patroness of the Hospital recovers herself, goes to the left of her guest, and a little in advance, with open hands invites her onward. Thus they proceeded, Isabel turning every few yards to re- peat the graceful welcome. As soon as we ar- rived at the Largo, the troops presented arms to the cousins, the hand struck up a lively tune, and the clapper of the chapel bell rattled away most lustily. People thronged to salute the Saints until they got inside. After resting a little, Isabel is to conduct Our Lady through the wards of the sick and con- THE isarrixe OF ova aAry AmiD TSAI3EL. 1 -e---- ~ 36 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE valescent, and introduce her to the Foundlings. While they are thus engnged we can minute down their appearance. One thing must have struck every stranger like myself, viz., the contrast of their dresses with those of their attendants. Their gowns were neither new nor newly wash- cd. Originally straw-colored, age had dyed them brown; scattered specks of gold flitted about the skirtsrelics of rich flouncesand made matters worse. It seemed unaccount- able, where public reverence was to be excited, how the managers could allow them to appear in drapery so unbecoming. The feeling elicit- ed (I speak for myself) was exceedingly dis- agreeable, and even rendered still more so by their soileddecidedly soiledarms, necks, and faces. The crown on Our Ladys head, and the halo of rays on that of Isabel, served to height- en the unfavorable effect. Had they been ragged street-glils, picked up for the emergency, less attention could not have been expended on their persons and attire. To be sure they were low in stature, and little folks are apt to be neglected, especially when dumb. Neither exceeded twenty - five inches. The Bishop bore Our Lady, reclining on his arm as an image-boy carries a plaster statue in our streets. When she was about to meet her consin, he raised her upright, and held her with both hands by the ankles in that position till Isabel came up. Both were then inclined till their faces met, and they had taken a long em- brace. While they were in contact their hear- ers brought their own faces nearly to touch, and speaking for the wooden Ladies in an under- tone, exchanged salutations for them. I was within two feet of hoth at the time. The Bishop spoke first: he stammered and smiled; and when he got through, the other, a bard-featured man with no ornament on his head but his tonsure, replied in behalf of Isabel, and finished by caus- ing her to make a low obeisance to her visitor. I now entered the Chapel between a couple of guards with fixed bayonets. Large as some churches, it has four subsidiary shrines, besides the chief one facing the entrance. After try- ing in vain to recognize the presiding deities, I turned to go out, as the place was too warm and crowded to be comfortable. But lo! all exit was prevented by transverse rows, deep and wide, of kneeling ladies, a phalanx there was no breaking through. I therefore squeezed, with others, into the Vestry. Here were hal- berdiers waiting for the Emperor, who shortly made his appearance, passed through, and took his seat in a pew prepared for him near the high Altar. He was in plain dress, except a blue coat with epaulets large enough for Goliabs shoul- ders. The Empress, in black, sat by him, and her ladies behind them. Their entrance caused no stir. One of the managers of the hospital read the annual Report. When he ended Mass began, at which the young ruler was perfectly at homeanticipating every kneeling and ris- ing movement, crossing himself with amazing rapidity, he was through the operation before members of the cabinet near him were half through. This act, the reader knows, consists of upward of twenty distinct motions of the right hand and arm, and these motions he ran over with miraculous velocity. Twice an assistant priest came from the al- tar with the missal for him and his spouse to kiss: they buried for a momertt their faces in its leaves. At another part of the ceremony a gilt case, five inches by threelike a thin book with embossed coverswas passed to them for the same purpose, and then carried up and doww a double row of senators and ministers of State, whose lips the priest touched with it; not, however, till their lips bad received a pre- paratory purification. A i1wr~ferario preceded the bearer of the case, and, coming in front of each senator, bowed to him, raised the perfo- rated vase, threw a couple of scented clouds over his breast and features, made another obei- sance which the recipient returned, passed to the next, and so on through the whole. After Mass there was a sermon. The serv- ice became exceedingly tedious, and the air noxious. Every one was weary. Pedro and his wife rose to depart. A few boys and wo- men snatched their hands to kissat which they were not a little annoyed, and with reason, for the Empress appeared haggard and ready to faint. Nothing like a smile crossed Pedros stolid German face, from his coming in to his leaving. It seemed as if he had been taught to suppress every motion of the kind as derog- atory to his station. He entered his carriage at the door and drove off in silence; there was not a buzz of applause nor a viva. Before Mass began the two Lady Saints of the procession were brought in, when a small accident happened to Isabel. Her bearer was prevented by the crowd in front from placing her steadily on her shrine, and she fell, knocked over a couple of sacred candlesticks, and would have tumbled to the ground had not a gentle- man immediately in front of me fortunately caught her. I now re-entered the Vestry, and met my friend Sefior 110, who had been lookimmg for me to accompany him through the Found- ling apartments. Upward of one hundred girls, plainly but neatly dressed, were ranged along the four sides of a large room through which visitors passed. The greater part were nuder ten or eleven yearsa few might be twenty three or four were over thirty. None are ever sent away against their wishes. Their sleeping- rooms were every thing that could be wished: four single beds in each. None were married to-day. Applicants for wives must leave their names and address, that their characters and circumstances may be ascertained. In the school-room were very creditable specimens of writing. From the dining-room we went to the Cozinka, where the large brick Fogao stood in the middle of the floor, as they appear to have often stood in Pompeian kitchens. SKETCHES IN BRAZIL. 37 The reader need not be told that Isabel is the modern representative of the goddess Mi- seracordia, to whom Greeks and Romans dedi- cated Houses of Mercy for the miserable and unfortunate. In the early adoption of heathen deities and customs under Christian appella- tions, the attributes and functions of that popu- lar deity were assigned to Elizabeth, the mother of the Baptist. One word on the performances in the Chapel and Church services generally. I may be pre- judicedmost of us are when out of the circle of influences in which our habits and opinions have been formed; hut this manual, labial, ti- hialthis sprinkling, smoking, painted, panto- mimic, histrionic worship of the Creatorthis system of externalage and gilded similitudes that sensible mortals would sicken to be com- l)limented with, does seem out of character with the present times. In some respects it sur- passes in grossness the grossest idolatry. The communion of North American Indians with the Great Spirit appears to me more consist- ent and refined. True, it was practiced by our ancestors; but that was when they were little better informed than are modern barbarians. The images are better carved and more neatly dressed than those of Feticism; hut the principle involved in the introduction is the same in both. Can not the human mind in civilized society dispense with images when savages can? If religioa be a living principle in the soul, it can have no more attraction for, or need of such things, than of bricks and mortar, or any other form of inanimate substance, no matter how men, to magnify themselves, may attempt to ally them with worship. With just as much propriety might heaven be confined, hy ecclesi- astical monopolizers, to persons of particular trades as to those of religious professionsto carpenters and shoemakers for examplefor Christian virtue has quite as much affinity for wood and leather, as for creeds and ceremonies and these strange paraphernalia. However well intentioned the unknown au- thors of the physical worship of gods and dead men by means of images and their endless accessories may have been, and however expe- dient or justifiable (if either term he admissable) its application to Christianity in darker times, it surely is not necessary now. But national and minor hierarchies never purged themselves. Enlightened only from without, they have ever heen the last to yield to conviction. Still, the world in religions matters is advancing; it can not do otherwise where science is cultivated and Galileos left free to pursue it. And what is true science but a manifestation of the Creator in his works? And what are they but Revealed Truths, given us to study, and which no one can study aright without becoming wiser and better, without feeling his nature rising into higher phases of existence, and his affections throbbing with gratitude to the Parent of the universe for the ceaseless wonders of his benefi- cence here displayed. OEMETERIEsBtIaIALs. In Rio, as every where else, life is a medley. Tragedyand comedy, death and diversions, farces and funerals, are mixed up together. No mat- ter how popular the amusements, innocent the sports, or uciversal the joys, the Great Intruder can neither be softened nor cajoled, and to him monasteries are as attractive as masquerades. In the midst of the Intrudo-revels the Friar Barboza, Secretary of the Historical and Geo- graphical Institute expired. His demise is deemed a loss to the country, he having been considered the most devoted man in it to litera- ture and science. I attended his obsequies at the Paula Church, and there witnessed the tran- sition from childish gambols to the solemni- ties of a funeral; from the heyday of life to contemplate its extinction. Variable in his na- ture, man alternates between grief and joythe poles of his existencetoward one or the other of which he is ever veering. A friend of the deceased and I went early. and had time to look about before the cere- monies began. The church stands at the head of Ouvidor Street, flush with the pavement, and is relieved by poor-looking dwellings on either hand. It is of the prevailing style. Two square towers support the central part, whose peaked pediment is surmounted with a huge bronze cross. The towers run up a story higher, each finished with a dome, resembling a boys inverted top, and the peg set off with a brazen chanticleer the symbol of Peter and of vigilance. The interior is a long, high, and airy saloon; the floor clear of encumbrances; no aisles, columns, pews, nor aught else to intercept the view or interrupt ones movements. Light is admitted at the sides near the arched and rich- ly carved roof through semicircular windows, through the three street doors, which as usual constitute the entrances, and also at three win- dows over them. The further end is wholly taken up with the High Altar, a rich affair with numerous candles burning. Above them stands the Saint, carved, draped, and painted to monk- ish life. Against the side walls are six more shrines, three on each side, with their images of natural dimensions, so that in this place are seven altars, where seven distinct saints can be invoked, and where all or nearly all. of them are consulted daily. This temple honors ignorance as well as su- perstition in the person of its patron, Francis Martotile, a Calabrian monk, who burying him- self in a cell, acquired, as Fakirs acquire, no- toriety by disgusting mortifications. He re- nounced fish, wine, meat, stockings, shoes, beds, soap, and razors, besides rigorously cultivating mental destitution. The usual result followed; he, like other dirty gentlemen who lived and died in the odor of sanctity and filth, wrought miracles. His fame induced that old tiger Louis XI. to drop on his knees before him, and implore his intercession with the Saints for a prolongation of the monarchs daysa miracle too great for the monk and too good for the 38 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. penitent. What he can do for people here of peaked like the roofs of houses, consisting of whose country he never heard, it is not hard to two hoards meeting in the middle at an angle. tell. Hinged at both sides, they open along the ridge The only si~,n of a funeral was a kind of so that. either one half or both may he thrown sarcophagus-looking stand in the middle of the hack. When finally closed the only fastening floor, similar to the article furnished hy under- is a small padlock. takers. Four feet from it on either side, stood When placed on the stand the folding lids a row of nine gilt candlesticks of classic patterns, five feet high, with candles to correspond. A negro mason was at work, cutting a door-xvay into the left wall, some fifteen feet above the floor and near the altar, for an entrance to a new pendeut or swallow-nest pulpit, about to be put up to correspond with one opposite. About a dozen persons were in, and all moving and looking about as if on change, except an elderly female, who came in and seated herself upon the matted floor within the balustrade. She crossed herselg and gazed awhile intensely on one of the side images. Three colored women, also in black COFFIN OPENED. vails, appeared and seated themselves be- side her. These were the only females present. As I leaned on the rails close by them, a well- dressed man of fifty came up, and kneeling near me, touched with his right thumb his head, eyes, nose, cheeks, chin, mouth, shoulders, and breast. Then, without rising, he gazed round, looked at the negro working in the wall, nodded to me, and kept twisting himself about to see what was going on behind him. Ne1,roes brou~ht in huge trays of mammoth candles, and piled them near the door. A number of gentlemen soon after entered, and, with those already in, ranged themselves three deep on either hand, forming a living passage from the door toward the altar; and presently we all held lighted tapers, resting one end on the floor, and inclining the upper one forward to prevent the swealing material from descending on ones hands. Two hundred of us thus stood, like soldiers at drill with muskets, in the same position. As currents caused the melted wax to accumulate beneath the flame, it was uncere- moniously thrown on the floor by bringing the tapers for a moment to a horizontal position. The officiating priest next entered, followed by others bearing the coffin, which they quickly I)laced upon the stand. Coffins here .are not like ours, being of the same width and depth throughout, and so shal- low that the face, folded hands, and feet of the corpse appear above the edge. The covers are were laid back, and the deceased secretary, from where I stood, appeared as in the sketch. While the priests walked round the coffin, chanting, swinging censers, and sprinkling the corpse, the black mason above, resting on his crow-bar, was a conspicuous beholder of the ceremony. We now were ahout to witness the mode of burial; one of classical antiquity, and which to my mind commends itself as far superior to ours. The cemeteries of Rio adjoin the rear or sides of their respective churches. They are not seen from any street, nor opening directly into any. At first I wondered where they were; and when I found them, I wondered more at their limited dimensions. The dead are not interred in graves, nor concealed below the sur- face; instead of extensive hurial grounds or subterraneous excavations, room for four thick walls, of which the side of a church commonly answers for one, is found sufficient. As these places are on one plan, a description of this of St. Francisco de Paula will give a general idea of all. Passing out through a side door we entered a quadrangular area bounded by four high walls, with a continuous shed or roof projecting in- ward, leaving a central space open to the sky, occupied hy a few marble tomb-stones. The niches for the dead, wrought in the walls, were a little over six feet by two and a half, eighteen inches high at the ends, and two feet at the middle, the roof forming a low arch. All are plastered and whitewashed. In hot weather they would be no bad resting-places for the liv- ing. I was no longer surprised that people here are mostly buried without coffins, and especially as all are entombed in their clothes. Here were three tiers of niches, each contin- ued round the place. Those that were occu- pied have the fronts bricked up and plaster- ed over. All are numbered; no other mark or lettering. Their tenants occupy them too COFFIN. SKETCHES IN BRAZIL. 39 short a time for inscriptions or eulogies to re- main. The coffin was now placed on a temporary platform close to a niche in the middle tier, into which it was slid with the covers open. A handkerchief was spread over the face of the deceased by one of his friends; then, in succes- sion, priests and friends stepped up, one at a time, and with a silver sprinkler handed by the sacristan, threw holy-water on the body, and emptied a small scoop of powdered quick-lime, which an attendant held ready, upon it. A bushel or more of lime was thus disposed, until it entirely concealed the body, and was heaped over the trnnk. A priest used the silver sprink- ler once more, poured something out of a small perforated box, and the church ceremonies were over. We now put out our candles, leaned them against the walls, whence black attendants removed them. A gentleman now drew a paper from his bosom, and for half an honr read a eulogy on the dead. A second, third, and even a fourth oration was thus delivered; at the close of which the President of the Institute closed the coffin lids, locked them, and handed the minute key to a relative of the defunct. Thus closed the interesting rites. Several officers of State, of the military, and members of the Senate, etc., were present. In half an hour the front of the niche was bricked up, and covered with a coat of white plaster. In this mode of inhumation nothing like cur- ruption takes place. The lime consumes the flesh, and in two years the hones are taken out, and placed in a rose- wood or marble vase, or burnt, and the ashes preserv- ed. The niche will then be white- washed, and ready for another tenant. The cemeteries of Rio are literal copies, on a smaller scale, of the sepul- chral structures of the Greeks and Ho- mans.* The form of the coffins here is also of remote antiquity. Origin- ally of stone, and placed in the open air, their roofs were formed after those of houses, and with the same viewto allow rain to run off. Stone sarcophagi of this description are counted among the oldest of ecclesiastic monuments in Europe. Two of the orations were published. The style is too figurative for colder latitudes, but is characteristic of the genius of Brazil. The de- ceased had been ambitious of political, as well as of scientific and monastic fame. lie was a member of the Chamber of Deputies, took an active part in the revolution, and urged Pedro to assume the title of Emperor, as one more imposing than that of King. An extract from the best of the panegyrics is added: Almost a quarter of a century after the consummation of the famed factthe creation of a new empire on the earthDeath has come and snatched away a chief actor in the great drama, of which the principal actor was the son of kings, the beloved Prhice of Liberty in the Old World and the New.t He is dead who, in that epoch of enthusi- asm, proposed to the new sovereign the title of Emperor, and who, undaunted, raised his voice in the midst of bayonets, to anathematize an oppressive policy, designed to reconquer in America the irreparable past, to suspend chains in the throne where kings had been seated, and * See Moses collection of vases, tripods, altars, etc. Plate 114 represents one discovered in Rome in 1146. It has six rows of niches. Plate 113 exhibits another belong- ing to the Livia Familyall above the surface of the gronnd. t This was Pedro I., whom the Brazilians expelled for his tyranny. CEMETERY OF TilE PATJLA cuijaca. 40 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. from which flowed facts that rendered a regress with in other churches, and to them our visit to slavery impossible.* was intended. The New World was not shaped to be incas- At the door were three alms-boxes; on one ured by the hands of a pigmy. The mouths of the Africans own patron, curly-headed San the Amazon, Madeira, Xingu, and Guayba, Benedicto, was painted; on the second Luzia, were designed by Providence for a people of with a pair of eye-balls in her hand, appeal- giants; and for a prince who, from the summit ed to us; and on the third stood Our Lady of his throne, must one day have conference of the HeadN. S. da Cabe9aholding a ~vith the universe, and mark the track of his human head suspended by a twine or lock of 1ii~h destiny! The conception of this grand hair; reminding one of Judith bearing off that idea was not sufficient for the genius of the man of Holofernes. who now rests in the bed of death, but day and Entering, we found the place a picture of night, with his ardent and creative soul, he desolation; nothing visible but bare walls, ceil- worked to complete it. ings, and decayed floors. The principal imagc, Twenty-six honorary titles adorn his mem- and those of the six side shrines we had come ory, and in eighteen illustrious societies was his to see, had vanished. The saints had left their name proclaimed that of a sage. niches, viz., Nossa Senhora do iRozario, N. S. da Brazil must shed tears for the loss of the Couceic~o, N. S. da Cabe9a, N. S. do Bom Fm, Canon Januario da Cunha Barboza. Santa Anna, San Antonio, and San Benedicto. BLACK THE NEGRO SAINT. The sacristan appeared, and led us into BENEDICT, the vestry, a large room, on one side of - which an altar and apparatus were fitted \ \ \ \\\\ up. Every thing looked old, mean, and wornout, for want of soap and paint. Being asked where the saints were, he ~ said four were put away in the garret till the church is re-edified, and the other three are therepointing to the altar. We drew near, and contemplated the Lady of the Rosary, or Do Ter9o, as she is sometimes named, of the nat- ural size. On one palm a naked infant sits, and from the other a string of beadsher emblemhangs. Near her stands the popular Goddess da Coucci- cd~o, five and a half feet high. Her child is in a frock and sash, which once were white and red, but now are neither. From her arm is suspended by a rihbon a fresh wax votive heada females, and differing from any yet seen. Its ear lappets reminded one of an Egyptian head-dress. In front of these ladies is Benedict himself, black as jet, and rather low in stature; the baby in his arms being any thing but a white one. Here are by far the best-shaped wax votos to be found in Rio. Of seven- teen heads not one had blunted or in- expressive features. Five had been taken from a bust of Demosthenes; part of the females were also from classic models, and two, judging from their bull necks were Neros or gladiators. There were three breasts, several ab- domens, and a couple of hands. In- H having, according to appointment, quiring why there were no legs, arms, eyes, and joined me in Dereita Street, we turned up an feet, our informant said there had been many, old and narrow lane, named after the Praying but they fell and were crushed. Abacus, Rua do Rozario. At the head of it While making memoranda in front of the al- stands the ancient usetropolitan temple, now a tar, I was startled by a groan at my elbow. I negro church, and the only one conceded to the turned, and lo! a white man, of forty-five or colored population. Here are saints not met fifty, on his knees almost in contact with mc. * That is, to make Brazil revert to the condition of a lie had come in on woolen feet. One arm province after the return of John VI. to Lisbon. was bandaged and in a sling. He was cadav SKETCHES IN BRAZIL. 41 erous and evidently very sick. His languid eyes were fastened on one of the images, to which he began to pour out his sorrows in a suppressed voice. I withdrew, and joining H pointed to the supplicant. Yes, said H , with a shrug, he told me yesterday he was coming to see if Nossa Senhora do Rozarlo would stop the running sore iu his arm. But why come to a black church ? I asked. Because during the last eighteen months he has been to every white one without being able to interest a single Saint in his behalf. The Lady he is now con- sulting has her shrine iu this place, and saints, like physicians, must be called on at their resi- dences. Many whites come here for assistance, and some make vows even to that Blackamoor. Our presence and talking, and the noise made by two romping colored boys, disturbed not in the least the poor mans devotions. In seven or eight minutes he crossed himself; rose, bowed to the Lady, dipped a finger in the lustral basin, and went noiselessly away, giving H a sign of recognition as he passed. We were about to follow, when an extremely old and infirm female came tottering in bare- footed with the aid of a staff. She was nearly blind, had lost her teeth, and was the oldest slave I ever saw. She stood awhile to disen- gage from her skirts a rosary composed of beans. A few coppers were put into her hands; she rolled her yellow eye-balls, gasped and gurgled her thanks, approached the altar, and knelt close to the patron and kinsman of her race. We left her communing with himprobably the only consolation left her. The cemetery of this church is large. The niches for the dead are four deep, and all ten- anted except two. Black Benedict is generally considered an imaginary Saint, got np by the Portuguese with the view of more effectually keeping slaves in subjection. I have interrogated several priests on the subject, including Father Tilbury, an En- glish monk, but not one could say who he was, where he dwelt, nor how and when he became canonized. The portrait of him is a fac-simile of his blessed picture given out to his devotees, and worn in their bosoms. As a specimen of art, it is a fair sample of those of other Saints. In some few churches lithographs have been intro- duced for those who contribute bills instead of coppers. At one Saints feast I noticed three qualities of the portraits given out. SAINT ANTONY AND HIS MONASTERY. We spent the best part of two days in St. Antonys monastery, an irregular pile of three- story buildings, located on one side of a hill, dedicated to and owned by the most popular of Brazilian minor divinities. The ascent, wide and paved, winds up at the rear of the Carioco Fountain. Here and there a slave was asleep, reclining against the dead wall on either hand, while almost every where were revolting nui- sances committed by them. There are several Antonys in the calendar, and one is often mistaken for the other. He who had such amusing personal conflicts with Satan was of Egypt, and not a few of his acts and powers have been ascribed to his namesakes. It was he who, centuries after his death, began to cure people of a disease not heard of while he livedone that, from his success in treating, still bears his name. He only should he pictured with fire and a pignot, as the wicked might surmise, to indicate a favorite monastic dish. The early appearance of erysipelas in Europe association of the Saint and pigs with it, etc., will be found accounted for in the subjoined ex- tract from Gabriel dEmillianes History of the Monastical Orders, 1693: In the year 1089, a contagious sickness, called the Sacred Fire, a kind of very dangerous leprosie, having spread itself into several parts of Europe, those of the Province of Vienna, in France, had, at last, recourse to the Relicks of St. Antony the Egyptian. They say that who- ever did call upon him was delivered from the Sacred Fire; and contrariwise those who blas- phemed or took the name of St. Antony in vain were immediately, by the Saints unmerciful vengeance, delivered up to it. This gave occa- sion to Gaston Frank, in company with some other persons, to institute, in the year 1095, the Religion [Order] of St. Antony, whose principal care it was to serve those who were tormented with the Sacred Fire. They represent St. An- tony with a fire kindled at his side to signifie that he delivers people from the Sacred Fire. They paint a hog near him as a sign that he cures beasts of all diseases: and to honor him in several places a hog is kept at common charges and called St. Antonys Hog, for which they [the people] have great veneration. Many will have St. Antonys picture on the walls of their houses, hoping by that to be preserved from the Plague. And the Italians, who did not know the true signification of the fire painted at his side, thought that he preserved houses also from being burnt, and they call upon him on such oc- casions. As for the Fryars, they know so well how to make use of the power of their St. An- tony, that, when they go a-begging, if one does refuse what they ask for, they threaten imme- diately to make the Sacred Fire to fall upon him; therefore the poor country people, to avoid the menaces and witchcrafts of these monks, present them every year with a good fat hog apiece. Some Cardinals and Prelates endeav- ored to persuade Pope Paul III. to abolish these wretched Begging Fryars, hut they could not compass their good design; and these Monks do subsist yet to this day in several places, though the sickness of St. Antonys Fire be now very rare. This old establishment contains good speci- mens of carving; and the chapel, without a tithe of the gilt that glistens in others, is a gallery of paintings, which, if not miracles of art, are ex- emplifications of the miraculous. They may not equal the best productions of Raphael or of 42 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. Annibal Carracci of Bologna, but they are attest- ed copies of the works of an individual deemed vastly more gifted than eitherviz., Antony of Padna. The plan of the chapel is two parallelograms of unequal width (the smaller one the chancel) joined end to end. The entrance is at the wide part, only half of which is appropriated to the audience. We are standing at the door, and see! yonder at the opposite extremity is Antony over the High Altar and facing us. Two minor shrines are near the junction of the chancel with the chapel. One is occupied by a female, and opposite to her the original image of Black Benedict stands. Large as life, good-looking, his crisp hair shorn a la tonsure, he bends over the prone baby in his arms and is hushing it to sleep. For half an hour we were alone. No person entered except a slave belonging to the Monas- tery, and he merely peeped in. I endeavored to take a full-length portrait of the patron of the placea stout-built gentleman, rising five feet, and draped in a black gown, braced round his waist by a tasseled cord. No other article of his proper dress is visible, but he is loaded with accessories. Curving outward his left arm, he grasps with the hand a closed book, the cover of which constitutes a pedestal for his baby without which he is never seen. It is a pretty thing, resting with one foot on the volume, the other in the air. Its stature is fifteen inches. It wears pantalets, a white silk frock with sash, and gold-laced tucks. Tiny frills go round its neck, a crown is on its head. A ball in one hand, and in the other an artificial nosegay. Between Antonys right arm and breast a cross- headed staff shoots upward, and with it a bou- quet. Thus far there is nothing very remark- able. But in his right hand is (what I first took for a walking-cane) a marshals baton, over his shoulders a broad red military sash, on his breast the star or cross of some militant order, and, as if to mark still more emphatically the hero, his brows are encircled with a wreath, in the man- ner of a Roman conqueror. What does that mean ? I exclaimed. Mean, replied H , why, that he is a Knight Commander of the Military Order of Portugal and Brazil, belongs to the regular army, is commissioned as Lieutenant-Colonel, and receives his pay monthly the same as every other officer. Come, said I, no poetry. Antony a soldier and commander of a living regiment! It wont At this moment a monk came in suddenly through a side door close to where we stood. Making a reverence to the saint, by bringing one knee nearly to the floor, he turned inquiringly to us. Under thirty, fat, rather short, but of a handsome miena fair specimen of a Brazilianmy companion spoke and told him I was a stranger, desirous of going over the saints establishment. With a dubious glance at the memorandum book and pencil in my hand and then at myself, he asked, Is ho pious ? The answer was satisfactory; and, sure enough, what H had said of the martial offices, dignities, and salary of the saint was all true. The monk spoke of him in the character of a general, and I asked, why give him that title if he is but a colonel? The answer was ready: according to Brazilian etiquette every Knight of the Grand Cross is entitled to the insignia and honors of the highest rank: hence, in common with his brother knights, Lieutenant- Colonel Autony, though wearing neither stock- ings nor shoes, is complimented with the badges and dignities of a general. We now turned to the paintings. While gazing on one rather intently, I risked my repu- tation with the monk by inadvertently turning my back on the general, a piece of forgetfulness deemed incompatible with true devotion. I ought to have been on my guard, inasmuch as at another church I had been reproved for a similar offense. The subjects are incidents from the life and deeds of Antony. I shall notice a few only. 1. At the mouth of a well, over which a chain and pulley are suspended, stands an enraptured monk. He has just raised the bucket, and with it a small image of the saint. The story is this: The brother of a monastery whose duty it was to draw water, lost the bucket from the chain Distressed and not knowing what to do, for the well was very deep, the saint at length inspired him. Drawing from his bosom an image of the general, he sent it down. On reaching the water it caught hold of the floating bucket, properly hooked it to the chain, and rose with it, to the delight of the lay brother and the edification of the brotherhood. -) iI II f II ST. ANTONY OF PADUA. SKETCHES IN BRAZIL. 43 2. The saint in propria persona, acting the part of a surgeon extraordinaire, is fixing the foot of a living person to the limb from which it had been severed. A young man, said our cicerone, once kicked his mother. He went out and met a stranger, who startled him by saying, He that kicks his mother should lose his foot. Conviction seized the culprit; he re- turned home and chopped off the offending member. His injured mother came in, began to cry, and before he bled to death picked tip the foot and took her son with her in search of the stranger. He was close by, and recognized as St. Antony. Seeing the youth repentant he immediately healed him. The foot, in drawing nigh to its proper place, sprung ont of the saints hands, like the keeper to a magnet, and the line of separation was not visible. 3. Meeting some Turks, they reviled him. One more violently wicked than the rest, was strangely punished. Both his eyes flew out of their sockets into Antonys hands. The saint is painted with one between each finger and thumb, and the screaming sinner kneeling be- fore him. This was evidence too awful for Mohammedans to resist. They were converted, and the saint returned the balls to their gaping voids, where all became right again. 4. What of those horses kneeling before the saint, and Turks standing near ? I asked. One day St. Antony was raising the Host as~ Mo- hammedans were passing. They derided and refused to kneel. To convince them of their error, he told them to bring their cattle near. They complied, and, to their amazement, the brutes set them an example of devotion by bowing down before the good man and the wafer. It was observed to our expounder that this miracle had been explained, by saying some grain had been put into a cavity, which the hungry beasts could not reach without kneeling. That, said he,is a lie. 5. Two of the largest paintings are devoted to the greatest of his miracles: Preaching in Pavia, he stopped suddenly in his sermon, and, agreeably to ancient practice, requested his congregation to repeat a short oration or prayer. In the mean time he leaned down in the act of meditation. So he appeared to his audience, but in reality he had left the church. Our Lady had made known to him that his father had been arrested in Portugal for murder, and was at that moment on his way to the gallows. By her aid he arrived before the rope was passed round his parents neck, and, as the pictures show him, stopped the posse, consisting of the judge, sheriW hangman, and crowd. The mur- dered man was in his coffin close by, and on him the saint called. The corpse obeyed the mandate, threw off the cover of the shell, sat up in it, and proclaimed aloud the innocence of the accused. Antony saluted his father and re- turned instantly to Pavia; arriving as the con- gregation finished the brief prayer, he raised his head and concluded his discourse without his absence having been suspected. Our reverend commentator was in his ele- ment. He dwelt with pleasing unction on a dozen or two more. Several had an irresistible influence over the muscles of our mouths; and the negro, who had come in again, exposed.everi- molar and incisor in his head, nor could the Father himself always keep his own eye-teeth out of sight. With charming naYvet~ he said to H , These stories can do no harm. If all are not true, most of them are. The Vestry is a splendid room, paved with red and white mosaics. The ceiling is paneled and covered with rich paintings by an old negro slave. The walls, for four or five feet up, are cased with painted blue and white tiles, illus- trating the life of the saint, and the rest with paintings on the same fruitful subject. The carvings of bureaus and round the doors, in high relieg are very superior. The Lavatory occupies an adjoining room. In the centre is a marble basin, shell-shaped, eight feet over, and from it rises a column, at whose angles invert- ed dolphins deliver the water; the whole sur- mounted by a draped female statue of Puritas, some twelve feet from the floor. Having obtained permission to show us the library, our cicerone led us up stairs to a large room overlooking a great part of the city and the bay. When the door was unlocked and thrown open, what a blast of damp and mildew came out! Pausing till fresh air could stream in, we spent an hour or two among the books and admiring the ancient furniture. Here are between five and six thousand volumes. Heavy tomes on Canon Law, Monastic Orders, Mira- cles of Saints, History of Byzantium, Works of the Fathers, etc. The only English book was a life of Milton. With the pxception of a work on magic, I did not see a volume of special in- terest; nor did I open one whose leaves were not glued together by damp, and of which large portions had not been devoured by ants. In a few years the whole will have perished. Tile Saint as a SoldierWhen the Royal family arrived from Portugal in 1808, Antony was only Captain of Infantrythe same office held by him in Lisbon; but before returning to Europe, John VI. raised him to a Lieutenant- Colonelcy on the staW to the great displeasure of older officers, who bitterly complained of the promotion as a violation of all military rule. Besides his salary of 960 milreis as Lieutenant- Colonel, he appears in other grades in the army list, and receives pay and rations accordingly for services in other provinces. I extracted the following from the National Budget for the present year, from the Pension List: Milrei. San Antonio da Goyas . . . . Granted Nov. 18, 1T50, 192 de Minas, by royal mand. Feb. 26, 1199, 480 do Mouraria . . Granted Sept. 5, 1800, 120 da Parahiba . . Dec. 10, 1809, 75 Besides these, I am told that he figures in other characters as a creditor on the public ledgers. As the whole affair was strange to me, I in- quired how the money was paid, to whom, and how disposed of. The answer was, that here, 44 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. in Rio, the abbot of his monastery receives it, and expends it on the Saints person, on his clothes, washing, and ornaments, wages for his servants, and other expenses of his establish- ment. To silence my scruples, I was furnished with a copy of his receipt for his last months salary, signed three days ago. A literal trans- lation is subjoined: Pap this, LIEUT.-COLoNEL. BAOTos. No. 5433. Received from the illustrious Lieut.-Colonel Manoel Josi Alvas da Fonseca, Treasurer and Paymaster- General of the troops of this Capital, the sum of Eighty snllreis, being the amount of Pay due for the month of May last to the Glorious Saint Antony, as Lient-Colonel iu the army. To manifest the same, I sign this receipt. Noted Folio 6, Father Miguel do Santa Rita, LucA. Superior. Rio do Janeiro, June 15, 1846. Paid, Joiso Cactano dAlmeida Franga, ALvss. Ex Syndic Procurator. dntony as a Saisst.To impress me with his manifold virtues in this character, a pious lady loaned me a small volume, Compendio de Ora- eSes. Lisbon, 1814. In the Week of Love to St. Antony, the form of address on Mondays is Oh, my Saint Antony! Wonder of wonders! Credit to Omnipotence! Model of humility V Mystic Doctor! I offer thee two Ave-Marias, and supplicate thee to ask the baby Jesus in thy arms, the virtue of humility. On other days, devotees use the following: Oh, St. Antony! freasurer of Italy! Precious Stone of Poverty! human Angel! Prince of Heaven! Sun of the World! Atlantes of Virtue! Star of Spain and Portugal! Wonder of Nature! Brilliant Sun of Padua! Doctor of Truth! Trumpet of Heav- en! Hammerer of Heretics! Abyss of Sanctity! Rule of Perfection! Column of the Catholic Church! Honor of the Seraphic Religion, and most Beloved of Glory! I offer thee thirty-six Ave-Marias in honor of the thirty-six years dur- ing which thou practiced so many miracles Again: Do we look for miracles? St. An- tony makes death, sin, sorrow, errors, and dev- ils flee away. He is a prompt medicine for every disease. He takes ns out of prison, de- livers us from pains, and all lost things iso finds. Perils he hanishes, and to every one gives suc- cor. Padua confesses all this. Pray for ns, Good Antony ! Another passageif the reader is, not out of breathexplains why he is represented with a child. Oh, glorious St. Antony! who merited to receive from the hands of the Mother of God her only baby into thine arms ! This was the highest of honors. No other saint received such a mark of favor. It is, moreover, said there was much trouble to get the infant from him, so unwilling he was to give it np: hence it is the common practice of his worshipers here, when they get out of patience with him for de- laying to comply with their wishes, to threaten to take the baby from him. Nothing, a devout lady says, is more effectual than such a threat. Intimating that Nossa Senhora, at the time Antony lived, had no baby to put into his arms, I was told she, by miracle, made one for the purpose! As the restorer of lost things, Antony is con- stantly appealed to in the cases of runaway slaves, stray horses, mules, and stolen furniture of every description. Senhora P has great devotion for him. She carries his picture in her bosom, and, like thousands here, keeps an image of him in her house. Not a day passes without her addressing him, I took the liberty to ask what she wanted him to do for her now? She had lost a silver spoon! To convince me that he was a very miraculous saint, she men- tioned that he had sent one of her mothers slaves back after a long absence, and how a valuable one of her own had ran off and been forced to return. This last confessed that the tortured image of the Saint used to appear and tell him he must return. The treatment of Antony is peculiar to him. When other saints do not comply with requests preferred to them, resignation is a duty; while in such cases he is scourged, bruised, abused, and tormented in every imaginable manner; and, what is strange, this is said to he agree- able to him! The measures adopted by Senhora P were such as her mother had recourse to. She took Antonya figure, about the length of one s hand, of pottery, but more commonly of plaster of Parisplaced a lighted candle before him, and besought him to send the fugitive home, and to mind and give him no rest till he returned. A week elapsed, and he came not; another and another passed away, and still no tidings of him. She then took the Saint, laid him, with his face downward, on the floor be- hind the door, and put a heavy stone upon him, that there might be no intermission, as in flag- ellations, of his pains. I asked, Why treat him so severely ? Then came the stereotyped story: St. Antony wished to he a martyr, but as Our Lady did not permit him to have that honor, he loves to be afflicted in his representatives, and very often will not listen to his friends until they are tormented. As soon as the fugitive was recovered, the load was removed from the hack of the little sufferer; he was washed, put on a covered table, two candles lit before him, and the best thanks of the lady presented with a courtesy. It is common with some to put the uncomply- ing Saint into ovens, and throw him into ash- pits,. and never to take him out except to thank him, or to chastise him; but the most general punishment is consignment to a dark and wet prison. Every house in Rio has a shallow well or cistern in the yard of brackish water rising within a few feet of the surface. In these the Saint is immured. So. common is it to put St. Antony into the well, that the expression is proverbial for having lost something. H says he had a slave who ran off, and was caught and re- turned in a few weeks. On communicating the news of the recovery of the fugitive to his fam- ily, his wife led him to the small well in the yard, and opening the cover, showed him An- SKETCHES IN BRAZIL. 45 tony suspended by a cord just over the water. She had placed him there soon after the slave was missing. Of course he was drawn up, like Jeremiah out of the pit, and complimented with thanks, and a couple of candles, and the slave reminded how useless were attempts to escape ~the vigilance of this heavenly negro-catcher. There is no doubt whatever that many slaves are recovered by means of the Saint, singular as the remark may appear. The tortured image, like one of their native idols, haunts their im- aginations, and constant dread of some terrible evil befalling them, compels, especially those re- cently imported, to return. Great numbers of six and seven-inch An- tonys are destroyed by angry devotees. I heard of disappointed lottery speculators hewing them, like Agag, in pieces; others throwing them into the fire during the prevalence of rage; so that if the Saint did not seal the truth with his blood as he desired, scarcely one of his representatives escapes being martyred. A few days ago an advertisement of a lost ass appeared in the Journal, a daily paper. The animal had been taken from a garden be- longing to the monastery of Saint Antony, and a reward was offered for its recovery; so that it would seem while he recovers other peoples lost cattle, he can not find his ownat all events, that his friars have more faith in newspapers than in him. Both the monks and the institution are un- popular. Of several recent law-suits they have not succeeded in one. A house is being erected by a private individual on ground claimed by them. They have protested against the intru- sion, but that is all. Some time ago, a similar outrage induced the abbot to appeal to the Government. Carneiro Leon, an enlightened statesman, was Secretary of State. After hear- ing the complainant he replied, Well, we dont want monks, and the Government itself wants the convent grounds. The frighted father fled perhaps to appeal to Antony? No, no, said a native friend, friars know better; they tell simpletons to do that. Besides real estate, their means are swelled by bequests, proceeds of blessed prints, scap- ularies, medals, money for masses, and for con- secrated habits for those who desire to be buried in thema superstition quite common. Men, women, children, and youths, being frequently entombed in the garbs of monks and nunsthe wealthy paying high prices for them. Underneath the little pictures of Antony dis- tributed to his devotees, is engraved the fol- lowing: His Excellency the most reverend Bishop of Rio, and Grand Chaplain to the Em- peror, Don Manoel do Monte Rodriques dArau- jo, on visiting the church, whose patron saint is represented by this image, grants to all those who repeat, before this image, one Pater Noster and one Ave Maria, forty days of indulgences. 1842. AJTJDA NUNNERY AND NUNS. ON reaching the foot of the hill we observed, VOL. XI.No. 61.D on the opposite side of the street, one of the heavy doors of the Ajuda Convent open, and stepped into a paved area around which the dark walls arise. Of the two tiers of windows the lowest is fifteen feet from the ground, and all inclosed with massive gratings that remind one of the condemned cells of Newgate. At the side furthest from the street is the apparatus by which persons without communicate with the interior. I had read of the ancient device. A rectangular ope1~ing, about four feet high and two and a half wide, is cut through the thick wall, the upright edges being worked concave. A strong wooden cylinder or drum is made to revolve vertically in the opening, and to occupy~-~ it wholly. Suppose the staves of the cylinder be removed for one-third of its circumference, you have then a revolving cupboard, into which any article put in at one side of the wall is in- stantly received at the other on simply pushing round the opening, and without either sender or receiver having a chance to get a glimpse of each other. The sides of the drum enter the concave sides of the wall, and its bottom and top extend within the stone work. The width of the opening into the drum is only half the thickness of the wall; so that in no position of the drum can a spectator see any one within. While we stood by a negro brought a parcel, put it in the closet, clapped his hands as a sig- nal, and turned the dumb waiter half-way round. Thus money, letters, food, and all articles re- quired are passed within. If sweetmeats have been ordered by friends or visitors, the price is put on the shelf and the next moment the bon- bons come out. We strolled to the further extremity of the same side of the Square, where there was a sim- ilar machine, and near it a strong door with a small brass plate, full of minute holes, through which the invisible abbess, or her deputies, can see who stands without. Casually touching this door it yielded to slight pressure. Here was a temptation to step into a nunnery; for none but our two selves were within the spacious area. To have some color for pushing the hinged valve back, one of us gently knocked. No one answered, but some object behind moderately opposed its being opened. By little and little the opening was enlarged, and our courage with it. We squeezed in, when my companion, in a whisper, said, This is the officeof the portress. She has left for a moment, and, not dreaming of intruders, placed her old, high-backed chair against the door. Shell return anon, and will give the alarm if she find us here I But the way into the interior was not so clear as we imagined; still, we got a view of the ma- chinery adopted in such places to prevent in- trusion and desertion. The small apartment opened into a large, long, and, verily, a strong one. A paved floor, high whitewashe.d walls with nothing to break their monotony, or let in light, that we could see, save a single opening, eight feet square, and level with the ground. This communicated with a wide and dim pas 46 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. sage into which we could not get; for there was no entering the large opening in front of which we stood. The stone wall through which it is cut is four feet thick, and on each side hangs a gauze curtain whose threads are inch bars of iron: those forming the woof pass through loops in the warp, and the ends of all are buried in the granite blocks. The interstitial spaces are between three and four inches. A rather larger aperture is at the bottom, and through it small things are passed across on the blade of a wood- en shovel, as appeared from one lying ready for the purpose. If, as is said, nuns are happy in their cells, for what purpose then, in lands where law pre- vails, are these massive walls, gratings, bolts, locks, and other devices? Even shackles, it is admitted, are not wanting in this place. No felon-prison can have a better system of securi- ties. What alliance can there be between the gentle, willing spirit of the Gospel and so much iron? Penal statutes suffice to prevent people from breaking in; what need of such devices, if not designed to keep those confined from breaking out? These thoughts I addressed to my companion, who said I might stay till the doorkeeper returned and ask her. In two min- utes more we were in the street. Through what passage she had disappeared, after block- ing her door, we could not imagine. This was the first and last time I got into a nunnery. Into the chapel fronting the street I often stepped. There is no entering ecclesiastical institutions here without being reminded of their heathen originals, and of the little change they have undergone. Every popular phase of ancient worship was early adopted. Rituals of the tem- ples, and the temples themselves; the different orders of priests, and their imposing costumes; the entire system of symbolism; of praying through the medium of images and other phys- ical representations; praying for the dead, and to the dead. The various religious orders, too, including mendicant and monastic, are of pa- gan parentage, with all their peculiarities of dress and disciplinetheir shaven crowns, knot- ted cords, relics, rosaries, and squalor. The institution of Vestals was reverenced at Rome. Numa, the Consuls, and the Emperors patronized them; the rich made presents; the pious bequeathed legacies; and the superstitious sought admission for their daughters. Command- ing general respect, they were introduced, under Christian appellations, into the Church. Sub- stituting the Virgin for Vesta, the old rules, penalties, peculiarities, etc., seem to have been received without material revision, and also the plans, arrangements, securities, general econo- my, and management of the nunneries. The cloistered virgins of the Ajuda pass their lives in much the samq way as their sisters of antiquityseparated from the world, from pa- rental and family influence, dedicated to a god- dess Nossa Senhora da Ajuda, donning a par- ticular habit, their initiation accompanied by~ cutting off their hair, vowing chastity, and sub- ject to death for its violation, strictly secluded, extraordinary means employed to prevent their communicating without the walls that inclose them, under the surveillance of a matron and a system of espionage that sifts out their very thoughts, subject to the control and punish- ment of the bishop, no male persons allowed to visit them except those interested in retaining them, and permitted to hold free converse with none else. The Pontifex Maximus chastised pagan nuns for offenses, and his modern representative does the same thing. If Christian nuns are not now put to death for violating their vows, they once were; and but for the increasing intel- ligence of the age, would undoutedly be again. The inmates of nunneries, it is asserted, are happy even those who enter reluctantly be- come reconciled and content. Here are a few Rio facts in illustration. 1. H told me he was acquainted with four sisters, all of whom were forced by one or both parents, into the Tereza Convent. Years elapsed, and the father died, when three, all that were alive, by appealing to the Pope, event- ually got out. 2. A merchant, whom he also knew well, took an only daughter out one day a-visiting. The carriage stopped at the Ajuda Convent. The young lady tripped up the three or four outer steps without observing the place, the doors closed on her, and her parent drove off. She had refused a husband selected for her, and was immured two years before she yielded her consent and was let out. 3. A poor woman, with a slight peculiarity of manner, is occasionally seen in the Cattete. She passed the window twice yesterday. Sis- ter Paula and her melancholy history are known to many families in the Gloria parish. Of respectable lineage, she was born and brought up in the country. Amiable and intel- ligent, she unfortunately became rich in her own right on the death of her mother. Her father and brothers coveted her wealth, and found means to gain over the abbess of the Ajuda. A chest, perforated to adTnit air, was provided by the unnatural villains, and in it the poor victim was hurried from her residence (some leagues distant from Rio) to the con- vent. She resisted all attempts made to force her to take the vail, and in a long course of years managed to escape three times, but im- plored in vain, with a heart bursting with an- guish, for mercy from her kindred. The last time it was her brothers who drove her hack, the father being dead. Nature at length gave way. The punishments to which on these oc- casions she was subjectedchastisement, want of food, shackles, and other tortures, known only to the fiends that inflicted thembroke her down. Reason fled, and she became irrevoca- bly insane. Her persecutors took undisturbed possession of her property; and some, it is said, still enjoy itif, indeed, they can enjoy it or THE NEWCOMES. a.ny thing else. Of her, they know nothing. A nun has neither worldly relations nor wealth. Every thing, even her name, is taken from her, and all natural ties are forever sundered. The abbess permitted herimprudently, as many thinkto go at large. She is over fifty. Her disease is of a mild type. For several years she has made out, by charity and her needle, to hire a room and huy the little food she wants. She constructs wax and feather flowers, makes haby saints, and assists in dressing images for the festivals. Dwelling near the Lapa Church, she is employed every Christmas to fit up in it the Cradle and the Baby God. All churches have, at that sea- son, an exhibition of this kind. Most have new bed-clothes and dresses; but some have the old ones furbished up and used again. Sister Paula sometimes quarrels with the brotherhood, and loses an order to dress Our Lady and her Son. At lucid intervals she will speak with a few con- fidential friends of the inhuman treatment of her brothers and the abbess. At other times she says an evil spirit possesses her one too strong for the friars of St. Antony to drive out. Poor lady! she is right. Hers is a wounded spirit, which requires a higher power than that of any dead or living saint to heal. 4. Senhor L a., of the Larangeims, Ex- Councilor of State, has an aged relative in the Ajuda Conventa first cousin to his mother. She has at present charge of the garden, which is as much concealed from the public as the in- terior of the building. Having been abbess, she is known as Zlfother Anna Tereza. This venerable lady was ia her youth one of the handsomest girls of Rio. She formed an at- tachment which her father did not approve of, although her lover was every way worthy of her. By the influence of her parents he was shipped off to India, and she carried directly to an endless imprisonment in the awful Ajuda. Distracted beyond endurance, for months horror and despair preyed on her: she was tempted to end her miseries by suicide. A year passed overanother, and others, till her soul, crushed by griefs, yielded to her fate. Urged to take the vail, she consented; but ere the ceremonies were quite over she awoke as from a lethargy artificially produced, and burst into such a tor- rent of abuse of her parents and family, who were witnessing the rite, the abbess, convent, and the whole system of ecclesiastical fraud and tyranny, that for a moment all stood aghast! And but for a moment! It was evident she was possessed! Under this belief she was gagged, borne off to her cell, confined by cords, and pun- ished no one living knows how but herself! Time, that subdues all things, at last tamed her. Forever excluded from the world, and without a friend, relative, or acquaintance in it to her all was lostshe consented to live and adapt herself to her hard lot. She became a favorite, and was twice selected abbess, which office she has filled for eight years (an election takes place every four years). Let us hope that the victims sent in under her administration were differently treated than she had been. It must not be supposed that the law could interfere. No civil officer could (nor can) enter a convent to serve process there; and under the old regime a father had unlimited power over his daughters. The only redress was: 1. Through the bishop; but while the abbess was in col- lusion with parents, the victim might wear her fingers to the bone in writing petitions before one could reach him. Not a scrap can enter or pass out without her consent. 2. The bishop had to appeal to Lisbon; and, 3. Through the ecclesiastical authorities there, the Court at Rome had to be consulted. In the second volume of Transactions of the Geographical and Historical Institute & f Brazil, is a notice of Don Francisco de San Jeronimo, the founder of this convent. A holy man, he wrought miracles; two are cited: When coming over from Lisbon the ship took fire; he prayed to God and Our Lady, and instantly the flames went out. A favorite servant became diseased in his legs, and, after trying several methods of cure, the doctors proposed amputa- tation. On hearing this, the Saint prayed over the sickly members, and they became sound ere he rose from his knees. THE NEWCOMES.* MEMOIRS OF A MOST RESPECTABLE FAMILY. av w. M. THAcKERAY. CHAPTER LVIII. onz szoaz ITNFOILT1JNATE. THE Fates did not ordain that the plan should succeed which Lord Highgates friends had devised for Lady Claras rescue or respite. He was bent upon one more interview with the un- fortunate lady; and in that meeting the future destiny of their luckless lives was decided. On the morning of his return home, Barnes New- come had information that Lord Highgate, un- der a feigned name, had been staying in the neighborhood of his house; and had repeatedly been seen in the company of Lady Clara. She may have gone out to meet him but for one hour more. She had taken no leave of her chil- dren on the day when she left her home, and, far from making preparations for her own de- parture, had been engaged in getting the house ready for the reception of members of the fam- ily, whose arrival her husband announced as speedily to follow his own. Ethel and Lady Ann and some of the children were coming. Lord Farintoshs mother and sisters were to follow. It was to be a r~union previous to the marriage which was closer to unite the two fam- ilies. Lady Clara said Yes to her husbands orders; rose mechanically to obey his wishes and arrange for the reception of the guests; and spoke tremblingly to the housekeeper as her husband gibed at her. The little ones had been consigned to bed early and before Sir Barness arrival. He did not think fit to see * Continued from the May Number.

W. M. Thackeray Thackeray, W. M. The Newcomes 47-64

THE NEWCOMES. a.ny thing else. Of her, they know nothing. A nun has neither worldly relations nor wealth. Every thing, even her name, is taken from her, and all natural ties are forever sundered. The abbess permitted herimprudently, as many thinkto go at large. She is over fifty. Her disease is of a mild type. For several years she has made out, by charity and her needle, to hire a room and huy the little food she wants. She constructs wax and feather flowers, makes haby saints, and assists in dressing images for the festivals. Dwelling near the Lapa Church, she is employed every Christmas to fit up in it the Cradle and the Baby God. All churches have, at that sea- son, an exhibition of this kind. Most have new bed-clothes and dresses; but some have the old ones furbished up and used again. Sister Paula sometimes quarrels with the brotherhood, and loses an order to dress Our Lady and her Son. At lucid intervals she will speak with a few con- fidential friends of the inhuman treatment of her brothers and the abbess. At other times she says an evil spirit possesses her one too strong for the friars of St. Antony to drive out. Poor lady! she is right. Hers is a wounded spirit, which requires a higher power than that of any dead or living saint to heal. 4. Senhor L a., of the Larangeims, Ex- Councilor of State, has an aged relative in the Ajuda Conventa first cousin to his mother. She has at present charge of the garden, which is as much concealed from the public as the in- terior of the building. Having been abbess, she is known as Zlfother Anna Tereza. This venerable lady was ia her youth one of the handsomest girls of Rio. She formed an at- tachment which her father did not approve of, although her lover was every way worthy of her. By the influence of her parents he was shipped off to India, and she carried directly to an endless imprisonment in the awful Ajuda. Distracted beyond endurance, for months horror and despair preyed on her: she was tempted to end her miseries by suicide. A year passed overanother, and others, till her soul, crushed by griefs, yielded to her fate. Urged to take the vail, she consented; but ere the ceremonies were quite over she awoke as from a lethargy artificially produced, and burst into such a tor- rent of abuse of her parents and family, who were witnessing the rite, the abbess, convent, and the whole system of ecclesiastical fraud and tyranny, that for a moment all stood aghast! And but for a moment! It was evident she was possessed! Under this belief she was gagged, borne off to her cell, confined by cords, and pun- ished no one living knows how but herself! Time, that subdues all things, at last tamed her. Forever excluded from the world, and without a friend, relative, or acquaintance in it to her all was lostshe consented to live and adapt herself to her hard lot. She became a favorite, and was twice selected abbess, which office she has filled for eight years (an election takes place every four years). Let us hope that the victims sent in under her administration were differently treated than she had been. It must not be supposed that the law could interfere. No civil officer could (nor can) enter a convent to serve process there; and under the old regime a father had unlimited power over his daughters. The only redress was: 1. Through the bishop; but while the abbess was in col- lusion with parents, the victim might wear her fingers to the bone in writing petitions before one could reach him. Not a scrap can enter or pass out without her consent. 2. The bishop had to appeal to Lisbon; and, 3. Through the ecclesiastical authorities there, the Court at Rome had to be consulted. In the second volume of Transactions of the Geographical and Historical Institute & f Brazil, is a notice of Don Francisco de San Jeronimo, the founder of this convent. A holy man, he wrought miracles; two are cited: When coming over from Lisbon the ship took fire; he prayed to God and Our Lady, and instantly the flames went out. A favorite servant became diseased in his legs, and, after trying several methods of cure, the doctors proposed amputa- tation. On hearing this, the Saint prayed over the sickly members, and they became sound ere he rose from his knees. THE NEWCOMES.* MEMOIRS OF A MOST RESPECTABLE FAMILY. av w. M. THAcKERAY. CHAPTER LVIII. onz szoaz ITNFOILT1JNATE. THE Fates did not ordain that the plan should succeed which Lord Highgates friends had devised for Lady Claras rescue or respite. He was bent upon one more interview with the un- fortunate lady; and in that meeting the future destiny of their luckless lives was decided. On the morning of his return home, Barnes New- come had information that Lord Highgate, un- der a feigned name, had been staying in the neighborhood of his house; and had repeatedly been seen in the company of Lady Clara. She may have gone out to meet him but for one hour more. She had taken no leave of her chil- dren on the day when she left her home, and, far from making preparations for her own de- parture, had been engaged in getting the house ready for the reception of members of the fam- ily, whose arrival her husband announced as speedily to follow his own. Ethel and Lady Ann and some of the children were coming. Lord Farintoshs mother and sisters were to follow. It was to be a r~union previous to the marriage which was closer to unite the two fam- ilies. Lady Clara said Yes to her husbands orders; rose mechanically to obey his wishes and arrange for the reception of the guests; and spoke tremblingly to the housekeeper as her husband gibed at her. The little ones had been consigned to bed early and before Sir Barness arrival. He did not think fit to see * Continued from the May Number. 48 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. them in their sleep; nor did their mother. She did not know, as the poor little creatures left her room in charge of their nurses, that she looked on them for the rast time. Perhaps, had she gone to their bedsides that evening, had the wretched panic-stricken soul heen al- lowed leisure to pause, and to think, and to pray, the fate of the morrow might have been othen ise, and the trembling balance of the scale have inclined to rights side. But the pause was not allowed her. Her husband came and saluted her with his accustomed greetings of scorn, and sarcasm, and brutal insult. On a future day he never dared to call a servant of his household to testify to his treatment of her; though twenty were in attendance to prove his cruelty and her terror. On that very last night, Lady Claras maid, a country girl from her fa- thers house at Chanticlere, told Sir Barnes in the midst of a conjugal dispute, that her lady might bear his conduct but she could not, and that she would no longer live under the roof of such a brute. The girls interference was not likely to benefit her mistress much: the wretch- ed Lady Clara passed the last night under the roof of her husband and children, unattended save by this poor domestic who was about to leave her, in tears and hysterical outcries, and then in moaning stupor. Lady Clara put to sleep with laudanum, her maid carried down the story of her wrongs to the servants quar- ters; and half a dozen of them took in their resignation to Sir Barnes as he sat over his breakfast the next morningin his ancestral hallsurrounded by the portraits of his august forefathersin his happy home. Their mutiny of course did not add to their masters good-humor; and his letters brought him news which increased Barness fury. A messenger brought him a letter from his man of business at Neweome, upon the receipt of which he started up with such an execration as frightened the servant waiting on him, and let- ter in hand he ran to Lady Claras sitting-room. Her ladyship was up. Sir Barnes breakfasted rather late on the first morning afteran arrival at Neweome. He had to look over the bailiffs books, and to look about him round the park and grounds; to curse the gardeners; to damn the sta- ble and kennel grooms; to yell at the woodman for clearing not enough or too much; to rail at the poor old work-people brooming away the fallen leaves, etc. So Lady Clara was up and dressed when her husband went to her room, which lay at the end of the house as we have said, the last of a suite of ancestral halls. The mutinous servant heard high voice and curses within; then Lady Claras screams; then SirBarnes Newcome burst out of the room, locking the door and taking the key with him, and saluting with more curses James, the mutineer, over whom his master ran. Curse your wife, and dont curse me, Sir Barnes Newcome I said James, the mutineer, and knocked down a hand which the infuriated Baronet raised against him with an arm that was thrice as strong as Barness own. This man and maid followed their mistress in that sad journey upon which she was bent. They treat-. ed her with unalterable respect. They never could be got to see that her conduct was wrong. When Barness counsel subsequently tried to impugn their testimony, they dared him; and hurt the plaintiffs case very much. For the balance had weighed over; and it was Barnes himself who caused what now ensued; and what we learned in a very few hoins afterward from Newcome, where it was the talk of the whole neighborhood. Florac and I, as yet ignorant of all that was occurring, met Barnes near his own lodge-gate riding in the direction of Neweome, as we were ourselves returning to Rosebury. The Prince de Moncontour, who was driving, affably saluted the Baronet, who gave us a scowling recogni- tion, and rode on, his groom behind him. The figure of this gar~on, says Florac, as our ac- quaintance passed, is not agreeable. Of pale, he has become livid. I hope these two men will not meet, or evil will come I Evil to Barnes there might be, Floracs companion thought, who knew the previous little affairs between Barnes and his uncle and cousin; and that Lord High- gate was quite able to take care of himself. In half an hour after Florac spoke, that meet- ing between Barnes and Highgate actually had taken placein the open square of Neweome, within four doors of the Kings Arms Inn, close to which lives Sir Barnes Newcomes man of business; and before which, Mr. Harris, as he was called, was walking, and waiting till a car- THE NEWCOMES. 49 riage, which he had ordered, came round from the inn yard. As Sir Barnes Newcome rode into the place many people touched their hats to him, however little they loved him. He was howing and smirking to one of these, when he suddenly saw Belsize. He started hack, causing his horse to hack with him on to the pavement, and it may have heen rage and fury, or accident and nervous- ness merely, hut at this instant Barnes New- come, looking toward Lord Highgate, shook his whip. You cowardly villain ! said the other, spring- ing forward. I was going to your house. How dare you, Sir, cries Sir Barnes, still holding up that unlucky cane, how dare you toto Dare, you scoundrel ! said Belsize. Is that the cane you strike your wife with, you ruffian I Belsize seized and tore him out of the saddle, flinging him screaming down on the pavement. The horse, rearing and making way for himself, galloped down the clattering street; a hundred people were ronnd Sir Barnes in a moment. The carriage which Belsize had ordered came round at this very juncture. Amidst the crowd, shrinking, hustlin~, expostulating, threatening, who pressed ahout him, he shQuldered his way. Mr. Taplow, aghast, was one of the hundred spectators of the scene. I am Lord Highgate, said Barness adver- sary. If Sir Barnes Neweome wants me, tell him I will send him word where he may hear of me. And getting into the carriage, he told the driver to go to the usual place. Imagine the huhhuh in the town, the con- claves at the inns, the talks in the counting- 50 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. houses, the commotion among the factory peo- ple, the paragraphs in the Newcome papers, the bustle of surgeons and lawyers, after this event. Crowds gathered at the Kings Arms, and waited round Mr. Speers, the lawyers house, into which Sir Barnes was carried. In vain policemen told them to move on; fresh groups gathered after the seceders. On the next day, when Barnes Newcome, who was not much hurt, had a fly to go home, a factory man shook his fist in at the carriage window, and, with a curse, said, Serve you right, you villain. It was the man whose sweetheart this Don Juan had seduced and deserted years before; whose wrongs were well known among his mates, a leader in the chorus of hatred which growled round Barnes Newcome. Barness mother and sister Ethel had reached Newcome an hour before the return of the mas- ter of the house. The people there were in dis- turbance. Lady Ann and Miss Newcome came out with pallid looks to greet him. He laughed and re-assured them about his accident: indeed his hurt had been trifling; he had been bled by the surgeon, a little jarred by the fall from his horse; but there was no sort of danger. Still their pale and doubtful looks continued. What caused thcin? In the open day, with a servant attending her, Lady Clara Newcome had left her husbands house; and a letter was forwarded to him that same evening from my Lord High- gate, informing Sir Barnes Newcome that Lady Clara Pulleyn could bear his tyranny no longer, and had left his roof; that Lord Highgate pro- posed to leave England almost immediately, but would remain long enough to afford Sir Barnes Newcome the opportunity for an inter- view, in case he should be disposed to demand one: and a friend (of Lord Highgates late regi- ment) was named who would receive letters and act in any way necessary for his lordship. The dehates of the House of Lords must tell what followed afterward in the dreary history of Lady Clara Pulleyn. The proceedings in the iNewcome Divorce Bill filled the usual number ~f columns in the papersespecially the Sun- day papers. The witnesses were examined by learned peers whose businessnay, pleasure it seems to be to enter into such matters; and, for the ends of justice and morality, doubtless, the whole story of Barnes Newcomes house- hold was told to the British public. In the previous trial in the Court of Queens Bench, how grandly Sergeant Rowland stood up for the rights of British husbands! with what pathos he depicted the conjugal paradise, the innocent children prattlin~ round their happy parents, the serpent, the destroyer, entering into that Belgravian Eden; the wretched and deserted husband alone by his desecrated hearth, and calling for redress on his country! Rowland wept freely during his noble harangue. At not a shilling under twenty thousand pounds would he estimate the cost of his clients injuries. The jury was very much affected: the evening pa- pers gave Rowlands address, in extenso, with some pretty sharp raps at the aristocracy in general. The Day, the principal morning journal of that period, came out with a leading article the next morning, in which every party concerned and every institution was knocked about. The disgrace of the peerage, the ruin of the monarchy (with a retrospective view of the well-known case of Gyges and Candaules), the monstrosity of the crime, and the absurdity of the tribunal and the punishment, were all set forth in the terrible leading article of the Day. But when, on the next day, Sergeant Row- land was requested to call witnesses to prove that connubial happiness which he had depicted so pathetically, he had none at hand. Oliver, Q. C., now had his innings. A man, a husband, and a father, Mr. Oliver could not attempt to defend the conduct of his unfortu- nate client; but if there could be any excuse for such conduct, that excuse he was free to confess the plaintiff had afforded, whose cruel- ty and neglect twenty witnesses in court were ready to proveneglect so outrageous, crnelty so systematic, that he wondered the plaintiff had not been better advised than to bring this trial with all its degrading particulars to a pub- lic issue. On the very day when the ill-omened marriage took place, another victim of crnelty had interposed as vainlyas vainly as Sergeant Rowland himself interposed in Court to pre- vent this case being made knownand with piteous outcries, in the name of outraged neg- lected woman, of castaway children pleading in vain for bread, had besought the bride to pause, and the bridegroom to look upon the wretched beings who owed him life. Why had not Lady Clara Pulleyns friends listened to that appeal? And so on, and so on, between Rowland and Oliver the battle waged fiercely that day. Many witnesses were mauled and slain. Out of that combat scarce any body came well, except the two principal champions, Rowland, Sergeant, and Oliver, Q. C. The whole country looked on and heard the wretched story, not only of Barness fault and Highgates fault, but of the private piccadilloes of their suborned footmen and conspiring housemaids. Mr. Justice C. Sawyer charged the jury at great lengththose men were respectable men and fathers of fami- lies themselvesof course they dealt full meas- ure to Lord Highgate for his delinquencies; consoled the injured husband with immense damages, and left him free to pursue the far- ther steps for releasing himself altogether from the tie, which had been bound with affecting Episcopal benediction at St. Georges, Hanover Square. So Lady Clara flies from the custody of her tyrant, but to what a rescue? The very man who loves her, and gives her asylum, pities and deplores her. She scarce dares to look out of the windows of her new home upon the world, lest it should know and reproach her. All the sisterhood of friendship is cut off from her. If she dares to go abroad she feels the sneer of THE NEWCOMES. the world as she goes through it; and knows that malice and scorn whisper behind her. Peo- ple, as criminal hut undiscovered, make room for her, as if her touch were pollution. She knows she has darkened the lot and made wretched the home of the man whom she loves best; that his friends who see her, treat her with but a doubtful respect; and the domestics who attend her, with a suspicious obedience. In the country lanes, or the streets of the county town, neighbors look aside as the car- riage passes in which she sits splendid and lonely. Rough hunting companions of her hus- bands come to her table; he is driven perforce to the company of flatterers and men of in- ferior sort; his equals, at least in his own home, will not live with him. She would be kind, perhaps, and charitable to the cottagers round about her, but she fears to visit them lest they too should scorn her. The clergyman who dis- tributes her charities, blushes and looks awk- ward on passing her in the village, if he should be walking with his wife or one of his children. Shall they go to the Continent, and set up a grand house at Paris or at Florence? There they can get society, but of what a sort! Our acquaintances of BadenMadame Schlangen- bad, and Madame de Cruchecass~e, and Mad- ame dIvry, and Messrs. Loder, and Punter, and Blackball, and Deuceace will come, and dance, and flirt, and quarrel, and gamble, and feast round about her; but what in common with such wild people has this poor, timid, shrinking soul? Even these scorn her. The leers and laughter on those painted faces are quite unlike her own sad countenance. She has no reply to their wit. Their infernal gay- ety scares her more than the solitude at home. No wonder that her husband does not like home, except for a short while in the hunting season. No wonder that he is away all day; how can he like a home which she has made so wretch- ed? In the midst of her sorrow, and doubt, and misery, a child comes to her: how she clings to it! how her whole being, and hope, and passion centres itself on this feeble in- fant! ... but she no more belongs to our story: with the new name she has taken, the poor lady passes out of the history of the Neweomes. If Barnes Newcomes children meet yonder solitary lady, do they know her? If her once- husband thinks upon the unhappy young creature whom his cruelty drove from him, does his con- science affect his sleep at night? Why should Sir Barnes INewcome s conscience be more squeamish than his countrys, which has put money in his pocket for having trampled on the poor weak young thing, and scorned her, and driven her to ruin? When the whole of the ac- counts of that wretched bankruptcy are brought up for final audit, which of. the unhappy part- ners shall be shown to be most guilty? Does the Right Reverend Prelate who did the bene- dictory business for Barnes and Clara his wife repent in secret? Do the parents who pressed the marriage, and the fine folks who signed the book, and ate the breakfast, and applauded the bridegrooms speech, feel a little ashamed? 0 Hymen Hymenate! The bishops, beadles, clergy, pew-openers, and other officers of the temple dedicated to Heaven under the invocation of St. George, will officiate in the same place at scores and scores more of such marriages: and St. George of England may behold virgin after virgin offered up to the devouring monster, Mammon (with many most respectable female dragons looking on)may see virgin after vir- gin given away, just as in the Soldan of Baby- lons time, but with never a champion to come to the rescue! CHAPTER LIX. IN WelCH ~cuiaaas LOSES 131115E15. ALTHOUGH the years of the Marquis of Far- intosh were few, he had spent most of them in the habit of command; and, from his childhood upward, had been obeyed by all persons round about him. As an infant he had hut to roar, and his mother and nurses were as much fright- ened as though he had been a Libyan lion. What he willed and ordered was law among his clan and family. When he thought fit, in the fullness of time and the blooming pride of man- hood, to select a spouse, and to elevate a mar- chioness to his throne, no one dared gainsay him. When he called upon his mother and sisters, and their ladyships hangers-on and at- tendants; upon his own particular kinsmen, led captains, and toadies, to bow the knee and do homage to the woman whom he delighted to honor, those duteous subjects trembled and obeyed; in fact, he thought that the position of a Marchioness of Farintosh was, under heav- en and before men, so splendid, that, had he elevated a beggar-maid to that sublime rank, the inferior world was bound to worship her. So my lords lady-mother, and my lords sis- ters, and his captains, and his players of bill- iards, and the toadies of his august person, all performed obeisance to his bride elect, and never questioned the will of the young chieftain~ What were the private comments of the ladies of the family we had no means of knowing; but it may naturally be supposed that his lord- ships gentlemen in waiting, Captain Henchman, Jack Todhunter, and the rest, had many mis- 52 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. givings of their own respecting their patrons change in life, and could not view without anx- iety the advent of a mistress who might reign over him and them, who might possibly not like their company, and might exert her influence over her husband to oust these honest fellows from places in which they were very comfort- able. The jovial rogues had the run of my lords kitchen, stables, cellars, and cigar-boxes. A new marchioness might hate hunting, smok- ing, jolly parties, and toad-eaters in general, or might bring into the house favorites of her own. I am sure any kind-hearted man of the world must feel for the position of these faithful, doubtful, disconsolate vassals, and haven sym- pathy for their rueful looks and demeanor as they eye the splendid preparations for the en- suing marriage, the grand furnitures sent to my lords castles and houses, the magnificent plate provided for his tablestables at which they may never have a knife and fork; castles and houses of which the poor rogues may never be allowed to pass the doors. When, then, the elopement in High Life, which has been described in the previous pages, burst upon the town in the morning papers, I can fancy the agitation which the news occa- sioned in the faithful bosoms of the generous Todhunter and the attached Henchman. My lord was not in his own house as yet. He and his friends still lingered on in the little house in May Fair, the dear little bachelors quarters, where they had enjoyed such good dinners, such good suppers, such rare doings, such ajolly time. I fancy Hench coming down to breakfast and reading the Morning Post. I imagine Tod dropping in from his bedroom over the way, and Hench handing the paper over to Tod, and the conversation which ensued between those worthy men. Elopement in high lifeexcite- ment in Ncome, and flight of Lady Cl Ncome, daughter of the late and sister of the present Earl of Drking, with Lord Hgate; personal rencontre between Lord Hgate and Sir Bnes Ncome. Extraordinary discios- nres. I say I can fancy Hench and Tod over this awful piece of news. Pretty news, aint it, Toddy ? says Hench- man, looking up from a Perigord pie, which the faithful creature is discussing. Always expected it, remarks the other. Any body who saw them together last season must have known it. The chief himself spoke of it to me. Itll cut him up awfully when he reads it. Is it in the Morning Post? He has the Post in his bedroom. I know he has rung his bell: I heard it. Bowman, has his lordship read his paper yet? Bowman, the valet, said, I believe you, he have read his paper. When he read it, he jumped out of bed and swore most awful. I cut as soon as I could, continued Mr. Bowman, who was on familiar, nay, contemptuous, terms with the other two gei~tlemen. Enough to make any man swear, says Tod dy to Henchman; and both were alarmed in their noble souls, reflecting that their chieftain was now actually getting up and dressing him- self; that he would speedily, and in the course of nature, come down stairs; and then, most probably, would begin swearing at them. The most noble Mungo Malcolm Angus was in an awful state of mind when, at length, he appeared in the breakfast-room. Why the dash do you make a tap-room of this ? he cries. The trembling Henchman, who has begun to smokeas he has done a hundred times before in this bachelors hallflings his cigar into the fire. There you gonothing like it! Why dont you fling some more in? You can get em at Hudsons for five guineas a pound I bursts out the youthful peer. I understand why you are out of sorts, old boy, says Henchman, stretching out his manly hand. A tear of compassion twinkled in his eyelid and coursed down his mottled cheek. Cut away at old Frank, Farintosha fellow who has been attached to you since before you could speak. Its not when a fellows down, and cut up, and rilednaturally riledas you areI know you are, Marquis; its not then that Im going to be angry with you. Pitch into old Frank Henchmanhit away, my young one. And Frank put himself into an attitude as of one prepared to receive a pugilistic assault. He bared his breast, as it were, and showed his scars, and said, Strike ! Frank Henchman was a florid toady. My uncle, Major Penden- nis, has often laughed with me about the fellows pompous flatteries and ebullient fidelity. You have read this confounded paragraph ? says the Marquis. We 1~ave read it: and were deucedly cut up, too, says Henchman, for your sake, my dear boy. I remembered what you said last year, Mar- quis, cries Todhunter (not unadroitly). You, yourself, pointed out, in this very room, I recol- lect, at this very tablethat night Coralie and the little Spanish dancer, and her mother supped here, and there was a talk about Highgate you, yourself, pointed out what was likely to happen. I doubted it; for I have dined at the Newcomes, and seen Highgate and her together in society often. But though you are a younger bird, you have better eyes than I haveand you saw the thing at onceat once, dont you remember? and Coralie said how glad she was, because Si~Barnes ill-treated her friend. What was the name of Coralies friend, Hench ? How should I know her confounded name Henchman briskly answers. What do I care for Sir Barnes Newcome and his private affairs? He is no friend of mine. I never said he was a friend of mine. I never said I liked him. Out of respect for the Chief here, I held my tongue about him, and shall hold my tongue. Have some of this p& t~, Chief? No! Poor old boy. I know you havent got an appetite. I know this news cuts you up. I say nothing, THE NEWCOMES. 53 and make no pretense of condolence; though I feel for youand you know you can count on old Frank Henchmandont you, Malcolm ? And again he turns away to conceal his gallant sensibility and generous emotion. What does it matter to me ? bursts out the Marquis, garnishing his conversation with the usual expletives which adorned his eloquence when he was strongly moved. Whnt do I care for Barnes Neweome, and his confounded affairs and family? I never want to see him again, but in the light of a banker, when I go to the City, where he keeps my account. I say, I have nothing to do with him, or all the New- comes under the sun. Why, one of them is a painter, and will paint my dog, Eatcatcher, by Jove! or my horse, or my groom, if I give him the order. Do you think I care for any one of the pack? Its not the fault of the Marchioness of Farintosh that her family is not equal to tame. Besides two others in England and Scotland, I should like to know what family is? I tell you what, Hench. I bet you five to two, t$iat before an hour is over, my mother will be here, and down on her knees to me, begging me to break off this engagement. And what will you do, Farintosh ? asks Henchman, slowly. Will you break it off? No 1 shouts the Marquis. Why shall I break off with the finest girl in Englandand the best-plucked one and the cleverest and wittiest, and the most beautiful creature, by Jove! that ever stepped, for no fault of hers, and because her sister-in-law leaves her brother, who I know treated her infernally? We have talked this matter over at home before. I wouldnt dine with the fellow; though he was always askin~ me; nor meet, except just out of civility, any of his confounded family. Lady Ann is different. She is a lady, she is. She is a good woman: and Kew is a most respect- able man, though he is only a peer of George III.s creation, and you should hear how be speaks of Miss Newcome, though she refused him. I should like to know who is to prevent me marrying Lady Ann Newcomes daughter ? ~By Jove! you are a good-plucked fellow, Farintoshgive Inc your hand, old boy, says Henchman. Heh! am I? You would have said, Give me your hand, old boy, whichever way I de- termined, Hench! I tell you, I aint intellect- ual, and that sort of thing. But I know my rank, and I know my place; and when a man of my station gives his word, he sticks to it, Sir; and my lady, and my sisters, may go on their knees all round; and, by Jove! I wont flinch. The justice of Lord Farintoshs views was speedily proved by the appearance of his lord- ships mother, Lady Glenlivat, whose arrival put a stop to a conversation which Captain Francis Henchman has often subsequently narrated. She besought to see her son in terms so urgent, that the young nobleman could not be denied to his parent; and, no doubt, a long and inter- esting interview took place, in which Lord Far- intoshs mother passionately implored him to break off a match upon which he was as reso- lutely bent. Was it a sense of honor, a longing desire to possess this young beauty, and call her his own, or a fierce and profound dislike to being balked in any object of his wishes, which actuated the young lord? Certainly he had borne, very phi- losophically, delay after delay, which had taken place in the devised union; and being quite sure of his mistress, had not cared to press on the marriage, but lingered over the dregs of his bachelor cup complacently still. We all know in what an affecting farewell he took leave of the associates of his vie de garfon: the speeches made (in both languages), the presents distrib- uted, the tears and hysterics of some of the guests assembled; the cigar-boxes given over to this friend, the ~criu of diamonds to that, et cutera, et cutera, et cutera. Dont we know? If we dont it is not henchmans fault, who has told the story of Farintoshs betrothals a thou- sand and one times at his clubs, at the houses where he is asked to dine, on account of his in- timacy with the nobility, among the young men of fashion, or no fashion, whom this two-bottle Mentor, and burly admirer of youth, has since taken upon himself to form. The farewell at Greenwich was so affecting that all traversed the cart, and took another farewell at Rich- mond, where there was crying too, but it was Eucharis cried because fair Calypso wanted to tear her eyes out; and where not only Tele- macbus (as was natural to his age), but Mentor likewise, quaffed the wine-cup too freely. You are virtuous, oh, reader! but there are still cakes and ale. Ask henchman if there be not. You will find him in the Park any after- noon; he will dine with you if no better man ask him in the interval. He will tell you story upon story regarding young Lord Farintosh, and his marriage, and what happened before his marriage, and afterward; and he will sigh, weep almost at some moments, as he narrates their subsequent quarrel, and Farintoshs unworthy conduct, and tells you how he formed that young man. My uncle and Captain Henchman dis- liked each other very much, I am sorry to say sorry to add that it was very amusing to hear either one of them speak of the other. Lady Glenlivat, according to the Captain, then, had no success in the interview with her son; who, unmoved by the maternal tears, com- mands, and entreaties, swore he would marry Miss Newcome, and that no power on earth should prevent him. As if trying to thwart that man could ever prevent his having his way ! ejaculated his quondam friend. But on the next day, after ten thousand men in clubs and coteries had talked the news over; after the evening had repeated and improved the delightful theme of our morning contem- poraries ; after Calypso and Eucharis driving together in the Park, and reconciled now, had kissed their hands to Lord Farintosh, and made him their complimentsafter a night of natural 54 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. doubt, disturbance, defiance, furyas men whis- pered to each otber at tbe club where his lord- ship dined, and at the theatre where he took his recreationafter an awful time at breakfast, in which Messrs. Bowman, valet, and Todhunter and Henchman, captains of the Farintosh body- guard, all got their share of kicks and growl- ingbehold Lady Glenlivat came back to the charge again; and this time with such force that poor Lord Farintosh was shaken indeed. Her ladyships ally was no other than Miss Neweome herself; from whom Lord Farintoshs mother received, by that days post, a letter, which she was commissioned to read to her son: DEAx MAn~u (wrote the young lady in her firmest handwriting), Mamma is at this mo- ment in a state of such grief and dismay at the cruel misfortune and humiliation which has just befallen our family, that she is really not able to write to you as she ought, and this task, pain- ful as it is, must be mine. Dear Lady Glenlivat, the kindness and confidence which I have ever received from you and yours, merit truth, and most grateful respect and regard from me. And I feel after the late fatal occurrence, what I have often and often owned to myself though I did not dare to acknowledge it, that I ought to release Lord F. at once and forever, from an en- gagement which he could never think of maintain- ing with a family so unfortunate as ours. I thank him with all my heart for his goodness in bear- ing with my humors so long; if I have given him pain, as I know I have sometimes, I beg his pardon, and would do so on my knees. I hope and pray he may be happy, as I feared he never could be with me. lie has many good and no- ble qualities; and, in bidding him farewell, I trust I may retain his friendship, and that he will believe in the esteem and gratitude of your most sincere ETHEL NEwcoME. A copy of this farewell letter was seen by a lady who happened to be a neighbor of Miss Newcomes when the family misfortune occurred, and to whom, in her natural dismay and grief, the young lady fled for comfort and consolation. Dearest Mrs. Pendennis, wrote Miss Ethel to my wife, I hear you are at iRosebury; do, do come to your affectionate B. N. The next day, it was: Dearest Laura. If you can, pray, pray come to Newcome this morning. I want very much to speak to you about the poor children, to consult you about something most important. Madame de Moncontours pony - carriage was trotting constantly between Rosebury and New- come in these days of calamity. And my wife, as in duty bound, gave me full reports of all that happened in that house of mourning. On the day after the flight, Lady Ann, her daughter, and some others of her fam- ily arrived at Newcome. The deserted little girl, Barness eldest child, ran, with tears and cries of joy, to her aunt Ethel, whom she had always loved better than her mother; and clung to her and embraced her; and, in her artless little words, told her that mamma had gone away, and that Ethel should be her mamma now. Very strongly moved by the misfortune, as by the caresses and affection of the poor or- phaned creature, Ethel took the little girl to her heart, and promised to be a mother to her, and that she would not leave her; in which pious resolve I scarcely need say Laura strengthened her, when, at her young frien~s urgent sum- mons, my wife came to her. The household at Newcome was in a state of disorganization after the catastrophe. Two of Lady Claras servants, it has been stated al- ready, went away with her. The luckless mas- ter of the house was lying wounded in the neigh- boring town. Lady Ann Newcome, his mother, was terribly agitated by the news, which was abruptly broken to her, of the flight of her daughter-in-law and her sons danger. Now she thought of flying to Newcome to nurse him; and then feared lest she should be ill received by the invalidindeed, ordered by Sir Barnes to go home, and not to bother him. So at home Lady Ann remained, where the thoughts of the sufferings she had already undergone in that house, of Sir Barness cruel behavior to her at her last visit, which he had abruptly request- ed her to shorten, of the happy days which she had passed as mistress of that house and wife of the defunct Sir Brian, the sight of that de- parted angels picture in the dining-room and wheel-chair in the gallery; the recollection of little Barnes as a cherub of a child in that very gallery, and pulled out of the fire by a nurse in the second year of his age, when he was all that a fond mother could wishthese incidents and reminiscences so agitated Lady Ann Neweome, that she, for her part, went off in a series of hysterical fits, and acted as one distraught: her second daughter screamed in sympathy with her: and Miss Neweome had to take the com- mand of the whole of this demented household, hysterical mamma and sister, mutineering serv- ants, and shrieking abandoned nursery, and bring young people and old to peace and quiet. On the morrow after his little concussion Sir Barnes Neweome came home, not much hurt in body, but woefully afflicted in temper, and venting his wrath upon every body round about him in that strong language which he employed when displeased; and under which his valet, his housekeeper, his butler, his farm bailiff, his lawyer, his doctor, his disheveled mother her- selfwho rose from her couch and her sal-vola- tile to fling herself round her dear boys knees all had to suffer. Ethel Newcome, the Bar- onets sister, was the only person in his house to whom Sir Barnes did not utter oaths or prof- fer rude speeches. He was afraid of offending her or encountering that resolute spirit, and lapsed into a surly silence in her presence. In- distinct maledictory expressions growled about his chair when he beheld my wifes pony-car- riage drive up; and he asked what brought her here? But Ethel sternly told her brother that Mrs. Pendennis came at her particular request, and asked him whether he supposed any body THE NEWCOMES. 55 could come into that house for pleasure now, or for any other motive hut kindness? Upon which, Sir Barnes fairly hurst out into tears, intermingled with execrations against his ene- mies and his own fate, and assertions that he was the most miserable heggar alive. He would not see his children; hut with more tears he would implore Ethel never to leave them, and, anon, would ask whathe should do when she mar- ried, and he was left alone in that infernal house? T. Potts, Esq., of the Newcome Independ- ent, used to say afterward that the Baronet was in the direst terror of another meeting with Lord Highgate, and kept a policeman at the lodge-gate, and a second in the kitchen, to in- terpose in event of a collision. But Mr. Potts made this statement in after days when the quarrel hetween his party and paper and Sir Barnes Newcome was flagrant. Five or six days after the meeting of the two rivals in New- come market-place, Sir Barnes received a letter from the friend of Lord Highgate, informing him that his lordship, having waited for him according to promise, had now left England, and presumed that the differences between them were to be settled by their respective lawyers infamous behavior on a par with the rest of Lord Highgates villainy, the Baronet said. When the scoundrel knew I could lift my pistol arm, Barnes said, Lord Highgate fled the countrythus hinting that death, and not damages, were what he intended to seek from his enemy. After that interview in which Ethel commu- nicated to Laura her farewell letter to Lord Farintosh, my wife returned to Rosebury with an extraordinary brightness and gayety in her face and her demeanor. She pressed Madame de Moncontours hands with such warmth, she blushed and looked so handsome, she sang and talked so gayly, that our host was struck by her behavior, and paid her husband more compli- ments regarding her beauty, amiability, and other good qualities, than need be set down here. It may he that I like Paul de Florac so much, in spite of certain undeniable faults of character, because of his admiration for my wife. She was in such a hurry to talk to me that night, that Pauls game and nicotian amuse- ments were cut short by her visit to the billiard- room; and when we were alone by the cozy dressing-room fire, she told me what had hap- pened during the day. Why should Ethels refusal of Lord Farintosh have so much elated my wife? Ah ! cries Mrs. Pendennis, she has a gen- erous nature, and the world has not had time to spoil it. Do you know there are many points that she never has thought ofI would say problems that she has to work out for herself, only you, Pen, do not like us poor ignorant wo- men to use such a learned word as problems. Life and experience force things upon her mind which others learn from their parents or those who educate them, but for which she has never had any teachers. Nobody has ever told her, Arthur, that it was wrong to marry without love, or pronounce lightly those awful vows which we utter before God at the altar. I believe, if she knew that her life was futile, it is but of late she has thought it could be otherwise, and that she might mend it. I have read (hesides that poem of Goethe of which you are so fond) in books of Indian travels of Bayaderes, dancing girls brought up by troops round about the tem- ples, whose calling is to dance, and wear jewels, and look beautiful; I believe they are quite re- spected inin Pagoda-land. They perform be- fore the priests.Jn the pagodas, and the Brain- ins and the Indian princes marry them. Can we cry out against these poor creatures, or against the custom of their country? It seems to me that young women in our world are bred up in a way not very different. What they do they scarcely know to be wrong. They are educated for the world, and taught to display: their mothers will give them to the richest suit- or, as they themselves were given before. How can these think seriously, Arthur, of souls to be saved, weak hearts to be kept out of temptation, prayers to be uttered, and a better world to be held always in view, when the vanities of this one are all their thought and scheme? Ethels simple talk made me smile sometimes, do you know, and her strenuous way of imparting her discoveries. I thought of the . shepherd boy who made a watch, and found on taking it into the town how very many watches there were, and how much better than his. But the poor child has had to make hers for herself such as it is; and, indeed, is employed now in working on it. She told me very artlessly her little his- tory, Arthur; it affected me to hear her simple talk, andand Iblessed God for our mother, my dear, and that my early days had had a better guide. You know that for a long time it was settled that she was to marry her cousin, Lord Kew. She was bred to that notion from her earliest youth; about which she spoke as we all can about our early days. They were spent, she said, in the nursery and school-room, for the. most part. She was allowed to come to her mothers dressing-room, and sometimes to see more of her during the winter at Newcome. She descrihes her mother as always the kindest of the kind: but from very early times the daugh- ter must have felt her own superiority, I think, though she does not speak of it. You should see her at home now in their dreadful calamity. She seems the only person of the house who keeps her head. She told very nicely and modestly how it was Lord Kew who parted from her, not she who had dismissed him, as you know the Keweomes used to say. I have heard thatohthat man Sir Barnes say so myself. She says humbly that her cousin Kew was a great deal too good for her; and so is every one almost, she adds, poor thing ! Poor every one! Did you ask about him, Laura ? said Mr. Pendennis, 56 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. No; I did not venture. She looked at me Lord Farintosh offered me these. I liked to out of her downright eyes, and went on with her surpass my companions, and I saw them so eager little tale. I was scarcely more than a child in pursuing him! You can not think, Laura, then, she continued, and though I liked Kew what meannesses women in the world will corn- very muchwho would not like such a gener- mitmothers and daughters too, in the pursuit ous, honest creature II felt somehow that I was of a person of his great rank. Those Miss Burrs, taller than my cousin, and as if I ought not to you should have seen them at the country houses marry him, or should make him unhappy if I where we visited together, and how they follow- did. When poor papa used to talk, we children ed him; how they would meet him in the parks remarked that mamma hardly listened to him; and shrubberies; how they liked smoking, though and so we did not respect him as we should, and I knew it made them ill; how they were always Barnes was especially scoffing and odious with finding pretexts for getting near him! Oh! it him. Why, when he was a boy, he used to was odious.* sneer at papa openly before us younger ones. Wherever we went, however, it was easy Now Harriet admires every thing that Kew says, to see, I think I may say so without vanity, who and that makes her a great deal happier at being was the object of Lord Farintoshs attention. He with him. And then, added Mrs. Pendennis, followed us every where, and we could not go Ethel said, I hope you respect your husband, upon any visit in England or Scotland but he Laura: depend on it you will be happier if you was in the same house. Graudmammas whole do. Was not that a fine discovery of Ethels, heart was bent upon that marriage, and when Mr. Pen? he proposed for me I do not disown that I was Claras terror of Barnes frightened me very pleased and vain. when I staid in the house, Ethel went on. I It is in these last months that I have heard am sure I would not tremble before any man in about him more, and learned to know him bet- the world as she did. I saw early that she used terhim and myself too, Laura. Some one to deceive him, and tell him lies, Laura. I do some one you know, and whom I shall always not mean lies of words alone, but lies of looks love as a brotherreproached me in former and actions. Oh! I do not wonder at her fly- days for a worldliness about which you talk too lug from him. He was dreadful to be with: sometimes. But it is not worldly to give your- cruel, and selfish, and cold. He was made self up for your family, is it? One can not help worse by marrying a woman he did not love, as the rank in which one is born, and surely it is she was by that unfortunate union with him. but natural and proper to marry in itnot (here Suppose he had found a clever woman, who Miss Ethel laughed) not that Lord Farintosh could have controlled him, and amused him, and thinks me or any one of his rank. He is the whom he and his friends could have admired, Sultan, and weevery unmarried girl in soci- instead of poor Clara, who made his home wea- etyis his humblest slave. His Majestys opin- risome, and trembled when he entered it? Sup- ions upon this subject did not suit me, I can pose she could have married that unhappy man assure you: I have no notion of such pride! to whom she was attached early? I was fright- But I do not disguise from you, dearLaura, ened, Laura, to think how ill this worldly mar- that after accepting him, as I came to know him riage had prospered. better, and heard him, and heard of him, and My poor grandmother, whenever I spoke talked with him daily, and understood Lord upon such a subject, would break out into a Farintoshs character, I looked forward with thousand jibes and sarcasms, and point to many more and more doubt to the day when I was to of our friends who had made love-matches, and become his wife. I have not learned to respect were quarreling now as fiercely as though they him in these months that I have known him, had never loved each other. You remember and during which there has becn mourning in that dreadful case in France of the Duo de , our families. I will not talk to you about him; who murdered his duchess? That was a love- I have no right, have I? to hear him speak out match, and I can remember the sort of screech his heart, and tell it to any friend. He said he with which Lady Kew used to speak about it; liked me because I did not flatter him. Poor and of the journal which the poor duchess kept, Malcolm! they all do. What w~ s my accept- and in which she noted down all her husbands ance of him, Laura, but flattery? Yes, flattery, ill behavior. and servility to rank, and a desire to possess it. Hush, Laura! Do you remember where Would I have accepted plain Malcolm Roy? I we are? If the princess were to put down all sent away a better than him, Laura. Floracs culpabihities in an album, what a ledger These things have been brooding in my it would beas big as Dr. Portmans Chrysos- mind for some months past. I must have been tom ! But this was parenthetical, and after a but an ill companion for him, and indeed he smile, and a little respite, the young woman bore with my waywardness much more kindly proceeded in her narration of h~r friends his- * In order not to interrupt the narrative, let the reporter tory. be allowed here to state that at this point of Miss New- I was willing enough to listen, Ethel said, comes story, whieh my wife gave with a very pretty imi- then: for we are glad of an tation of the girls manner, we both burst out laughing so to graudmamma loud that little Madame do Moncontour put her head excuse to do what we like; and I liked admira- into the drawing.room, and asked what we was a-laugh- tion, and rank, and great wealth, Laura; and log at. THE NEWCOMES. 57 than I ever thought possible; and when, four days since, we came to this sad honse, where he was to have joined ns, and I fonnd only dismay and wretchedness, and these poor children de- prived of a mother, whom I pity, God help her! for she has been made so miserableand is now and must be to the end of her daysas I lay awake, thinking of my own futnre life, and that I was going to marry, as poor Clara had mar- ried, hut for an establishment and a position in life; I, my own mistress, and not obedient by natnre, or a slave to others, as that poor creature wasI thonght to myself, why shall I do this? Now Clara has left us, and is, as it were, dead to us who made her so unhappy, let me be the mother to her orphans. I love the little girl, and she has always loved me, and came crying to me that day when we arrived, and pnt her dear little arms round my neck, and said, You wont go away, will you, aunt Ethel ? in her sweet voice. And I will stay with her; and will try and learn myself, that I may teach her; and learn to be good toobetter than I have been. Will praying help me, Laura? I did. lam sure I was right, and that it is my duty to stay here.~ Laura was greatly moved as she told her friends confession; and when the next day at church the clergyman read the opening words of the service, I thought a peculiar radiance and happiness beamed from her bright face. Some subsequent occurrences in the history of this branch of the Newcome family I am en- abled to report from the testimony of the same informant who has just given us an account of her own feelings and life. Miss Ethel and my wife were now in daily communication, and my-dearesting each other with that female fervor which, cold men of the world as we are not only chary of warm expressions of friend- ship, but averse to entertaining warm feelings at allwe surely must admire in persons of the inferior sex, whose loves grow up and reach the skies in a night; who kiss, embrace, console, call each other by Christian names, in that sweet, kindly sisterhood of Misfortune and Com- passion who are always entering into partnership here in life. I say the world is full of Miss Nightingales; and we, sick and wounded in our private Scutaris, have countless nurse-tenders. I did not see my wife ministering to the afflict- ed family at Neweome Park; hut I can fancy her there among the women and children, her prudent counsel, her thousand gentle offices, her apt pity and cheerfulness, the love and truth glowing in her face, and inspiring her words, movements, demeanor. Mrs. Pendenniss bus- hand, for his part, did not attempt to console Sir Barnes Newcome iNewcome, Baronet. I never professed to have a halfpeunyworth of pity at that gentlemans command. Florac, who owed Barnes his principality and his present comforts in life, did make some futile efforts at condolence, but was received hy the Baronet with such fierceness, and evident ill-humor, that he did not care to repeat his visits, and allowed him to vent his curses and peevishness on his own immediate dependents. We used to ask Laura on her return to Rosebury from her char- ity visits to Newcome about the poor suffering master of the house. She faltered and stam- mered in describing him, and what she heard of him; she smiled, I grieve to say, for this un- fortunate lady can not help having a sense of humor; and we could not help laughing outright sometimes at the idea of that discomfited wretch, that overbearing creature, overborne in his turn which laughter Mrs. Laura used to chide as very naughty and unfeeling. When we went into Neweome the landlord of the Kings Arms looked knowing and quizzical: Tom Potts grinned at me and rubbed his hands. This business serves the paper better than Mr. War- ringtons articles, says Mr. Potts. We have sold no end of Independents; and if you polled the whole borough, I bet that five to one would say Sir Screwcome Screweome was served right. By the way, whats up about the Marquis of Farintosh, Mr. Pendennis? He arrived at the Arms last night; went over to the Park this morning, and is gone back to to by the after- noon train. What had happened between the Marquis of Farintosh and Miss Newcome I am enabled to know from the report of Miss Newcomes con- fidante. On the receipt of that letter of cong~ which has been mentioned in a former chapter, his lordship must have been very much excited, for he left town straightway by that evenings mail, and on the next morning, after a few hours of rest at his inn, was at Newcome lodge-gate demanding to see the Baronet. On that morning it chanced that Sir Barnes had left home with Mr. Speers, his legal ad- viser; and hereupon the Marquis asked to see Miss Newcome; nor could the lodge-keeper venture to exclude so distinguished a person from the park. His lordship drove up to the house, and his name was taken to Miss Et~J~el. She turned very pale when she heard it; and my wife divined at once who was her visitor. Lady Ann had not left her room as yet. Laura Pendennis remained in command of the little conclave of children, with whom the two ladies were sitting when Lord Farintosh arrived. Lit- tle Clara wanted to go with her aunt as she rose to leave the roomthe child could scarcely be got to p~rt from her now. At the end of an hour the carriage was seen driving away, and Ethel returned looking as pale as before, and red about the eyes. Miss Claras mutton chop for dinner coming in at the same time, the child was not so presently eager for her aunts company. Aunt Ethel cut up the mutton chop very neatly, and then having seen the child comfortably seated at her meal, went with her friend into a neighboring apartment (of course, with some pretext of showing Laura a picture, or a piece of china, or a new childs frock, or with some other hypo- critical pretense by which the ingenuous female attendants pretended to be utterly blinded), and there, I have no doubt, before beginning her 58 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. story, dearest Laura embraced dearest Ethel, and vice verse. He is gone ! at length gasps dearest Ethel. Pour toujours? poor young man ! sighs dear- est Laura. Was he very unhappy, Ethel ? He was more angry, Ethel answers. He had a right to be hurt, but not to speak as he did. He lost his temper quite at last, and broke out in the most frantic reproaches. He forgot all respect and even gentlemanlike be- havior. Do you know he used wordswords such as Barnes uses sometimes when he is angry! and dared this language to me! I was sorry till then, very sorry, and very much moved; but I know more than ever now, that I was right in refusing Lord Farintosh. Dearest Laura now pressed for an account of all that had happened, which may be briefly told as follows: Feeling very deeply upon the subject which brought him to Miss Newcome, it was no wonder that Lord Farintosh spoke at first in a way which moved her. He said he thought her letter to his mother was very rightly written under the circumstances, and thanked her for her generosity in offering to release him from his engagement. But the affairthe pain- ful circumstance of Highgate, and thatwhich had happened in the Newcome family, was no fault of Miss Newcomes, and Lord Farintosh could not think of holding her accountable. His friends had long urged him to marry, and it was by his mothers own wish that the engage- ment was formed, which he was determined to maintain. In his course through the world (of which he was getting very tired), he had never seen a woman, a lady who was soyou under- stand, Ethelwhom he admired so much, who was likely to make so good a wife for him as you are. You allude, he continued, to differences we have hadand we have had them hut many of them, I own, have been from my fault. I have been bred up in a way different to most young men. I can not help it if I have had temptations to which other men are not exposed; and have been placed byby Provi- dencein a high rank of life; I am sure if you share it with me you will adorn it, and be in every way worthy of it, and make me much better than I have been. If you knew what a night of agony I passed after my mother read that letter to meI know youd pity me, Ethel I know you would. The idea of losing you makes me wild. My mother was dreadfully alarmed when she saw the state I was in; so was the DoctorI assure you he was. And I had no rest at all, and no peace of mind, until I determined to come down to you; and say that I adored you, and you only; and that I would hold to my engagement in spite of every- thingand prove to you thatthat no man in the world could love you more sincerely than I do. Here the young gentleman was so over- come that he paused in his speech, and gave way to an emotion, for which, surely no man who has been in the same condition with Lord Farintosh will blame him. Miss Newcome was also much touched by this exhibition of natural feeling; and, I dare say, it was at this time that her eyes showed the first symptoms of that malady of which the traces were visible an hour after. You are very generous and kind to me, Lord Farintosh, she said. Your constancy honors me very much, and proves how good and loyal you are; butbut do not think hardly of me for saying that the more I have thought of what has happened hereof the wretched consequences of interested marriages; the long union growing each day so miserable, that at last it becomes intolerable, and is burst asunder, as in poor Claras case; the more I am resolved not to commit that first fatal step of entering into a marriage withoutwithout the degree of affection which people who take that vow ought to feel for one another. Affection! Can you doubt it? Gracious heavens, I adore you! Isnt my being here a proof that I do I cries the young ladys lover. But I ? answered the girl. I have asked my own heart that question before this. I have thought to myselfif be comes after allif his affection for me survives this disgrace of our family, as it has, and every one of us should he thankful to youought I not to show at least gratitude for so much kindness and honor, and devote myself to one who makes such sacrifices for me? But, before all things I owe you the truth, Lord Farintosh. I never could make you happy; I know I could not: nor obey you as you are accustomed to be obeyed; nor give you such a dsvotion as you have a right to expect from your wife. I thought I might once. I cant now! I know that I took you because von were rich, and had a great name; not because you were honest and attached to me, as you show yourself to be. I ask your pardon for the deceit I practiced on you. Look at Clara, poor child, and her misery! My pride, I know, would never have let me fall as far as she has done; but, oh! I am humiliated to think that I could have been made to say I would take the fiist step in that awful career. What career, in Gods name ? cries the as- tonished suitor. Humiliated, Ethel! Whos going to humiliate you? I suppose there is no woman in England who need be humiliated by becoming my wife. I should like to see the one that I cant pretend toor to royal blood if I like: its not better than mine. Humiliated, indeed! That is news. Ha! ha! You dont suppose that your pedigree, which I know all about, and the Newcome family, with your bar- ber-surgeon to Edward the Confessor, are equal to To yours? No. It is not very long that I have learned to disbelieve in that story al- together. I fancy it was an odd whim of my poor fathers, and that our family were quite poor people. I knew it, said Lord Farintosh. Do you suppose there was not plenty of women to tell it me? THE NEWCOMES. 59 It was not because we were poor that I was humiliated, Ethel went on. That can not be our fault, though some of us seem to think it is, as they hide the truth so. One of my uncles used to tell me that my grandfathers father was a laborer in Newcome: but I was a child then, and liked to believe the prettiest story best. As if it matters ! cries Lord Farintosh. As if it matters in your wife? aest-ce pas? I never thought that it would. I should have told you, as it was my duty to tell you all. It was not my ancestors you cared for; and it is you yourself that your wife must swear before heaven to love. Of course its me, answers the young man, not quite understanding the train of ideas in his companions mind. But if I found it was your birth, and your name, and your wealth that I coveted, and had nearly taken, ought I not to feel humiliated, and ask pardon of you and of God? Oh, what perjuries poor Clara was made to speakand see what has befallen her! We stood by and heard her without being shocked. We ap- plauded even. And to what shame and misery we brought her! Why did her parents and mine consign her to such ruin? She might have lived pure and happy but for us. With her example before menot her flight, poor child !I am not afraid of that happening to me but her long solitude, the misery of her wasted yearsmy brothers own wretchedness and faults aggravated a hundredfold by his unhappy union with herI must pause while it is yet time, and recall a promise which I know I should make you unhappy if I fnlfill~d. I ask your pardon that I deceived you, Lord Farintosh, and feel ashamed and humiliated for myself that I could have consented to do it. Do you mean, cried the young Marquis, that after my conduct to youafter my loving 60 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. you, so that even thisthis disgrace in your family dont prevent my going onafter my mother has heen down on her knees to me to hreak off, and I wouldntno, I wouldntafter all Whites sneering at me and laughing at me, and all my friends, friends of my family, who would go togo any where for me, advising me, and saying, Farintosh, what a fool you are; hreak off this matchand I wouldnt hack out, hecause I loved you so, hy Heaven! and hecause, as a man and a gentleman, when I ~ive my word I keep itdo you mean that you throw me over? Its a shameits a shame ! And again there were tears of rage and anguish in Farintoshs eyes. What I did was a shame, my lord, Ethel said, humhly; and again I ask your pardon for it. What I do now is only to tell you the truth, and to grieve with all my soul for the falsehoodyes, the falsehoodwhich I told you, and which has given your kind heart such cruel pain. Yes, it was a falsehood ! the poor lad cried out. You follow a fellow, and you make a fool of him, and you make him frantic in love with you, and then you fling him over! I won- der you can look me in the face after such an infernal treason. Youve done it to twenty fel- lows heforeI know you have. Every hody said so, and warned me. You draw them on, and get them to he in love, and then you fling them away. Am I to go hack to London, and he made the laughing-stock of the whole townI, who might marry any woman in Europe, and who am at the head of the nohility of En- gland ? Upon my word, if you will believe me after deceiving you once, Ethel interposed, still very humhly, I will never say that it was I who withdrew from you, and that it was not you who refused me. What has happened here fully authorizes you. Let the rupture of the engage- ment come from you, my lord. Indeed, indeed, I would spare you all the pain I can. I have done you wron0 enough already, Lord Farm- tosh. And now the Marquis hroke out with tears and imprecations, wild cries of anger, love, and disappointment, so fierce and incoherent that the lady to whom they were addressed did not repeat them to her confidante. Only she gen- erously charged Laura to rememher, if ever she heard the matter talked of in the world, that it was Lord Farintoshs family which hroke off the marriage; but that his lordship had acted most kindly and generously throughout the whole affair. He went hack to London in such a state of fury, and raved so wildly among his friends against the whole Newcome family, that many men knew what the case really was. But all women averred that that intriguing worldly Ethel Newcome, the apt pupil of her wicked old grandmother, had met with a deserved re- huff; that after doing every thing in her power to catch the great parti, Lord Farintosh, who had long been tired of her, flung her over, not liking the connection; and that she was living out of the world now at Newcome, under the pretense of taking care of that unfortunate Lady Claras children, hut really because she was pining away for Lord Farintosh, who, as we all know, married six months afterward. CHAPTER LX. IN waica WE WRITE TO THE COLONEL. DEEMING that her brother Barnes had cares enough of his own presently on hand, Ethel did not think fit to confide to him the particulars of her interview with Lord Farintosh; nor even was poor Lady Ann informed that she had lost a noble son-in-law. The news would come to both of them soon enough, Ethel thought; and indeed, before many hours were over, it reached Sir Barnes Newcome in a very abrupt and un- pleasant way. He had dismal occasion now to see his lawyers every day; and on the day after Lord Farintoshs abrupt visit and departure, Sir Barnes, going into Newcome upon his own un- fortunate affairs, was told by his attorney, Mr. Speers, how the Marquis of Farintosh had slept for a few hours at the Kings Arms, and returned to town the same evening by the train. We may add, that his lordship had occupied the very room in which Lord Highgate had pre- viously slept; and Mr. Taplow recommends the bed accordingly, and shows it with pride to this very day. Much disturbed by this intelligence, Sir Barnes was making his way to his cheerless home in the evening, when near his own gate he overtook another messenger. This was the railway porter, who daily brought telegraphic messages from his uncle And the bank in Lon- don. The message of that day was, Consols, so-and-so. French Rentes, so much. Th~jh- gates and Fariutashs accounts withdrawn. The wretched keeper of the lodge owned, with trem- bling, in reply to the curses and queries of his employer, that a gentleman calling himself the Marquis of Farintosh had gone up to the house the day before, and come away an hour after- warddid not like to speak to Sir Barnes when he came home, Sir Barnes looked so bad like. Now, of course, there could be no conceal- THE NEWCOMES. 61 ment from her brother, and Ethel and Barnes From such a hook I once cut out, in Charles had a conversation, in which the latter expressed Slyboots well-known and perfectly clear hand- himself with that freedom of language which writing, the words Miss Emily Hartington, characterized the head of the house of New- James Street, Buckingham Gate, London, and come. Madame de Moncontours pony-chaise produced as legibly on the blotting-paper as on was in waiting at the hall door when the owner the envelope which the postman delivered. of the house entered it, and my wife was just After showing the paper round to the compa- taking leave of Ethel and her little people when ny, I inclosed it in a note and sent it to Mr. Sir Barnes Newcome entered the ladys sitting- Slyboots, who married Miss Hartington three room. months afterward. In such a book at the club The livid scowl with which Barnes greeted I read, as plainly as you may read this page, a my wife surprised that lady, though it did not holograph page of the Right Honorable the Earl induce her to prolong her visit to her friend, of Bareacres, which informed the whole club As Laura took leave, she heard Sir Barnes of a painful and private circumstance, and said, screaming to the nurses to take those little My dear GreenI am truly sorry that I shall beggars away ; and she rightly conjectured that not be able to take up the bill for eight hundred some more unpleasantries had occurred to dis- and fifty-six pounds, which becomes due next turb this luckless gentlemans temper. Tu and upon such a book, going to On the morrow, dearest Ethels usual courier, write a note in Madame de Moncontours one of the boys from the lodge, trotted over on drawing-room at Hosebury, what should I find his donkey to dearest Laura at Hosebury with but proofs that my own wife was engaged in a one of those missives which were daily passing clandestine correspondence with a gentleman between the ladies. This letter said: residing abroad! Barnes ma fait une sc~ne terrible bier. I Colonel Newcome, C. B., Montague de la was obliged to tell him every thing about Lord Cour, Brussels, I read, in t12is young woman 5 F., and to use the plainest language. At first, he handwriting; and asked, turning round npon forbade you the house. He thinks that you Laura, who entered the room just as I discov- have been the cause of F.s dismissal, and ered her guilt, What have you been writing charged me, most unjustly, with a desire to bring to Colonel Newcome about, Miss ? back poor C. N. I replied as became me, and I wanted him to get me some lace, she told him fairly I would leave the house if odious said. znsulting charges were made against me, if my To lace some nightcaps for me, didnt you, friends were not received. He stormed, he my dear? He is such a fine judge of lace! If cried, he employed his usual lan~uagehe was I had known you had been writing, I would in a dreadful state. He relented, and asked have asked you to send him a message. I pardon. He goes to town to-night by the mail want something from Brussels. Is the letter train. Qf course you come as usual, dear, dear ahemgone ? (In this artful way, you see, I Laura. I am miserable without you; and you just hinted that I should like to see the letter.) know I can not leave poor mamma. Clarykin The letter isahemgone, says Laura. sends a thousand kisses to little Arty; and I am What do you want from Brussels, Pen ? his mothers always affectionateE. N. I want some Brussels sprouts, my love Will the gentlemen like to shoot our pheas- they are so fine in their native country. ants? Please ask the Prince to let Warren Shall I write to him to send the letter know when. I sent a brace to poor dear old back ? pulpitates poor little Laura; for she Mrs. Mason, and had such a nice letter from thought her husband was offended, by using her 1 the ironic method. And who is poor dear Mrs. Mason ? asks No, you dear little woman! You need not Mr. Pendennis, as yet but imperfectly acquaint- send for the letter back, and you need not tell ed with the history of the Newcomes. me what was in it: and I will bet you a bun- And Laura told meperhaps I had heard dred yards of lace to a cotton nightcapand before, and forgottenthat Mrs. Mason was an you know whether I, Madam, am a man a bon- old nurse and pensioner of the Colonels, and net-de-cotoaI will bet you that I know what how he had been to see her for the sake of old you have been writing about, under pretense times, and how she was a great favorite with of a message about lace, to our Colonel. Ethel; and Laura kissed her little son, and was I-Ic l)romised to send it me. He really did. exceedingly bright, cheerful, and hilarious that Lady Rockminster gave me twenty pounds evening, in spite of the affliction under which gasps Laura. her dear friends at Newcome were laboring. Under pretense of lace, you have been People in country houses should he exceed- sending over a love-message. You want to see ingly careful about their blotting-paper. They whether Clive is still of his old mind. You should bring their own portfolios with them. think the coast is now clear, and that dearest If any kind readers will bear this simple little Ethel may like him. You think Mrs. Mason hint in mind, how much mischief may they is growing very old and infirm, and the sight of save themselvesnay, enjoy possibly, by look- her dear boy would ing at the pages of the next portfolio in the Pen! Pen! did you open my letter. cries next friends bedroom in which they sleep. Laura; and a laugh which could afford to be VOL. XI.No. 61.B 62 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. good-humored (followed by yet another expres- sion of the lips) ended this colloquy. No; Mr. Pendeunis did not see the letter, but he knew the writer; flattered himself that he knew women in general. Where did you get your experience of them, Sir ? asks Mrs. Laura. Question answered in the same manner as the previous demand. Well, my dear, and why should not the poor boy be made happy ? Laura continues, standing very close up to her husband. It is evident to me that Ethel is fond of him. I would rather see her married to a good young man whom she loves, than the mistress of a thousand palaces and coronets. Supposesup- pose you had married Miss Amory, Sir, what a wretched worldly creature you would have been by this time; whereas now Now that I am the humble slave of a good woman, there is some chance for me, cries this model of husbands. And all good women are match-makers, as we know very well; and you have had this match in your heart ever since you saw the two young people together. Now, Madam, since I did not see your letter to the Colonelthong]? I have guessed part of itk tell me, what have you said in it? Have you by any chance told the Colonel that the Farintosh alliance was broken off? Laura owned that she had hinted as much. You have not ventured to say tL t Ethel is well inclined to Clive ? Oh nooh dear, no I But after much cross-examining, and a little blushing on Lau- ras part, she is brought to confess that she has asked the Colonel whether he will not come and see Mrs. Mason, who is pining to see him, and is growing very old. And I find out that she has been to see this Mrs. Mason; that she and Miss Newcome visited the old lady the day before yesterday; and Laura thought, from the manner in which Ethel looked at Clives pic- ture hanging up in the parlor of his fathers old friend, that she really was very much, etc., etc. So, the letter being gone, Mrs. Pendennis is most eager about the answer to it; and day after day examines the bag, and is provoked that it brings no letter bearing the Brussels post-mark. Madame de Moncontour seems perfectly well to know what Mrs. Laura has been doing and is hoping. What, no latems again to-day? Aint it 1)rovoking? she cries. She is in the conspiracy too, and presently Florac is one of the initiated. These women wish to 6dclcr a marriage between the belle Miss and le petit Claive, Florac announces to me. He pays the highest compliments to Miss Neweomes person as he speaks regarding the marriage. I con- tinue to adore your Anglaises, he is ]?)leased to say. ~ What of freshness, what of beauty, what roses! And then, they are so adorably good. Go, Pendennis, thou art a happy co~uia ! Mr. Pendennis does not say No. He has won the twenty thousand pound prize; and we know .there are worse than blanks in that lottery. No answer came to Mrs. Pendenniss letter to Colonel Newcome at Brussels, for the Col- onel was absent from that city, and at the time when Laura wrote was actually in London, whither affairs of his own had called him. A note from George Warrington acquainted me with this circumstance; he mentioned that he and the Colonel had dined together at Bayss on the day previous. This news put Laura in a sad perplexity. Should she write and tell him to get his letters from Brussels? She would in five minutes have found some other pretext for writing to Colonel Newcome, had not her husband sternly cautioned the young woman to leave the matter alone. The more readily perhaps because he had quarreled with his nephew Sir Barnes, Thomas Newcome went to visit his hrother Hobson and his sisterinlaw ; bent on showing that there was no division between him and this branch of his f mily. And you may 5U1)PO5C that the admirable woman just named had a fine occa- sion for her virtuous conversational powers in discoursing upon the painful event which had just happened to Sir Barnes. When we fall, ho~v our friends cry out for us! Mrs. Ilobsons homilies must have been awful. How that out- raged virtue must have groaned and lamented, gathered its children about its knees, wept over them and washed them; gone into sackcloth and ashes, and tied up the knocker; confabu- lated with its spiritual adviser; uttered com- monplaces to its husband; and bored the whole house! The 1)unishment of worldliness and vanity, the evil of marrying out of ones station, how these points must have been explained and enlarged on! Surely the Peerage was taken off the drawiab-room tal)lO and removed to papas study, where it could not open, as it used naturally once, to liighgate, Baron, or Farm- tosh, Marquis of, being shut behind wires, and closely jammed in on an upper shelf between Blackstones Commentaries and the Farmers Magazine! The breakin~ of the engagement with the Marquis of Farintosh was kno~vn in Brvanstone Square; and you may be sure in- terpreted by Mrs. Ilobson in the light the most disadvantageous to Ethel Neweome. A young noblemanwith grief and pain Ethels aunt must own the facta young man of notoriously CHAPTER LXI. IN wmacim WE ARE niTnonucED TO A NEW NEWOOME. THE NEWCOMES. 63 dissipated habits but of great wealth and rank, had been pursued by the unhappy Lady Kew Mrs. liobson would not say by her niece, that were too dreadfulhad been pursued, and fol- lowed, aud hunted down in the most notorious manner, and finally made to propose! Let Ethels conduct and penishment be a warning to my dearest girls, and let them bless Heaven that they have parents who are not worldly! After all the trouble and pains, Mrs. Hobson did not say disqrace, the Marquis takes the very first pretext to break off the match, and leaves the unfoi~unate girl forever! And now we have to tell of the hardest blow which fell upon poor Ethel, and this was that her good uncle Thomas Newcome believed the charges against her. He was willing enough to listen now to any thing which was said against that branch of the family. With such a traitor, double-dealer, dastard as Barnes at its head, what could the rest of the race be? When the Colonel offered to endow Etbel and Clive with every shilling he had in the world, had not Barnes, the arch-traitor, temporized and told him falsehoods, and hesitated about throwing him off until the Marquis had declared him- self? Yes. The girl he and poor Clive loved so was ruined by her artful relatives, was un- worthy of his affection and his boys, was to be banished, like her worthless brother, out of his regard forever. And the man she had chosen in preference to his Clive !a rou~, a libertine, whose extravagances and dissipations were the talk of every club, who had no wit, nor talents, not even constancy (for had he not taken the first opportunity to throw her off?) to recom- mend himonly a great title and a fortune wherewith to bribe her! For shame, for shame! Her eng%ement to this man was a blot npon herthe rupture only a just punishment and humiliation. Poor unhappy girl! let her take care of her wretched brothers abandoned chil- dren, give up the world, and amend her life. This was the sentence Thomas Newcome de- livered: a righteous and tender-hearted man, as we know, but judging in this case wrongly, and bearing much too hardly, as we who know her better must think, upon one who had her faults certainly, but whose errors were not all of her own making. Who set her on the path she walked in? It was her parents hands which led her, and her parents voices which commanded her to accept the temptation set before her. What did she know of the char- acter of the man selected to be her husband? Those who should have known better brought him to her, and vouched for him. Noble; Un- happy youn~ creature! are you the first of your sisterhood who has been hidden to traffic your beauty, to crush and slay your honest natural affections, to sell your truth and your life for rank and title? But the Judge who sees not the outward acts merely, but their causes, and vie~vs not the wrong alone, but the temptations, struggles, i~norance of erring creatures, we know has a different code to oursto ours, who fall upon the fallen, who fawn upon the prosperous so, who administer our praises and punishments so prematurely, who now strike so hard, and, anon, spare so shamelessly. Our stay with our hospitable friends at Rose- bury was perforce coming to a close, for indeed weeks after weeks had passed since we had been under their pleasant roof; and in spite of dearest Ethels remonstrances, it was clear that dearest Laura must take her farewell. In these last days, besides the visits which daily took place between one and other, the young mes- senger was put in ceaseless requisition, and his donkey must have been worn off his little legs with trotting to and fro between the two houses. Laura was quite anxious and hurt at not hear- ing from the Colonel: it was a shame that he did not have over his letters from Belgium and answer that one which she had honored him by writing. By some information, received who knows how? our host was aware of the intrigue which Mrs. Pendennis was carrying on; and his little wife almost as much interested in it as my own. Barnes meanwhile remained absent in London, attending to his banking duties there, and pursuing the dismal inquiries which ended, in the ensuing Micheelmas term, in the famous suit of Neweome v. Lord Highgate. Ethel, pur- suing the plan which she had laid down for her- self from the first, took entire charge of his chil- dren and house: Lady Ann returned to her own family: never indeed having been of much use in her sons dismal household. My wife talked to me, of course, about her pursuits and amuse- ments at Newcome, in the ancestral-hall which we have mentioned. ~e children played and ate their dinner (mine often partook of his in- fantine mutton, in company with little Clara and the poor young heir of Neweome) in the room which had been called my Ladys own, and in which her husband had locked her, forgetting that the conservatories were open, through which the hapless woman had fled. Next to this was the baronial library, a side of which was fitted with the gloomy books from Clapham, which old Mrs. Neweome had amass- ed; rows of tracts, and missionary magazines, and dingy quarto volumes of worldly travel and history which that lady had admitted into her collection. Almost on the last day of our stay at Rose- bury, the two young ladies bethought them of paying a visit to the neighborin~ town of New- come, to that old Mrs. Mason who has been mentioned in a foregoing page in some yet ear- lier chapter of our history. She was very old now, very faahful to the recollections of her own early time, and oblivious of yesterday. Thanks to Colonel Neweomes bounty, she had lived in comfort for many a long year past; and he was as much her boy now as in those early days of which we have given but an out- line. There were Clives pictures of himself and his father over her litt~e mantlepiece, near which she sat in comfort and warmth by the winter fire which his bounty supplied. 64 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. Mrs. Mason remembered Miss Newcome, We shall send you a wedding cake soon, and prompted thereto by the hints of her little maid, a new gown for Keziah (to whom remember who was much younger, and had a more faith- me), and when I am gone, my grandchildren ful memory than her mistress. Why Sarah after me will hear what a dear friend you were Mason would have forgotten the pheasants to your affectionate THoMAs NEWCOME. whose very tails decorated the chimney-glass, had not Keziah, the maid, reminded her that the young lady was the donor. Then she re- collected her henefactor, and asked after her father, the Baronet; and wondered, for her part, why her boy, the Colonel, was not made baronet, and why his brother had the property? Her father was a very good man; though Mrs. Mason had heard he was not much liked in those parts. Dead and gone, was he, poor man ? (This came in reply to a hint from Keziah, the attendant, bawled in the old ladys ears, who was very deaf.) Well, well, we must all go; and if we were all good, like the Colonel, what was the use of staying? I hope his wife will be good. I am sure such a good man deserves one, added Mrs. Mason. The ladies thought the old woman doting, led thereto hy the remark of Keziab, the maid, that Mrs. Mason have a lost her memory. And she asked who the other bonny lady was, and Ethel told her that Mrs. Pendennis was a friend of the Colonels and Clives. Oh, Clives friend! Well, she was a pretty lady, and he was a dear pretty boy. He drew those pictures; and he took off me in my cap, with my old cat and allmy poor old cat thats buried this ever so long ago. She has had a letter from the Colonel, Miss, cries out Keziab. Havent you had a letter from the Colonel, mum? It came only yesterday. And Keziah takes out the letter and shows it to the ladies. They read as fol- lows: London, February 12, 184. My DEAR OLD MAsONI have just heard from a friend of mine who has been staying in your neighborhood, that you are well and hap- py, and that you have been making inquiries after your young scapegrace, Tom Newcome, who is well and happy too. The letter which was uritten to me about you was sent to me in Belgium, at Brussels, where I have been livinga town near the place where the famous Battle qf Waterloo was fought; and as I had run away from Waterloo, it ~fol- lamed me to England. I can not come- to Newcome just now to shake my dear old friend and nurse by the hand. I have business in London; and there a.re those of my name living in Newcome who would not be very happy to sue me and mine. But I promise you a visit before very long, and Clive will come with me; and when we come I shall introduce a new friend to you, a very pretty little duughter-ia-law, whom you must promise to love very much. She is a Scotch lassie, niece of my oldest friend, James Binnie, Esquire, of the Bengal Civil Service, who will give her a pretty bit qf sillar, and her present name is Miss Rosa Mackenzie. Keziah must have thought that there was something between Clive and my wife, for when Laura had read the letter she laid it down on the table, and sitting down by it, and, hiding her face in her hands, burst into tears. Ethel looked steadily at the two pictures of Clive and his father. Then she put her hand on her friends shoulder. Come, my dear, she said, it is growinglate, and I must go back to my children. And she saluted Mrs. Mason and her maid in a very stately manner, and left them, leading my wife away, who was still ex- ceedingly overcome. We could not stay long at Rosebury after that. When Madame do Moncontour heard the news, the good lady cried too. Mrs. Pendenniss emo- tion was renewed as we passed the gates of New- come Park on our way to the railroad. THE SISTERS: A PARSONS STORY. A NARRATIVE OF FACTS. Q HE was gasping when I came in. Her sick- k) ness had been sudden and severe, and be-- fore we were prepared for the terrible event, we knew that death was at the door. The house in which Mrs. Bell had lived for twenty years, and was now dying, was an old- fashioned mansion on the hill overlooking the village and the bay, and a wide expanse of meadow fhat stretched away to the waters edge. On the side toward the sea was a long piazza, a favorite resort of the family in sum- mer, when the weather was pleasant. I was walking on it, and now and then looking off upon the world below, but with my thoughts more turned upon the scenes that were passing within. I had been sent for, a few hours before, and to my consternation and grief had found Mrs. Bell already given up by her physicians, and her life rapidly rushing to its close. her disease was inflammatory. Its progress had defied all human skill, and two days had brought her to this! It was hard to believe it. But why should I be so distressed with the result, when others were suffering anguish which even my sympathies could not reach to relieve? Ex- hausted with my vain but earnest efforts to soothe the heart-rending grief of those who clung to the dying, I had loft the chamber. Mrs. Bell was a member of my church. Mr. Bell was not. lie was reputed to be a man of means, and was known to be living easily, doing but little business, and apparently caring for nothing in the future. No one suspected that this indifference had resulted in the gradual wastin0 away of the property he had inherited;

The Sisters. A Parson's Story 64-75

64 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. Mrs. Mason remembered Miss Newcome, We shall send you a wedding cake soon, and prompted thereto by the hints of her little maid, a new gown for Keziah (to whom remember who was much younger, and had a more faith- me), and when I am gone, my grandchildren ful memory than her mistress. Why Sarah after me will hear what a dear friend you were Mason would have forgotten the pheasants to your affectionate THoMAs NEWCOME. whose very tails decorated the chimney-glass, had not Keziah, the maid, reminded her that the young lady was the donor. Then she re- collected her henefactor, and asked after her father, the Baronet; and wondered, for her part, why her boy, the Colonel, was not made baronet, and why his brother had the property? Her father was a very good man; though Mrs. Mason had heard he was not much liked in those parts. Dead and gone, was he, poor man ? (This came in reply to a hint from Keziah, the attendant, bawled in the old ladys ears, who was very deaf.) Well, well, we must all go; and if we were all good, like the Colonel, what was the use of staying? I hope his wife will be good. I am sure such a good man deserves one, added Mrs. Mason. The ladies thought the old woman doting, led thereto hy the remark of Keziab, the maid, that Mrs. Mason have a lost her memory. And she asked who the other bonny lady was, and Ethel told her that Mrs. Pendennis was a friend of the Colonels and Clives. Oh, Clives friend! Well, she was a pretty lady, and he was a dear pretty boy. He drew those pictures; and he took off me in my cap, with my old cat and allmy poor old cat thats buried this ever so long ago. She has had a letter from the Colonel, Miss, cries out Keziab. Havent you had a letter from the Colonel, mum? It came only yesterday. And Keziah takes out the letter and shows it to the ladies. They read as fol- lows: London, February 12, 184. My DEAR OLD MAsONI have just heard from a friend of mine who has been staying in your neighborhood, that you are well and hap- py, and that you have been making inquiries after your young scapegrace, Tom Newcome, who is well and happy too. The letter which was uritten to me about you was sent to me in Belgium, at Brussels, where I have been livinga town near the place where the famous Battle qf Waterloo was fought; and as I had run away from Waterloo, it ~fol- lamed me to England. I can not come- to Newcome just now to shake my dear old friend and nurse by the hand. I have business in London; and there a.re those of my name living in Newcome who would not be very happy to sue me and mine. But I promise you a visit before very long, and Clive will come with me; and when we come I shall introduce a new friend to you, a very pretty little duughter-ia-law, whom you must promise to love very much. She is a Scotch lassie, niece of my oldest friend, James Binnie, Esquire, of the Bengal Civil Service, who will give her a pretty bit qf sillar, and her present name is Miss Rosa Mackenzie. Keziah must have thought that there was something between Clive and my wife, for when Laura had read the letter she laid it down on the table, and sitting down by it, and, hiding her face in her hands, burst into tears. Ethel looked steadily at the two pictures of Clive and his father. Then she put her hand on her friends shoulder. Come, my dear, she said, it is growinglate, and I must go back to my children. And she saluted Mrs. Mason and her maid in a very stately manner, and left them, leading my wife away, who was still ex- ceedingly overcome. We could not stay long at Rosebury after that. When Madame do Moncontour heard the news, the good lady cried too. Mrs. Pendenniss emo- tion was renewed as we passed the gates of New- come Park on our way to the railroad. THE SISTERS: A PARSONS STORY. A NARRATIVE OF FACTS. Q HE was gasping when I came in. Her sick- k) ness had been sudden and severe, and be-- fore we were prepared for the terrible event, we knew that death was at the door. The house in which Mrs. Bell had lived for twenty years, and was now dying, was an old- fashioned mansion on the hill overlooking the village and the bay, and a wide expanse of meadow fhat stretched away to the waters edge. On the side toward the sea was a long piazza, a favorite resort of the family in sum- mer, when the weather was pleasant. I was walking on it, and now and then looking off upon the world below, but with my thoughts more turned upon the scenes that were passing within. I had been sent for, a few hours before, and to my consternation and grief had found Mrs. Bell already given up by her physicians, and her life rapidly rushing to its close. her disease was inflammatory. Its progress had defied all human skill, and two days had brought her to this! It was hard to believe it. But why should I be so distressed with the result, when others were suffering anguish which even my sympathies could not reach to relieve? Ex- hausted with my vain but earnest efforts to soothe the heart-rending grief of those who clung to the dying, I had loft the chamber. Mrs. Bell was a member of my church. Mr. Bell was not. lie was reputed to be a man of means, and was known to be living easily, doing but little business, and apparently caring for nothing in the future. No one suspected that this indifference had resulted in the gradual wastin0 away of the property he had inherited; THE SISTERS: A PARSONS STORY. 65 mortgages covering all the landed estates he was known to possess, till even the homestead was in danger. But the pride of my parish was in this family. Two daughters, with only the difference of a year in their ages, and now just coming up into wo- manhood, were the only children of Mr. and Mrs. Bell. Sarah was the oldest, and her blue eyes and yellow hair were like her mothers, and the younger, Mary, had inherited from her fa- ther a radiant black eye, and locks of the raven hue. They were sisters in heart, soul, and mind, though a stranger would not have taken them to be the children of the same mother. Such love as hound them was wonderful to me, who, as the pastor of the family, was often there, and knew them well. I had watched its growth for ten years, and frequently had remarked that it exceeded in tenderness and devotion any thing of the kind that had ever fallen under my no- tice. Mrs. Bell had a thousand-fold more op- portunities of putting it to the test, and of see- ing it tried in the daily and hourly intercourse of the family, and she had told me that she had never known a moment of failure in the season of childhood and of youth, when the temper is often tried, and children are called on to make sacri- fices for one another in little things, far great- er tests of love than the struggles of after-life. She had observed, and had mentioned to me, a mysterious sympathy between them even from very early years. Their minds were turned at one and the same moment toward the same sub- ject, when there appeared to be nothing sugges- tive of the train of thought engaging them both. A secret thread seemed to connect their souls, so that what was passing in ones mind was often at work in the others. Instead of pro- voking dissension, as such a coincidence would naturally produce, it was rather a bond of union, leading them to love the same pleas- ures, and to study and labor to promote each others joys. This was the more remarkable as their natural temperaments were unlike. The eldest was sanguine and cheerful, a sunbeam always shining in the house, glad and making gladthe brightest, happiest, gleefulest girl in my parish. Mary was sedate. Like her fa- ther, she was not inclined to action. Even in her childhood a tinge of melancholy gave a coloring to her life. She was fond of reading and retirement. When alone, her thoughts were her own. Her love for Sarah, and her filial love, made her faithful as a sister and a child; but there was a trai.t of character in which her sis- ter, with all their sympathy, did not share. It was requisite, this contrast, to make them two. There was individuality, notwithstanding the kin-tie of spirit binding them as one, in a deep, earnest, true-hearted love that knew no break or change. But I am dwelling on thes~ feat- ures of the children while the mother is dying. I was walking up and down the piazza, think- ing of the awful ~vork death was making in this house; of the wondrous love that bound mother and daughters, now to be no barrier in the way of this fell destroyer, half wishing I had the power to stay his arm, and drive him out of the paradise he was about to blast with his breath, when a servant summoned me to the chamber. She was gasping us I entered. The fever raging in her veins had suffused her cheeks with crimson: the rich hair, which, according to the custom of the timesfor this was many, many years agoshe had worn in a mass sus- tained by a comb on the back of her head, now hung in great ringlets on her shoulders, and the eye, sparkling with the last light of life, was fixed on her daughters kneeling at the bed- side, giving vent to their bitter grief in floods of tears, and sobs they strove in vain to sup- press. Yet she knew me. She raised her hand as I came in, and said to me as I approached, I know that my Redeemer liveth. Before I could find words, she added: My childrenthe poor girlsbe kind to thembe a friend to my dear husband. It was her last effort. While I had been out of the room she had taken leave of those dearest in life, and was now breathing away her spirit calmly, for she was not afraid to die, peacefully, for the pains of death were past. It was all over. The stricken daughters were borne from the room by kind friends. The husband, betraying less emotion than we thought he would show in the midst of such a scene, retired, and I was for a moment alone with the dead. Wondrous the change that an instant had wrought! Out on an unknown sea the soul had drifted, and left this wreck upon the shorea dissolving hulka heap of clay that would soon be loathsome to those who an hour ago were hanging over it with intensest love, covering it with kisses, and folding it in their arms. They call this awful work by the name of death! But this is not the last of Mrs. Bell, the lovely, livin~ Mrs. Bell. She is not dead. This is not the wife, the mother, the friend. She is not here. And as she is not here, we can do nothing more for her. A few days afterward we laid her in the grave. She was a great favorite among our people, and they were all present at her buri- aL The grief of the daughters was for the present inconsolable; it was kindness to let them weep freely, and have their own way in the first gush of their great sorrow. Perhaps time would do something for them. Religion would shed a soothing influence over their crushed and bleeding hearts, but now it was better to let the streams of affection flow along in these gushing tears, for there is a medicine in weeping that I the first remedy of grief. ir. Mr. Bell died in less than a year. He was seized with a fit of apoplexy, while sitting on the piazza after dinner, and died without a word. The daughters were not at home, but were sent for in all haste, and arrived just as I did, being called again to the house where so recently 66 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. I had seen the fairest and fondest of mothers expire. The body of Mr. Bell, dressed as he died, was lying on the same bed which I had last seen, when the corpse of his wife was there. It seemed but the day before. Not a change had been made. The same Bible lay on the same stand, near the bed, and I had heard that he read it oftener since the death of his wife. The same bureau with drawers and covered with a white cloth, a few choice books standing on it, was on the other side of the room, and a large easy-chair stuffed and clothed with dimity, and a few simple but very convenient articles completed the furniture of the apartment. But instead of the pale form of my gentle friend, Mrs. Bell, lovely even in death, there was lying on that white counterpane the large and now blackened corpse of her husband. The physi- cian, who had been early on the ground, had found him dead. The case was a plain one. Indeed he had been often warned of such an event, but his habitual fondness of putting thin~s off had led him to neglect all means of improving or preserving his health, and he had been cut down in the midst of his days. But the daughters. They are orphans now. They clung to me as to the friend on whom they might lean, and who would not forget the dying request of their sainted mother. They bad loved their father with all the earnestness of their nature, and all the more since the death of their mother had made him dependent on them for a thousand nameless acts and arts of kindness which he had ever received from his faithful wife. And the loneliness that now lay before them was so appalling that they feared to look into the future. They had no brother, no relative to whom they might turn. It was not strange that such thoughts pressed on them, even at the side of their dead father, and that ia the midst of their anguish under this sudden and overwhelming blow, they should every now and then cry out, What shall we do ? And who could answer the question? If it was a sad and fearful inquiry while as yet we believed that Mr. Bell had left behind him a large and handsome property, it was more distressing still, when a few weeks after his death it was discovered that he was hope- lessly involved in debt, and after the claims of his creditors were but partially satisfied, it would leave nothing, not a cent, not the homestead, not the house, not even the furniture to his daughters. He was a bankrupt, and had been for a long time past, but he had no energy to meet the calamity, and death came on him just as his affairs were reaching a crisis that put further concealment of the state of his affairs out of the question. Perhaps the coming dis- closure hastened the blow that killed him. l3ut the facts could no longer be hid even from those whom they must crush. Poor girls! In every sense that makes that word poor a term of pity, these girls were now poor indeed. Had it been possible for me in my circumstances to have assumed the burden, I would gladly have taken them to my own home, and made them sharers with my children in the weal or woe in store for us all. This I could not in justice do. But something must be done, and that with no delay. The estate was administered upon in a few weeks, and as there were no funds to meet the debts, the law took its course, and the orphans were homeless. Their education had been domestic. Mrs. Bell had been their teacher. They were well read girls, but not fitted to teach others. So that door was not open to them. Sarah par- ticularly, with a fine imagination and a de- cidedly poetical turn of mind, was familiar with the literature of her own language, which she was accustomed to read with her mother. Many of her letters are now in my possession, and they are clothed in language at once graceful and rich, and some of them are beautiful in style and thought. Mary had less taste for reading, yet she thought more and felt deeper than her sister. In the retirement of that home circle the mother and daughters, with an industry more common perhaps in those days than it is in the present, had made needle-work their chief employment, and it was natural that the girls should turn to that in which they were the most expert, as the means on which they must rely for their main support, now that they were thrown upon their own resources, or upon the charity of the world. They had too much self- reliance and too much confidence in God, to trust themselves to the kindness of friends who, in the impulse of sudden sympathy, might offer to do for them what would soon prove to be a task and a burden. No; they would meet the emergency with the energy of faith and hope, knowing that God helps those who help them- selves. They gave themselves scant time for mourning. They left the home of their infancy and childhoodthe third great sorrow of their lives. But now that father and mother were both gone, even the honeysuckle that climbed up the piazza, and the beds of flowers they had planted and tended with their own hands, and the fruit that hung in rich abundance in the garden, lost half their valuethey served rather to remind them of days when in happy youth they had enjoyed them all with the parents they had lost, and it was almost a relief to turn their backs upon the home they had loved, and seek a humble lodging in the village. III. For they are sewing-girls now. It was no- thing that they were young and pretty and well- bred. They must have food and raiment and shelter, and they could earn all by the labor of their hands. They were not the girls to shrink from the contest with pride and custom, and the thousand and one mortifications to which this new and trying life would lead. Sarah led and Mary followed. They had no words about it. Sarah proposed it, and Mary had been think- ing of the same plan. It was the only one before them. And it was not so hopeless as it might be. They had many friends. They would find THE SISTERS: A PARSONS STORY. 67 work, plenty of it. and it would be sweeter to live on the bread of honest industry than to ask the charity of any one, or to receive it without ask- ing. It was a noble resolution. They consulted me before coming to a decision, and I could not oppose their scheme, though I had no heart to counsel them to go on with it. The future would be so unlike the past. These sensitive naturesthese children as they were to me, who had known them so long as children only to be exposed to the rough-and-tumble of the life of orphans, was bad enough under almost any aspect of the case. But to be harassed by the daily vexatious, and wearied by the daily toils of the life of a seamstress, was more than I could think of without tears; nnd I admired the fortitude with which they addressed them- selves to the work they had assumed. Mrs. Benson was a friend indeed. She was of one of the most influential families in my flock, and had been the bosom friend of Mrs. Bell while she was yet with us. Mrs. Benson offered the girls a home, and when they de- clined her generous proposal, she insisted on their looking to her as to a mother in the future, whatever might be the issue of the new and un- tried experiment they were about to make. We shall, however, overrate the heroism of the girls if we measure it by the sacrifice of feeling which such a mode of life would require at the pres- ent time; In our rural village of a thousand inhabitants, the girls would not be the less es- teemed by any of the better sort of people for their new employment. On the contrary, the door of every house would be open to them, and every voice would be one of kindness to greet them when they came. I shall die, I know I shall, said Mary, as they were alone in the snug parlor of the old homestead for the last time. I feel it here as she laid her hand on her side, and pressed her beating heart. I can never leave it, and feel that it is to be no home of ours again. But, Mary dear, said her more hopeful sis- ter, we could not be at home if we staid here. It is all gloomy now, and wbat there is to love will be as much ours hereafter as it ever was. These walks will be here, and these trees and flowers, and we will often come and look on them; for whoever lives here will never deny us the privilege. And we are to do for ourselves now. It is too soon to be discouraged. God will help us, and that right early. Yes, Sister Sarah, I know all that, and more, but I am afraid. It is dreadful, this ga- in out into the world alone. It looks so dark. My head aches when I think of it. A great black cloud seems to he hanging over us; and sometimes I think I am growing blind, every thin~ is so dark before metell me now, truly, have you had no such fears ? But I will not give them room in my thoughts for a moment. They do come to me, as to you, and sometimes they frighten me, but I drive them away, and look to God for strength. Fearful thoughts never come from him. He is our father now, more than ever, and has promised that he will never leave nor forsake us. Mary was silenced, but not satisfied. Sarah could thus reason her into resignation, but it was still very dark and trying; and, to her de.~ sponding nature, there was something in store for them more terrible than they had yet ex- perienced. The presentiment was dim and might be idle, but it was deep-seated and ab- sorbing. She said it was in her heart, but it was in her brain. She often pressed her hand hard on her forehead, and then thrust her head into Sarahs bosom, not weeping, but asking her sister to hide her from the terrible fate that gathered about her, and threatened to blast them both in the morning of their grief. Iv-. What will George say ? had been a ques- tion often on Sarahs mind when coming to this decision that she must be a seamstress. George had never told her that he loved her, but he had been kind and attentive, and a thou~ sand nameless acts had given her the assurance that he was more to her than a friend. She was not insensible. Sarah would have loved him had he sought her love. Happily for her own peace, he had made no advances, and when he learned that she and her sister were not only orphans but poor, he discovered that he had no particular regard for either of them, and with no words, left them to their fate. Perhaps this blow to Sarahs hopes, for she had hopes, was necessary to complete the misery of her por- tion. A noble, faithful friend to stand by her in such an hour, would have been like life to the dead. There was no such stay for her now. And the two sisters, finding that few friends are born for adversity, prepared to go forth hand-in-hand, and trusting only in God, to do what they could for themselves. Mrs. Benson was always ready for them with plenty of work, when they had nothing to do. elsewhere. She made it for them, not that she had need of their aid, and so cheated them into the belief that they were indispensable for her comfort, while she was only ministering to theirs. V. Mrs. Flint was the housekeeper of Mrs. Ben- son. She had now held this situation for many years, never gaining the confidence of the lady whose domestic afihirs she had superintended with so much zeal and discretion, as to render herself indispensable to the house. But she was very far from securing the affections of any of its inmates. A married daughter of hers in the village was even less a favorite than she, in the family of Mrs. Benson. Perhaps the evi- dent partiality which Mrs. Benson had exhib- ited for the young ladies, who were now her protegfes, and her failure to interest Mrs. Ben- son in her daughter, may have been the occa- sion of a feeling of enmity which she had cher- ished toward these girls ever since they had be- come the occasional members of the family. Yet it is needless to speculate upon the causes 68 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. which led to the indulgence of such feelings. A bad heart affords the only explanation of the phenomenon; for such it certainly appears to any ~vho came to the knowledge of the fact that a woman could cherish ia her heart a desire to injure two unprotected orphans, whose helpless situation and exceeding innocence of character won for them the universal love and confidence of the community. Without stopping, there- fore, to speculate upon the causes of her enmi- ty, it is enough to say that she conceived and carried into execution a plan for the destruction of their character. She accused them to Mrs. Benson of having purloined many articles of clothing; and when the declaration was made, and was received by Mrs. Benson with indig- nant exclamations of incredulity, she demanded that the basket which they had brought with them should be searched, and expressed her willingness to abide by the result of the exam- ination. She declared that she had seen one of them coming from the wardrobe in the morn- ing, and under circumstances that left no doubt upon her own mind that she had been there for no proper purpose. More for the sake of convincing her house- keeper of the innocence of those whom she had so recklessly accused than with any idea of makin a discovery that should even awaken suspicion in her own mind, Mrs. Benson con- sented to the search; and while the girls were engaged upon their work below, Mrs. Benson and the housekeeper proceeded to the apart- ment which had heen occupied by the girls, where Mrs. Flint immediately produced from the bottom of the hasket the articles, of no great value, to be sure, but enough to fix upon them the guilt which Mrs. Flint had already imputed to them. Still Mrs. Benson was not satisfied. The confidence of years was not to be dashed, even by such a disclosure as this. But what could she say? Mrs. Flint, with vehemence, insisted upon calling up the girls, setting hefore them the evidence of their shame, and com- pelling them, with the proof before their own eyes, to confess their guilt. Bewildered by the painful circumstances for which she was utterly unable to account, and hoping that they would be able to make some explanation of the unpleasant facts, Mrs. Ben- son consented to summon them to the chamber, and to hear from their own lips such explana- tion as they might be able to offer. At her call, they came bounding into the room, with conscious innocence in their faces, and wonder- ing at the occasion of being summoned at such an hour to meet Mrs. Benson in their own room. She held up before them what would appear to be indisputable evidence that they had been seeking to rob their best friend; and with tremblin~ voice and tearful eyes, she begged them to tell her by what means these evidences of their wrong had thus been secreted. To her astonishment, they both received her inquiries and disclosures with a ringing laugh. This could mean only utter unconsciousness of evil, if it were not the evidence of a hardened de- pravity inconsistent with their previous history. When they came, however, to view the sub- ject in a more serious light, and to perceive the necessity of giving some account of the circum- stances in which they were involved, they could do nothing more than to declare their utter ignorance of the way and manner by which they had so suddenly come into possession; and looking at Mrs. Flint, whose eyes fell to the floor when they attempted to catch her at- tention, they united in the declaration that some evil-disposed person must have secreted the articles among their things for the purpose of fastening upon them the suspicion of theft. Mrs. Flint declared that no one excepting her- self and Mrs. Benson had been in the house, or had any access whatever to their apartments, and it was quite impossible to suppose that these things could be found there without hands; and if not without hands, whose could they have been, unless those of the young ladies in whose possession these things had been so Jn-ev- ideatially discovered? But how came they to be discovered ? de- mandeci the girls. This was a question for which Mrs. Flint was unprepared; but recovering herself, she said that, for some time pa~t, her suspicions had been excited by having missed various articles, which she had never mentioned tq Mrs. Ben- son, and which she was resolved not to mention until she should be able to account for their disappearance; that, accordingly, she had kept her eye upon the girls since they came into the house, and having noticed one of them this morning under circumstances that led her to suspect all was not right, she had taken the liberty, in their absence from the room, of ex- amining the apartment, and this was the result! Roused by a sense of the great injustice which had been done them, yet scarcely able to believe that so much malice could be in the human heart, unable to imagine a reason that could prompt any hdman being to devise and execute such a plan of mischief against them, they, nevertheless, in conscious innocence, united in charging upon Mrs. Flint, with courage which injured virtue always summons to its own de- fense, with having contrived this detestable scheme for their ruin; and throwing themselves upon the mercy and upon the neck of Mrs. Benson, they begged her, for the sake of their mother, now in heaven, for their own sakes helpless and friendless as they were in the worldnot to believe this terrible charge, of which they declared themselves to he as guilt- less as the spirit of her who bore them. Mrs. Benson believed them. With all the confidence of a mother, trusting in the purity of daughters whose every word and action she had known and loved from infancy, she took them to her heart, and assured them that, how- ever dark the circumstances might appear, how- ever difficult it might be to explain them, she would believe that God would yet make it plain, THE SISTERS: A PARSONS STORY. 69 and that whatever others might think, she for one would cherish no suspicion. This was a dark chapter in the history of the orphans. Hitherto misfortune had followed fast upon the heel of misfortune. The clouds had returned after the rain ; hut the sorrows which they had experienced had been such as left them in the enjoyment of that priceless treas- area character ahove reproach or suspicion. Now, the cloud that hung over them was darker than any which had ever yet obscured their path. For they hegan to feel how ~vain would he all their own efforts to stem the tide of ad- versity, unless they had not only the present consciousness of virtue, hut the sweet assurance of the respect and confidence to which it would entitle them. It was a cheerless circle that surrounded the table at Mrs. Bensons that evening; few words were spoken, hut every heart was full of its own reflections upon the events of the day, and their probable influence upon the parties interested. Mrs. Bensons mind was made up as to the course it was her duty to pursue, with reference to the woman, who, she had no doubt, was the evil ~,enius in her house, and to whose malignant jealousy of the orphans she was compelled to attribute this fiendish attempt at their ruin. Still, she desired so to manage the affair as to prevent any future mischief resulting to them from the tongue of Mrs. Flint, when she should dispense with her services in the house. In the retirement of their chamher the sisters wept together over this new sorrow; they sought strength from God, to whom alone they had learned to look for help in extremities; and, hour after hour, as they lay in each others arms, they sought to cheer one another with words that did not speak the feelings of their hearts; and it was not until long after midnight that disturbed sleep gave them a hrief and imperfect respite from the grief now thickening around and upon them. It was impossible to escape the apprehension that Mrs. Bensons confidence in their integrity had been shaken; and they could not but feel that, were she lost to them, all on earth was lost; and then, so often had they already been compelled to experience the failure of all earthly friendship, they would seek to persuade themselves that, even in the last and most trying circumstances to which they could be subjected, there was One ever ahove and near them, to whom they might flee for succor, and ~vhose promises, made to their mother in her dying hour, would never fail. A few days afterward Mrs. Flint took her departure from the house of Mrs. Benson to her married daughters dwelling, and made it her home for the future. It was not long hefore the sisters found that her tongue was husy; that she had correctly interpreted the reason of her dismissal; and now, snore than she ever had done, sought to work their destruction for the sake of revenge. Whatever might have been the deficiency of motive in her case, when she first meditated mischief, she had now abundant excitement in the fact that the failure of her scheme had wrought her own injury. Stung by the mortification of her own discharge, she sought to expend the violence and hitterness of her own feelings in circulating, with malicious expedition, in the community the story, which would serve at once the double purpose of in- juring the orphans, and accounting for her own retirement from the service of Mrs. Benson. The girls saw the effects hefore they beard the cause. Friends in whose doors they had heen welcomed now received them with coldness. Those who had sought their services now fell away, and they soon found themselves depend- ent most entirely upon their truly maternal friend, Mrs. Benson, who alone, of all the circle in which they had formerly been received, stood hy them. So wide-spread is the mischief which an evil report occasions! It was in vain that Mrs. Benson asserted her belief in the inno- cence of the sisters. The community took the side of her whom they believed to have been unjustly accused; and to have heen discharged when all the evidences of wrong were against the parties whom Mrs. Benson had sheltered with what they believed an over-weenin, con- fidence. VI. So strong became the prejudice against these unfortunate girls, that their employment gradu- ally fell oft until it became evident that they must he dependent upon Mrs. Benson for their daily bread, or must seek, in some other place, a more favorable opportunity of sustaining them- selves. Their friend and patron kindly assisted them in establishing themselves in a neighbor- ing village, where it was believed they might be able to pursue their work, and by degrees gain the confidence of the community. But with a vindictiveness rarely to be found in the female sex, and painful to be contemplated wher- ever observed, Mrs. Flint followed them to their new home, and soon spread, in the community where they were now seeking to establish for themselves a character, the report that they bad been compelled to leave their native village un- der suspicions of dishonesty. They struggled heroically against this new dispensation of evil, but in vain. A few weeks had scarcely elapsed hefore it became evident that they would be utterly unable to make progress in this new. field, and that the few friends whom they had made were not proof against the insidious ef- fects of slander, which was now undermining them. Indeed, so strong became the popular feeling of indignation against them, as suspicious and dangerous young women who bad come into the place, because they were unable to live in another where they were better known, that the house in which they lodged was surrounded by a mob, and demonstrations of violence were made! When they beard the alarm which came up from the street, and were told that they were the occasion of the disturbance, tremblinn lest they might be the victims of personal violence, their fright became insup 70 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. portable. Mary, the less excitable of the two, sat moody and speechless. They are coming ! at last she exclaimed; they are coming for ns. We shall be driven out; J)erhaps we shall be killed. What shall we do? Sarah, more excited, but always more hope- ful, strove to allay her alarm, beseeching her not to lose her trust in God, but tQ hope for the best. Through the help of the man whose house they were dwelling in, Sarah succeeded, after a while, in inducing the rioters in the street to re- tire, after having given them the assurance that they would on the next day return to the vil- lage from which they had come. But they had to be taken there. And it was a month before that could be done. The fear- ful presentiment of some greater sorrowthe great black cloudwas made realMary was laid upon a bed of suffering with a brain fever, and Sarah was, by turns, a gentle and then a raving maniac! God help the orphans! yIJ. A year in their native village passes by. They are now hopelessly deranged. Wan- dering in the streets, singing loose and ribald songsa source of intensest grief to all those who had known them in the loveliness of their childhood and youththey were objects also of the tenderest compassion; and had there been at this time any provision for the care and cure of the insane, doubtless they would have found a refnge in some such asylum. Human skill had not yet contrived such institutions, and the insane were only prevented from doing injuries to others by bela ~ con fined among the most miserable and degraded of the public poor. As the girls umuifested no disposition to do vio- lence to others, and were cheerful rather than gloomy in their madness, they were suffered to go at large; and many sought, by kindness, to win them back again to a state of quietness and peace. Often, when led by the hand of friendship into the house of those who would care for them, they were known to leap from the windows into the street, as if apprehensive of being confined. As yet, they were never, even in their worst state, insensible to the voice of love. My own house was freely opened to them as a home, where I sought, by all the assiduity which my affection for their parents could suggest, to ad- minister the balm of comfort, if I could not furnish the balm of healing, to their wounded minds. One instance occurs to me of peculiar inter- est. They were invited, as not unfrequently they had been before, to spend a social evening with some of the young people of the village; and in the midst of the lively associations of the evening, their spirits seemed to revive. Something of their former gentleness and love- liness began to return. Yet now, so far had the work of ruin gone on in the minds of these young girls, that they not only had forgotten many of their early friends and associates, but, strange to say, they had forgotten the relation- ship between themselves. They knew each other only as companions. At the close of the evening, they were invited to spend the night at the house where the entertainment had been given; and after retiring to bed, and lying in each others arms, soothed by the pleasures which they had been enjoying, and the circum- stances of comfort by which they found them- selves surrounded, a calm serenity of mind stole over them, fond memory came back with all its sweet influences, and gradually the truth broke in upon their souls that they were sisters! In mutual recognition, and in the fullness of that affection, which had been uninterrupted from infancy, they spent the most of the night in de- lightful union of spirit, forgetfnl, of course, of all that had occurred in the hours and months of their delirium; yet remembering that some great sorrow had once shed its gloom over their minds, and that they were now in the midst of friends and l)leasmes, which it was their privi- lege to enjoy. They rose in the morning re- freshed by a night, not of sleep, but of sweet peace. Alas! it was but for a night! Before the day was gone, the cloud gathered over them once more; delirium seized them; they rushed forth from the house of their protector and friend, and again in the streets of the village, renewed their wild mirth, piercing the ears and the hearts of those who heard them. VIII. It was now late in the summer. Mrs. Flint had been for some weeks confined to her bed with a wasting fever. I was sent for to see her, and was out in the country visiting a parishioner some miles from my home. I had seen her several times during her sickness, and was well convinced that her disease would have a fatal termination. As soon as I returned home and learned that I had been sent for, I hastened to the cottage; as I entered, a scene of strange and thrilling interest was before my eyes. The woman was dying; kneeling at her bedside were these t~vo wild girls. I soon learned the facts that had brought them there under such strange and exciting circumstances. rhey bad been wandering, as usual, through the streets; and when the sound of their mirth broke in upon the hearing of the dying woman, she inquired what it was. Being told that Sarah and Mary Bell were carmying on as they were accustomed to, she started at the mention of their names, and begged that they might be called in. They came at the call, and without hesitation a1)proached the bed on which their enemy and destroyer was now stretched, in hourly expectation of death. I DID IT ! said Mrs. Flint~, it is all my work; and here, as I ama now about to leave this world and go into the presence of God, I would not go without clearing these girls of that great sin which I laid to their charge, but which God knows they are as innocent of as the angels in his presence. I did it, I DID IT~ it was all my work. THE SISTERS: A PARSONS STORY. 71 The girls were evidently affected deeply by the sight before them, and the tones of her voice; and as she repeated again and again her asseverations of their innocence and her own guilt, they began to comprehend the nature of the scene that was transpiring. It pleased God to give them just at this hour, and doubtless through the influence of the communication which they were receiving, at least a temporary deliverance from the darkness and delirium in which they had so long been lost. He restored peace and a measure of strength to their minds, enabling them to receive and to understand the blessed truth, that evidence was coming, thougl~ from the verne of the grave, to deliver them from the wrongs they had suffered. They took her extended hands in their own; they knelt upon the floor by her side; they assured her, even in their wretchedness and their ruin, that they would forgive her; and they prayed Heav- en to grant her forgiveness ere her soul should take its departure. It was at this juncture that I entered the room. The moment Mrs. Flint caught my eye she renewed her protestations of the innocence of the girls, told me how for years she had car- ried the pangs of remorse in her own breast how often she had desired to do them justice, and to seek peace for her own conscience; but her selfishness and her pride had always over- come her better resolutions, and she had wit- nessed, month after month, the dreadful fruits of her sin, and feared continually that the judg- ments of God would overtake her. Here, on her sick bed, and in view of death, when no other considerations than those which attended preparation for the grand event which was just before her were allowed to have any power upon her mind, she had been driven to this last and dying confession, which, while it would relieve her own mind of the burden under which she was sinking, would restore to those unhappy girls the priceless treasure of a char- acter which they had lost; thoug~h she be- lieved, as I did, that it was too late to hope that the restoration of their character would bring them back the treasure of reason, which there was too much reason to fear was irre- trievably lost. What could I add to this revelation, than which nothing could be more solemn or affect- ing? Here were all the accessaries of a sub- lime, yet painful drama. The dying woman, with her sharp, haggard features, her piercing, agonized eyes, looking now at the girls, and now upward as if she would look into the other world, striving to read the destiny upon which she was about to enter, now turning to me ~vith imploring glance, and asking me to direct her, even in her extremity, to some way by which she might find forgiveness and peace, now seek- ing to reassure the helpless daughters of sorrow yet kneeling before her, that God would be their father and their portion, saying that she could die with contentment if she could have some reason to believe that her death would be the means of giving back to them the life which they had lost. In vain was it for me to offer a word of con- solation. Indeed, there was none to he spoken. I directed her, as I would any lost sinner in the hour of calamity, to the only refuge, and be- sought her to seek in the Saviour the only source of peace. When the girls arose from their knees, and were about to leave the house, she besought them to remain, and even required from them a promise that they would not leave her while she lived. With gentle kindness they began to per- form the part of nurses around the sick-bed, and, with unaccustomed ministries, they soothed her sufferings, and gradually seemed to bring her to the enjoyment of something like peace of mind. But this was temporary. Soon the paroxysms of anguish came back with redoubled force; and in words too strong to be repeated, and such only as dying pains extort from consciences ill at ease anticipating greater anguish near at hand; fearful of the present, and more fearful still of that which is to come, she cried again and again, It was I that did it; it was I that did it; it was all my work. And so she died. Ix. I took the girls home with me, and emhraced this present lucid interval to make a grand ex- periment, in the faint hope of securing their permanent restoration. Nothing had occurred since their derangement which afforded so good ground to believe that there might be a basis laid for a permanent cure. They could be as- sured that all suspicions formerly resting upon their character were now removed, and they would enjoy the universal confidence and love of those who had been their friends, and their mothers friends, in the day of their prosperity and joy. I told them that my house was to be their home; I gave them their chamber; I gave them such light work as would occupy their minds, and in the cultivation of flowers in the garden, in the pursuit of such studies as they were always fond of and in the society of kind and genial friends, I sought to surround them with those pleasant influenceswhich would cheer and console, and gently aid in their perfect re- covery. Among the many friends who were in the habit of visiting at my house, from the city of New York, was a merchant of large means and extensive business. His wife had died a year after their marriage, and he had led a single life for five or six years. It was not among the remotest of my suspicions that he should think of finding a second wife in my house, and in one of these unfortunate yet lovely young ladies. But there is no accounting for tastes or sym- pathies. Mr. Whitfield was a man long accus- tomed to think for himself, and not given to askin the opinions of others till after his own mind was made up. Then it was too late to shake his resolution, whatever the force of the motives urged against it. He knew the story of 72 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. the Bells, and that story had first awakened his sympathy, his pity, and prepared the way for love. V~ hen he broached the subject to me, I begged him to dismiss it at once and forever from his mind. But he respectfully declined, telling me he had counted the cost, and was pre- pared for the risks. Although there had been great improvement in the health and appearance of both Sarah and Mary since the death of Mrs. Flint, they were still liable to returns of the fearful malady; and Mr. Whitfield had his resolution put to the se- verest test, as soon as ho ventured upon the experiment of making known his intentions to Sarah, the object of his choice. He had in- vited her to ride with him. They drove out of the village, passing the door of the house in which Mrs. Flint had died. Sarah had never en- tered it since that terrible hour when she and her poor sister closed the eyes of the wretched woman. The memories of that scene, and of all they had passed through in the years of their former struggles and trials, came rushing upon her mind, and she began to talk wildly, and then madly; and soon she became frantic, and strove to leap from the carriage, and would have done so but for the main force of her friend and companion, who trembled at the brink on which he was standing. Still he was not disheartened. He hastened back with his charge to my house, and told me of the excitement into which Sarah had been thrown, and the danger from which she had been rescued. He was deeply affected. He was in trouble. And yet, said he, in spite of all this, I believe that if she were once more in a home of her own, and surrounded with the duties and pleasures of the household, her mind would become settled, and she would be restored to the enjoyment of health and reason. I assured him that, next to my own children, I desired their happiness before all others, hut I could not advise him to take a step which might make him miserable, without adding to the en- joyment of her, who could not be a wife such as he desired, unless God should give her hack the permanent possession of her once cultivated, and now disordered mind. He returned in a week or two, with his pur- pose unchanged. He asked Sarah again to ride with him; and this time she seemed to enjoy the world around her, and to enter into the spirit of nature as its beauties met her eyes. The birds were happy, and she spoke of their gladness as she saw and heard them. The fields seemed to clap their hands. Sarah was joyful in the midst of a world of joy. They rode to Passaic Falls, at Patterson, in the State of New Jersey. The deep roar of the waters as they approached, ~as a solemn music that subdued and stilled her soul. They walked out upon the wide flat rocks through which the river makes its broken plunge, and instead of being terrified she gloried in the excitement of the scene. She spoke of the spray as a cloud of incense rising from these eternal altars, and ever praising Him who sits in the heavens, and listens to the music of all his works. They came to the edge of the precipice, and Mr. Whitfield pointed out to her the very spot where, a few months previously, a bride had fallen from the side of her husband, and had been dashed to pieces on the rocks be- low. She looked down with steady nerves, and said that it was a fearful fall, and more fearful to him who remained when his bride was gone! He led her cautiously, and by a winding path to the bottom of the ravine, whence they could look up to the brow of the black jagged rocks, from which the white waters were tumbling through the green fringes of stunted trees and bushes that clung to the sides of the clefts. And here, in the roar of the fall, as she was rejoicing in the wonderful beauty of the scenes around her, he began his declaration. You are not serious, surely, she cried, in mingled fear and surprise, as he intimated that he desired her love, and would be only too happy to give her his fortune and his hand. You do not know my story, or you could not dream of such a proposal. I know it all; it was that story which first led me to think of devoting my life to yours; and if you will cast in your lot with me, you shall find that I will be parent, brother, hus- band, all in one. It is altogether out of the question, she returned. I do not love you; I do not know that I could love. This thought of love is one that I have not known since those happy days before the clouds came. You did not know that lever loved? Yes, I have heard that one all unworthy of you once sought you, and that he fled when the day of your adversity came. I would come to you in the midst of your sorrow, and win you to a home of peace and joy. I have the means of surrounding you with all that you can desire, and my life shall be spent in making yours as happy as you ever dreamed of being. But ybn have not counted the cost; you know not what you are proposing; I am a poor, weak thing; and I have even been told that my sister and I are sometimes deranged. I do not know what it is, or why it is, but I have strange, dreadful thoughts sometimes; and these have been more frequent and more terrible since the time when Mary and I were accused of a crime of which we were altogether innocent. You will not be so rash as to think of taking such a wild, thoughtless woman as I am to your home, even if I could assure you that the affection you promise could be returned in all its sincerity and strength. Still he pressed his suit. In the honesty of his heart he felt he had now committed him- seW and even if he had been staggered in his purpose by the serious objections she had so rationally raised, and urged with so much earn- estness, he was hound to go forward. And never did the girl appear to him more lovely than when, with such delicate appreciation of his motives, and tempted as she must be by his THE SISTERS: A PARSONS STORY. 73 proposals, she still resisted his appeals, and left him an open door to retreat. He renewed his entreaties. But there is my sister Mary, who was with me in our childhood, the companion of all my sorrowsI will never, never leave her. And you shall not leave her. She will go with us to our own home, and he my sister as well as yours. Instead of losing a sister, she will find a brother. Sarah was deeply affected. It seemed to her that God was in this thing, and that the dark clouds which had so long hung over her were now clearing away, and a new light was break- ing upon her path. Yet she could not yield to the offers so pressed upon her till she had con- sulted her friends, and she finally promised to he governed by my advice iu the matter. She was calm and cheerful as they came home to- gether that evening. I should not have sus- pected that any thing unusual had passed be- tween them. But after the sisters had retired for the night, and I was left alone with Mr. Whitfield, lie told me of the events of the day, and begged me to aid him in procuring Sarahs consent to their union. He knew well that I had already advised him against the proposal; but now he was more than ever infatuated with the conviction, that the restoration of the sisters to the calm pleasures of a house they might call their own, would he the means of getting them health and pence. To all prudential con- siderations he turned a deaf ear; and I was obliged to tell him that it was impossible for me to object, if he was willing to take the re- sponsibility upon himself. With a new and admiring sense of the ways of Divine Providence, I looked upon the change that was about to take place in the situation of these poor sisters, and said to myself seriously, as I thought over the ways by which they had been led, is there, indeed, any thing too hard for the Lord? Who would have believed that such a door of deliverance from poverty and suffering would he opened? Who would have thought that one of these orphans, a few months ago, wandering in the streets, and raving in the wildness of delirium, would now he songht after by a man of character and wealth, laying his fortune at her feet, and offering to share his house with her sister, so that both should be equally the recipients of blessings which Heaven is so kindly bestowing? Here was the promise of God most strikingly fulfilled: Leave thy fatherless children, I will keep them alive ; When my father and my mother forsake me, then the Lord ~viil take me up. There had been many long and painful years, when it might be feared that these promises had been forgotten. So deep had been the extremity of their destitution, and so hopeless their condi- tion, I had looked forward to their death as the first release they could have from sorrow. Such a termination was far more probable than that one of them should win the love of a noble- hearted man who would take her to hixnself and surround her with the sweets of social and domestic life. But if all this is, indeed, in store for these orphan sisters, far be it from me to say a word, except to pray God to bless them both, and give them a respite from the miseries which have so long been their portion. During the interval of three months that followed this eventful day, there was a daily and marked improvement in time sisters. The vivacity of childhood, without the levity of their wandering years, returned; they were them- selves again. And when Sarah at length gave her consent, and stood up before me to he joined in marriage to the man who had thus nobly called her to be his own, I said to him, I give you Sarah to he your wife, and Mary to be your sister. And he replied, I will be faithful to both until death shall separate us. If any part of this narrative has had the appearance of romance, much more like it is that which is now to be recorded. But if I have not already given the assurance, it may be well to say here, that I am following out the events of real life, and there are many now living who will read and attest, if needful, the truth of these strange facts. Among the guests at the marriage of Sarah was a younger brother of her husband, his partner in business, and with the same bright prospects. He stood up by the side of his brother, and Sarah was supported by her sister. In less than a month from that time the order was changed, and the younger Whitfield and Mary stood side by side, and plighted their vows in the presence of God, and surrounded by a glad and admiring circle of friends, who could not conceal their grateful recognition of a merciful providence in the marriage of these two sisters under circumstances of such extraor- dinary interest. A short time afterward I saw them settled in their new homes. They lived in adjoining houses in one of the pleasantest streets of the city, then quite down town, where now the march of business has driven out the old set- tlers, desecrated the firesides hallowed by a thousand sacred associations, and converted the sanctuary of love into temples of Mammon. x. And here I would be willing to close this record, and leave my young friends in the bliss with which at length their lives are crowned. It is wonderful, Sarah said to me as I called to see her in her beautiful mansion. It is wonderful! Row strangely God has led us, and now we are as happy as we have ever been miserable in the years that are past! Do you believe that my dear mother knows what we have passed through, and what we are en- joying now? I told her I had often indulged the idea that the spirits of the departed were conversant with our spiritsthat they are indeed ministering spirits to those whom they loved while in the flesh, and it was not impossible that her mother had followed her in all her eventful and mys 74 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. t.erious history. Even now she may be near and rejoicing that peace and joy had at last visited the hearts of her daughters, and out of great tribulation they were already brought to happiness they had never dreamed of. It was a short year after Marys marriage when the birth of a child promised to fill the cup of her thanksgiving. Others rejoiced, and vet she did not seem to be happy in the pros- pect, nor when it was laid in her arms, did she give it more than a melancholy smile of satis- faction. Instead of fondling it with the yearn- ing tenderness of a young mother, she looked on it calmly, but with a fixedness of interest, that was snore full of anxiety than affection. Days and weeks went by and this moodiness increased. She was able now to sit up, and when the infant was lying on her knees or in the cradle hy her side, she would sit by the hour and watch it steadily, without a word, but often sighing as if some great sorrow was in the future of her childs history, into which she was lookin~. Slowly but steadily and in the lapse of weeks and months, she sank into melancholy gloom. No art of medicine, no kind devotion of a faithful husband, no swect ministries of a large and loving circle of friends could raise her up, or dispel the cloud that gathered over her spirit. The child was removed from her sight, hut it was all the same to her. She never asked for it, seemed never to think of it unless it was in her sight. Foreign travel was proposed, and Mr. Whitfield earnestly strove to prevail on her to go xvith him abroad. But to all such invita- tions she was indifferent. She must have been carried by force, or she would never have been taken from the room where in profound reverie she sat, day after day, without interest in the world around her, or even in those nearest to her fireside. Sarah was not careless for her sisters state, hut alas, by that strange fatality which had hitherto followed them both, making them one in suffering as they were also one in the few joys that were theirs in life, she too, began to shoxv signs of returning madness! What was the secret principle thus linking their destinies? In childhood they had been as one in love and innocence. In youth they had been crushed, together and by the same blow. In womanhood they had hoth found loving hearts, fraternal hearts, that gave them a shelter, a home, and all the sympathies of a noble conjugal affection. And now when the great struggle of life was past, and they were in the midst of joys that even in the dreams of childhood they had never thought of, the darkness is coming on again, and other hearts besides their own are to he shrouded in the approaching gloom. Marxs child died in its first year. Mary did not shed a tear. It was no more to her than the child of a stran ncr. She xvas now silent and sullen. She never complained, but it xvas gradually apparent that disease was making, pro~re5s. She took to her bed, and a slow fever wore out her life. She died three months after her child, and less than two years after her marriage. Sarahs malady had a widely different de- velopment. Naturally more excitable than her sister, she had in former days heen more wild and gay in the seasons of their derangement. Now she was wilder than ever. She became uncontrollable by the friends who surrounded her. There was no asylum into which she could be placed; the insane at that time were confined only among paupers or criminals, or in hospitals under circumstances the most un- favorable to their recovery. Her faithful hus- band, as tender in his affections and devoted as xvhen be first won her, sought to restrain her hy gentle assiduity, striving to conceal from others, when he could no longer hide frem his own mind, the terrible fact that she was mad. But her madness wore a humorous rather than a mischievous type for some months. She would enter the parlor while he was on his knees conducting the devotions of the house- hold, and leap on his back as if in the exuber- ance of childish spirits, and frolic there, laugh- ing while his heart was breaking. They put a strait-waistcoat upon her, but she would con- trive to get it off and throxv it through the xvindow, and threaten to leap out herself if it was ever put on her again. The Hospital in Broadway at the head of Pearl Street was then nexv, and after long hesi- tation, and acting under the advice of the best physicians, Mr. Whitfield xvas at last prevailed upon to consent to her removal there. He ob- tained the most desirable apartment on the southeast corner, in one of the upper stories; and having furnished it with every appliance for her safety and comfort, he consigned her to the care of the medical men in that institution when it xvas no longer possible for him to keep her in any comfort at home. But he could not rest in his own mansion while the wife of his bosom, whom he so tenderly loved, was in a public hospital, alone and crazed. Night after night be walked the street in front of the build- ing in which she was confined, looking up at the window in her narroxv chamber, sometimes fancying that he saw her struggling to force her way through, and expecting to see her Ilunging headlong from that fearful height. By degrees her strength gave way; and when she was no longer able to be violent in her paroxysms of madness, he had the melancholy satisfaction of again taking her to his own house. Directly over his own bedehamber he had an apartment prepared for her, and thither she xvas conveyed, and watched by suitable attendants. When by the silence of her chamber he knew that she was asleep, he would often steal up from his own room, and sitting down in a large easy chair near the bed, he would look upon the wreck of his lovely bride, weeping over the change, and praying that even now, in her hopeless and helpless state, the power of God might be revealed for relief and restoration. The first sweet years of their union would then THE TREE OF LIFE. 75 cease to his memory, when something whispered to him of his rashness in linking to himself one whose mind was shattered, whatever might be her virtues and her charms; and he thanked God that it had been his privilege, even for that brief period, to make her a home, and fill her heart with peace and joy. One night he was sitting there, and musing, perhaps somewhat encouraged by having been told that through the day she had been calmer, and at intervals apparently rational. Now she was sleeping, more sweetly than he had known her in many months. And as he leaned his head back in the chair, wearied with long and anxious waking, he fell asleep. When he awoke, his wife was sitting on his knees; her arms were around his neck. She pressed her lips to his, and said to him, My dear, dear husband. It was the first recognition of many long and awful months. He pressed her warm- ly, convulsively to his heart. Sing to me, she said; sing to me one of those Sabbath evening songs. I can not sing, dearest, he replied; it is enonab that you are mine again, and here, here on my breast, dearest, sweetest wife. Her head fell on his shoulder, and he poured into her ear the glowing words of his love. Oh, these months of wretchedness, when you could not know that I loved you, and longed to bless you, dearest, as I will, if God will spare you, as he has restored you to my arms. Kiss me again, sweet wife. She did not speak. Kiss me, love. Her head still rested on his shoulder. He raised her up to press his lips to hers. She was dead! THE TREE OF LIFE. THERE lived, in the times of King James, a wondrously open-hearted nobleman in Old England. He belonged to the ancient family of the Montgomerys, and was horn to wealth, rank, and high honor. But a sad and melancholy fate befell him. By an accident the ribs of his left side were crushed, and he was laid for months upon the bed of sickness. Physicians, it is true, saved his life, but, strange enough, a large open- ing remained in his breast, which the unfortu- nate man had to cover with a plate of silver. It so happened that there livcd at the same court a man of Isigh renown nnd anxious research, who heard of the noblemans strange adventure. He met him, laid his finger upon his wrist, so as to feel the heating of his pulse, and then, through the aperture in his chest, he watched the vibra- tions of his heart. They kept time! They were one and the same! He had found the great secret for which his heart had yearned, and which Isis mind had longed to discover. From that day Harvey proclaimed it aloud to the world, that the blood of man passed, in never-ceasing currents, through every nook and every corner of his marvelous body; and, setting us a noble example, he exclaimed with deep Antiquity had already suspected that the blood circulated from Ilace to place, butas in religion so in sciencethis also was ascribed to chance rather than to design. Some thought that it rose and fell, like the sap in plants, only when a necessity for warmth or food arose; others fancied that it might be made to come and go at will, as the bashful blush may be con- jured up into the glowing cheek, or fierce pas- sions swell the dark vein on proud mens brow. They even knew the difference between arte- ries and veins, but they imagined the former to be filled with air onlyhence their namebe- cause after death they found them empty, while the veins were swelled with the generous fluid of life. Even that exquisite provision of nature, the thousand delicate valves which regulate the flow of the blood to and from the heart, had become known to the learned of Italy and France. Yet with all this previous knowledge, and with the thoughtful boldness of a pioneer in unknown regions, even Harvey had only sus- pected that the bloods course might be a com- plete circle, unbroken within, and steadily pur- suing its truly wondrous race from cradle to coffin. His triumph was mainly one of inductive reasoning. As, in our day, the mathematician fixed a place and a time for a new planet, long before the eye of man could see it and his mind presume its existence, so harvey also first determined the principle that the blood must flow both from and to the heart, and then found evidence and abundant proof in the living body. But we would err much if we believed that this greatest discovery ever made in the history of the life of man was at once received with ap- ~L~z3 by the learned and the enlightened. Alas! that men should be so loth to see what a noble source of pleasure, what an enviable talent it is, to be able to admire! The world, so far from being thankful, rose in a perfect tempest against the royal physician. France claimed the discovery as long known to the ancients; Italy denounced it as a terrible heresy. But Harvey was not to be awed as the great mar- tyrs of science before him. Had not Galileo, at whose bid the earth moved in her heavenly path, composed horoscopes, and spoken the fatal words of renunciation? I-lad not Kepler, the very master of the heavens, as his admiring called him, t~u~ht with u countrymen , ublushing brow, that the earth was a living animal, whose passions might be roused into fierce tempests, and whose fury would break forth in terrible earthquakes, it stones were thrown into deep abysses, and curses murmured over placid lakes? Had he not proclaimed it to a credulous world that the universe was a music of spheres, vith a gigantic chorus, in which Jupiter and Saturn sang bass, while Mars was the tenor, Venus and Earth the alto-voices, and Mercury the soprano? Harvey braved all: opposition, denial, and bit- ter satire. Books he refuted, sneers lie despised, and when his enemies said that no physician fervor: I will praise Thee, for I am wonder- over forty years of age would ever adopt his fully made ! doctrine, he boldly appealed from skeptic old

The Tree of Life 75-81

THE TREE OF LIFE. 75 cease to his memory, when something whispered to him of his rashness in linking to himself one whose mind was shattered, whatever might be her virtues and her charms; and he thanked God that it had been his privilege, even for that brief period, to make her a home, and fill her heart with peace and joy. One night he was sitting there, and musing, perhaps somewhat encouraged by having been told that through the day she had been calmer, and at intervals apparently rational. Now she was sleeping, more sweetly than he had known her in many months. And as he leaned his head back in the chair, wearied with long and anxious waking, he fell asleep. When he awoke, his wife was sitting on his knees; her arms were around his neck. She pressed her lips to his, and said to him, My dear, dear husband. It was the first recognition of many long and awful months. He pressed her warm- ly, convulsively to his heart. Sing to me, she said; sing to me one of those Sabbath evening songs. I can not sing, dearest, he replied; it is enonab that you are mine again, and here, here on my breast, dearest, sweetest wife. Her head fell on his shoulder, and he poured into her ear the glowing words of his love. Oh, these months of wretchedness, when you could not know that I loved you, and longed to bless you, dearest, as I will, if God will spare you, as he has restored you to my arms. Kiss me again, sweet wife. She did not speak. Kiss me, love. Her head still rested on his shoulder. He raised her up to press his lips to hers. She was dead! THE TREE OF LIFE. THERE lived, in the times of King James, a wondrously open-hearted nobleman in Old England. He belonged to the ancient family of the Montgomerys, and was horn to wealth, rank, and high honor. But a sad and melancholy fate befell him. By an accident the ribs of his left side were crushed, and he was laid for months upon the bed of sickness. Physicians, it is true, saved his life, but, strange enough, a large open- ing remained in his breast, which the unfortu- nate man had to cover with a plate of silver. It so happened that there livcd at the same court a man of Isigh renown nnd anxious research, who heard of the noblemans strange adventure. He met him, laid his finger upon his wrist, so as to feel the heating of his pulse, and then, through the aperture in his chest, he watched the vibra- tions of his heart. They kept time! They were one and the same! He had found the great secret for which his heart had yearned, and which Isis mind had longed to discover. From that day Harvey proclaimed it aloud to the world, that the blood of man passed, in never-ceasing currents, through every nook and every corner of his marvelous body; and, setting us a noble example, he exclaimed with deep Antiquity had already suspected that the blood circulated from Ilace to place, butas in religion so in sciencethis also was ascribed to chance rather than to design. Some thought that it rose and fell, like the sap in plants, only when a necessity for warmth or food arose; others fancied that it might be made to come and go at will, as the bashful blush may be con- jured up into the glowing cheek, or fierce pas- sions swell the dark vein on proud mens brow. They even knew the difference between arte- ries and veins, but they imagined the former to be filled with air onlyhence their namebe- cause after death they found them empty, while the veins were swelled with the generous fluid of life. Even that exquisite provision of nature, the thousand delicate valves which regulate the flow of the blood to and from the heart, had become known to the learned of Italy and France. Yet with all this previous knowledge, and with the thoughtful boldness of a pioneer in unknown regions, even Harvey had only sus- pected that the bloods course might be a com- plete circle, unbroken within, and steadily pur- suing its truly wondrous race from cradle to coffin. His triumph was mainly one of inductive reasoning. As, in our day, the mathematician fixed a place and a time for a new planet, long before the eye of man could see it and his mind presume its existence, so harvey also first determined the principle that the blood must flow both from and to the heart, and then found evidence and abundant proof in the living body. But we would err much if we believed that this greatest discovery ever made in the history of the life of man was at once received with ap- ~L~z3 by the learned and the enlightened. Alas! that men should be so loth to see what a noble source of pleasure, what an enviable talent it is, to be able to admire! The world, so far from being thankful, rose in a perfect tempest against the royal physician. France claimed the discovery as long known to the ancients; Italy denounced it as a terrible heresy. But Harvey was not to be awed as the great mar- tyrs of science before him. Had not Galileo, at whose bid the earth moved in her heavenly path, composed horoscopes, and spoken the fatal words of renunciation? I-lad not Kepler, the very master of the heavens, as his admiring called him, t~u~ht with u countrymen , ublushing brow, that the earth was a living animal, whose passions might be roused into fierce tempests, and whose fury would break forth in terrible earthquakes, it stones were thrown into deep abysses, and curses murmured over placid lakes? Had he not proclaimed it to a credulous world that the universe was a music of spheres, vith a gigantic chorus, in which Jupiter and Saturn sang bass, while Mars was the tenor, Venus and Earth the alto-voices, and Mercury the soprano? Harvey braved all: opposition, denial, and bit- ter satire. Books he refuted, sneers lie despised, and when his enemies said that no physician fervor: I will praise Thee, for I am wonder- over forty years of age would ever adopt his fully made ! doctrine, he boldly appealed from skeptic old 76 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. age to the faith of the young, and soon gathered a host around him, that fonght his battles and raised his standard on high. His triumph came at last. Before he died his fiercest adversaries acknowledged the truth of his theory. But as the great servant of the Lord was not allowed to go over thither into the valley of Jericho and the city of palm-trees, so Harvey also saw with his minds eye only, but never beheld himself what he had abstractly proved. He had for- feited the desired hoon. Tired of life, and threatened with total blindness, he rushed un- bidden from a world he knew to that which he knew not. The wondrous sight of the blood rushing restlessly through vein and artery was reserved to a later age; the microscope had to be invented, and Malpighi first stood amazed before the greatest marvel that science had re- vealed to his age. In our day the famous words of antiquity, Know thyself, have obtained a new signifi- cance. We limit them no longer to abstract speculations on mind and soul. We remember that it is the Lords hand that has made us and fashioned us; that lie has clothed us with skiu and flesh, and fenced us with bones and sinews. So the inscription on the temple of Delphi remains still, in a double sense, the high- est task for human inquiry. And yet how few there are who known the ways of their heart, and the paths of their lifes-blood. Pascal al- ready said, with wonder and grief, that he had suffered in loneliness and silence when studying abstract sciences. lie bad there no friend hy his side, no companion in his journey. Alas! he found that there were even fewer who cared for the wondrous body of man, and his immor- tal soul, than he had met with in the arid desert of mathematics. Nor was it found an easy task to solve the great mysteries of a body made after the image of God. Errors and fanciful notions vied with each other to keep truth out of sight. Now the blood was said to follow in its wild erratic course the heavenly path of planets and comets, and the body of man became an orrery on a small scale. Then again men of learning and wisdom created in their unhelieviag heart a Vital Power of their owna true Proteus, every where present, and yet nowhere to be found. It was, however, so convenient! This secret agent drove the blood from limb to limb, it breathed in our lungs, it digested our food, it upheld us in health, and it resisted, in sickness, the foes of life with strange, most disagreeable symp- toms. The world was still the same that would not adopt Keplers Chart of the heavens, and yet paid him for his readfng of the stars; that refused to admit the earths motion around the sun, but humbly believed that St. Dunstan had pulled the devils nose with a i)air of red-hot pin- cers! We fear that even now mankind is some- what tethered to the stump of old supersti- tions ; at all events, our knowledge of our own body is still strangely imperfect. We can clams no more than that We are able to sin ey IJawniags of beams, and promises of day. This only we know surely, that there are two great operations going on in our body: The nervous system works in marvelous and yet unexplained beauty at the bid of a mysterious power, which is seated grandly and immovably in some part of the brain, and yet, by imper- ceptible messengers, moves every part of the body. By its side beats the heart, ever active, by day and by night, resting only when death returns dust to dust; it sends the great river of life from its innermost chambers to the farthest frontiers, and then calls its headlong waves back again to their early allegi~nce. These two mys- terious powers work in glorious harmony with each other; the result is life. But above all it is the blood that is the life of all flesh ; so the ancients already called instinctively the countless stems and branches through which it ever passes without knowing rest or repose, the Tree of Life, and our day repeats, with better right, that the life of the flesh is the blood. Whence it conies, and where it is fashioned, science knows not, and nature tells not. God has not vouchsafed us to know first beginnings. The sprouting grain is hid under the dark clods of the valley, and a cell, unseen by man, is un- folded alike, in silent night, into the worm that creeps on the ground and the proud man that is born for eternity. So it is with the blood that holds our life. Its simple, colorless, and trans- parent fluid comes we know not whence, and goes we know not whither. Ia it swim count- less little bodiessome red, and others white. The former give it its apparent color; each one is but faintly tinged with delicate pink, but their vast numbers, and the eager haste with which they follow each other, closely packed, cause a greater depth and intensity of scarlet. Not all blood, however, is red. The fluid at least that we call so is white in all the lower animals; the leech and the earth-worm alone have it reddish. The silk-worm prefers yellow, and beetles have a fancy for dark brown. Cater- pillars, decked in gorgeous hues without, are brilliant orange within, and snails indulge in blood of dark amethyst or sky-blue! But even in man the color varies: in the veins it is a smooth and glossy purple, in the arteries a rich bright scarlet. So we speak of red blood, half forgetful that it owes its tinge to the same cause that makes the soil of classic Greece burn in deep red tints, and gives a chocolate hue to the richest lands on our globe. There is iron in our blood, enough to suggest to Frenchmenwho else on earth could have conceived the idea ? the striking of a medal out of the ore contained in the veins of an admired countryman ! This iron suffers the common fate when iron and air come in hostile contact. No sooner does the blood expose its pearly drops in the lungs to the atmosphere, than the insidious foe grasps it, amid strikes its fangs deep into the minute particles of metal. The iron can not resist; it must open its tiny pores to the enemy, whom we call THE TREE OF LIFE. 77 oxygen; it rusts and blushes at its own disgrace. men dry up infusoria and bury them in minia- Thus we find in all nature the gay contrast be- ture catacombs; a drop of water poured npoa tween green and red; the world of plants loves their minute bodies restores them in a moment carbon, and hoists its brigbt color of green in to renewed and vigorous action. A German herb and tree; the higher realm of animals professor even took some tiny creatures of the needs oxygen, and it stamps their world with family of spiders (tardigrada) and kept them a thousand shades of red. As the tide of life for seven long years in the shape of dry dust. sinks, and vigor declines, carbon again triumphs; Here also a little moisture was the magic wand and even the blood of man, when in its last stage at whose touch the mystic slumber was broken, of dissolutionin the bileassumes already a and this novel Sleeping Beauty awakened to greenish-yellow color. It changes even with new life. What a wondrous contrast between age and temper. The youn~ and the delicate the cold and stolid blood of lower animals and have lighter blood; in the hearty and the the hot, hissing stream that courses with winged powerful it is darker. Disease will, of course, speed through the heart of man! There, want play wicked tricks with our best treasures; it of warmth and vigor is safety; here, fullness of changes our lifes current, now into deepest life and abundance of heat is the very cause of black, and then again almost into pure white. danger. Hence the vast importance of salt for The sangre az4 claimed by the Spanish the inner household of animal and man. The grandee, is but a superb sample of human pride wild beasts of the desert can not live without it, in all its folly; and poets only can speak of the nor the cattle grazing on our meadows. Pliny crystal-clear fluid in the veins of their gods on tells us how the most lamportant part of the Ro- Olympus, or dream in German fancies of blue man soldiers stipulated pay was his allowance blood on one, and red blood on the other side of salthence salarium, our salaryand the of the Rhine. Sons of the Desert of our day still hold it sa Nor is there much more truth in the familiar cred. Long caravans of camels, endless strings phrases of the cold blood of the north and the of slaves, laden with the precious gift of Nature, warm blood of the south. Poets have here also pass to and fro in the desolate regions of North- found a happy excuse for erring mankind in era Africa; and, lest his blood putrify, as he uncontrollable passions and hot blood given says, the Arab daintily dissolves his few grains by nature. It is the blood boiling over that of salt in a cup of water and drinks it daily. pours forth a torrent of fierce curses; it is the Far more mysterious is the dread effect of heart stung to the quick that inflicts the fatal poison upon our blood: its form, its color, its stab. And yet, though our lifes current may living principle are utterly destroyed at the mo-. quicken when our passions are excited, in re- ~neat of contact, and death travels swift and ality all our crimes are committed in cold sure on its restless current through the fated blood ; and the raving dervish, who tears with body. The understanding of man has not yet beastly brutishness whatever comes in his way, fathomed this secret; the microscope even has and the mad Malay, running a-muck and slay- not yet perceived the death-bringing venom. ing in blind fury even his own beloved, have Neither the well-aimed eye nor all the cunning blood not one degree warmer than the patient of chemistry can show the presence of the mi- Hottentot and the stolid Indian. Even the nute matter of vaccine that is introduced into long-cherished fancy of cold-blooded animals is the body; and yet what a fierce and often fatal not founded in truth. Reptiles and fishes have revolution does it not produce! The arrow colder blood, it is true, than the higher classes steeped in wonralli, the serpents tooth, and the of creation; still it is always warmer than the bite of the maddened dog, all aim at the hearts element in which they live, and in some fishes blood. Some poisons hasten and hurry it until even as warm as in man. A curious aspect of it breaks in wild fury through its narrow walls; the bloods temperature is seen in apparent others lull it to sleep and stop the life-bearing death. With man and all warm-blooded ani- current. And yet the same deadly poison can malsamong whom birds stand highestthe be swallowed and will remain harmless! Many warm fluid favors life while there is life, but it have regretted that science should here also have also aids death when once the hearts action rudely rent the graceful vail of poetic fancy. ceases. Then its very heat hastens fermenta- How we used to wonder and to worship the fair tion; the blood, loaded with organic matter, is maiden that minded not her own sweet life, and by its aid quickly decomposed, becomes putrid, with trembling lip sucked certain death from and death is instantaneous and certain. Not the poisoned wound of him she loved! Now so in cold-blooded animals; here apparent death we know that no danger awaited her, and that is frequent and of long duration. The lower her act was at once the surest and the safest they stand in the scale of nature, the longer remedy known to science. But, fortunately, it they can remain without any sign and enjoyment is the vail of fancy only that is rent; the deed of life. Here a toad falls asleep in a easy crag remains as noble, the sacrifice as grand and of a sun-warmed stone; it forgets to awake. glorious as ever; for she thought and felt that The rock grows and raises impenetrable walls she was drinking death from the poisoned cup, all around, until the hand of man comes to and yet was willing to lay down her life upoa break the dismal prison and to restore the her- the altar of her love. once more to light and life. There learned Thus through artery and vein courses the VOL. XI.No. 61.F 78 HAHPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. mystic fluid. Like life itself; in every form, throughout the wide world, it also is in eternal motion, unceasingly active and useful. For here, as elsewhere, motion is life, and there is death in repose. The true secret of its life- giving power the world knows not yet; this only is certain, that life is not in the red, little, coin- shaped bodies, nor in the white globules that swim in the pure, transparent fluid of our veins, but in the latter alone. Countless animals have neither blood nor blood-vessels, but only this strange, all-powerful elixir of life. Parts of their bodies have been put into a solution of silver and then burnt; the whole beautiful structureremainsbehind, perfect and unchanged, but filled with pure, solid silver. Thus we see that the precious metal has taken the place of the unknown fluid which must have saturated the whole form and mass of tissues. Not many years ago, the tiny globules were thought to be minute animals that sported in reckless joy through the sacred body of man, and wondrous stories were told of their birth, their wanderings, and their love. The microscope has, of late, destroyed the pretty illusion. They are known now to assume all hues and all shapes; largest ia toads and the changeable proteus, they are smaller in man, resembling flattened, circular disks, and looking, when crowded together, for all the world like piles of diminutive dollars. They have no silver, however, but only base iron; and yet, though so heavy, the velocity of the current that drives them in furious haste around the great circle of the body keeps then~ suspended. Thus they are hurled along, some standing upright and some sideways, some roll- iug like hoops and others rushing on so quickly that the eye can not follow. The current seems fastest in the middle; they move more slowly toward the edges. Though not themselves the true bearers of life, they are the distinctive mark of blood. They vary in size and number: the hotter the blood of an animal, the fuller it ap- pears of their hosts; they change in the instant when life passes away as a vapor. Hence their importance even in law. In criminal cases, the microscope has to appear in the witness- box, and with almost unfailing accuracy it will tell, from a faint, worn blood-stain, threugh whose veins the globules once passedman or woman, old or young, whether the mark he fresh or old, nay, even whether the blood was shed before or after the death of the victim. Hence, also, the difficulty of that once so popu- lar effort to restore declining life by the infusion of the blood of others. Were it not for these barely visible, rosy bodies, nothing would be easier. Even pure water can be poured into the veins of living beings with impunityit is the favorite method of measuring the quantity of blood contained in a body. The great Ma- gendie pumped such floods into a lean, starved cur he had rescued from the halter, that it soon rivaled the fattest pet-poodle, unable to walk, and plagued with the asthma. He even seized once a mad butchers-dog, and, in spite of the terrible danger, tied him and filled his veins with distilled water, to test the pretended vir- tues of such a cure. Early already the idea was entertained, and the trial made, to pour the blood of some kindred animal into a dying body. With amazement and with awe, the almost in- animate corpse was seen to return to life, to gain new vigor with each new accession of blood, and finally to move about with ease and to recover completely. More recently, however, doubts have arisen. The attempt has been oft- en repeated in France, and seldom without suc- cess; a slight difference in the size and shape of the globules is not thought to be fatal, as they soon adapt themselves to their new home and change their nature. An essential differ- ence, however, acts like the most violent pois- on; and as few men are sai~,to be exactly alike in this point of microscopic importance, the remedy is but rarely resorted to, and considered of doubtful efficiency. As these mysterious little bodies come from unknown sources, so they disappear again in unknown regions. It is surmised that they per~ form the great journey through the body of man only a few times, when their strength is ex~ hausted. But in the beautiful economy of Na- ture nothing is lost, nothing ever abandoned. Thus they alto find, at last, a grave in the parts where the bile is prepared; and, after having served during life the very highest purposes of nature, they become, even after death, still use- ful in humbler ways. But of all that pertains to blood, the most a9onderful by. far is its very house and home, the heart. In all languages spoken on earth and in the mind of all earth-born men, the heart is the very essence of lifeit is man itself. The heart of Judah waxed gross, and with the heart man believeth. The Saviour came to hind up the broken-hearted ; and of God himself it is said, It repented Him and it grieved Him at his heart. The second day has not passed in the in- nermost parts where the Lord fashioned us, before the faint beat of the unseen heart begins its mysterious life. Without rest or repose, never missing a stroke, never ceasing for an in- stant, its wondrous voice is ever heard, by day and by night, through life. And when mans strength and beauty are departed, when his lips are silent, and his mind is darkened, even then the heart still moves in faint and feeble accents. At last it ceases, and man stands before his Maker! Nature has well secured this most precious part of our body, this very seat of our life. A powerful columnthe spineprotects it from behind; the beauteous structure of the ribs, so strong and yet so elastic, shelters it on the other sides. Within it is as well secured: its own great arms and arteries suspend and support it; a curious bag surrounds it, hanging loosely and easily, and yet guarding it safely against all dangers. Thus its motion is left free and un- restrained, while a few drops of water maintain THE TREE OF LIFE. 79 its surface ever moist and supple. Branches which the ancients already had many fables, and bud forth from its four great chambers in all the Middle Ages told most marvelous stories, directions. As the tender germ in the bosom not by any lif~ or spirit given to the blood or its of the earth sinks a tiny root into the ground, contents, but by a strong muscular power of the and, at the same time, sends its graceful shoot walls of the heart, it compresses its chambers and upward to greet the light of heaven, so the forces the blood out; after a while it readmits great heart of man also has its two-fold growth. it through new doors, and for a new purpose. One Tree of Life rises above in mighty strength, This is the beating of the heart, that beautiful and unfolds a thousand branches reaching up to rhythm which rings out joyful peals at the birth the crown of the noble structure; another tree of the infant, and sounds the mournful knell as sends out its countless parts to all below the the spirit departs to return to its great home. heart. They divide and diminish as they re- Every time that the heart contracts, its point move from the centre; they have their main rises up, turns slightly round, and knocks against trunk, their branches, and their twigs, until at the walls of the chest. By day its voice is low last they taper off into minute, invisible chan- and light, but in the silent dead of the night, nels, so fine and tiny that they are called capil- when all earthly noises are hushed, a second lana or hair-vessels. Not all, however, serve heart-note is heard, probably the effect of a the same purpose; some are arteries, and carry shutting of valves, which suddenly stops the the lifes blood from the heart to the further- bloods eager current. Eighty times in the most parts of the body; others are veins, and minute the quiver of this stroke is felt through bring the altered fluid back to the great centre. the whole body, and so the secret work con- The blood leaves its home a light and bright- tinuesa swoon exceptedwithout ever ceas- red current; it wings itself with speed, and ing, year after year, for a whole long lifetime! races along through strong and powerful yes- Thus our hearts, though stout and brave, sels. These vary, of course, in size and shape Still, like muffled drums, are heating in different beings; in some the naked eye can Funeral marches to the grave. not see them; in the whale they are a foot The quickness of the beat varies with sex, size, thick, and each stroke of his gigantic heart and age; it is fuller and louder in man than in wo- sends a torrent of nearly fifteen gallons through man, but q~zicker in small than in larger persons. the vast passages. What strikes us most in our It may rise to 180 in the minute, it may sink as own, is the truly marvelous provision made for low as 30; strong tea and ice-cream, it is said, their safety. As the slightest scratch, a most will produce pauses, and gout make it be silent minute opening would let out a large and indis- for a while. Its rhythm is even more regular pensable mass of the precious fluid, these chan- and determined than that of our breathing, or ads are never found near the surface, or close the unconscious functions of the intestines. Like to muscles and sinews, where danger most threat- all life on earth it also represents the eternal ens. Theyare hidden and well-protected. Some alternation between action and repose. It beats pass right through the bone itself as in the jaw- and rings its clear, full note; then follows deep, bone; others run safely in the grooves of the unbroken silence, until the same loud stroke is under-edge of our ribs, or are snugly ensconced heard once more. No will of man can control in the carefully scooped out bones of our fin- it, no influence from without can arrest it. We gers, where high ramparts surround them on may breathe as we choose, now faster and now either side. The veins, with their deep purple slowerchildren have been known to hold their blood, are smaller vessels, and lie nearer the breath even unto deathbut, with the exception surface; in them the blood returns more slowly, of a single man who could command the two and, as it were, exhausted to the heart. It has buckets in the well of life to fall and rise at lost its strength and its vigor, and is carried will, the heart is utterly independent. So truly back to assume new forms and gain new force, said the master poet, or to leave the body forever. Thiuk you I have the shears of de my Although we ascribe all feelings and all sea- Have I commandment on the pWse of life 5 sations to the heart, it is in reality more insen- And well is it for man that the heart needs sible than any other part of the body. Dr. not his constant care. How he would have to Harveys young patient was not even aware of watch over the precious fountain, ever to keep it when his heart was touched, unless he hap- it well filled, and yet to prevent it from over- pened to see it, and a Frenchman, who had a flowing! How he w~nld tremble lest a mo- similar opdning in his chest, felt no pain when ments forgetfulness~ should open its gates wide his heart was graspedbut he fainted. Even or close them hefeire their time! Surely not wounds are not, as is often believed, invariably in wisdom only lut in mercy also were we fash- fatal. Pins and needles have been stuck into ioned, and coantless are the blessings without it without serious consequences, and pistol-balls and within us, for which no thanks ever rise to have lodged there for years with impunity. But the throne of Him that bestowed them. it bears no trifling. When, in 1728, a lady of Having its own vital power, not borrowed highest rank at the Court of Turin passed a from abroad, not influenced by others, the heart long golden needle right through the heart of will beat even after death, if excited by touch her sleeping husband, he never woke again, or galvanic action. This is best seen in cold- Not by any mysterious Vital Power, of bloodedanimals. TheNaturalistwb~hadcleaned 80 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. and dried the heart of some fishes, and then with the air they have breathed, and the oxygen blown them up with air of peculiar mixture, it takes in turns it a bright red. In the capilla- saw with amazement how they iv~uld open, first rics of other parts of the body it feeds upon car- one chamber and then another, panse awhile, bon; here it is colored a deep purple hue, and be- and begin again, and at last continue a regular comes lit for the veins that are to carry it back life of their own for hours in unbroken succes- to the heart. We see the blood pass its tiny sion. globules through the meshes of the delicate On each beating of the heart, the blood it web, we see them stay awhile and then rush contains is sent out through the arteries on its out again, after having changed color; but the mysterious errand. The beat finds an echo that great mystery of life remains still shrouded iu is heard throughout the whole body in the pulse; darkness. We can not yet comprehend, proud that one powerful stroke in the home of life is men as we are, the secret of our own life. To felt at the uttermost extremity, as wave follows fathom that dark mystery is the task not of a wave in rapid succession. Thus the pulse has mau, nor of an age: it is the great task of man- become the great oracle of physicians, to whom kind for all eternity. This only we know, that it reveals, in an instant, the elasticity of the as the stars in heaven are said to join in prais- arteries, the quantity of blood in the body, and ing the Lord and to move in beauteous paths its condition; the vigor of the heart, and even around his footstool, so our dust-born body also the state of the mind. As the planets, high in is a glorious harmony, in which all parts serve heaven, move on their appointed path, so the the one great purpose of life. We are learning blood of man also follows its unchanging course to know its single notes; we begin to hear faint in carrying the eternal stream of life from the accents of the vast melody that pervades it; we heart to the most distant parts of the body. Its know that bodily as well as spiritual life obeys hot, red current gushes forth from the left chain- the omnipotent source of all life, even our her, and spreads far and near into every fibre great Father in Heaven. and every corner. Its path is marked by a pow- Great are the wonders of the circulation of er from on high; channels open, and curiously- our blood, and the half of them are perhaps yet wrought valves turn upon their elastic hinges hidden to our eye. How long is it ,since we to speed the fluid from one end of the wondrous learned with wondering awe that all along its realm~ to the other. At last it returns to the appointed path the eager current opens and right chamber of its great home; thence it shuts, by its own instinctive force, a thousand passes into the lungs, where it discharges the diminutive doors and gates? Valves are placed noisome carbon it has gathered in its wander- every where to prevent it from rushing hack ings to be sent out into the wide air, and then again, before it has fulfilled its great mission. begins once more its unceasing course from the Thcir mechanism is truly beautiful. Often the left heart. How swiftly it rushes alonghow eye can hardly see them, and yet they are so madly it seems to race from limb to limb! The accurate that not the smallest drop of blood, no~ strong leg of man, resting upon the other knee, a single tiny globule can pass when they are is lifted up high by each quick pulsation, and closed. Even after death, if water be poured the injured artery spouts forth a jet of furious into the veins they will shut hermetically and waters. And yet it never fails for a moment not allow it to pass. And thus they endure, here to pick up an invisible atom of carbon, faint, feeble little valves as they are, for three- and there to deposit a still smaller portion of score years and ten, and even to the last expir- food. How it throbs and trembles in that great ing beat of the heart, they still close as firmly chamber pf mysteries, the brain! It makes it as ever. There is no disorder, no weariness in heave like a sea of magic waters, sink and rise their countless number; each valve opens only at every beat of the pulse. Even where the veins at the precise moment, each valve shuts again are but like narrow threads, and the streamlet when it is needed. Yet the life of proud man has to press and to struggle through the diinin- depends upon their faithful discharge of duty; utive channel, it is still full of life and vigor, let there be but the smallest, invisible opening, What a tell-tale it is in our face; how it spreads through which the blood might ooze, and the its bright color over cheek and brow, and, in an whole wondrous structure is doomeddust is instant, withdraws hs rich glow to make ~vay for made to return to dust! deadly pallor! At other times mans own hand interferes At last it reaches the emallest of the arteries, with this wonder of art and beauty. He opens where their tiny branches are lost to the eye, veins, or he cuts off limbs, and thus breaks in and there it enters secret chambers in which it upon the appointed course of the blood. But changes its color and nature. In these capilla- here also nature is rich in wisest provisions. ries of hairlike fineness, which meem to fill the The current, thus suddenly arrested, seeks an whole body of man so closely that, the skin and outlet elsewhere; it finds new channels, it wid- the hair excepted, no part can be touched with- ens themthanks to their amazing elasticity out giving forth the precious treasure; Nature and thus reaches its destination, if not as quickly carries on her most wonderful operations. She and directly as before, still safely and in abund- is always greatest in the least. We know ance. The unused, mutilated veins shrivel up though we can not see itthat in the capillaries~ and are closed; the new passages, though before of the lungs the blood is brought in contact ever so flue and minute, expand and change A JOURNEY THROUGH CHINA. 81 into large and important channels. And thus the whole thirty pounds of blood, which the healthy, full-grown man carries in him, perform the great circuit of his body more than five hundred times in a day and a night, never at rest and never at fault for a single moment I Truly, this is the Lords doing, it is marvelous in our eyes I But heart and blood are more than a mere mechanical contrivance. Physiologists have not yet tamed the restless heart of man and made it a mere forcing-pump, they have not yet degraded the floods of blood in our veins to mere carriers of carbon and oxygen, coal- porters and scullions to the body at large. It is no idle dream of poets that the heart sym- pathizes with our feelings and our emotions, that it beats faster with rapture and sinks faint- ing in fear or awe. For there is a spirit dwelling in our body, and he is ruler supreme. He is enthroned on high, and as his unseen messengers fly with surpassing speed to do his bidding, the members obey the mysterious impulse, and the heart also reflects the great events in the mind of man. Grasp it with, rude hand and it feels not, but touch the invisible cord that binds it in beautiful harmony to the soul of its master, and it will leap for joy or break in despair. Bashful modesty ex- cites it but gently, and yet the hearts blood rushes up to shine through the transparent skin of cheek and brow, and mantles it with deep crimson. Fierce fury presses it with iron grasp, and the ruddy hue gives way to fearful, deadly pallor. Broken hearts are not the poets fancy only; they are even facts in medicine. As the performer on wind-instruments, or the public crier in cities, uses up the physical hearts power so fast as to shorten his life, so grief and anxiety, restless care or unbridled passion, also destroy it before its appointed time. Agonized feelings tear the heart literally; a sudden shock, from joy or sorrow, causes it to break, and brings instantaneous death. Hence it is that the heart has so long and so generally been looked upon as the very seat of all feeling and life; hence it is that hope deferred maketh the heart sick, and that in more than one sense. He desireth truth in the inward parts, and in the inward part He shall make us to know wisdom. A JOURNEY THROUGH CHINA.* fl ECIDEDLY the best book we have had yet -.1-I on China and the Chinese is the work re- cently published by M. Huc, containing the narrative of his travels through the Celestial Empire. In the first place, very few foreigners have ever penetrated the Central Kingdom. Of those who have, still fewer were gifted with the requisite perception to see beneath the sur- face of things, or the ability to describe what they did see. Most of thempartly from want of activity, but more from the jealous policy of the authoritiestraveled like a case of goods, shut up in the cabin of a boat, or behind the curtains of a palanquin; and knew as much of the country, when they left it, as the English- man who landed at Calais, and spent three weeks there, drunk in his room at the Hdtel Anglais, did of France. To write a good book of travels, a book that will convey to the reader some clear idea of the country and people visited, a very rare coincidence of opportunity and fitness to improve it is essential. The traveler must be a man of untiring activity, keen vision, and a shrewdness that sets imposition at defiance. He must possess beforehand such an acquaint- ance with the matter in hand that he shall not waste time in learning what every one knows, or bore the public by reiterating what has been written before. He must be able to see the people he intends to describe in their everyday dressliving, talking, eating, drinking, and sleeping, as they do at home, without assumed formality or imposed restraint. Hence a knowl- edge of their kinguage is indispensable, and an intimate acquaintance with their national hab- its and peculiarities almost as important. When to these qualifications the traveler adds a cer- tain amount of prestige, just enough to insure him facilities for free intercourse, and not enough to tempt the natives to wear a disguise in his presence, he may venture to send his travels to press, assured that he is not adding one to the myriads of bad books. The test is a severe one, but M. Hue will stand it. A priest of far more worldly sagacity than is usually possessed by laymen; a close observer, accustomed to peer into every thing, to criticise every thing; a scholar, profoundly versed in science and Oriental literature, the apostolic missionary possessed at the start the stock in trade of a useful traveler. Fourteen years he had spent in China before the com- mencement of his last and great journey, during which time he had acquired so thorough a knowledge of the language that even the prac- ticed ear of the educated Mandarins could not detect any foreign accent in his speech. He had lived in disguise, first in one place, then in another, accommodating himself to the rules of Chinese society, and concealing by shrewd art the secret of his Christian faith, and the peril- ous duty he had undertaken to perform. When at last he traversed the Central Kingdom from the borders of Tartary to the port of Canton, he traveled in the state of a high imperial officer. The Emperor had given him a passport and a guard; the cities or counties through which he passed were bound to furnish him with an am- ple supply of funds for his expenses. Girt with the awful red sash, and crowned with the yellow cap, usually sacred to the imperial family, he commanded even more respect than his passport exacted. He mingled freely with all ranks; passed through every vicissitude, from prisoner at the bar to judge on the bench; saw every thing that was to be seen, and heard every thing that it could interest a stranger to hear. The fruit of his journey is the work now published, * A J raey thro h the Chinese Empire. By M. Hue. Two volumes l2mo. With a Map. Harpers.

Journey Through China 81-86

A JOURNEY THROUGH CHINA. 81 into large and important channels. And thus the whole thirty pounds of blood, which the healthy, full-grown man carries in him, perform the great circuit of his body more than five hundred times in a day and a night, never at rest and never at fault for a single moment I Truly, this is the Lords doing, it is marvelous in our eyes I But heart and blood are more than a mere mechanical contrivance. Physiologists have not yet tamed the restless heart of man and made it a mere forcing-pump, they have not yet degraded the floods of blood in our veins to mere carriers of carbon and oxygen, coal- porters and scullions to the body at large. It is no idle dream of poets that the heart sym- pathizes with our feelings and our emotions, that it beats faster with rapture and sinks faint- ing in fear or awe. For there is a spirit dwelling in our body, and he is ruler supreme. He is enthroned on high, and as his unseen messengers fly with surpassing speed to do his bidding, the members obey the mysterious impulse, and the heart also reflects the great events in the mind of man. Grasp it with, rude hand and it feels not, but touch the invisible cord that binds it in beautiful harmony to the soul of its master, and it will leap for joy or break in despair. Bashful modesty ex- cites it but gently, and yet the hearts blood rushes up to shine through the transparent skin of cheek and brow, and mantles it with deep crimson. Fierce fury presses it with iron grasp, and the ruddy hue gives way to fearful, deadly pallor. Broken hearts are not the poets fancy only; they are even facts in medicine. As the performer on wind-instruments, or the public crier in cities, uses up the physical hearts power so fast as to shorten his life, so grief and anxiety, restless care or unbridled passion, also destroy it before its appointed time. Agonized feelings tear the heart literally; a sudden shock, from joy or sorrow, causes it to break, and brings instantaneous death. Hence it is that the heart has so long and so generally been looked upon as the very seat of all feeling and life; hence it is that hope deferred maketh the heart sick, and that in more than one sense. He desireth truth in the inward parts, and in the inward part He shall make us to know wisdom. A JOURNEY THROUGH CHINA.* fl ECIDEDLY the best book we have had yet -.1-I on China and the Chinese is the work re- cently published by M. Huc, containing the narrative of his travels through the Celestial Empire. In the first place, very few foreigners have ever penetrated the Central Kingdom. Of those who have, still fewer were gifted with the requisite perception to see beneath the sur- face of things, or the ability to describe what they did see. Most of thempartly from want of activity, but more from the jealous policy of the authoritiestraveled like a case of goods, shut up in the cabin of a boat, or behind the curtains of a palanquin; and knew as much of the country, when they left it, as the English- man who landed at Calais, and spent three weeks there, drunk in his room at the Hdtel Anglais, did of France. To write a good book of travels, a book that will convey to the reader some clear idea of the country and people visited, a very rare coincidence of opportunity and fitness to improve it is essential. The traveler must be a man of untiring activity, keen vision, and a shrewdness that sets imposition at defiance. He must possess beforehand such an acquaint- ance with the matter in hand that he shall not waste time in learning what every one knows, or bore the public by reiterating what has been written before. He must be able to see the people he intends to describe in their everyday dressliving, talking, eating, drinking, and sleeping, as they do at home, without assumed formality or imposed restraint. Hence a knowl- edge of their kinguage is indispensable, and an intimate acquaintance with their national hab- its and peculiarities almost as important. When to these qualifications the traveler adds a cer- tain amount of prestige, just enough to insure him facilities for free intercourse, and not enough to tempt the natives to wear a disguise in his presence, he may venture to send his travels to press, assured that he is not adding one to the myriads of bad books. The test is a severe one, but M. Hue will stand it. A priest of far more worldly sagacity than is usually possessed by laymen; a close observer, accustomed to peer into every thing, to criticise every thing; a scholar, profoundly versed in science and Oriental literature, the apostolic missionary possessed at the start the stock in trade of a useful traveler. Fourteen years he had spent in China before the com- mencement of his last and great journey, during which time he had acquired so thorough a knowledge of the language that even the prac- ticed ear of the educated Mandarins could not detect any foreign accent in his speech. He had lived in disguise, first in one place, then in another, accommodating himself to the rules of Chinese society, and concealing by shrewd art the secret of his Christian faith, and the peril- ous duty he had undertaken to perform. When at last he traversed the Central Kingdom from the borders of Tartary to the port of Canton, he traveled in the state of a high imperial officer. The Emperor had given him a passport and a guard; the cities or counties through which he passed were bound to furnish him with an am- ple supply of funds for his expenses. Girt with the awful red sash, and crowned with the yellow cap, usually sacred to the imperial family, he commanded even more respect than his passport exacted. He mingled freely with all ranks; passed through every vicissitude, from prisoner at the bar to judge on the bench; saw every thing that was to be seen, and heard every thing that it could interest a stranger to hear. The fruit of his journey is the work now published, * A J raey thro h the Chinese Empire. By M. Hue. Two volumes l2mo. With a Map. Harpers. 82 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. which is written in so lively and pleasing a strain, thither the French missionary had seen the that, were its snbject hackneyed instead of orig- tombs of other Christian priests who had fallen inal, it would still command a large circle of victims to Chinese intolerance at a much later readers. period. Nothing daunted, however, on the day It was in the month of June, 1846, that M. appointed Huc and his companion, a missionary Huc re-entered China, on his way from Lhassa, like himselg proceeded to the court-house. in Thibet, to the sea, at the town of Ta-tsieu- The way was cleared for themfor a great lou, in the province of Se-Teouen, a trifle to crowd had assembled to ~vitnes~ the sightby the north of the thirtieth parallel of latitude, soldiers with rattans, and they were ushered Dressed~notwithstanding the prejudices of the into a small waiting-room. While there, the Chinese, who were shocked at such presump- officers of the court seemed to take a pleasure tionin the sky-blue robes, white satin boots, in running backward and forward before them, red sash, and yellow cap of the imperial family, in their red robes, armed with long rusty swords, and stretched at full length in a comfortable and carrying chains, pincers, and other instru- palanquin, borne by four stout Chinese, and Cs- meats of torture. When they were introduced corted by a batch of hungry, bare-legged sol- iuto the court-hall, these worthies rattled their diers, the French missionary struck into the in- weapons, and shrieked Tremble! tremble! tenor. The road was execrable, but the pal- prisoners! On your knees ! anquin-bearers, whose wages never exceed ten To the horror of the assemblage, the French- cents a day, seemed so used to the hard work, men stood straight as poplars, and looked at the that in the most perilous places, when a single court. The President was a man of about false step might have precipitated them to the fIfty years of age, with thick lips of a violet bottom of an abyss, and their bodies were drip- color, flabby cheeks, a dirty white complexion, ping with perspiration, they laughed, joked, and a square nose, long flat shining ears, and a fore- punned, as if they were snug at home. Over head deeply wrinkled. His eyes were probably mountain and valley, across ravine and river, small and red; but they were so hidden behind through dust and rocks, they ran, making their large spectacles, which were tied in their place twenty-five miles a day, till they reached the by a black string, that this could not be posi- capital of the province, Tehing-ton-fon. This, tively ascertained. His costume was superb: on we are told, is a beautiful city, well laid out, his breast glittered the large Imperial dragon, with wide streets and beautiful palaces. It is embroidered in gold and silver: a globe of red of recent date; the old capital, which stood on coral surmounted his official cap, and a long the same site, having been destroyed by fire perfumed chaplet hung to his neck. Beside some time since. A legend is preserved to the him sat the Attorney-general or Inspector of effect that, before the conflagration, a Bouze Crimes; a wrinkled old man, with a face like one day appeared in the streets, crying, One a polecat, who rocked himself about contmun- man and two eyes ! People stared, and won- ally. After a few preliminary questions, this dered what he meant; but he vouchsafed no last worthy opened the case for the prosecution, explanation, and continued to pace every street as we would say, in a speech of extraordinary of the city, for several days, crying in a lugubri- virulence. Hue knew the people he had to deal ous voice, One man and two eyes ! The with, and listened ~vith perfect composure to the magistrates had him arrested, but he would say vituperative harangue; when it was ended, he nothing but the old mysterious words. Inquiry replied calmly: We men of the West, you see, was set on foot as to who he was, and where he like to discuss matters of business with coolness came from; but no one knew any thing of him. and method; but your language has been so dif- lie was never known to eat or drink, or to say fuse and violent that we have scarcely been able any thing but his perpetual One man and two to make out your meaning. Be so good as to eyes ! After two months of this work, he sad- begin again, and express your thoughts more denly disappeared, and the same day the fire clearly and peaceably. Then turning from broke out. The inhabitants had only time to the Attorney-general who, worthy man, seems escape with some of their goods, and the whole to have been floored by this unexpected re- city was consumed. Then people began to tort, the Frenchman complimented the Presi- think of the Bouze. It was discovered that by dent of the Court on the dignity and pre- adding two dots or eyes to the Chinese sign cision of kis language. The adroit maucun- which signifies man, the character which vre succeeded admirably. The Inspector of stands for fire was produced; and thus it ap- Crimes stormed as before, but the Court was peared, plainly enough, that the Bouze had favorably inclined toward the prisoners, and as been all along prophesying the conflagration in the examination proceeded manifestly to their a manner worthy of the old Delphic oracle. advantage. After a number of futile queries, At Tching-tou-fou M. Hue was brought to and many inquiries about the French alphabet trial, by the orders of the Emperor, on suspicion and the Christian religion, the President said of being something different from what he rep- they must be tired, and closed the examina- resented himself to be. It was a ticklish matter. tion. This was the end of the much dreaded Thirty years before, in that same city, a prede- trial. The Governor of the Province reported cessor of M. Hues in the mission had been to the Emperor, that having examined the skins executed by the authorities; and on the way and heads of the prisoners, and having further A JOURNEY THROUGH CHINA. 83 questioned them at length, he was convinced they were, as they said, Frenchmen and mis- sionaries; and that the hest thing to do with them, would he to send them to Canton to their own countrymen. It was a lucky escape. Even to the Chinese courts of law are machines of unspeakable dread. The whole administration of justice in China is hased on a system of corruption and violence. The courts are farmed out to Man- darins who act as judges, and extort as much money as they can from the people living with- in their jurisdiction. If it be allowable, said one of these judges to Huc, to make a fortune by trade and commerce, why not also by devel- oping the principles of justice ? The way this judge developed the principles of justice was by hiring three or four runners to rummage the city for lawsuits, and then receiving bribes from each of the litigants in every case. According to Chinese law, a judge who renders an unjust or erroneous sentence must he whipped. But this stern rule was materially modified by an ordinance of the Emperor Tchang-hi, which was rendered in reply to several petitions praying for a reform in the administration of justice. After stating that the Chinese are naturally 1iti~ions, and that lawsuits would increase to a frightful extent, if means were nbt taken to check them, this valuable state paper adds: I desire, therefore, that those who have recourse to the tribunals be treated without any pity, and in such a manner that they shall be disgusted with law, and tremble to appear before a magistrate. A Daniel, indeed, come to judgment! The penal code of China has been long known to the world by the translation made by Sir George Staunton. It is probably the most bar- barous in existence. Prisoners are wholly at the mercy of the Mandarin who presides at their trial, who may torture or sentence them to death as the whim takes him. The written law is bad enough, but the scope given to the judges makes it ten times worse. It is shinYck- ing enough to find a law which declares that, in cases .of treason, all the male relatives in the first degree of the person convicted, his father, grandfather, and paternal uncles, as well as his sons, grandsons, and sons of his uncles, shall be indiscriminately beheaded. But the following is productive of far morepractical injury: Who- ever shall act in a way that offends propriety, and that is contrary to the spirit of the laws, without special infraction of any of their pro- visions, shall be punished with forty blows, or eighty if the impropriety be very great. The Mandarins are, of course, the judges of the im- propriety. Chinese punishments vary from the well-known cangue, or wooden collar, to the slow and painful death. This is inflicted by an executioner, who holds a covered basket containing a number of knives, marked with the names of the various limbs and parts of the body. He puts his hand in the basket, draws out a knife, and cuts off the part of the body marked on it; then another, and does the same; and so on till he chances to light upon a knife destined for a vital part. But whipping is the commonest form of punishment. In ordinary cases bamboos are used; but great criminals are flogged with thongs fastened to bamboo handles. M. Hue chanced one day to step into a court, where a Mandarin was trying the case of a noted robber and assassin. The judge asked the pris- oner a question which he stubbornly refused to answer. The Mandarin took a piece of bam- boo from his table, and threw it to the execu- tioner standing by. It bore the figure fifteen. By his wrists and ankles, the prisoner was swung by cords to the ceiling, so that his body was twist- ed into the shape of an arc; and while thus suspended, the executioner administered thir- ty stripes twice fifteen, according to custom. Strips of flesh, and streams of blood, dripped from the poor wretch at every stroke. Even witnesses and prisoners before trial are treated as barbarously. It is qnite usual when the Chinese police catch a suspected thief, and have not a cord at hand to hamper him, to nail him by the hand to the cart in which he is conveyed to prison. M. Hue staid a fortnight at the capital of Sse-tchouen, in high favor with the authorities. On his departure, he was allowed an escort of two Mandarins and fifteen soldiers. One of the Mandarins was a literary man, and belonged to that singular aristocracy of letters, which is the only counterpoise to the Imperial power in the Empire. He was, says Hue, a knave, a great talker, and exceedingly ignorant; knew a great many long prayers to the god Elan-wang, and smoked opium constantly. His colleague was a military Mandarin, likewise given to opium and rognery. The Emperor had ordered that the Frenchmen should be treated in the same man- ner as functionaries of the first rank; should travel in palanquins, and lodge at the state palaces of the provincial cities. Ting, the lit- erary Mandarin, had made up his mind to rea- lize a small fortune out of his contract for con- veying them to Canton. Accordingly, after re- ceiving money to buy comfortable palanquins, he put half of it in his pocket, and provided others smaller and cheaper. Unfortunately for his calculations, Hue understood the Chinese character perfectly, and knew that, besides the discomfort, he would lose prestige by allowing himself to be cheated. So after the days jour~ ney, he told Ting, in a quiet way, that he had made arrangements for the next day, and that he, Ting, would return alone to Tching-tou-fou. Have ~ou perhaps forgotten something ? inquired the man of letters. No, we have forgotten nothing; but you will go back, as we said, to Tching-tou-fou; you will go to the Viceroy and say we will have nothing more to do with you. Ting started up in open-mouthed astonish- ment. Hue continued: If the Viceroy should ask why we will have nothing more to do with you, you can tell him, if you please, that it is because you have been 84 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. cheating us in making ns travel in two bad pal- anquins, and giving us only three bearers in- stead of four. That is true! that is true ! cried Ting, in high spirits: I noticed as we went along that yonr palanquins were not at all lit for persons of your quality. What you want are those handsome, fine palanquins with four bearers who could doubt that? I saw this morning that there was some confusion in Pao-ngans house, and things have not been managed as they ought to have been. One must have little regard for ones honor and reputation, to provide unsuit- able palanquins. However, we are different sort of people, and will give you good ones. Needless to say that the whole of this ~~vas an unmitigated falsehood, and that the literary Mandarin had no intention of parting with his cash so easily. Next day he persuaded the travelers to continue their journey by water, and when they renewed the subject of the pal. anquins at evening, he solemnly protested that none could be had in that place. In this aver- ment he was sustained by all the Mandarins, civil and military, who resided in the locality. They all chorused: You must go to Tchoung- tching for fine palanquins. Hue, however, was not to be deceived. In that case, said he to Ting, you will send a man to Tchoung-tching to buy some. We will wait here. A perfect storm arose at this declaration. According to the Emperors orders, each place was to bear the burden of supporting the Frenchmen as they passed through, and the plan proposed would have involved the city in the expense of feeding them for several days. The whole body of the magistracy began to lie in the most horrible way to induce Huc to depart. But he was firm as a rock. Men like us, said he, never change a resolution. At length, after several hours of angry debate, the desired palanquins were produced, Ting was forced to pay for them, and M. Huc pursued his journey, proud of his moral triumph over the dishonesty of his Man- darin. Dishonesty and lying seem to be the ruling traits of the Chinese character. Their whole conversation is a tissue of falsehoods. Their forms of politeness are more exaggerated than those of the old French noblesse; and they are so well understood that no native is ever de- ceived by them. One story on this head is quite characteristic: On a festival day, the master of the house adjoining the chapel posted himself, after serv- ice was over, in the middle of the court, and began to call to the Christians who were leaving the chapel: Dont let any body go away. To- day I invite every one to eat rice in my house. And then he ran from one group to another, urging them to stay. But every one alleged some reason or other for going, and went, The courteous host appeared quite distressed. At last he spied a cousin of his who had almost reached the door, and rushed toward him say- ing: What, cousin, are you going too? Im possible. This is a holiday, and you must really stop. No, said the other, I have business at home that I must attend to. Business! what? to-day? a day of rest? Absolutely, you must stop; I will not let you go; and he seized the cousins robe and tried to bring him back by main force, while the desired guest struggled as well as he could, and sought to prove that his business was too pressing to allow of his remain- ing. Well, said the host, since you positively can not stay to eat rice, we must at least drink a few glasses of ~vine together. It dont take much time, replied the cousin, to drink a glass of xvine; and he turned back, and they entered the company room. The master then called in a loud voice, though without appearing to ad- dress any one in particular: Heat some wine, and fry two eggs. In the mean time, the two lighted their pipes and began to gossip; then they lit and smoked again; but the wine and eggs did not make their appearance. The cous- in at last ventured to inquire of his hospitable entertainer how long he thought it would be be- fore the wine was ready. Wine! replied the host, wine! Have we got any wine here? Dont you know very well that I never drink wine? It hurts my stomach. In that case, said the cousin, surely you might have let me go. Why did you press me to stay? Here- upon the master of the mansion rose, and as- sumed an attitude of lofty indignation. Upon my word, said he, any one might know what country you come from. What! I have the politeness to ask you to drink wine, and you have not the politeness to refuse! Where in the world have you learned your rites? Among the Mongols, I should think! And the poor cousin departed, stammering some words of apology. When a man intends to pay a visit to his neighbor, he sends him word beforehand as fol- lows: Your discipleor your younger brother has come to bow his head to the ground be- fore you, and to pay you his respects. When a witness is asked in Court what is his name, he answers: This quite little person is called by the vile and despicable name of Tchao. Throughout the empire, from the highest Man- darins to the lowest peasants, the same forms of pseudo-politeness and servility are used. It is, however, confined to the men. In Chinese society women are nothing. Bred in ignorance and sloth, they are sold at puberty to the high- est bidder, and thenceforth become, in the words of a famous Chinese writer, A shadow and an echo in their husbands house. They are not admitted into society, and are hardly considered as strictly belonging to the human race. M. Hucs literary Mandarin could not understand why women became Christians. The French- man explained: To save their souls like the men. But women have no souls, replied Master Ting; you cant make Christians of them. Huc vainly tried to convince him of the contrary. He only laughed, and said: When I get home I will tell my wife that she A JOURNEY THROUGH CHINA. 85 has got a soul. She will be a little astonished, I think. The journey through the province of Sse- tchouen to the capital of Houpe was performed partly in palanquins and partly by water on the splendid Blue River. A more gloriously fer- tile country does not exist, and M. Huc is never tired of expatiating on its beauties. Densely peopled as is Sse-tchouen, the greatest province of the empire, it produces every year enough food to sustain its entire population for ten. What state in the Union can say as much? At Kuen-kiang M. Hue was attacked by fever, and prostrated. A Chinese doctor was sent for. Before he came, the Mandarins gave it as their deliberate opinion that the disease arose from an undue preponderance of the igneous over the aqueous principle in Hues hody, and that the thing to be done was to subdue and quench the said igneous principle. Green peas, cu- cumbers, and water-melons, they thought, would answer the purpose. When the doctor came, however, he took an opposite view; pronounced that the cold had preponderated over the igne- ous prineiple, and preseribed a variety of drugs. It is usual, it seems, in China, when a doetor preseribes for a sick person, for the family to haggle about the medicines prescribed, and to try hy argument to induce the physician to strike out of his prescription the more expensive drugs. When the doctor is obstinate, a family counsel is held to debate upon the question, whether it he worth while to spend so much money for medicine, or whether it would not be better to lay it out in a fine coffin and funeral. The debate usually takes place in presence of the sufferer, whose spirits it is well calculated to cheer. M. Hue did not follow the custom of the country in this respect; he took the medicines prescribed, and got accordingly worse. He might have died, had not his medical man piqued at his want of success, decided to resort to the infallible operation called acupuncture. This process, which may be familiar to some readers, consists in sticking needlessometimes cold, sometimes red hotinto the body of a sick person at whatever points the operator fancies they may do good. According to the Chinese medical authorities, needles may be thrust into the body at three hundred and sixty- seven points. M. Hues doctor had made up his mind as to the points on which he would commence the operation, when some faint ink- ling of the scheme penetrated the mind of the poor delirious patient. He was too ill to argue, or even to speak. He could only clench his fist, and feebly strive to shake it at the knight of the needles. The action caught the eye of the literary Mandarin, Ting, who sagaciously re- monstrated: What rashness! do we know how these Europeans are made, or what they may have in their bodies ? How do you know, doctor, into what you would be sticking your needle ? This objection was fatal to the pro- ject; and the fright gave such a shock to Hues system that he shortly afterward recovered, At length he arrived at the capital of Houpe, On-tehang-fon, on the river Yang-tse-kiang. This is the place, says Hue, which must he visited by all who desire to form a conception of China. Opposite On-tehang-fon, on the other side of the Blue River, stands Han-yang; and on another side, on a tributary stream, a third city, called Han-keon. The three are so close as to form one city, containing the incred- ible number of eight millions of inhabitants. Han-keon is one vast shop; the streets are so densely thronged with buyers, sellers, and por- ters, that it is difficult to make ones way through the crowd. The port is filled with vessels of every size, laden with produce from the coun- try or manufactures from the factories of this great emporium. Situate in the heart of the empire, trade radiates from Han-keon; mer- chants fl-urn every province congregate there. It is the commercial mart of China. In 1846, when M. Hue visited Han-keon, there was no symptom of decline in its trade. This was the only thing he saw in China which did not hear evidence of decay. The law-courts have already been mentioned. Equally corrupt has become the great literary corporationthe true Chinese aristocracyfrom which the Em- peror is bound by usage to choose his civil Mandarins. Formerly the examinations were severe, and no man could become a literary Mandarin without possessing a fair amount of learning; now, those who are ignorant employ poor men of letters to compose their theses, and take their degree as easily as at some of our colleges. Though the Chinese still pride them- selves on their classical literature, they regard the business of writing books as a mere amuse- ment, like flying kites. No author thinks of putting his name to the works he publishes; and though readers abound, no one ever inquires who wrote even the most popular books. The custom involves the less injustice, from the ab- solute worthlessness of the contemporary liter- ature of China. In the army the same decay is visible. According to the official records, it counts twelve hundred thousand men; but nearly all of these are a sort of militia farmers, mechanics, etc.who are only called on once a year or so to attend a review, and who are so ignorant of military discipline, and even of the use of their arms, as to be incapa- ble of executing the simplest maneuvre. It is well known that, in the opium war, the Chinese tried to frighten the English by holding up hid- eous pictures; and when they had fired their mateblocks, threw them down and ran away. This was a fair sample of Celestial tactics. A more wretched army, worse equipped, worse disciplined, more insensible to honorin a word, more absurd in every way, does not exist in the world. The political institutions are as rot- ten as the military. As a general thing, the Chinese do not meddle in politics; they leave the whole subject to the Mandarins, who, they say, are paid for attending to these matters. The mayors of each commune, or county, are 86 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. elected by the people; but all other political officers, instead of being elective as formerly, are appointed by the Emperor. Corruption, fraud, and falsehood are the invariable charac- teristics of every public functionary in the Em- pire. Some of the Mandarins confessed as much to M. Huc, and candidly avowed their belief that the present dynasty would not last. They are familiar with political revolutions. Between the years 420 and 1640 of our era, there were fifteen changes of dynasty in China, all accompanied by bloody wars, and by the extermination of the dethroned family. The Mantchous have had a long lease of power over two centuries; and if the present rebel, Tien-te, should succeed in subverting their au- thority, there is no reason to suppose that the bulk of the people will pay much attention to the change. M. Hue is a disbeliever in the Christianity of the insurgents. His Catholic zeal can not digest the thought that Protest- ant missionaries should have achieved such a triumph. So far as religion is concerned, the Chinese have three native sorts besides Christianity and Mohammedanism. Formerly there was fierce strife between the Bhuddists on one side, the disciples of Confucius on another, and the fol- lowers of Lao-tze on a third; and all three oc- casionally persecuted the believers in Christ and the Mussulmans. But, some time since, an Emperor reviewed all these religions in a State paper, and gave it as his imperial opinion that none of them were worth fighting for: can- didly advisin~ his subjects to keep clear of all of them. His advice has been followed. Now and then a Christian is martyred from old hab- it; but, as a general rule, the Chinese are in- fidels, and care nothing about religion. They believe in the immortality of the soul, and have some crude notion that departed souls require money in the other worid to pay their way among the demons; but the spirit of fraud is so strong upon them that the money they bury with the dead is spurious. The devil, say they, will never know the difference. If the Chinese have any object in life, it is trade and money. They are born speculators. As soon as a boy can walk, he begins to traffic with his companions. His life is spent in buy- ing and selling, and he will close a bargain with his last breath. It is all the same to him wheth- er the traffic be legal or illegal, honest or dis- honest. From selling a house to playing at cards or dice, they are ready for any thing which seems to promise gain. M. Hucs palanquin- bearers, after a day of frightful toil, would spend the greater portion of the night in gambling. The excess to which the vice is carried in the cities is incredible. In the north, says M. Hue, you may often meet, during the intense cold of winter, men rushing out of gambling-houses in a state of complete nudity, having lost all their clothes at play. But this is not the worst. Men who have lost all, including their clothes, will play for their fingers, which they cut off with the most frightful stoicism. Sometimes a hatchet is placed on the table, and the winner takes the losers hand, lays it on a stone, and chops off the finger won: the loser thrusts the stump into a vessel of hot oil, which cauterizes the wound. Want of space forbids our following M. Hue through his interesting journey. After advent- ures which rarely fall to the lot of the luckiest traveler, but still without serious mishap, he reached Canton in the month of October 1846, six months after his departure from Lhassa in Thibet. Almost the first thing he saw on his arrival was an English newspaper containing a full and particular account of his having been fastened to the tail of a wild horse and dragged to death. Having some reason, as he says, to doubt the perfect accuracy of this statement, he hastened to his friends at Macno, whose delight at seeing him again can be conceived. Six years elapsed before he returned to his native land; during which he retraversed Asia, and may possibly have collected materials for an- other work as interesting as the one already published. A GIRLS DILEMMA. THIS is the anniversary of an important day in my life. I will keep it by recording the events that led to h~y present position; let not those stay to read whose hearts have grown too old to relish a love story. At eighteen, I was one of the most thought- less of human beings. My widowed father, a rich merchant, had humored every whim from infancy, and asked nothin~ of me in return but light-heartedness and affection. No one could have known less than I of the shadows and sor- rows of life, or have been more childishly occu- pied in the present. It was the ni6ht of my first ball, to which I was to he introduced under the most flattering auspices; I was half-wild with excitement, and the moment my toilet was completed, I flew down stairs to show myself to my father, who was not going with me, as at first arranged, being prevented, he said, by sud- den and insurmountable engagements. Well I remember how impatiently I burst open the din- ing-room door, and with what a bound of ela- tion I sprang toward the spot where he stood, spreading out my beautiful dress, and making before him a sweeping courtesy. I seem to hear now the soft rustle of lace and satin; to feel the glow that burned on my cheeks, and the quick throbbings of my happy heart. I had not at first noticed, in my eagerness, that the table was covered with papers, and that my fa- ther was not alone. Mr. Lacy, barrister-at-law, his friend and minefor I had known him from my cradlesat opposite to him, and a second glance showed me how grave and anxious were the faces of both. What is the matter ? I asked, laying my hand caressingly on my fathers shoulder. He looked at me fondly till I saw the tears brim his eyes.

Girl's Dilemma 86-91

86 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. elected by the people; but all other political officers, instead of being elective as formerly, are appointed by the Emperor. Corruption, fraud, and falsehood are the invariable charac- teristics of every public functionary in the Em- pire. Some of the Mandarins confessed as much to M. Huc, and candidly avowed their belief that the present dynasty would not last. They are familiar with political revolutions. Between the years 420 and 1640 of our era, there were fifteen changes of dynasty in China, all accompanied by bloody wars, and by the extermination of the dethroned family. The Mantchous have had a long lease of power over two centuries; and if the present rebel, Tien-te, should succeed in subverting their au- thority, there is no reason to suppose that the bulk of the people will pay much attention to the change. M. Hue is a disbeliever in the Christianity of the insurgents. His Catholic zeal can not digest the thought that Protest- ant missionaries should have achieved such a triumph. So far as religion is concerned, the Chinese have three native sorts besides Christianity and Mohammedanism. Formerly there was fierce strife between the Bhuddists on one side, the disciples of Confucius on another, and the fol- lowers of Lao-tze on a third; and all three oc- casionally persecuted the believers in Christ and the Mussulmans. But, some time since, an Emperor reviewed all these religions in a State paper, and gave it as his imperial opinion that none of them were worth fighting for: can- didly advisin~ his subjects to keep clear of all of them. His advice has been followed. Now and then a Christian is martyred from old hab- it; but, as a general rule, the Chinese are in- fidels, and care nothing about religion. They believe in the immortality of the soul, and have some crude notion that departed souls require money in the other worid to pay their way among the demons; but the spirit of fraud is so strong upon them that the money they bury with the dead is spurious. The devil, say they, will never know the difference. If the Chinese have any object in life, it is trade and money. They are born speculators. As soon as a boy can walk, he begins to traffic with his companions. His life is spent in buy- ing and selling, and he will close a bargain with his last breath. It is all the same to him wheth- er the traffic be legal or illegal, honest or dis- honest. From selling a house to playing at cards or dice, they are ready for any thing which seems to promise gain. M. Hucs palanquin- bearers, after a day of frightful toil, would spend the greater portion of the night in gambling. The excess to which the vice is carried in the cities is incredible. In the north, says M. Hue, you may often meet, during the intense cold of winter, men rushing out of gambling-houses in a state of complete nudity, having lost all their clothes at play. But this is not the worst. Men who have lost all, including their clothes, will play for their fingers, which they cut off with the most frightful stoicism. Sometimes a hatchet is placed on the table, and the winner takes the losers hand, lays it on a stone, and chops off the finger won: the loser thrusts the stump into a vessel of hot oil, which cauterizes the wound. Want of space forbids our following M. Hue through his interesting journey. After advent- ures which rarely fall to the lot of the luckiest traveler, but still without serious mishap, he reached Canton in the month of October 1846, six months after his departure from Lhassa in Thibet. Almost the first thing he saw on his arrival was an English newspaper containing a full and particular account of his having been fastened to the tail of a wild horse and dragged to death. Having some reason, as he says, to doubt the perfect accuracy of this statement, he hastened to his friends at Macno, whose delight at seeing him again can be conceived. Six years elapsed before he returned to his native land; during which he retraversed Asia, and may possibly have collected materials for an- other work as interesting as the one already published. A GIRLS DILEMMA. THIS is the anniversary of an important day in my life. I will keep it by recording the events that led to h~y present position; let not those stay to read whose hearts have grown too old to relish a love story. At eighteen, I was one of the most thought- less of human beings. My widowed father, a rich merchant, had humored every whim from infancy, and asked nothin~ of me in return but light-heartedness and affection. No one could have known less than I of the shadows and sor- rows of life, or have been more childishly occu- pied in the present. It was the ni6ht of my first ball, to which I was to he introduced under the most flattering auspices; I was half-wild with excitement, and the moment my toilet was completed, I flew down stairs to show myself to my father, who was not going with me, as at first arranged, being prevented, he said, by sud- den and insurmountable engagements. Well I remember how impatiently I burst open the din- ing-room door, and with what a bound of ela- tion I sprang toward the spot where he stood, spreading out my beautiful dress, and making before him a sweeping courtesy. I seem to hear now the soft rustle of lace and satin; to feel the glow that burned on my cheeks, and the quick throbbings of my happy heart. I had not at first noticed, in my eagerness, that the table was covered with papers, and that my fa- ther was not alone. Mr. Lacy, barrister-at-law, his friend and minefor I had known him from my cradlesat opposite to him, and a second glance showed me how grave and anxious were the faces of both. What is the matter ? I asked, laying my hand caressingly on my fathers shoulder. He looked at me fondly till I saw the tears brim his eyes. A GIRLS DILEMMA. 57 My darling ! he said, in an abrupt, pas- sionate way. We will not tell her, Lacy? It would he cruel. Let her have at least a few more happy hours; she need not know to-night. How will she hear it ? Mr. Lacy looked increasingly grave. I had become very grave too; my childish excitement seemed to have given place to a sudden and al- most womanly seriousness. It is of no use hiding any thing from me, I said, trying to smile, though I trembled from bead to foot in vague foreboding. I could not go to the ball now; tell me what has hap- pened. The expression of my fathers face deepened to anguish; he put his hands hefore it, as if the sight of me was too painful to bear. I turned to Mr. Lacy. Do you tell me I I implored. Mr. Lacy fixed upon me the fine searching eyes whose reproof had been the sorest penalty of my life hitherto, and kept up the scrutiny till I could hear it no longer, earnestly and kindly as it was. I knelt on a cushion before him, and leaning my arms on his knees in a favorite at- titude, I returned his gaze with a steady though tearful one. Try me, I said; perhaps I am more than the giddy child you think me. Besides, it can not be so dreadfulyou are both alive and well! A peculiar expression passed over Mr. Lacys face. He seemed hesitating whether to draw me into his arms, or to push me from him: he did neither, but rose up suddenly, putting me gently back, and took a few turns through the room. Halford, he said presently, and in agi- tated tones, once more I renew my offer. Of what use is wealth like mine to a lonely man? With the help I can give, you may keep your credit and breast this storm. You shrink from an obligation there is a chance of your never being able to cancel? Well, I will change places with you. Give me in returnthat is, if I can win her to consentyour daughter as my wife ! My father looked up with a literal gasp of astonishment. Mr. Lacy went on with- out heeding him. I am a fool, no doubt, he said; but the time has long gone by when Mildred was a child to me. For the last two years I have felt from the depths of my heart that she was a woman; I have fought against the insane wish to win her for my wife; my age, my past relations with her, seemed to make it a crime. Now I have spoken; God knows, as much to save you from the disgrace you are so obstinately bent on meeting, and her from Lhe poverty that would crush her youth, as to satisfy my own feelings. What she is to me words can not say; how I will guard and love her, my love only could prove. Mildred, what do you say? He paused opposite me, and took my hand: I was like one in a dream. Love! Marriage! Brought up as I had been at home, I had spec- ulated less on these points than most girls of my age. I had vague theories, indeed, gathered from poets and novelists; and my feelings for Mr. Lacy, a man of forty years of age, who had nursed me as an infant, and whom I regarded with almost unlimited reverence as one of the best and wisest of the race, did not seem to cor- respond with them. I was unworthy of the honorincapable of fulfilling the office of wife to such a man. Wife! it seemed almost blas- phemous to mention the word to such a child as I was. I shrank back from him toward my father, my cheeks burning, and my eyes full of tears. You refuse me, Mildred ? said he. I should be a villain to take advantage of my po- sition, and urge you. Yet in my heart I believe I could make you happy: what would you have but youth that I could not give you? There are many chances against your ever being of- fered again a strong, honest, undivided heart like mine. No young man could love as I do. Mildred, what you might be to me The strange tone of passionate earnestness made my heart beat thick. I glanced at my father; he was watching me with intense anxi- ety: no need to question what his wishes were. As for the meaning of this strange scene, I wanted no details; enough that some monetary crisis had come that threatened disgrace and ruin. I could avert it; and how? By marry- ing one whose affection might have gratified the most ambitions heartone of the noblest of menone I loved, though perhaps not as he loved me. In that hour of excitement, and in my undisciplinedmind, little was I prepared to weigh remote possibilities and contingencies; besides, I was ardent, excitable, apt to mistake impulse for sentiment. Mildred, what you might be to me ! wrought upon my sensibility; his expression of subdued emotion still further moved me. It never occurred to me to de- mand time for explanation and reflection. I felt constrained to answer him then and there. If I were less a child, I said, blushing and trembling if I were more your equal It was enough: he drew near me, and clasped. me in his arms. Child ! he said passionate- ly; my lovemy wife ! Then releasing me, and gazing at me seriously: You give your- self to me willingly, Mildred; but I will not bind you. Six months hence I will give you back your freedom, if you are not happy; and you will find it hard to deceive a love like mine. My father rose and grasped his hand in si- lence. God bless you ! he said at length; I would have borne much to secure such a pro- tector for my child. Leave us, Mildred, to ar- range some matters that can not be delayed even till the morning. I was eager to obey, and be alone to think; and I left the room with- out a backward- glance. That half hour had revolutionized my whole being. I was aehild no longer. I locked my bedroom door, -to give way to all the tumultu- ous emotions of a woman. Sued for as a wife 88 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. engaged! I looked at myself in the glass, and wondered that a man like Mr. Lacy could love such a young unformed creature as I ap- peared. There was an incongruity in it that struck me painfully. Still, there was a dis- tinction in his regard that flattered me; I had a very high esteem for him; I was warding off a calamity from my father; I loved no one else no doubt I should he very happy. I sat down on the edge of the hed, and leaned my headlittle used to ache with such grave mat- ters of reflectionupon my hand. Unaccus- tomed to dream, at that moment an involun- tary dream rose hefore my imagination. In- stead of this strange compact, the wooing of a youthful lover; instead of mere consent on my part, the delicious hopes, the rkh fruition of a conscious, active passion. Might I not have been thus? If heauty won love, I was fair enough; if freshness and strength of heart were needed, how mine throbbed under the ideal bliss! The sound of Mr. Lacys voice recalled me to a sense of my duty to him; it was wrong to dream of such girlish possibilities now. He was going away, and my father had ac- companied him to the head of the staircase. I suppose he had asked him if he would not wish to hid me good-night, for I heard him answer: No; she would not wish to he disturbedI fear to weary her. God forgive me if I am act- ing a selfish part ! I rose up resolutely; no more such weakness as that of the last hour; he was worthy of a womans love and honor, and I would give it. The next two months passed in a state of tranquil happiness. If manly devotion, if the most delicate and mi- nute attentions could win a heart, mine would have been won; and I thought it was, and re- posed on the idea. Mr. Lacy made no attempt to prevent my plunge into the gay world, postponed for a while by the late strange incidents. Now and then he would go with me to hall or opera, hut it was in the character of protector or spectator, not as participant; and I felt his presence a restraint. I was hy no means a coquette; I strove to hear always in mind that I was his affianced wife; hut I was only eighteen, ardent in temperament, with high animal spirits, very much courted and admired, and I did enter with a keen zest into the pleasures of life. His grave smile, in the height of my enjoyment, used to fall like a weight on my heart. He himself, holding an important and influ- ential position in the world, was full of earnest schemes of practical benevolence, of profession al reform. He seemed to think, labor, and write mainly with an eye to other mens inter- ests, and those in their highest and widest hear- ings. He liked to talk to me of these things, and excite my moral enthusiasm; and while I listened, he carried heart arid conviction with him, and I felt a call to such co-operation an honor, in which sacrifice could have no part. Then his look of intense affection and happi- ness, as he kissed the cheek to which his words had hrought so deep a glow, stirred my soul, and left no doubt on my mind that I loved him. At the end of two months, Mr. Lacy left me to attend a summons to his fathers death-bed. He expressed no fears as to the result of this separation, though I perceived a deep secret anxiety. I shared it. I had a morbid dread of the effect of this ahsence. Dont leave me I I cried, clinging weeping to his arm. I am afraid of myselfafraid of hecoming unworthy of you. How, Mildred ? was his answer. If you mean you will forget me, or discover you are mistaken in thinking you love me, it will save us both a life-long miseryme, at least, a life- long remorse. For a week or two after he left me, I hardly went into society; hut my father and friends laughed at my playing the widow, as they called it, and I soon resumed my former gayeties, with, however, a certain restraint and moderation which I felt due to Mr. Lacy. At length the temptation heset me of which I seemed to have had a vague presentiment from the first evening of Mr. Lacys offer, and it beset me under its most insidious form. My fathers sister and nephew came to pay us a long-talked-of visit; and even hefore they ar- rived, I had hegun to torture myself with doubts as to the issues of this intercourse. As children, Frank Ingram and I had spent half our time together; and as children had pledged ourselves to each other. Five years had passed since we had met, for he had been studying medicine abroad; but an unbroken, though scanty corre- spondence had been always kept up between the two families. Frank had been my ideal as a child. If I found him so stillif I were to love him !if, wheii he came, he brought with him that future about which I had dreamedbrought it in vain! There was something morbid in this state of mind; but the idea had fastened upon me, and I could not shake it off. My very self- mistrust was a snare. My aunt and cousin duly arrived; and of Frank I must speak the truth, even if I am ac- cused of a wish to justify myself. Every charm a young man could have, I think he possessed. I say nothing of his personal beauty, or his in- genuous graces of manner. I could have with- stood these, though I had a very keen apprecia- tion of them. But he was as full of disinter- ested ardor in his profession as Mr. Lacy in his; had the same deep desire to be of use in his generationthe same unselfish plans and aspi- rations; only he unfolded them with such a winning self-mistrust, as if he doubted his wor- thiness for the high vocation of benevolence, until lie warmed into enthusiasm; and then the passion of his speech, the very extravagance of his youthful hopes, thrilled me with a power far beyond the reasoned wisdom of Mr. Lacys en- terprises. Oh! I longed to join hands with him in his life-journey, and lend my aid to the ~vork- ing out of his Utopia, with a spontaneous fervor of desire never known before! A GIRLS DILEMMA. 89 Lesser things lent their aid. He was a fine musician, and an enthusiast in the art: we prac- ticed constantly together. He taught me how to play and sing the German compositions he had introduced to me. I do not wish to dwell on details; but who does not know how subtle n medium of love a kindred pursuit and enjoy- ment of music is ?and Mr. Lacy had never cared for music. Then, again, he was my per- petual companion: at breakfast, his clear eyes and welcoming voice opened the day; and after its long hours of delightful intercourse, his hand was the last I clasped at night. No attempt was made to put any restraint upon this dangerous companionship. My father looked npon us as brother and sister; besides, thefactofmyen- gagement was known, and he had the most im- plicit confidence in his nephews honor. lie never considered my danger, yet it was the greater. He might be strong, but I was weak. Ia short, I loved Frank. A letter, announcing the probable day of Mr. Lacys return, roused me to a conviction of the truth. I carried it up to my room, locked the door, and fell on my knees. What should I do? Should I keep my secret, and sin against my own soul by marrying one I did not love? Sure- ly that were the worst crime of the two. What was left me, then, but to wound a noble heart, belie my promise, inculpate my father. It seem- ed a dreadful alternative. After hours of ago- nized casuistry, I could not decide, but determ- ined to leave the final issue to chance. Did Frank love me? Strange that I took that fact for granted, torturing myself with the idea of what he would sufferhe, with his young, strong capacity for sorrow! This is not to be a long story, so I must not stay to analyze the state of my mind during the interval that elapsed before Mr. Lacys return. A criminal awaiting a sure condemnation, and that approved by his own aching conscience, would understand my feel- ings. The evening came on which we expected him. Never before had our drawing-room worn a more happy, home-like character. My father read the newspaper at ease in his ample chair; my handsome, lively aunt perpetually interrupting him with irrelevant remarks. I sat near the tea-table, for a certain hour had been fixed, and we waited for our guest before we began our fa- vorite meal. I held a book, to hide the changes of my countenance. Had I doubted my cousins love before, I should have doubted it no longer; how earnestly and searchingly he looked at me how grave and sad he appeared! The knock caine. It was natural I should start; but it was hard to smile naturally at my aunts pleasant raillery. Mr. Lacy came in; he was one of those whose self-governed, serene manner precludes flutter or embarrassment in others. The gentle friendliness of his greeting reassured me for the moment; under it I could hardly imagine the strong passionate current to exist that sometimes broke its bounds. The evening passed smoothly and pleasantly to all externals. Mr. Lacy was very grave, but then it was to be expected of a son who had just left his fathers death-bed; and my aunts ani- mated tongue filled up the intervals when con- versation would have flagged. Frank and I sang together at my fathers request, for I feared to seem unwilling; besides, it precluded the ne- cessity of my exerting myself to talk. Frank was very serious, and, I thought, averse to sing with me; but at the same time he had never sung to more advantage. The ordeal was over at last. Mr. Lacy took his leave, without any thing in his manner to make me fear, or perhaps hope, that my secret was discovered. A week passed; he was con- stantly with us, showing me the same tenderness as ever, somewhat graver, but as certainly more gentle. He seemed, too, to make a point of seeking Franks society, and spoke of him in high terms to my father. Oh! what a heavy heart I carried during that period. Looking in my glass, I thought with wonder of the change six months can work in mind and body. At the end of those seven days, I came to a reso- lution that nerved me with something like strength. I thought I would seek a direct in- terview with Mr. Lacy, tell him the whole truth, and throw myself on his generosity. Let him but release me from an engagement that became every hour more intolerable to contemplate, and I would consent to enter on no other. Let him but free me, and I would live unmarried forever yes, though I must take labor and poverty as companions. It was the very evening of the day I had come to this decision, that I chanced to meet Mr. Lacy on the stairs, at the hour of his usual arrival. Here was the desired opportunity, but I trembled to avail myself of it. He forestalled me. Give me a quarter of an hour alone, Mil- dred, in the library, he said. I have wished to have a few private words with you for days. We went in; he placed me a chair near the fire, and closed the door carefully, then came up to me, standing before me as he spoke: This day six months ago, Mildred, I made a promise I am going to redeem. If you are not happy, I said, I will free you from the en- gagement you made with mc. You are not happy. I suspected the truth from your letters those painful lettersand I saw it confirmed the first night of my arrival. The expression of your face, the tone of your voice, when you spoke to your cousin, would have set the strong- est doubt at rest, killed the most pertinacious hope. He pansed a moment, then went on as calmly as before: I acquit you of all blame, Mildred; it was I that acted the unworthy part, taking unmanly advantage of my power to help your father and your untried childs heart. If I were not now the only sufferer, I could scarce- ly bear the retrospect; but I am, thank God! As for your father, our fears magnified his dan- ger; the little help I was able to give, has re- established his position as firmly as before. He 90 hARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. will repay me; you owe me nothing. I have had a wild dream, hut I am awake at last awake enough to see it was a fools idea that a man like me could win a young girls heart. He was calm no longer; but he turned abrupt- ly away to hide his emotion. Mr. Lacy, I cried, striving to stifle the con- flict of my love, I would fain do right. I have a deep esteem for youI I broke off. Give me a little time, I added, passionately renewing the effort; I shall conquer this love of mineI will become worthy of you, after all! Conquer the purest feeling of a womans heart! Offer yourself a sacrifice to my selfish- ness! No, no; Mildred, yours is the season of blessednessmine is already past. Presently, I will come back to you in my old character, and be able to say with less difficulty than I do to- night, God bless you both. I will kiss you for the last time. He clasped me in his arms, and kissed me, seemingly with more earnestness than passion, but it was the very depth of passion. As the door closed upon him, a strange impulse seized me. I longed to call him back. Was it true I did not love him? I saw none of my family that evening, for I went at once to my room. What a night of misery and conflict I passed! The next morning Frank came to my private sitting-room, and knocked for admittance. He~ held a letter in his hand; his fine eyes were suffused with happiness. Sympathize with me, Mildred, he said; I feel too much to bear it alone. I have never talked to you about her, for I could not trust myself with the subject while a doubt remained. Now, I will tell you about my darling; she is as worthy of a true mans heart asas Mr. Lacy is of yours. By the way, Mildred, I was very anxious about you that night he came home, for your manner was notnot what, were I in his place, would have satisfied me; but that is the form a womans caprice takes with you, I have concluded. As for not loving him at bottom, I dont dare so to impugn my noble cousins heart and understanding. Frank talked on long and earnestlytold me the story of his love, read me his letter; but I heard nothing distinctly, understood nothing fully. One fact I grasped, that he was going to leave me to-morrowgoing to this darling of hisand that if I had a spark of dignity and womanly sense left, I must excite it now. I dont know how I bore my martyrdom ; but I won its crown. Frank bade me good-by with- out a susl)icion of the truth. I ran once more to the solitude of my cham- ber. I felt abandonedprostrate. I flung my- self on the bed in a transport of despair. Why, I had lost all! Had-I been so criminal that my punishment was so heavy? Oh, Frank ! I cried, how I have loved youwhat life might have been ! Then I reflected, if Mr. Lacy loved me as I loved my cousin, what a fine spirit and nature he had shown; what a rare gift such a heart was! Miserable as I was, it was deeper misery to think I was the cause of his. I was very ill after these events, and fears for my health quite absorbed any anger my father might have felt at the disappointment of a cher- ished desire, or perhaps Mr. Lacy, by his repre- sentations, had shielded me against it. When I recovered, people said I was very much al- tered; and so I was. The flush of youth was passed; I was not twenty, but nothing of the childishness of a few months back was left. Frank was married; and Mr. Lacy we never sawat least I never saw him. Disappoint- ment had made life an earnest thing to me; and taught by its discipline, the character of my former lover rose in dignity in my eyes. How was it that what I had thought would be a life-long regretmy love for my cousin seemed a transient emotion, of which the traces grew daily feebler. Had I sacrificed my hap- piness to a passing fancy? Or was it that at my age one can not long cling to the impossible? Little signified the seeming contrariety of my heart, for the fact remainedif I had never loved Mr. Lacy before, I loved him now. I thought perpetually of the incidents of our brief engagementevery word of endearment, every embrace, had its hold on my memory. I re- called his opinions, framing my own stringently by them, and followed his public career so far as I was able, aided by my deep knowledge of the high principles and motives that actuated it. The feeling grew in silence, till my former love for Frank was but a childs dream in com- parison. To hear his name mentioned, and al- ways mentioned in connection with something honorable, moved me with a strange passion of feelingand he had loved me! Oh! did he love me yet? Time passed, and I had long resumed my former relations with society, and had met with successes enough to gratify my heart had vanity been my ruling passion, or could I have adopted it in place of the one which was secretly sapping the fresh springs of life. Sometimes the idea occurred, that it might he possible, without any compromise of womanly dignity, to ascertain his feelings for me, and if they remained unchanged, to teach him the change in mine; and then I fell into that coloring of a bright future which seems to be the ordained and Sisyphus-like pen- alty of the unhappy. My chance came at last. At a large dinner~ party, I unexpectedly met Mr. Lacy. He came to me at once; spoke kindly and gently, as in long-past times; but there was nothing to lead to the idea that he still loved meno hesitation in the well-known voice, no latent tenderness in the searching eyes. I could not bear it, and wished he would leave me to myself, and not torture me with that cruel friendship. At my first opportunity I turned from him, and en- gaged myself in conversation with a gentleman who was well known to be one of my suitors. It appeared like coquetry, but it was the eager- PASSING FACES. 91 ness of self-mistrust. That evening seemed very long, and insupportably painful; I had not known how tenaciously I had clung to hope until it failed me. When Mr. Lacy came forward to help me to my carriage, I felt I could hardly re- ceive the ordinary civility from him without be- traying myself. I was surprised when he begged me to turn into an empty room we passed on our way to the hall. Mildred, he said, I was going to ask you, when we first met to-night, whether I might resume my old relations in your family. Nearly two years have passed since we last met, and I thought I could bring you back the calm heart of a friend. But you have so studiously shunned me, that to ask permission now seems superfluous. What am I to think? Have you not forgiven me yet for the misery I cost you ? I was silent. If I could have fallen at his feet, and sobbed out the truth, I might have been blessed for life; but that would have been too great a sacrifice for even love to exact from a womans pride. If the deepest sympathy in your disappoint- ment could entitle me to the character of a friend, Mr. Lacy pursued, you would give me your hand willingly. Pardon me, Mildred, for what may seem an unmanly allusion, but it is best to make itif there is any chance of fu- ture friendship between us. It was hard to give you up, harder still to feel the sacrifice had been in vain. Had you been happily married, I could have returned to you sooner; but suffering, and to feel I had no power to soothe This generosity was too much for me. I rose up hastily from the seat I had taken. I can not bear it, I said rashly; the past has been cruel enough, but this is worse than all. Oh, I am miserable! Friends we can never be let me go home ! I spoke with the fretful- ness of a child; lie looked amazed. Am I again deceived ? he asked. I was told that the gentleman I saw with you this evening, Mr. Branson, was your accepted lover. I know him well; he deserves you, Mildred. I rejoiced to see you bright and animated, as you used to be, in his societyto think there was no blight on the future for you at least. What can you mean? You will not risk, surely, the hap- piness of both? Pardon me, he added, color- ing, I forget I have not even a friends right to warn. On the brink of ones fate, to deliberate is to lose all. Mr. Branson is nothing to me, I said, white and trembling, and will never be more; the past will not let itself be so soon forgotten. My tone seemed to excite him. Mildred! he exclaimed passionately, did you, then, love him so much? Ah! had mine been the power ! He drew a long breath, and fixed for a moment a gaze on my face that solved my last doubt, broke down the last bar- rier. Frank has long been forgotten, I said, and instinctively I held out my hand that was a childs love. What I want of the future, is to be what the past once promised, Mr. Lacy. I had stood erect, and spoken audibly up to this point; but here my bead drooped, my cheeks burned, yet from no ignoble shame. One quick glance of searching astonishment, one rapturous exclamation, and I was folded in his arms. Mildred, forgive my doubt. You have re- gretted meyou love me ? Beyond what you have asked, I stammered, hidiugmyface on his sboulderbeyond friend- ship. I feel I have found my ark of refuge PASSING FACES. WE have no need to go abroad to study eth- nology. A walk through the streets of any great city will show us specimens of every human variety known. Not pur sang, of course, but transmitted (diluted too) through the Anglo- Saxon mediumspecial characteristics neces- sarily not left very sharply defined. It takes a tolerably quick eye, and the educated percep- tions of an artist, to trace the original lines through the successive shadings made by many generations of a different race. But still those lines are to be seen by all who know how to look for them, or who understand them when they are before them. It is perfectly incredible what a large num- ber of ugly people one sees. One wonders where they can possibly have come fromfrom what invading tribe of savages or monkeys. We meet faces that are scarcely humanposi- tively brutified out of all trace of intelligence by vice, gin, and want of education; but besides this sad class, there are the simply ugly faces, with all the lines turned the wrong way, and all the colors in the wrong places; and then there are the bird and beast faces, of which Gavarni s caricatures are faithful portraits. Doesnt every body count a crane and a secretary-bird among his acquaintances? tall men, with sloping shoul- ders and slender legs, with long necks, which no cravat or stock can cover, with small heads if a crane, the hair cropped short ; if a secre- tary-bird, worn long and flung back upon the shoulders, that look as if they were sliding down-hill in a fright. These are the men who are called elegantgood lord !and who mann- der through life in a daft state of simpering dilettanteism, but who never thought a man s thought, nor did a mans work, since they were born. Every one knows, too, the hawks face about gambling-tables and down in the city very commonand the rooks, and the jack- daws; and some of us are troubled with the distressing neighborhood of a foolish man-snipe, and some of us have had our intimate owls and favorite parrots; though the man-parrot is not a desirable companion in general. But the beast-faces, there is no limit to them! Dogs alone supply the outlines of half the por- traits we know. There is the bull-dogthat man in the brown suit yonder, with bandy legs and heavy shoulders: did you ever see a ken- neled muzzle more thoroughly the bull-dog than

Passing Faces 91-94

PASSING FACES. 91 ness of self-mistrust. That evening seemed very long, and insupportably painful; I had not known how tenaciously I had clung to hope until it failed me. When Mr. Lacy came forward to help me to my carriage, I felt I could hardly re- ceive the ordinary civility from him without be- traying myself. I was surprised when he begged me to turn into an empty room we passed on our way to the hall. Mildred, he said, I was going to ask you, when we first met to-night, whether I might resume my old relations in your family. Nearly two years have passed since we last met, and I thought I could bring you back the calm heart of a friend. But you have so studiously shunned me, that to ask permission now seems superfluous. What am I to think? Have you not forgiven me yet for the misery I cost you ? I was silent. If I could have fallen at his feet, and sobbed out the truth, I might have been blessed for life; but that would have been too great a sacrifice for even love to exact from a womans pride. If the deepest sympathy in your disappoint- ment could entitle me to the character of a friend, Mr. Lacy pursued, you would give me your hand willingly. Pardon me, Mildred, for what may seem an unmanly allusion, but it is best to make itif there is any chance of fu- ture friendship between us. It was hard to give you up, harder still to feel the sacrifice had been in vain. Had you been happily married, I could have returned to you sooner; but suffering, and to feel I had no power to soothe This generosity was too much for me. I rose up hastily from the seat I had taken. I can not bear it, I said rashly; the past has been cruel enough, but this is worse than all. Oh, I am miserable! Friends we can never be let me go home ! I spoke with the fretful- ness of a child; lie looked amazed. Am I again deceived ? he asked. I was told that the gentleman I saw with you this evening, Mr. Branson, was your accepted lover. I know him well; he deserves you, Mildred. I rejoiced to see you bright and animated, as you used to be, in his societyto think there was no blight on the future for you at least. What can you mean? You will not risk, surely, the hap- piness of both? Pardon me, he added, color- ing, I forget I have not even a friends right to warn. On the brink of ones fate, to deliberate is to lose all. Mr. Branson is nothing to me, I said, white and trembling, and will never be more; the past will not let itself be so soon forgotten. My tone seemed to excite him. Mildred! he exclaimed passionately, did you, then, love him so much? Ah! had mine been the power ! He drew a long breath, and fixed for a moment a gaze on my face that solved my last doubt, broke down the last bar- rier. Frank has long been forgotten, I said, and instinctively I held out my hand that was a childs love. What I want of the future, is to be what the past once promised, Mr. Lacy. I had stood erect, and spoken audibly up to this point; but here my bead drooped, my cheeks burned, yet from no ignoble shame. One quick glance of searching astonishment, one rapturous exclamation, and I was folded in his arms. Mildred, forgive my doubt. You have re- gretted meyou love me ? Beyond what you have asked, I stammered, hidiugmyface on his sboulderbeyond friend- ship. I feel I have found my ark of refuge PASSING FACES. WE have no need to go abroad to study eth- nology. A walk through the streets of any great city will show us specimens of every human variety known. Not pur sang, of course, but transmitted (diluted too) through the Anglo- Saxon mediumspecial characteristics neces- sarily not left very sharply defined. It takes a tolerably quick eye, and the educated percep- tions of an artist, to trace the original lines through the successive shadings made by many generations of a different race. But still those lines are to be seen by all who know how to look for them, or who understand them when they are before them. It is perfectly incredible what a large num- ber of ugly people one sees. One wonders where they can possibly have come fromfrom what invading tribe of savages or monkeys. We meet faces that are scarcely humanposi- tively brutified out of all trace of intelligence by vice, gin, and want of education; but besides this sad class, there are the simply ugly faces, with all the lines turned the wrong way, and all the colors in the wrong places; and then there are the bird and beast faces, of which Gavarni s caricatures are faithful portraits. Doesnt every body count a crane and a secretary-bird among his acquaintances? tall men, with sloping shoul- ders and slender legs, with long necks, which no cravat or stock can cover, with small heads if a crane, the hair cropped short ; if a secre- tary-bird, worn long and flung back upon the shoulders, that look as if they were sliding down-hill in a fright. These are the men who are called elegantgood lord !and who mann- der through life in a daft state of simpering dilettanteism, but who never thought a man s thought, nor did a mans work, since they were born. Every one knows, too, the hawks face about gambling-tables and down in the city very commonand the rooks, and the jack- daws; and some of us are troubled with the distressing neighborhood of a foolish man-snipe, and some of us have had our intimate owls and favorite parrots; though the man-parrot is not a desirable companion in general. But the beast-faces, there is no limit to them! Dogs alone supply the outlines of half the por- traits we know. There is the bull-dogthat man in the brown suit yonder, with bandy legs and heavy shoulders: did you ever see a ken- neled muzzle more thoroughly the bull-dog than 92 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. this? The small eyes close under the brows, the smooth bullet forehead, heavy jaw, and snub nose, all are essentially of the bull-dog breed, and at the same time essentially British. Then the mastiff, with the double-bass voice and the square hanging jaw; and the shabby- looking taraspit, with his hair staring out at all sides, and his eyes drawn up to its roots; and the greyhound, lean of rib and sharp of face; and the terrierwho is often a lawyerwith a snarl in his voice and a kind of restlessness in his eye, as if mentally worrying a rathis client; and the Skye, all beard and mustache and glossy curls, with a plaintive expression of countenance and an exceedingly meek demean- or; and the noble old Newfoundland dog, per- haps a brave old soldier from active service, who is chivalrous to women and gentle to chil- dren, and who repels petty annoyances with a grand patience that is veritably heroic. Reader, if you know a Newfoundland-dog man, cherish him: stupid as he probably will be, yet he is worth your love. Then we have horse-faced men; and men like camels, with quite the camel lip; and the sheep-faced man, with the forehead retreating from his long energetic nose smooth men without whiskers, and with shin- ing hair cut close, and not curling, like pointers; the lion-manhe is a grand fellow; and the bull-headed man; the flat serpent head; and the tigers, like an inverted pyramid; the gi- raffes lengthy unhelpfulness; and the sharp red face of the fox. Dont we meet men like these at every step we take? and if we know any such intimately, dont we invariably find that their characters correspond somewhat with their per- sons? The women, toowe have likenesses for them. I know a woman who might have been the ancestress of all the rabbits in the land. A soft downy-looking, fair, placid woman, with long hair looping down like ears, and an inno- cent face of mingled timidity and surprise. She is a sweet-tempered thing, always eating or sleeping; who breathes hard when she goes up stairs, and who has as few brains in working order as a human being can get on with. She is just a human rabbit, and nothing more; and she looks like one. We all know the setter womanthe best of all the typesgraceful, animated, ~vell-formed, intelligent, with large eyes and wavy hair, who walks with a firm tread but a light one, and who can turn her hand to any thing. The true setter woman is always married; she is the real woman of the world. Then there is the Blenheim Spaniel, who covers up her face in her ringlets and holds down her head when she talks, and who is shy and timid. And there is the greyhound woman, with lantern-jaws and braided hair, and large knuckles, generally rather distorted. There is the cat woman, too; elegant, stealthy, clever, caressing; who walks without noise, and is great in the way of endearment. No limbs are so supple as hers, no backbone so wonder- fully pliant; no voice so sweet, no manners so endearing. She extracts your secrets from you before you know that you have spoken; and half an hours conversation with that graceful, purring woman, has revealed to her every most dangerous fact it has been your lifes study to hide. The cat woman is a dangerous animal. She has claws hidden in that velvet paw, and she can draw blood when she unsheathes them. Then there is the cow-faced woman, generally of phlegmatic temperament and melancholy disposition, given to pious books and teeto- talism. And there is the lurcher woman, the strong-visaged strong-minded female, who wears rough coats with mens pockets and large bone buttons, and whose bonnets fling a spiteful de- fiance at both beauty and fashion. This is that wonderful creature who electrifies foreigners by climbing their mountains in a mongrel kind of attire, in which mens cloth trowsers form the most striking feature; and who goes about the business of life in a rough, gruff, lurcher-like fashion, as if grace and beauty were the two cardinal sins of womanhood, and she were on a mission to put them down. This is not a desirable animal. We have women like mer- mo sheep: they wear their hair over their eyes and far on to their necks. And women like poodle dogs, with fuzzy heads and round eyes; women like kangaroos, with short arms and a clumsy kind of hop when they walk; and we have active, intelligent little women, with just the faintest suspicion of a rats face on them, as they look watchfully after the servants and in- spect the mysteries of the jam closet. Then there are pretty little loving marmoset faces. I know the very transcript of the golden-haired Silky Tamarin. It is a gentle, plaintive, loving creature, with large liquid brown eyes, that have always a tear behind them and a look of soft reproach in them; its hair hangs in a profusion of golden-brown curlsnot curls so much as a mass of waving tresses; it is a creeping, nest- ling, clinging thing, that seems as if it wants always to bury itself in some ones armsas if the world outside were all too large and cold for it. There is the horse-faced woman, too, as well as the horse-faced man; and there is the turn-spit woman, with her ragged head and blunt common nose. In fact, there are female varieties of all the male types we have mention- ed, excepting, perhaps, the lion woman. I have never seen a true lion-headed woman, except- ing in that black Egyptian figure, sitting with her hands on her two knees, and grinning grim- ly on the Museum world, as Babastis, the lion- headed goddess of the Nile. Well, then, as we walk through the street we have two subjects of contemplation in the pass- ing faces hurrying bytheir races and their like- nesses. Now to their social condition and their histories, stamped on them as legibly as arms are painted on a carriage panel. In every city are several varieties. There are the smart men, who wear jaunty hats and well- trimmed mustaches; who drive to their places of business in cabs, and who evidently think PASSING FACES. 93 they are paying commerce a compliment by making their fortunes out of it. And there are the staid, respectable city men, who live in the suburbs, ride in omnibuses, and wear greatcoats of superseded cut; who carry umbrellas, shaven chins, and short whiskers, and are emphatically the city men. And there are equivocal-look- ing men, who are evidently unsubstantial spec- ulators without capital, and who trade on airy thousands when they want money enough to buy a dinner. Dont we all know these men, with their keen faces and bad hats, their eager walk and trowsers bulged out at the knees? Dont we all know the very turn of their black satin handkerchief pinned with that paste pin a claw holding a pearlall sham, every bit of it, excepting the claw, which is allegorical and folded so as to hide the soiled and crumpled shirt? Dont we see by their very boots that they are men of straw? For by right of un- paid bills, the landlady is impertinent or the servant disrespectful, and these necessary cover- ings are therefore left in a dusty and unenlight- ened condition. These are the men who are the curse of the commercial world. Unsern- pulons, shifty, careless of the ruin which their false schemes may bring on their dupes when the bubble bursts and the day of reckoning comes. In the city, too, about the doors of the banks, and offices, and the city clubs, are stand- ing old men dirty and worn. Perhaps they were once clerks in the very offices at the doors of which they now lounge to serve any cab or carriage that may drive up. You never see such men any where but in the city; not with the same amount of intelligence and abject poverty combined. In better days they may perhaps have shoveled you out gold in shining scoops, or have checked your cash-book for thousands. Then there are Jews; with that clever, sens- ual, crafty countenance, which contains the epitome of the whole Hebrew history; with their jewelry and flashy dress. And there are young thieves, with downcast eyes and a whole- some fear of the policeman; but every now and then a sharp glance that seems to take in a whole world of purses and pockets, and to sub- tract your money like magic from your hand. These have generally an older lad, or young man, lounging near them. You would scarce- ly believe him their companion, he looks so staid and respectable; but he is. The young thieves are not confined to the city, unhappily. You see them every where. Turning vaguely down any street where they think they see a victim; walking without aim or purpose or busi- ness in their walk; dressed incongruously with some one, or perhaps two articles of dress perfectly good, and the rest in tatters; bearing no signs of special trade or of work about them; a strange kind of cunning, rather than of intel- ligence, in their faces: these are the marks of the thieves. Turning westward, carriages and mustaches increase; queerly-dressed people and carts de- VOL. XI.No. 6l.G crease. You see fewer policemen, as such; but more acute-looking men in plain clothes, on the look out for evidence or a criminal. And you see more ladies. Here is one in all the pride of her new maternity, walking with nurse by her side carrying baby in a maze of ribbons, laces, and embroidery. Sometimes it is a blue baby, sometimes a pink one, or a light green, or a stone color; not often a white one in the town because of the soot. You read in the face of this young wife pleasant revelations of love and happiness, with all the gloss of new- ness on the marriage ring as yet. You read of a pretty home, with the clean, bright furni- ture arranged like pretty playthings, and re-ar- ranged almost daily; of sisters coming to stay, full of pride and love, and thinking Henry the most charming brother possible. You meet the strong-minded woman always, and always recognizable under her various dis- guisesthe lurcher still and ever. And you meet the silly little woman whose bonnets are farther off her head, whose petticoats are longer especially in dirty weatherand whose cloaks are shorter, than every bodys else; orange girls with bloated faces, flattened bonnets, and torn shawls; butter boys with greasy jackets; butch- er boys with greasy hair; newspaper boys, im- pudent and vocal; ragged school boys, in red jackets or green, cleaning your honors shoes for a penny, and with a strange expression of hope and redemption in their faces; tigers, pagesall buttons and silver lace, poor mon- keys; vulgar boys coming from school; foreign- ers with beards, hooded cloaks, slouched hats, and smoking; artists imitating themvery bad- ly; shopmen, oily and pert; country clergymen up for the day, with tt train of women the re- verse of fashionable; workmen, all lime and paint; pretty girls and lovely children: this is the city world as seen in the streets, and met with every day. And what a world it is, as it passes so swift- ly by! The hopes, the joys, the deadly fears; the triumph here, the ruin there; the quiet heroism, the secret sinwhat a tumult of hu- man passions burning like fire in the volcano of human life! Look at that pale woman, with red eyes, sunken cheeks, and that painful thin- ness of the shabby genteel. She is the wife of a gambler, once an honorable and a wealthy man, now sunk to the lowest depths of moral degradationfast sinking to the lowest depths of social poverty as well, lie came home last ni,ht half mad. The broad bruise on her shoulder, beneath that flimsy shawl, would tell its own tale if you saw it. Tier husbands hand used once to fall in a softer fashion there than it fell last night. She has come to-day to pawn some of her clothes; the first time in her miser- able career that this task has been forced on her: by this day next year she will have known every pawnbrokers shop in the quarter. Lucky for her, if she does not come to know every ginshop as well! This little woman laughing in the shrill voice, ran away from her home a HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. year ago. She is laughing now to choke back WATER CURE. the tears which gushed to her strained eyes as Having our minds sprinkled from an cvii conscience. the baby in the white long cloak was carried and our bodies washed with pure water. by. She left one about the same age on the ~~NOW, if I knewLord help me! I often hot snmmers night when she fled from all that feel as if I did not knowwhether the good men reverence. Those tears show that next life be any better than this, whether get- conscience is not all dead within her yet. Poor ting rid of the body be any advantage to the soul mother! the day will come when that false before heaven I would gladly die to-morrow ! laughter will no longer choke back those peni- By Jove! Alick, Ibavent the slightest wish tent sobs; when you will forget to smile, and of the kind. learn to weep and pray! The downcast man We twoAustin Hardy and Alexander Fyfe stalking moodily along has just lost his last far- as we sat over the fire in my lodgings, in Bur- thing on the Stock Exchange. He is going ton Crescent, were not bad types of two classes home now to break the news to his wife, and to of men, not rare in this our day, who may stand arrange for a flight to California or Australia. convicted as moral suicidesmind-murderers He, this moment jostling him, was married last and body-murderers. week to an heiress, and a pretty one too: he is We were cousins, but at the opposite poles of humming an opera tune as he wnlks briskly societyhe was rich, I poor. The world lured home to his temporary lodgings, and wondering him, and scouted me; its pit of perdition was what people can find in life to make them so opened wide for us both; but he was kissed, and miserable and dull! For his part, he finds this I was kicked, into it. Now we both found our- world a jolly place enough; and so might others, selves clinging to its brink, and glaring help- too, if they chose, he says. That pale youth lessly at one another from opposite sides, won- sauntering feebly, dined out last night, and dering which would be the first to let go, and woke with a headache this morning. He wears drop towhere? a glass in his eye, and is qualifying himself for It was the 1st of November. I had sat hour manliness anddeath, by a course of dissipa- after hour, the MS. ofmylast book before me; the tion. He has just come to his fortune, which finished half on my left hand grinned fiendishly he wont enjoy many years, unless he finds out at the unfinished half on my rightto wit, a that he is living the life of a fooland he must heap of blank sheets, two hundred; two hundred grow wiser before he can find out that. The pages that, by Christmas, must be coveredcoy- clean respectable woman of middle age is a ered, too, with the best fruit of my soul, my gentlemans housekeeper coming from her visits heart, and my brains; else, my dear friend, the among the poor. She has just taken some wine public would say, compassionately, Poor fel- to a sick woman down in a filthy street, and low! he has written himself out ; or, sneeringly, some socks and flannel to a family of destitute If these authors did but know when to stop 1 children. There is much more of this kind of Stop ?with life and all its daily needs, du- charity than we see on the surface of society; ties, pleasantnesspshaw! I may draw my pen though still not so much as is wanted. The through tAut wordhammering incessantly at sweet-looking girl walking alone, and dressed the door! with old Ages ugly face, solitary and nil in dove-color, is an authoress; and the man poor, peering in at the windowstop, indeed! with bright eyes and black hair, who has just I was in tbis agreeable state of mind, when lifted his hat to her and walks on, with a certain my cousin Austin lounged into my room on that slouch in his shoulders that belongs to a man of November day. business, is an author, and an editor; a Pope, Do I interrupt you ? he said, for he was a a Jupiter, a Czar in his own domain, against kindly-hearted fellow, though not over-burdened whose fiat there is neither redress nor appeal. with brains, and wholly uninitiate in the life of No despotism is equal to the despotism of an literature. editor. Interrupt! no, my good fellow. I wish you Pass oncrowds on crowds still meet; and did, said I, ivith a groan. There is nothing face after face, full of meaning, turned toward to interrupt. One might as well spin a thread- you as you pass; signs of all nations and races of-gold gown out of that spider-line, dangling of men pass you, unknown of all and to them- from the ceiling, as weave a story out of this selves whence they came; beasts and birds skull of minethis squeezed sponge, this ccl- dressed in human form; tragedies in broad- lapsed bladder; its good for nothing but a din- cloth, farces in rags; passions sweeping through ing-hall to a select party of worms. the air like tropical storms, and silent virtues Eh ? said he, innocently uncomprehending. stealing by like moonlight; LIFE, in all its Never mind. What of yourself, Hardy? boundless power of joy and sufferingthis is How is the hunting and the shooting, the betting the great picture-book to be read in the streets and the play-going, the dinner-parties and the of a mighty city; these are the wild notes to balls ? be listened to; this the strange mass of pathos, All over. poetry, caricature, and beauty which lie heaped He shook his head, and a severe fit of cough- up together without order er distinctive head- ing convulsed his large, strong-built frame. ing, and which men endorse as Society and the Im booked for the other world. I wish World. you were my heir.

Water Cure 94-112

HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. year ago. She is laughing now to choke back WATER CURE. the tears which gushed to her strained eyes as Having our minds sprinkled from an cvii conscience. the baby in the white long cloak was carried and our bodies washed with pure water. by. She left one about the same age on the ~~NOW, if I knewLord help me! I often hot snmmers night when she fled from all that feel as if I did not knowwhether the good men reverence. Those tears show that next life be any better than this, whether get- conscience is not all dead within her yet. Poor ting rid of the body be any advantage to the soul mother! the day will come when that false before heaven I would gladly die to-morrow ! laughter will no longer choke back those peni- By Jove! Alick, Ibavent the slightest wish tent sobs; when you will forget to smile, and of the kind. learn to weep and pray! The downcast man We twoAustin Hardy and Alexander Fyfe stalking moodily along has just lost his last far- as we sat over the fire in my lodgings, in Bur- thing on the Stock Exchange. He is going ton Crescent, were not bad types of two classes home now to break the news to his wife, and to of men, not rare in this our day, who may stand arrange for a flight to California or Australia. convicted as moral suicidesmind-murderers He, this moment jostling him, was married last and body-murderers. week to an heiress, and a pretty one too: he is We were cousins, but at the opposite poles of humming an opera tune as he wnlks briskly societyhe was rich, I poor. The world lured home to his temporary lodgings, and wondering him, and scouted me; its pit of perdition was what people can find in life to make them so opened wide for us both; but he was kissed, and miserable and dull! For his part, he finds this I was kicked, into it. Now we both found our- world a jolly place enough; and so might others, selves clinging to its brink, and glaring help- too, if they chose, he says. That pale youth lessly at one another from opposite sides, won- sauntering feebly, dined out last night, and dering which would be the first to let go, and woke with a headache this morning. He wears drop towhere? a glass in his eye, and is qualifying himself for It was the 1st of November. I had sat hour manliness anddeath, by a course of dissipa- after hour, the MS. ofmylast book before me; the tion. He has just come to his fortune, which finished half on my left hand grinned fiendishly he wont enjoy many years, unless he finds out at the unfinished half on my rightto wit, a that he is living the life of a fooland he must heap of blank sheets, two hundred; two hundred grow wiser before he can find out that. The pages that, by Christmas, must be coveredcoy- clean respectable woman of middle age is a ered, too, with the best fruit of my soul, my gentlemans housekeeper coming from her visits heart, and my brains; else, my dear friend, the among the poor. She has just taken some wine public would say, compassionately, Poor fel- to a sick woman down in a filthy street, and low! he has written himself out ; or, sneeringly, some socks and flannel to a family of destitute If these authors did but know when to stop 1 children. There is much more of this kind of Stop ?with life and all its daily needs, du- charity than we see on the surface of society; ties, pleasantnesspshaw! I may draw my pen though still not so much as is wanted. The through tAut wordhammering incessantly at sweet-looking girl walking alone, and dressed the door! with old Ages ugly face, solitary and nil in dove-color, is an authoress; and the man poor, peering in at the windowstop, indeed! with bright eyes and black hair, who has just I was in tbis agreeable state of mind, when lifted his hat to her and walks on, with a certain my cousin Austin lounged into my room on that slouch in his shoulders that belongs to a man of November day. business, is an author, and an editor; a Pope, Do I interrupt you ? he said, for he was a a Jupiter, a Czar in his own domain, against kindly-hearted fellow, though not over-burdened whose fiat there is neither redress nor appeal. with brains, and wholly uninitiate in the life of No despotism is equal to the despotism of an literature. editor. Interrupt! no, my good fellow. I wish you Pass oncrowds on crowds still meet; and did, said I, ivith a groan. There is nothing face after face, full of meaning, turned toward to interrupt. One might as well spin a thread- you as you pass; signs of all nations and races of-gold gown out of that spider-line, dangling of men pass you, unknown of all and to them- from the ceiling, as weave a story out of this selves whence they came; beasts and birds skull of minethis squeezed sponge, this ccl- dressed in human form; tragedies in broad- lapsed bladder; its good for nothing but a din- cloth, farces in rags; passions sweeping through ing-hall to a select party of worms. the air like tropical storms, and silent virtues Eh ? said he, innocently uncomprehending. stealing by like moonlight; LIFE, in all its Never mind. What of yourself, Hardy? boundless power of joy and sufferingthis is How is the hunting and the shooting, the betting the great picture-book to be read in the streets and the play-going, the dinner-parties and the of a mighty city; these are the wild notes to balls ? be listened to; this the strange mass of pathos, All over. poetry, caricature, and beauty which lie heaped He shook his head, and a severe fit of cough- up together without order er distinctive head- ing convulsed his large, strong-built frame. ing, and which men endorse as Society and the Im booked for the other world. I wish World. you were my heir. WATER CURE. 95 Thank you; but, for so brief a possession, it wouldnt be worth my while. I lit a candle, and we stood contemplating one another. Finally, we each made the re- marks with which I have commenced this his- tory. Let us continue it now. Why do you want to die, Alexander Fyfe ? To escape the trouble of living. Live !its only existing; I dont liveI never lived. What is life but having ones full powers free to use, to command, to enjoy? I have none of these. My body hampers my mind, my mind destroys my body, and circumstances make slaves of both. I look withouteverything is ablank; within I beg to state, as I did to Austin the next minute, that I am not used to whine in this way; but I was ill,and I had sat for five hours with a blank page before me, upon which I had writ- ten precisely five lines. Austins face expressed the utmost astonish- ment. Why, I djdnt know youhad any thing amiss; you always seem to me the healthiest fellow alive. A successful author, with only yourself to look afterno property, no establishment, no responsibilities; just a little bit of writing to do each day, and be paid for it, and all is right. I laughed at his amusing picture of an au- thors existence. Then, so hermit-like as you live here, all among your books. My poor dear aunt herself, if she could see you Hush! Austin. Well, I ~vill; but all the world knows what a good woman she was. Saint-like fellow you are, easy enough, and you have no temptation to be otherwise. Now, I am obliged to go post- haste to destruction, if only to save myself from dying of ennui. Another fit of coughing cut him short. I for- got my own despair in pitying his, for he seemed to hold that cheating vixen Life with such a frantic clutch, and she was so visibly slipping from him. There, at least, I was better off than he. This world was all my terror; of that to come, dark as its mysteries were, I hnd no ab- solute fear. Youre hard up, Austin, my boy. What are you going to do ? Nothing. It isnt consumption, they say. It ~vill turn to asthma, most likelyasthma brought on by Its a pretty confession to make at my time of life; but you and I are old cronies, Alick. All my own doings, the doctors say would have knocked up the finest constitution in the world, which I had ten years agowith a piteous groan. Well, confess what has done it ? Smoking, late hours, and, after a pause, hard drinking. Whew I It was a very dolorous whistle, I believe. What is a fellow to do ? said Hardy, rather sullenly. Life is so confoundedly slow? You want excitementyou take to the turf or the gaming-table. If you win, you must drink and be jolly; if you lose, why, drink and drown care. Then other perplexitieswomankind, for in- stance: you run after an angel, and find her out something on the other side of humanity; or shes sharp and clever, makes a mock of you, and marries your friend; or she tries to jump down your throat, and you might have her so cheap she isnt worth the winning. Is that the fact in your case My lad, youd find it so, if you had ten thou- sand a year. This was a doubtful compliment, certainly; but he meant it in all simplicity. Besides, I knew enough of his affairs to be aware that the circumstances he mentioned in this impersonal form were literally true. I wonder, cousin, you are not weary of this hunting after shadows. Why dont you marry? Marry! I? to leave a wife a widow next year! Not but diet would raise my value in the market immensely. Seriously, Alick, do you think there is any woman in the world worth marrying? I dont, and never did. r was silent. Afterward he said, in an al- tered tone I did not quite mean never. Was she fourteen or fifteen, when she died, Alexander ? I knew he was thinking of his old child-sweet- heart, my little sister Mary. No, no; marrying is out of the question. Whether I die early or late, I shall certainly die a bachelor. Shall you ? Very probably. And, as I glanced at the two hundred blank pages, and thetwo hundred more scrawled over, I hugged myself in the knowledge that, if it came to starvation, there was only one to starveno pale wife, fading slowly from a dream of beauty into a weak slattern, peevish and sad; no cry- ing children, wailing reproaches into the fathers heart, not only for their lost birthright, but for their very birth itself. No, I thought, with set teeth and clenched palms as if the time of my youth was as a bitter fruit between my lips, or a poison-flower in my hands, and I were grind- ing both to powderNo, as old Will hath it, Tis better as it is. Still, cried I, rousing myself, for poor Aus- tins case was worse than mine, and he had more responsibilities in the world still life is worth a struggle, and you know you hate your next heir. Once more, what are you going to do ? I dont know. Have you any doctor? About a dozen. Then you are a dead man, ~Austin Hardy. So I believe. Again a long pause. I cant leave you this estate, cousin, you know, and I have spent most of my ready mon- ey; but I have left you my cellar and my stud they will be worth a thousand or two; so you neednt kill yourself with this sort of work, pointing to the MS., for a few years to come. That will be one good out of my dying. My dear boy, if you say another word about HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. dying, Illyou see Corries Affghan cutlass thereIll b.ssassinate you on the spot. Thank you. By-the-by, and a sudden brilliant thought darted into my mind, did you ever meet my friend Corrie? The finest, wholesomest, cheeriest fellow, with a head big enough to hold two mens brains, and a heart as large as his head. I had a letter from him this morning. He gave up army- service some time since, began London practice searched fairly and honorably into all the nonsense goingtried allopathy, homompathy, kinesopathy, and heaven knows how many pa- thies beside; and has finally thrown them all aside, and, in conjunction with his father, Dr. Corrie, has settled in shire, and there set up a water-cure. A what did you say ? A hydropathic establishmenta water-cure. Have you never heard of such places ? Ah, yes, where people sit in tubs all day, and starve on sanitary diet, and walk on their own legs, and go to bed at nine oclockbar- barians 1 Exactly. They cut civili5ation, with all its evils, and go back to a state of nature. Sup- pose you were to try it, you have so long been living agin nature, as says our friend, the trapperbut I forgot you dont readthat if you were to return to her motherly arms, she might take you in, and cure youeh ? Couldntimpossible. So many possibilities frequently grew out of Hardys impossible, that I was not a whit dis- couraged. Here is Corries letter, with a view of his house on the top of the page. A pretty place. Beautiful, he says; and James Corrie has visited half the fine scenery in the world. You see, he wants me to go down there, even with- out trying what he calls the treatment. And why dont you ? I laid my hand on the blank MS. leaves Impossible. Austin soon after went away. I shut the Fhltters, stirred the fire, rang for the students best frienda cup of hot tea, no bread there- with. Yet, though rather hungry, I dared not eat; we head-workers are obliged to establish a rigorous division of labor between the stomach and the brain. Ugh! that one piece of dry toast would have spoiled at least four pages cant be! And that uncut magazine, with a friends article therein, how tempting it looks! But no, if I fret myself with his fiction for ten minutes, I shall lose the thread of my own; and if I sit thus, staring into the cozy fire, I shall go dream, and then Now for it. Come on, my MS., you demon, that I used so to loveyou friend, you mistress, you beloved child of my soul! How comes it that you have grown into a fiend, that stands ever behind me, goading me onwith points of steel, ready to pierce me when- ever I drop? But many a human friend, mis- tress, or child does just the same. Now, surely I can work to-night. Come back, dreams of my youth. I am writing about folk that are young; so lets get up a good love-scene a new sort of thing, if I canfor I have done so many, and reviews say I am grown arti- ficial. Reviews! Ten years ago, what cared I for reviews! I wrote my soul outwrote the truth that was in mefresh, bursting truth, that would be uttered, and would be heard. To write at all was a glory, a rapturea shouting out of songs to the very woods and fields, as children do. I wrote because I loved itbe- cause I could not help itbecause the stream that was in me would pour out. Where is that bright, impetuous, fiashin~, tumbling river now? Dwindled to a dull sluice, that all my digging and draining will only coax on for a mile or two in a set channeland it runs dry. Well, now for the page. These five lines rich days workwhat driveling inanity! There it goes into the flame. Lets start nfl-ash. Once, twice, thrice, four times, a new page goes up, in fine curling sparkles, up the chim- ney. Thank heaven, I have sufficient wit left, at least, to see that lam a dull fool. Try again. This time comes nothing! My pen makes fantastic circles over the white pagelittle birds nests, ~vith a cluster of eggs insideor draws foolish, soft profiles, with the wavy hair brushed up Greek fashion, as I used to serawl over my bedroom walls when I was a boy. My thoughts go wool~~atheringwandering up and down the world, and then come back, and stand mock- ing and jibing at me. How is it all to end? I can not write. I have no more power of brain than the most ar- rant doltthat especial dolt whom I hear whistling down the Crescent Cheer, boys, cheer, the world is all before us. Oh, that it were! Oh, that I were a back- woodsman, with a tree and a hatchet, and the strength of labor in these poor, thin, shaking hands! Oh, that I had been born a plow-lad, with neither nerves nor brains! My head is so hotbursting almost. This small room tifles me. Oh, for one breeze from the old known hills! But I should hardly feel it now. I dont feel any thing much. My thoughts glide away from me. I only want to lie down, and go to sleep. There! I have sat twenty minutes by the clock, with my head on my hands, doing nothing, thinking nothing, writing nothingnot a line. The page is as blank as it was three hours ago. My days work, twelve golden hourshas been absolutely nothing. This can not last. Am I getting ill? I dont know. I never do get ill. A good wholesome fever nowa nice, rattling deliriuma blister- ing and bleeding, out of which one would wake weak, and fresh, and peaceful as a childwhat a blessing that might be! But I could not af- ford itillness is too great a luxury for authors. Butas I said to poor Austin some hours WATER CURE. 97 sincewhat is to be done? Something must be done, or my book will never be finished. And, oh, my enemyoh, my evil genius, that used to be the stay of my lifewith a sad yearn- ing I turn over your leaves, and think it would grieve me after all, if you, the pet babe of my soul, were never to be born alive. If any thing could be done! I do not drink, I do not smoke; I live a virtuous and simple life. True, I never was very strong; but then I have no disease; and if I had, is not my soul independent of my body? Can not I compel my brain to workcnn not I? for all you used to argue, my sapient friend, James Corrie, M.D. And his known handwriting, looking me in the face, brought back many a sage practical warn- ing, disregarded when I was in health and vigor, mentally and physicallywhen it seemed to me that all authors complainings were mere affec- tations, vapors, laziness. I know better now. Forgive me, my hapless brethren, I am as wretched as any one of ye all. Can any thing cure me ?any medicine for a mind diseased? James Corrie, what sayest thou? For any disorder of the brainany failure of the mental powersfor each and all of these strange forms in which the body will assuredly, in time, take her revenge upon those who have given up every thing to intellectual pursuits, and neglected the common laws of naturethat mind and body should ~vork together, and not apartI know nothing so salutary as going back to a state of nature, and trying the water cure. I sat pondering till midnight. It was a des- perate chance, for each day was to me worth so much gold. Yet what mattered that ?if each day were to he like this day, I should go insane by Christmas. At nine A.M., next morning, I stood by my cousins bedside, in his chambers at the Albany. He was fast asleep. His large, white, sculp- tured profile, with the black hair hanging about, was almost ghastly. I sat down, and waited till he awoke. bIb! Alexander. I thought you were a water-demon, waiting to assist me into a bot- tomless bath, out of which I was to emerge at the South Pole. Well, Im meditating a sim- ilar plunge. I likewise. I am going to try the water cure. So am I. Bravo ! cried he, leaping out of bed. I am delighted to find there will be two fools in- stead of one. Well start to-morrow. Imready. * ~ * * * * Give me the whip, Fyfe. Who ever would have thought of such a place, so near London! Thats a very decent hill; and that moorland wind is just like your own Scotland. Ay, said I, gulping it downdrinking it like a river of life. The free, keen breeze; the dashing across an unknown countrymade dimly visible by a bleak, watery November moon; the odd curves of the road, now shut up by high rocky sides, now bordered by trees, black and ghostly, though still keeping the rounded forms of summer foli- ageabove all, the country wildness, the entire solitude, when, not two hours ago, we had been in the heart of London! That drive has left a vivid impression on my mind. It always seems like a journey in a dream. It made a clear division between the former life and that which was at hand. I said to myself, in a dreamy sort of way, as, passing under a woody hillside, the little foot- boy sprang down and opened the lodge-gate, and we drove in front of a lighted hall-door, between two white shadowy wings of building I said, vaguely, Old things are passed away: behold, all things are become new. It is only in the middle of life, or when its burden has become heavier than we can bear, that one comprehends the stretching out of the spirit, as one could imagine it would stretch out of the husk of the body into a flesh existence. It is not till then we understand the feeling which created the fabled Lethe of Elysium the full deliciousness of oblivionthe intoler- able craving after something altogether new. Therefore, except to such, I can never explain the ecstasy of impression which this place made upon me, as producing that involuntary cry, All things are become new.~~ Except its master! That is, its real master; for Dr. and Mrs. Corrie were in the decline of life, and nearly all the burden of the establish- ment fell upon their son, their only child. No, James Corrie, I would not for the world hav( any thing new in thee. Change could not ix prove thee, or novelty make thee more grateiul to an old friends heart. If I were to paint him literally as he stood to welcome us, I fear the effect made would be but small. He was not a womans man, my lady readers! He had no smooth blandness, or charming rough- nessthe two opposite qualities which make the fortune of fashionable physicians. You would hardly take him for a physician at all. His large, well-built figure; his also large, well- balanced head, broad-browed, with a keen intel- lectual eye, but with apleasant humanity smiling about the well-turned mouthall indicated the wholesome balance between the mental, moral, and physical organization, which made James Corrie, more than any person I have ever known, give one the impression of a true man. Not a mere poet, or a visionary, or a philoso- pher, or a follower of science, made up of learn- ing and dry bones, or a man of the world, to whom the world was Alpha and Omega; but a combination of all these, which resulted in that rare character which God meant us every one to be, and which about one-thousandth of us area xaaa. Dr. James Corrie was about forty. He had married early; it was an unhappy and childless union. He had now been a widower about fi~e years. I do not know if womankind thought 98 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. him handsome, but it was a very noble and good face. I like him, said Austin, decisively, when he had left us in our apartmentsa sitting-room dividing two cheerful bedroomsin each of which the principal feature was a large shallow bath, standing on end in a corner, like a coffin with the lid off. Tea at seven, bed at half-past nine, I heard Austin maundering drearily to himself, as he brushed his curly hair, and re-attired his very handsome person. How the But I sup- pose one must not swear hereeh, Alick? Your Dr. James is not in that line. I laughed; and we went down stairs. It was a large, old-fashioned house, baronial- like, with long corridors to pace, and lofty rooms to breathe freely in. Something of the old feudal blood in me always takes pleasure in that sort of house, especinily after London lodgings. A dazzle of light, coming from a large bright table, of which the prominent ornaments were two vases of winter flowers, and a great silver urn. But abundance of delicate edibles, too; nothing in the starving line, as Austin indicated by the faintest wink of the eye to me; and then, with an air of satisfaction, resumed his cus- tomary gentlemanly deportment. We were introduced to Mrs. Corrie, a tall, spare, elderly lady, who sat, frosty but kindly, at the head of the table; beside her the old Doctor; at the foot, our friend, Dr. James. There was also a Miss Jessie Corrie, a niece, lively, and bonnie-looking, though not so young as she might have been. A score of hetero- geneous patients, of both sexes and all ages, ii~ which the only homogeniety was a general air of pleasantness and pleasure, completed the circle. Its chief peculiarity seemed, that, large as it was, it had all the unrestrainedness and cosiness of home. That is exactly what we want to make it isnt it, father ? said Dr. James, when, the meal over, the Corrie family, and we two, stood round the wide, old-fashioned, faggot-heaped hearth. We want to cure not only the body, but the mind. To do our patients real good, we must make them happy, and there is no happiness like that of home. True, I said, with a sort of sigh. And have you not noticed that one half of the chronic valetudinarians we see are those who have either no home, or an unhappy one? To such we try to give, if not the real thing, at luast a decent imitation of it. They have a far better chance of cure. I believe it ; and, turning into the cheery drawing-room, we gave ourselves upAustin thoroughly, I partiallyto the pleasure of being pleased. Well, said he, when we retired, for a sick hospital, this is the jolliest place I ever knew. How do you feel? I could hardly tell. I was stupid-like, so great was the change after months of hard work and solitude; and Corrie and I had been talk- ing over old times. As I lay dozing, with the glimmer of the fire on the tall, upright, coffin- like bath, there seemed to rise within it a mild, motionless figure, in soft white dead-clothes, shut eyes, and folded hands, and an inward voice kept repeating my favorite sayingin its simplicity one of the truest and most religious that Shakspeare ever wrote Tis better as it ,, * * * * * * is. We began the treatment next day, in a November morning, to the light of a candle. I will not enlarge thereon, nor betray the horrors of the prison-house. Of course, it was a trial. I could hardly help laughing when I heard afar off Hardys smothered howl. And when I found him out of doors, tramping the hoar frost, and gazing lugubriously over the dim, bleak, misty hillsfor it was before sunrisehe, who was usually waked at eleven A.M., to meet a valet, and silken dressing-gown, coffee, hot rolls, etc., etc., I could not hide an uncontrollable fit of mirth. He took it good-humoredly; he was a capital fellow; but he shook his head when I proposed to climb the hillsidethe lovely hillside, with its carpet of fallen leaves, which left still foliage enough to dress the trees, like Jacobs youngest darling, in a robe of many colors, yellow, brown, red, dark greenI never beheld more glorious hues. Sick and weak as I felt, they stirred my soul to something of its old passion for beauty. Au revoir! and then I must go up the hill. It is thirteen years since I saw the country in November; it is fifteen years since I watched the sun rise. So on I trudged. I was free! free! I had not to walk as I did in weary London, that the mere motion might stir up some new thoughts in my sluggish brainsthoughts, not for the mere pleasure of thinking, but that each might be woven out for use, aud coined into gold. My demon, with its two hundred white, blank faces was fifty miles away. I did not see the sun rise. Who ever did when he climbed for it? But I found a sea of misty moor, sweeping in wave on wave of brown heatherhow purple it must once have been! over which the wind blew in my face, as it used to blow over the hills at home. I met itI who two days since had cowered before the slightest draught. My throat choked, my eyes burned. I walked rapidly on, howling out at the top of my voice Victor Hugos song of Le Ton de ToThde. Gastibeiza, 1homme Li is earabine Chantait ajusi: Quelquon a-t-il connu dona Sabine? Qociquon dici? Dansez, chantez, villageois, Ia unit gagna Le mont FalLi: La vent qut vient Ii travers la montague Me rendra fou, oni, me rendra fon Breakfast early; rosy looks; cheerful greet- ings; everybody seeming to take a kindly inter- est in one another; the Corrie family taking an interest in each and all; the wholesome give- and-take system of lifcs small charities going WATER CURE~ 99 on around, so that, perforce, strangers joined in the pleasant traffic. These were my first daylight impressions of Highwood. Austins seemed the same. He was busily engaged in doing the agreeable to the bright-eyed Jessie Corrie, and three other ladies; his public devotion to the sex being very polytheistic in its tendencies. I sat aloof and made professional studies. Are these all the patients now with you, Corrie ? All but one. Miss Jessie, filling a small tray with comest- ibles, took a chrysanthemum from the centre vase, and laid it by the toast. Ellice likes white chrysanthemums. Is Ellice your sister, Miss Corrie ? I have none. Your cousin, then? No, half laughing, half blushing; so I con- cluded it was a mans name, and owned by the invisible patient in whose floral tastes the lady took an interest. After breakfast, the dining-room was left de- serted; everybody had something to do or suffer; we nothingstaynothing, did I say? Enter bath-man. Gentlemen, will you please to be ready for me at twelve, and half-past ? Theres something to stiffer, at least, said I, as Austin pulled a long face. Then we set- tled, he into languid, I into restless dreariness. I shall go and smoke, Fyfe. And I shall go to my writing. Ill sit with you; come along. I had not meant that, being of those owl-like authors who can best ply their trade alone. But there was no help for it. Despite my resolutions, and the rnagnion opus left behind, a miserable restlessness drove me to commence some small operetto, so as any how to steal a march upon my enemy, Time. I was cutting folios preparatively, and inward- ly execrating my cousin, who puffed gloomily at the fire, when in walked James Corrie. Welcome, doctor; take a cigar ? Against Highwood rules, my good Sir, said Corrie, pleasantly. Indeed; but I never kept to a rule iu my life. Quite impossible; couldnt give up my cigar. So thought I once. Nor my glass of ale. Nor my brandy-and-water at supper-time. Yet you did. What cured you ? Necessity first. I became a struggling man. I had wants enough. I could not afford an ar- tificial one. Now cigars only cost me, besides a hearty dyspepsia, thirty pounds a year; and thirty pounds a year will keep one man, or two children from starving. It seemed a pity in this over-populated country that I should be slowly killing myself with what would save two other human beings alive. Austin dropped his weed, still red, and paused a little ere he lit another. And your stron,, drinks ? Once in my life, Fyfe, I knew what it wa to want water. When ? asked Austin, lazily, still irreso- lutely poising his unlit Havana. Four years ago, on the Atlantic, in an open boat, for five days. H6w many ? Six men and one woman, all dying of thirst. I have never touched any thing but water since. The doctor became silent. Austin looked at him with a certain interest. The second cigar still remained in the case. Come, Mr. Hardy, I am sure, since you have put yourself under my care, you will allow me to confiscate these contraband articles. I belong to the preventive service, you know. But, Doctor, how ever am I to drag through the day without ? Leave that to me and mother Nature, or, as our friend here would poetically say, the goddess Undine. By-the-by, Fyfe, what is this I see? MSS.? Only an article I want to finish in the inter- vals of my courting this said goddess of yours. Cant be, my friend; she will not take a di- vided heart. In her name I must seize all this. Best to he off with the ~muld love before you are on wi the new. If Hardy will set the example. Come, old fellow, we have only to fancy ourselves at school again, with James Corrie instead of Birch for our Tyrannus. Lets submit. I know it will be the death of me, groaned Austin. But he met the doctors cheerful, com- ical smile, and somehow the cigar-case vanished, likewise my MS., and I rather think the two great pockets of Corries shooting-jacket en- tombed both. Making no more remarks on the subject, he continued talking about common topics, the Eastern war, Highwood, its neighborhood, and lastly, its inmates. What odd varieties of humanity must come under your hands. How ever do you manage to guide, control, and amalgamate them all ? By two simple rulesthe law of truth and the law of kindness. Sick people are not unlike children. Here we both slightly winced, but the doctor took no notice. Have we not high authority for trying to become as little chil- dren? That, it seems to me, is the principle of the water cure; that is how I strive to carry it out. You certainly succeed. I have rarely be- held more cheerful and happy faces. It is quite a treat to look round at meal times. We have seen all the patients, I think you said ? Except the one I mentioned. Who was that ? Miss Ellice Keir. I have heard about her, said Austin, lan- guidly. Something in your line, Fyfe; the high, heroic dodge. For my part,.I dont fancy your middle-aged, strong-minded, self-devoted females. Miss Keir would be as much surprised as 100 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. any one of her friends to hear herself put under t.hat category. Indeed, you quite mistake, Mr. Hardy, said the doctor, quietly. What is she, then ? She has been, and still is, a great sufferer. Something extra-professional and dignified in Corrie suppressed my cousin. Besides, he was too kind-hearted to make game of any great sufferer. But when our medico was gone, I scrupled not to question about the high, heroic dodge. It might come in you know. Any scrap of an idea is valuable to such addled brains as mine. I might put her in my next hook. Do you put people in your books ? said Austin, with an open mouth of slight alarm. Never, my good fellow. That is, never iu toto, never to their injury, and never while I think they would dislike it. I only make stu- dies of bits, heads and feet, noses and eyes, as. a painter would. I wouldnt show up any body. Its mean. But, for I saw I was talk- iug miles over Austins head, or at least his ex- perience, what of Ellice Keir ? She is an American. Stop! a Yankee? Then I dont wish to hear another word. No, it was useless trying to get up an interest in any body or any thing. Chronic ill health of mind, or body, or both, is not cured in a day. True, the charm of change lasted for some eight-and-forty hours or so, and I began greatly to enjoy the morning bath, the moorland walk to meet the sun, the cheery breakfast, where food tasted pleasant, and one wa~s not afraid to eat, where conversation was pleasant, and one did not tremble to use ones brains, nor to waste in mere talk the thoughts which were one s stock in trade, valuable as bullion gold. But as the day crept on all this brightness faded, and life became as dull and pale as it was every where to me. And still in solitary walks, amid the soft drop- pings or wild whirlings of dead leaves, and the rustle of the dying fern, in the still deep solitude of parlor circles, merry and loud, I found my- self moodily and cynically commenting, with the preacher, Vanity, vanity, all is vanity. And out of the intolerable weight, the leaden-folded cloak, which seemed to wrap me round, or else to hang like a pall between me and all creation, I used sometimes, at twitter of a bird, or sound of moorland wind, or hand-breadth of rosy, win- ter sunset lighting up the dull sky, I used to stretch out my hands, longing to sob out like a child, yet able only to sigh, Oh, for the dreams of my youth For Austin, he succeeded better. His soul did not trouble him much, or the dreams of his youth either. His fine animal nature responded to this uncorrupt animal existence. He grew rapidly better, and lived apparently a very jolly life, though at intervals still complaining of its being so slow. I sat by the dining-room fire alone, for it was the forenoon. Let me draw the picture of that day. A gloomy day. True November. Damp and raw. The terrace and the lawn strewed with dead leaves. More kept falling, fluttering down one by one, like shot birds. The only bit of warm color the eye could seize on was a tall cedar, between whose branches shone a beech-tree beyond, making alternate lines of dark-red and dark-green. Every day at break- fast I used to look at it, often thinking, childish fashion, that I should like to be a beech, with its ever-moving leaves, so vocal in their prime, so rich in hue, to the very minute that they fall. Maundering thus, I went mooning up and down the lone room, my hands in my pockets, thinking how long it was since I had been a childwondering whether in the next form of existence I should be a child again. Hark! a harmonium! I did not know there was one in the house. In the next room, prob- ably. Somebody playing it well, too. Now, I do not care for music in generalnot the music one gets in society. It is too flimsy for me. The love-songs sicken me; the sad, plaintive songs, badly sung, are atrocious; well sung, they tear ones heart; and at thirty, one begins to find that a very unnecessary piece of laceration What is Life, that we should moan Why make such ado ? In Heavens name, troll a merry stave and have done with it. As for piano-forte playing, I had rather hear my. aunts kitten run ovei the keysat least, almost always. But I like an organ; and, second best, a harmonium. I liked this one. Corrie found me pacing up and down, or listening, rapt in a state bordering on sublimest satisfaction. What a lovely tonecalm, liquid, grand, dreamy, toolike t~e dreams of ones youth, with all the passions and pain burnt out of them. How exquisitely smooth and delicate the touch; and it isnt easy, for I have tried listen. Yesshe plays very well. Who is it? Miss Keir. Miss Keir! to make me almost cryyes I have! Even Handel! She with her Yankeo fingers and Yankee soul My good friend, you mistake; even if Yan- kee were the terrible adjective you make it, which I beg respectfully to deny, having a great respect for brother Jonathan. But Miss Keir is a Canadian. She was born at Montreal. Come, I will introduce you. We entereda lady rose from the instrn- meat; a very little lady, almost elfishly small; hands and feet so tiny, you would have crushed them with a touch. Dressed in black, of some soft material that did not rustle, but caused her to move softly and wind-like, without a sound. Not unlike that woman (oh, Charlotte Bronte, none of us will make such another in this gen WATER CURE. 101 eration!) Jane Eyre; except that there was nothing in the least impisk or espiegle ahout her. She was neither young nor handsome in the least; butand that but contradicts both assertionsshe had very dark Canadian eyes. I say Canadian, because I have only seen them in Canadians hy birth or descent. They are neither eastern nor southern, neither fiery nor voluptuous; but large, soft, calm, swimming and trembling in a tender passionateness, or breaking at times into a flash of the wild Indian bloodworth all your pale, placid, strong En- glish eyes! Mr. FvfeMiss Keir. He is a very old friend of mine. Miss Keir offered her handScottish fashion her little pale hand, soft as a hit of snow, only it was so warm. Now, that is another of my crotchetsthe feel of a hand. Some, it is martyrdom to inc to touch. I hate your fishy, your skinny, your dumpling, your flabby handsa hand that is afraida hand that clutches. I like a woman who comes and lays her soft, pure palm in mine, knowing I am a man and a gentleman, that I prize the little passing angel, and will en- tertain it honorably and well. This was hqw Miss Keir shook hands with me. She said something; but it was in a whisper. I ought to have told you, Fyfe, she has long lost her speaking voice; but we can hear her sufficiently. So will you. Oh, yes. And her manner and looks were so expres- sive, so spirit lie; nay, rather let me use the English word spiritual; for that more truly in- dicates the way in which her soul seemed to be shining through and glorifying her little frail bodythat she needed language less than most women. We had all three a very long conversation. We dashed at once in medics restried our several hands at solving some of the great world-questions of our daysome of the great- est problems of the universe. We grew earn- est, excited, crazythat is, I didthen calm. She calmed me. What she said, I know not. I can not tell if she explained any thing, be- cause the most terrible of our spiritual, like our physical mysteries, are utterly incapable of ex- planation; but she calmed me downlike as a man in great mental anguish is quieted by be- ing suddenly brought out into the open day- light, the summer air. I have a perfect faith in instinctive attraction and repulsion. I believe there are peopleI am onewho know at first meeting whom they will love and whom they will hatewho will do them harm, and who good. I believe this sen- sation is placed in them for warning and guid- ance. I myself have never run counter to it except to my after peril. It was blindly obeying this attraction, when, on leaving, I requested permission sometimes to join the CorriesMiss Jessie and the old lady had entered nowin Miss Keirs apart- ment. She looked at the Doctor; he answered, smiling You are so much better now, that both my father and I may allow you a little so- cietyespecially that of so celebrated a literary character as my friend Mr. Fyfe. Literature! faugh! I had forgotten the very word. Why did you tell her I was an author ? I said, as we turned out of doors; Corrie remorse- lessly exacting the walk before the noon-day bath. Why could you not let me stand for once upon my own footing; let her judge me not by what I do, but what I am? Yetand a bitter conviction of what a contemptible speci- men of manhood I had sunk to, forced itself upon my mind yet, a hard judgment that might have been. Not from her. But why should I have kept incog. your best selfyour books? she has read them all. I-las she? I am sorry. Noglad. For after all, with all my shams, she will find the real Alexander Fyfe by snatches there. But enough of myself. I want to talk about her. You seem greatly pleased with her. Yet few take to her at once, she is so very quiet. But her quietness gives one a sense of rest, and her soft way of moving throws a harmony over the room. She is not unlike the instru- ment she plays. You can not fancy her attuned~ to the drawing-room ditties and ball-room jigs of lifeyou can ~ot conceive of her either beau- tiful or young. Thc Doctor silently smiled. But there is in her that which transcends both youth and beautya cheerful sacredness a wholesome calm. She seems to do me good. I should like to know more of her. That is very easy, if her health keeps im- proving. Has she been long an invalid ? Four years. I-low did you meet her ? Literally, at the gates of death. In the boat I told you of after our ship went downs Was she that one woman She was. She had a brother and sister with her, bringing them to Europe. I got them into the boat safe. For six days she was the strength of us all. Then the little sister died on her lap. The brother survived. James Corrie cleared his throat; we walked on a few yards Such a little quiet creaturewho would have believed it of her ? Nobody does, and nobody need; and she has been quite as heroicif you will use the wordin her illness since, as at the time qf the shipwreck. How is she affected ? With almost constant neuralgic and rheu- matic pains, together with the total loss of voice. Her brother says it was very beautiful 102 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. once; she was to have been a teacher of sing- the light makes me feel it moresince morn- ing. And the brother ? He is walking the hospitals in Edinburgh. She struggled on with-him for six months, till she fell illfortunately in my mothers house. She has never quite recovered. Do you think she ever will recover Certainly. That isif it be the will of God. Now, Fyfe, your hour is cometo the drippiug-sheetaway I left him; and he walked rapidly up the hill. Smallplainand not young! Very at- tractive description, truly. Why, the patients here seem all middle-agedlive any how. What with baths and walks to cut up the day, and your friend Corrie to look after one, what with his awfully honest, righteous eyes, one cant get the least bit of harmless amuse- ment. Except with Miss Jessie. You flirt enough with her. Put that verb in the passive voicedo, my good fellow. I merely respond. What a wild devil it isjust like pepper and mustard French mustard. Its the only bit of spice left in your terribly wholesome hydropathic diet. I might amuse myself really with it, if it were only young. Le hesoin de s amuser, seems the only pos- sible element in your affairs of this sort. Exactly so. And he sauntered back into the drawing- room, where, our aquatic duties all done, there was usually a most merry circle till bed time, into which circle my friend Hardy had dropped like a god-send, and even by his third night made himself acceptable to every body there, and especially to Miss Jessie Corrie. Yet I had no qualms on her account; if, in- deed, I could have felt enough interest in life to suffer qualms about any thing. The lady was like Isopel, in Borrows Lavengro (you see, unlike many authors, I do read other books besides my own) large and fierce, and able to take her own part. I did not think she had a heart; any how, it did not matter its being brokenmost peoples are; else where would all the poems and novels come from? As you will, my good friends, thought I, watching them lounging, flirting, and laughing. Its a case of diamond cut diamond. Skim away over lifes shallows in your painted jolly- boats. Youll swamp no onenot even each other; or, if you did, its no business of mine. But just at that minute I pausedI caught a tone of the harmonium down stairs. Now, thinks I to myself, I wonder what those eyes down below would say if they were looking on instead of mine. Would they have my cynicismmy contemptuous laissez-dller? But Physician heal thyself. How can I be bothered to pull the mote out of anothers eye, when I am still blinded by the beam in my own. Blinder than everor else coming into lug. Our fourth day at Highwoodand Sunday; Austin escorted a carriage-full of ladies to church he thought it more respectable. For me Oh, thou one Father of the universeone in- finite and unapproachable Wisdomone all-sat- isfying and all-perfect Lovewhen wilt Thou visit me? when wilt Thou enlighten me? when wilt Thou comfort me? I stand under the pine- wood on the bill-top, where the air is so rare, and the wind so wildit seems nearer to Thee. I long to die and learn Thy mysteriesto die and be filled with Thy love. My soul cries out unto Thee with an exceeding great and bitter cry which is often the only evidence it has of its own existence. I do not believe in myself at allmy worthless, aimless, broken-spirited, mis- erable self; hut I believe in Thee. The fool has said in his heart, There is no God. But only the fool; or, perhaps, he who pays a guinea toll to heaven on a silver charity- plate, or keeps a bishop to pray for him. 1 pre- fer the hill-top, and Parson Breeze. But coming down the hill, I met Corrie, and ~vent in with him to speak to Miss Keir. He told her what I had been saying. She pointed to a line she had been setting as a copy for the lodge-keepers lame daught r, whom she usually L ught to write of a Sun- day: In every place, he that loveth God, and worketh righteousness, is accepted of Him. That was the best sermon after all. That was what the preacher on the mount would have said to us, Ellice Keir! Water cure! I think, Doctor, your system is directed not only to the body, but the souL Mine feels cleaner than of yore. Does it. We were pacing the terrace walkMiss Keir and Miss Jessie watching us from the window. It had become a matter of custom that I should always spend a morning hour or two in her room. They were the best hours of the day. What a calm, clear mindpurified by suf- fering, full of inward faith. How she looks through all shams right down into truthGods truth. Likeif it were not as hackneyed as Piccadilly in Maylike a steady-eyed astrono- mer looking down into a well. We see only the glaring noon looking without, or the black incrusted sides: she sees the stars at the hot- tom. She knows where to look for them, be- cause she believes they are th e. You are quite poetical. I feel so at timeshere. I think I could write my book, if you would let me. The Doctor shook his head. And sometimes I could almost fancy that Alexander Fyfes boy-heart was only buried, with Sir Williams, under that sun-dial, and that a trifle of digging would bring it to the sur- face againslightly decayed, perhaps, but a hu- man henrt still. WATER CURE. 103 Are you thinking of marrying ? said the Doctor, very gravely. No; nor of loving, in that sense. It isnt in me. But simply of resuscitating from fast corruption that aforesaid portion of human an- atomy, which we authors trade in so much that we leave no material for home use. Do speak plainly; I am but a plain man. For the which thank Heaven! Merely, Corrie, that we authors are liable, above most people, to the danger that, while preaching to others, ourselves should become castaways. We teach ourselves that to paint high virtue is to exemplify it. We like to act leader and chorus, instead of principalsto talk rather than to work. In brief, we write when ~ve ought to live. Possibly. But what are you driving at ? This. Here have I been crying up the ideal these thirteen years; scribbled folios on moral power, heroism, self-denial, and that sort of thing. You have, indeed; your writings are beau- tifuL My writings! And what am I? A self- engrossed, sickly, miserable, hypochondriacal fooL My dear fellow I It is true! And that woman, Ellice Keir, who never wrote a line in all her days, she lives a poem. Such a one as in all nuy days I will never be able to write. I will tell her what you say, answered the Doctor, smiling. Come along. He did so, almost word for word. She look- ed in his face, and blushed up to the eyesa vivid, tremulous, happy blush. Mr. Fyfe is quite mistaken, you know. I know he is mistaken in one thing: that we need only judge ourselves, as we trust we shall be judged, according to our gifts. It is folly for a rose-bush to despise itself because it is not an oak. Yes, she said, with her kind eyes lighting on me; it should rather abide in peace, and grow to the utmost perfection its own roses. They are very dear and sweet. She held out her hand. It was better to me than a laurel crown. * * * * * * Henceforward I began truly to live: the first time I had lived for years. Up ere daylight, instead of that stupor of body and soul which used to last till near mid-day. The baths out of which one comes pure as a child and strong as a Hercules. The walksclasping nature like a mistress; nature, always lovely and beloved to me, even when she pelted me with rain-storms, frowned at me through lead- en skies, soaked me with her soft, perpetual tears. I will not say what it was to be, every day, and many hours in the day, under the heaven- ly darkness of lightif I may coin the paradox of the eyes of Ellice Keir. She never grew, in mine, any younger or any handsomer; in truth, I hardly thought of her physical self at all. It was a pure, abstract re- cognition of my ideal of moral beautymore perfect than in any woman I have ever known. Pardon, pardon; a dream of my youth! Thine eyes are closedclosed! * * * * * * Well, if you ask me for my opinion (I dont think one man has a right to give it to anotherhardly even one friend to another friend, without)I certainly feel you are not acting like that most sensible, upright, gentle- manly youth I knew ten years agoAustin Hardy. Pshaw! dont bring up ten years ago. Our virtues ~vear out like our clothes; we cant go shabby. Best get another suit. But let it be, at least, as decent as the former. If it can, i. e., if theres any cash to get it with. But lets talk plain English. What have you to say? Do you think I shall get into a scrape ? Not a bit of it. Miss Jessie is a wise one, and a sharp one, too. She isnt the least likely to break her heart for you. She only coquettes a little. Mighty little. Your friend the Doctor keeps such a steady look-out, one would think he wanted her for himself. The old people; I suppose its their duty to watch black sheep for the credit of the establishment. Never was there a fellow who had so few opportunities of love-making, even if he chose. But he doesnt choose. He only wants to amuse himself. That ishe finds himself in a world where people live, work, struggle; and all he can do is to amuse himself! Tired of all his other shams, he puts on the largest sham of allthe highest, strongest feeling a human being can havejust to amuse himself. Youre civil, Alexander. Im honest. Dont fly in a passion; you know I always listen to you. Why did you not give me this sermon a week ago ? Why, indeed! Theres something changed about you, my boy. You dont talk such rigmarole as you used to do, nor in such a savage tone. Also, you look quieternot so nervous. You will grow into a show case, as our friend Corrie would say. It is really the water cure. Probably. But never mind me. Im talk- ing about you, and Miss Jessie likewise. Mark me, Austin, that young woman Hold there. Middle-agedtwenty-seven, at least; else I might have thoughts seriously of herfor a quarter of an hour. She is a good figure, large and lady-likevery decent requi- sites for Mrs. Hardy. More I cant expect. Well, what about that young woman ? Merely, that she never had any heart at all; or, if she had, she has worn it on her sleeve, till the daws have pecked it away. Just like mine. I wonder youll even condescend to play at follystill worse, at mock sentiment with her. 104 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. She who is all false, from top to toe, without and within. Heigho! So am I. Youre not, Austin Hardy. You think it fine to sham vice; youre too lazy to struggle through to virtue; but youre an honest fellow at heart. Hold your tongue, Alick, in a gruff voice. Here comes the lovely young Jessie. Wel- come! She is just in time to spread her petals to the sunrise, my fair Flower of Dumblane. Forand let me premise that this is a most original scene for a tryste, and quite peculiar to a hydropathic establishmentI ought to have said that we were taking our morning walk, all things being yet dusky in the cloudy winter dawn. Though in the east, and up even to the zenith, the sky was catching a faint rosy tinge; and between the two pine-woods one vivid sul- phur-colored cloud showed that somewhere, far below the visihle horizon, the sun was beginning to shine. I maintain, from personal experience at High- wood, that sunrise in general is what a school- boy would call a great humbug a dead take-in. Sunset is twice as fine. But still it has a peculiarity of its own, especially on a win- ter morning. The worthy old sun seems to climb np so doggedly pertinacious, so patiently strong, though shorn of his beamsstruggling through that mist and damp to smile upon a poor earth, who is so weary, ragged, and ~van, she hardly dares to see him. But steadily he riseslike a high, honest purpose dawning in the hopeless winter of a mans days, when time is short and weather bleak; yet steadily it rises, and comes at last to day-breakdny-lightay, unto perfect noon-day. I began to think sometimes on this wiseas if even though it was but yesterday that I had sat and watched my sun go downsteadily, stoically, with open eyes that never bleached or moistened; yet every morning at this hour, it seemed as if he might rise to-morrow. And Austin? * * * * * * Bless my life! I havent the least wish in all the world. Is that your wonderful Miss Keir? What a very plain woman I It was her first appearance in the evening circle, and I had offered Hardy to introduce him. Of course, receiving this reply, I imme- diately turned, and left him to his own devices. A plain woman, was she? Perhaps. I could not tell; I bad scarcely thought ahout it. If I did now, it was only vaguelythinking of an observation once made on a friend of mine. Its object told it me herselg with a simple, grateful pleasure, even to tears: One never knows whether she is pretty or not; one only feels one loves her. And I loved Ellice Keir, in that sort of harm- less way, with a tender friendship which, when both are well advanced in life, so as to make it safe and free, it does a man good to bestow, and is sweet for a woman to receive. So I rea- soned. Oh! fool, fool, fool! She sat in the fireside arm-chair, ~e same little black-stoled figure, the sound of whose voice was never heard, yet whose mute smile created around her a circle of brightness, like the moderateur lamp, as Corrie said in his quaint way. All looked to her and were lightened. She appeared to draw from the various calyx of every human heart some per- fumeusually the best perfume it had. Gradually nearly all the party gathered around her; and a few stragglers only were left apart, including Hardy and Miss Corrie. At last I heard him behind me. How glad every body seems to have Miss Keir hack here again I That is not wonderful. There is a general seceding to her. I sup- pose I must een follow the herd. Come, you may introduce me, if you like. By no means. How could you be ex- pected to do the civil to such a very plain woman? Pon my life, and so she is. But theres something odd about her. Those eyesI felt them at the farthest corner of the room. They seem to be finding one out. Confesshave you been telling her any of my misdeeds ? Austin Hardy 1 Well, it would not be like you. Now for it; lead the victim to the horns of the altar. Im prepared. But Miss Keir was already retiring. A mere introduction passed~-no more. Alt ! said Austin, drawing a deep breath, and giving me a slight wink, as Miss Jessie came on in full sail up to the chair where he was lounging, No matter; I shall go back to my old ways. Its easier, now that woman is out of the room. Hardy held out for one eveningtwothe beginning of the third; said she was clever, and he hated clever women; quiet, and he liked to he amused. Afterward, I saw hint listening, with polite, abstracted smile, to the large dose of amusement Miss Jessie always furnished; hut his eyes were riveted on the fireside circle, now a brighter circle than ever, since Miss Keir was its centre. No, not its centre; for her at- traction in society was more of the passive kind. She did not shine herself, but she created a fresh, clear atmosphere, in which every one else shone brighter than before. Finally, Hardy was discovered leaning behind the velvet arm- chair, attentive to the discussion. It was some- thing about Northumberland mines, and the improvement of the miners. Miss Keir is speaking to you, Mr. Hardy. It was really droll to see him bend forward with that eager, pleased face, to such a very plain woman. Yes, my property does lie among the mining country, but I never troubled my head much ahout it. I have had no time. She apparently repeated his latter words with a gentle smile. That is, I fear I have never had ener~ WATER CURE. 105 enough to make time. I am a very lazy fellow, as Fyfe would tell you. She smiled again, and said something more. He brightened np. Ay, my cousin always has a good word for me; but, indeed, I am not fit for any thing of the sort. I couldnt take the trouble. My property, even such as it is, is the greatest bur- den of my life. Here Jessie Corrie tittered out some very commonplace remark, to which he replied with one of his usual fulsome speeches to women; but still kept talking to Miss Keir Duties of property! Dreadful word, duty I Quite out of my line. Besides, its too late now. With my ill-health Here he seemed conscious of an amused look resting on his brawny figure and ruddy face Well, I fear you and the Doctor must find out a better man for the carrying out of your philanthropic plans. I have been too long given up to the dolce far niente. Yet he lingered and listened, gradually with some real interest gleaming through his elegant languor; now and then joining in the conversa- tion with a word or two of the capital good sense he could furnish at will, though he was not cursed to any heavy degree with that commodity called brains. Parting, Miss Keir shook hands with him, with a friendly word or two. By Jove, Fyfe, that isnt a bad sort of wo- man, just for a change. Im rather sick of beau- ties. One is obliged to think before one speaks to her, just as if she were a man. I smiled. Her sex is indebted to you. Pshaw! she is not a bit like a woman. Altogether like a woman, I think. Well, have your own way. He stood meditating, a rare fact for Austin Hardy. There was some sense in those schemes of hers. When I was twenty-one I used to have grand notions about improving my estates, and living king of the country-side, after the good old fashion. But all vanished in smoke. Its too late now. No good thing is ever too late. Did you not hear her saying so? She thinks you might carry out ever so many of the Doctors sanitary and educational schemes. She told me she wished you would. Did she? But I have not the power, and it isnt worth while. Let the world jog on as it likes, it will last my time. However, perhaps I may just hear what she says on the subject to- morrow. I smiled to myself, and was satisfied. By-the-by, Alick, I altogether forgot to bid good-night to Jessie Corrie. Substitution, that is the true theory of amend- ment. Knock a rotten substance out by driving a sound wedge in. So thought I, when two days after I saw Aus- tin making himself busyat least as busy as a man can well be who is going through the water- treatmentin this new interest, which perhaps was the only real interest he was capable of. It roused his best selfthat for which nature in- tended him the active, upright, benevolent country gentleman. He took to plans, drawings, blue-books, works on political economy, and spent half the morn- ing in that little parlor I so loved, with Dr. James Corrie and Miss Keir. The former said to me, watching him Heres a change in our friend Mr. Hardy. I fancy he, too, is participating in the spiritual water cure. It appears so. Nor did I grudge him that healing. * * * * It was a November dayNovember, yet so mild, so sunshiny, so heavenly calm, that but for the thinned trees, the brown heather, the with- ered fern, you would have thought it spring. Her ponys feet were up to the fetlock in dead beech leaves, making a soft rustle as we climbed the hill. Wethat is, Miss Corrie, Hardy, Dr. James, and I. The old Dr. Corrie and his wife were a good way behind. They, too, h admadea point ofjoining the triumphant procession which celebrated Miss Keirs return to the outer world; for every body loved herevery body! She seemed to know and feel itto sun her- self in it almost as a child does. For, though thirty years old, there was still in her a great deal of the child. Trouble had passed over her, ripening, not blasting, and left her in the St. Martins summer of her days, a season almost as beautiful as spring. In that golden bright- ness, one of us at least lived, morning, noon, and eve, and half believed it was the return of May. This day seems made on purpose for you, Miss Keir, said Austin, as he straggled up the bill, assisting Miss Jessie kindly and courteously (perhaps more kindly and courteously than ever since his manner had gradually sunk to that and nothing more). The lady looked cross, an~l complained of damp leaves. In her was nothing of the St. Martins summer, but an affectation of girlishness, a frantic clinging to a lost youth, which is at once the saddest and most hateful thing I know. Eight hours since, when hardy and I took our morning walk, this moor was all white with hoar-frost. Are you quite sure you are not cold, Miss Keir? Let me run and get her my fur cape, Alick. Will you help Miss Corrie for a minute or two? Mr. Hardy is certainly better; he has learnt to run like any school-boy, said the Doctor, with an amused satisfaction. And to fetch and carry like any spaniel, observed Miss Jessie Corrie, whose regard cool- ing down, gave out a satirical spark or two oc- casionally. Marvelous change! A month ago, he thought of nobody ia the world but his dearly-beloved self. He was ill then. Laughing at my sharpness, she bent forward to a whisper of Miss Keirs, which she repeated aloud with variations afterward. 106 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. Mr. Hardy, Ellice is much obliged. She says you run like a school-boy, and carry like a spaniel, and have learned at last to think of other folk in the house besides your beloved self. Did she say so? That hurt look on Austins blase visage was something newnew as the odd shyness with which he gave the fur to me to wrap her inhe, the erewbile officious squire of dames! Ellice turned on him her bright, true, heart- satisfying smile. Tell himher breath as she whispered me felt like the May-breezes of my youth tell him, I said, he thinks of every body in the house except himself. Austin showed that he could not only run, but blush like any school-boy; so pleasant seemed her praise. On we went through the moorland, down in the ferny dell where those three cedars stood, huge and dark, with the faint sunbeams on their tops, and damp earthiness at their feet. This will not do, said Dr. James. Very unsanitary spot. Theres a wholesome breeze and a grand view half way up Torbury Hill. So we ascended, knee-deep in heather, in which poor Miss Jessie was stranded. Austin took her safely to the old people, and came tear- ing back, his hair flying all abroad, and his daintyvestments catching on furze-bushes. How his London friends would have stared! I told him so. Never mind. You are growing just as much of ahoy yourself, old fellow. I think, Miss Keir, it must he something in the air of Highwood that makes, one young. He might have said, only he never made one of his pretty speeches to her, that she herself fur- nished no exception to the rule. For, in truth, her cheek had a girlish rosiness and tint, like the inside leaves of those delicate, peach-colored chrysanthemums she was so fond of. I think oh, contemptibly-sentimental thought !I would like to have my grave planted with chrysanthe- mums. They come so cheerful and fair in the wintertime, and they always remind me of High- wood and of Ellice Keir. She once said, they looked like a handful of happiness when one is growing old. But we all eschewed age to-dayny, even the Doctor, whose general gravity was such, that most of the patients looked upon him as more antiquated and reverend than his fatherhe threw off his antiquity now. He strode through the heather, led the pony, pointed out the sun- set. He had always the keenest sense of natu- ralbeauty; his large gray eye softened and bright- ened as he turned to Ellice Keir. How strange, how sad it must he to have to seek out God in nature! To ns, all nature is but an emanation from God. I listened. He and she togetherChristian man and Christian womanhad said some sweet, Christ-like ~vords before me now; and then, bet- ter still, had lived before me. It seemed strange now that I had ever cried out, in that temporary insanity of unbelief with which this history be- gins. I stood clothed and in my right mind. It will be imagined the sort of feeling with which I often looked, as now, from one face to the otherwhatcalm, noble, blessed faces theywere! of those two, especially hers. Austin did the same. He had a great kind- ness for the Doctor; and as for Miss Keir Do you know, he said, stepping closer to her saddle, this place is curiously like Nether- lands. The country-side is all barren moor, just as this, dotted with tumble-down huts, where those brutes of riotous miners live. Ah! you smile. It shall not be so another year. Indeed, it shall not, Miss Keir. Ill see what I can do. Bravo! what you can do! That will be no little, Mr. hardy. Thank you, Doctor. And there, behind just such a fir-wood as that, the house stands. Poor old Netherlands, I have not been there these ten years. It is getting sadly dilapidated, my steward tells mebut then its his interest to tell me liesthey all do. What were you saying ? He bent forward to hear her. I never thought of that, he answered, dep- recatingly. Bless me, it never struck me my laziness was harming any body but myself; but for the future I promise, and Fyfe knows I never break my promise. Doctor, you may well cry Bravo! Theres a good star rising over poor old Netherlands. You must come and see me there. Then, in a lower tone Will you come too, Miss Keir ? She hesitated, colored slightly, or I fancied so; finally, gave a smiling assent. Austin thanked her, and stood looking toward the fir-wood, that lay in a black bank under the sunset. Poor old Netherlandsdear old Nether- lands ! he murmured more than once, in the soft tone he had used years ago, when talking to my little sister Mary. I, also, was young then. Heavens! what it is to he young! Oh, my youthmy youth ! cried out my heart, and seemed to catch at its last streaming, even as each wave of moor, each stump of tree caught at the sun as he was going down with a wild clutch, as knowing that this glimmer was, indeed, the lastthat afterward there would be nothing hut gloom. But he went down, and it was light still. This is the strangest winter evening. It will not grow dark. Did you ever see such a dainty, bright new moon? We must go home, for all that, said the Doctor. Not yetjust one minute longer, Miss Keir. I put my arm on her ponys neck. I could see behind me a fold or two of her gownjust enough to feel she was there. I fancied I heard her sigh. No wonderevery thing was so still and beautiful. For me, my sigh was almost a sob. My soul was come into me again. I was no longer WATER CURE. wretched clod, passionless, brainless. I could feel, enjoy, create; I was again an author, a poetgreater yetI was a man. Oh, thank God, this is like my youth! And I am youngI am only thirty-two. I might live my life out yet. Live it ! said the brave, soft voice of James Corrie. Live it ! said the silent smile of Ellice Keir. I will! Though the vow was then taken somewhat in blindness of what was, and was to come, still, God be witness, I shall never break it either to Him orthese. * * * * 5 Ive done it, AlickI thought I could. And Hardy, after three days absenceI con- cluded in Londonburst into our sitting-room, a huge peripatetic snow-drift. Done what? I forgotyou dont know yet. But Ill tell you in a minute, when Im not so out of breath. Did you come in by the six oclock train to-night ?~ Surely. Nobody expected you. You must have had to walk across the country. Of course I did. Tell it not at the Albany, lest Highwood should be inundated with a flood of bachelors seeking the water cure, that I should have lived to see Austin Hardy, Esquire, taking a four- mile night-walk through a heavy Christmas snow Pshaw, dont make game of a fellow; its only what a man ought to do, if hes any thing like a man. He certainly looked every inch a man. His languid affectations, his fashionable drawl, were gone. Even his dressthat Stultzian toi- let once rivaling the count himselfwas now paid no more attention to than any decent gen- tleman is justified in paying. His hair frizzled, guiltless of Macassar, for his oils and his per- fumes the water cure seemed to have washed them all away. Altogether he was a very fine fellow, indeedin the physical line. My own small corporeality shrunk into insignificance beside him. But I had been sitting for two hours looking direct into those eyes, which looked as steadily into mine, in bright and friendly communion those eyes which always sent a deep peace, a quiet rest down to the very bottom of my soul. No; I did not envy Austin Hardy. Now, my good fellow, when you have shak- en off your snow, sit down and inform me of this mighty deed. Oh, its nothinga mere nothing, with that air of rositive shyness, which was in him so new and so comical. First, is all well at Highwood ? Certainly. You surely did not expect any great internal convulsions to happen in three days? No; but when one is away, you know, one 107 fancies. How deliciously quiet this place seems, after knocking about some hundreds of miles. Some hundreds of miles! Why, where have you been? To Edinburgh. To Edinburgh! You who grumble at a fifty-miles journey. In this snow, too. What important business dragged you there ? Oh, none. Only I thought I onght. (The amusing novelty of Austin Hardy doing an un- pleasant thing because he ought.) I went to see young Harry Keir. I was very much astonished. You see, he added, poking the fire hard, I couldnt bear her sad looks when the young fellow and his doubtful prospects were men- tioned. lie is a real fine fellowonly wants getting a start in life, and hed get on like a house on fire. Now, last week a thought struck me Will you kindly leave off striking showers of fir-wood sparks into my face ? I didnt like telling her beforehand, lest, if it failed, she should be disappointed. She loves that ladthough, by-the-by, he isnt exactly a lad; he took his doctors degree this year, and is mighty clever, tooheigho! She is very fond of him, and he of her, and, by Jove, and so he ought to be. But you have not yet told methat is, if you were going to tell me Certainly, though theres little to tell merely, that I went to Edinburgh, found out the young man; then hunted up uhy friend Lord C, who is starting to Italy with his sick son. A tolerable hunt, toofollowed him first to Yorkshire, and then to- Bath. But its all settled now. Keir is appointed traveling phy- sician at 300 a-year. Not a bad notionoh, Alick? The young fellow is so gladit quite does one good to think of him. - Does she know? Of course not. How happy she will be. And it was he who had the power to give her this happiness! For the first time in my life I envied Austin Hardy. When shall you tell her ? I dont knowIwish you would, Fyfe. You would do it so much better than I. Nono. * * 5 * * 5 I was present when she was toldtold in an awkward, unintelligible, and even agitated fash- ion, which no one would have expected from that finished gentleman, Mr. Austin Hardy. She looked from one to the other of us vague- ly. I dont understand. Hardy repeated the informationjust the hare fact of her brothers appointment, which young Keir himself would confirm to-morrow. She believed at last, asking pardon for her doubt. But, with that rare tear which showed how many could have, or had once flowed down her dear face, Harry and I are not used to being so happy. No more than this. Nothing in her of the lOS HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. tragic commodity~nothing that professional came of fate, which means of Godwas upon passion-mongers like me could study a scene me, Alexander Fyfe, now. out of. But my studies had gone to the I will not deny it, nor murmur at it, nor winds weeks ago! hlush for it: never sought it, nor rushed in the And who has done me this kindness, fer way of itit was sentand therefore was right which I shall he grateful all my life? Who and hest. must I thank ? Slowly, and rather loath, I went to my chain- He, generous fellow, had omitted that trifle, her. In the parlor I saw Austin Hardy. Of course, I told her all. He was sitting over the fire. I should have Miss Keir was very much affected. She held passed him, hut he turned round. Such a face out hoth her hands to him silently. Then she such a wan, haggard, wretched facethat I said, not in her usual whisper, hut in a distinct stopped. voicefaint indeed, hut an audihle soundthe What have you heen doing? Are you ill ? first that had passed her lips for years No. Thank you. God hless you ! Has any thing happened? Come, tell me Good Dr. James Corrie started up, quite pale we were lads together. and incredulous. He groaned Oh, that I were a lad again! Yes, she added, smiling on him, I can Alick, Alick, if you would help me to begin my speak. life afresh, and make it in any way worthy of This sudden joy has done it all. God bless Of Out with it. you, Mr. Hardy I Of Ellice Keir. But Hardy had disappeared. * * * * * I had at times suspected thishad even tried That night, after the drawing-room was de- to grasp at the possibility of it, boldly, as we serted, I sat alone there. dash at some horrible doubt that we know lies I leaned my cheek against the velvet arm- in wait for us, wolf-likepin it to the ground chair, which still seemed to keep the impress and worry itwith a sort of hope that it will and even the perfume of her black hair. Long either vanish into air at our touch, or that we meditations seized me. All my past life glided shall succeed in slaying it, leave it dead at our before me in a moving picturethe latter half feet, and go on our way, safe and free. of it standing still like a diorama under my But now, when the beast met mewhen gaze. Then, it began less to fade than to pshaw! let me say it in plain Englishwhen I changenew forms mingling with the old, con- knew that my cousin loved and wished to marry fusedly at first. Gradually the old shapes Ellice Keir, it drove me mad. melted out, without any sense of loss, and the All kinds of insanities whirled through my new, the transcending beautiful and perfect brain. If I had any connected impulse at all, scene stood out before me vivid as life itself. it was, to fly at his throat and strangle him. I said in my heart: Every man, at every But onlyGod be my witnessbecause he great crisis of his existence, has a right, within dared to love her. Any certainty that she loved reasonable and honorable bounds, to secure his him, wouldI feel it wouldhave sanctified own happiness, to grasp at the cup which he him in my eyes; I could not have done him any feels would he his souls strength and salvation, harm. It shall be so. Therefore, to-morrowto-mor- Of course feelings like these snhside, and one row. smiles at them afterward, as I smile now. But Rising, I paced the room. .My weak nervous- I would not like to live through that five mia- ness was gonemy spirit was strung up to its utes again. utmost pitch. I was able to remove mountains. It passed in total silence. I am thankful to My brain felt clearmy heart throbbed with all say I never uttered a sound. the warmth of my youth. Oh! what a youth I Austin a~ last raised his head, and looked at had! I could weep over it. In this moment me. I steadily met his eyes. There was no it all came hack. I could have written a great mistaking mine. hook, have lived a great life; have achieved the ~My God, Ahick! You too ? most daring exploit, have nerved myself to the Precisely. most heroic sacrifice. We stood face to face, nublenching, for a full This was what she had made of meshe, and minute more. Then I said, him whom I honored as much as I knew she Strike hands. Fair fightno quarteror, did. ButI loved her. if you will, lets both fly, and the devil take thB Strange, solemn lovemore solemn than any hindmost. young mans lovelove that comes in autumn For I was very mad indeed. Austin, on the seasonwild as autumn blastsdelicious and contrary, was very quietnay, meek. We calm as autumn sunshinedelicious, not as seemed to have changed natures. merely itself, but as the remembrance of by- No, he said at length, flying is useless; gone springclung to as we cling to every soft I should fall dead on the road; lll take my October day that dies, knowing that afterward chance. It must be as you sayfair fight, and nothing can come, nothing will come, nothing no quarter. ought to come, but winter and snows. This It shall he. fatal loveI say fatal, simply implying that it Again a long l~ WATER CURE. 109 What do you purpose doing ? What do you purpose ? Neither answered the others question. Each looked in the others face, savagely, and dropped his eyes in a sort of pity for the misery imprinted there. I wish it had not come to this, Alexander. We, that should have been brothers, if. I had married little Mary. That childs name calmed us. Both, looking aside, half extended an involuntary hand. Let us not be enemies, yet. We do not know whether Tell me honestly, Austin, have you no be- lief in her preferenceno tangible hope ? Before Heaven, not a straw I I breathed freer. I did not refuse the hand; we had been friends so many, many years. Fair play, Alick ? said Hardy, almost pite- ously. You are a far cleverer fellow than I. You can talk with her and interest her. She likes yourespects you. Now, Ioh, what a wretched, trifling, brainless fool I must appear to her I Poor fellow !poor, open-hearted, simple- minded soul! Lad, ladwith my hand on his shoulder as when we used to stand fishing in the silvery Tyne Do you think a woman only cares for brains ? He shook his head hopelessly. I cant say. I dont know. God forgive mewith a bitter, remorseful humiliation till now I have hardly known any thin0 of good womenthats it. He added, after a pause It is not merely losing her, you see; if I lose her, I shall lose myselfthe better self she put into me. My every chance of a new life hangs on her. Think how she would help methink what a man she would make of me. If I married her Hold your hands off. Are you mad, Fyfe ? I am afraid so. She married! Married !sitting by another mans fireside. The wife of another mans bo- somthe mother of another mans children! Reason could not take it in, imagination beat it oW even from the merest outworks of the brain. If once allowed to enter the citadel, there would have been a grand explosiona conflagration reaching to the very heavens, burning down to such a heap of ruins, that no man could rebuild a city thereon any more. But this is what they call fine writing. Better say, in polite phrase, that the idea of this ladys marriageand to my cousinwas rather trying to a person of my excitable tem- perament. I believe Austin was roused from his own feelings to contemplate mine. I have a vague recollection of his startled, shocked look, and the extreme gentleness of his, Do sit down theres a good fellow. I knew you didnt mean me any harm. Also, I mind his watching me as I paced the roomwatching with a disturbed, grieved air and muttered to himself: VOL. XT.No. 61.Il Poor ladhe was always weakly. His mother used to say, a great misfortune would kill him or tum his brain. I hope it would. Alickdont say that. He turned upon me absolutely brimming eyes. Now, it so happened that, being her sisters child, Austins eyes were not unlike my mothers. What could I do, but come and sit down opposite to him, and try des- perately to struggle against the strong tendency which I knew my mind hadwhich almost all minds similarly constituted, and hard worked, have likewiseto lose its balance, and go rock- ing, rocking, in a pleasant motion that seems temporarily to lull pain, till it plunges over, over, just one hair-breadth, and is lost in the abyss whence Reason is absent for evermore. That is rightsit down. I should be sorry if I wronged you, Alexander; sorry that any thing should turn you abainit me. You, the only fellow who never flattered or quizzed me who has stuck by me through thick and thin, for my own sake, I do believe, and not for my prop- erty. And he was the only fellow who, ignorant of the gimcrackery of literaturedisregarding my petty reputationmy barren laurels loved heartily, and had loved from boyhood, not the celebrated author, but the man Alexander Fyfe. Such a friendship ns ours, cemented by its very incongruities, was rareand precious as rare. Love could notshould not, annihilate it. Austin, lets to bed. We shall see things clearer in the morning. Good-night. God bless you, myboy! * * * * * * Nevertheless, it was a horrible night, and a horrible waking. Things stand so ghastly plain in the face of day. Yet, blessings on you, friendly water-demon, that came so welcomely at dawn, with pail after pail of icy torrents, cooling all the fever in my blood, leaving behind, on soul as well as body, a warm, heroic, healthy glow. I do believe half the passions, crimes, and miseries of humanity would be calmed down under the influence of water cure. In the ball, quaffing our matutinal glass, clear as crystal, refreshing as the elixir vitce, my cousin and I met face to face-faces, strange, no doubt, and pallid still, but very different from last night. No reference to that; temporarily the ghost was laid. Good-morning. Good-morning. Starting for your walk? Tis damp, rather. Very. Are you for the wood? Probably. And you for the moorland ? Ay. So tacitly we parted. Generally we walked together, but not now. Up the hillside, through the mass of red beech-leaves her pony had trampled through; how dead and dank they now lay, slowly pass- ing into corruption. Up, npit is my habit never to rest till I have climbed as far as one 110 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. can climbup, steadily, till I came out on the us used to court and wait for the minutewe level moorland. each touched her hand. And many times a day It was all in a soft mist. Not a breath stir- that same oneI will not answer for the other ring; not a waft of cold December wind. The would, standing by her, in serious fire-side ar- year had laid itself down to die patiently. It gument, or easy meal-time, look down, right would not struggle any more. Only sometimes downshe had a curiously steady, earnest, in- a great drop would come with a plash from nocent gaze, when she was talkinginto the in- some fir-tree hard by, like a heavy involuntary finitely tender depths, the warm, dark splendors tear. But the leaden sky would not yield; the of her eyes. rain refused to fall. Yet neither of us, by word or look, sought to I walked for a whole hour pondering. The win, or by any word or look of hers could found text of my meditations was Austins saying of a hope that we might win her preference. last night And, night after night, when the days ordeal She is my better self. If I lose her I shall was over, we used to sit silent over the fire in lose my soul. our own room, sometimes by chance catching Now I, weak as my body was, had my soul in sight of one anothers faces, and recognizing my own hand. there the marvelous self-denial, the heroic self- I might dieprobably I should; but I did not control, which kept deferring, each for the oth- believe that any stroke, however heavy, would ers sake, the delicious, the fatal day. drive out of my heart the virtue which her bless- We satnot unlike two friends drifting sea- ed influence had implanted there. Misery might ward in a crazy boat, incapable of a double kill me, or (possibly, though I trusted in Gods freight, who sit sadly gazingwilling to prolong mercy not!) might make me a lunatic, but it the time, yet knowing that under certain definite never would make me a criminal. Him, it might. circumstances, asid within a certain definite time, I took my determinationat least, for a time one or the other must go down. * * * ** * till things altered, or till I saw some dim light. She was sitting talking with me in Dr. Jamess Oh, no! Unless I sought for it, toiled for it, study; no one there but our two selvesnot a prayed for it, how could such a fellow as I hope face to watch hers, save mine and those pic- to see the faintest love-light shining on me from tured faces on the walls, which she was so fond her sweet eyes? ofrare prints gathered by James Corrie on his So no wrong to her in that determination of wanderings: grand old Buonarotti, and angelic, mine, boyish Raphael, and Giotto, with that noble, Again Austin and I met in the midst of a irregular profile, serious, sweet, and brave. cluster of cheerful patientssomehow patients It is not unlike Dr. Jnmes himself, I fancy. always are cheerful at the water cure. We were Do you think so? So do I sometimes. cheerful too. I felt, and something in his voice And Miss Keir sewed faster at her work, a causing me to look at him hard, showed me he collar or handkerchief for Harry, who had been felt an extraordinary calm. the light of Highwood now for several days. He followed me to ~ur rooms. What a pure nature it is, continued I, Alexander, just one word. I have thought and still looked at the Giotto, and thinking of over last night, and somewhat changed my James Corrie. So very tender, for all it is mind. so steadfast and so strong. I hardly ever hon- So have I. ored any man as I do our friend the Doctor. I shall not speak to hernot just yet. Do not you ? Nor I. He has been the kindest friend in the world Again we looked fixedly at one another to harry and to me. again, hand to hand, we rivals, yet almost broth- And to me also. I must try to tell him so ers, tenderly closed, before I go away. Thank you, Austin. You are not going away? Surely, not yet ? You are a good fellow, Fyfe. Thatstartthat look of earnest regret. What I think, said I, brokenly, this is right a leap my heart gave. this is how she would wish it to be. We must I thought I understood, with a slight not hate one another for her loveshe who has hesitation, that you were to stay at Ilighwood been a saving angel to us both. till after the new year? Ay, so she has. Did James Corrie say so? And do you Let her be so stilllet every thing go on as wish it ? usnal, till some chance gives either a sign of her And that warm, soft color which, during all regard. Then, each for himself! a fair struggle, our talk, had been growing, growing, now seemed and God comfort the one who falls ! * * ~ * * glowing into scarlet under my gaze. No; I l)ay after day, during the whole of those would not take away my eyes. I would see strange two weeks, did things go on as usual. whether they could not light up in hers some That is, we met liar at breakfast, at dinner, at tithe of the hidden fire that I knew must be supper; sometimes walked with her, drove with burning in my own. herpassed every evening in her presence, I was right! She did trembleshe did blush, within sound of her voice, within brushing of vividly, almost like a girl of fifteenthis calm, her dress. Twice every dayfool! how one of this quiet Ellice Keir. WATER CURE. 111 I ought; indeed I ought to go. My book you knowmy Stammering, I ceased. She laid her work down, and looked me straight in the face in her peculiar way, saying, softly No; you must not go. You are not strong enough. Besides, I want you to stayjust a week longer. Never mind your hook. Miss Keir, you know I would thrust it and all the hooks IL ever wrote iuto that flame this minute, if I remembered my pledge. Ay, Austin sacredly. If what ? If Miss Keir will tell me the reason why she wishes me to stay ? I said this in an exaggeration of carelessness even trvin~ to make a joke of it. I did not cxi)ect to see that strange, unwonted blush rise again over face and throat, nor to see her very fingers tremble as she worked. What was to become of me? One second snore, and I should have forgotten allshe would have known all. Thank God it was not so, I snatched up a book, muttered some vague apology, and rushed ont of her sight. No; this could not go on. An end must be put to it somehow. While she was indifferent, quiet, composedmerely the lady who smilingly shook hands with me morning and night, I could hear it. But to see her as I saw her this morn- ingall the woman stirred in her, blushing, tremhliugnot Miss Keir, but ElliceEllice! It could not be. The crisis must come. I made up my mind. But first I went in search of Austin Hardyhesitatingly and slow; for involuntarily, a wild conviction had forced itself on my mindforgive me, thou essence of most simple and pure womanhood; but we men have snch intensities sometimesa conviction that Austin, at least, would never win Ellice Keir. I went to meet him in the garden with a strange pityeven a shamefaced remorse. I Ibund him walking, talking, and laughing with Harry and Ellice Keir. Yes, certainly, we will come, both Harry and I, and see all these wonderful changes and improvements at Netherlands. I am so happy to think of them all. You will not forget one of themyou promise ? I promise. She spoke earnestlyHardy too: so earnest- ly that they did not notice me. They stood still under the great cedar. Harry Keirwhat a gleesome face the young fellow had !was tossin0 up and catching cedar~cones. Yes; I will promise every thing. Nether- lands shall begin a new life, like its master, please God! It shall hardly know its old like- siess. It and the people belonging to it shall be the pattern of the whole country. Will that make you happy ? Very happy. Few things more.~~ And Ay, dear Austin, I beard and hon- ored the self-command which smoothed down to indifference that tremulous tone when will you do me that honor? It shall be quite a fes- tival when you visit Netherlands. Fyfeab, my dear fellow, are you there ?Fyfe shall he asked, and all our good friends here. Bravo ! cried Harry, with a laugh, as he tossed up his biggest fir-cone; and Dr. James, of course. Most certainly. Every one whom she cares forevery one who honors her. And now, Miss Keir, will you too promise ?when ~vill you come to Netherlands ? I hopesome timenext year. Were my eyes dazzled by that red torrent which seemed to roll pouring in upon my brain; or did I again see, as an hour before, that same warm, tremulous, exquisite blushsuch as is always coming and going in a womans face when she is very happyorwhen she loves? Not a word more. She was gone. Austin and I stood under the heavy shade of the cedar. Was it that which made his face, and my heart, seem so dark and so cold? Now, hardy? Well. I fear the time has come ?~ I think it has. I saw him watching her on the terrace where she and Harry were walking merrily. The sun was shining there. As he looked, all the gloom passed out of his countenance; it seemed to gather the sunshine too. Jealousy! I had written pages on pages about itlearned to throw myself into the feeling, as our literary cant goesflattered my- self I had sketched beautifully, to the very life, the whole thing. But now, to realize what I had descrihedand Fancy indulged in a cruel spasmodic laugh to see how very real I bad done itnow to feel the horror gnawing at me, like that fiend the old monk-painter painted, who afterward came and stood at his elbow till he died; to feel not only through my brains, hut in my heart, that jealousy of which we poets prate so grandlymake into such pathetic nov- els, such withering tragediesjealousy, which we say leads to hatred, madness, murderI could believe itI could prove it. I plumbed its lowest depths of possible crime in that one minute when I watched my cousin Austin watching Ellice Keir. I had loved Austindid so still. Yet for that one minutethank God it was only one I hated him, loathed him. I believe I could have seen him shot doxvn, and mounted over his dead body to the citadel of my frenzied hope. But, better is he that ruleth his spirit than he who taketh a city. I ruled mine. Austin, this must end. It must. When ? To-day, if you will. Therelook, see nas gone within doors. We stoodthe crisis was at hand. Our boat reeledquivered. Very pale were our faces. Wldcls would be the one to go down? 112 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. Who is to learn his fortune first? said Hardy. Lets draw lots. I laughedI felt spurred on to any kind of insane folly. Lets toss up, as tbe children do; or, since coins are as dross with you, and as lifes worth to melets take to the sentimental, the poetical. Here, choose. I tore a sprig of cedar, and a sprig of a yew- tree hard by, and held out to him the two sterns, leaves being hidden. Now, which? who is for his cedar-palace, and who for his branch of yew ? I know Hardy thought I was losing my wits fast. No, he said, gently; no childs play we must be men. Go you in and speak to her first. He leaped the dike into the field. So it be- came my doom. Best, far the best. The door happened to be fastened. I thought I would get into the house, as I often did, by the low windows of the Doctors study. Stand- lag there, I looked in. James Corrie sat at his table, not writing, but thiaking. His chin was on his folded hands his eyes out-looking, calm and clear. What a noble face it wasthe face of one who has gone through seas of trouble, and landed at length in serene, soul-satisfying joy. Twice I knocked on the pane, and he did not J)crceive me. Then hearing me call, he came forward, smiling. I shall not interrupt you, Doctor; I am goiag:is M Just stay one minute. I wanted to say a word to youby, in fact, by the particular wish of Miss Keir. I sat down. James Corrie folded his newspaper, closed his desk, looked something different from what James Corrie was wont to lookbut happy, in- effably happy still. I am waiting to hear Ay, and you shall hear, my old friend, for I know you will rejoice. Simply this. Miss Keir has told me you intend leaving us, and she wishes, most earnestly, that you would stay till after the New Year. And you? Even if Alexander Fyfe were not welcome for his own sake, as he knows he is, still what- ever adds to her happiness must necessarily add to mine. He whom I knew she heldas in his simple goodness all good women might hold himlike a very brother; he who, she said, had been to her the kindest friend in the worldstrange for him to speak to me thus! Perhaps, in spite of myseig I had betrayed my feelings. Did lie thinkdid he guess I see you do not quite understand me. You do not knowin truth, being neitherof us young, we were rather unwilling it should be known or talked aboutthat Miss Keir and myself have been engaged for two years; that, God willing, next Saturday, New Years morning, will be our wedding-day. * * * * * * NoI was right; it did not slay inc. This misery passed by, and destroyed neither my life nor Austins soul. Gods mercy strengthened me. I was able to help and strengthen him. It was very fortunate that only I was present when the truth came out. That truth neither James Corrie nor his wife have ever guessed orwill ever learn. Why should they? It would only pain them in their happi- ness. And what blame to them? It was all our own delusion. He is still th~ worthiest man, and she the noblest woman, we ever knew. God bless them! Hardy has gone home to his estates, where he intends always to reside. If he is able to carry out one-half of his purposes, no wealthy landowner in England xviii be more useful, more honored in his generation than Austin Hardy, Esquire, of Netherlands; and widely different as our fortunes are, he and I shall be brothers until death. For myself, I am now in my old London haunts, finishing my long unfinished book. It xviii be a different book from what it was to be; different, oh, how different! from what it might have been. But it will be a very tolerable book stillwholesome, cheerful, brave. Such an one as is the Jo triuaphe of a great spiritual Mar- athonsuc~x an one as I never could have writ- ten in all my days, had I not, in body and soul, undergone the Water Cure. THE UNITED STATES. THE Legislature of New York adjourned siee die on the 14th of April. The law for the preven- tion of Intemperance, of which xve gave a synopsis in our last Record, was the most important general act of the session. Opinions have been given and published from eminent legal authorities, declar- ing the law to be unconstitutional, but no judicial decision has yet been had upon it. The law does not go fully into effect until the 4th of July, though no licenses for the sale of liquor were to be granted after the 1st of May. A law was also passed di- recting the Canal Commissioners to contract for the repairs and superintendence of the State canals by sections to the lowest responsible bidders: this measure, it is believed, will save nearly half a mill- ion dollars annually to the State. A law was passed creating a Board of Railroad Commission- ers, who should have a general charge and super- vision over all the railroads of the Stateinvesti- gating accidents, requiring roads to be completed before they are opened, and exercising a general an- thorityJa Pennsylvania a law has been passesi prohibiting the sale of all intoxicating liquors, ex- cept beer and domestic winesThe Legislature of Connecticut met at Hartford on the 3d of May, and proceeded immediately to the election of a Gov- ernor, the popular election not having resulted in

Monthly Record of Current Events Monthly Record of Current Events 112-117

112 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. Who is to learn his fortune first? said Hardy. Lets draw lots. I laughedI felt spurred on to any kind of insane folly. Lets toss up, as tbe children do; or, since coins are as dross with you, and as lifes worth to melets take to the sentimental, the poetical. Here, choose. I tore a sprig of cedar, and a sprig of a yew- tree hard by, and held out to him the two sterns, leaves being hidden. Now, which? who is for his cedar-palace, and who for his branch of yew ? I know Hardy thought I was losing my wits fast. No, he said, gently; no childs play we must be men. Go you in and speak to her first. He leaped the dike into the field. So it be- came my doom. Best, far the best. The door happened to be fastened. I thought I would get into the house, as I often did, by the low windows of the Doctors study. Stand- lag there, I looked in. James Corrie sat at his table, not writing, but thiaking. His chin was on his folded hands his eyes out-looking, calm and clear. What a noble face it wasthe face of one who has gone through seas of trouble, and landed at length in serene, soul-satisfying joy. Twice I knocked on the pane, and he did not J)crceive me. Then hearing me call, he came forward, smiling. I shall not interrupt you, Doctor; I am goiag:is M Just stay one minute. I wanted to say a word to youby, in fact, by the particular wish of Miss Keir. I sat down. James Corrie folded his newspaper, closed his desk, looked something different from what James Corrie was wont to lookbut happy, in- effably happy still. I am waiting to hear Ay, and you shall hear, my old friend, for I know you will rejoice. Simply this. Miss Keir has told me you intend leaving us, and she wishes, most earnestly, that you would stay till after the New Year. And you? Even if Alexander Fyfe were not welcome for his own sake, as he knows he is, still what- ever adds to her happiness must necessarily add to mine. He whom I knew she heldas in his simple goodness all good women might hold himlike a very brother; he who, she said, had been to her the kindest friend in the worldstrange for him to speak to me thus! Perhaps, in spite of myseig I had betrayed my feelings. Did lie thinkdid he guess I see you do not quite understand me. You do not knowin truth, being neitherof us young, we were rather unwilling it should be known or talked aboutthat Miss Keir and myself have been engaged for two years; that, God willing, next Saturday, New Years morning, will be our wedding-day. * * * * * * NoI was right; it did not slay inc. This misery passed by, and destroyed neither my life nor Austins soul. Gods mercy strengthened me. I was able to help and strengthen him. It was very fortunate that only I was present when the truth came out. That truth neither James Corrie nor his wife have ever guessed orwill ever learn. Why should they? It would only pain them in their happi- ness. And what blame to them? It was all our own delusion. He is still th~ worthiest man, and she the noblest woman, we ever knew. God bless them! Hardy has gone home to his estates, where he intends always to reside. If he is able to carry out one-half of his purposes, no wealthy landowner in England xviii be more useful, more honored in his generation than Austin Hardy, Esquire, of Netherlands; and widely different as our fortunes are, he and I shall be brothers until death. For myself, I am now in my old London haunts, finishing my long unfinished book. It xviii be a different book from what it was to be; different, oh, how different! from what it might have been. But it will be a very tolerable book stillwholesome, cheerful, brave. Such an one as is the Jo triuaphe of a great spiritual Mar- athonsuc~x an one as I never could have writ- ten in all my days, had I not, in body and soul, undergone the Water Cure. THE UNITED STATES. THE Legislature of New York adjourned siee die on the 14th of April. The law for the preven- tion of Intemperance, of which xve gave a synopsis in our last Record, was the most important general act of the session. Opinions have been given and published from eminent legal authorities, declar- ing the law to be unconstitutional, but no judicial decision has yet been had upon it. The law does not go fully into effect until the 4th of July, though no licenses for the sale of liquor were to be granted after the 1st of May. A law was also passed di- recting the Canal Commissioners to contract for the repairs and superintendence of the State canals by sections to the lowest responsible bidders: this measure, it is believed, will save nearly half a mill- ion dollars annually to the State. A law was passed creating a Board of Railroad Commission- ers, who should have a general charge and super- vision over all the railroads of the Stateinvesti- gating accidents, requiring roads to be completed before they are opened, and exercising a general an- thorityJa Pennsylvania a law has been passesi prohibiting the sale of all intoxicating liquors, ex- cept beer and domestic winesThe Legislature of Connecticut met at Hartford on the 3d of May, and proceeded immediately to the election of a Gov- ernor, the popular election not having resulted in MONTHLY RECORD OF CURRENT EVENTS. 113 any choice. William T. Miner, the candidate of disunion and the destruction of the free institutions the Whigs and the American party, was elected, of the country, refusing assent to the admission receiving 177 votes, his Democratic opponent, Jug- of slavery into any part of the territory embraccd ham, receiving 70. Governor Miners Message was in the Missouri Compromise, and declaring that transmitted the next day. It recommends sub- any attempt to commit the American party of initting to the people an amendment to the Consti- New Hampshire to the advancement of the interest tution, extending the right of suffra~e to colored of slavery, to ignore it as a political question, or to persons, and requiring citizens to be able to read enjoin silence upon them in regard to its evils and and write before being allowed to vote. The Gov- encroachments, deserves, and shall receive their ernor also recommends an appropriation in aid of earnest and unqualified disapprobation..Gov- the State Agricultural Society; says the income ernor Reeder of Kansas Territory has been making of the School Fund the past year has been $129,108, a visit to the Eastern States, and in reply to a makin~, a dividend of $1 23 for each scholar, and congratulatory address at Easton, Pa., made a thinks it is the duty of the Legislature to encour- speech containing important statements concerning age education in every possible way. He says he the recent election in Kansas mentioned in our last should regard the repeal or modification of the Pro- months Record. It was true, he said, that 1(an- hibitory Liquor Law as detrimental to the best in- sas had been invaded, conquered, subjugated, by terests of the State, observing that the effect of the an armed force from beyond her borders, led on by law has been such as to recommend it to general a fanatical spirit trampling under foot the principle favor, and that by it crime has been lessened, pov- of the Kansas Bill aud the right of suffrage. He erty and misery alleviated, and the happiness of said he had been a warm advocate of the Kansas many a fireside restored. The balance in the and Nebraska Bill, and had always insisted on the Treasury at the close of the fiscal year is stated at protection of the Slave States in the enjoyment .$36,000. He favors such a remodeling of the Judi. of their constitutional ri~,hts. The same princi- ciary system as will facilitate the settlement of pie impelled him to claim with equal pertinacity causes. He says that the Bankin~ Institutions of the right of suffrage for the people of Kansas. the State are in a sound and healthy condition; From 6al~fornia we have intelligence to the 7th that the military will compare favorably with that of April. The Legislature was still in session, but of sister States. He expresses the opinion that in its proceedings have not been of general interest. the recent election the people reiterated their em- No further attempt had been made to elect a Uni- phatic condemnation of the act organizing the Ter- ted States Senator. Considerable embarrassment ritories of Nebraska and Kansas. The Governor had been caused by a decision of the Supreme devotes a large share of his message to a consider- Court, that a large sale of wharf property niade ation of the pernicious influence of the immigration by the city of San Francisco about a year since of forei~ners into this country. After speaking was illegal, and that no title had been conveyed. of the large and increasing number of the foreign- Suits against the city to the amount of half a mill- ers thus arriving, he alludes to their character, ion dollars had been commenced. The recent their training, and their religious sentiments as bank failures had caused a very great depression warrantin~ additional legislation for our own in the business of the country, and there had been safety on the subject. A large mass of our alien a marked and rapid decline in the price of real em- population, he says, after a residence of only five tate. The mining prospects were reasonably good, years among us, are but poorly fitted for the though the rainy season, essential to workin0 time duties of citizenship, nor, in Isis opinion, have mines, was late. A prohibitory liquor law had they any right to demand that the privilege of passed the Assembly by a vote of 37 to 16, and citizenship shall be granted to them. Our laws was awaiting tha action of time Senate. The pro- guarantee to them the protection of their persons ject of a good wagon road from the Sacramento and property, and furnish the education needed to valley across the Sierra Nevada to the eastern make them-n American citizens. The political, mu- boundary of the State, was under consideration. itary, and social combinations of our foreign pop- From the Ist/ssmsus we have news of the erection ulation line regards also as a great evil. He thinks of the provinces of the Isthmus, namely, Panamna, furthermore tlmat as a matter of policy connected Azuero, Veraguas, and Chiriqui, into a sovereign with the privilege of citizenship, to be conferred State by the Congress of New Granada. It is to minpon the alien, we have the right to inquire how he called the State of Panama, and will still be far the allegiance due from the members of the under the control of New Granada in every thing Romish Church to their foreign spiritual head is relating to foreign relations; in the organization compatible with the alle~ mace due to their adopted and service of the standing army and naval affairs~ country; and if we find that comubinations for poli- national credit; naturalization of forei~,ners; na- tical action exist, composed of members of this tional receipts and expenses; the use of the flag church, throwing their entire vote one way or the and arms of tIme Republic; all relative to the pub- other, as the wishes and feelings or interests of lic lands timat the nation reserves; and weiglints those controlling may dictate; and farther, if we and measures. In other matters of legislation mind that these coumbinations are but instruments and administration the State of Panama is free to in the hands of demagogues, either native born or enact that which is permitted by its own consti- thrown upon our shores by the revolutionary up- tution. Imeavings of Europe, then a stron~ reason is found MEXICO. why a longer residence slinould be required before Reports have been received that Santa Anna the alien can be naturalized..In New Haninp- is seriously ill, but they lack confirmation. His shire the American party in State council has death, which was said to be anticipated, would adopted a series of resolutions protesting against plunge the country into still greater confusion than the repeal of the Missouri Compromise, the Ne- now prevails. We have confused accounts of the braska Bill, and the Fugitive Slave Law, as vio- progress of the revolution in various quarters of hating the spirit of the Constitution, and tending to the country, but they are very inconclusive. At 114 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. Tehuantepec the rebels were in possession of the roads and suburbs, and had made one or two at- tacks on the place. They are represented as being a wild, lawless, and undisciplined rabble, and as being guilty of the grossest ontrages against person and property. The flag of the United States Con- sulate was stolen by them in the night, but a de- mand of the Consul elicited a prompt apology from Salinas their leader. In several other Depart- inents it is said the revolutionists have been ef- fectually routed. The greatest obstacle to their success seems to be the distrust entertained of them by the people, as they are generally composed of the worst classes in the country; most of their lead- em having long been known as chiefs of brigands. SOUTh AMERICA, From Paragnay we hear of hostile proceedings on the part of the government toward the United States. The American steamer Water Witch has been engaged for nearly two years under Captain Page in exploring the River Parana and its tribu- taries, and has also been used to remove sundry American citizens who had become involved in difficulties with the government. This proceeding seems to have offended President Lopez, who issued orders forbidding the entrance of any man-of-war into the ~aters of the Paraguay. Captain Page nevertheless sent the Water Witch up the Parana on the 1st of February; but as she was passing the battery at the Paso del Rey she was fired upon, the man at the wheel bela killed. She returned the fire, and soon after came to anchor. Repre- sentations of the matter were of course made to our government. GREAT BRITAIN. The event of the month in England has been the visit of the Emperor and Empress of France, which was accomplished with the utmost ostentation and eclat. Having first received the Deputies at the Tuileries and made them a parting speech, the Emperor, with the Empress and n numerous suite, embarked at Calais on the 16th of April on board the screw steamer Pelican and was received at Dover by Prince Albert, who with his usual at- tendants and the French minister had gone down to meet them. After receiving an address from the Corporation of Dover they proceeded to Lon- don by railroad, passed through the city in the Queens carriage, escorted by a regiment of troops the streets being densely crowded by an eager multitudeand took the cars at the Paddington station for Windsor. Arriving there at seven in the evening, they were received by the Queen with the usual Court officials and the Lords Palmerston and Clarendon. A state dinner followed, and the town was illuminated in the evening. On the 17th the Emperor received addresses from various cor- porations, and on the 18th received at the hands of the Queen the investiture of the royal order of the Garter. On Thursday, the 19th, the royal party went to London to receive the address of the municipality. An immense multitude thronged the streets and rent the air with their loud huzzas hundreds of fia~,s bearing congratulations were suspended alon~ the route of the royal cortige, and the utmost enthusiasm pervaded the city. Gulidhall had been newly decorated and arranged for the occasion. Two thrones had been erect- ed for the Emperor and Empress at the end of the hall, and the leading members of the British Government, with the diplomatic corps, were in attendance. The Recorder read a complimentary address, to which the Emperor read a brief reply. After the cordial reception isa had experienced from the Queen, nothing, he said, t~ould affect him more deeply than the sentiments utt.ered on behalf of the City of Londonfor London represented the avail- able resources which a world-wide commerce af- fords both for civilization and for war. lie ac- cepted their praises because they were more ad- dressed to France than to himself addressed to a nation whose interests were every where identical with those of England, to an army and navy united with theirs by a heroic companionship in danger and glory, to a policy of the two governments based on truth, on moderation, and on justice. He said he had retained on the throne the same sentiments of esteem for the English people he had professed as an exile; and if he had acted in accordance with his convictions, it was because the interest of the nation which had chosen him, as well as of universal civil- ization,had made it a duty. England and France, said he, are naturally united on all the great ques- tions of politics and of human progress that agitate the world. From the shores of the Atlantic to those of the Mediterraneanfrom the Baltic to the Black Seafrom the desire to abolish Slavery, to our hopes for the amelioration of all the countries of Europe, I see in the moral as in the political world, for our two nations, but one course and one end. It is, then, only by unworthy considerations and pitiful rivalries that our union could be dissevered. If we follow the dictates of common sense alone, we shall be sure of the future. You are right iii interpreting my presence among you as a fresh and convincing proof of my energetic co-operation in the prosecution of the war, if we fail in obtain- ing an honorable peace. Should we so fail, al- though our difficulties may be great, we may surely count on a successful result; for not only are our soldiers and sailors of tried valornot emily do our two countries possess within themselves unrivaled resources, but above alland here lies their supe- riorityit is been use they are in tIme van of all gen- erous and enlightened ideas. Time eyes of all wIm suffer instinctively turn to the West. Thus eur two nations are even more powerful from the opin- ions they represent than by the armies and fleets they have at their command. He concluded by expressing his thanks for the frank and hearty cordiality of his reception, and by saying that they should carry back to France the lasting impression of the imposing spectacle which England presents, where virtue on the throne directs the destinies of a country under the empire of a liberty without danger to its grandeur. The address was received with frequent and emphatic applause. In the even- ing the Queen, with her imperial visitors, attended the Opera. The next day they visited the Crystal Palace, and on the day following they returned to Paris, where they were received by an immense conconrse.The English Government continues its preparations for a vigorous prosecution of the war. The investigations of the Committee of In- quiry were still prosecuted, and various facts contin- ued to be developed which were far from creditable to the discipline and efficiency of the British army. Nothing, however, had been proved which would warrant any special censure, still less any punish- meat, of the commander-in-chief. A new fleet, larger and much better fitted for the service than the one of last year, had sailed for time Baltic under Admiral Dundas. Although there is much less exultation in advance than there was last year MONTHLY RECORD OF CURRENT EVENTS. 115 upon the departure of Admiral Napier, the general confidence in the ability of the present fleet to do good service is much greater. It is not forgotten, however, that the Russians have during the winter added very greatly to the defenses of the fortresses on the Baltic, and that their fleet in that sea now numbers 73 vessels, manned l~r 25,000 sailors and 12,000 marines .The English Government has effected a loan of sixteen million pounds sterling, payable in eight monthly instalments. It was all taken by the Rothschilds at a rate equivalent to about 87 per cent, for three per cent. consols. Mr. Layard on the 5th of April made a speech at Aberdeen, on the occasion of his installation as Lord Rector of Marischal College, in which he re- ferred in very stron, terms to the indisputable fact that England has lost prestige by the war, that she has proved unequal to the emergency, and is in im- minent danger of losing the rank she has hitherto held among the nations. He attributed the disas- ters of the war partly to the reckless manner in which merit is overlooked in public employments, and passed over to satisfy private and party inter- ests, but mainly to the vicious and defective char- acter of the education provided by the Government, which tasked the memory rather than the intellect, and was not at all fitted to prepare the young for the duties of active lifeMr. Bright had also made a speech at a meeting of the Peace Society at Manchester, in which he stigmatized the war as utterly needless, and as having been brought upon the country hy the ill-temper of Lord Stratford de Redcliffe, whose predominant passion was resent- ment of the Czar for having once refused to receive him as English Minister, and by the utter incom- petence of Lord Westmoreland, the British repre- sentative at Vienna. He censured the conduct of the war, which, however, he deemed hetter than the war itself. He denied that it was the interest of Russia to embroil herself with the other nations of Europe, and said that her treaty-stipulations with England had always been faithfully observed. Mr. Bouverie, recently appointed Vice-Presi- dent of the Board of Trade, has been re-elected by his constituents at Kilmarnock. In his speech he attributed the disasters of the Crimea to the im- perfections in the military system of England, and said that he had voted against the Committee of Inquiry because he re~arded it as an attempt to overthrow the Government, and as an unconstitu- tional interference in the management of the war. Lord Harrowby, who made a speech in Parlia- ment at the close of the last Session, presenting the reconstruction of Poland as the only effectual means of carrying on the war, has been appointed Chan- cellor of the Duchy of Lancaster. This step is re- garded as indicating a possible change of policy on the part of the Cabinet, as it would scarcely have been taken had not Lord Palmerston substantially concurred in the opinions thus expressed. FRANCE. The visit of the Emperor to England created a high degree of enthusiasm in Paris, and his return was welcomed by a popular demonstration. Ru- mors are still circulated that he intends going in person to the Crimea, but no official intimation of such a purpose has yet heen given. The opening of the grand Exhibition of Industry has been post- poned to the 15th of May. A good deal of atten- tion has been given, not only in France but through- out Europe, to the publication in the Al onitem of an elaborate and evidently official exposition of the military and political conduct of the Allied gov- ernments in regard to the war. After stating the motives which led England and France to unite in the war against Russia, the instructions are pub- lished which were given to Marshal St. Arnaud when he was intrusted with the command of the French army. The position of Austria is assigned as the reason why the Allied armies did not at once commence operations on the Danube and follow the retreating Russians. They would, moreover, have put themselves at too great a distance from the sea, and would have been in presence of a Russian army of 200,000 men, who would either have await- ed them in an advantageous position, or else have, by retreatina, drawn them forward into still greater dangers. Without the co-operation of Austria, a campaign beyond the Danube or on the Pruth was impossible. Austria, on the other hand, was not then prepared to go to war, as it was indispensable that she should first secure the countenance and support of Germany. Nor, again, could the Allied generals remain inactive while waiting for the de- cision of Austria, without a loss of prestige and of moral strength. It was necessary to show an ob- ject to the troops, to compel the enemy to fear them, and to excite the ambition and emulation of Eu- rope. It was under such circumstances and for such reasons that the expedition to the Crimea was proposed. The capture of Sebastopol, it was thought, might hasten the denoueasent, and place in the hands of the Allies a stronghold which would be important in negotiating for a peace. Marshal St. Arnaud was ordered to land at Kaffa, about forty miles from Sebastopol. These counsels, how- ever, unhappily were not followed, and the course that was taken rendered it impossible to invest the place. An assault might possibly have succeeded immediately after the battle of the Alma, but the undertaking would have been one of great hazard. Prudence counseled the course that had been taken. The Russians, by keeping open their communica- tion with Simeraphol, and by sinking their fleet at the entrance of the harbor, had added greatly to the difficulties of the siege; and it soon became evident that the place could be taken only after a long struggle, with powerful reinforcements, and at the cost of sanguinary battles. The political necessity of the war is vindicated by citing evi- dence that Russia has for many years aimed at complete domination at Constantinople and over the Black Sea as the end of her ambition, and by showing that the establishment of such a predom- inance would be absolutely fatal to the independ- cam of the States of Europe. In resisting this ambition, therefore, England and France were re- ally fighting the battles of every other European State. Their armies and fleets were the avcnt- gurdes of Europe; and havin, first arrived at the theatre of war, they had a right to expect that they would be followed thither by Austria and Prussia. Those two Powers bad long hesitated, and had finally asked the Allies if they would still treat for peace on the basis of the four points. After long consideration this proposition was acceded to, and negotiations were reopened at Vienna. Nothing could be more moderate or proper than the condi- tions of peace proposed. The first, putting an end to the protectorate of Russia over the Danubian provinces, and plaeingthem under the guardianship of the great Powers, would deprive Russia of the means of subjugating their population and domina- ting Turkey. The second, guaranteeing the free 116 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. navigation of the Danube, would liberate the com- merce of all nations, and especially of Austria, from the obstacles it encounters. The fourth, relieving Turkey from the religious protectorate of Russia, would preserve religious freedom, and at the same time destroy the supremacy which the Czar had asserted and exercised. The third, and most im- portant, which had for its object to limit the pre- ponderance of Russia in the Black Sea, was neces- sary for the security of Enrope as well as for the integrity of the Ottoman Empire. Russia had made the Black Sea a Russian lake; she has founded maritime establishments there of the first magnitude, and has placed Constantinople, as it were, in a state of permanent siege. Russia has already lost this supremacy by the war; her fleets dare no longer show themselves in the Black Sea, and her fleet has been sunk in the harbor of Sebasto- pol. Four men-of-war of each of the three maritime Powers can prevent Russia from ever entering that sea again. In insisting, therefore, upon a formal limitation of Russian power there, the Allies insist on nothing unreasonableon nothing that they have not achieved. Whether the negotiations should prove successful or not, England and France bad proved their moderation by consenting to them, and had rendered certain the co-operation of Austria, if the conference should not effect the restoration of peaceSuch is the substance of the official articles in the Afoaiteer. AUSTRIA. We have intelligence from Vienna of the failure of the pending negotiations, and the disruption of the Conference. From the imperfect accounts that have reached us, it appears that twelve sittings had been held. The French Minister, M. Dronyn de Lhuys, repaired to Vienna at the ninth sitting, when an envoy from Turkey was also introduced, and took part in the proceedings ; his instructions which have been published, indicate ajealous care on the part of the Ottoman Porte, that the inde- pendence of Turkey should not suffer detriment from the Allied Powers. The difference, it is stated, took place on the third of the four points that relating to the limitation of the power of Rus- sia in the Black Sea. The Western Powers, at the eleventh sitting, demanded the absolute neutral- ization of the Black Seathe exclusion from its waters of all vessels of war of all nations. After forty-eight hours consideration, Prince Gortsch- akoff communicated the absolute rejection of these terms by the Russian government, and refused to admit the principle of the limitation of her fleet. Upon this the Conference was suspended, and both the English and French Ministers were to take leave on the 22d. This result apparently destroys all hope of a speedy termination of the war. Under these circumstances additional importance is due to the alleged unwillingness of Austria to assume a hostile attitude toward Russia. Indeed it is as- serted that she refused to unite with the Allies in their demands, and declared her unwillingness to a0 any further in her exactions than to require that the Russian fleet in the Black Sea should remain in stata quo; that the Western Powers should have consuls at Sebastopol, who should be under the im- mediate protection of their Ministers at St. Peters- burg; and that they should also have the right to construct war ports on some part of the Turkish eoast. SPAIN. A misunderstanding has occurred between the Spanish Cabinet and the governments of England and France. A vessel bought from a Russian by a Spanish subject, was captured as lawful prize f war by a French vessel. The dispute was to be referred to Paris. Lord Howden, the British em- bassador, is complained of for having protested against the treatment of Protestants in regard to their burial-places. It is stated in the Spanish journals that the government has sent to Wash- ington a full assent to the arrangement for the set- tlement of the Black Wa ior difficulty. The ques- tion of the National Militia has been settled, an amendment forbidding them to discuss political questions having been adopted in the Cortes by a vote of 165 to 28. There were some attempts at popular disturbance, but they were soon suppressed. THE EASTERN WAR Our advices from Sebastopol are to the 17th of April, and indicate the rapid approach of a crisis. The bombardment of the place had in fact commenced and continued unceasingly from the 9th; five hundred heavy g-nns playing day and night upon the fortifications. Notwithstanding this terrible attackthis feu demifer, as it is strongly characterized by Gortschakoff in an official dis- patchwhich had continued for more than a week, the fortifications had suffered but little damage, though several Russian batteries had been de- stroyed. It was believed that the bombardment was to be continued a week longer, at the end of which time the Allies counted confidently on being able to carry the place by storm. One thing is clear, if such an assault should be at- tempted, it will be one of the bloodiest engage- ments on record. A heavy engagement was fought on the 22d March between the Russians and French, in which the former lost over 2000, and the latter over 600 in killed and wounded. After the engagement there was a suspension of hostilities for the burial of the dead. The weather had become pleasant, the health of the troops was improving, and a much better state of feeling pre- vaiied in the Allied camps. CHINA. Advices from Canton to the middle of Februnry~ indicate some recent progress on the part of the insurgents. They had invested Canton and de- stroyed the villages in its neighborhood, though it is said that dissensions among their leaders have preventod an attack upon the city. Many of the southern provinces remain in their posses- sion, and the capital of the empire is said to be closely beleaguered by them. They have held possession of Shanghai for fifteen months. The French have joined the imperial forces, and have been twice repulsed in an attempt to drive the rebels out of this place. The English and American local authorities have abstained from taking part with either of the contending parties, but have concerted measures to protect the inter- ests of their countrymen. Sir John Bowring, the British embassador, has assured merchants, who had made inquiries of him on the subject, that plans for the security and defense of the factories had been agreed upon by the British and American superior naval officers, and had met with the full concurrence of the diplomatic functionaries, who have instructed the consuls to give effect to these arrangements. Liserary and Philosophical Miscellanies, by GEORGE BANCROFT. (Published by Harper and Brothers.) The devotion with which Mr. Ban- croft has engaged in his labors on American history during the last twenty years, has deprived the pub- lic, to a great extent, of the miscellaneous writings that might naturally have been expected from his copious and energetic pen. Few authors of his ability and eminence have so exclusively confined their productions to a specific department. Re- sisting the temptation to literary diffuseness which, in this country especially, is the besetting sin of ambitious writers, he has wisely selected the field for his exertions, and has applied himself to its cultivation with singular assiduity. Without aim- ing at the renown of a superficial universality, he has preferred the composition of a single master- piece which would identify his name with the lit- erature of his country. Mr. Bancrofts History of the United States, indeed, is a work that indicates an extensive range of thought and study beyond the special department of inquiry, the mature fruits of which it embodies and sets forth in their most general and comprehensive relations. The fancy of the poet, the insight of the philosopher, and the dialectics of the logician are conspicuous in its pages, no less than the sagacity of the historian. The wealth of elegant learning and the habits of profound thought which they display, have often inspired the wish, on the part of Mr. Bancrofts readers, for a collection of his writings on other topics, and particularly in the field of philosophy and general literature. They can not fail to be gratified by the publication of this volume. They will greet it with a prompt welcome, not only as an illustration of the culture and research which have ripened into his great historical work, but on ac- count of the variety, beauty, and intrinsic value of its contents. The materials which compose the volume are di- vided into Essays, Studies in German Literature, including poetical translations from that language, Studies in History, and Occasional Addresses. The Essays, which are only three in number, treating of the Doctrine of Temperaments, Ennui, and the Ruling Passion in Death, are models of philosoph- ical disquisition in a popular style, abounding in curious facts and illustrations, argued with exqui- site subtlety of reasoning, and wrought with strik- ing felicity of diction. The Studies in German Literature occupy a wider space. They comprise a brief historical sketch of the development of German culture, ana- lvtical criticisms of the principal German writers, and miscellaneous translations from the most cele- brated German poets. Since the date of these ad- mirable papers, the study of German literature has made great progress both in this country and in England; its treasures have been freely opened to the common mind; its characteristic features have become incorporated, to a certain degree, with pre- vailing habits of thought; the finest intellects of our time have passed judgment on its productions; but we shall nowhere find, within the same com- pass, such a discriminating and comprehensive ac- count of its chief authors,such well-considered de- cisions on their merits, such a grave and impartial estimate of their influence, and such brilliant illus- trations of their peculiar genius, as in these re markable Studies. Although written at an early period of Mr. Bancrofts literary careerforming, in some sense, the blossoming and first-fruits of his mindthey exhibit the same breadth and sagacity of view, the same philosophical acumen, the same appreciation of universal beauty, and the same combination of ornate and forcible expression which distinguish the efforts of his maturer years. The portraitures of Herder, Richter, Schiller, and Goethe challenge comparison with the most con- summate delineations of this kind in our language. The themes of the Studies in History include the Economy of Athens, the Decline of the Roman People, Russia, and the Wars of Rus- sia and Turkey. Embodying the results of ex- tensive research, and in some instances enriched with a profusion of curious and recondite learning, these essays are a signal proof of the vocation of the author to historical composition. In point of style they are highly elaborated, uniting a singu- lar conciseness of expression with a pregnant full- ness of meaning, arranging the intricate details of obscure questions in a transparent narrative, whose flowing richness beguiles the reader into the pos- session of a copious store of information, without the consciousness of a painful mental effort. The last division of the volume comprises vari- ous occasional addresses, amon, which are several specimens of popular eloquence, remarkable for the clearness and force with wbich the fruits of pro- found research and meditation are presented to the comprehension of a general audience. The tributes to Calvin, Dr. Channing, and President Jackson are singularly happy in their conception, and clothed in language of artistic beauty and grace. The re- cent Discourse before the New York Historical So- ciety, on the Progress of the Human Race, forms an appropriate conclusion to the volume. It is always a hazardous experiment to repro- duce the miscellaneous works of a distinguished author, written at a comparatively early period of Isis development, but presented to the public scru- tiny under the searching light of his mature fame. In the present case, however, there is no room for disappointment. Compared with Mr. Bancrofts great historical work the collection now issued is fully worthy of its companionship. In its own way, it furnishes a scarcely less splendid illustra- tion of his genius than the American History. Its depth and originality of thought, its finished schol- arship, its comprehensive wisdomn of view, and the vigor and elegance of its diction will secure it a permanent place at the side of that noble monument to his renown. The Whole French Laisguoge is the title of a new manual of education on the Robertsonian system of teaching modern languages, edited by Louis ERNST. The author of this system is Professor Ron T5ON, a celebrated teacher in Paris, who has obtained a European reputation by the excel- lence of his method and the success of his instruc- tions. It claims to combine the most valuable features in the systems of Manesca, Ollendorff Hamilton, and the older grammatical authorities, while it is free from the defects which diminish the pr~ etical utility of those methods. The text on which the volume is founded, is an original and attractive narrative, presenting all the peculiar idioms of the French 1an~uage, together with ~

Literary Notices Literary Notices 117-120

Liserary and Philosophical Miscellanies, by GEORGE BANCROFT. (Published by Harper and Brothers.) The devotion with which Mr. Ban- croft has engaged in his labors on American history during the last twenty years, has deprived the pub- lic, to a great extent, of the miscellaneous writings that might naturally have been expected from his copious and energetic pen. Few authors of his ability and eminence have so exclusively confined their productions to a specific department. Re- sisting the temptation to literary diffuseness which, in this country especially, is the besetting sin of ambitious writers, he has wisely selected the field for his exertions, and has applied himself to its cultivation with singular assiduity. Without aim- ing at the renown of a superficial universality, he has preferred the composition of a single master- piece which would identify his name with the lit- erature of his country. Mr. Bancrofts History of the United States, indeed, is a work that indicates an extensive range of thought and study beyond the special department of inquiry, the mature fruits of which it embodies and sets forth in their most general and comprehensive relations. The fancy of the poet, the insight of the philosopher, and the dialectics of the logician are conspicuous in its pages, no less than the sagacity of the historian. The wealth of elegant learning and the habits of profound thought which they display, have often inspired the wish, on the part of Mr. Bancrofts readers, for a collection of his writings on other topics, and particularly in the field of philosophy and general literature. They can not fail to be gratified by the publication of this volume. They will greet it with a prompt welcome, not only as an illustration of the culture and research which have ripened into his great historical work, but on ac- count of the variety, beauty, and intrinsic value of its contents. The materials which compose the volume are di- vided into Essays, Studies in German Literature, including poetical translations from that language, Studies in History, and Occasional Addresses. The Essays, which are only three in number, treating of the Doctrine of Temperaments, Ennui, and the Ruling Passion in Death, are models of philosoph- ical disquisition in a popular style, abounding in curious facts and illustrations, argued with exqui- site subtlety of reasoning, and wrought with strik- ing felicity of diction. The Studies in German Literature occupy a wider space. They comprise a brief historical sketch of the development of German culture, ana- lvtical criticisms of the principal German writers, and miscellaneous translations from the most cele- brated German poets. Since the date of these ad- mirable papers, the study of German literature has made great progress both in this country and in England; its treasures have been freely opened to the common mind; its characteristic features have become incorporated, to a certain degree, with pre- vailing habits of thought; the finest intellects of our time have passed judgment on its productions; but we shall nowhere find, within the same com- pass, such a discriminating and comprehensive ac- count of its chief authors,such well-considered de- cisions on their merits, such a grave and impartial estimate of their influence, and such brilliant illus- trations of their peculiar genius, as in these re markable Studies. Although written at an early period of Mr. Bancrofts literary careerforming, in some sense, the blossoming and first-fruits of his mindthey exhibit the same breadth and sagacity of view, the same philosophical acumen, the same appreciation of universal beauty, and the same combination of ornate and forcible expression which distinguish the efforts of his maturer years. The portraitures of Herder, Richter, Schiller, and Goethe challenge comparison with the most con- summate delineations of this kind in our language. The themes of the Studies in History include the Economy of Athens, the Decline of the Roman People, Russia, and the Wars of Rus- sia and Turkey. Embodying the results of ex- tensive research, and in some instances enriched with a profusion of curious and recondite learning, these essays are a signal proof of the vocation of the author to historical composition. In point of style they are highly elaborated, uniting a singu- lar conciseness of expression with a pregnant full- ness of meaning, arranging the intricate details of obscure questions in a transparent narrative, whose flowing richness beguiles the reader into the pos- session of a copious store of information, without the consciousness of a painful mental effort. The last division of the volume comprises vari- ous occasional addresses, amon, which are several specimens of popular eloquence, remarkable for the clearness and force with wbich the fruits of pro- found research and meditation are presented to the comprehension of a general audience. The tributes to Calvin, Dr. Channing, and President Jackson are singularly happy in their conception, and clothed in language of artistic beauty and grace. The re- cent Discourse before the New York Historical So- ciety, on the Progress of the Human Race, forms an appropriate conclusion to the volume. It is always a hazardous experiment to repro- duce the miscellaneous works of a distinguished author, written at a comparatively early period of Isis development, but presented to the public scru- tiny under the searching light of his mature fame. In the present case, however, there is no room for disappointment. Compared with Mr. Bancrofts great historical work the collection now issued is fully worthy of its companionship. In its own way, it furnishes a scarcely less splendid illustra- tion of his genius than the American History. Its depth and originality of thought, its finished schol- arship, its comprehensive wisdomn of view, and the vigor and elegance of its diction will secure it a permanent place at the side of that noble monument to his renown. The Whole French Laisguoge is the title of a new manual of education on the Robertsonian system of teaching modern languages, edited by Louis ERNST. The author of this system is Professor Ron T5ON, a celebrated teacher in Paris, who has obtained a European reputation by the excel- lence of his method and the success of his instruc- tions. It claims to combine the most valuable features in the systems of Manesca, Ollendorff Hamilton, and the older grammatical authorities, while it is free from the defects which diminish the pr~ etical utility of those methods. The text on which the volume is founded, is an original and attractive narrative, presenting all the peculiar idioms of the French 1an~uage, together with ~ 118 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. complete vocabulary of the words most commonly ment. Ills fine nsthetic sense reveals to him the occurring in familiar discourse. The principles 11- manifold forms of beauty and grandeur which have lustrated in this portion of the work are impressed been overgrown with the moss of ages, and even on the mind of the pupil by constant repetition In from the arid records of scholastic controversy he a series of judicious exercises; and the second part educes fresh proofs of the dignity and worth of the is devoted to a more profound analysis of the lan- human intellect. In regard to the disputed points guage, explaining, in a collection of clear and sim- of modern German theology, his own views bear pie rules, all the difficulties of French grammar an~ the stamp of moderation. He has no sympathy syntax. Professor Robertsons method is strictly with zealots or fanatics of any school. Nor does progressive. The pupil is led on, by easy and al- he fraternize with the skeptical philosophers who most unconscious steps, from the rudiments of the subject the positive truths of religion to such a de- grammar to the most complicated forms of the lan- structive analysis that they are deprived of their (rune. T system combines thoroughness force ~~ devout, ~ ,, he great vital ~ eminently with remarkable perspicuity. No one can master trustful, believing. it is true, he regards religion its details, without making such proficiency in the in the light of a natural sentiment, rather than of French language as to enable him to enjoy the a logical d uction; but he never obtrudes his own classical productions of its literature, and with the opinions upon the historical student. The work necessary practice, to speak French with correct- now presented to the American public covers the ness and facility. The volume now issued is equal- whole ground of ecclesiastical history, from the ly adapted for the purposes of self-instruction, and original establishment of the Church to the latest for the use of classes under the direction of a com- developments of current date. The translators petent teacher. We do not hesitate to recommend have performed their difficult and laborious task it to the notice of all who are interested in the ad- with great fidelity. We perceive little to censure vancement of education, believing that its substan- in point of correctness; perhaps, indeed, they have tial merits nih bear the test of a scrutinizing ex- aimed to produce a too literal version; and a more amination. (Published by Roe Lockwood and thorough melting down of the original into purely Son.) idiomatic forms, would have relieved the appear- The I/lost Eminent Orators and Statesmen of An- ance of stiffness and formality which must often cient and Modern Times, by DAVID A. HARSIJA. annoy the fastidious reader. (Published by Charles Scrihner.) The only repre- Sermons of the Rev. ichabod S. Spencer, D.D., sentatives of ancient oratory commemorated in this with a Memoir of his Life, by tile Rev. G. M. volume are Demosthenes and Cicero. Of British SHERWOOD. (Published hy M. W. Dodd.) The statesmen we have Lord Chatham, Burke, Sheri- late Dr. Spencer was a model of devotedness, piety, dan, Pitt, Brougham, and others; while Patrick zeal, and success in the pastoral office. Abstain~ Henry, Fisher Ames, Clay, Calhoun, Webster, and lag from every attempt to court popularity, be ex- Everett are brought forward as examples of Amer- erted a weighty and wholesome influence upon a ican eloquence. The plan of the work includes wide circle of society. Of a certain granitic texture critical and biographical sketches of the eminent of character, he was emphatically a man to wear men who fibure in its pages, with large extracts well. Grave, deliberate, earnest, impressive, he from timeir best orations and speeches. Comments made a permanent mark wherever his presence are also made on the characteristic traits of each was felt. In time ordmnary sense of the term, he orator, aiming at a complete analysis and exposi- was not a man of learninghe cherished no scho- tion of his peculiar style of eloquence. The re- lastic tasteshe had no element of the book-worm muarks of the author on the native statesmenof in his whole compositionno desire for literary wimose oratory he gives several choice specimens distinction~ but he was well versed in the writings are in time main discriminating, but sometimes too of a few masterly theologians, he was mighty in lmighiy colored by enthusiastic admiration. his the Scriptures, he was a shrewd observer of char- notice of Edward Everett is in an eulogistic strain, acter, and, with his intense zeal for usefulness in but does no more than justice to the merits of that his vocation, these advantages gave him an em- admirable scholar, and refined, classical orator. It inent success, which was scarcely surpassed by that is, perhaps, the best tribute to the modest great- of his most distinguished contemporarmes. As a ness of Mr. Everett that has yet appeared in print, preacher, he was remarkable for the copiousness including several critical sketches previously made and weight of Imis matter, rather than for any by other hands. The volume is embellished with graces or attractions of manner. He was wholly a well-engraved portrait of Daniel Webster, fur- free from affectationalways simplealways him- nishing a natural representation of his majestic self. his originality of mind prevented him from features. being the servile copyist of othersprevented him A History of the Christiems Church, by Doctor even from following the beaten tracks in his exposi- CIIARLEs HAsE, translated from the German by tion of familiar truths. He presented old subjects in CHARLES E. BLUMENTHAL and CONWAy P. WING. new aspects. Not that line had any love of innova- (Published by D. Appleton and Co.) Ilase is dis- tion; from this he was singularly free. He had tinguished amon, German writers on ecclesiastical even a personal abhorrence of novelties, either in history for his freshness and geniality. To him, opinion or practice; he adhered rigidly to the an- the past is not merely a collection of insignificant dent standards of faith: but every topic which details and mueagre incidents, but the scene of vital he discussed took its form and coloring from his and glowing activity. With pious reverence he own mind, giving a perpetual freshness and ani- wipes the dust from the hoary annals of antiquity, mation to the themes of his pulpit discourse. The and strives to reproduce them in their original memoir in this volume presents a luminous and brightness. I-In regards the development of the deeply-interesting view of mis life and character. Church, not merely in its theological and dogmatic It is written in a tone of affectionate admiration, aspects, but as connected with the secular history but without fulsome panegyric. In the orderly of the times and the progress of general enlighten- arrangement of its topics, and time equable flow of LITERARY NOTICES. 119 its narrative, it exhibits some of the best and rarest qualities of biographical composition. The ser- mons, which have been selected from the volumin- ous manuscripts of the deceased, fully illustrate the characteristics alluded to above. They unfold the leading facts of Christian history, and the prin- ciples of Christian doctrine in a great variety of phases; and if not models of sacred eloquence, are superior specimens of homiletic instruction. Surgical Reports, and Miscellaneous Papers on Medical Subjects, by GEORGE HAYWARD, M.D. (Published by Phillips, Sampson, and Co.) A ju- dicious collection of original essays by an eminent medical man of Boston. It exhibits the moderation of view, freedom from exclusive theories, scholar- like culture, sagacious discrimination, and chaste decorum of style, which characterize a large por- tion of the medical literature proceeding from the capital of New England. The papers on Annsthetic Agents, the Diseases of a Literary Life, Legalizing Anatomy, and several others, possess something more than a professional interest. Redfield has published an edition, in two vol- umes, of The ODoherty Papers, by the late WILL- edited by the veteran literary LAM MAGINY, mouser, Dr. SHELTON MACKENZIE. Maginn was a jovial, reckless, obstreporous varlet, brimful of fun and frolic, with mischief oozing out at every pore; unscrupulous in his satire, brilliant in in- vective, with erudition that might grace a univers- ity, and a passion for genial liquors worthy of a pot-house. Many of his most sparkling effusions are devoted to the praises of wine and gin-twist. Habitual topers, who are deprived of their favor- ite beverages by anti-liquor legislatures, may here satiate their thirsty appetites by the imagination of a feast. Certainly no such seductive champion of Bacchus has appeared in these latter days. Dr. Shelton Mackenzie has done his part to a charm. If any fault is to be found with him, it is that of sometimes being too lavish of information on points concerning which most readers may be safely supposed to have learned the alphabet. His fancy takes fire at every suggestion of an interesting name or a curious incident, and he discharges his enthusiasm with a rattling volley of chronological, biographical, and bibliographical lore. In all mat- ters of scandal, too, he is perfectly at home, and often enriches the spice-islands of the original by highly-flavored anecdotes and innuendoes of his own. As a work of amusement, the merits of this collection are palpable, but it would be indiscreet to commend warmly its moral tone. Le (an Jfaaqai, by EUGENE DE COURCILLON (published by harper and Brothers), combines the attractions of a novel and a book of travels. In the form of a simple autobiographical story, it pre- sents a vivid portraiture of the modes of life and thought and the social and religious customs of the great body of the French people. It aims to give a faithful and striking delineation of the manners of the rural districts of France, similar to tIme sketches by foreign tourists of the great metropo- lis. In following out his plan, the author is led to describe minutely the ceremonies of the Catholic Church, as they are observed among a compara- tively ignorant and unsophisticated people, who cling to many old usages that have come down to them from time immemorial, and who retain their faith in much that has been discarded by the more enlightened classes of the French population. The narrative is marked by the utmost frankness and simplicity; a vein of dry humor enlivens many of the sketches of character; while the incidents re- lated, though fictitious in their grouping, bear all the marks of reality. As an illustration of domes- tic life, social features, and mental development, under the influence of the Catholic religion, the volume will reward the attention of every intelli- gent reader. The Old Inn; or, the Travelers Entertainment, by JOSIAH BARNES, Sen. (Published by J. C. Derby.) A series of travelers stories, purporting to have been related around the fireside of a coun- try hostelry in Vermont, into which the company had been driven by stress of weather. They indi- cate a writer of more than the ordinary calibre, though he takes refuge for concealment under the shelter of a pseudonym. He need not be ashamed to show his hand or the pen which he wields with decided effect. His stories are well told, free from commonplace, couched in a nervous and impressive style, though in some cases carrying the tragic element to excess. The Wondemfel Adventures of captain Priest, by the author of A Stray Yankee in Texas. (Pub- lished by Reddeld.) Jewels and pearls of native humor fall facilely from the pen of this merry writer. He even brings to light an assortment of fresh puns, which will rejoice the ears of many in the prevailing dearth of good things in that line. Ticknor and Fields have reprinted WILLIAM Howrrrs Bogs Adventures in the Wilds of Aus- tralia, a delightful volume, describing the curious and picturesque features of Australian life, in the animated style characteristic of the author. The work was written on the spot, andis evidently tIme fruit of personal experience. Every lover of nat- ural description will find it a captivating volume. Harper and Brothers have issued a new Book- List, comprising the titles of their publications in the various branches of literature and science, a classified table of contents, and copious literary and bibliographical notices, prepared, to a considerable extent, for this edition. Apart from its utility as a manual for the book-purchaser, it may be deem- ed worthy of attention as presenting a brief com- mentary on many of the most important productions of the current literature. Harper and Brothers have in press and will pub- lish, from advance sheets, the following works: Moredun: a Tale of 1210. This is the novel attributed to Sir WALTER Scorr, the romantic account of the discovery of wlmich in manuscript, at Paris, excited so much attention a short time since. The proprietor still maintains that it is a genuine production of the author of Waverleg. The heiress of Haughton, by Mrs. MARSH. The first two volumes of JAMES SILK BUCKING- 11AM s amusing and garrulous Autobiographg. The Biographg of Sgdneg Smith, by his daughter, Lady HoLm~ANn.Antobiography is apparently again becoming the fashion of the day in England. It has always been the rage in France. It is re- ported that LOCKHART (Sir Walter Scotts biogra- pher and son-in-law) has left a copious Memoir of Imis own Life and Literary Times, which will speed- ily be publishmed. ROGERS, the very Nestor of living poets, is said to have prepared his Personal and Literary Recollections, which will appear speedily after his decease. Miss MARTINEAU is engaged, at the intervals of ease from imitense bod- ily suffering, upon her autobiography. TWO HUNDRED YEARS AGO, or thereabouts, worthy Master Samuel Clarke sometbne Pas- tor of Saint Bennet-Frink, London took it in hand to set forth a true and faithful Account of the four chiefest Plantations of the English in America.~~ How he toiled to gather the few scattered materials then accessible, and how he carried his manuscript around from printer to printer before he could find one bold enough to undertake the risk of publishing it to the world, must remain forever unknown. Successful, however, he at last was, and his work, a thin quarto volume of not quite a hundred pages, printed in London, in 1670, for Robert Clavel, Thomas Passenger, William Cadmus, William Whitwood, Thomas Sawbridge, and William Birch lies before us, in all the quaint orthography and typography of the time. The four chiefest Plantations described are Virginia, New England, Bermudas, and Barbados. Virginia, we are informed, is bounded on the east by the great ocean, on the south by Florida, on the north by Nova Francia, while toward the west its limits are unknown. A very respectable planta- tion truly, as far as extent is concerned, and a land very inviting to emigrants, since the Soil is generally lusty and rich, and the Country gener- ally bath such pleasant plain Hills and fertile Val- leys, one prettily crossing another, and watered so conveniently with sweet Brooks and chrystal Streams as if Artists had devised them. The Tempreture of the air, we are moreover assured, after they were well seasoned agreed well with the constitutions of the English ; for though the Summer was as hot as in Spain, and the Winter as cold as in France or England, a cool Briess com- monly aswages the vehemency of the heat. The Indians, of course, find little favor in the eyes of the good preacher, though his account of them is quite as impartial as could have been ex- pected from a divine of those strenuous days, when speaking of Heathens and Salvages. They were great and well proportioned men, looking like gi- ants to the new-corners, with Language well seeming their proportion, sounding from them as it were a great Voice in a Vault. Some measure- ments are added to confirm this statement: One of the biggest of them had the calf of his Legg measured, which was three-quarters of a yard about, and all the rest of his limbs answerable thereto. His arrows exceeded by a full fourth part the lenbth of the famous clothyard shafts of the English arch- ers. A picturesque figure must have been pre- sented by these sons of Anak, attired as they were in the skins of Bears and Wolves. One of them had a Wolves-head hanging in a Chain for a Jewel; his Tobacco-pipe was three-quarters of a yard long, prettily carved with a Bird, a Bear, a Dear, being at the end sufficient to beat out a mans brains. Besides these spoils of the chase some of them have Mantles made of Turkey Feathers, so handsomely wrought, and Woven with Thred that nothing could be discerned but Feathers. These were exceeding neat and warm. Tbis bravery, however, belonged only to the chiefs and great men, the common sort, even as in civilized com- munities, having scarce wherewith to cover their nakedness. Some of their ornaments displayed a questionable taste; as for instance, In each Ear commonly they have three holes, whereat they hang Chains, Bracelets, or Copper, a fashion not wholly gone into disuse in civilized communities, especially among the fairer sex. But what follows is somewhat more objectionable: Some of their men wear in these holes a small green and yellow coloured Snake, near half a yard long, which crawl- ing and wrapping herself about his neck familiarly kisses his lips: others wear a dead Rat, tied by the tail. Among the pleasant articles of their head- dresses are enumerated the wing of a bird, the tail of a rattlesnake, the skin of a hawk, stuffed, with outstretched wings, and the hand of an enemy dried. The worthy Minister of Saint Bennet-Frink was not far wrong in saying that He is most gallant that is most monstrous to behold. The moral character of these truculent Salv- ages is described very fairly. They are incon- stant, crafty, timerous, quick of apprehension, and very ingenious. They are soon angry, and so malicious that they seldom forget an injury. They are very strong, of able bodies and nimble. They can lie in the Woods under a Tree by tbe Fire in the Coldest Weather, and amongst the Grass and Weeds in Summer. They are very covetous of Copper, Beads, and such trash, But notwith- standing this covetous disposition our author ac- knowledges that they seldom steal from one an- other ; yet to this praise he makes a saving reser- vation that their abstinence from theft arises from fear lest their Connivers (or sorcerers) should re- veal it. The women find much more favor than the men in the eyes of our historian. They are careful to avoid suspicion of Dishonesty without the leave of their Husbands. They love their children very dearly, and, to make them hardy, in the coldest Mornings they wash them in the Rivers, and by Painting and Ointments they so tan their Skins that in a year or two no Weather will hurt them. The men are lazy fellows compelling the women to do all the work, making, Mats, Baskets, Pots, Morters, besides the proper household labors, bear- ing their Hunting Houses after them, with Corn, Acorns, Morters, Bagg and Baggage which they use. Very useful to these lazy hunters and war- riors are their wives, and it is no wonder that, when they come to the hunting grounds, every man endeavours to shew his best Dexterity; for thereby they get their wives. The Minister of Saint Bennet-Frink, as befitted his sacred calling is very severe upon the priests of these Indians. They are, he says, a Genera- tion of Vipers, even of Satans own brood ; and quotes a letter from Mr. Alex. Whitaker, who was a Minister to the Colony, who describes their priests as being none other but such as our English Witches are; living naked in body, as if the shame of their sin deserved no covering. They esteem it a virtue to lie deceive and steal, as their Master the Devil teacheth them. The priests, if the de- scription given of them is accurate, must have pre- sented a figure any thing but attractive. Their faces, we are told, are painted as ugly as they can devise, and they carry Rattles in their hands. They have a Chief Priest, differenced from the in- ferior by the Ornaments of his head, which are twelve. Sixteen or more Snake-skins,, stuffed with Moss, the Skins of Weesels and other Vermin; all which they tye by the Tails, so as the tails meet

Editor's Table Editor's Table 120-123

TWO HUNDRED YEARS AGO, or thereabouts, worthy Master Samuel Clarke sometbne Pas- tor of Saint Bennet-Frink, London took it in hand to set forth a true and faithful Account of the four chiefest Plantations of the English in America.~~ How he toiled to gather the few scattered materials then accessible, and how he carried his manuscript around from printer to printer before he could find one bold enough to undertake the risk of publishing it to the world, must remain forever unknown. Successful, however, he at last was, and his work, a thin quarto volume of not quite a hundred pages, printed in London, in 1670, for Robert Clavel, Thomas Passenger, William Cadmus, William Whitwood, Thomas Sawbridge, and William Birch lies before us, in all the quaint orthography and typography of the time. The four chiefest Plantations described are Virginia, New England, Bermudas, and Barbados. Virginia, we are informed, is bounded on the east by the great ocean, on the south by Florida, on the north by Nova Francia, while toward the west its limits are unknown. A very respectable planta- tion truly, as far as extent is concerned, and a land very inviting to emigrants, since the Soil is generally lusty and rich, and the Country gener- ally bath such pleasant plain Hills and fertile Val- leys, one prettily crossing another, and watered so conveniently with sweet Brooks and chrystal Streams as if Artists had devised them. The Tempreture of the air, we are moreover assured, after they were well seasoned agreed well with the constitutions of the English ; for though the Summer was as hot as in Spain, and the Winter as cold as in France or England, a cool Briess com- monly aswages the vehemency of the heat. The Indians, of course, find little favor in the eyes of the good preacher, though his account of them is quite as impartial as could have been ex- pected from a divine of those strenuous days, when speaking of Heathens and Salvages. They were great and well proportioned men, looking like gi- ants to the new-corners, with Language well seeming their proportion, sounding from them as it were a great Voice in a Vault. Some measure- ments are added to confirm this statement: One of the biggest of them had the calf of his Legg measured, which was three-quarters of a yard about, and all the rest of his limbs answerable thereto. His arrows exceeded by a full fourth part the lenbth of the famous clothyard shafts of the English arch- ers. A picturesque figure must have been pre- sented by these sons of Anak, attired as they were in the skins of Bears and Wolves. One of them had a Wolves-head hanging in a Chain for a Jewel; his Tobacco-pipe was three-quarters of a yard long, prettily carved with a Bird, a Bear, a Dear, being at the end sufficient to beat out a mans brains. Besides these spoils of the chase some of them have Mantles made of Turkey Feathers, so handsomely wrought, and Woven with Thred that nothing could be discerned but Feathers. These were exceeding neat and warm. Tbis bravery, however, belonged only to the chiefs and great men, the common sort, even as in civilized com- munities, having scarce wherewith to cover their nakedness. Some of their ornaments displayed a questionable taste; as for instance, In each Ear commonly they have three holes, whereat they hang Chains, Bracelets, or Copper, a fashion not wholly gone into disuse in civilized communities, especially among the fairer sex. But what follows is somewhat more objectionable: Some of their men wear in these holes a small green and yellow coloured Snake, near half a yard long, which crawl- ing and wrapping herself about his neck familiarly kisses his lips: others wear a dead Rat, tied by the tail. Among the pleasant articles of their head- dresses are enumerated the wing of a bird, the tail of a rattlesnake, the skin of a hawk, stuffed, with outstretched wings, and the hand of an enemy dried. The worthy Minister of Saint Bennet-Frink was not far wrong in saying that He is most gallant that is most monstrous to behold. The moral character of these truculent Salv- ages is described very fairly. They are incon- stant, crafty, timerous, quick of apprehension, and very ingenious. They are soon angry, and so malicious that they seldom forget an injury. They are very strong, of able bodies and nimble. They can lie in the Woods under a Tree by tbe Fire in the Coldest Weather, and amongst the Grass and Weeds in Summer. They are very covetous of Copper, Beads, and such trash, But notwith- standing this covetous disposition our author ac- knowledges that they seldom steal from one an- other ; yet to this praise he makes a saving reser- vation that their abstinence from theft arises from fear lest their Connivers (or sorcerers) should re- veal it. The women find much more favor than the men in the eyes of our historian. They are careful to avoid suspicion of Dishonesty without the leave of their Husbands. They love their children very dearly, and, to make them hardy, in the coldest Mornings they wash them in the Rivers, and by Painting and Ointments they so tan their Skins that in a year or two no Weather will hurt them. The men are lazy fellows compelling the women to do all the work, making, Mats, Baskets, Pots, Morters, besides the proper household labors, bear- ing their Hunting Houses after them, with Corn, Acorns, Morters, Bagg and Baggage which they use. Very useful to these lazy hunters and war- riors are their wives, and it is no wonder that, when they come to the hunting grounds, every man endeavours to shew his best Dexterity; for thereby they get their wives. The Minister of Saint Bennet-Frink, as befitted his sacred calling is very severe upon the priests of these Indians. They are, he says, a Genera- tion of Vipers, even of Satans own brood ; and quotes a letter from Mr. Alex. Whitaker, who was a Minister to the Colony, who describes their priests as being none other but such as our English Witches are; living naked in body, as if the shame of their sin deserved no covering. They esteem it a virtue to lie deceive and steal, as their Master the Devil teacheth them. The priests, if the de- scription given of them is accurate, must have pre- sented a figure any thing but attractive. Their faces, we are told, are painted as ugly as they can devise, and they carry Rattles in their hands. They have a Chief Priest, differenced from the in- ferior by the Ornaments of his head, which are twelve. Sixteen or more Snake-skins,, stuffed with Moss, the Skins of Weesels and other Vermin; all which they tye by the Tails, so as the tails meet EDITORS TABLE. 121 on the top of their heads like a Tassel, ahout which a Crown of Feathers; the skins hang down ahout him and almost cover his face. Perhaps, after all, our author, sturdy Protestant as he was, thought he was giving the finishing touch to his picture of their wickedness when descrihing their manner of life as heing much like that of the Popish Hermits, alone in the woods sequestered from the common course of men. But though they are represented as standing in great awe of their priests, whose teachings are so abonsinable, our author affirms that the Indians honour and ohey their Kings, Parents, and Gov- ernors, and ohserve the limits of their own Posses- sions. Murther is rarely heard of, and Adultery and other gross offences are severely punished. These apparent discrepancies, the worthy clergy- man takes no pains to reconcile. The warlike customs of the Indians, as here nar- rated are singular enough. Wars are rarely waged for lands or goods, hut for women and children. l,l,Then the two hostile hodies are ready for action, they take their stands at a distance apart of a musket shot ranged in ranks fifteen ahreast. Then ensues a curious scene. Messengers are sent from each party with these conditions: That whoso- ever is vanquished, upon their suhmission within two days after shall live; hut their wives and chil- dren shall he prize for the conqueror. This pre- liminary amicahly settled, they approach in order, with a Sergeant on each Flank, and in the Reer a Lieutenant, all duly keeping their places, yet leaping and singing as they go. The battle he- gins with a discharge of arrows. After these are spent they joyn together, charging and retiring, each rank seconding the former. As they get ad- vantage they catch the Enemy by the hair of his head, and then down he goes, and with his Wooden Sword he heats out his brains. The Indian monarch called Powhattan from the place of his habitation is represented as keep- ing up no small state. In every part of his do- minions, some of which he acquired hy conquest, while some came to him by inheritance, he has a spacious residence. A guard of forty or fifty war- riors attended upon him; every night upon the four quarters of his House doth stand four Senti- nels, and every half hour one from the Corps de gerde doth hollow, unto which each of the sentinels doth answer. If any fail he is extremely heaten. At the corners of his residence stand as sentinels four imagesa dragon, a hear, a leopard, and a gigantic human figure, all ilifavoredly made, ac- cording to their best workmanship. His will is absolute law, and at his frown the hravest among them will tremhle. Offenders he causeth to he boyled to death, or their Brains to he heaten out with Cudgels, for which yet they will never cry nor complain. The law of descent is singular, the kingly power descending not to the sons of the monarch, hut to his brothers, and these failing to his sisters. The king is unrestricted as to the num- ber of his wives, one of whom sits at the head of his bed, the other at the foot; and one of them hrings a bowl of water to wash his hands hefore and after meals; while another waits with a hunch of feathersa very uncomfortable substitute for a napkin. Justice has hardly been done to the efforts made at an early period to civilize and christianize the aborigines of Virginia. Among the donations for that purpose, our author mentions two hundred pounds given by l~Iiss Mary Robinson towards building a church, a donation of five hundred pounds, sent to the treasurer by an unknown indi- vidual for the bringing up of some of the Infidels children in the knowledge of God and the true Re- ligion, and in Trades whereby they may live hon- estly in the World. Mr. Nicholas Ferrar gave tlsree hundredpounds to the College in Virginia, to be paid when there should he ten of the Infidels children placed in it; and in the mean time 241. per annum to be distributed unto three discreet and Godly mcii in the Colony who should bring up three of the Infidels children in the Christian Re- ligion and in some good course to live by. The East India Company gave seventy pound, eight shillings, sixpence, towards the huildin, of a Free Schoole to which sum various donations from private sources were added. And an un- known person gave thirty pound, for which there was to be allowed fourty shillings a year forever for a Sermon Preached before the Virginia Com- pany. When was the last time that this perpet- ual service was celebrated, and where is the Vir- ginia Company that was to be edified thereby for- evermore? But, thus our good Minister of Saint Bennet- Frink, concludes his account of the Plantation of Virginia, notwithstanding all the Courtesies and Kind Usage by the English to them, anno Christi 1621, the treacherous Natives most Perfidiously and Treacherously murthered above three hundred of them, and would have done the like to all the rest, but that God (through his infinite Goodness and Mercy) moved the heart of one of them who was Converted to Christianity, to Discover the same a few hours before it was put in E~ecution. The Plantation of New England, we are told, is judged to be either an Island surrounded on the north with the great River Canada, and on the south with the Hudsons River, or a Peninsula, these two Rivers overlapping one another, having their rise from two great Lakes, which are not far distant from each other. The harbors are New Plimouth, Cape Ann, Salem, and larvil-Head, all which afford good ground for Anchorage, being Land-lockt from Winds and Seas. The country is painted in rose-color. The air is seldom obscured with mists and fogs; the soil is a warm kind of earth, and though the cold is some- times great, yet the good store of wood makes the winter any thing but tedious. And besides ssei- ther doth the pinching cold of Winter produce so many ill effects as the raw Winters here with us in En,land. The country is excellently watered and there are store of springs which yield sweet water that is fatter than ours, and of a more jetty color, and they that drink it are as healthy and lusty as those that drink Beer. As for the salu- brity of the climate, we are told that, Men and Women keep their natural complexions, in so much as Seamen wonder when they arrive in these parts to see their Countrynsen look so Fresh and Ruddy. As for our common diseases they be strangers in New England. Few ever have the Small Pox, Measels, Green-sickness, Headache, Stone, Consumption, etc.; yea, many that have carried Coughs and Consumption thither have been perfectly cured of them. This last assertion sounds strangely to us, to whom this fearful disease stands as the one asalady which more than any other sweeps away our best and loveliest. Good Master Clarke finds plain prose quite in- 122 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. adequate to set forth the animal and vegetable productions of this favored Plantation, and there- fore invokes, with no inconsiderable success, the Heroic Muse. He thus describes the trees of New England: Trees beth on Hills and Plains in plenty be, The long-liv Gake and mournful Cypress Tree, Sky-towring Pines, and Chesnuts coated rough The lasting Cedar, with the Walnut tough, The Rosin-dropping Fir for Masts in use; The Boatmen seek for Oars light neat-grown Spruce, The brittle Ashe, the ever trembling Aspes, The broad-spread Elme, whose concave harbors Waspes, The watry spungy Alder, good for nought, Small Elder by the Indian Fletcher sought, The knotty Maple, pallid Birch, Hawthorns, The Horn-bound Tree that to be cloven scorns, Which from the tender Vine oft takes its speuse, Who twines embracing arms about his boughs. Nor are the forests anywise destitute of trees bearing fruit, as well as those of goodly stature and fair foliage. For Within this Indian Orchard Fruits be some, The ruddy Cherry and the jetty Plumb, Snake-murthering Hasel with sweet S xifrabe, Whose sprouts in Beer allays hot Feavers rage, The diars Shumack, with more Trees there he, That are both good for use and rare to see. The vines, he goes on to say, in sober prose, afford great store of Grapes, very bigg, both Grapes and clusters, sweet and good. Doubtless as good wine might be made of them as at Bour- deaux in France. The Cherries, he acknowl- edges, if not very ripe, are not so good as those in Old England, though they grow in clusters like grapes. But the White Thorn yields Hawes, as big as our Cherries, which are pleasant to the taste. Our Authors Natural History is somewhat apocryphal. The beasts, he says, be as fol- loweth: The Kingly Lion and the eteong-armd Bear, The large-limbed Moosis with the tripping Lear; Quill-darting Porcupines and Rockames be Castled in the hollow of an aged Tree: The skipping Squirrel, Cony, purblind Hare Immured in the selfsarne Castle are, Lest red-eyed Ferrets, wiley Foxes, should Them undermine, if rampered but with mould, The grim-faced Ounce, and ravenous howling Woolf Whose meager paunch sucks like a ravuous gulf Black-gittering Otters and rich coated Bever The Civet-scented Muscat, smelling ever. Then by way of comment and explanation, we are furnished with the additional information that, Lions there be some, but seen rarely. Bears are common, which be most fierce in Strawberry time, when they have young ones; they will go upright like a man, climb trees, and swim to the Islands. During these marine exp3ditions an exhibition takes place which must have been well worth witnessing. At which time if an Indian see him, lie will swim after him, and overtaking him they go to Water-cuffs for bloody noses and scratched sides; at last the man prevails, gets on his back, and so rides him on these Watry plains, till the Bear can bear him no longer. We are furnished with divers scraps of informa- tion in respect to the animals of the country, some of which are quaintly enough expressed. Thus: In the Winter the Bears retire to the Cliffs of Rocks and thick Swamps, to shelter them from the Cold, where they live by sleeping and sucking their Paws, and with that they will be as fat as they are in Summer. The Dear keep near to the Sea, that they may swim to the Islands when they are chased by the Woolves. They have com- monly three young ones at a time, which they hide a mile from each other, giving them suck by turns; and this they do, that if the Woolf should find one they may save the other. In speaking of tho porcupine our autllor of course relates the story, which is believed by many even to this day, that he stands upon his Guard against man or beast, darting his quills into their Leggs or Hides if they approach too near him. In treating of the wolf, he incidentally mentions a fact which naturalists have apparently wholly overlooked, that they have no Joynts from the Head to the Tail. The Ounce or wild Cat which is as big as a Mungrel, and by nature fierce and dangerous, fearing neither Dogg or Man, in addition to his skill in destroy- ing deer, catches geese in a way worthy of notice: He places himself close by the water, holding up his bob tail, which is like a Gooses neck, which the Geese approaching nigh to visit, with a sudden jerk he apprehends his desired meat. A half score or so of very tolerable couplets are devoted to the New England birds. Among them are, The princely Eagle and the soaring hawk, Within their unknown wayes theres none can chawk; The Ilumbird for some Queens rich Cage more lit Than in the vacant wilderness to sit; The swift-winged Swallow, sweeping to and fro As swift as arrow from Tartarean bow. When as Auroras infant day new springs, There the mounting Lark her sweet layes sings. The drowale Madge that leaves her day-loved nest To fly abroad when day-birds are at rest; The Silver Swan that tunes her mournful breath To sing the Birg of her approaching Death. There Widgins, Sheidrakes, and Humilitee, Suites, Droppe, Sea-Larks in whole millions flee. Touching the bird, named in the last couplet, called Humilitee or Simplicitee, the author tells the marvelous story that they settle themselves close together, so that sometimes above twelve score have been killed at two shoots. The poor ill-shaped loon who sweals his harsh notes, is represented as being unable either to go or fly, and as having a voice like a sowgelders horn. At the close of his poetical catalogue of fishes, of which there are great store and much variety, the good parson takes occasion to animadvert upon the slothfulness of the Indians, who force their Squaws To dive for cockles, and to dig for clams, With which her lazy husbands guts she crams. Besides this clam-digging, the poor squaws are forced to dive over head and ears for a Lobster which often shakes them by the hands with a churl- ish nip, and so bids them adieu. Nor is their caso much altered whether they are successful or not; for if their fishing has prospered they must trudg home two or three miles with a hundred weight of Lobsters on their backs, which done they must dress it, cook it, dish it, and present it, and see it eaten before their faces; and their soggerships having filled their paunches, the poor Wives must scramble for their scraps. On the other hand, if they have caught nothing, they have a hundred scouls from their churlish Husbands, and an hungry belly for two days after. Still, the general character given to the Indians of New England is not unfavorablethough with a difference. The Churchers, for example, are a EDITORS EASY CHAIR 123 cruel, bloody people, which were wont to come down upon their poor neighbors, bruitishly spoyl- ing their Corn, hurning their Houses, slaying their Men, ravishing the Women; yea, sometimes eating a man one part after another whilst he was alive. They live upon Fruits, Herbs, and Roots; but what they most desire is Mans flesh. Truculent-look- ing savages are they, tall of stature, with long vis- ages, nnd massive limbs, and with a Fillip of their finger they will kill a Dogg. But bold as they are, they dare not meddle with a white faced man accompanied with his hot-mouthed weapon.The Taranteens are little less savage, only they eat not mans flesh. They are reckoned as the most potent of the enemies of the English, being supplied with fire-arms by the French. Still with rare can- dor they are described as wise, high spirited, constant in friend ship one to another, true in their promises, and more industrious than most others. The Pequants are a stately warlike people, just in their dealings, requiters of Courtesies, and affable to the English. Best of all, perhaps, are the Nar- ragansets curious Minters of Wampampeag, which they fashion from shells, and ingenious in the manufacture of bracelets, pipes, and stone pots. They seek rather to grow rich by industry than famous by deeds of chivalry. The general char- acter of the abori,, ines is thus summed up: They are of an affable, courteous, and well disposed na- ture, ready to communicate the best of their wealth to the ood one of another; and the less abundance they have, the more conspicuous is their love. He that receives but a bit of bread from an English hand gives part of it to his Comrades, and they eat it together lovingly. Yea, a friend can coin- mand a friends house, and whatsoever is his (saving his Wife), and have it freely; and nothing sooner disjoins them than ingratitude, accounting an un- grateful person a double Robber, not only of a mans curtesie but of his thanks, which he might have from some another for the same proffered and re- ceived kindness. Toward time poor overwrought squaws, our good parson is very tender. In spite of tIme severe treatment they receive, and the toils they undergo(maternity itself affording them no respite, for a big belly hinders no business, nor doth their child-birth binder much time) their carria~e is very civil, smiles being the greatest grace of their mirth, and their mild carriage and obedience to their husbands very commendable. Notwithstanding all their churlishness and salvage inhumanity towards them, yet will they not frown nor offer to word it with their Lords but are con- tentedly quiet with their helpless condition esteem- ing it to be the Womans portion. Alas, poor Squaws, the doctrine of Womans Rights had never been proclaimed to them. Yet their contentment with their lot would seem to have been somewhat disturbed by beholding the kind- ness and deference with which the English treated their wives; and they were wont to visit the set- tlers and bewail their unhappy condition. The husbands grew irate with the English women for rendering their wives discontented, and would oc- casionally visit their houses and make a disturb- ance on this account. But the good Puritan dames worthy to have been the mothers of our Revolu- tionary fatherswere not to be intimidated; for they take themselves to their Arms, which are the warlike Ladle and the Scaldin~ Liquor, threat- ning blistering to the naked Runaway who is soon driven back by such hot comminations. But we must bid farewell to the honest minister of St. Bennet-Frink. Of his quaint old volume perhaps the only copy extant in the Plantations of which he treats is the one now before us. How little could he dream, when he laboriously gather- ed up his scanty information, of the mighty State into which these feeble settlements would grow. The few plantations which dared scarcely lose sight of the blue waters of tIme Chesapeake and Boston Bay, have sent forth their sturdy sons, whose axes have conquered the forests of a Continent. The unknown West is their inheritance. Nova Francia is no longer Gallic, and the Plantations of the English have ceased to own the supremacy of the crown. The Indians so powerful and dreaded have past away forevermore, and the fond anticipation with which he closes, has not been fulfilled, that as the Lord has given a blessing to the Gospel among the Indians, notwithstanding the many obstructions to its progress, even so it may well be believed that there is a seed of the Gospel scat- tered among them, which will grow into a Harvest in Gods time. Christianity has indeed triumph- ed, but its followers have not been the red men, who once peopled the continent. But vain as were his imaginings, and mistaken as were many of his notions, it is not without ad- vantage for us to look back and see how the coun- try which is now ours looked, in the dim distance, to those whose eye was turned hither two hundred years ago. ~ituf ii d~4t~t~ ~jnir. m lIE new broom not only sweeps clean, but I promises to continue doing so. Our new Mayor has made himself a national name. He has come to be regarded as one of the institutions of the coun- try. Yi~or and intelligence have given him a prestige which seems sufficient of itself to secure the execution of laws. His name is familiarly known in Maine and Florida. There are even ru- mors of impassioned letters from lovely Western belles. On the whole, was there ever before a man who earned such universal applause fordoing his duty? As we renard it from our Chair, the enthu- siasm and commendation are a caustic satire upon public morals and manners. If a primary school should decree a solid silver medal or a large-paper copy of Sandford and Merton, bound in gilt calf, to the boy who had not told a lie, what an inference of chronic lying in that school would instantly and justly be drawn. Mayor Wood is justly praised. lie has shown himself quite worthy his very diffi- cult position. And yet, when we remember that his daily ovation is occasioned by nothing but doing his duty, it must give us serious thoughts about the moral condition of this American me- tropolis. Just now we are in the first days of the new law. The matter, so far as we can gather from the gossip around our Chair, seems to be very plain. The Legislature has passed a law. The representatives of the majority of the people of the State have decided to try a new method of suppressing the traffic in ardent spirits, and the consequences flow- lag from it. Mayor Wood is an officer executive of that law, and his official duty, whatever his de- sires and convictions may be, is clear enough. During the last few years we have heard more, perhaps, than for many years before, of the neces

Editor's Easy Chair Editor's Easy Chair 123-133

EDITORS EASY CHAIR 123 cruel, bloody people, which were wont to come down upon their poor neighbors, bruitishly spoyl- ing their Corn, hurning their Houses, slaying their Men, ravishing the Women; yea, sometimes eating a man one part after another whilst he was alive. They live upon Fruits, Herbs, and Roots; but what they most desire is Mans flesh. Truculent-look- ing savages are they, tall of stature, with long vis- ages, nnd massive limbs, and with a Fillip of their finger they will kill a Dogg. But bold as they are, they dare not meddle with a white faced man accompanied with his hot-mouthed weapon.The Taranteens are little less savage, only they eat not mans flesh. They are reckoned as the most potent of the enemies of the English, being supplied with fire-arms by the French. Still with rare can- dor they are described as wise, high spirited, constant in friend ship one to another, true in their promises, and more industrious than most others. The Pequants are a stately warlike people, just in their dealings, requiters of Courtesies, and affable to the English. Best of all, perhaps, are the Nar- ragansets curious Minters of Wampampeag, which they fashion from shells, and ingenious in the manufacture of bracelets, pipes, and stone pots. They seek rather to grow rich by industry than famous by deeds of chivalry. The general char- acter of the abori,, ines is thus summed up: They are of an affable, courteous, and well disposed na- ture, ready to communicate the best of their wealth to the ood one of another; and the less abundance they have, the more conspicuous is their love. He that receives but a bit of bread from an English hand gives part of it to his Comrades, and they eat it together lovingly. Yea, a friend can coin- mand a friends house, and whatsoever is his (saving his Wife), and have it freely; and nothing sooner disjoins them than ingratitude, accounting an un- grateful person a double Robber, not only of a mans curtesie but of his thanks, which he might have from some another for the same proffered and re- ceived kindness. Toward time poor overwrought squaws, our good parson is very tender. In spite of tIme severe treatment they receive, and the toils they undergo(maternity itself affording them no respite, for a big belly hinders no business, nor doth their child-birth binder much time) their carria~e is very civil, smiles being the greatest grace of their mirth, and their mild carriage and obedience to their husbands very commendable. Notwithstanding all their churlishness and salvage inhumanity towards them, yet will they not frown nor offer to word it with their Lords but are con- tentedly quiet with their helpless condition esteem- ing it to be the Womans portion. Alas, poor Squaws, the doctrine of Womans Rights had never been proclaimed to them. Yet their contentment with their lot would seem to have been somewhat disturbed by beholding the kind- ness and deference with which the English treated their wives; and they were wont to visit the set- tlers and bewail their unhappy condition. The husbands grew irate with the English women for rendering their wives discontented, and would oc- casionally visit their houses and make a disturb- ance on this account. But the good Puritan dames worthy to have been the mothers of our Revolu- tionary fatherswere not to be intimidated; for they take themselves to their Arms, which are the warlike Ladle and the Scaldin~ Liquor, threat- ning blistering to the naked Runaway who is soon driven back by such hot comminations. But we must bid farewell to the honest minister of St. Bennet-Frink. Of his quaint old volume perhaps the only copy extant in the Plantations of which he treats is the one now before us. How little could he dream, when he laboriously gather- ed up his scanty information, of the mighty State into which these feeble settlements would grow. The few plantations which dared scarcely lose sight of the blue waters of tIme Chesapeake and Boston Bay, have sent forth their sturdy sons, whose axes have conquered the forests of a Continent. The unknown West is their inheritance. Nova Francia is no longer Gallic, and the Plantations of the English have ceased to own the supremacy of the crown. The Indians so powerful and dreaded have past away forevermore, and the fond anticipation with which he closes, has not been fulfilled, that as the Lord has given a blessing to the Gospel among the Indians, notwithstanding the many obstructions to its progress, even so it may well be believed that there is a seed of the Gospel scat- tered among them, which will grow into a Harvest in Gods time. Christianity has indeed triumph- ed, but its followers have not been the red men, who once peopled the continent. But vain as were his imaginings, and mistaken as were many of his notions, it is not without ad- vantage for us to look back and see how the coun- try which is now ours looked, in the dim distance, to those whose eye was turned hither two hundred years ago. ~ituf ii d~4t~t~ ~jnir. m lIE new broom not only sweeps clean, but I promises to continue doing so. Our new Mayor has made himself a national name. He has come to be regarded as one of the institutions of the coun- try. Yi~or and intelligence have given him a prestige which seems sufficient of itself to secure the execution of laws. His name is familiarly known in Maine and Florida. There are even ru- mors of impassioned letters from lovely Western belles. On the whole, was there ever before a man who earned such universal applause fordoing his duty? As we renard it from our Chair, the enthu- siasm and commendation are a caustic satire upon public morals and manners. If a primary school should decree a solid silver medal or a large-paper copy of Sandford and Merton, bound in gilt calf, to the boy who had not told a lie, what an inference of chronic lying in that school would instantly and justly be drawn. Mayor Wood is justly praised. lie has shown himself quite worthy his very diffi- cult position. And yet, when we remember that his daily ovation is occasioned by nothing but doing his duty, it must give us serious thoughts about the moral condition of this American me- tropolis. Just now we are in the first days of the new law. The matter, so far as we can gather from the gossip around our Chair, seems to be very plain. The Legislature has passed a law. The representatives of the majority of the people of the State have decided to try a new method of suppressing the traffic in ardent spirits, and the consequences flow- lag from it. Mayor Wood is an officer executive of that law, and his official duty, whatever his de- sires and convictions may be, is clear enough. During the last few years we have heard more, perhaps, than for many years before, of the neces 124 HARPERS NIEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. sity of obeying laws. We shall see, therefore, a uni- versal rallying to the support of the new one. We look for a large and impressive meeting at Castle Garden, to declare that the city of NewYork is a law- abiding (whatever that may mean) city. We shall expect to hear great statesmen solemnly charging a docile people to conquer their prejudices. In a country whose laws express the average moral sentiment, we shall anticipate a hearty concurrence iu all measures which aim at the public well-being. We, looking from our Easy Chair, shall expect to behold all this, because, in the first place, the law has the same authority with every law that protects our lives and property; and, in the second place, because it aims, however imperfectly, at the reduction of that mass of misery out of which springs annually such a dreadful crop of crime and poverty. Society has certainly the right to pro- tect itself, and Christianity enjoins the duty of helping our brother. And, at any rate, whether we chance to like this particular law or not let us give it a fair chance. It has, at least, no moral outrage about it. Its tendencies are all to peace, order, and harmony. It is a law which, if it does us no good, can not do us harm. Besides, if we moderate people should wish to make a stand against what we may rather eloquently denounce as a sumptuary law, and should ever be inclined to throw down this Chair as a barricade, there stands this dreadful Mayor Wood, bound to preserve the peace, with a proclamation in his hand, and reso- ution in .his eye, and four mouths of remarkable government behind him, and requests us, gently and gravely, to do no such thing. On the whole, shall we fling a rung of the Chair at his head? Or, considering those four months, should we rather get the worst of it? Every citizen must be glad, for the sake of the law, and for the sake of the Mayors reputation, that the two come together; that it falls to the lot of Mr. Wood to foster the new bantling of reform; for though he may not be directly charged with the execution of the law, he is with the quiet and order of the town. The law will be tried, and the Mayor will be tried. As these heavy blows descend upon the gracious blood of the vinethat most ancient,~and honored, and poetic bloodwe can not but remember the old legend of the fall of Pan and the Greek deities in Palestine eighteen hundred and fifty-five years ago. They were so lovely, so dear. They were so en- twined in imagination and memory with poetic association. They had been so graceful and genial a part of life; the woods were sweeter for the Fauns piping, and more alluring for the flitting nymphs that faded; the sea was social with the Tritons blowing shells, and the Nereids with delusive eyes; the solitary tree in the meadow was not a lithe tree only, but a hamadryad gliding against the sky; no stream murmured in the fields that did not tempt the wanderer with the fate of Hylas. They fled, they faded: The lenely mountains oer, And the resounding shore, A voice of weeping heard, and loud lament From haunted hill and dale, Edgdd with poplar pale, The parting genius is with sighing rent. Even the most austere of Christian poets could thus touch his loftiest stop in elegy for that other world departed. The German Schiller, too, and Mrs. Barrett Browning, the most religious of fe- male singers, have remembered with a song and a tear the tender magic of that old mythology. Shall we not sigh, then, over the breaking of the goblet which is so wrought into poetry and history? May we not drop a tear into that ruby flood which is flowing so fast away? Perhaps some sensitive German poet, as he strolls on these lovely spring mornings along the vineyarded banks of the Rhine, hears so sad a rustle in the leaves that he pauses to listen, and perceives that those festal ranks thrill without a breeze, and as if by some in- ward sorrow. Our friends, Mr. Neal Dow and Mr. Horace Greeley, and their compeers, mustnotforget, in their hour of triumphat which we do not cavil, and to which Mayor Wood is going to take care that we submitthat the splendid associations of the vine are precisely as much matters of fact as its squalid associations. Literature will still owe to its remembrance an inspiration which it may, or may not, have drawn from the vine itself~ and the most cold-watery of poets may hereafter offer that homage to wine which the Christian bards bring to the pagan mythology. Great Pan is deadand if we follow his bier we will fling our flowers upon it, and recall the days of his splendor; and although Mayor Wood is such as we hope all mayors will always be, he can not summon us for that offense, and happily for us, poetry and the indulgence of sentiment are not yet indictable. THE coming of Summer, the budding of trees, the singing of birds, and all the blithe pomp of June remind us of what we can never long for- get, that New York has as yet none of those charming rural retreats, in its very heart and em- brace, which atone to those who can not escape into the real country, for the absence of trees, cows, and green fields. It is not hard for a reasonable man to lose his temper as he surveys our politics and policies, un- less haply, he sit in this Easy Chair, which soothes him from all tumults, and calms his nerves. But when you consider that old Gunnybags calls him- self a public-spirited citizen, and that his native city professes to be the metropolis of America, it is not difficult to laugh at his pretenses when you remember that the poorer classes of his fellow-citi- z.ens have not half the public healthy chances of recreation which are afforded to them in the other great cities of the world; and when you farther re- flect that projects which aim to benefit every body are paralyzed by petty political and personal in- triguethat jealousy, spite, and meanness control public movements so that the intelligent and hu- mane recoil, disgusted, from the contact of politics, why, you very naturally ask whether a republican government proposes to do nothing for the people but protect the ballot-box and secure the right of voting to every citizen. Gunnybags says, in his lofty way, that in this country the people are the government; therefore, if you blame the goverumnent, you are ommly attack- ing the people. This is, theoretically and ostensibly, true enough; but, before Mayor Wood, has tIme city of New York been recently governed by or for the people? Old Gunnybags knows perfectly well that the peo- plo have had very little to do with it, and that a knot of lobbying politicians have managed the whole matter. He may retort, with a jin~ling emphmasis of heavy watch-keys, that it amounts to the same thing, because the mass of the self-gov EDITORS EASY CHAIR. 125 erning people are never much better nor worse than their laws. Then the more the pity that we are lost to the sense of what we owe ourselves. If it is true that we are essentially no better than the mismanagement of affairs around us, let us prolong Lent, and sit down, repentant, in the ashes. Young Kid pooh-poohs at a Public Park. He says it would be given up to rowdies and bhoys; that there would have to be a special police to keep it in order; that nobody (of the great family of Somebody) would ever go there; it would be a bad Battery; a second-rate Park; a poor Washington Parade; a race-course, and a pickpockets prom- enade. It is an agreeable picture that young Kid thus paints. But as you gaze, you do inevitably ask yourself, Ought I to pity so sorely the poor on- vriers of Europe, for whomVersailles, and Fontaine- bleau, and Windsor Forest, and the Prater, and the Cascine, and the Bois de Boulogne, and the Thier- garten, are freely opened, and one day of rest, sun- shine, and recreation secured, if my own country- man, the free and independent American citizen, can not behave himself well enough in public to justify the laying out of a promenade or park ? If he can not, it is surely high time that he was taught how to do it; and as it is hard to teach boys how to swim before they go into the water, so is it hard to accustom a population to respect public placesgardens and galleries, for instanceuntil they can have a chance to visit them. We are perpetually insulting ourselves, and tamely sub- mitting to the insult. The truth is, that if there be a Public Park, it is not of the greatest consequence whether Nobody (of the great family of Somebody) goes there or not. A Park is not for those who can go to the country, but for those who can not. It is a civic Newport, and Berkshire, and White Hills. It is fresh air for those who can not go to the sea-side; and green leaves, and silence, and the singing of birds, for those who can not fly to the mountains. It is a fountain of health for the whole city. It keeps all the air sweeter; and it is a siren whose alluring music it is life, and not death, to fol- low. Now that a great many noisy, riotous fellows would go there, dear Kid, is perfectly true. But so would a great many sober, pleasant, and re- spectable citizens. Shall we consider the rowdy more than the respectable? Shall our wives and children not have a breathing-place on Sundays and holidays, because that absurd son of our neigh- bors would swagger along, with his unmanly swearing and ridiculous bullying and bravado? Will he smoke, and bully, and swear any the less if there is no Park? Or is the immense majority of the population so rowdy that there is no hope of the success of decency over debauchery, and it would be dangerous to give them a rendezvous? Have they not one now? Is not the Third Avenue, is not the Bloomingdale Road such a place? Are not all decent poople kept away by the howling, the fast-driving, the recklessness of life upon those thoroughfares? A Park will not increase this; it will abate it. And even Nobody (of the Somebodies) would soon learn good habits. There are a good many of the Nobodies, and they would like very well to have a proper promenade. Where can Nobody drive in his carriage for pleasure now? Of all omr cities New York is especially fitted for a Park, be- Vor.. XI.No. 61.I cause it has no available environs. It will be Park or no promenade. It would be a curious political problem, to be treated historically and with reference to human progress, whether measures of popular benefit were inure easily carried in a Republic than in any other country. And we beg any free and independent American citizen, who thinks that freedom is un- bounded and willful license, and independence in- decency, to remember that an American has duties as well as privileges; of which duties he does not hear a great deal upon the Fourth of July. And one of those duties is a noble self-respect; and an- other of them is a humane respect for other men; and another is the remembrance of the fact that Governments are for the welfare of the governed; and another is, the remembrance of that other facts that if he has a right to make a noise in the hotel- room which he pays for, and to fling his boots about the corridor, and to slam his doorso has his neighbor an equal right te his rest, and sleep, and quiet, in the hotel-room, which he pays for. That reminds us that we received, the other day, an indignant reply to a letter of our ardent friend who made a Western tour in the winter, and gave us some of the details of his impressions. The point of the letter was towering rage, that an~ man should pretend to call himself an American, and make such a fuss about the little things of life. Now, if we correctly recall the letter of our friend, it was a protest against the assumption that every disagreeable action was American merely because an American happened to do it in Amer- ica. Unhealthy dinners, and a swinish way of eating them; bad manners and intolerable selfish- ness, in general, were not to be accounted pecul- iarly Americancontended our correspondent. If our new friend doesnt agree with him, this Easy Chair most certainly does agree. ~Ve are tired of having every thin~ boorish, and coarse, and un- feeling, called American. If an American citizen and we follow our winters correspondentcan not be well-mannered, if he can not conduct him- self with Christian charity toward his neighbor, if he can not eat a decent dinner decently; why, the; we prefer to be a decent man and a Christian and we will sail away in our Easy Chair for the lost Atlantis. BUT if we sailed upon any such voyage we might meet Rachel coming to us. For we learn from Kid, who has been sitting for a month in the front row of the parquette surveyin,, Vestvali, whose frame is apparently unconscious that it is a wo- mans, that Rachel is really coming. Those pierc- ing, weary, sad eyes are to transtix us all. We are to see the greatest tragic actress since Mrs. Siddons; and a woman of more penetrating and subtle power than she. Mrs. Siddons was a Muse. She was grandiose, like Melpomene. Sir Joshua Reynoldss sumptuous picture of her, in the Mar- quis of Westminsters Gallery, has a certain gran- deur which no other actress, except perhaps Pasta, has ever approached. But Rachel is an Afrite a Lamia. Lehmans portrait of her is a miracle. It is mannered, and French, and artificial; but it represents the essential impression that Rachel a!- ways produces. Mrs. Jameson, in her recently- published Commonplace hook, says that she was always reminded by Rachel of the old Greek le- gend of the Lamia, upon which Keats founded his poem. The justice of this impression is found in 126 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. its universality. No man of sensitive tempera- ment could ever have seen much of this great act- ress, and not have experienced the unpleasant con- sciousness that there was something snake-like and mystic in her beauty and movement. He would hardly have been startled, had she drooped into a serpent and glided away. The characteristic of Rachels power is a tragical intensity which is piercing. She is like a flame. This intensity pervades every thing. It is in the low, concentrated tone of her voice; in the folds of her exquisite drapery; in the form of her feat- ures and her face; in the dreadful despair of her eyes, closely set together; in the general sense of smallness in person and feature, which is so far from insignificant that it seems an integral part of her peculiarity. Her face expresses a weary deso- lation, so that the spectator finds himself painfully curious to know what fearful experienco can ever have shown such young eyes a sadness so deep that those eyes can not again escape it, but must forever reveal by their mournfulness the sorrow they have seen. All the lights of her acting are lurid. The gloom of fate is her element; and hence arises her singular adaptation to the repre- sentation of the old Greek drama. It is, indeed, in Racines paraphrase of the Greek story that she appears. But Rachel passes through Racine to the Greeks; and it is not a Frenchman presenting Racines idea of Phedre that we behold, but the su- perb victim of an inexplicable Fate. You step out of the glittering corridors of the Palais Royal flash- ing with France of to-day, and, as your eyes fall upon Rachel, you are in the Greece of legendary ages, in the dim twilight anterior to history. Rachels effect upon her audience is no less re- markable than her peculiar genius. It is a tri- umph of the imperial power of passion. There is no distraction; no conversation; no divided inter- eat. On her great nights in Phedre, women faint in the boxes, and a supernatural silence reigns in the house. It is an influence not to be resisted. It is like the fascination of her eye, rather terrible than beautiful. She appeals to emotions so pro- found and primeval that you scarcely knew you had them: you tho ht they belonged to Greek history and forgotten times. Yet when we say that your interest is so strong- ly excited to know how such a woman has suffered what she has seenwhat her personal and in- dividual career iswe have indirectly implied the fact that her acting is art, the perfection of art. She does not seem so much mastered by the char- acter she represents as to identify herself with it; but she rather masters it, and holds herself supe- rior. It is as if her own experience taught her the tragedy of Phedre, or whatever other ride she fills, and she uses the woe of Phedre only as the costume of her own. Hence her acting is never monotonous nor imitative, but always vital. She does not act Thisbe, for instance, in Victor Hugos Angelo, as if she supposed that under such cir- cumstances, such a woman would act in such a way. But she throws Thisbe as a robe upon Rachels form, and she covers Rachels face with the mask of Thisbe; but it is always Rachels might, and grace, and pathos that make the dead bones of Thisbe live. In this sense Rachel is the greatest of artists. It is always Rachel that you have seen, whatever has been the play, just as it is always Raphael and Michael Angelo that we mention whatever may be the particular picture or statue we have seen. Mrs. Siddons is half-confounded in our minds with Lady Macbeth. But the greatest genius stamps its individuality upon all its works. In all hu- man performance of the highest kind there is a distinctive character which is always to be recog- nized. This character takes its name from the artist, and we have Shakspearian, and Miltonic, and Michael Angelesque, and Raphaelesque. We know Mozart when we have once really heard him, whether it be in Spain with Don Giovanni, or in Rome with the clement Titus. It is usual to say that an actor, to be truly great, must be lost in his part. But it is just the wrong statement of the case. The part must be lost in the actor: other- wise there was never a true dramatic triumph. If an audience were so transported that they believed the stage-villain to be a villain; if it ceased to he art and became to them as nature, the scene would be intolerable. Would you pay money for the in- tellectual exhilaration of seeing a desolate, imbe- cile, deserted old man whose daughters spurn him? Could you see the lovely lady murdered by the Moor before your very eyes? The fact that we sit and cry in the boxes, instead of rushing upon the stage and plucking the fond fool from his crime, shows that we are not deceived. It is not Othello that we believe we see, it is l{ean who shows what jealousy could do. We should not have any very high respect for an actors genius who was so iden- tified with his part that we could not recognize the man himself; and yet that is the legitimate tri- umph of the usual view of genuine dramatic art. That was, indeed, the old Greek idea; for they submitted the actor entirely to the part, and act- ually concealed him behind a mask. But acting, as a fine art, was quite unknown, so far as we know, to the Greeks. Their theatre, in its aim and means, was entirely distinct from ours. If, as Kid says, Rachel is really coming, we must all begin to rub up our French. She can not use any other language effectively, and she must be surrounded with men who speak it as fluently as she. Rachel is the one institution which allows no botching. She is all or nothing. We could hear Jenny Lind in concerts, and not sigh too deeply for the opera. But Rachel out of the French is Jenny Lind silent. You may infer her genius and her power, but you do not see it nor feel it. It will be impossible for her to make the triumphal progresses of the singers, because the intelligence of the French language is not widely diffused in our beloved country. She could have ovations in the cities, in New York, Boston, Philadelphia, Bal- timore, Washington, and the South; and our trop- ical New Orleans friends could be frantic, and have good reason for their frenzy. But, elsewhere and on the whole, it would be a very limited career, and a very partial success. So we shall say to her, if hurrying over seas in our Easy Chair, we chance to meet the lovely Lamia. THERE is no doubt that our cities are very hand- some, many of them. But there is equally no doubt that there is one kind of ornament of which they are perfectly susceptible, and which we should all be glad to see; and especially in a Republic, where the citizen is the chief and honorable man, it is a kind of apotheosis which is most appropri- ate. All the great cities of ancient and modern times have decorated themselves with statues of EDITORS EASY CHAIR 127 their great men. Let us confess, at once, that there are a great many poor ones; a grtat many had statues of bad men. Let us also confess that every kind of human performance is liable to abuse. But statues of public menof heroes, divines, states- men, artists, inventors, aud saints of all kinds are a kind of visible history. It is sometimes a satirical history, as when in small German capi- tals of small German States large bronze statues of small German great men are exposed in the public squares. The spectator observes an image of His Benign Transparency Dumkopf XXIII.; and he infers the state of the century, or the half or quarter of a century, from the representative statue. In this sly way popular homage becomes chastened; and in a country where benign trans- parent Dumkopfs can not erect statues to them- selves, with a show of public consent, no man will be likely to achieve bronze or marble immortality until the public good sense has decreed that he has been a power in the State. The arcade of the Uffizi Gallery in Florence is one of the shrines of Europe. It is thronged with the statues of famous Florentines. They have a peculiar significance now, for they stand reproach- ing, with their remembered greatness, the Florence that has no famous men. They are like royal ghosts that haunt the palace-chamber, and mdi,,- nantly plead by their presence for the return of a race of kings. This was Florence, they seem to say, as the moonlight gives them shadowy life nnd motion. This was what makes the name of Florence historical and poetic. Except for us the name had perished upon the lips that pronounce it, like San Marino and Algiers. Indeed, a gallery of statues is the nations~ancestral gallery. Great citizens are not family possessions; nor can their fame, more than their influence, be appropriated. They belong to the State. Washington, Hamil- ton, Jefferson, Otis, Franklin, Ada msthey are our common national ancestry. This Easy Chair is as proud of each of them as any descendant of theirs can be. And the spur and stimulus, the deep vow and high resolve, which animate the boy who wan- ders along the gallery of his ancestral portraits, and feels that he holds not only his own fair name in his keeping, but is responsible to the long line of brave men and lovely women, that their fame shall not be tarnished: this the citizen feels as be surveys the public gallery of national genius. It is an agreeable sign of the times that we are beginning to recognize this truth, and to avail our- selves of this benefit. Already Powers has made a statue of Calhoun for South Carolina and of Starke, we believe, for New Hampshire. Craw- ford is busy upon the great Jefferson statue, which will secure the fame of the sculptor while it so worthily commemorates that of the statesman; Horatio Greenoughs Washington is one of the great works of American art; Brown has exe- cuted Dewitt Clinton; William Story has com- pleted the statue of his father, the famous Jurist; and Richard Greenough has just finished the model of his fignre of Franklin, which is to be cast in bronze at Chicopee and erected in Boston. We learn, also, that four other statues of four other great Massachusetts men have been commissioned, to be placed in the cemetery of Mount Auburn, near Boston. It would certainly be better to place them in the city itself than in a graveyard, which neces- sarily invests them with a certain gloom. But that they are to be made at all is a triumph. Mr. Richard Greenougls, who has just finished the clay model of his Franklin, is a younger brother of Horatio Greenough, and inherits all the genius of his brother. The statue of Franklin resulted from a resolution of several eminent Bostonians that so illustrious a son of their city should not longer silently reproach his native streets with the want of any adequate public monument of his life and services. There were conversations and meet- ings, and finally a subscription immediately filled up, and a commission to Mr. Greenough. The work is singularly successful. It is larger than life, and represents Franklin pausing for a moment, leaning upon his cane, with his cocked hat under his arm. The head is a little thrown forward, as in the common bust. The expression of the face is that of mingled benignity and shrewd- nesstl~ best possible type of the Yankee charac.. ter. The costume is rigorously accurate, and is extremely effective and picturesque. The natural ease and repose of the composition are remarkable. It is so very good that there is nothing to be said; nor do we think there can be any question that it is the best portrait-statue yet executed in America. It is to he exposed publicly in some conspicuous place, and will be the first bronze statue, we be- lieve, yet erected in Boston. It would be certain- ly a worthy work if every State should commission one of its native sculptors (since we are most afflu- ent in that department of art) to make the statue of one or more of its leading historical characters. In Rhode I land we doubt if there is yet any me- morial-oven so much as a grave-stoneto Roger Williams; and yet no State is more tenacious of a great mans fame, nor more sacredly reveres it. Art is an instinct of nature. As the religious sen- timent seeks to invest the worship of the Supreme Being with all the variety and splendor of archi- tecture and painting and music, and as the passion of love compels the whole world to yield its gems and flowers to decorate its homage to its idol; so does Mae instinct of national filial reverence natu- rally demand an expression of itself in the produc- tion of statues and portraits by which the human aspect of the object of its feeling may become uni- versally familiar. We shall he glad to learn of any other movements in this directionmovements so honorable to the State, and so advantageous to Art and Artists. POLITICS lie beyond our Easy Chair. In fact, no chair could hope to continue easy for a long time in which politicians sat, or from which poli- tics were discussed. Yet from our seat we survey the whole field of national interest, not exclusively political, nor exclusively social, nor moral, nor lit- erary. The rise and progress and decline of great organizations affect us little. We see the venera- ble Whig and Democratic parties apparently some- what uncertain of their position and bearings, and we see the shadow of the mysterious Sam. But there is one thing that no banded order can affect. We may know-nothing of foreigners in many ways, but we can not escape the charm and the power of intellectual sympathy. American hearts thrilfto the touch of English feeling. American minds own the magic of every genius. There are certs{n sorrows and regrets, as well as joys and trium~m~hs, which are matters of race, as they are also national. No law can make a great man or a noble yoman a foreigner. They have the freedom o a imes and countries as their special birth-right and dower. 128 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. We must all congratulate ourselves that so much of what is best is beyond the necessity and the scope of political arrangement. There is a kind of upper chamber where we are all peers, of what- ever country we may chance to be. No man has precedence of Jonathan in his admiration and ap- preciation of the great past and contemporary classics. Dickenss humor is for all the world. The sad eye of Thackeray fixes itself upon a sham Persian or Hottentot as it does upon the snob. Have we not a tear for Charlotte Bronte? Shall that short, sad, solitary life end so soonshall the promise and hope of noble and earnest books per- ish suddenly and foreverand we fling no flower upon the grave? Who has read Jane Eyre? who has not? and shall that eye be closed and we not feel the darkness? Among the female writers of a time sd affluent in works of female genius, Charlotte Bronte was in England at least, the most eminent and power- ful. Her only peer in many points was Mrs. Gaskell, the author of Mary Barton, Ruth, Cranford, and North and South. But their genius was very different; and they were peers without being rivals. Among the swarm of En- glish authoresses, the Mrs. Gores, and Mrs. Marsh- es, and Julia Kavanaghs, and Miss Yonges, and all the other leaders of the circulating libraries, the position of the author of Jane Eyre was like that of Thackeray or Dickens among the Ainsworths and Buiwers. She had the great merit of intro- ducing real life into ber books simultaneously with Mr. Thackeray; nor is it surprising that she should have been almost the first person who adequately recognized the great power of that author. Miss Brontes heroines are neither headless nor heart- less, like most of the dramatis persoan of modern novels. They are figures who have stepped out of modern homes, out of contemporary history, into her gallery. And they are discriminated so delicately and well, that they become parts of ex- perience, and her hooks are known, as great fic- tions always are, by the powerful characterization, and not by a nameless sweetness which is pleasant to the taste, and leaves no nourishment. In the day of the apotheosis of second-rate nov- els, which aim at the satisfaction of a shallow sen- timentality, or an equally shallowmoral sentiment- alism, books so nervous, so earnest, so persuasive and pathetic as Jane Ryre, Shirley, and Vii- lette came like a bracing sea air through a sciroc- co. There is yet to be written a profound state- ment of the influence and value of the reign of the female novelists. In this country there is nothing more readily and universally grasped and con- sumed than the last novel. It is an instinct deep as any other, and the best genius of every time has dealt in forms of fiction. But when the una- voidable influence of literature is considered, when von remember for a moment that all the young girls can not devote the leisure of their girlhood to reading tales of life, and character, and feeling, without in some manner confessin~ their power in their own lives and characters, it will be seen how remarkable a position the female writers hold; and every one among them who writes with the inspi- rati a of a passionate and burning experience, and with the power of genius and sad perception, will be ha2jed as a national benefactor. Ft is from this point of view that Miss Br~tes fame is so eminent. Jane Evre was, like Van- ity Fair, the initial work of a now era. It was the most searching and prodigious novel ever writ- ten by an Englishwoman. George Sands are not snore intense, they are more morbid. They were not such stern and earnestbecause so self-intelli- gent and so self-possessedprotests. George Sands were more crude, fiery, and defiant. George Sands touch is a tongue of flame, licking with fire, and scorching and scathing. Charlotte Brontes is a pure and permanent heat that moulded and modi- fied. It seared less, but it searched longer and deeper. Many a woman would see how to be bet- ter after reading Jane Eyre. Many a woman would feel that she was bad after reading Man- frat, Lucrezia Floriani, or Leila. Charlotte Brontes genius seems to us sweeter and stronger; George Sands more superb and impassioned. The novels of the sisters Bronte, of whom Char- lotte was the oldest and most gifted, have another and unique excellence. They revealed aspects of English life that were quite unsuspected. They were, like Balzacs Scenes de in Vie Privie, disclo- sures of a state of society which made wise men pause and weak ones shudder; but no man said they were not true. Dickens had done the same thing in other directions, Thackeray was doing the same in still another. The English fiction of the last fifteen years has a dignity and worth that it never had before. It has acquired a seriousness, a depth, an earnest aim which was quite unknown. It has been touched by the tender humanity of the time. That mysterious spirit of the age has laid its finger upon it. Charlotte Broates life was sad and solitary. She married toward the close and the name of Nichol will be carved ispon her tomb-stone. She lived among the hills of Yorkshire, and stole into fame suddenly and without prelude. She piped and sang to the world, and the world answered and wept. A biography would probably have little interest, for it is the life which could not be writ- ten that would most interest. The description of her little figureher earnest eyeher smooth brown hair, and her quiet movementpresent the woman to us as she must have always seemed. Contrasted with the splendors of Do Stahl, ang the lurid brilliancy of George Sand, and with all the flickering, fading gleams of the female novel- ists, her light shines pure and planetary. It is by that light that the anxious voyager will head his bark; it is to that calm power that the litera- ture of England will long be indebted for a truer tone, and the lives of Saxon women for a sweet- er inspiration. OUR FOREIGN GOSSIP. Oux eye rests upon the Paris Easter. ,Those who danced out the Carnival, and the mid-Lent festival, have put on their black and vails, and tramped to the Madeleine, to St. Roch, and to St. Eustache, for the saying of their Lenten prayers, and they have eaten their Good Fridays pies of tuany-fish. The bishops, and what-note, of the French Catholic dispensation have washed the feet of the twelve apostles (Parisian ones); they have aided in the chant of the Miserere (a Parisian one); and the great cavalcade ofLongehamps has brought in the fashion for spring bonnets. It is not through inadvertency that we bring so nearly together the Paris priests and the Paris millinery; they enjoy the same week of triumph; Longehamps goes before Good Friday; Lucy Hocquet precedes the Archbishop; the memory EDITORS EASY CHAIR. 129 U yesterdays white hat and feathers takes ott the edge from the sorrows of Crucifixion Day. Have we not a counterpart of the same pretty jumble at home? Are the fingers of Lawsons girls busier any day of the year than on the Fri- day of hot-cross buns? Does Dr. Taylors church show any time such strange liveliness of colors as on Easter Sundaycolors wrought out, and bar- ]nonized, and decided upon, in the toils and ca- prices of Holy Week? But, for the French women, dress is a part of religion; it maybe reckoned the grateful bloom of an otherwise unprofitable life. A ribbon and a flower at Longchamps, which charms the eye of the beholder, is a kind of fluttering French prayer of thanksgiving, to be answered by the boon of a weeks content. God, in his wisdom, has made plants which bear no visible fruit, and whose only service seems to be to hang out a painted blossom once a year, to please the eye; yet we are grate- ful, and admire. Let us be grateful tooas we canfor those among our own species who carry so jauntily the Easter flowers and feathers, which, once dropped off show a withered and fruitless stalk! We see, or seem to seelooking over seasthe Empress Eugenie arranging her best toilets to astonish the Islanders who will throng about her in Windsor Castle and at Osborne; we see her nerving her frail constitution for the great and the new trial of courtly etiquette, where the dignity of a constitutional and an hereditary Queen will be contrasted with the air and ease of a graceful sov- ereign only noble by birth, and made Imperial by the imperial will of a lover. The Emperor, too, who one day rode somewhat lonely, upon his chestnut horse, through the drives of Hyde Park, scarce noticed by the dignitaries of the British realm, will very likely take the pride of a self-made man, in allowing the same digni- taries to approach him, on his royal visit, with familiarity. The Emperor is, however, not with- out a spice of satire in his composition; and it may well be that, in his present conde ension toward some of the haughty scions of British noble houses, he may drop mention of his old stay thereabouts, and of his great misfortune in failing of their ac- quaintance. The story of his answer to Berryer, who begged to he excused from attendance at the palace, is old now, and has had its range of the newspaper col- umns, but it is too good to be dropped altogether from our monthly mirror of other-side matters. Every body knows who Berryer isan earnest, eloquent, proud man; the best type existing of those old props of Legitimacy who throve under the Bourbon smiles, and wore endless honors in their button-holes. He was elected long ago to the French Academy, and made one of those forty who wear the highest place it is possible to hold in the literary regard of France. In February last he first took his seat with that body of academicians; and, in virtue of old-established custom, illustrated his initiation in an hour-long speech. But even in this, and although in the presence of a few guests who were of the Imperial household he did not forget his life-long attachment to the race of French kings, and spoke an eloquent eulogy upon the profits and the claims of an hereditary monarchy. The Princess Mathilde, who had come to hear the great orator, was of course greatly in- censed, communicated her indignation to some of the underlings of State, who immediately gave o~ ders for the suppression of the entire proceedings. The matter, however, came to the ears oftheEm- peror, who at once annulled the action of the censors, intimating at the same time that the opin- ions of NI. Berryer were curious, but not fearful. Why should not the eloquent antiquarian speak out his theory in the quiet chambers of the Acad- emy? But this was not all. Every new-coming mem- ber into the body of Academicians is required, in virtue of an old established custom, to present himself at the palace, and pay his respects to the sovereign. NI. Berryer wrote a proud note to the Secretary of the Emperor (an old friend of his), setting forth his unfortunate position in respect to the existing dynasty; and, using the third person throughout his courtly letter, begged that his old friend, the Secretary, in view of the embarrassments which might attend his visitas well to others as to him- selfwould have NI. Berryer excused. The Secretary returned a prompt reply, regret- ting sincerely that NI. Berryer should have imag- ined that he would be looked upon in any other light than as a deserving literary man, who had received the compliment of election to the Academy. He begged to assure NI. Berryer, on the Emperors part, that his presence at the palace would have created no embarrassment whatever, and informed hhn farther, that NI. Berryer was at perfect liberty either to follow the old custom of the Academy, or to obey his private inclinations. The laugh was sadly against the representative of Legitimacy; and from the fact that the corre- spondence leaked out in an incredibly shortAime, there is reason to believe that Napoleon enjoyed the joke. A reputation for kprit is worth a great deal in Francemuch more than honesty. While speaking of the French Institute, it may be worth while to make note of another session of the Academy of Political and Moral Science, in which, not long ago, NI. Guizot, who is now living the quiet life of a literary worker, too~c occasion to introduce the subject of NI. Vattemares Interna- tional Exchanges, and in tIme coarse of his speech to give a running comment upon the intellectual progress of the Americans. It appears to have been short, but appreciative, and highly complimentary. NI. Vattemare came in for a very decided and justly-deserved eulogium, for his untiring efforts in behalf of literary ex- changes; and it was proposed to take measures for the fulfillment and the perpetuity of that great scheme, which rests now wholly upon the unceas- ing labor and restless enthusiasm of NI. Vattemare alone. We remember that a few years ago that dignified quarterly, the North American Reviewvery prone to European alliance in matters of literary opinion took occasion to express a few sneers at the aims and successes of Monsieur Vattemare, hasing its damnatory tone upon the coolness with which that gentleman had been treated by NI. Guizot, who was at that time the ruling genius of the French government. It did not appear to the stately Quarterly that an individual, unsupported by the smiles of the existing dynasty, could be engaged in either a commendable or a promising undertak- ing. It did not count it worth its while to vul- garize its character by any helping communion 130 HARPERS 1[EW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. with an adventurer. Perhaps now, when they learn that a vote of the French Academy, effected by the counsel and praises of M. Guizot himself; has stamped the worthiness of the scheme, they may condescend (the North American editors) to give it a smile of approvaL We have once or twice taken occasion to allude to the American library, which, under the foster- ing zeal of M. Vattemare, is growing into full pro- portions in the city of Paris. It is to occupy a fine hail in the stately H6tel de Ville, and, if report speaks true, has before this time been thrown open to the public. A strictly national library will be something unique in its kind, and we doubt very much if in any city of America there exists so com- plete a collection of the political annals of the Gen- eral Government and of the individual States as are now grouped together in Paris. Before the readers eye shall have fallen upon this page, the tidings of the opening ceremony of the Great Exhibition will have brought to his knowledge the weakness of our own share in that display. We shall not be disappointed in this: our medal-worthy things, we have often maintain- ed, are not such as can be sent over ocean, or housed under any such glazed roof as flames over the trees of the Champs Elysdes. But we fear there will be much matter of regret on the old London score, of a boastful amplitude of space and very scattered and ill-arranged material. We can not learn that our commissioners have been named, saving a few exceptions, with any notion or inquiry as to their fitness. We can not learn that taste or sound judgment has been looked for in the Amer- ican representation. We can not learn that either States or cities upon our side of the water have made such provisions, for either artisans or com- missioners, as would enlist one or the other very heartily in the rivalry of nations. Whatever has been done, has been done in a careless, unsystematized, irresponsible way. Some States have sent commissioners, and nothing for exhibition; others have sent merchandise, and no commissioners. We shall expect to hear of a niag- nificent array of India-rubber; but will not our daguerreotypes on this occasion suffer greatly in comparison with those beautiful photographs which the French artists are producing? We have before us now a study of trees from the forest of Fontaineblean, in which the rigidity of an old oaken bole is made as true and actual as if we were this spring day sauntering under its shadow. There is another view of distance, four miles away. We seem to look at it from under trees whose leaves flutter, and the summer air simmers on the paper over the landscape that lies below. We wish we were painters, in this time when a man can study nature in his closet, and steal tree-trunks by whole- sale, without ever the task of putting his foot to the sod, or smartine under the bites of the forest fleas! We hear of a panoramic view of the whole range of Mont Blanc, transferred from the mountains themselves to paper, and now gleaming coldly in the Crystal Palace of Paris. It is, of course, the result of several distinct studies, but these have been so artfully joined together, that it is quite im- possible to distinguish the line of division; and the eye reposes with single attention upon the great group of mountains, with their mellow snowy light sleeping on themthe jagged cliffs piercing up dark and sternand in the foreground the green glaciers, with such a crystallic brightness on them that their chilliness seems to come to the cheek. In the province of Art proper, it is to be feared that the American representation is not imposing, if it be even just. Aside from all other considera- tions, we are exposed to unfair comparison. The French paintings have undergone severe scrutiny at the hands of the French commission, and we arc assured that no less than four-fifths of the offering painters have met with rejection. Unfortunately for us, we have come in under the strangers priv- ilege, and all pictures, of whatever character, by American artists, have bad free admission. And when it is remembered that we have not a few am- bitious young students in Paris, emulous of the French style of coloring, it is greatly to be feared that we shall show somewhat scurvy material good enough, perhaps, in way of promise, and good enough, maybe, as samples of student effort, but giving a very unflattering impression of the suc- cesses of American genius in a profession honored by such men as West and Aiston. Tuis mention of American art brings to our mind a little yellow-covered book which has come to our hand with the last batch of Paris news- papers. It hears the title of The Other World (LAutre Monde)not, as some may hastily imag- ine, the future world of seraphs and cherubim, but the cross-ocean world of America. It is the pro- duction of that Marie Fontenay to whom we took occasion to allude some months hack, as hav- ing a very keen scent for regents, and a very con- temptible opinion of American apple-tarts. She now ventures, in connection with the pseudo- nyme of Marie Fontenay, another title, to wit, Madame Manoill de Grandfort. There is, how- ever, shrewd reason to suspect that this even is a misnomer, and that the veritable note-taker in our country was a male adventurer, who, after an un- prosperous visit to. the Other World, has return- ed to the more congenial world of French dinners and grisettes. We beg to drop a word of parenthesis about the fashion and the cost of the book before us. It is in duodecimo form, of some three hundred clearly and neatly-printed pages, and forms a part of a newly- issued Librairie Nouvelle, sold (in France) for one franc the volume. The company issuing these volumes have caught, at last, a spark of the American publishing enter- prise. They state gravely, that a large sale at a low price, will prove equally profitable, for pub- lisher and author, as a small sale at a large price! Entertaining this extraordinary idea, they propose to issue, in the course of the current year, some two hundred volumes of old and new literature, at the uniform price of one franc each, or about twenty cents. They commence with an edition often thousand; some dozen or more have already appeared, among which we may designate works by Theophile Gnu- tier, Lamartine, Madame Girardin, Jules Sandean, and Gerard the lion-killer. The form of the vol- nines is compact, and they are easily transportable by mail. Provincial readers will thus be enabled to order their own books, and publishers and au- thors will escape the fan,,s of those middle-men, the booksellers, who have been in the way of ab- sorbing, this long time, more of the actual profits than either printer or writer. It is a worthy scheme; and although its French EDITORS EASY CHAIR. 131 l)roinoters falsely assume the merit of its creation, we wish them every success. We return to our pleasant friend, Madame Mianoel de Grandfort. She (or he) has letters from New York to New Orleans, where she arrives in time to witness the hubbub of an election. It is, she says, a little more or a little less of whis- ky and of ham which on such occasions decides the victory. Yet this is the country which people call the most independent in the world! Boys, too, of twenty-one, who had no more of intelligence than of beard, and who blushed before a man like a young girl, had the effrontery to present them- selves as candidates for Congress We fear that Madame de Grandfort was not treated with the attention which her letters de- manded. The elections which she had the misfortune to witness, she continues to observe, were charac- terized by the usual number of pistol-shots, and the victory of the dominant party was signalized only by a few snore burials the next daynothing more The authoress represents herself as visiting the South, brimful of philanthropy and of a tender sympathy for the enslaved blacks; but after at- tendance upon one of their evening balls, and an even more intimate association with them upon the plantations, she grows into a sudden change of opinion. They appear to her to be creatures of ignoble and repulsive instincts; an error of nature; en sombre ceprice de Dieu! (We forbear the put- ting of her blasphemy in English.) We fear that Madame de Grandfort was as in- dilThrently treated by the blacks as by the whites. She is by no means complimentary to the ladies of the Southwest. French in their mouth, she says, is rather a jargon than a harmonious lan- guage. A stranger visiting a country house is the occasion of a general scampering (sauve qui yeut) among the ladies of the family. Infinitely more neglected in their education than those of the city, their language is frequently no better than the patois of the negroes. It is, indeed, partly owing to a consciousness of their ignorance that they escape the view of strangers. But though they keep themselves out of sight, they are very fond of prying from behind doors and curtains; they even put their ears to the key-hole to overhear conversa- tion, or, if surprised, they laugh among themselves stupidly, without saying a word. In short, aside from their pretty faces, there is nothing about them attractive It would appear that Madame de Grandfort was as little pleased with the ladies into whose com- pany she fell as with the negroes. Indeed, her as- sociations seem to have been uniformlyunfortunate, with the exception of certain agreeable communi- cations which she entertained with a French gen- tleman of New Orleans, who had accumulated a large fortune by peddling pocket-combs, French trinkets, and false hair, up and down the river, from a small valise. She seems to have derived no littleshare of her information in regard to the better class of South- western society from this successful merchant. She eventually, however, tears herself away from the society of this charming person, and entertains us with a few sketches along the Mississippi river. The gambling fraternity, and a steamboat race, form subjects for her very glowing portraitures. The captain nuder whom she sails is particularly distinguished and beloved for having already blown up four steamers, and successfully scalded some two or three hundred passengers. He drinks whisky (the usual beverage of American gentle- men) without stint, and is a secret party to the gambling frauds accomplished under his eye. Madame Grandfort does not recognize in the banks of the Mississippi the pictures given by M. Chateaubriand in his American romances; her at- tention is chiefly occupied by the whisky, the ex- cessively muddy water, and the cards. Mr. Craw- ford, a distinguished Florida gambler, accomplishes the winning of eighteen thousand dollars at a sit- ting. The lady voyager is further struck by the barbarous inhumanity of the Americans, and tells us pathetically how the captain interrupted a popish ceremony over an Irish emigrant who had died of cholera, and ordered his summary burial on shore, by the light of pine-wood torches. She takes occasion to confute the opinion ad- vanced by a distinguished American author, Mr. Benjamin Park, to the effect that Americans treat the gentler sex with marked deference; she has seen no evidence of it. We suspect she may have experienced none; she doubts their capability for the expression of any polished deference; she re- gards American manner, generally, as occupying an ill-formed character, between barbarism and an inapt imitation of the cultivated nations of Europe. Madame Grandfort does not venture all her ob- servations in her own name. She avails herself of the introduction of an imaginative personage into her book, under the name of Juliennea quick-witted, conceited, accomplished young com- patriot, whose fictitious journal supplies her with many notes which could not, with propriety, be credited to a feminine hand. Madame Grandfort introduces young Julienne into the society of the Bloomerites in the Kentuck- ian city of Louisville. The young Frenchman is astounded by the speeches and by the whisky- drinking of the Bloomerite ladies; but at length, after urgence, consents to join in a midnight sup- per, to which the strong-minded young ladies are parties. The accomplished Julienne becomes at once the cynosure of their admiring eyes; and his French air, speech, cultivation, and refinement possess such indescribable power of fascination, that two Bloomerite victims (the prettiest of the party) fall wantonly at his French feet, beseeching him to take pity, and love them. He has compassion on one (the youngest), and enjoys a midnight stroll with her upon the banks of the Ohio. We do not know what the Louisville girls may say to this, whether of the Bloomer or of the or- thodox party; but our impression is that Madame Manoil de Grandfort has over-reckoned the charms of strolling Frenchmen upon the hearts of Kentucky ladies; and that his impertinences, if ventured, would have much more likely met with a tingling buffet on the ears than with the naming of a mid- night rendezvous. At Cincinnati, a town filled principally with uncouth pork-merchants, Madame Grandfort falls in with a pugnacious son of a hotel-keeper, who in- forms her that prize-fighting is regarded by the Americans as a most worthy institution, develop- ing the noblest instincts of a true democratic citi- zen. She attends (in the person of Julienne) one or two bo~dng-matches, at which the principal inhabitants of Cincinnati are present; and she 132 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. concludes her observations on this head with a sympathetic b?wailment of American barbarisms. We suspect that few American ladies have had the same opportunity of witnessing cock-fights, prize-fights, Bloomerite festivals, and gamblin~ orgies, as Madame Manoll de Grandfort. We re- gard her authority on these subjects as that of a person entitled to respect. She does not, however, always write coolly; her temper often gets the hetter of her judgment. Her disgust for Yankee failings of all kinds is so great, that she is betrayed into a great many declamatory passages which sadly harm her hook as a work of art. We imagine her to he a thin, middle-aged lady, unmarried, and of weak digestionwith whom our Western lime-water did not agree. In her portraiture of American manners she cer- tainly out-Trollopes Trollope. She does not reckon our state as deserving the name of a consolidated nation; she sees in us only a medley of harum- scarum gamblers, cut-throats, pork - merchants, Bloomerites, and eaters of apple-tarts, who hang together by a kind of magnetic sympathy, but who will soon split into a thousand fragmentary bodies. When this catastrophe shall have occurred, she recognizes some hope of a new and more successful organizationnot due to any influences emanating from ourselves, but to those which are foreign French, and curious! She takes hope from the fact that an old French civilization still lingers along the borders of the St. Lawrence; French manner has, moreover, grafted itself upon the Creole population of Louisiana; and when the fabric of the Union shall be utterly de- stroyed (as it will be in less than ten years), the French Canadians and the Southern Creoles will, by their united and superior action, harmonize the brute forces residing in the American character, and rear a beautiful French structure of established policy, adorned by popish ceremonies, lighted with a true Catholic faith, and sustained by Parisian morality, and restaurateurs ~ le certe! It is a very queer book, that of Madame Manoill (le Granfifort. WhuILE we are upon the subject of books, we may spend a paragraph upon a new work just now published jointly by M. Guizot and his son-in-law, Cornelis de Witt. The first contributes an his- torical study of a hundred pages upon the charac- ter of Washington; and the last, an historic sum- mary of those events which immediately preceded the formation of the Federal Union. M. Guizot, as usual, shows a strong sympathy with the old federal politicians of the school of Washington, Adams, and Madison, and a certain implied distrust of the democratic fervor which blazed out in Jefferson, and which, says he, has since his time governed the political life of the Western Republic. As for the minor chat belonging to the Paris papers, it has been latterly quite tame. The literary fancyists, who cooked us a score of dishes out of the merest suicide of a paragraph, hmwe either grown tired of their vocation, or have been awed into silence by the weightier paragraphs about the war, and the weary expectations of the Crimean army. We see, among these war-waifs, a little estimate in the Times of the value of a mans limbs whether foot, finger, or thighas regulated by that reverend body at the Horse Guards of Lou- don. We learn from it how the Earl of Errol, a captain in the Rifle Brigade, received a severe wound from a musket-ball in the right hand, which, unfortunately necessitated, the amputation of the index finger. For this mutilationwhich is but trifling indeed by comparison with others mention- ed in this list, and does not involve retirement from the service, or the sale of his commissionLord Errol has 211 7s. lid. On the other hand, we find the Hon. H. Annesley, an ensign in the Scots Fu- silier Guards, receiving a gratuity of but 100 7s. Gd. for one of the most ghastly wounds which it is well possible to receive. A musket-ball passed through his mouth, and occasioned the loss of twen- ty-three teeth and of a part of the tongue. Sure- ly, if the compensation awarded to Lord Errol for his comparatively trifling wound be right, Mr. An- nesley, according to any principle known to civil- ians, should have received snore generous treatment from the War-office. The same apparently unequal distribution reigns throughout the whole list. En- sign Braybrook gets 47 18s. id. for a musket-ball in his right thigh; while Captain Berkeley, of the Scots Fusilier Guards, receives 282 17s. Gd. for a musket-ball in the right leg. Both of these officers are thrown into the same category of severely wounded. To Captain MDonald, of the 92d foot, is awarded the sum of 211 7s. lid, for a musket- ball in his left foot; while Lieutenant Cahill, of the 49th, receives 71 17s. id. for a musket-ball in his right foot. It is much better to wear a captains foot (in England), even if the foot is shot off But it is not alone the inconsistency with which the 1-lorse Guards estimate an ensigns toe or a cap- tains finger which is making sore hearts and angry brains in this day of Englands trial. The ferment of British mind (if we may believe the tokens that come to us in every batch of papers) is growing higher and stronger; and the shame with which the great commercial nation of the world were taught to feel that their accredited governors were incapable of the management of a foreign e~xpedi- Lion, is yielding to a slow-growing indignation, that will soon have its results written on the par- liamentary walls, in language as strong as English courage and as English hope. The Brights and the Cobdens may indeed mis- take their time, and speak in vain just now; and Kossuth, who has turned British journalist, may fail (and probably will) in his effort to quicken the cooling sympathy for Hungary and Poland; but at least one good result will spring out of the present fermentation, and that is the firm amid wide-spread conviction that birth, habit, or station, do not of themselves supply sufficient material for British government or for British war; and that manly, practical energy is as needful in Downin,, Street and the camp as it is in the counting-room. The British capacity that lives in the work-shops and in the offices of eastern London, only wants trans- muting by the wand of a liberal reform, and by the annihilation of privilege, to supply commissaries and war-secretaries by scores. Will not the Imperial visit of that self-made man, Napoleon III., have served as a sort of living testi- monial to the hopeful minds of England, that the dry bones of feudal caste and stately heirship are spending their last force, and shake woefully when compared with the firm front wimich individual en- ergy and skill (albeit lawless in its action) has as- serteil and maintained? EDITORS DRAWER. 133 And justly the wise man thus preached to ns all, Despise not the vsdue of things that are small. THIS couplet is rather a free translation of Sol- omons remark; but it has a touch of philoso- phy in it, and counsel worth heeding. One not so wise, nor quite so ancient as he, has said, It is well to play the fool at times ; nnd the greatest of men have found it both pleasant and profitable to unbend their minds with innocent disports. Stop laughing now, boys, theres a fool com- ing, said a philosopher while at play with his children: he knew that amusement would be looked upon as folly by one who could not appreciate him. Some men get a great reputation for wisdom by maintaining a profound gravity, frowning on wit and humor, and eschewing a joke as they would swearing. That was very good advice which the father gave his son on sending him forth into the world. The son was but haif-witted, and the father enjoined silence as the first of all virtues. The strict com- pliance of the son with the injunction induced a friend of his to ask him one day, why he never ventured to engage in conversation. Oh said he, father told me to keep my mouth shut, and nobody would know I was a fool. So it happened that the first time he broke the rule he let the secret out. It was good advice; these who can not talk sense do better not to talk at all. Best it is greater folly for a man who has wit in Isins, bubbling up in him, ready to burst out, like siew wine in old bottles, or new cider in ventless barrels, to stifle it in his bosom, go with a long face, and speak as if he were in affliction, lest per- chance the fools outside should think him a fool too. Be what you are. We have diversities of gifts. It takes all sorts of men to make up a world; and we shall not mend but mar the matter by trying to he what we are not. Besides, there is sheer hypocrisy in it, which even good men are some- times not ashamed of. There was the Rev. Thomas Fairfield, who lived in New Jersey in those good old times when the Tennents, Gilbert and William, were godly shepherds of the sheep in Freehold and New Brunswick. Now Mr. Fairfield was a very good man likewise, and his face was the index of Isis heartcheerful, and at peace with God and man. He had a smile and a word for every man lee met; and even when he was in his pulpit, the genial flow of his happy spirit spread like a hams over the people. Mr. Fairfield was a jovial man, and every one knew it; but all who knew him knew also that he was a good man, and loved him all the more for the good-nature that shone in every feature of his face. Now it came to pass that Mr. Fairfield, hearing of the fame of Mr. Tennent, went down to Freehold, and sat at the feet of that holy man. The awful gravity, the profound solemnity of the pastor, impressed Mr. Fairfield with a sense of his own shortcomings, and he resolved to be a more sober man. He would go home and be such a man as the wonderful Mr. Tennent. The first Sabbath after his return he walked solemnly into his church with an unbending form, nad a face as sad as if he had been on the way to the burial of his best friends. And when he rose to preach and pray the same deep melancholy sat on his brow, and was reflected to the hearts of his people. He went through the services and came down from the pulpit, where he was suet by Dea- con Nutman, who asked him, Are you well to-day, Mr. Fairfield ? Very well, through mercy, replied the minis- ter, without a smile or a pleasant word. Your family all well ? Quite well, thank the Lord, said Mr. Fair- field, with a deep sigh. The deacon was confound- ed; hut persisting in knowing if possible the cause of his pastors evident depression of spirits, he ven- tured to inquire if any thing had occurred during the week past to give him any distress. Being as- sured there had not, and now provoked at the cold- ness of his minister, he hroke out upon him: Well, I tell you what it is, Mr. Fairfield, some- thing has happened, or else the devils in you, thats all. Mr. Fairfield gave him his hand, and, laughing heartily, said: You are right, Deacon Nutman, the devil was in me, but I will cast him out. I was trying to be like Mr. Tennent; but I will be myself after this, and nobody else. It was a much better resolution than the one he made at Freehold of putting on a long face, that he might appear unto men to be much better than jee was. MIND your stops, is a good rule in writing as well as in riding. So in public speaking, it is a great thing to know when to stop and where to stop. The third edition of a treatise on English Punctuation has been recently published, with all needful rules for writers, but none for speakers. The author furnishes the following example of the unintelligible, produced by the want of pauses in the right places: Every lady in this laud Hath twenty nails upon each hand; Five and twenty on isands and feet. And this Is true, without deceit. If the present points he resnoved, and others in- serted, the true meaning of the passage will at once appear: Every lady in this land Hath twenty nails: upon each hand Five; and twenty on hands and feet. And this is true without deceit. Mr. MNair was a man of few words, and wrote to his nephew at Pittsburg the following laconic letter: DEAR NEPHEW, To which the nephew replied by return of mail: DEAR UNCLE, The long of this short was, that the uncle wrote to his nephew, See say coel on, which a se-mi-col-on expressed; and the youngster informed his uncle that the coal was shipped, by simply saying, coi.on. HENRY STRICKLAND, whether or not a cousin of our Joe Strickland we can not say, has been making a little hook of Travel Thoughts and Travel Fancies, in which he hits off some things capitally. In France, he says, all the men are women, women children, children babies; ba- bies as a general rule, previous to attaining age of six months, decidedly not pretty. Speaking of the way in which the French spend the Sunday, he says: Telling a Frenchman he

Editor's Drawer Editor's Drawer 133-141

EDITORS DRAWER. 133 And justly the wise man thus preached to ns all, Despise not the vsdue of things that are small. THIS couplet is rather a free translation of Sol- omons remark; but it has a touch of philoso- phy in it, and counsel worth heeding. One not so wise, nor quite so ancient as he, has said, It is well to play the fool at times ; nnd the greatest of men have found it both pleasant and profitable to unbend their minds with innocent disports. Stop laughing now, boys, theres a fool com- ing, said a philosopher while at play with his children: he knew that amusement would be looked upon as folly by one who could not appreciate him. Some men get a great reputation for wisdom by maintaining a profound gravity, frowning on wit and humor, and eschewing a joke as they would swearing. That was very good advice which the father gave his son on sending him forth into the world. The son was but haif-witted, and the father enjoined silence as the first of all virtues. The strict com- pliance of the son with the injunction induced a friend of his to ask him one day, why he never ventured to engage in conversation. Oh said he, father told me to keep my mouth shut, and nobody would know I was a fool. So it happened that the first time he broke the rule he let the secret out. It was good advice; these who can not talk sense do better not to talk at all. Best it is greater folly for a man who has wit in Isins, bubbling up in him, ready to burst out, like siew wine in old bottles, or new cider in ventless barrels, to stifle it in his bosom, go with a long face, and speak as if he were in affliction, lest per- chance the fools outside should think him a fool too. Be what you are. We have diversities of gifts. It takes all sorts of men to make up a world; and we shall not mend but mar the matter by trying to he what we are not. Besides, there is sheer hypocrisy in it, which even good men are some- times not ashamed of. There was the Rev. Thomas Fairfield, who lived in New Jersey in those good old times when the Tennents, Gilbert and William, were godly shepherds of the sheep in Freehold and New Brunswick. Now Mr. Fairfield was a very good man likewise, and his face was the index of Isis heartcheerful, and at peace with God and man. He had a smile and a word for every man lee met; and even when he was in his pulpit, the genial flow of his happy spirit spread like a hams over the people. Mr. Fairfield was a jovial man, and every one knew it; but all who knew him knew also that he was a good man, and loved him all the more for the good-nature that shone in every feature of his face. Now it came to pass that Mr. Fairfield, hearing of the fame of Mr. Tennent, went down to Freehold, and sat at the feet of that holy man. The awful gravity, the profound solemnity of the pastor, impressed Mr. Fairfield with a sense of his own shortcomings, and he resolved to be a more sober man. He would go home and be such a man as the wonderful Mr. Tennent. The first Sabbath after his return he walked solemnly into his church with an unbending form, nad a face as sad as if he had been on the way to the burial of his best friends. And when he rose to preach and pray the same deep melancholy sat on his brow, and was reflected to the hearts of his people. He went through the services and came down from the pulpit, where he was suet by Dea- con Nutman, who asked him, Are you well to-day, Mr. Fairfield ? Very well, through mercy, replied the minis- ter, without a smile or a pleasant word. Your family all well ? Quite well, thank the Lord, said Mr. Fair- field, with a deep sigh. The deacon was confound- ed; hut persisting in knowing if possible the cause of his pastors evident depression of spirits, he ven- tured to inquire if any thing had occurred during the week past to give him any distress. Being as- sured there had not, and now provoked at the cold- ness of his minister, he hroke out upon him: Well, I tell you what it is, Mr. Fairfield, some- thing has happened, or else the devils in you, thats all. Mr. Fairfield gave him his hand, and, laughing heartily, said: You are right, Deacon Nutman, the devil was in me, but I will cast him out. I was trying to be like Mr. Tennent; but I will be myself after this, and nobody else. It was a much better resolution than the one he made at Freehold of putting on a long face, that he might appear unto men to be much better than jee was. MIND your stops, is a good rule in writing as well as in riding. So in public speaking, it is a great thing to know when to stop and where to stop. The third edition of a treatise on English Punctuation has been recently published, with all needful rules for writers, but none for speakers. The author furnishes the following example of the unintelligible, produced by the want of pauses in the right places: Every lady in this laud Hath twenty nails upon each hand; Five and twenty on isands and feet. And this Is true, without deceit. If the present points he resnoved, and others in- serted, the true meaning of the passage will at once appear: Every lady in this land Hath twenty nails: upon each hand Five; and twenty on hands and feet. And this is true without deceit. Mr. MNair was a man of few words, and wrote to his nephew at Pittsburg the following laconic letter: DEAR NEPHEW, To which the nephew replied by return of mail: DEAR UNCLE, The long of this short was, that the uncle wrote to his nephew, See say coel on, which a se-mi-col-on expressed; and the youngster informed his uncle that the coal was shipped, by simply saying, coi.on. HENRY STRICKLAND, whether or not a cousin of our Joe Strickland we can not say, has been making a little hook of Travel Thoughts and Travel Fancies, in which he hits off some things capitally. In France, he says, all the men are women, women children, children babies; ba- bies as a general rule, previous to attaining age of six months, decidedly not pretty. Speaking of the way in which the French spend the Sunday, he says: Telling a Frenchman he 134 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. should, at any rate, one day in a week, sit still and be quiet, would be as unreasonable as to tell an oyster it should at any rate, one day in the week, run about and wag its tail like a little dog. That is, it would be telling him to do what he can ot dowhat he has nothing in his nature to enable him to do. Then, he should change his nature, you doubtless will say. That is, you are a Ves- ~iges of Creation developist, and think that a French- man may, by cultivation, be developed into an Englishman. To that there is nothing to be said, except that the theory has not been proved, for, of course, it never can be disproved. It is impossi- ble to prove that an oyster may not, by progressive development become a tail-wagging little dog, by earnestly and constantly desiring to possess a tail; by taking the earliest advantage of the first symp- toms of the coming appendage, and then by unre- mitting and persevering agitation of the young caudal shoot, a real waggable tail may be the re- sult. Still, as I say, the theory wants proof. IN giving advice to young ladies in the choice of a husband, a modern writer utters the following oracles: The man who doesnt take tea, but takes snuff, and stands with his back to the fire, is a brute whom I would not advise you, my dears, to marry upon any consideration, either for love or money but decidedly not for love. But the man who, when the tea is over, is discovered to have had none, is sure to make the best husband. Patience like his deserves being rewarded with the best of wives and the best of mothers-in-law. My dears, when you meet with such a man do your utmost to marry him. In the severest winter he would not mind going to bed first I EvERy thing relating to the development of such a mind as Daniel Websters is to be treasured. Professor Sanborn, of Dartmouth College, relates of him that, when Daniel was a mere boy, the teamsters, in passing through the town in which he lived, were accustomed to say, when they ar- rived at Jud,,e Websters house, Come, let us give our horses some oats, and go in and hear lit- tle Dan read a psalm. Leaning upon their long whip-stocks, they listened with delight and aston- ishment to the young orator. This was in his boyhood. A correspondent sends to our Drawer the following anecdote of the man full-grown and in his glory: Mr. Coolidge was a law-student in Mr. Web- sters office in Boston, and heard the conversation I am about to mention. The day before the cere- mony of laying the corner-stone of the Bunker Hill Monument, Mr. Webster came out of his private office, and throwing upon the table a manuscript which he held in his hand, observed that there was the oration which he was to deliver the following day. How are you pleased with your effort, Mr. Webster? inquired Mr. Bliss, one of the clerks. Throwing out his chin, as was his habit when waggishly inclined, Mr. Webster replied: Well, Mr. Bliss, I think it is a pretty consid- erably good oration. I thought so too, when, standing under the meridian sun of one of the hottest days in June, I drank in, boy as I was, every word that fell from his lips; and many of those words have rung in my ears to the present hour. So writes our correspondent; and we could not but mark the contrast between the audiencesthe teamsters listening to the boy Dan reading a psalm, and the rapt thousands hanging on his lips at Bun- ker Hill. SOMETIMEs it is the misfortune of a city to have an ass for a Mayor. Such was the case about twenty-five years ago with a certain city, which it would be impolitic, not to say impolite, for us to name in this connection. He was so ignorant that the wags sent a book-peddler to him with English grammars immediately after his election; and when he declared he had no use for the book, the peddler said, Every body tells me you must have it, and study it, too. He came into office, and took his chair in stately dignity. In a few minutes, the clerk laid before him a paper, which the Mayor was requested to endorse as one that had passed under his eye. The clerk remarked: It is only necessary that you write your initials upon it. My sI liuls, said the Mayor, whats my aint- uls? Now it so happened that P was the first letter of both the Mayors names, and the clerk very inno- cently replied: Oh, Sir, merely write two Ps upon the back of this paper.~~ His Honor the Mayor took the quill in his trem- bling hand, and, with the perspiration on his brow, wrote TOO razz, and the document is on file in the office unto this day! His orthography was quite on a par with the Western man who had some cedar trees to sell, and put up a sign in his lot on which was insciibed, ZETER TREZE. NoTHINg like leather, is a proverb, not very elegant, but very common. The old spelling- book which was in use a hundred years ago in England, had the following lines, from which the saw comes: A town feard a siege, and held consultation, Which was the best method of fortification; A grave, skillful mason said, In his opinion, l{othing but stone could secure the dominion. A rpenter said, Though that was well spoke, It was better by far to defend it with oak. A currier wiser than both these together, Said, Try what you please, tla esnethinglikel& itl& er. JEREMY TAYLOR if he never made a line in me- tre, was a poet. His sermons are full of the out- gushings of his glowing heart. Hear him describ- ing the soul struggling toward heaven: For so have I seen a lark rising from his bed of grass, and soaring upward, singing as he rises, and hopes to get to heaven, and climbs above the clouds; but the poor bird was beaten back by the loud sighings of an eastern wind, and his motion made irregular and inconstant, descending more at every breath of the tempest than it could rec~ver by the vibrations and frequent weighings of his wings, till the little creature was forced to sit down, and pant, and stay till the storm was over; and then it made a prosperous flight, and did rise and sing as if it had learned music and motion from an angel, as he passed sometimes through the air about his ministries here below. THE story of the creation, related by Moses, is EDITORS DRAWER 135 often cited as one of the finest examples of the sub- lime in writing. Poets who borrowfrom the Bible never make any improvement upon it; but in the World before the Flood,~a poem, by James Mont- gomery, there is one of the neatest fancies we ever happened to meet with. He is describing the suc- cessive acts of creative power, which he attributes to those faculties of the Creator analogous to the work performed: He looked through space, and kindling oer the sky, Sun, moon, and stars came forth to meet his eye. His look creates the worlds of light; bnt when he came to his last and crowning workthe creation of womanthe poet says, Then God Created woman with a smile of grace, And left the smile that made her on her dice. PuNs on peoples names are the pastime of small wits, and half the plays of this sort are to be set down to the invention of the would-be-witty, rather than to the facts of actual history. Thus it is very doubtful whether the good deacon in this story ever had an existence except in the brain of the punster. He had lost his wife, and was consoling himself by very private but particular attentions to Patience Pierson, a smart young woman in the parish. One day he was bewailing his loss in the ear of his kind pastor, of whose sympathy he wasvery sure; and the minister said to him, in a tone of deep condolence, Well, my dear friend, I can not help you; you had better try and have pctieace What more he would have said the deacon did not wait to hear; but thinking the minister had found out his secret, he put in: Yes, Sir, I have been trying to get her, but she seems to be rather shy ! The following rests on no better authority: Mr. William Payne, a very g4ood fellow, was a teacher of music, in a pleasant town in Massa- chusetts; and in his school, one winter, was a pretty girl, some twenty years old, named Patience Adams, who having made a strong impression upon Mr. Payne, he lost no time in declaring his attachment which Miss A. reciprocated, and an engagement was the result. Just as Mr. P.s attentions became public, and the fact of an engagement was gener- ally understood, the school being still in continu- ance, and all the parties on a certain evening being present, Mr. Payne, without any thought of the words, named as a tune for the commencing exer- cise, Federal Street, in that excellent collection of church music, The Carmina Sacra. Every one loved Patience, and every one entertained the high- est respect for Payne; and with a hearty good-will on the part of all the school the chorus commenced: See gentle Patience smile on Pain, See dying hope revive again. The coincidence was so striking, that the grav- ity of the young ladies and gentlemen could scarce- ly be restrained long enough to get through the tune. The beautiful young lady was still snore charming with her blushing cheeks and modestly cast-down eyes, while the teacher was so exceed- ingly embarrassed he knew not what he did. Hasti- ly turning over the leaves of the book, his eye lit upon a well-knoww tune, and he called out Dun- dee. The song began as soon as sufficient order could be restored, and at the last line of the fol- lowing stanza rose to a climax: Let not despair nor fell revenge Be to my bosom known; Oh, give me tears for others woes, And Patience for my own. Patience was already betrothed; she was in fact his; in about a year afterward they became man and wife: Then gentle Patfence smiled on Payne, And Payne had Patience for his own. And away down East, in the State of Maine, Miss Amanda Mann was married, about two years ago, to Mr. A. II. Kott, after a brief courtship, of which the following correspondence was the most original part: NOTT To AMANDA. Oh, that I could prevail, my fair, that we unite our lot! Oh, take a man, Amanda Mann, and tie a double knot. Your coldness drives me to despairwhat shall I do? ah what? For you Im growing thin and sparefor you Im a pine Notti If I should hear that you had died, twould kill me on the spot Yet only yesterday I cried, Ah! would that she were Nott! The chords and tendijis of my heart around thee fondly twine Amanda! heal thisaching smart IAmends, ohhe mine! These very terms, as I opine, suggest united lots Lets tie, then, dear, these cords, and twine in hy- meneal knotta. 55555 AMANDA MANNS ainLY. This life, we know, is hut a span, hence I have been afraid That I should still remain A. Mann, and die at lasta maid. And often to myself I say, on looking round, I find Theres Nott, a man in every way just suited to my mind. I fain would whisper him, apart, hed make me bleat for ilfe If he would take me to his heart, and make A. Mann a wife. Love not, my mother often says; and so, too, says the song Ill heed the hint in future days, and love Nott well and long. Then, oh! let Hymen on the spot, his chain around me throw, And hind me in a lasting knot, tied with a single beau DAVID DirsoN was and is the great almanac man, calculating the signs and wonders in the heaven~, and furnishing the astronomical matter with which those very useful annuals abound. In former years it was his custom, in all his almanacs, to utter sage predictions as to the weather, at given periods in the course of the revolving year. Thus he would say, Aboutthistimelookout fornchangeof weather; and by stretching such a prophecy half-way down the page, he would make very sure that in some one of the days includ- ed the event foretold would come to pass. He got cured of this spirit of prophecy in a very remark- able manner. One summer day, clear and calm as a day could be, he was riding on horseback; it was before railroads were in vogue, and being on a journey some distance from home, and wishing to know how far it was to the town he was going to visit, he stopped at the roadside and inquired of a farmer at work in the field. The farmer told him it was six miles; but, he added, you must ride sharp, or you will get a wet jacket before you reach it. A wet jacket ! said the astronomer; you dont think it is going to rain, do you ? 1~o, I dont think so, I know so, replied the farmer; and the longer you sit there, the more likely you are to get wet. 136 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. David thought the farmer a fool, and rode on, admiring the blue skyuncheckeredby a single cloud. He had not proceeded more than half the distance to the town before the heavens were overcast, and one of those sudden showers not unusual in this latitude came down upon him. There was no place for shelter, and he was drenched to the skin. But the rain was soon over, and David thought within himself, That old man must have some way of guess- ing the weather that beats all my figures and facts. I will ride back and get it out of him. It will be worth more than a days work to learn a new sign. By the time he had reached the farmers field again the old man had resumed his labor, and David ac- costed him very respectfully: I say, my good friend, I have come all the way back to ask you how you were able to say that it would certainly rain to-day ? Ah, said the sly old fellow, and wouldnt von like to know ? I would certainly; and as I am much interest- ed in the subject, I will give you five dollars for your rule. The farmer acceded to the terms, took the money, and proceeded to say: Well, you see now, we all use David Ditsous almanacs around here, and he is the greatest liar that ever lived; for whenever he says its goin, to rain, we know it aint; and when lie says fair weather, we look out for squalls. Now this morn- ing I saw it was put down for to-day V pleesent, and I knew for sartain it would rain before night. Thats the rule. Use Davids Almanac, and al- ways read it just tother way. The crest-fallen astronomer plodded on his weary way, another example of a fool and his money soon parted. But that was the end of his prophesying. Since that he has made his almamacs without weatherwise sayings, leaving every man to guess for himself. The Harpers used to print the almanacs of one Hutchins, who made them for the Southern mark- et, to the order of a dealer in those parts, who, in giving the order, directed him to put in the predic- tions of rain and shine to suit the cotton-crop sea- son, so that all who bought the almanacs might have prophecies to suit them, whether they ever came to pass or not. Hutchins made a great hit, and a great deal of money, out of a blunder, that turned out better than could have been expected. He had an assistant, who was at work on the month of July, and called on Mr. Hutchins for the weath- er, at a moment when he was particularly engaged, and was much annoyed with the demand. Put in what you please ! he cried out; rain, hail, thunder, snow, and done with it Sure enough, by one of the strange freaks of na- ture, July was visited with a cold snap, and all these winter performances came off, according to the programme, and the reputation of the almanac man was made. ALL the old settlers of Albanythe,flrstfamilies of that Dutch and aristocratic capitalwill remem- ber Jimmy Caidwell, who made agreat fortune in the tobacco business. He was very much of a wag in his way, and was not over-particular in his choice of subjects upon whom to play his tricks. He had an ancient maiden cousin residing in New York, whom he had often invited to come up to Albany, and visit his wife. But in those days, when as yet no steamboats were known, and a journey between the two cities in a sloop was a voyage quite equal to crossing the Atlantic am , the cousin had never been up the river, the wife had never been down; and so they had never met. At length he received a letter informing him that she would sail from New York at such a time, and in the course of a week or ten days she might be expected at Al- bany. A few days before her arrival, he said to his wife: I dont know as I ever told you this old maid of a cousin of mine is as deaf as a postyou have to hollow so as to be heard a mile to make her an derstaud. Ill do my best, said the good wife, and you know I can speak loud enough when I try. When Caidwell met his cousin at the wharf and on his way with her to his house, he remarked: You have never he~ rd, I suppose, that my poor wife is very hard of hearing: I have to scream at the top of my voice to make her hear me, and how you will manage to get on with her, I am sure I dont know. Oh, Ill make her hear; my voice is good, aud I aint afraid of using it. Of course neither of the ladies was afflicted with any defect in her hearing, but Caidwell was dis- posed to amuse himself at the expense of both of them. They met. Why, how do you do ? shouted Mrs. Cald- well, as if she was speakiug a ship at sea. Very well, thank you; hope you are too, screamed the cousin, in a voice that fairly rivaled Madam Caldwells. Mr. Caidwell, amused at the success of his scheme, listened to the two old women, who were planted close to each other; and first one would put her mouth up to the ear of the other, and vice versa they would shout away as if they would make the dead hear, and not the deaf only. At last, said Mrs. CaIdwell, in her sympathy with the deaf old cousin: What on earth makes you talk so loud? I aint deaf! Nor I either, shrieked the old maid; and both of them perceived in an instant that they had been made dupes of by Jimmy Caidwell, who had to take a thorough scolding for putting such a joke upon them. Hoon, in his Tale of a Trumpet, makes a very good play, of which we are reminded by this story. A peddler is trying to sell ear-trumpets, and, boasting of their wonderful properties, he says: There was Mrs. F., So very deaf, That she might have worn a percussion-cap, And heen knocked on the head withoutheariug it s ap; Well, I sold her a horn, and the very next day, She heard from her hushand at Botany Bay I THESE once celebrated and beautiful lines, as happily conceived as any in the language, were ad- dressed by a gentleman of the house of York, on presenting its emblem, a white rose, to a lady of the house of Lancaster, whose emhlem was the re(I. If this fayre ross offend thy sight, Placed in thy hosom hare, Twill blush to find i elfiess white, And turn Lancastryne there. But should thy ruby lip it spys, As kiss it thou mayst deign, With envy pale twill lose its dye, And Yorkish turn again. EDITOR?S DRAWER. 137 THE miserable salaries paid to the clergy in the country have excited considerable remark within a few months past, and inquiries have been instituted to learn the real state of the case. It is ascertain- ed that some of the profession are compelled to engage in secular avocations exceedingly unminis- terial, one of them being the partner to the village butcher, and actually assisting him in his bloody business before daylight in the morning. Down on the Southeastern coast of Massachusetts is an enter- prising divine, whose people are mostly fishermen; he is allowed to use their boats and tackle, his sal- ary being twenty-five dollars a year and half the fish he catches! If he has good luck, he may get on well in the summer, but in the winter it is close shaving. One of his brethren told him the people were a scaly set, and advised him to strike for higher wages. He replied, that he never threw away the small fish till he caught large; he thought the people could do without him easier than he without them. He guessed he would fish in that water a while longer. This fisherman and fisher of men was as fond of pleasantry as Dr. Thomas, Bishop of Salisbury in 1760, who was married four times, and on his wed- ding-ring for his fourth marriage he had inscribed: If Isurvive, Ill make them five. But he seems to have been too fond of fun, making it not only at the expense of his wives, but of truth also. For it was he who said: Perhaps you dont know the art of getting quit of your wives. Ill tell you how I do. I am called a very good husband, and so I am, for I never con- tradict them. But dont you know that the want of contradiction is fatal to women? If you contra- dict them, that circumstance alone is exercise and health, and all medicine to all women. But give them their own way, and they will languish and pine, become gross and lethargic,for want of this exercise. This same Bishop relates that he was burying a corpse, when, he says, A woman came and pulled me by the sleeve in the midst of the service. Sir, Sir, I want to speak to you! But, said I, I pray you, good woman, wait till I have done. No, Sir; I must speak to you immediately. ~Vell, then, what is the matter? Why, Sir, you are burying a man who died of the small-pox next to my poor husband, who never had it! A HUNDRED years ago, they could get off a good thing now and then, as the following will prove. It was written by Samuel Bishop, who was born in 1731, and is as good as new, and better: No plate had John and Joan to hoard, Plain folk, in humble plight; One only tankard crownd the board And that was filled each night Along whose inner bottom sketchd, In pride of chubby grace, Some rude engravers hand had etchd A baby-angels face. John swallowd first a moderate sup; But Joan was not like John; For when her lips once touahd the cup, She awilid till all was gone. John often urged her to drink f ir; But she neer chaned a jet; She lovd to see the angel there, And therefore draind the pot.. When John found all remonstrance vain, Another card he playd; And where the angel stood so plain, He got a Devil portrayd. Joan saw the horns, Joan saw the tail, Yet Joan as stoutly quaffd; And ever, when she seizd her ale, She cleard it at a draught. John staredwith wonder petrified lila hair stood on his pate; And Why deal guzzle now, lie said, At this enormous rate? Oh! John, she said, am I to blame? I cant in conscience stop; For sure twould be a burning shame To leave the Devil a drop THE Decline and Fall of one of the most prom- ising sons of upper-tendom is most graphically celebrated in the following poem, which has found its way to our Drawer: THE FIFTH AVENUE BEAU. Ama The less avi the bonaaie blue een. A sight for the tailors was Jonathan Spring, His waistcoat shone bright as a humming-birds wing, And though small were the checks to his banker he sent, The checks on his pants were of awful extent. The ladies all sighed as he danced at the ball, ills neckeloth so graceful, his boots were so small, But heedless he fiutterdsuch elegant men Aspire to the smiles of the great Upper Ten. You know, ah! you know, a Fifth Avenue Bean Shows grand and majestic whereer he may go. You know, ah I you know, a Fifth Avenue Beata Shows grand and majestic whereer hemay go. In his boarding-house seated, he lazily yawnd, I fear its all up, for my linen is pawnd, My hatter wont trust me, smart man! as lie knew I user paid a cent on this noble surtout. I go for free lunch (it is common down town), And my patronage falls on George W. Browne; But in ten minutes after, with satisfied air, I am picking my teeth on the Astor House stair I You know, etc. Next morning, when stroking his whiskers, he cne(l, I must vanish by twilight, but where shall I hide? Snip thinks he is up to a trifle or so, Theyll see if I leave him a string to his Beau r A bee-line he drew, and his landlord lookd blue, Three constables started our friend to pursue, And loud screamd the tailor, He promised to pay The identical hour that lie bolted away. You know, etc. They sought him that night, and they sought him next day, And they sought him in vain, when a week passed awax, In the Bowery and every impossible spot, Old Cabbage sought wildly, bait lo l he was not. Time fled, and but once he was ented afar Most gracefully puffing a German cigar, And tIme newsboys they grinned as the breeze whistled through The streaming remains of the gallant surtout. You know, etc. (Si ly and with feeli :) At length a queer bundle of tatters was seen in a field of potatoes near Fanuingdale Green; Can I credit any eyes? twas our hero indeed, Oh, in running so fast, lie had quite run to seed. d, sad was his fate; be admonished, ye Beans. And do make an effort to pay for your cias. He h hired himself oeat, at apenny a day, As a scar r tofs-ightess the birds away! Is it so, is it so, a Fifth Avenue Beau Shows grand and majestic whereer he may ~,o? Is it so, is it so, a Fifth Avenue Beau Shows grand and majestic whereer he may 138 HARPER?S NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. WE have often laughed at the illustrationswhich we have had occasion to encounter of the truth of the poets couplet: The faults of our neighbors with freedom we blame, But tax not ourselves, though we practice the same. A friend mentions an amusing circumstance cor- roborating this, of which he was himself an eye- witness: I was standing, he said, in the railroad ddp6t at Cincinnati, just as the train was preparing to start. There was a great crowd, as usual, in the building; and all at once a man who had put his hand in his under-coat pocket behind, to take out his pocket- book to pay his fare, exclaimed, his face glowing with excitement: Ive been robbed! There are thieves abouthere! Some villain has taken my pocket-book from my pocket, with over a thousand dollars in it I Where did you carry your pocket-book, Sir? In my under-coat pocket, Sir, behind. Then, Sir, you can scarcely blame the indi- vidual who has taken it, replied the other, in a very pompons, self-satisfied, patronizing manner, and in a voice of warning, intended for the ears of all the by-standers. Yes, Sir, you offer, if I may say so, a temptation, a premium, Sir, upon theft, by carrying your money in such a place. Now, Sir, I always carry my money here, he con- tinued, putting his hand into an inside breast-pock- et of his coat, and there it is always Safe, he would have said; but be suddenly drew out bis hand, as if it had been bitten by an adder, exclaiming: Why, my pocket-book has gone, too! Thieves! Thieves! Thieves! Let no one go out of the d& The advice was acted upon, by doing which both pocket-books were recovered, having been found upon the floor, where they had been dropped by the adroit thief, who then mingled in the large and promiscuous crowd. The fault of both losers had been a lack of per- sonal watchfulness in such a place. Each had practiced the same : as the sage Dogberry says, they were both in a case. THE way in which Operatic Performances strike an unsophisticated observer was most amusingly exemplified the other night, between two acts of William Tell, at the Academy of Music, corner of Fourteenth Street; an edifice whose splendor, vastness, and magnificent appointments are enough to dazzle the eyes and bewilder the brains of any one unaccustomed to such scenes; to say nothing of a strong-minded countryman, who had not only never entered such a building before, but who now saw around him for the first time an audience of five thousand, fading into a bewildering dimness on all sides, clad in gorgeous apparel, and shining in beautiful array, and heard for the first time the not less bewildering airs and confused shifting scenes and characters of a Grand Opera. But our country friend was too honest to keep his opinions to himself. He spoke right out in meeting to the city friend who accompanied him, and who in vain essayed to check him, although he attempted several times to do so. It is pretty, said he, sartainand splendid and all that; but somehow or nuther it dont seem natral. Not a bit. Why so ? asked his friend: it tells the story, dont it, and with grand music? Wal, y-e-e-sit does tell the story, cause you know it; but if you didnt know it, it wouldnt by a long-shot. Now I know all about William Tell, cause Ive read it: its a story of liberty, and goiA agin tyranny; and them stories weve got by heart in this country. But aint it curous to hear him come out to the front there and sing to that blasted old Gessler and the rest on em? Now sposin I should get mad at you, and want to blow you up, and should ask you to come out to the front door, so that I could fetch you into the street, and there bawl out to youin music, understand You scou- scou-scou-houndrel! what would you think of it? Would that be natral? I was at the the-a-ter tother night, and there a fellow got hoppin mad, but he talked, and talked loud and blusterin tew but he was in airnest. He didnt sing it, when he told a fellow to draw his swoard, and see which would gin in fust! 0 pshaw! singin madness, singin love (afore folks, any how), aint natur, nor taint like natur, nuther, I guess not. Now did you ever see any body do it among your acquaint- ances ?did you ever do it yourself? Comehon- est, now Ourplain-spokencountrymans cityfriend looked round to see if his companion had been overheard, when the curtain began to rise, and he said: Wait until you see th scene, and youll change your opinion: its the very triumph of the Opera. And it wasbut it did not satisfy the honest critics love of natur, and we heard him say: Lets go; I want to get down to the West- chester Hotel fore it shets upits a-most ten oclock. Well, you slip out; I want to see the Opera out. Wheh shall I see you ? In the mornia, bout nine, I xpect, Ill be down to the store; have them things put up, and send em with We didnt hear the rest; but the countryman departed, to the evident relief of his town friend. As we walked homeward, we could not help but think that there was much of truth in this rough, unhewn criticism; and that some evidence of it might be found in the history of the difficult rise, and more difficult progress of the Opera in this country. WE are continually made aware that The Ladies honor the Drawer with a very general perusal. It is for them, thereforeand especially for young married womenthat we renovate the subjoined excellent advice: It is no uncommon thing for women to become slatternly after marriage. They neglect dress, ex- cept when going abroad, and then perhaps there is a great display of finery, and bad taste in oaer- dressing. Much respect is shown to con~passy, but apart from this, there is a sort of Whats the use? abandonment; and the compliment which is paid to strangers, is withheld from those who are the most likely to appreciate it, and who have the best right to claim it. When a woman with reference to the question of personal adornment, begins to say to herself, It is only my husband, she must prepare herself for consequences which she may perhaps regret to the latest day of her life. Fair readers, this is from a lady-writer of wide reputationone of your own sex; so, without wishing that there was a society for the suppres- sion of ad-vice among the other vices of the day, EDITORS DRAWER 189 think whether this advice be not good, and when found to be so, lay it to heart. Now that the Maine Law is in, and Liquors are out, any old arguments in favor of imbi- bition may be cited as obsolete jokes. The rea- soning of the following was given by a voluble Major, after dinner one day, at seahis colloquist an American: The world, said he, is made up of antipa- thies. Hounds have a natural hatred for foxes cats for micehawks for doves, and women for tailorsJohn Bull for a Frenchman. (This was before the Holy Alliance or the Wars of the Crimea.) Now, I maintain that there is in the human system a similar antipathy to cold water it is not the motio,s but the element. If the Atlan- tic were south-side Madeira, yon would never hear of sea-sickness; never, Sirnever! But, Sir, the stomach, as well as the mind, recoils instinctively from the idea of an illimitable quantity of cold blue salt water, Sir. Hence nausea, vomiting (help yourself, and pass the wine)and every thing of that kind, Sir. Not unlike a similar spirit, who said, in an- swer to the eulogy of a friend upon the virtues of water: Well, yeswaters a very good thing; but for a steady drink, give me rum I But unhappily, in his case, as it must be in all cases, a steady drink made an u steady fate for him! IT is something, said a friend of ours the other evening, in a desultory conversation concerning Preaching and Preachers, to have heard that most eccentric, wandering, half-crazy servant of the Lord, as he used to delight to call himself; Lorenzo Dow. I never heard him but oncebut that once I shall never forget. It had been given out for weeks before that at a certain day he was to be at the little country town of 0, where I was born and brought up, and was to preach in the morning, in a pleasant shady grove a little off the street, whose few scat- tering houses gave it the dignity of a village. At the appointed hour he was seen coming down the main street, his long brown-yellow hair and terrific beard waving in the wind, and his small wild eye flashing in the light, as he turned toward the gathering, and ascended the rough platform, and walked up to the temporary pulpit, or desk, which had been erected for him. For although his appointments were made six months, and some- times even a year in advance, I believe he never missed one; at least, at this time he had not, for I remember distinctly his mentioning the fact. I was present with an elder brother, who was a good deal of a wag, with an eye and ear open to whatever was odd or striking, and his risibles were greatly excited at the hirsute appearance, and in- dependent, off-handed manner of Loreazo. The itinerant expounder took from his pocket a worn and very dirty copy of the Biblea small quartoand spread it upon the rough pine-board which madethe top of his desk. He then took from another receptacle in his old but capacious coat, a red bandanahandkerchief, and wiped hisface, which was streaming with perspiration. He then leaned forward, made a short prayer, and prepared to be- gin his discourse. At this time my brother was desirous of chang lug his position on the tree; so he climbed up to a higher branch, and in doing so detached a dry and withered limb, which fell upon the ground directly in front of the speaker. Loreuzo looked up (and as he spoke his red lips were surrounded by the first beard-mustache I had ever seen in my life), and in a voice that must have been a cross between John Randolphs and Daniel Websters, said: B-o-o-y-s! up in the tree there! be still keep stillor come d-o-w-n! You are like the dogs in the mcn-geryou wont eat yourselves, and you wont let the oxen eat! I neednt say that we were hush as mice during the rest of the sermonparts of which, by the way, were of exceeding eloquence, if that can be called eloquence which, however rude, has the power of deeply moving the feelings. He spoke of the thousands of miles he had traveled, at all seasons of the year, often in storms and tempests, through howling wildernesses; of his perils by water and perils by land, by night and by day; but never had his heart failed him never had he shrunk from his mission. Lorenzo had a keen eye for the humorous, and his satire was of the most biting character. It was Dow who so discomfited a brother itinerant who bad remonstrated with him for his eccentricity, both in his matter and his manner: Ithink, said he, you had better study your Bible a little more; you dont always get the right meaning. I think you was mistaken, for instance, when you told your hearers, the other day, that under the old Jewish dispensation all small crimes were punished with cropping off an ear; that it was a rare thing to find a large assembly gath- ered together, in our Saviours time, without find- ing half of them with their ears off; and that this was what Christ meant by saying so often, He that bath ears to hear, let him hear! I never said so! indignantly responded the itinerant. Well, never mind, said Lorenzo; never mind now; it has all gone by; but a whole con- gregation is seldom mistaken! Doubtless the whole story was made out ef whole cloth, to annoy and hoax the preacher. Oxxs heart must needs melt over this feeling, appealing colloquy between a store-keeper and his customer: STORE-KEEPER. Thats a bad fifty-cent piece. I cant take it. It is only lead silvered over. Well, replies the customer, admitting such to be the fact, I should say that the ingenuity dis- played in the deception might induce you to ac- cept it. Admire, Sir, the devotion of the artist to the divine idea of LIBERTY, the idol of us all! He, having wrought her effigy in humble lead, in order to make it worthier of that glorious impression, re- sorts to the harmless expedient of silvering it over! And shall eve harshly repudiate his work? Oh, no, Sir! youll take it; I know you will Enough said : he did take it! NOTHING, said one who knew human nature well, is snore difficult than to make an acceptable present in an acceptable way. Here is an instance where both were accomplished per lv gauche, as the French phrase goes: A venerable professor in one of our Northern Universities, who was a great antiquary, and fond 140 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. of all rarities in his line that could be found on the face of the earth, or under the earth, had aa- other affection, almost equal to his~ pre-eminent penchant, and that was, a love for Bologna sau- sages, of which he had always a supply on hand for his own personal use, whether lecturing upon his favorite themes, or in his study, or elabora- as his pupils used to term it. Now this worthy professor had a nephew who was going abroad, who had lived with him for some time contributed much to his cabinet of an- tiquarian curiosities, and had become a confirmed favorite. As he was about to sail, the professor handed him a small roll, sayin,,: My dear boy, I thank yon for your promise to send me whatever is rare or curious in my way, that you may meet with upon your travels. I do not want them so much for myselfI want them for the benefit of sciencefor that science of the glorious Past which throws, and always will, al- ways must throw such a gorgeous lustre upon the Future. Meantime, take this (handing him the scroll to which we have alluded). take this. It is but a small present; but it may prove useful vonit to may he a God-sendit may save your life! The young nephew took the document, and sailed upon his voyage. Three years passed away, and the nephew re- turned home, having in the mean time visited nearly every port in the Mediterranean. One morning, a few days after his return, he made his appearance at his uncles mansion, bear- ing under Isis arm a small tin box. The first greeting over, his uncle said to him (he had not for a moment lost sight of the tin box), as he led the way to his museum of antiquated cu- riosities: Well, Ned, what have you got in the box, eh? Something rare, Illbe sworn. It is something rare, said the nephew; but what it is I am sure I can not tell. I picked it up in Pompeii, but there nobody knew what it was. And he handed the box to the doctor, who re- ceived it as gingerly as if it had been filled with mortgages. But stop, said the doctor; we must have Professor G here. The professor was sent for, and came. The box was opened, sundry newspapers were unwound, and its contents were found to consist of one article only. With spectacles on nose, the doctor ex- amined it with minute carefulness. He turned it over and over, looked at it on all sides and all ends, and in all lights; and having finished his survey, he handed it to the professor. ~~~That is that, Professor C? It is very curious. The professor examined it as closely as the doctor. The~forns is familiar to me, said he; it looks very much like a sausage I So it doesit does ! chimed in the doctor. Dont go, Ned, said he to his nephew, who had his hand upon the latch of the door; dont go; we shall soon know what it is. It looks like a sausage, repeated the professor, solemnly; and putting it to his nose, he added, It smells like a sausage ! And then, having tasted it, he threw it from him violently, as if it had been a rattlesnake, exclaiming, Doctor, it is a sausagea Bela sausage and a very bad one too Perhaps it was; but at any rate it was the prese t which the uncle Isad given the nephew, and which possibly had not greatly improved by Isaviun voyaged around the world! Never, says the narrator, was meanness snore appropriately rebuked. The uncle was no- torious for his penuriousness; his nephew had been a slave to him and his caprices; and his reward, as he was about to leave him, wasa Bologna sausage, destined to become a veritable antique Sosix wag, doubtless by way of satirizing cer- tain schemes for money-making in these days of wild speculation in any thing and every thing, in- serted in a daily journal the other day the follow- ing attractive advertisement: CAPITALISTSWanted, FIVE HUNDISET) 1 DOLLARS, te go en a Spree I e.o.d.i.s.t.f. There was a chance for some one who might be desirous to make a permanent investment WE dont know when we have been more shocked than in perusing the following. It occurred in St. Lawrence county in this State, and is given on the authority of a gentleman of undoubted veracity A young man addicted to intemperate hebits, during one of his periodical sprees took a sudden notion to pay a visit to his sweetheart. On the evening alluded to, the young lady and a female associate were the only occupants of the house where she resided. About ten oclock in the evening the young man arrived at the house, considerably worse from the use of bevera,,es. His strange manner in approaching the door excited the suspicion of the young ladies, who supposed the house was attacked by robbers. He knocked at the door, and demand- ed admission; but his voice not being recognized, from the thickness of his tongue, the ladies refused to comply with the demand. Determined to force an entrance, he commenced a series of assaults upon the barred and bolted door by kicking and pounding. After a number of des- perate kicks, the panel of the door gave way, and the leg of the besieger went through the aperture, and was immediately seized by one of the ladies and firmly held, while the other, armed with a saw, commenced the work of amputation! The grasp was firmly maintained, and the saw vigorously plied, until the leg was completely sev- ered from the body! With the loss of his leg, the intoxicated wretch fell upon his back, and in that condition lay the remainder of the night. In the mean time the ladies were frightened al- most to death. With the dawn of morning the revelation was made that one of the ladies had par- ticipated in the amputation of the leg of her lover! The wretched man was still alive, His friends were immediately sent for, and he was conveyed to Isis home, where, with proper treatment, he gradually and miraculously recovered, and is now alive and well. We hardly credited, says the editor of the journal from which we quote, the latter part of the story, and contended that the mass must hay bled to death on the spot, insisting, indeed, that it could not be otherwise. But we were mistaken. The leg was a woodems one. -~ H ___ ) {~j - p -Y 7 \ ) ~1 I z VOL XI ~

Comicalities, Original and Selected 141-143

-~ H ___ ) {~j - p -Y 7 \ ) ~1 I z VOL XI ~ 142 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. 1 7 ~. 0 ~ 0 ~ ~ .~ ~ ~0,0 ~ ~0 ~ ~ ~0 O~i~ ~ 0 0~0 000 .0 0 H z 0 H z C / / / 7 .,~j / w -~ ,/// / / ,/ /7/ / Furnished by Mr. G. FIGURES 15.CHILDRENS COSTUMES. BRODJE, ~51 Canal-street, New York, and drawn by YoIGT from actual artwles of Costume. 17 ~~)/ / ) I)- U / \~ K

Fashions for June 143-144

Furnished by Mr. G. FIGURES 15.CHILDRENS COSTUMES. BRODJE, ~51 Canal-street, New York, and drawn by YoIGT from actual artwles of Costume. 17 ~~)/ / ) I)- U / \~ K 44 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. FOR the present month we illustrate a variety of costumes for children. We give merely hints of the styles and fabrics represented, which may, of course, be varied according to the taste of parents. FIGURE 1. Boy SeatedHat of straw; coat of dove-colored merino, confined at the waist by a cord terminating in tassels; the breast is open, with a revers; the sleeves loose, and cut np at the outside; the sides confined by belts covered with galoon trimming similar to that which horders the outline of the garment; the neck is covered by a little ruche, tied with a bow ; nansouk under-sleeves; l)antaloons, full and embroidered. FIGURE 2. Girl StandingHair plaited ~ la Grec, and tied with ribbon; cambric under-sleeves, confined at the wrist; chemisette plaited, with a frill around the neck; dress of tissue, the hody plain, cut very low in the neck; sleeves short and puffed; skirt very full; a ribbon is placed berthe-wise, from the shoulders to the middle of the waist, with hows and streamers; straw fiat with wreath of rosebuds. FIGURE 3. Kneeling BoySacque of dark green cashmere, full and confined at the waist by a belt of glazed leather. FIGURE 4. Girl Stendinq.Hair in curls; muslin chemisette, gathered with a narrow ruche around the neck; sleeves of the same, half-loose and full; dress of dotted Swiss muslin, cut square across and low, with a bertha; skirt full. FIGURE 5. Girl Seated. Dress of pearbblue glacd silk; Mleeves flowing, open in two lozenges in front; hody open and low, belted across with four hands; trim- Ining of ribbon quilling around the hody; the basque slashed, and ornamented with bows like those upon the sleeves; bonnet of taffeta and lace; Con~ress gaiters. FIGURE 7.CM. FIGURE 6.MANTILLA of black lace, drawn from one of BRODIRS recent importations. It is en- riched hy two flounces, and the upper portion fall- ing double. It is very appropriate to he worn over light colors. FIGURE 7.CAP of deep-pointed Malines lace, trimmed with a wreath of moss roses and leaves. The strings are of No. 22 satin ribbon, with a pearl edge. We observe that the goods of English manu- facture are distinguished by possessing chiefly white, or very light grounds; while those of the French affect the deli- cate neutral tints upon which their ex- quisite designs are exhibited with the happiest effect. When the heavier fab- rics are worn, especially taffetashas- quines are in as great favor as ever; they are made quite deep, and ahound in or- nament. Skirts are worn exceedingly full and long; when not flounced, a favorite ornament may he employed to trim the sides of tile front seam from the waist down, or it may be returned at the bot- tom tunic-wise. Bows of ribbon, arranged in loops which overlap each other in suc- cessive ranges, ~ in Louis XIV., are in vogue. Flounces will be much in esteem as ever. Among the tissues to which we refer ahove, we observe that a large pro- portion have three, worn ~ disposition. These, in their admirable chintz pat- terns, are peculiarly tempting. For bon- nets, straw-braids, etc., are much em- ployed. The curtains are in some fash- ioned so as to form a point or peak at the back of the neck: we may mention others as heing slashed at this place. Blonde, for face trimming, and used to fall over the brim, retains great favor. As before stated, when a general outline is pre- served, the remainder is entirely a mat- ter of taste; for it would be difficult tc) construct a honnet which would be un- fashionable in the minor details of its arrangements. I N FIGURE 6.MANTILLA.

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Harper's new monthly magazine. / Volume 11, Issue 62 International monthly magazine Harper's monthly magazine Harper & Bros. New York July 1855 0011 062
John Paul Jones 145-170

HARPERS NEW MONTHLY_MAGAZINE. No. LXII.JULY, 18~55.YoL. Xl. JOHN PAUL JONES. ~,, ~fJ1EN the quar- rel between Great Britain and its American sub- jects resulted in act- uni war, and blood ~owed at Lexington and Concord in the spring of 1775, the rebels, as the haughty ministers called the resist- ~x ing colonists, had not a single armed vessel afloat to de- fend their expose(i coast of several hundred miles in ex- tent. Then, as now, the British navy was the right arm of English puissance; and every seaport town of the feeble colonists might have been can- nonaded by a hundred guns at the same time. Although a JOhN PAUL JONES. Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1855, by harper and Brothers, in the Clerks Office of the 1)istrict Court for the Southern District of New York. VOL. XI.No. 62.K 146 hARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE few Sons of wealthy merchants and planters had been schooled in the royal navy of father-land, and many American seamen had become some- what expert in naval warfare by contests with the French during a portion of twenty years preceding the Revolution, yet when the tempest of war burst upon New England, and the wise men of the continent assembled in council, there appeared no reliable material for the organiza- tion of a marine force at all adequate for the contingency. So Congress directed its special attentiou and earliest efforts toward the estab- lishment and support of an army. The kindling flame of revolution at Lexing- ton, and the thunder-peal from Bunkers Hill sixty days afterward, were signals for rapine which the British heeded with swift alacrity. Boston harbor was the centre from which radi- ated depredations upon public and private prop- erty in all directions; and around Boston harbor soon hovered a bevy of private vessels, manned by brave patriots and armed as circumstances would permit. These first taught the maraud- ers to be circumspect, then cautious, then fear- ful. Within a few weeks, while the Continental army were piling huge fortifications on land to fence in the tiger of oppression and carnage upon the little Boston peninsula, these priva- teers made the marine freebooters flee to the protection of the gaps of Castle William and of the ships of war in the surrounding waters. Right seemed to give might to the Americans; and a guardian angel appeared to sit at every prow, for they were almost always successful. The necessity of a coast-guard became ap- parent, and early in the autumn of 1775, the Continental Congress made a first effort to or- ganize a navy. Ia October, a Marine Commit- tee were appointed, and an order for the build- ing and arming of several vessels was put forth. In the mean while, the Provincial Congress of Massachusetts had made similar efforts, and Washington had co-operated with the New En- gland people by ordering the construction and arming of six vessels to cruise off the coasts of the Eastern Colonies. These temporary expe- dients were followed by more permanent ar- rangements. In December, the Continental Congress issued its first naval commissions, and Esek Hopkins was appointed the commander-in- chief. Among the lieutenants commissioned at the sanse time was JOHN PAUL JONES, a little wiry man (a Scotchman by birth), not more than five feet in height, and twenty-eight years of age. He was slight in physical stature, with a thoughtful expression, and dark, piercing eyes. No one would have suspected the presence of a hero in that unpretending young man when, with modest demeanor, he received his commis- sion for service in a navy yet uncreated, and in the employment of a nation yet unheralded to the world except in glowing prophecies by po- litical seers, to whom the wish was father to the thought. Yet all the greatness of a true hero slumbered in his brain, his heart, and his sin- ews; and it needed only the electric spark of opportunity to awaken it to full development. That spark was not long withheld; and when the war for Independence had closed, the suni of his exploits was a large item on the balance- sheet which exhibited the account current of American heroism. He had fought twenty-three battles on the sea; made seven descents upon Great Britain or her Colonies; snatched from her navy, by conquest, four large ships and many tenders, store-ships, and transports; constrained her to fortify her home ports, to desist front cruel burnings in America, and to change her barbarous policy of refusing to consider captured American seamen as prisoners-of-war, and tor- t-uriug them in prisons and prison-ships as traitors, pirates, and felons. Some British writers delight in calling John Paul Jones a corsair and pirate a ruffiun who would have fought under the colors of time Dey of Algiers as readily as under those of His Most Christian Majesty or of Congress while Americans, influenced by the memory of his deeds, and assured by the truths of history, re- gard him as a hero and patriot worthy of a con- spicuous place in the nations Valhalla. In the language of our Declaration of Independence, we say, Let facts be submitted to a candid world. Our hero was the youngest of five sons of John Paul, a gardener, who lived with Mr. Craik, of Arbigland, in one of the most beauti- ful and picturesque spots on Solway Frith. The cottage of his birth, in a grassy glade among umbrageous trees, is yet preserved with care, and many pilgrims sit beneath its porch in ev- ery summer time. It is a very humble cot, and the gardener of Arbigland was a very humble man; and so Folly and Fiction conspired to ac- count for the greatness of the son of John Paul and Jenny Macduff; by claiming for him a noble lineage. Regarding the brand of illegitimacy as more honorable, when connected with aris- tocracy, than the title to birth-right in lawful wedlock, his most ardent admirers called him a son of the neighboring Earl of Selkirk. That well-meant pretense was fouf calumny. It stabbed female virttie and tarnished the moral- ity of a Christian gentleman. The gardeners son vindicated his mothers chastity during his lifetime; and by his deeds proclaimed to the world the significant factwhich worshipers of aristocracy are slow to believethat it needs not the blood of a peer, created but yesterday by royal patent, to give paternity to a true NOISLE- ItLtN. What can ennoble sets, or slaves, or cowards? Alas! not all the blood of alt the Itowards. John Paul the younger was horn on the 6th of July, 1747. His childhood and earliest youth were passed among the most beautiful and ro- mantic scenery on the southern coast of Scot- land. Near his fathers cottage the blue waters of the Nith came flowing into the Solway from the north, and from the banks of the estuary See Pictoriet History of Ernjtand during the reign of George the Third, vol. t. p. 397. JOHN PAUL JONES. 147 that received them arose the huge granite pile of the steep Criffel. Away eastward to farthest point of vision, where the sparkling Esk pours its tribute, the Frith was spread out; and south- ward and far seaward the Cumberland shore stretched away and faded in dim perspective. In the shadowy distance, vailed in blue, the lofty summits of the Helvellyn, the Skiddaw, and the Saddleback appeared solemn and mys- terious, like ever-vigilant sentinels. Such were the features of nature daily unvailed to the eye of young Paul; and his eager ear was charmed by local legends, or the tales of ocean perils, excitements, and exploits, narrated by the bon- neted seamen who frequented the Frith. These stirred the heart of the child. his unfledged ambition became restless, and, borne upon the wings of imagination, it hovered with delight over valorous achievements in perspective, and listened with the ear of perfect faith to the worlds future applause. In the little bays and inlets on the Kirkcudbright shore he mnnwu- vied tiny fleets, himself High Admiral of the Blue ; and among his companions in martial sports he was ever regarded as one born to command. The sea was the mysterious world toward which the thoughts of young Paul were contin- ually tending. It was the frequent burden of his dreams; and in every seaman he beheld a hero and coveted exemplar. At length his great desire was satisfied. At the age of twelve years he was apprenticed to a shipping merchant of White Haven (the principal port of the Soiway), and soon afterward sailed for the Rappahanuock, in Virginia. At Fredericksburg, on the bank of that stream, Johns elder brother had been set- tled for several years, and at his house young Paul spent most of his time while on shore, in the study of navigation and other subjects i)er- taming to a successful life on the ocean. His sprightliness, integrity, and sobriety commended him strongly to his master. But business losses soon compelled that gentleman to release the apprentice, and at the age of sixteen years he was master of his own actions. At that period there were several White Ha- ven vessels engaged in the African slave-trade. Thirsting for adventure, young Paul sought and obtained the appointment of third mate in one of those slavers. His skill as a seaman and knowledge as a navigator attracted the atten- tion of his superiors and the owners, and at the age of nineteen years he was promoted to first mate of the Two Friends, one of the largest of the White Haven vessels engaged in that trade. But he had become disgusted with the cruel business. That manly justice and all-pervading humanity of his character, planted at his birth and wonderfully fruit-bearing in his maturity, were outraged; and abandoning the prospect of certain official promotion and great pecuniary gains, he left the vessel, at Jamaica, in 1768, and returned to Scotland as a passenger in a brigantine bound for Kirkcudbright. On the voyage, the captain and mate sickened and died, and, at the earnest solicitation of the crew, John Paul took command, and safely navigated the vessel, with its valuable cargo, into its destined haven. The owners were grateful to the young man for the preservation of their property, and at once made him master of the vessel. As such he made two voyages to the West Indies. During the second, an event occurred which had an important influence in shaping his des- tiny. At his command, the carpenter of the vessel, a mutinous and insolent fellow, was flogged in the usual way, and at the end of the voyage was discharged. lie shipped in a Bar- celona packet, where he died, and Captain Pauls envious enemies at home circulated the report that the carpenters death was caused by the ex- cessive punishment inflicted by his commander. The story, often told and always embellished, gained general credence. Paul was regarded with suspicion by those whom he respected as his best friends; and, after engaging for a little while in the coast trade, he abandoned Scotland forever. Captain Paul commanded a London vessel in the West India trade for about eighteen months; and after engaging in commercial speculations, at Tobago, on his own account, for a short time, he went to Virginia to take charge of the estate of his brother, who had died childless and intest- ate. The roseate hues of childhoods dreams concerning life on the sea had become mellowed into russet, and even graver autumnal tints, by the pencil of reality; and, charmed by the cli- mate and the ~menities of Virginia life, he re- solved to abandon the ocean and seek happiness upon the plantation. Yet he seems not to have shared in his brothers estate; and when history next speaks of him, he was living in penury near Fredericksburg. The tempest of the American Revolution was then gathering strength, and the muttering thunders of its wrath were heard all over the land. These stirred the latent ener- gies of the hero in the soul of Captain Paul. lie had chosen America for his home, and he resolved to fight for its liberties. In homely garb, and bearing a kind word of recommenda- tion from Doctor (afterward General) Hugh Mercer, of Fredericksburg, he traveled on foot to Philadelphia, appeared before the Marine Committee of the Continental Congress, and offered his services in the navy about to be cre- ated. For reasons never explained, he now af- fixed Jones to his name. The Committee had never heard of John Paul Jones. Silas Deane shook his head in distrust. John Langdon had heard of John Paul in the harbor of Portsmouth. but to him .Jones was a myth. But Richard Henry Lee knew the young man and his history, and urged his suit. It was successful; and on the 22d of December, 1775, John Paul Jones was commissioned a liente unt in the American navy, first on the list, his credentials bearir~,, date the seventh of that month. The command of the sloop Providence was offered to Lieutenant Jones; but being unac- quainted with such craft, he preferred service 148 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. in a larger vessel with subordinate station. He yellow silk, bearing the figure of a pine-tree, became the first lieutenant of the Alfred, a and the significant device of a rattlesnake, with clumsy merchant ship that had been purchased the ominous words, Dont tread on me ! By by Congress and transformed into a frigate, this act, John Paul Jones won the high honor pierced for thirty guns, and manned by three of hoisting the first ensign ever displayed on hundred men. That vessel, with six others board an American man-of-war. He was then taken from the merchant service and armed, in the twenty-ninth year of his age; and, as were all fitted out in the Delaware, and com- events afterward proved, he was far better qual- posed the fleet of Commodore Hopkins, the ified for Commander-in-chief of the navy than Commander-in-chief. he in whose honor the cannons roared, and peo- The Alfred was anchored off the foot of Wal- ple shouted, and streamers fluttered, and a broad nut Street. On a brilliant morning, early in flag was thrown to the crisp breeze on that win- February, 1776, gay streamers were seen flutter- ter morning. ing from every mast-bead and spar on the river. The primary object in fitting out that little At nine oclock, a full-manned barge thrided sqnadron in the I)elaware was the defense of its way among the floating ice to the A!fred, the coast below, which, during the autumn of bearing the Commodore, who had chosen that 1775, had been ravaged by Lord Dunmore, the vessel for his flag-ship. He was greeted by the royal governor of Virginia. He had been driv- thunders of artillery and the shouts of a multi- en from Williamsburg, the capital, by the cx- tude. When he reached the deck of the Alfred, asperated patriots, and in revenge he employed Captain Salstonstall gave a signal, and Lieu- the little British flotilla which gave him shelter, tenant Jones, with his own hands, hoisted a in devastating the defenseless coast of lower ne;v flag prepared for the occasion. It was of Virginia. His crimes in that sphere of action culminated when, on the 1st of January, 1776, ~ / he laid the flourishing town of Norfolk in ashes. / K He depredated without fear of molestation by I water, for ice had closed the Delaware before / the American squadron was ready for sea. / That frostbarrier was removed at the middle / of February; and on the 17th of that month the Continental fleet left its anchorage at Reedy Island and sailed for the Bermudas, contrary, however, to the instructions of Congress, to cruise off the southern coast. Two sloops from New Providence were captured, and their crews assured Commodore Hopkins that the forts of the island (Nassau and Montagu), where Nassau now stands, were very weak, and contained a large quantity of munitions of war. It was a tempting prize, and the Americans sought to secure it. Hopkins neglected proper strategy suggested by Jones, and the whole squadron appeared off the harbor on the 17th of March. The governor rallied the people to the defense of the fortress and town, and during that night he removed one hundred and sixty barrels of powder beyond the reach of the invaders. On the following morning the squadron entered the harbor, under the direction of Jones, who had been there in the merchant service. The peo- ple fled, and the governor and two other gen- tlemen were made prisoners. With these, and almost a hundred cannons and military stores, the fleet weighed anchor the same afternoon, and bore away for the New England coast. The governor was a valuable captive, and was afterward exchanged for Lord Stirling, of the Continental army, who was made prisoner at the battle near Brooklyn the following year. When off Block Island, on its way to Narra- ganset Bay, the little fleet captured two small ____ vessels, and soon afterward fell in with the Brit- ish frigate Glasgow, of twenty-nine guns. Then occurred the first regular battle by vessels of the American navy. It was a running fight of sev- eral hours, during which the A[,fred alone won A HOISTING TOIl AMalucAn FlAG. JOHN PAUL JONES. 149 any honor. The Glasgow escaped, and the dam- aged squadron, with its two prizes, ran into New London harbor. From thence it stole around to Narraganset Bay, and anchored in the river a little below Providence. Congress censured Hopkins for his disobedience of orders and inefficiency in the affair with the Glasgow, and in March, 1777, after a fair trial, he was dismissed from the service. Two other com- manders in the squadron were tried for not aid- ing the Alfred. One was acquitted; the other was cashiered, and the command of his vessel (the Providence sloop-of-war, with twelve guns) was given to Jones. Commodore Hopkins had no blank commissions, and so he wrote the new appointment upon the hack of Jones s commis- sion, received from Congress. In that little craft our hero performed many hrave exploits. For several weeks he cruised between Boston harbor and the Delaware; sometimes convoying American vessels bearing troops and provisions, and at others annoying the numerous British vessels that hovered along the New England coast. He sometimes had severe encounters, but by superior seamanship he managed to es- cape much harm, if he did not achieve victories. Early in August, 1776, Jones received a cap- tain s commission from Congress, and toward the close of the month he sailed in his little craft on a six weeks cruise eastward. While far at sea, in the latitude of the Bermudas, he chased the Solebay frigate, supposing her to he an English merchantman. He came very near being captured himself, for at one time he was within pistol-shot of his stranger antagonist. With consummate skill he kept without the range of her heavy guns, and escaped unin- jured. Soon afterward, while lying to off the Nova Scotia coast, and his men were fishing, the British frigate Milford came hearing down upon him. Jones immediately made sail, to try the relative speed of the vessels. Assured of the superiority of the Providence, be short- ened sail and allowed the Milfard to gain on him. The enemy commenced firing at long distances, and occasionally rounded to and dis- char~ed a hroadside. This was kept up from ten in the morning until sunset, without dam- aging the Providence. He excited my con- tempt so much, said Jones, in his dispatch to the Marine Committee, hy his continual firing at more than twice the proper distance, that when he rounded to to give a broadside, I or- dered my marine officer to return the salute with only a single musket. Jones lost sight of the Mi [ford at twilight, and the following day he ran into the harbor of Canso, dispersed the fishing vessels, destroyed the ships at the wharves, seized the tory flags, and then shot across Chedabucto Bay and made two descents, at different points, upon Madame Island, with the same destructive energy. After a cruise of forty-seven days, he entered Newport harbor, having captured sixteen prizes, destroyed many small vessels, and spread alarm all along the coasts of Nova Scotia and Cape Breton. While at the east, Captain Jones was in- formed that about a hundred American prison- ers were at hard labor in the coal mines on Cape Breton. He now proposed an expedition for their liberation and the capture of the coal fleet, which would sail for New York in Novem- ber. The plan was approved, and by order of Commodore Hopkins he sailed in command of the Alfred; on the 2d of November, accompanied by the Providence. He made several captures, and among them was an armed vessel laden with winter clothing for the British troops in Canada. This was an important prize; for when it arrived at Dartmouth, the destitute army under Washington was shivering on the banks of the Delaware. Jones failed in his humane endeavor to release the American pris- oners, for the harbors of Cape Breton adjacent to the coal mines were frozen when he arrived. After alarming the people of Louisburg, de- stroying considerable property at Canso, and making his name a terror to the fishermen of Nova Scotia, he sailed for Boston with five prizes under convoy, and one hundred and fifty prisoners on board the Alfred. He fell in with the Milfard, which gave chase and captured one of his prizes. With the others he reached Boston in safety on the 15th of December, having only two days water and provisions left. The temper and patriotism of Captain Jones were severely tried after his return from this successful cruise. Instead of being rewarded by promotion, he was mortified by degradation and injustice. Comniodore Hopkins, then suf- fering the displeasure of Congress, though not yet deprived of his commission, was jealous of the rising fame of Jones, because it was de- served; and using his delegated power as com- mander-in-chief of the navy, he gave the com- mand of the frigate Alf~ed to Captain Hinman, and ordered Jones back to the sloop Providence. In the arrangement of rank also, Jones was dis- honored, by being placed eighteenth on the list of captains, when he was entitled, as senior lieutenant, to be the sixth. This was grievous injustice to a brave man, and his sensitive soul felt the indignity keenly; yet, unlike Arnold, who had been similarly treated, lie did not allow his private resentments to rise superior to his public duties. He submitted, but not in silence. He wrote a spirited remonstrance to the Marine Committee, and that body commissioned him for a cruise in the A [fred with a small squadron in the Gulf of Mexico. Ilophins would not recognize the appointment. Jones was not to be foiled. He made a journey by land to Phil- adelphia, and in person explained his case and asked for justice before the Marine Committee. They antedated his commission as captain, but that did not open to him that coveted door of rank and promotion which he sought. His im- portunities were constant, but consistent, and finally the committee abandoned the Gulf ex- pedition, ordered three large vessels to be pur- chased for the use of Congress, and authorized 150 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. mediately forwarded the letter of the Marine Committee to the commissioners at Paris, cov- ered by one from himselg in which he expressed an earnest desire to be useful to the American cause, and suggested the employment of single vessels, or squadrons of small size, and at great distances apart, as the most effective method for annoying the British. This was the mode of warfare which he afterward adopted while making his wonderful cruises in the northern waters. On the receipt of his letters, the commissioners invited Captain Jones to Paris, whither he went with joyous alacrity; for he had been informed that a large ship called the indien, intended for his use, was almost com- pleted at Amsterdam. Early in 1776, Silas Deane, a delegate in Congress from Connecticut, and one of the earliest members of the Marine Committee, was sent on a secret mission to Paris, to sound the French government on the subject of ex- tending aid in money, arms, and men to the revolted colonists. That aid was hoped for, not because a Bourbon king was suspected of love for a people struggling for freedom, but because the revolt, if sustained, would seriously damage England and benefit France, her an- cient and abiding enemy. Deanes suit was quite successful, if abundant promises could be relied on. He was joined in December follow- ing by Dr. Franklin and Arthur Lee, as asso- ciate commissioners, and these were the men before whom Jones appeared. As yet, the French government had made no public avowal of its friendship for the colonists, and French duplicity was endeavoring to conceal the fact of its secret sympathy from English jealousy. But the concealment was gossamer-like, for the American commissioners were as free to act in Paris in carrying out measures against Great Britain as if they had been in Philadelphia; and they were in daily friendly intercourse with the Count de Vergennes, the French premier. This was well known to the British ministry. The conference between the commissioners and Captain Jones was long, friendly, and im- portant. But disappointment was again in his pathway to glory. The Indien had been sold to France, because the British minister at the Jones to take command of either of the three which he might choose. There was much de- lay, and the subject of rank still greatly annoyed Jones. That annoyance aroused all the ener- gies of his mind, and he wrote a series of letters to the Marine Committee, in which he mani- fested the most subtle statesmanship and ad- ministrative talent. He suggested many things concerning regulations in the navy, the relative rank of officers in comparison with the land service, the establishment of dock-yards, and the appointment of competent superintending commissioners, which showed a breadth of fore- caste and wise prudence really astonishing. His suggestions received the most respectful attention, and his plans were generally adopted. The committee clearly perceived that they were dealing with no ordinary man, and that any neglect of such a character would be treason to the best interests of the country. Jones had returned to Boston, and while waiting for the purchase of the three ships or- dered by Congress, that body gave him an hon- orable proof of its confidence by ordering him to proceed to France in the French merchant ship Amphitrite (which had brought military stores to the colonists), with officers and men, to take charge of a large vessel to be purchased by the American commissioners in Paris. A highly flattering letter to the commissioners was given to him, which concluded with the injunc- tion not to disappoint Captain Joness wishes on that occasion. But the dream of glory which this commission awakened in his mind was soon dispelled. The commander of the An~pkitrite made objections to taking Jones and his com- panions on Loard, and the project was aban- doned for the time. The summer was now advancing, and Cap- tain Jones was restive in inaction, lie impor- tuned Congress to allow him to serve his adopted country in some capacity, and on the 14th of June that body, by special resolution, invested him with the command of the Banger, a new ship built for the naval service at Portsmouth. At the same time it resolved that the national flag of the United States should be composed of thirteen stripes, alternate red and white; and that the union be thirteen stars, white in a blue field, representing a new constellation. a~nvxajc~. vnXselX. ~Axe ixex XXaxjxe XusA szavmXN mo~atva niX a~auxst ~Xve ensign ol the repuoY~c over the iXec~s o~ the eu~fx-jvuxe-u~ tit thaveeasnSX io-~ \X~u N~Ct ~-ixe~ Bw~yer with his own hands, as he did the cob- in a Dutch port, and the government of Hol- nuii{ il7sg on 6oara rfffe H aatfcimf er~t(eerr crwa~ rrrrwv/iThg tif~r & # gr~ ri1~ffi c~ A~i months 6efore. 1!hih was pro6afi/y the ifrst giand; so Jbnes departed (or Nintes, to mate display of our national flag from the mast of a cruise in the Banger until something better i~4e isi ofA~rem2~~r !oJJowil?g wiwn wiTh a ing the employment of a ~)aThc iXee~ vml\er good crew, eighteen heavy guns, very little spare DEstafng, then preparing to sailbr imei~s. rigging for the ship or provisions for the men, Jones communicated a plan of operations in a and only thirty gallons of rum to drink on letter to Silas Deane, which formed the basis the voyage, he sailed from Portsmouth for of DEstaings instrnctions. France. He captured two prizes on the way, The time had now arrived when the French chased a fleet of ten sail for three days, and government could no longer conceal its inten- arrived safely at Nantes in December. TIe im- tions. On the 6th of February, 1778, a treaty JOHN PAUL JONES. 151 at alliance between France and the newly-pro- claimed republic was concluded at Paris; and eight days afterward the flag of the United States, displayed by the Ranger, was saluted by nine guns from the flag-ship of the French ad- miral Piquet. This was the third time that the American ensign had been specially hon- ored in the bands of the Kirkcndhright sailor. The act now had great significance, for it was a virtual acknowledgment hy a representative of a great European power, of the independ- ence of the United States. Early in April, 1778, Captain Jones sailed from the harbor of Brest for a cruise along the coasts of the British islands. He ran into St. Georges Channel, capturing or destroying every vessel that fell in his way, and spreadinn the wildest alarm along the shores of Ireland, Wales, and the north of England. With a daring equaled only by his consummate nautical skill, he entered Belfast Lough on a windy night, to surprise and capture the British sloop-of-war Drake. The strong breeze freshened to a gale. and foiled the invader. He then crossed the broad channel, and on the evening of the 22d of April anchored the Ranger between the Isle of Man and White Haven. With two armed boats he then proceeded to avenge some of the burnings in America, by endeavoring to destroy the shipping in the harbor where he first put on the suit of a sailor-boy, nineteen years before. Again he was foiled, not by the winds, but by the extreme humanity of one of his officers and his men, and the treason of a private who JONES aEFOnE TIlE AMEnICAN CoMMI55IONEIZ5. 152 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. seems to have volunteered in the expedition for that very purpose. Jones commanded one of the boats, with fif- teen men, and Lieutenant Wallingsford the other, with the same number. They left the Banger at midnight, and just before dawn uieached White Haven. Each boat was sup- plied with combustibles; and it was arranged to fire the vessels in the harbor (then more than two hundred in number) at separate points, and to apply the torch to the town. The port was guarded by two batteries, mounting fifteen pieces of artillery each. These Jones undertook to secure, while Wallingsford prepared for the con- flagration. Jones scaled the breastworks of one of the forts at the dark moments before dawn, secured the sentinels, and spiked the guns with- out alarming the people. Then, with a single follower, he proceeded to the same duty at the other fort, a quarter of a mile distant, leaving his crew to fire the shipping on that side of the harbor. On his return, he found his plans all frustrated. Lieutenant Wallingsford thought it wrong to destroy the private property of the poor people, and the volunteers of Jones s im- mediate party had lost their fire, and could do nothing. The day had now dawned, and the deserter had alarmed the town. The people, panic-stricken, flew to the forts, but the spiked guns were powerless. Jones was exasperated to the last degree; and seizing a firebrand in a neighboring house, he kindled a flame on board one of the largest ships that lay in the midst of others. To make the destruction sure, he cast a barrel of tar upon the fire. The people, seeing the smoke, rushed toward the wharf; when Jones, with a pistol in each hand, and entirely unsupported, kept the multitude at bay until he got quietly into his boat, and under cover of the dense smoke that crept over the waters, escaped, with his companions, to the Banger, without the sacrifice of a life or limb. It was a cruel attempt, and can not be justified even by the law of retaliation acknowledged in the bloody code of war. It was an act akin to the destruction of New London by Arnold, when the spires of his birth-place were almost in view. It was within sight of Pauls native shores, where a loved mother and sisters dwelt securely, and he could almost see the tall trees of Arbigland that sheltered him in childhood. In the town he sought to lay in ashes, were com- panions of his youthhis friends and benefac- torswho would all have been involved in the common ruin. He pleaded the necessity of teaching the English that not all their boasted navy could protect their own coasts, and to assure them that the scenes of distress which they had occasioned in America might soo~t be brought home to their own doors. That plea was a palliation, but it had no force with the people of White Haven. To them the name of John Paul Jones became the synonym of all wickedness, while David Freeman, the deserter, was called the saviour of White Haven. Jones now resolved to visit the scenes of his boyhoodnot to embrace mother and sisters, and, in friendly intercourse with neighbors, re- call the pleasures of early youFh; but to impress his friends and his enemies with a sense of his power, and to benefit his adopted country by securing a notable prisoner for exchange. The Earl of Selkirk, his fathers early friend, was the intended victim. His beautiful mansion stood embowered upon a wooded promontory that penetrated the Dee, known as St. Marys Isle, and near the town of Kirkcudbright. The Ban- ger boldly anchored in the channel of the Solway at noon-day, and, with a single boat and a few followers, Jones proceeded to attenil t the cap- ture of the Earl. On landing, he was informed by some laborers that his lordship was absent from home. In disappointment, Jones ordered his men back to the boat, when Simpson, his lieutenant, a large and fiery man, proposed car- rying off the plate of the Earl, in imitation of the English on the American coasts. The gen- erous soul of the commander was shocked at the idea of petty plunder like that. There seemed to be dignityencouraged by the usages of war in burning a fleet or destroying a town, but sordid meanness was involved in the robbery of an innocent family of its paltry silver. And then old associations came crowding upon his memory, and quickened the pulses of his heart. He was standing beneath the very oaks and chestnuts that sheltered him in boyhoods pas- times; and from the hand of Lady Selkirk he had, in early youth, received nothing but kind- ness. He could not do it; and again he ordered Isis men to the boat. Simpson hotly expostu- lated, and the menaciagmurmurs of the seamen who longed for prize-money, made Jones per- ceive it to be expedient to yield. He ordered the business to be done as delicately and expe- ditiously as possible. While they were gone, the commander paced the green sward beneath those old familiar trees, and there formed that plan of justice which he afterward faithfully executed. When the prizes of the Banger were sold, Jones bought the plate of the Earl of Selkirk, and re- stored it safely to the owner, accompanied by a letter to his lady replete with the noblest senti- ments of chivalric honor. The Earl publicly acknowledged the act; and yet writers have been base enough to blazon the robbery on the page of history, but artfully to conceal the fact of restoration. Joness descent upon St. Marys Isle spread great terror throughout the neighborhood, and the frightened burghers of Kirkcudl~right drag- ged a venerable twenty-four-pound cannon to the beach at twilight, and kept it pointed all night long, with deadly intent, upon what they supposed to be the hull of the dreaded cruiser. Dawn revealed the fact that the hated object was an innocent rock, and that the Banger had departed from the Frith. She was then far away in the Irish sea, and at sunset the next evening was battling manfully with the English sloop-of-war Drake, off Carrickfergus. After a bloody contest of an hour and a quarter the JOHN PAUL JONES. 153 British ship struck its colors. With his prize, and two hundred prisoners, Jones sailed around the north of Ireland and down its western coast in search of adventures. He entered the harbor of Brest on the 8th of May, and there he wrote his extraordinary letter to Lady Selkirk. Joness cruise taught England the useful les- son that her marauding policy was a bad one, for the Americans possessed the will and the power for ample retaliation. The gallantry and daring of the brave captain found a responsive eulogy in the heart of every Frenchman, and throughout the kingdom his name was an equiv- alent for brilliant heroism. Yet at this full meridian of coveted glory, a cloud of disap- pointment appeared. The American commis- sioners at Paris praised Jones to his hearts con- tent, and he drew upon them for something more substantial, to pay the expenses of his crew and prisoners, and to refit the Ranger and Drake for sea. The Continental treasury and credit were then both low. The commissioners had a meagre bank account, and Joness draft was dishonored. For more than a month he JONES AT ST. MARYS ISLE. 154 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. was in great distress; when wealthy private friends relieved him, and he prepared for an- other cruise. Almost every hour he conceived new enterprises, all directed against the British Isles. In the mean while, a brilliant snn-ray of glory bnrst upon his path. The Indien, built at Amsterdam9was now the property of the French government. England and France had not yet declared war against each other, and that ves- sel, useless to the French government, was offered to Jones. Franklin wrote that she would be fitted out at Brest, and would sail under the colors of the United States. The French Min- ister of Marine invited Jones to Paris to com- plete the arrangements, and with a joyful heart he hastened thither, but to grasp another apple of Sodom. The war decree went forth. Fran~e needed all her vessels, and Jones could not he placed in command of so fine a ship as th6 in- dien, in the French service, without producing great murmurs among the naval officers of the kingdom. There was a double disappointment in this, for, in expectation of having command of a larger vessel, Jones had relinquished that of the Ranger. During the summer and autumn of 1778 that brave officer was upon the soil of France without a ship, instead of being upon the quarter-deck of a man-of-war, commensurate in its appointments with his merits and skill. Jones could never brook inaction, lie at last became disgusted and half starved with the innutritious aliment of official promises. lie complained, remonstrated, denounced the French Minister of Marine, and finally wrote a direct appeal to the king. He7 could have had employment in large ships as a privateer, but he refused all offers of the kind, because, as he expressed it, he was a servant of the Imperial Republic of America, honored with the friend- ship of Congress, and could not serve either himself or his best friends in any private capaci- tv. Dr. Franklin, who was always the firm friend of Jones, urged his suit for employment, at the French court, and received assurances that a fine ship should be purchased immediate- ly for the use of Jones. Relying upon this prom- ise the captains letter was not handed to the king, and the impatient sailor was directed to go to LOrient, and choose a vessel from among a number there. He asked for a fast-sailing ship, for he expected to go in harms way. Day after day and week after week he waited for official orders to purchase, until he became al- most frantic with desire, and heart-sick with hopes deferred. One day, while in a coffee- house at LOrient, he picked up a copy of Poor Richards Almanac, the production of Dr. Frank- lin. His eye rested upon the maxim, If you would have your business done, go; if not, send. It was an electric spark, which kindled new and burning resolutions in the breast of the chafed hero, and he resolved to go to court, and not to send any more letters. He soon stood in the presence, first of the Minister of Marine, and then of the king himself. Ills ap- peal was listened to with respect, and his im portunities were heeded, for the sagacious min- istry perceived that Jones might be exceedingly useful to France by annoying the English. The Dec de Dares, a ship of forty guns, was imme- diately purchased at LOrient, and in compli- ment to Dr. Franklin, and commemorative of the influence of his maxim, Jones named the vessel Boa Homine Richard. It was a half worn- out merchant ship, quite unseaworthy, and in- adequate to the service in which it was to be engaged. But Jones was glad to find employ- ment in any public vessel, for he could not en- dure the corrosion of the rust of inaction. A little squadron of three vessels besides the Richard was soon in readiness at LOrient, each ship bearing the American colors. The crews were mostly Frenchmen, except that of Joness flag-ship, which consisted of about four hundred. It was a medley of representatives of almost every nation of Europe, and even some Malays, while the number of Americans did not exceed eighty. When the squadron was almost ready for departure, the American frigate Alliance ar- rived with Lafayette, and at Joness request, that vessel was added to his little fleet. It proved an unfortunate alliance, for Landais, her commander, was a bad man, and greatly injured the service. Jones could not foresee trouble, for he was unwarned; and he was preparing to weigh anchor, and proceed toward the British waters, when he was delighted by the intelli- gence that Lafayette, charmed by the narra- tives of the Commodores exploits, had asked and obtained leave to accompany the expedition with seven hundred land troops. It was further announced to Jones that the chihf object of the cruise would be the destruction of Liverpool, and other large seaport towns of Great Britain. It was precisely such an enterprise as he then coveted, and visions of glory and renown cheer- ed his spirit. Suddenly the political kaleido- scope turned again. Information had reached the French court that Spain was about to join the alliance against Great Britain, and an inva- sion of England, for the purpose of general con- quest, was to be the next important move of the Continental chess-players. Lafayette would be needed on that more extended field of opera- tions, and the expedition against Liverpool was abandoned. A,ain disappointed and mortified, Jones was ordered to cruise in the Bay of Bis- cay, as a sort of coast-guard for France. Then he first experienced the evils of a connection with Landais; and after a short cruise he re- turned to LOrient, barren of any special honors in his vocation. The French government and the American commissioners were now as anxious for Com- modore Jones to be afloat as he was for advent- ure, for war was progressing vigorously. On the 14th of August, 1779, the Commodore left LOrient with a squadron of seven sail, on a cruise off the coasts of Great Britain. He was not out of sight of land before Landais becamc disobedient and insolent. There was a fine field for valorous achievements before the little fleet, JOHN PAUL JONES. 155 but the insubordination of the commander of the Alliance, and its unhealthy influence upon oth- ers, crippled its energies and greatly impaired its usefulness. A heavy storm scattered the squadron. The Boa Hoiarne Richard and Alli- ance, with two smaller vessels, after taking some prizes off the English and Irish coasts, were joined at Cape Wrath, on the northern shores of Scotland. Doubling the headlands beyond, they sailed through Pentland Frith, between the north of Scotland and the Orkneys, and early in September spread great alarm along the east- ern coast of Joness native country. He finally afternoon of the 16th of September the little squadron of four vessels was distinctly seen from Edinburgh Castle. The wildest alarm soon spread along each hank of the Forth, for Jones was regarded as a pirate as savage and cruel as any old Scandinavian sea-king. fle prepared a message to the magistrates of Leith. demanding a heavy contribution, and threaten- ing the town with instant destruction if a favor- able answer should not be given in half an hour. Early the next morning the Boa Ho7a2ae Richard appeared, bearing directly toward Kirkcaldy, on the northern shore. The people believed that entered the Frith of Forth, with the intention he was coming to plunder and destroy; and, at of capturing some shipping at Leith, menacing their earnest solicitation, the minister of the the town with the torch, and demanding a heavy town, an eccentric, and not always a very rev- ransom toward the reimbursement, as Jones erential man, led his flock to the beach, and said, which Britain owed to the much-injured kneeling down, thus p!ayed for deliverance citizens of the United States. Late in the from the approaching cruiser: PRAYER ON THX BEACH AT KIRECALnY. 156 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. Now, deer Laird, dinna ye think it a shame for ye to send this vile piret to rob our folk o Kirkealdy, for ye ken theyre poor enow already, and hae naething to spare. The wa the ween blaws, hell be here in a jiffie, and wha kens ~vhat he may do? Hes nae too guid for ony thing. Mickles the mischief hes dune already. hell burn their hooses, tak their very claes, and tin them to the sark; and, waes me! wha kens but the bluidy villain may tak their lives! The puir weemen are maist frightened out o their wits, and the bairns skirling after them. I can- na tholt it! I canna tholt it! I hae been lang a faithfu servant to ye, Laird; but gin ye diana turn the ween aboot, and blaw the scoun- drel out o our gate, Ill na staur a fit, but will just sit here till the tide comes. Sae, tak yere wull ot. While the minister was praying the white caps began to dot the Frith. A heavy gale swept over the waters, and Jones was com- l)elled to abandon his enterprise, and put to sea. The summons for the magistrates of Leith was never delivered; and the good people of Kirk- caldy always regarded that timely gale as an answer to the earnest prayer of Mr. Shirra. In after years, when complimented for the power of that appeal, the old minister would humbly say, I prayedthe Laird sent the weend But the Providence that protected the people of Leith and the neighborhood did not shield the convoy of the Baltic fleet from Joness wrath, less than a week afterward. Leaving the Forth, he cruised off the month of the Hum- her and the adjacent coasts, and destroyed many coal vessels bound for London. On the morn- ing of the 23d of September he unfortunately fell in with the Alliance, with which he had Parted company a few days before. His squad- ron then consisted of that vessel, his own, and the Pallas and Vengeance. He had been anx- iously watching for the Baltic fleet; and on the afternoon of that day it appeared off Flambor- ough-Head, forty sail in number, and convoyed l)y the new ship Serapis, mounting forty-four guns, and the foaatess of Scarborough, of twenty guns. The apparition of the American squad- ron in the northern horizon caused much alarm and confusion in that merchant fleet, and Jones hastened to profit by it. Again the perverse Landais was his evil genius. When Jones sig- naled the squadron to form a line of battle for attack, Lan dais refused compliance. Jones then pressed sail on the Richard, and made chase, followed by the Pallas and Vengeance. The canvas of all was but slightly bent by the gentle land-breeze at sunset, which scarcely dimpled the smooth bosom of Bridlington Bay. When the English perceived escape to be quite impossible, their two armed vessels prepared for action. Slowly the Bon Homme Richard and Se- rapis approached each other, and at twilight they were not yet within the reach of each oth- ers guns. They were so near the land that hun- dreds of people, who had collected on the shores, saw the marine duelists approach for conflict. For a little while the pall of night lay black upon the land and water. All was darkness and silence; and the excited, half-breathless spectators on the shore saw no signs of the lightning and the thunder that were soon to burst from the brooding gloom in the east. Then the golden disc of a full moon arose above the arc of the North Sea, away toward the shores of Denmark, and upon the shimmering curtain of pale light around it the forms of the two hostile vessels, black as ravens, were sharply penciled. Slowly they approached each other, like dioramic figures. Up went the red ensign of the British navy, instead of the cross of St. George, and was nailed to the flag-staff of the Serapis. ~lnggishly in the gentle breeze flut- tered the stripcs and stars over the Richard, as she rounded to on the larboard quarter of her antagonist, within pistol-shot distance. A glit- ter and a glare flashed over the dark waters as the lower deck ports of the Serapis were triced up, and displayed two complete batteries, and a well-armed spar deck, all lighted and cleared for action. The Richard displayed her heavy guns at the same time, when the English com- mander hailed, What ship is that ? Jones hurled an eighteen-pound shot in reply, that went crashing through a port of the Serapis and splintered a gun-carriage on the leeside of her lower deck. The tempest-cloud was now riven, and the lightning and the thunder of two heavy broadsides flashed and boomed over the smooth waters. Thus was begun one of the most ter- rible sea-fights recorded by history. The Richard had a gun-room battery on her lower deck, of six old eighteen pounders, which had served faithfully in the French navy for thirty years. At the first discharge two of them were bursted, killing almost every man in the gun-room, and partially demolishing the deck above, while the heavy round-shot of the Serapis made severe breaches in the decaying timbers of the old vessel. Jones instantly ordered his lower deck ports to be closed, and that battery was abandoned. The firing was incessant, and each ship strove earnestly to gain an advantage, in position, over the other. There was not wind enough to aid skillful seamanship, and in a few minutes the Richard ran into the Serapis on her larboard quarter, and their spars and rigging became entangled. The great guns of the combatants were now almost useless, and Jones, at the head of his Americans, attempted to board the enemy. After a sharp and close contest on the quarter-deck, he was repulsed, and Captain Pearson, of the Serapis, who could not see the American flag in the midst of the smoke, cried out, Has your ship struck ? Jones instantly replied, I have not yet begun to fight! The vessels now separated, and Jones made an attempt to lay the Richard athwart the hawse of the Serapis. He failed, and a moment after- ward the two ships lay broadside to broadside, the muzzles of their guns touching each other. The Serapis was much the better sailer, and JOHN PAUL JONES. 157 Joness hope of success was in his present po- sition, so he lashed the ships together, and in that close embrace they poured thcir tcrrible volleys into each other with awful cffcct. It was now half-past eight in the evening, and the conflict had raged for an hour. It grew more furious as the flow of blood increased; and from deck to deck of the entangled vessels the com- batants rushed madly, fighting like demons with pike, and pistol, and cutlass. Jones seemed almost omnipresentnow directing the gunners. now urging tbe musketeers in the tops to vigor- ous action, and at times engaged in the thickest of a terrible hand-to-hand fight. The Richard and her crew suffered terribly, yet they fought on. She had been pierced by several eighteen- pound halls below water, and leaked badly; yet her pumps were untouched, and the warning voice of her carpenter was unheeded. A new enemy now appeared. When the FIOHT ON THE DECK OF TIlE SELIAPIS. 158 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. Richard gave chase to the Serapis, and the Pallas bore down upon the Countess of Scar- l)orouf/h, Landais placed the Alliance at a safe distance, and with the seeming disinterested- ness of an umpire he looked calmly on when the unequal contest began. When it had raged for ahout two hours, and the moon had ascend- ed high enough in the unclouded sky to flood the vessels and the sea with light and make their condition clear, he ran down toward the grappled ships under easy sail, fired a broad- side into the Richards qnarter, and killed sev- eral of her men. As he ranged past her lar- hoard he gave another raking fire, with fatal effect; and thus he continued pouring death upon that crippled, shattered, sinking ship, while her signal-lights of recognition were in fnll view, and despairing voices from her deck shouted supplications, in Gods name, for him to forhear, for he was bruising the wrong ves- sel. It was the right ship for him. He made no mistake, hut was practicing foulest villainy hlackest treason. He hoped to kill Jones, make an easy prize of the Serapis, and gain all the honors of a great victory. There was a God of justice who defended the right, and the mis- creant failed. The courage of Jones qnailed not in that dreadful hour, nor were his wonderful efforts slackened, though the guns of the Al- liance had swept many of a fine corps of marines from the Richards poop, and had aided the enemy in silencing every one of his great guns except two nine-pounders on the quarter-deck. Soon the commander there was badly wounded, and his men were scattered. Jones took his l)lace, collected a few brave fellows, and shifted one of the larboard guns to a proper position. These were the only cannons fired from the Richard during the remainder of the action. They swept the deck of the Serapis with grape and cannister shot, and against her main-mast double-headed shot were hurled with destructive effect. The marines in the tops of the Richard soon killed or dispersed those of the enemy, and they cast hand-grenades with such energy and success, that the Serapis was set on fire in a dozen different places at the same time. One of the grenades ignited some cartridges, and the explosion killed twenty men, and maimed as many more. In the midst of the appalling scene, when both ships were on fire, the wounded carpenter of the Richard said she must sink. The fri~ht- cued gunner ran aft to pull down the American fing, hut a round shot had carried away the en- sign-yard an hour hefore. Then the gunner cried Quarter! for Gods sake quarter! Our ship is sinking ! He continued his cries until Jones silenced him by hurling a discharged pis- tol at his head, which fractured his skull, and sent him headlong down the hatchway. Do you call for quarter ? shouted Captain Pearson to Jones. Never ! responded the lion-hearted Com- modore. Then Ill give none, replied Pearson, and immediately sent a party to hoard the Richard. They were met at the rail by Jones, with pike in hand, and supposing he had many like him at his hack, the enemy retreated. At that mo- ment there was the sound of many feet rushin0 to the upper deck of the Richard. The master- at-arms, influenced hy either treachery or hu- manity, had released all the prisoners on hoard. One of them had escaped to the Serapis, and informed the commander of the utterly crippled condition of the Richard. Encouraged hy the intelligence, Pearson renewed the hattie with increased vigor. The situation of Jones was now extremely critical. His ship was sinking; his heavy guns were all silenced, except where he was fighting; one of his own squadron was treacherously sailing round and raking his shat- tered vessel with deadly hroadsides; some of his officers were determined on surrendering; others were crying for quarter; and a large number of prisoners were flee to do as they pleased. Nothing ever appeared more hopeless than his prospect of success. But he had re- sources within himself, at such an hour, pos- sessed hy few men. lie saw the affright of the prisoners at the idea of sinking, and ordered them to the pumps to save their lives. As he expected, the first law of nature overcame their desire for liherty and duty to their king. They oheyed, and did not attempt to take advantage of the few efficient men left of the Richard. Suddenly, now, the flames hegan to creep up the rigging of the Serapis, and in their glare, and the full light of the moon, Jones saw that her mainmast had heen hewn almost asunder by his double-headed shots. He immediately renewed the assault at that point, and the tall mast reeled. Captain Pearson perceived his danger, and lacking the courage and obstinacy of Jones in the moment of great peril, he struck his flag, and surrendered to his really weaker foe. It is painful, he said, in a surly man- ner, to Jones, to deliver up my sword to a man who has fought with a halter around his neck. Jones preserved his temper, and courteously re- plied, as he returned the weapon: Sir, you have fought like a hero; and I make no doubt but your sovereign will reward you in the most ample manner. Even so it happened, for knighthood awaited Captain Pearson, at the hands of King George the Third, because of his bravery on that occasion. It is said that when Jones was told of the honor conferred upon his antagonist, he remarked: Well, he deserves it; and if I fall in with him again, I will make a lord of him For almost three hours the battle had raged with unabated fury, and fire was now rapidly consuming both ships. All hands were at once employed in extinguishing the flames. Soon after the English commander went on board the Richard the vessels were disengaged. The en- tangled spars and rig~ing had kept the hewn mast of the Serapis from falling; now it went down, with a terrible crash, carrying with it the mizen topmast. The Richard was damaged past JOHN PATJI~ JONES. 159 recovery. Jones said, in his report, The rud- der was cut entirely off the stern-frame and transoms were alniust (Vt entirely away, and the timbers by the lower deck, especially from the mainmast toward the stern, being greatly decayed with age, were mangled beyond my lon~er of description; and a person must have l)een an eye-witness to form a just idea of the tremendous scene of carnage, wreck, and ruin which every where appeared. Prisoners and men were all transferred to the Serapis, and on the evening of the 25th, the wreck of the Bon iloianie Richard went down into the deep val- leys of the North Sea. The Baltic fleet had escaped behind Flam- borough-Head during the fight, because the Al- liance and Vengeance were remiss in duty; hut the Gountess of Scarborough had surrendered to the Pallas after an hours conflict, notwithstand- ing the wicked Landais had poured some deadly shots into that victor also, during the fight, and killed several of her men. After tossing about oa the North Sea for ten days, Jones ran into the Texel with his little squadron and prizes, a few hours before eleven English ships of war, that had been sent after him, appeared in the offing. The victory of the Richard over the Serapis, and the other extraordinary exploits of Jones during his remarkable cruise, caused a burst of applause wherever the facts were known. He was received at Amsterdam with the wildest enthusiasm. Crowds pressed around him with huzzas and compliments wherever he appeared. The cautious Franklin, who always took enthu- siasm hy the throat when it tempted him to toss up his cocked hat, wrote to him from Passy: For some days after the arrival of your ex- press, scarce any thing was talked of at Paris and Versailles but your cool conduct, and per- severing bravery during that terrible conflict. You may believe that the impression on my mind was not less strong than that of others; but I do not choose to say in a letter to your self all I think on such an occasion. The En- glish Ministers were, of course, terribly enraged; but its liberal press and its best statesmen spoke out manly applause; and the epithet Pirate, applied to Jones by the Premier, and echoed by Sir Joseph Yorke, the British Minister at the Hague, was hissed with scorn by every generous man. The French King gave him a flattering reception at court, and a few months afterward presented him with an elegant gold-mounted sword, upon which, in the midst of blended emblems of France and America, was the hon- orable inscription: VINDIcATI MAR15 Lunovi- CUs XVI., REMUNERATOR STRENUO viNDICI Louis XVI. rewarder of the valiant assertor of the freedom of the Sea. In America his name and deeds were uttered by every tongLe, and eight years afterwardtardy justice it is truethe American Congress gave him a gold medal in commemoration of his great victory. We need not dwell upon the important polit- ical events which were hastened by Joness tak- ing refuge in a Dutch port while Holland was at peace with England, for it is a record of history that the rupture between those two governments was accelerated by that act. Nor will we stop to view the course of Landais, whom we may meet in the Western hemisphere in after years; nor follow the brave Commodore through all his vexatious, until he was deprived of the com- mand of the trophy of his valor, the Serapis, and transferred to that of the Alliance, to subserve the interests of wily diplomatists, and, without a squadron, reduced to the mortifying alterna- tive of being driven from the Texel or battered by the cannons of a Dutch fort. While awaiting a fair wind to leave that purgatory, as he called it, Jones received from the French Min- ister of Marine, t.hrough a peer of France, an offer of a commission to command the Alliance as a privateer, under the French colors. The indignation of the high-souled Commodore at this proposal was boundless. He regarded it as a premeditated insult, and refused it with the oo~n MEDAL AWARDET) TO JONES. 160 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. haughtiest disdain. It is a matter of the high- est astonishment, he said, in his letter of re- fusal to the Duke, that after so many compli- ments and fair professions, the court should offer the present insult to my understanding, and sup ~ capahle of disgracing my present com- mission. To Dr. Franklin, in whose care he sent the epistle, he wrote: I hope the within copy of my letter to the Duc de in Vaugnyon will meet your approhation; for I am per- ~naded that it never could he your intention or wish that I should he made the tool of any great rascal whatever, or that the commission of America should he overlaid hy the dirty piece of parchment which I have this day rejected! They have played upon my good-humor too long already, hut the spell is at last dissolved. They would play me with the assurances of the per- sonal and particular esteem of the king, to in- duce me to do what would render me contempt- ible even in the eyes of my own servants. Ac- customed to speak untruths themselves, they would also have me to give under my hand that I am a liar and a scoundrel. They are mis- taken; and I would tell them, what you did to your naughty servant: We have too contempt- ible an opinion of each others understanding to live together! These were the indignant cx- l)ressions of a noble naturethe words of a man who had becom.e painfnlly acquainted with the hollowness of Bourhon professions, and the false honor of Bourhon satellites. His letter hrought an obsequious apology, and many sweet words, which softened Joness anger, hut did not deceive his judgment. He, however, changed the res- olution he had made of returning to America; and at the close of Decemher he was in the British waters, making even heavy line-of-battle ships tremhle at his presence, for he was regard- ed as A malignant comet, bearing in its tail Death, famine, earthquakes, pestilence and ruin. But the Alliance was a poor sailer; and after a short and fruitless cruise, Jones anchored in the haihor of LOrieut. There he found the Serapis, and at once he solicited Dr. Franklin to huy her for the American service, and to have the damaged Alliance thoroughly repaired. The Minister of Congress had no power, either in instructions or money, to comply. Jones was troubled, for he was anxious to he on a cruise with a squadron, or at least in a worthy ship. Ostensibly to urge the sale of his prizes, hut chiefly for the purpose of seeking aid from the French government in accomplishing what Franklin could not authorize, he appeared at court, where he was graciously received hy the king, flattered by the great, and caressed by the fair. He had the pardonable vanity of loving IMaise and personal honors, and while he de- spised the courtiers who hovered around roy- alty, he was not unwilling to partake of the pleasure; at times, of basking in the sunlight of kingly favor. His stay in Paris was not long, but it was sufficiently protracted to allow his evil genius, Landais, and an influential Amen- can, who seemed to delight in intriguing against Dr. Franklin, to work great mischief at LOri- ent. The officers of the Alliance were in a state of mutiny on Joness return, and had chosen Landais as their commander. Jones was not much chagrined, however, for he saw in this movement a chance for him yet to have com- mand of the Serapis, to carry stores and arms from France to the United States; and he did not very warmly second the efforts of Dr. Frank- lin and the French government to arrest Lan- dais, and prevent his sailing. Landais departed in the Alliance, and Jones was soon afterward placed in command of the Ariel; another vessel laden with arms and muni- tions of war for the army under Washington. After great delay, he left LOrient early in Oc- tober, and thirty hours later he encountered a terrible gale. The Ariel was dismantled by the wind, and reduced to a mere hull, with no- thing but her bowsprit left, and in that condition she was held by anchors to the windward of the reef off Penmarque Point for sixty hours. Jones then worked her into LOrient without the loss of a man. There again he plied Dr. Fianklin and several French magnates with letters concerning the command of a larger ship, service in the British waters, and prize- money: but he was ordered to America, with dispatches for Congress (the arms were so much damaged in the gale that they were not sent), and early in December he was ready to sail. He gave a splendid entertainment on board, put to sea, and arrived at Philadelphia on the 18th of February, 1781, after an absence of more than three years. On the voyage he fought and con- quered an English armed vessel, but he was compelled to write in his journal: The English captain may properly be called a knave, because, after he had surrendered his ship, begged for and obtained quarter, he basely ran away, con- trary to the laws of naval war, and the practice of civilized nations. This reminds us of the com- plaint of a British officer, that Marion would not fight like a gentleman or Christian. Jones was received at Philadelphia with every demonstration of respect, and twenty-four hours after his arrival lie was summoned before the Board of Admiralty, to give information con- cerning the tardy arrival of the Alliance, and other vessels, that were to bring French arms and stores. Much to his satisfaction, he found Landais in utter disgrace, and himself high in favor with Congress. Before he left France, he was intrusted by the king with a small packet for Luzerne, the French Minister at Philadel- phia. It contained the cross of the Military Order of Merit, to be given to ,Tones if Congress should consent. While he was preparing his answers for the Board of Admiralty, Congress resolved that his capture of the Serapis was attended with circumstances so brilliant as to excite general applause and admiration. It was also resolved That the Minister Plenipotentiary of these United States at the court of Versailles coin- JOhN PAUL JONES. 161 inunicate to his Most Christian Majesty the high satisfaction Congress has received from the conduct and gallant behnvior of Captain John Paul Jones, which have merited the atten- tion and approbation of his Most Christi n Ma- Jesty; and that his Majestys offer of adorning Captain Jones with a cross of Military Merit is highly acceptable to Congress. A few days afterward, M. Luzerne gave a slJlendid entertainment to the members of Con- gress and the most distinguished citizens of Philadelphia; and in their presence he,in the name of his king, knighted our hero, and in- vested him with the decoration of the Military Order of Merit. That was an hour of proud triumph to Jones, and he felt remunerated for many vexatious and disappointments. Although he was a Republican in sentiment, to his hearts core, his vanity was always delighted with the title of Chevalier, which his knighthood gave him, and in all the vicissitudes of after-life he wore that hadge of honor. A few weeks later, on the adoption of the report of the Board of Admiralty by Congress, Jones was farther hon JONES INV STED WITH TIlE oauza OF ~SILITAl1Y IMERIT. VOL. XJ.No. 62.L I 1G2 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. ored by a resolution that thanks should be given him for the zeal, prudence, and intrepidity with which he hath supported the honor of the Amer- ican flag. In June following, Jones was appointed com- mander of the new ship-of-the-line America, then in progress of construction at Portsmouth, New Hampshire. It was the largest ever owned by Congress, and Jones felt that he was thusvirtually made chief captain in the navy, with the implied relative rank of rear admiral. He was satisfied that Congress had done what it could in his fa- voy, and he left Philadelphia for Portsmonth with delight. On his way he visited the camp of Washington, in Westchester County, near the Hutison, and was cordially received by the Coin- mnander-in-chief. Jones displayed his decora- tion at his button-hole, and Washington court- eously suggested that it might offend some of the staid New England people. The Commo- dore tucked his jewel hcneath his waistcoat, and hastened to Portsmouth, only to ex,perience more vexatious delays and severe disappoint- ments. The work on the America was progress- ing at a snails pace, and months rolled away before she was ready to be launched. The day when that event would take place had almost arrived, when a French squadron that was to convey a part of Rochambeaus army to the West Indies entered Boston harbor in a storm, and one of the finest of the vessels was stranded and lost. The beams of peace were now glim- mering in the eastern horizon, and the America might not be wanted for active service. So Congress embraced the opportunity to testify to France its gratitude for its alliance, and at once l)resented that fine new ship to the king. Jones was greatly disappointed, yet he manifested a thoroughly patriotic spirit. On the 5th of No- ~ember, 1782, he displayed the French and American flags over the stern of the America, launched her into the waters of Portsmouth har- bor, and the next morning formally delivered her into the keeping of her future commander. The dream of glory which had so often flitted before the vision of the brave Chevalier now vanished again, and he obtained permission to accompany the French fleet to the West Indies as a volunteer. After an absence of several months he returned to Philadelphia, sick and dispirited, but was soon restored to vigor under the soothing care of the Moravian Sisters of Bethlehem. In the autumn following he sailed fcsr France in a packet-ship, with authority from Congress to obtain all prize-money to which himself and those who had served under him were entitled. His proceedings in the matter were to be under the direct supervision of the American Minister at the French court. The packet was driven by a gale into Plymouth har- bor, but the preliminary treaty of peace having been signed before his arrival, the pirate was allowed to journey to London, and from thence to Paris, without molestation. No doubt many in England would have been glad to award him the fate of Captain Kidd at Execution-dock. With his usual zeal and perseverance Jones prosecuted the business of his mission, in the midst of many vexatious and disappointments, and finally brought it to a close, and found him- self with money in both pockets, early in the autumn of 1785. Although accused of exacting excessive commissions for services as agent in procuring the prize-money, his accounts were approved by Mr. Jefferson (then American Min- ister in France), and subsequently by Congress~ He had some difficulty with the Board of Treas- ury concerning them, but that Commission con- cluded to allow his claims, inasmuch as he had received and spent the money. The Chevalier now became quite a lion with the great and fair in the French metrop- olis, and he reveled in e~se and honors with a delight quite inconsistent with his republican professions. For a time he was completely in- toxicated by flattery and the free use of money, and the dream lasted almost as long as his purse remained plethoric. He played the courtier and the lover with equal fondness, until, in the pres- ence of a great practical man, king and minis- ters were suddenly forgotten. That man was Ledyard, the eminent American traveler, lie had conceived a magnificent scheme of traffic in furs between the Pacific coast of North Amer- ica and China, and he proposed a partnership with Jones. The Chevalier saw a glorious har- vest of gain and adventure in the enterprise, and heartily entered into the plan. It was found impossible to secure the co-operation of capital- ists to a sufficient extent, and after considerable progress had been made, the enterprise was abandoned. That rich field of commerce was left for John Jacob Astor and others to occupy, a quarter of a century later. The magic spell of royal enchantment being now broken, Jones started for Copenhagen, to attempt the settlement of some accounts with the Danish government in relation to prize- money; but his funds failed when he had pro- ceeded as far as Brussels, and he turned back. In tIme summer of 1787 he visited the United States, when he procured the final settlement of his accounts, and busied himself for some time in planning various schemes for the good of his adopted country. Among others, he submitted to Mr. Jay, then Minister for Foreign Affairs, a plan for releasing many American seamen who had been captured by Algerine corsairs, and were suffering the horrors of barbarian slavery on the African coast of the Mediterranean Sea. He asked for authority to execute his plans; but the government, then in the midst of great political and financial entanglements, could not second his benevolent efforts. After a little affray in the streets of New York with his old enemy Landais, Jones sailed for Europe, bear- ing to Mr. Jefferson dispatches of much import- ance to himself. One was an order to procure the gold medal which Congress had awarded to the Chevalier; and another contained instruc- tions for Mr. Jefferson to employ Commodore Jones, or sonie other person, to prosecute cer JOHN PAUL JONES. I ~i tam claims for prize-money at the eourt of Den- mark. Jones passed several days with Mr. Adams in London, and then hastened to Paris. On the evening of the day of his arrival he had an interview with Mr. Jefferson; and he left the presence of the minister with his mind filled with a more brilliant vision of glory than his ambition had ever ventnred to aspire to. The Empress of Russia was then waging war against the Turks, and her fleet in the Black Sea had met with some severe reverses. The Rnssian minister at the French court at once intimated to Mr. Jefferson his earnest desire to procure the services of the Chevalier for his royal mis- tress. He had written to his government, that If her Imperial Majesty should confide to Commodore Jones the chief command of her fleet on the Black Sea, with carte blanche, he would answer for it, that in less than a year Jones would make Constantinople tremble. This intimation Mr. Jefferson communicated to the Chevalier, and his imagination was fired by the prospect of glory, wealth, and honor that awaited him. But having learned, by sad ex- perience, some of the subtle arts of diplomacy, he concealed his emotions. When the Russian minister sounded him on the subject he was coy, and pretended to be indifferent, while he was burning with impatience to grasp the cov- eted prize. A few days afterward he received his credentials from Mr. Jefferson to visit the court of I)enmark on the subject of prize-money; hut on the morning of his departure he took the precaution to breakfast with a Polish friend, where he was sure to meet the Russian minis- ter, who held that golden apple he so much de- sired. The Chevalier was cordially welcomed at the 1)aaish court. He supped with the royal fam- ily and threescore of guests, flirted with the Princess Royal, who honored him with her smiles, and received the homage of the assem- bled grandees. But when he attempted to enter upon the business of his mission he found many difficulties, and he finally made a for- mal abandonment of the negotiations. On the same day he received a l)atent from the king for an annual pension of fifteen hundred crowns. as an acknowledgment for the respect he had shown for the Danish flag while he had com- mand in the European seas. The coincidence was unfortunate, and the enemies of the Cheva- lier openly charged him with receiving a bribe. The patent proved to be a worthless piece of parchment, for Jones never received a thaler from the king. The true reason for his sus- pending the negotiations, doubtless, was the fact that the Russian minister at Copenhagen had made a direct proposition to Jones to enter the naval service of Catharine with the relative rank and pay of a major-general, lie requested the Chevalier to repair immediately to St. Peters- burg to receive from the Empress his commis- sion, and instructions to take command on the Black Sea, under the directions of Prince Pu- temkin, then with a large army in southern Russia. Although the Chevalier aspired to the rank of rear-admiral, and did not like to be sec- ond in command, yet he accepted the proposi- tion; and with a thousand ducats in his pocket, placed there by the Russian minister to defray the expenses of his journey, he set out for the Romanoff court, by way of Sweden, in mid- April, 1788. Having remained a single day in Stockholm, Jones went to Gresholm to embark; but there was too much ice in the Gulf of Bothuin to allow him to cross it, or even to reach the Aland Islands in the Channel. Impatient to receive the awaiting honors, and believing Cath- anne to be as anxious as himself for the inter- JONES cuossiac THE nALTiC. 164 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. view, he resolved to attempt doubling the south- npou the horizon. All that day they skirted era points of the ice-field in the open Baltic. along the ice with a strong wind from the Swed- For thnt purpose he hired an open passage-boat ish shore. During the succeeding night it in- about thirty feet in length, and a smaller one creased to a gale. In the gloom the small as a tender. His boatmen were not aware of boat was swamped, and the two men in it were his intentions until they were opposite Stock- rescued from drowning with great difficulty. holm at twilight, when they refused to venture. Joness courage never forsook him in the hour With a pistol in each hand, the Chevalier de- of danger. All night long he sat at the stern dared he would shoot the first man who should as coxswain, and watched his little compass dare to disobey his orders, and they complied. calmly by the light of a carriage lantern. On All that night they had a pleasant voyage, and the fourth day of the voyage they entered th early the next morning they saw the far distant Finland gulg and arrived at Revel in safety. shores of Finland marking a dim, irregular line Having well rewarded his boatmen and pro- JOYES BEFORE THE EMPRESS cATHARIBE. JOHN PAUL JONES. 1A15 vided for their return, Jones pressed forward toward the Neva, and arrived at the Russian capital on the evening of the 4th of May. There, unexpected honors were prepared for him. Nobles, statesmen, and foreign ministers crowded to see him, and pay homage to his genius and fame. Their admiration had heen increased by his last daring adventure in the Baltic, and the court was enthusiastic in its re- ception of the hero. Catharine invited him to a private audience; and two days after his arri- val, he was publicly presented hy Count Segur, the French emhassador, to the Empress, who sat in state in the midst of many of the nohility of both sexes, and the imperial guards. his reception was all that his heart could desire, and his happiness was made complete hy re- ceiving the coveted commission of rear-admiral in the Russian navy. That appointment ex- cited the jealousy of other foreign officers in the service of the Empress, and thirty commis- sioned Englishmen threatened to resign rather than he associated with that English pirate and smuggler. Their bluster was disregarded. and on the 7th of May the Chevalier left St. Petershurg for the head-quarters of Prince Po- temkin, hearing a letter from the Empress to that functionary, and having his pockets well filled with ducats to defray the expenses of his journey. Potemkin was proud and haughty; so was Jones. Yet they met with a determination to be pleased with each other, and all would have went well had not the jealousy of other for- eign officers, whom Jones superseded, caused trouble. The Chevaliers worst enemy was the Prince of Nassau, Li~gen, a needy adventurer with very moderate talents, hut whom Potemkin deli~,hted to honor. The prince was then pre- paring for an important movement against the ATTACK ON T~E TURKISH GALLEYS. A 166 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. Turks. One of the keys to power in the Black Sea was the strongly fortified town of Oczakow, at the junction of the Dneiper and Bog, then in possession of the Mussulmans. Potemkin had determined to attack it by land and water. The Russian navy capable of operating in the Liman, at the month of the Dneiper, consisted of the line-of-battle ship Wolodorner and other smaller vessels, and a flotilla of gun-boats. Jones was placed in command of the fleet, and Nassau of the flotilla. By great efforts Potemkin had effected an apparently friendly relation between the different commanders; and at about the middle of June, while the army was concen- trating in front of Gezakow, he ordered an at- tack to be made upon the Turkish fleet. In the engagement that ensued, Jones displayed the greatest skill and valQr, and the victory achieved would have been far more decisive if he had been the sole commander. On the 1st of July, the siege was commenced upon the doomed town by the combined land and naval forces. Having placed his flag-ship in proper position, Jones entered an armed boat and dashed like a furious rocket into the midst of some Turkish galleys within gunshot distance of the enemys flotilla and the heavy guns of the batteries of Oczakow. With that fearless energy which always marked him in the hour of great peril, the Admiral led his men to quick and complete victory over two of the galleys, one of which belonged to the Capitan Pacha. The Turks were utterly dismayed by his mad courage, which seemed as indifferent to danger as if inspired by their own dark fatalism. They shrank in terror at his approach. In the midst of an incessant cannonade he fired four other galleys, and then returned to the Wolodorner with fifty-two prisoners, without losing a man. Nassau, in the mean while, who had partici- pated in the fight, had hastened to the head- quarters of Potemkin to tell of the brilliant victory and to magnify his own exploits. When the rewards for valor were distributed, Rear-admiral Jones received the decoration of the order of St. Anne, the gratuity of a years pay, and a gold-mounted sword. Nassau, Po- temkins favorite, was decorated with the higher military order of St. George, and enriched by the gift of a valuable estate having almost four thousand serfs upon it. The Admiral was dis- satisfied, and was not slow in making his feel- ings known to Potemkin. He also ventured, during some subsequent naval operations, to express his opinions freely concerning proposed measures, forgetting that he was dealing with a man who was really the Czar of Russia in power, for he was the acknowledged ma~ter of the Empress. His enemies, who conceale~heir real feelings from Potemkin, were ut the same time busy at the ear of the prince with plausible stories concerning Joness ambition and inde- pendence. They even told him that the Admi- ral had ridiculed his operations on land in the siege of Oczakow, and was endeavoring to win officers to his interest, so as to supersede Po temkin. While the prince was irritated by these reports, Jones happened, injudiciously, to ob- ject to some order from head-quarters, and in his frank manner, as if addressing a French or American officer of equal rank with whom he was co-operating, he concluded a note to Potem- kin with these words: Every man who thinks, is master of his own opinion; this is mine. Potemkin was not in the habit of allowing any body to have an opinion but himself; and the practical commentary upon that unfortunate text, which Jones was compelled to read, was the arrival of Admiral Mordwinoff the follow- ing day with orders to take command of all the naval forces, and bearing the following signifi- cant note to the Chevalier from the offended prince: According to the special desire of her Imperial Majesty, your service is fixed in the northern seas; and as this squadron and flotilla are placed by me under the orders of Yice-ad- miral MordwinoW your excellency may, in con~ sequence, proceed on the voyage directed, es~ pecially as the squadron in the Liman can not now, on account of the advanced season, be united with that of Sevastopol. Jones well knew that remonstrance would be in vain, and that a multiplicity of words would make his case worse; so, after procuring from Potemkin a complimentary letter to the Em- press, and assurances of his friendship, the Ad- miral departed for St. Petersburg, where he ar- rived at near the close of December. In the mean while, Oczakow had been stormed at a time of extreme cold; the Turks had become panic-stricken; the town and fortresses had sur- rendered, and thirty thousand persons, without distinction of age or sex, had been cruelly mas- sacred by order of Potemkin. When Jones heard of it, he rejoiced that he had been spared participation in a scene of such foul inhuman- ity; and he was further comforted by the intel- ligence that his successor had been guilty of many gross blunders in the management of the fleet and flotilla, and was in utter disgrace with the haughty Potemkin. Jones obtained an interview with the Em- press on the day after his arrival, and asked for employment. She was gracious in her manner, but told him he must wait for the arrival of Potemkin. The impatient Admiral employed the seven weeks delay in forming projects for his future course. He laid plans before Cath- anne for extending her commercial relations with Christendom, and for pushing her con- quests in the direction of Constantinoplethe goal of Russian ambition even to this day. These plans were submitted to Potemkin, on his arrival, and were dismissed with a compli- ment; The Admiral soon perceived that his popularity at court was waning. Slanders of every kind had been circulated by the English in the Russian capital during his absence, and he had no means at hand for refuting them ex- cept simple denials. The jealousies of other foreigners aided in poisoning the mind of the Empress, and at length (aswas afterward proven) JOHN PAUL JONES. 167 a person high in esteem at court bribed a worth- less woman to accuse the Admiral of the crime of having made an indecent assault upon her daughter. Already invitations for him to dine at court had hecome less and less frequent. Now his name was stricken from the list of guests; and when, early in April, he went to pay his respects to the Empress, he was uncere- moniously driven away. His friends suddenly abandoned him. Every door was shut against him. People avoided speaking to him in the streets. His servants left him; and in that cap- ital where, only a year before, he had been courted and honored by all ranks, he had but one solitary friend, who shut his ears to the voice of malice and falsehood. That friend was Count Segur, the French Embassador, who knew him well and felt certain of his innocence. He was not that real enemy, a passive friend, but exerted himself continually and successfully in disabusing the mind of Catharine and procur- ing the restoration of the brave Admiral to her favor. New projects now revolved in the teeming brain of Jones. New visions of glory appeared in his dim future, and he again dreamed of hon- ors to be won as commander of the Russian navy in the Black Sea. But envy and malice never sleep, and are ever busy. English influ- ence was potential at the Russian court. The Empress was convinced of the innocence of Jones, but she deemed it expedient not to give him employment that might alienate the allegi- ance of other foreign officers. Instead of giving the Admiral a commission for active service, she furnished him with a furlough for two years, and a passport to leave the country. His air- castles, built upon the unstobstantial foundations of royal favor, disappeared in a moment. There was no alternative, for the occupant of the throne of Peter never allows reason to dispute with the imperial will. So, toward the close of August, 1789, John Paul Jones left the Russian capital forever; comforted somewhat by the knowledge that his salary was to be continued during his absence. Count Sager took special pains to give a favorable construction to the Admirals absence from Russia, both at St. Pe- tersburg and at Paris; and M. Genet, who af- terward became conspicuous as the Embassador of the French Republic to the United States, was ever his warm and active friend. The ca- prices of Catharine and the favoritism exercised by Potemkin were so well known throughout Europe, that the leave of absence given to Jones did not affect his character unfavorably. He was soon made aware of the fact; for all the way from the borders of Russia, he was every where treated with the distinction due to his rank and services. While at Warsaw, Admiral Jones became per- sonally acquainted with the noble Kosciuszcko, ~ who was then deeply engaged in preparations to cast off from the neck of unhappy Poland the yoke of Russian oppression. With that pa- triot, the Chevalier conferred on the subject of his entering the navy of Sweden against Russia; an event which Catharine seemed to apprehend. The Rear-admiral had been taught, by bitter experience, that in the battle of public life un- der monarchies, Every man for himself was the general rule of action; and, while he would never have raised his arm against France or the United States, he was willing to win honor and emolument for himself under any Continental flag but that of the Crescent. He never entered the Swedish navy, however; and a little later the treachery of Prussia caused the dreadful event in Polish history which elicited from the pen of Campbell the burning words: Hope for a season bade the world farewell! And Freedom shrieked when Kosciuszcko fell I The active life of Admiral Jones was now drawing to a close, and his brilliant and de- structive onslaught upon the Turkish galleys re- mained his last notable exploit in his profession. For a time he enjoyed a season of leisure at Amsterdam, and engaged in his favorite pastime of letter-writing. Of all his epistles written at that time, none were more creditable to his head and heart than one which he addressed to Mrs. Taylor, his eldest sister. His mother had been long dead, and only two of his immediate family remained. He yearned to visit them, but a fear of personal violence at the hands of the people of Great Britain, who had been taught to hate him as a monster of cruelty, kept him from their warm embraces. In his letter he expressed an earnest desire to be use- ful to his sisters and their children; wished he had a fortune to offer to each of them ; and, concerning his orphan nieces he said, I desire particularly to be useful to the two young wo- men, who have a double claim to my regard, as they have lost their father. Toward the close of April, 1790, Admiral Jones visited London to close the business of a speculation in which he had been engaged with Dr. Bancroft, and received, as his share of the operations, about sixteen thousand dollars in notes and money. He remained there only long enough to transact his business, and then hurried to Paris. In July, he addressed a long vindicatory letter to Prince Potemkin, the chief object of which seemed to be to procure the coveted decoration of the Order of St. George, to which his exploits while in command of the fleet before Oczakow fairly entitled him. At the same time, he called Poteinkins attention to some new naval projects; hinted at the prob- ability of Catharines favorite becoming a Sov- ereign of Europe; and begged him to accept a copy of the gold medal awarded to the Cheva- lier by the American Congress. Jones was anxious to return to the Russian navy, and he thus cautiously sought to accomplish his object through the good-will of the all-potent Prince. But Potemkin never favored the Admiral with a reply, and he remained in comparative inac- tion until the following spring, when he made a direct application to the Empress to be re- called to her service. Catharine was as silent 168 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. as Potemkin, until, through Baron Grimm, her secret agent in Paris, Jones submitted som~t promising improvements in naval construction, and asked for employment. Then Catharine replied, that a general peace in Europe appeared probable, and that wlien she needed the services of Rear-admiral Jones she would communicate directly with him. Now faded away his last ray of hope of ever again walking the quarter-deck of a Russian man-of-war, and the disappointed Admiral dismissed eatharine and all her retinue from the sphere of his aspirations. Long exposure to peculiar hardships in va- rious climates, and the chafing of a hot and restless spirit in a delicate body, had implanted in the system of Admiral Jones seeds of dis- case which now rapidly germinated. The fatal shears of Antropos clipped the wings of his am- bition for glory in battle, and he began to con- template higher and holier things. The lion and the bear of his passions quietly lay down with the lamb of his affections, and the young child of purest emotions led them where it pleased. Reminiscences of early years wove a web of melancholy delight around his whole be- ing, and he yearned for the love of his family and friends. As the splendor of earthly mag- nificence paled before the light of true appre- ciation, his soul turned with tenderness to the mild radiance which beamed from a higher sphere. His letters to his eldest sister at this time were full of pleasant thoughts, and kindly, religious sentiments. A coldness between his sisters troubled him. My grief is inexpressi- ble, he wrote, that two sisters, whose happi- ness is so interesting to me, do not live together in that mutual tenderness and affection which ould do so much honor to themselves, and to the memory of their worthy relations. Permit me to recommend to your serious study and ap- plication Popes Universal Prayer. You will find more morality in that little piece than in many volumes that have been written by great divines: Teach me to feel another~s woe, To hide the fault I see; That mercy I to others show. That mercy show to me! Sometimes his disease would abate, and hopes of returning health would cheer him. Then would come yearnings for the path of human olorv Ambition made many cartoons of new plans, and he contemplated a ceremonial visit at the Court at Versailles. But the tempest of that great Revolution which soon swept away the throne, all royalty, and the flower of the aris- tocracy of France, was then gathering stren~th, and lie never saw the face of Louis XVI. again. Then his sympathies were greatly excited in behalf of captive Americans among the Alge- rines; and he urged Mr. Jefferson, then Sec- retary of State, to induce his government to take measures for their immediate ransom. His stir- ring petition was heeded, but he did not live to see its fruits. His disease made rapid progress, vet his mind retained its vigor, and he kept up an extensive correspondence until the spring of 1792, when his vitality rapidly failed. Early in the sumnier his malady assumed the fatal form of dropsy in the chest. The Queens physician attended him, and a few kind friends cheered his last hours. Among these were Governeur Morris (then United States Minister at the Court of Versailles), Colonel Blackden, and Beaupoil, a French officer, who greatly admired the character of Jones. Colonel Blackden at last assumed the office of friendly adviser, and performed the painful and delicate duty of urging the Admiral to set- tle his worldly affairs and prepare fpr death. On the 18th of July Jones made a schedule of all his property. Two notaries were then sent for, and Governeur Morris proceeded to draw the last Will of the dying man, according to the invalids own dictation. his veneration for titles, which had been one of the weaknesses of his character, disappeared, and in a clear voice he directed his friend to write: Before the undersigned, notaries at I~aris, appeared John Paul Jones, citizen of the United States of America, resident at Paris, lodged in the street of Tournon, No. 42, at the house of M. Dorbergue, hussier audiancier of the tribunal of the third arrondissement, found in a parlor in the first story above the floor, lighted by two windows, opening in the said street of Tournon, sitting in an arm-chair, sick in body, but sound of mind, memory, and understand- ing, as it appeared to the undersigned not- aries, by his discourse and conversation, who in view of his death has made, dictated, and worded, to the undersigned notaries, his testa- ment as follows : Then he proceeded to be- queath all his property, amounting, probably, to about thirty thousand dollars, to his two sisters and their children, and made Robert Morris of Philadelphia (the great financier of the Revo- lution) his sole testamentary executor. He signed his Will at about eight oclock in the evening, when his friends, after witnessing it, withdrew, leaving him still seated in his arm- chair. his physician arrived soon afterward. The arm-chair was vacant, and the little parlor was deserted. On entering the adjoining bed- room he found there the lifeless body of his patient, the face upon the bedside and the feet resting upon the floor. A few hours after his spirit had departed, a commission arrived from the Government of the United States, appoint- ing him its agent to treat with the Regency of Algiers for the ransom of all captive Ameri- cans. Ilow the sight of it would have soothed his pillow in his dying hour! When the death of Admiral Jones was made known in the National Assembly of France, that body passed complimentary resolutiuns. and decreed that twelve of its members should appear in the funeral procession. Two days after his death his body was placed in a leaden coffin, in order that it might be conveniently taken to the United States, or Russia, if either government should claim it. It was followed JOHN PAUL JONES. 169 to the tomb by quite a large concourse of citi- zens, and the stipulated deputation of the Na- tional Assembly. The funeral obsequies were Performed at the serene and solemn hour of twilight, and the ceremonies were concluded by a funeral oration pronounced by M. Marron, a French Protestant clergyman, who said: Legislators citizens! soldiers brethren! and Frenchmen! We have just returned to the earth the remains of an illustrious stranger, one of the first champions of the liberty of Amer ica; of that liberty which so gloriously ushered in our own. The Semiramis of the North had drawn him under her standard, but Paul Jones could not long breathe the pestilential air of despotism; he preferred the sweets of private life in France, now free, to the & lat of title~ and honors, which, from an usurped throne, were lavished upon him by Catharine. But the fame of the great man survives; his portion is immortality. And what more flattering hom- age can we offer to t4se manes of Paul Jon ~s, SIONING TUE WILL. 170 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. than to swear on his tomb to live or to die free? Let this be the vow and watchword of every Frenchman! Let neither tyrants nor their satellites ever pollute this sacred earth! May the ashes of the great man, too soon lost to humanity, enjoy here an undisturbed repose! May his example teach posterity the efforts which noble souls are capable of making, when stimulated by hatred to oppression. Friends and brethren! a noble emulation brightens in your looks; your time is precious; your country is in danger! Who among us would not shed the last drop of his blood to save it? Identify yourselves with the glory of Paul Jones, in imitating his contempt for dan- ger, his devotion to his country, and the noble heroism which, after having astonished the pres- ent age, will continue to call forth the venera- tion of ages to come ! In this manner, and in the midst of the ter- ble waves of a bloody Revolution then surging fearfully over Paris, the son of the humble gar- dener of Arbigland was hidden away from mor- tal vision, at the age of forty-five years. Nei- ther the government of the United States nor that of Russia ever claimed his remains for burial or mounmental honor, and the place of his sepulchre is unknown to the present gen- eration! TAYLORS BATTLES IN MEXICO. ON the 8th of March, 1846, General Taylor broke up his camp at Corpus Christi in Texas, and marched toward the Rio Grande. In the eyes of the Mexicans, the movement was an act of war. Though Texas had been ten years independent and unmolested by the Power which still claimed a nominal sovereignty over her; though she had solicited and obtained ad- mission, over a year before, into the family of the United States, Mexico still regarded her as a dependency, and protested against the occu- pation of her territory by our troops as an in-. vasion of Mexican soil. Furthermore, Mexico denied that Texas extended to the Rio Grande, as asserted in the treaty which followed the battle of San Jacinto; and persisted in regard- ing the River Nueces as the proper southern boundary of her rebellious province. When, therefore, the United States army, not content with occupying Corpus Christi and the whole of Texas to the north of the Nueces, began to march southward, the double affront roused the Mexican spirit to fever heat, and preparations were instantly made for war. Fully apprised of the temper of the southern republic, our little army, about 3500 strong, struck their tents at Corpus Christi with alac- rity and glee. They were in perfect condition and discipline. Among their officers they count- ed several who had fought thirty years before on the northern frontier; and a large propor- tion of the men had been inured to the hard- ships of warfare in the campaigns against the Indians. The recruits, full of youthful ardor and hope, promised themselves to make up for their want of experience by excess of zeal and valor. All had unbounded confidence in their general. Nor was their trust misplaced. Old Rough and Ready was a model republican sol- dier. Never doubting his own powers, he acted and spoke with invariable decision and energy. Thbugh fully conscious of the importance of maintaining discipline, he was always accessible to the lowest private in his army; and neither in his mode of living, nor even in his dress, did he draw any distinction between himself and the troops he commanded. Danger he had begun to affront fearlessly when his cheek was smooth as a girls; now that his brow was fur- rowed, his head grizzled, and his face bronzed by southern suns, old Zach grinned at the whistle of bullets as composedly as if he had been ball-proof. No Spartan lived more plain- ly than he. The coarsest food was his usual fare, and the sod his favorite bed. I saw him, says a volunteer, sitting in front of a soiled and ragged tent, dressed in an old linen coat and trowsers, twirling a straw hat between his fingers, and dictating to some one within the tent : not more composed, however, then than he was when he stood in the thick of the fight at Resaca de Ia Palma, or amidst the rain of balls at Buena Vista. He had a Wagon which accompanied him throughout the cam- paigna clumsy, hard-seated, low-backed Jer- sey concern, which he had bought by way of luxury; but it was generally occupied by a wounded soldier, while the General sat on his old gray. As a commander he was daring, prompt, and unshakable in his purpose; all the army knew that when he had said a thing, no power on earth could alter it. At the same time he was careful of his men. While he com- manded, no lives were needlessly risked for the sake of glory, If the enemy oppose my march, in whatever force, he wrote to the Secretary at War, I will fight him But at Palo Alto he would not suffer his infantry to advance within range of the Mexican guns till the day was nearly decided. On the 11th March the last of the troops left Corpus Christi for Point Isabel. They set out in high spirits, but the trials of the march soon put their endurance to the test. Eight days they toiled over a country cursed by Heaven. A broiling sun overheadbeneath, a desert, with here and there a patch of rank prairie grass, but generally paved with what resembled hot ashes to the weary feet of the soldiers: no water, save stagnant pools or glassy lakes filled with a salt, unwholesome liquid: not a sign any where of life or animated nature. Day after day young men fell in the ranks overcome by the heat, or sat down to die by the roadside, as reckless of life as of glory. Many a poor fellow who left Corpus Christi full of vigor and martial energy, closed his career before the army reached the Arroyo Colorado. It was not - till the 19th that the advance-guard encamped on the border of that stream. There the sol

Taylor's Battles in Mexico 170-185

170 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. than to swear on his tomb to live or to die free? Let this be the vow and watchword of every Frenchman! Let neither tyrants nor their satellites ever pollute this sacred earth! May the ashes of the great man, too soon lost to humanity, enjoy here an undisturbed repose! May his example teach posterity the efforts which noble souls are capable of making, when stimulated by hatred to oppression. Friends and brethren! a noble emulation brightens in your looks; your time is precious; your country is in danger! Who among us would not shed the last drop of his blood to save it? Identify yourselves with the glory of Paul Jones, in imitating his contempt for dan- ger, his devotion to his country, and the noble heroism which, after having astonished the pres- ent age, will continue to call forth the venera- tion of ages to come ! In this manner, and in the midst of the ter- ble waves of a bloody Revolution then surging fearfully over Paris, the son of the humble gar- dener of Arbigland was hidden away from mor- tal vision, at the age of forty-five years. Nei- ther the government of the United States nor that of Russia ever claimed his remains for burial or mounmental honor, and the place of his sepulchre is unknown to the present gen- eration! TAYLORS BATTLES IN MEXICO. ON the 8th of March, 1846, General Taylor broke up his camp at Corpus Christi in Texas, and marched toward the Rio Grande. In the eyes of the Mexicans, the movement was an act of war. Though Texas had been ten years independent and unmolested by the Power which still claimed a nominal sovereignty over her; though she had solicited and obtained ad- mission, over a year before, into the family of the United States, Mexico still regarded her as a dependency, and protested against the occu- pation of her territory by our troops as an in-. vasion of Mexican soil. Furthermore, Mexico denied that Texas extended to the Rio Grande, as asserted in the treaty which followed the battle of San Jacinto; and persisted in regard- ing the River Nueces as the proper southern boundary of her rebellious province. When, therefore, the United States army, not content with occupying Corpus Christi and the whole of Texas to the north of the Nueces, began to march southward, the double affront roused the Mexican spirit to fever heat, and preparations were instantly made for war. Fully apprised of the temper of the southern republic, our little army, about 3500 strong, struck their tents at Corpus Christi with alac- rity and glee. They were in perfect condition and discipline. Among their officers they count- ed several who had fought thirty years before on the northern frontier; and a large propor- tion of the men had been inured to the hard- ships of warfare in the campaigns against the Indians. The recruits, full of youthful ardor and hope, promised themselves to make up for their want of experience by excess of zeal and valor. All had unbounded confidence in their general. Nor was their trust misplaced. Old Rough and Ready was a model republican sol- dier. Never doubting his own powers, he acted and spoke with invariable decision and energy. Thbugh fully conscious of the importance of maintaining discipline, he was always accessible to the lowest private in his army; and neither in his mode of living, nor even in his dress, did he draw any distinction between himself and the troops he commanded. Danger he had begun to affront fearlessly when his cheek was smooth as a girls; now that his brow was fur- rowed, his head grizzled, and his face bronzed by southern suns, old Zach grinned at the whistle of bullets as composedly as if he had been ball-proof. No Spartan lived more plain- ly than he. The coarsest food was his usual fare, and the sod his favorite bed. I saw him, says a volunteer, sitting in front of a soiled and ragged tent, dressed in an old linen coat and trowsers, twirling a straw hat between his fingers, and dictating to some one within the tent : not more composed, however, then than he was when he stood in the thick of the fight at Resaca de Ia Palma, or amidst the rain of balls at Buena Vista. He had a Wagon which accompanied him throughout the cam- paigna clumsy, hard-seated, low-backed Jer- sey concern, which he had bought by way of luxury; but it was generally occupied by a wounded soldier, while the General sat on his old gray. As a commander he was daring, prompt, and unshakable in his purpose; all the army knew that when he had said a thing, no power on earth could alter it. At the same time he was careful of his men. While he com- manded, no lives were needlessly risked for the sake of glory, If the enemy oppose my march, in whatever force, he wrote to the Secretary at War, I will fight him But at Palo Alto he would not suffer his infantry to advance within range of the Mexican guns till the day was nearly decided. On the 11th March the last of the troops left Corpus Christi for Point Isabel. They set out in high spirits, but the trials of the march soon put their endurance to the test. Eight days they toiled over a country cursed by Heaven. A broiling sun overheadbeneath, a desert, with here and there a patch of rank prairie grass, but generally paved with what resembled hot ashes to the weary feet of the soldiers: no water, save stagnant pools or glassy lakes filled with a salt, unwholesome liquid: not a sign any where of life or animated nature. Day after day young men fell in the ranks overcome by the heat, or sat down to die by the roadside, as reckless of life as of glory. Many a poor fellow who left Corpus Christi full of vigor and martial energy, closed his career before the army reached the Arroyo Colorado. It was not - till the 19th that the advance-guard encamped on the border of that stream. There the sol TAYLORS BATTLES IN MEXICO. 171 diers hearts were roused by the appearance of ranchero cavalry on the south hank, and the sound of many bugles betokening the long-ex- pected enemy. Men forgot their fatigue~at the first blast. Weapons were cleaned, spirits cheer- ed, nerves braced for battle. It came not, how- ever. When the gallant Worth, at the head of some light artillery, dashed into the river, ex- pecting to hear the roar of cannon and the splash of shot around him, all was silent on the opposite shore, and for this time the army was balked. The rancheros had fled. On the troops pushed, over better ground in some respects, but disputing the space for their tents at night, and their blankets in the morning, with huge rattlesnakes. At length they reached the Mata- moras road, and from thence to the iRio Grande the country sensibly improved. Pomegranate, fig, and orange groves smiled in the distance. Cattle were seen toiling in cultivated fields; poultry and game tempted the soldier as he thought of the hard fare of the past few days. Above all, in front, rolled the blue waters of the Rio Grande: nothing marvelous as a river to those who had come from the shores of the Hudson and the Mississippi, but a stream of fresh water suggestive of cool bathes and plen- teous draughts to these tired and thirsty bands. Especially was it hailed with joy as the Mexi- can border, which the enemy could hardly fail to defend. General Taylor had selected Point Isabel for his d~p6t, and with the train and a party of dragoons had left the army for thence on strik- ing the Matamoras road. On his approach the Mexican residents of the village on the Point gallantly fired their houses and fled. Fortu- nately for our army the dragoons arrived in time to stop the conflagration; the d~p5t was established, .and AI~eneral Taylor returned to the main body, which marched on the Rio Grande opposite Matamoras. Crowds assembled on the Mexican bank to see the Stars and Stripes hoist- ed for the first time within sight of the Rio Grande: in all their domestic wars the good people of Matamoras had never known such a period of excitement. Within hail of each other two armies were encamped, each waiting for the other to commence the work of death. Each saw the muzzle of the enemys cannon, but shrunk from applying the match to its own. The whole month of April was spent in this waythe Mexicans in the city of Matamoras, and the forts erected on the banks of the river; the Americans in their camp, and a fort which was being constructed en the Texas side under the directions of Major Mansfield. Alarms fre- quently roused our army, and the men flew to arms anticipating a surprise; but, notwithstand- ing the peremptory orders that had been sent to the Mexican general Arista, he would not cross the river. Parties of ranchero cavalry, headed by the famous bandit Romano Falcon, scoured the vicinity; and in one of their expe- ditions fell in with Colonel Cross, a gallant of- ficer, who was taking his afternoon ride. The old man was pulled off his horse and robbed of his arms, purse, etc.; then, it is said, the ran- cheros proposed to take him a prisoner to Mata- moms; but their savage leader, indignant at the humane proposal, instantly rushed upon him and beat his brains out with the butt of his pistol. Lieutenant Porter, who was sent to look for him, was surprised by the same party, and having been wounded in the thigh, was butchered with one of his men. A few days afterward, Captain Thornton, who had been sent out with a party to reconnoitre, was captured and caraled to Matamoras. Stragglers from the camp were sure to be trapped by the vulture rancheros. These incidents embittered the feeling of our men, and the intercourse which had been at first instituted with the city was broken off. On 1st May, General Taylor decided to re- lieve Point Isabel, which was threatened by the Mexicans and was inadequately garrisoned. He left to hold the new fort (since called Fort Brown) the 7th infantry and two companies of artillery, in all 500 men, under Major Brown; and, at four in the afternoon, marched with the rest of the army. Peals from the church-bells at Matamoras, ~nd loud shouts from the spec- tators who lined the Mexican side, testified the enemys delight at what they called Taylors flight. Several Mexican regiments instantly crossed the rivera body of cavalry, under Gen- eral Torrejon, had already crossed above the cityand Taylor was hardly out of sight before the forts on the south side opened fire on Major Browns position. Clouds of smoke arose from the four batteries opposite to Fort Brown, and round shot and shells rained thickly npon its walls and parapet. The little garrison were not dismayed. The 18-pounders were brought to bear on the batteries immediately opposite, and in thirty minutes two of the guns were dis- mounted, and the upper batteries silenced. A few shot were fired at the city, but the distance was too great and the practice was discontinued. Indeed, it was soon found that the quantity of ammunition in the fort was barely sufficient for defense in case of assault; and it was accord- ingly resolved to sustain the fire of the lower batteries without replying. The delight of the Mexicans at having, as they believed, silenced Fort Brown, was even greater than that pro- duced by the flight of Taylor. Nothing, it seemed, was now wanting but an assault; but for this they were not yet prepared. Shells and shot were rained from a safe distance. Arista erected a new mortar battery behind the fort on the Texan side, and played with admirable ac- curacy upon the work; without, however, ef- fecting any greater result than a mere annoy- ance. Bomb-proofs of the most primitive de- scription had been erectedstakes being laid on pork barrels, and several feet of earth placed upon themand to these the besieged fled when a shell made its appearance in the air. For six days the Mexican batteries kept up an incessant fire. On the third day a shell struck the para- pet, exploded, and a cloud of dust arose; when 172 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. it blew away, Major Brown was seen lying on the ground, his right leg torn completely off by a fragment of the shell. The soldiers crowded around him; but their dying chief cried: Men, go to your duties! Thank God! the country has not lost a younger man. Ills leg was am- putated, but to no purposethe wound was mortal. The next day the Mexicans approached with- in range of the 6-pounders; and, for the first time since the beginning of the siege, the de- fenders had an opportunity of replying. It was done with such effect that the assailants precip- itately retired. Arista then summoned the gar- rison to surrender. Captain Hawkins, who suc- ceeded Major Brown in the command, replied that, not being familiar with the Mexican lan- guage, he was not very sure of the meaning of General Aristas letter; but if it was a request to surrender he must positively decline. Then the shot and shells poured into the fort with greater fury than ever. The men were con- stantly occupied in watching for them, and at last joked familiarly about their Mexican visit- ors. The cook said the rascals had spoiled his coffee by throwing a shell into the pot. Still, the fatigue of watching was beginning to tell on the little party. Unless relief came, they must yield at last. Eight days had elapsed since Taylor marched, and they had no news of him. The anxiety of the garrison was worse than the Mexican fire. On the afternoon of the 8th, in the intervals between the discharges from the batteries, cannonading was heard in the direc- tion of Fort Isabel. A tremendous shout from the fort welcomed the sound. They knew Tay- lor was coming. They knew a battle was being fought. On its fate depended their own and that of the whole army. Their anxiety can be conceived. The evening before, the defenses of Fort Is- abel being completed and a garrison left for its defense, General Taylor marched with 2111 men and ten guns, two of which were 18-pound- ers, in the direction of the Rio Grande. The men were boiling with excitement and ardor for the battle. At noon next day a long shout arose from the advance-guard. They had come in sight of the Mexican army in order of battle. Apprised by his scouts of Taylors movements, Arista had marched to meet him, chosen his ground, and drawn np his army in a most ad- vantageous position. The spot he had chosen is a plain about three miles in extent, bounded by chaparral, or brushwood, and clumps of dwarf mosquito trees, called, by contrast with the more diminutive shrubs of the country, Palo Alto, or high timber. The plain itself is covered with long rank grass, reaching to the muzzles of the field-pieces; but not a hillock or an elevation of any kind breaks the level of its surface. At the extremity of this plain the Mexican army spread from side to side. On either wisig the cavalry were posted, their bright uniforms and lances glancing in the noonday sun; between them were solid columns of infantry, with cannon at intervals. Gaudy flags and pennons waved ovtr each regiment; conspicuous among all was the banner of the celebrated Tampico battalion, floating proudly over as fine a body of men as ever carried a musket. Twas a fine sight, this army, about six thousand men in all, in perfect discipline and equipments, glittering with bright steel and tinsel ornament, and evidently as eager for the fray as our own. The lancers on the left wing, under General Torrejon, were espe- cially admired. There were a thousand of them, gallant fellows, on fine horses, full of fight, and splendidly equipped. When the enemy was signaled, General Tay- lor ordered a halt, and bade the men quench their thirst at the pools by the roadside. The colors were then unfurled, and the infantry of- ficers reminded their men of the significant sen- tence in the last general order: The General enjoins upon the infantry that their main de- pendence must be in the bayonet. There was not in that army, small as it was, one man who doubted what the result of the battle would be. At two oclock the troops advanced in two wings. The right was composed of the 3d, 4th, and ~th infantry, Hiuggolds battery, a few dra- goons nuder May, and two 18-pounders under Churchill; in the left was a battalion of artil- lery serving as infantry, Duncans battery, and the 8th regiment of infantry. As they marched forward, Lieutenant Blake, of the topographical engineers, galloped out from the line alone to- ward the enemy, never drawing rein till within one hundred and fifty yards of their front; he then dismounted, calmly adjusted a telescope, and made a minute observation of their force; which concluded, he rode back as coolly as if on parade. Poor fellow! he had braved the fire of the whole Mexican army to fall ingloriously the next morning by an accidental shot from his own pistol. When our troops had advanced within seven hundred yards of the Mexicans, a stream of fire ran along their line, and round shot and can- ister came whizzing through the air. Twas the first of the battle. Swift as thought, Dun- can and Riuggold replied with far greater pre- cision; and the terrible 18-pounders under Churchill roared louder than all. Through and through the solid Mexican masses the round balls cut lanes, and as the serried ranks closed over the bodies of their fallen comrades, fresh discharges mowed them down in their turn. Taylors infantry were prudently kept out of range; and the enemys pieces, directed against the batteries, were too ill aimed to do much mischief. Galled by the American fire, and thrown into confusion by the unsteadiness of their horses, Torrejons lancers begged to be led against the foe. Arista ordered them to turn the American right, which rested against a clump of chaparral. They instantly disap- peared from the field of battle, and came sweep- ing round the clump in headlong haste. But the movement had not escaped the eye of Tay- lor. Before they wheeled round, the 5th moved TAYLORS BATTLES IN MEXICO. 173 rapidly toward the point where they must re- appear; and when the lancers emerged from cover, our fellows awaited them in square. On they came, unslinging their escopetas as they rode, and firing a harmless volley into the square. For a moment there was silence; then a rapid discharge from the 5th shut them from view, and when the smoke rose the lancers had broken, and with many an empty saddle were in full re- treat. A loud cheer from the 6th hailed the failure of the charge. The Mexicans were not heaten, however. After retiring a short distance, they re-formed and moved in the direction of Taylors train. At the same time two pieces of artillery, which had followed them, were hrought up against the 5th. The moment was critical. In douhle-quick time the 3d infantry hastened to protect the train, and two of Ring- golds guns, under Lieutenant Ridgely, flew over the plain to meet the Mexican artillery. Both were perfectly successful. The terrible volley they had encountered from the 5th had made the lancers cautious; a very few shots from the 3d put them to flight; and at the same moment Ridgely opened on the Mexican artillery before they had time to unlimber. So well aimed were his guns, that the Mexicans turned at the first fire, and sought refuge behind the chap- arral. All this time the roar in the front had never ceased. It was now arrested by a singular acci- dent. The wadding of the guns, falling into the long dry grass, set it on fire, and immense clouds of blinding smoke arose from the plain. In a twinkling the whole battle-field was in a blaze, and neither combatant could see his foe. A dead silence ensued. Both commanders availed themselves of the pause to change their positionTaylor to pursue his advantage, Arista to escape the murderous fire of our artillery. The latter turned his whole line at right-angles to his former position; the former pushed for- ward his right wing, until Riuggolds guns stood on the very spot at first occupied by Torrejons cavalry. So profound was the silence that the creaking of the wheels of the gun-carriages, as twenty yoke of oxen drew them heavily forward, could be heard distinctly. There was a moment of fearful suspense, when no one could tell how or where the battle would burst forth anew. At length a gap in the smoke disclosed to Duncans sharp eye the Mexican masses moving silently down along the chaparral against the American left wing. In a few moments the whole force, with 1000 ranchero cavalry, in good order, would have fallen resistlessly upon the 8th and artil- lery battalion. There was no time for hesitation. Urging his horses to a hand gallop, Duncan tore round the burning prairie, under cover of the smoke, till he neared its left side; then rapidly unihabering, with match lighted, and guns pointed, he awaited the foe. A puff of wind lifted the vail of smoke; the cavalry were within musket-shot, sweeping along with steady tramp. The Mexicans hardly saw the unexpected ad- versary when a thundering discharge from the whole battery assailed them. Reeling beneath the shock, men and horses rolled over in the plain: the advance was checked. Behind the horse, however, the infantry moved steadily and rapidly forward, the Tampico battalion pressing eagerly to the front. Duncan was unsupported. A vigorous charge would have carried the bat- tery. General Taylor saw the danger, and or- dered up the 8th, with Kers dragoons, to sup- port the guns. But the men whom Duncan led sought no support. Dividing their aim, one section poured its volleys into the dense col- umns of Mexican foot, .while shells and grape from the other crashed through the disordered ranks of the horse. Yalliant as they were, the assailants could not advance under that deadly rain of shot. Meanwhile the action had been resumed at the other extremity of the plain. Riuggolds battery and the 18-pounders reopened their fire upon the masses in front of them. In return, the Mexican artillery poured a stream of canis- ter upon the guns. The range was closer than at the beginning of the battle, and on both sides the practice was murderous. In the excitement of the moment, Colonel Payne begged Lieu- tenant Churchill to allow him to sight one of his pieces. He had hardly done so when he heard his name pronounced in a plaintive voice behind him. Turning hastily, he saw Major Riuggold lyingon the ground, mortally wounded. A shot had mangled both the gallant soldiers legs, and laid bare the bones. Payne rushed to his side. Take this, said the dying man feebly, resting ~is head on his left hand, and removing with his right a chain from his neck, for my sister. Thus fell one of the best ar- tillery men in the army.~ Beside him lay Cap- tain Page, his face torn away by a cannon-ball. The Mexicans had got the range perfectly, and though their firing was slower than Churchills, it never slackened. Still, in many portions of the line a wavering was visible. On the American right, their pre- ponderance of metal enabled Churchill and Ridgely to do terrible execution; on the left, Duncan had just received a fresh supply of am- munition and followed the retreating masses with shell and canister. Desperately did the Mexicans struggle against the irresistible tor- rent which drove them back. Over and over again Torrejon rallied a squadron of cavalry for a charge, but each time an unerring shot from the batteries dispersed them. The fate of the day was sealed. As night fell the re- treat of the Mexicans became undisguised: their batteries ceased firing, and under cover of the darkness their troops withdrew out of range into the chaparral. Thus was won the day of Palo Alto. Worn out by fatigue, many of the men lay down where they stood, and fell asleep before the smoke had risen from the battle-field. The surgeons and their aids, with torches, hastened in search of the wounded, stumbling over corpses, and guided by the groans of those 174 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. whom the shot had laid low. The plain was strewed with bodies. Fifty-six Americans had fallen, nine of them to rise no more; the Mex- ican loss, which was far greater, has never been accurately determined. Arista set it down at 252 killed, wounded, and missing; but it was probably nearly double that number. As the Mexicau surgeon-in-chief had fled with his instruments, the wounded were left to die on the field; the damp night saw many a brave spirit succumb to the agony of thirst and loss of blood. Before daybreak next morning Taylor and his officers were astir. Though the men had encamped on the field, nothing was known of the position of the Mexicans; the attack might be renewed at break of day. But the dawn burst on a deserted plain. The enemy had fled, leaving his wounded on the field. Several hours were consumed in providing for these, and preparing for the march. It was not till one P.M., that the army advanced to- ward the river. It was late in the afternoon, and the General had begun to think Arista had fallen back on Matamoras, when a sudden rat- tle of musketry, followed by the heavier boom of cannon in the front, revealed the presence of the enemy. A few miles from the Rio Grande the Matamoras road intersects a ditch or ravine, about sixty yards wide and four feet deep, called Resaca de in Palma. In front it resembles an irregular quarter-moon, with the horns to the north, from which side the army was advancing. With the exception of the narrow road, the whole space inclosed by the ravine, as well as its outside borders, is covered with thick chap- arral, in every portion of which, with guns plant- ed so as to sweep the ~oad, the Mexican army awaited Taylors approach. They had received reinforcements that morning, to replace the loss- es of the day before; and the ardor of the new troops, joined to the confidence inspired by the uRdoubted strength of their position, had quite dispelled the moral effect of their recent defeat. The day was fast declining, and Taylor was anxious to reach Fort Brown. The Mexican army, about three times his strength, was, in his eyes, a mere obstacle to be overcome as a mat- ter of course. A few minutes sufficed for his plans, and to rest the troops. He then sent for- ward Ridgelys light battery along the road, and the 3d, 4th, and 5th infantry deployed as skirmishers through the chaparral toward the ravine. Ridgely advanced under a sheet of flame to within three hundred yards of the near- est Mexican battery; then, rapidly unlimbering, he opened fire as vigorously as usual. The skir- mishers forced their way through the tangled brushwood with such alacrity that they kept pace with the flying artillery, and engaged the enemy at the same moment. On their side, the Mexican batteries thundered away, and the in- fantry, posted in the ditch and under cover of the thicket around it, poured in a destructive shower of ball. It was clear that the cannon would not decide this contest, as it had the one of the day before. Now was the time for the infantry to recall Taylors injunction. Well did they remember it. Bursting furiously from the chap- arral, the gallant 3d and 4th leaped into the ravine, bayoneted or drove back the Mexicans stationed there, and proceeded to form in the hollow. Rallied by their officers, the Mexicans returned to the charge before our troops had formed, and again the steel line drove them back. Onward then our brave men rushed to the foremost Mexican battery, and carried it with the bayonet. But the road was nutenable. The powerful batteries in the rear of the ravine swept it with constant discharges. Ridgely had enough to do to keep off the cavalry with his pieces, and, as it was, his men were falling rapidly nuder the the iron hail to which they were exposed. It was clear that the fate of the day depended on the capture of the Mexican guns. Captain May, roared Taylor, riding up to the dragoons, you must take that battery I I will do it, Sir 1 was the reply; and the next moment May and his squadron were thundering down the road. Ridgelys batteries were in the way, the men stripped to the skin, loading and firing amidst the rain of shot like very devils. Wait, Char- icy, said their commander to Captain May, till I draw their fire. The air was rent by the ring of the light guns, followed instantane- ously by the stunning roar of the enemys bat- teries; then the artillerymen limbering up, May dashed gallantly forward, far ahead of his troop, through the ravine, and straight over the battery. The guns were taken. Dearly bought, however. In the act of cheering on the men, the gallant Inge had been struck by a ball in his throat, and silenced forever. Over the Mexican guns they had captured, the dragoons had fallen so thickly that May could only rally six men to hold them. Seein~ this, the Tan~pico battalion charged with the bayonet, and May was obliged to cut his way back to the lines with one prisoner, General IDe Ia Vega. But his glorious exploit was not des- tined to be fruitless. Just as the Mexicans re- took the pieces, Colonel Belkuap, with the 8th, and part of the 5th, charged up the road, and fell upon the enemy with a yell. Over the can- nons and round the carriages a desperate fight with the bayonet began. Man to man, and foot to foot, every inch of ground was contested with desperate obstinacy. The cold steel was doing the work all over the field. The infantry had rushed through the ravine, and were attacking the Mexicans on their own side. A party of the 4th, headed by Captain Buchanan, stormed an intrenchment containing a cannon, and drove off the gunners. A squadron of Mexican horse immediately charged them. They fired, and Corporal Chis- holm shot down the commanding officer. Wa- ter, water ! cried the dying Mexican, in pite- ous tones. The corporal instantly stooped down and I)laced his canteen to his lips. He had scarcely risen ~vhen a Mexican ball laid him beside his ex~)iring foe. TAYLORS BATTLES IN MEXICO. 175 On another side MIntosh, with the 8th, made a similar attack on a party of Mexicans ensconced behind the chaparral. This was so thick that the men could not force their way through it. MIntosh alone, carried forward by his horse, penetrated to the Mexican side. He was instantly surrounded by a host of foes. One man thrust his bayonet through his mouth till it came out below his ear; another ran him throu,,h the arm; and a third pinned him to the earth with a thrust through the hip. At that moment an attack from another side di- verted the attention of his assailants. Dun- cans battery had crossed the ravine, and threat- ened them in flank. MIntosh rose from the ground, and Duncan, without looking at him, called upon him for support. The wounded man could barely articulate; he tried to say, Show me my regiment, and I will give you the support you need. The whole army had by this time crossed the ravine and driven back the Mexicans from its border. For a time the contest was maintained with the bayonet; but despite the valor and numbers of the enemy, in a band-to-hand con. filet victory was sure to rest with the men of the north. They fought with a ferocity which appalled the Mexicans. From bush to bush, from sod to sod, they forced them back, seem- ingly as unconscious of fatigue as of wounds. First one side, then another gave way. The lancers, scattered and dismayed, began to charge fitfully and recklessly, losing men and gaining no advantage. At last, Duncans and Hidgelys batteries took up a commanding position on the south side of the ravine, and opened a fire of grape on the broken masses. This finished them, and the rout became general. The whole army, with Arista at its head, sought safay in flight. His camp was taken, with all his cor- respondence and munitions of war. He had barely time to rally a few lancers when the dragoons and the light batteries were on his heels. Overthe plains, with the wings of terror, scram- bled the fragments of the Mexican army, throw- ing away accoutrements, knapsacks, and arms, to increase their speed. -Horse and foot, Tam- l)ico veterans and splendid lancers, were all hud- dled together in confused masses, no man know- ing his companion, or thinking of aught but flight. For close behind them rumbled the light artillery of the victors, halting ever and anon to pour a deadly shower of grape upon their help- less bands. On another side, the light infantry and dragoons pressed hotly upon the hindmost, slaking the savage fury a battle engenders in the soldiers breast. There was n~ pity for the slayers of Riuggold, or the brutal assassins who would have murdered MIntosh. With bayonet and sabre, with grape and canister, they were driven like sheep to the banks of the Rio Grande. There new dangers awaited them. Boats could not be found for a tithe of the fugitives. Crowds rushed headlong into those that were there, and swamped them. Others dashed into the stream, and perished in the waves. To add to all, the defenders of Fort Brown, who had spent a day of maddening anxiety within hearing of the battle, assailed the flying host with showers of shot as it reached the river. Over one hundred Americans were missing next morning when the roll was called. Thir- ty-nine had been killed. The Mexican loss was very great. Some said that 750 had fall- en on the field; others, who are perhaps nearer the truth, set down the number at 500. But to this must be added the list of those who per- ished in the flight ttt the hands of the pursuers, or in the waters of the Rio Grande. All next day the United States troops were busily en- gaged in burying the dead; night came on be- fore the sod was trodden down over the last grave. A few days were spent in repairing the dam- age of the battles of the 8th and 9th May, and fortifying Fort Brown. Then Taylor prepared to cross the river and attack Matamoras. Dis- sensions and strife distracted the Mexican camp. Arista was for retreating without strik- ing a blow; some of his officers recommended a bolder course; but others, influenced by the political intrigues at work in the army, second- ed the suggestion of their chief, and Matamoras was evacuated. Haggard and sullen, the rem- nant of the Mexicah force slunk out of the city at dusk on the 17th, and began to move slowly southward. As they marched, some vented openly their anger at the timidity of the gen- eral; others gave way to grief at the misfor- tunes of their country; a few committed suicide in rage, and General Garcia died of a broken heart. Of the splendid army which had made such an imposing appearance at Palo Alto, bare- ly 1800 disorganized troops remained. Mean- while Taylor crossed the Rio at leisure and in- vested Matamoras, awaiting reinforcements. It was not till the last days of July that he felt strong enough to advance into the interior. By that time, strong bodies of volunteers had landed at the Brazos, and had Taylor possessed means of transportation, he might have led ten thousand men against the enemy. As it was, he resolved to do the work with little more than half that number. Pushing up the river to Camargo early in August, he reviewed his army there, discharged all sickly and discontented men, and selected from the volunteers the Mis- sissippi, Tennessee, 1st Ohio, and Kentucky regiments of infantry, two regiments of Texas horse, the Baltimore battalion, and the remnant of the Louisiana three months volunteers, to accompany the regulars. The rest he stationed at various posts along the river. On the 19th August, General Worth, who had rejoined the army at Camargo, marched to Cerralvo, and the two other divisions under Twiggs and But- ler followed shortly after. The march to Point Isabel had been severe, but it was nothing to this. Fever and other diseases had weakened the volunteers in the camp at Camargo; heat and thirst now threatened to put an end to their HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. Ii ~ 176 / Q z Q TAYLORS BATTLES IN MEXICO. 177 miseries. In five days, Butlers divisionall raw menmarched seventy-five miles, for the most part through a barren country, where no water could be had, and the thorny chaparral was the only vegetation visible. At the close of each day the men staggered as if drunk breaking the ranks constantly to rush to holes in the earth in search of stagnant water, hut seldom finding the boon they sought. Scores of fine fellows died by the roadside, and were hastily thrust into pits dug at night, and cov- ered over with a few handfuls of dry earth. A whole month elapsed before the army marched from the village of Maria toward the dark tow- ering linc of the Sierra Madre, and encamped within a few miles of Monterey. A squadron of Mexican horse had constantly hovered round them; and from their scouts they knew that H H 0 VOL. XI.NO. tiZ.M 178 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. Ampudia, who had succeeded Arista in com- camp. It is said that it was not General Tay- mand of the army, was not far distant. Early brs intention to attack, hut only to create a on the 20th September, Taylor rode forward diversion in favor of Worth. If so, fate over- with the cavalry toward Monterey, never halt- ruled his plan. Major Mansfield of the En- in,, till within range of its guns. He was ad- gineers, who was in advance reconnoitring the josting his glass to examine the defenses, when forts, sent word to Colonel Garland to come a puff of smoke rose from the brow of the cita- forward, having, as he believed, discovered a del, and a shot whizzed through the air close practicable point for attack. The latter in- over his head. The sound re-echoed through stantly descended the slope at the head of the the mountain gorges, startling the main army, 1st and 3d infantry, Braggs battery, and the and stirring the youn,, blood of the volunteers. Baltimore battalion, followed as he went by the Forward ! was the cry; and soon the last di- piercing eye of Taylor, who sat like a statue vision encamped opposite the city in a grove on the ridge of the hill. In breathless silence called San Domingo. the army watched the steady march of those The prospect was striking and lovely. Be- brave men advancing on as desperate an enter- tween the city and the camp stretched a fertile prise as history records. Before they had neared valley laid out in corn-fields, orange and acacia the point designated by Mansfield, the citadel groves, and sugar-cane; all exhibiting a high had opened a terrible fire on their right flank; state of cultivation, and wearing an air of mx- and the moment after a battery in front sent a ury. The city itself, haif-vailed by thick fo- shower of ball and shell into their ranks. On liage, gleamed brightly in the sun, as its rays they marched, never wavering, till the distance glanced upon the smooth marble-like stucco between them and the garrison was so short which covered the houses. A tall spire near that they could distinguish the faces of the gun- the ceiitre marked the situation of the Cathe- ners. Then Fort Teneria, hitherto silent, poured dm1; elegant residences and large factories dot- in a deadly volley, enfilading them on the left. ted the outskirts. On the east a silver stream, The advance did not burn a cartridge. Against a tributary of the Rio Grande, emerged from such defenses Braggs battery and muskets were the hills behind Monterey, and wound itself as useless as popguns. Dreadfully cut up, and through the plain, in the rear of Forts Teneria in some confusion, the infantry dashed into the and Diablo. These were the easterumost works suburbs, and sought cover behind the walls of of defense. Opposite the centre of the city, the nearest houses. But every spot was cx- and advanced a short distance in the plain, the posed. From behind walls and from house-tops citadel, with frowning bastions bristling with volleys of musketry assailed them as fiercely as guns, reared its formidable front; on the west, the cannon. The advance broke. Barbour two hillsIndependencia and Federacionon had fallen; Colonel Watson, in the act of cheer- the north and south of the river, were crowned ing on his men, was struck down by a ball in each with a fort and a battery niounted with his throat, and immediately afterward his regi- cannon, and commanding that side of the place. ment, the Baltimore battalion, despairing of Behind all rose the tremendous peaks called success, fled in disorder. Bragg was seen in the Saddle and Mitre Mountains. Lofty spurs the midst of the hail coolly unbuckling the bar- of the Sierra Madre, they resembled giants ness from his dead horses. The 1st and 3d, standing over the lovely town at their feet, scattered and separated, sought wildly some ready, in case of need, to roll enormous rocks point where they could use their weapons. But from their summit and overwhelm its assailants, no one knew where he was, or whither to go. At the foot of those mountains ten thousand To stand still was certain death; they turned Mexicanshorse, foot, and artillerywere as- and fell back. As they emerged from the lane, sembled to avenge the defeats of Palo Alto and a body of lancers fell with heavy swoop on ilesaca de la Paima, and defend the queen city their broken ranks, mangling the wounded of the North. Taylor had but 6645 men, in- and doing considerable damage among the fu- eluding officers. The Mexicans lay securely in gitives. their forts, and behind defenses of great strength; Meanwhile Taylor, ignorant of Garlands fate, our men were in the open plain. They had can- had ordered the Mississippi, Ohio, and Tennes- non and munitions of war in abundance; Tay- see volunteers of Butlers division, with the 4th br had four light batteries of six pounders, three infantry, to move by the left flank toward the howitzers, and one useless ten-inch mortar with- point of attack. Dividing as they approached, out a platform. the 4th marched directly on Fort Teneria; but Sunday night (20th September) set in dark before they had approached within musket-range and cloudy with a drizzling rain. The plan of a tremendous volley laid low one-third of the attack had already been organized. Worth, men, and the rest fell back. Decidedly the fate with his division and the Western Texans, had of war was against the assailants. In the midst marched through the corn-fields toward the of the confusion, Taylor rode up, and learning western extremity of the city to attack the how matters stood, ordered Butlers division to heights of Federacion and Independencia. Tay- fall back, and Garland to withdraw his men from br, with the main army, menaced the east end. the field. He was not obeyed. A singular Day broke bright and clear, and after breakfast, accident had changed the fortune of the day. at the drums beat, the army advanced from the When the 1st broke under the cross-fire of the TAYLORS BATTLES IN MEXICO. 179 citadel and Fort Teneria, two companies, under Captain Backus, found shelter in a tannery, and immediately clambered to the roof, which they found to their delight overlooked the fort. Just us the 4th gave way, Backus opened a galling fire upon the Mexican gunners. At that mo- ment Quitmans brigade of Tennessee and Mis- sissippi volunteers were advancing ia the track of the 4th against the work. Backus saw the opportunity, and, urging his company to load and fire rapidly, shot down man after man at the Mexican guns. Ten minutes would do it: on came the Brigade, cut up by the citadel fire, but spared the fatal volleys of the fort: the roof of the tannery was wreathed in smoke. At 100 yards Quitman gave the word to charge. A tremendous shout rose along the plain, and the gallant volunteers swept like a flame up the slope, over the parapet, through an embrasure, and into the fort. Nothing could resist those bayonets. As they rushed in, the Mexicans rushed out. Teneria was safe. The news reached Taylor just as Butler was preparing to fall back: he dispatched an aid at full gallop to countermand the movement. At the head of the Ohio regiment of volunteers, Butler then pressed forward toward the centre of the city; and at the same time Garland re-formed his men, and made a second charge more desperate than the first. But it was impossible to con- tend against the batteries. Fort Diablo and the citadel pelted the advancing columns; every street was raked by cannon; every house was a battery, whence unseen foes poured in a dead- ly fire on the assailants. After prodigious loss, a retrograde movement was ordered. The reg- ular infantry fell back on Fort Teneria; their comrades on the camp. The first days work, at the west end, was over. It had cost nearly 400 men. General Worth had been more fortunate. After an uneasy night, stray shots from skir- mishers rousing the bivouac every few minutes, lie had debouched at an early hour from the corn-fields and advanced toward the Saltillo road. There a strong party of lancers awaited him, supported by several companies of foot. As Hays Texans approached, leading the column, the Mexicans couched their lances and swept down upon them. Two companies of the Tex- ans dismounted and took a position behind a fence; the others vainly endeavored to with- stand the charge. Pressing forward with re- sistless force the lancers rode through the line, scattering the Texans, and bore down on Smiths light infantry, which was deployed as skirmish- ers. These firing hastily and without aim, failed in checking the foe. On they came, their bright pennons floating, and their horses covered with foam, when the dismounted Texans opened fire. Not a shot was lost. Those unerring rifles rang not in sport. Saddle after saddle was emptied, and the front rank pulled up. At that moment Duncan had unlimbered his guns, and poured a deadly discharge of canister over the heads of the skirmishers into the lancers ranks. They broke instantly and fled. After them, in hot haste, ran Smiths skirmishers and the artillery. Man after man was picked off as they galloped up the hillside. The Colonel, a gallant fellow, who had vainly endeavored to rally his men, was seen to fall from his horse, struck by a bul- let, and to roll down the slope. Master, by their defeat, of the Saltillo road, Worth detached Captain Smith, with 300 men, to storm the height of Federacion, on which stood Fort Soldado and a battery of two guns. At noon they advanced stealthily through the corn-fields toward the river. Discovered by the enemy, a rain of shot was poured down upon them, splashing the water into their faces as they crossed the stream; and almost at the same moment a body of Mexican infantry were seen descending the height to meet them. Worth, perceiving the movement, instantly dis- patched the 5th and 7th, by different lines, to divide the attention of the enemy, and support Smith. As soon as they arrived, the latter be- gan to ascend the slope, seeking cover under crags and bushes, and firing irregularly at the Mexican sharpshooters overhead. Here the Texan rifle came into beautiful play. The Mexican aim was bad, the balls passing over the assailants heads: the latter did not lose a shot. Upward they crept, clinging to roots and bushes, narrowing their circle as they approach- ed the summit, and picking off the enemys ad- vance; till, at last, the crest gained, they fell upon the Mexicans with the bayonet, and drove them headlong toward Fort Soldado. A glo- rious cheer rent the air as the stars and stripes were run up over the Mexican flag-staff. The 5th and 7th, seeing that the battery was carried, and that the enemy was flying toward Soldado, wheeled, and advanced in double-quick time upon that point. It was a race between them and the Mexicans. Both entered the fort al- most at the same moment, the Low parapet offer- ing no serious obstacle. Within, the struggle did not last five minutes. In less than that time the few who resisted were shot or bay- oneted, and the bulk of the garrison was in full flight down the hillside. The whole height was taken, almost without loss. As the United States flag rose in the air, a terrific fire from the forts on Independencia Hill opened upon it. Showers of grape tore up the ground. In reckless fury the Texans, fol- lowing close on the heels of the flying Mexicans, toppled many a man ere he reached the plain. In the midst of the conflict a storm burst over- head; the thunder roared as loud as the cannon, and a hurricane swept over the height. War seemed to rage above as well as below. The night was wet and, on the mountain heights, piercingly cold. Many of the men had neither food nor blankets. But a small portion of the work was done. At three next morning a small party, under Colonel Childs, marched to storm the other height. Silently they groped their way in the darkness to its base, and began to climb through the mist which enveloped the