LITTELLS LIVING AGE No, 541. 7 OCT., 1854. THE DEATH OF MEDORA. HE reached his turret doorhe paused, no sound Broke from within; and all was night around. He knocked, and loudlyfootstep nor reply Announced that any heard or deemd him nigh; He knockedbut faintlyfor his trembling hand Refused to aid his heavy hearts demand. The portal openstis a well known face But not the form he panted to embrace. Its lips are silenttwice his own essayd, And failed to frame the question they delayd; He snatchd the lampits light will answer all It quits his grasp, expiring in the fall. He would not wait for that reviving ray As soon could he have lingerd there for day; But, glimmering through the dusky corridor, Another checkers oer the shadowd floor; His steps the chamber gainhis eyes behold All that his heart believed notvet foretold! * * * ~ * He turud notspoke notsunk notfixed his And~ look, set the anxious frame that lately shook; He gazedhow long we gaze, despite of pain, And know, but dare not own, we gaze in vain! In life itself she was so still and fair, That death with gentle aspect withered there; And the cold flowers her colder hand containd, In that last grasp as tenderly were straiud As if she scarcely felt, but feignd a sleep, And made it almost mockery yet to weep: The long dark lashes fringed her lids of snow, And veiledthought shrinks from all that lnrkd below Oh! oer the eye Death most exerts his might, And hurls the spirit from her throne of light! Sinks those blue orbs in that long last eclipse, But spares, as yet, the charm around her lips Yet, yet they seem as they forbore to smile And wishd reposebut only for a while; But the white shroud, and each extended tress, Lou~f~irbut spread in utter lifelessness, Which, late the sport of every summer wind, Escaped the baffled wreath that strove to bind; Theseand the pale pure cheek, became the bier But she is nothingwherefore is he here I NEW THEATRE, BOSTON, 11 SEPT. 1854. And navies playthings for the worlds repose, OPENING ADDRESS. The heart like Nemi, never known to stir, Becomes a mirror of the things that were: WRITTEN BY THOMAS W. PARSONS, BOSTON. Then grows the wish, and then is givn the power To be and feel beyond lifes little hour. WELCOME, bright eyes! that make our splen- The soldier ~schylus, at such a time, dors pale: From the dark realm of passion and of crime Ye reverend heads! you generous hands, all Called back those mighty shades to walk the hail! earth, And thou, proud city! to thy triumphs past And made them deathless by a second birth. Add this to-night, nor let it be thy lust: When all rapt Athens, in that early day, Be it thy glory to the coming age Sat in the sunshine, at the solemn play To have transmitted no adulterate Stage; When to the music of a single flute That aftertimes may count this beauteous dome The verse was uttered that for us is mute Dear as the hearthstone of a fathers home. When through the orchestra with slow advance The~Dorian measure led the choral dance, Back, airy beings! people of the brain! Cold was that souloh! dead as Lethes fen Ye kingly shadows! in your graves remain: That did not fight at Salamis again. Stay, you weird women! wait the fatal bell: Thou master of the charm! suspend the spell: But long ere this, when~Bacchus was divine Be not impatient on our scene to burst, At the mad vintage, where the new made wino You shall be summoned, but your herald first. Fired the rude revellers, the learned say First rose th uncouth resemblance of a play: Souls of dead bards! that served our ancient What time Anon of the Lesbian isle art; To the wild chorus gave a graver style: Poets! who largely read the human heart, The years are distant, and the light is dim, Tell us why man, when life serenely glides, Yet hark! the echo of a tragic hymn: Loves the fierce motion that disturbs the tides I Lo! the fell Mmnads with her visage smeared, What god impels him, now his land is free, And men made Satyrs by the mask and beard. To play the hero that he cannot be! What strong illusion, native in his breast, Such rites have been where now this temple Made action charm him in his day of rest I stands: The savage dramas of the Indian bands: When arms and arsenals are idle shows, Near the blue lake and by the midnight fire, DXII. LIVING AGE. VOL. VII. 1 MISCELLANEOUS. See the red artist and the naked choir ! When the great sachem with his Pequod court After the fray, assembled at the sport See !twas but yesterdaytheir dance describe The hunt, the war, the triumph of their tribe: These too were actorsbut their show is done Their last spectator was the setting sun. In Charless days, when tragedy was mean, Once the light Muse went slipshod on the scene: Was Charles alone at fault l historian, tell We love the sturdy Puritan too well: What though the drama drooped beneath his ban, Spite of the bigot we revere the man: What though he left polluted arts behind, Re brought his sword, his Bible, and his mind. Something of that austerity be yours; Since Folly loves what easy Taste endures: Let our purged altar and its blameless priest Honor the three-hilled city of the East! That to the wise our theatre may scent A nobler school, a loftier Academe! And Shakspeares mind; transplanted to the shore Whose rocks are gold, whose sands are shining ore, (Or far as freedoms onward march may draw Arts, without arms, and without conquest, Law) A sacred well! from whose oerflowing brink Each generation in its turn may drink: So shall your children thank you, not alone For wealth of empire grasping every zone, But write these words on Memorys grateful page, Sons of the Pilgrims! you redeemed our Stage. TO ELLEN. Placens Uxor. There s not a tint of sober gray, Now mingling with thy hair I have not welcomed, day by day, As some new beauty there. There s not a line, though marked it be, Upon thy brow imprest, That makes it not more fair to me Than when in smoothness drest. There s not a hue has left thy cheek, That I would now restore ; For, though of love its glow would speak, Its paleness tells of more. There ~ not a ray, however bright, Once worshipped in thine eyes; Has not become a holy light To point to purer skies. There s not a smile, how sought so eer Thy gracious smiles have been, So prized as is the answering tear In their soft lashes seen. I~or yet a breathnot een thevow That made th& e wholly miae, So blessd as accents trembling now From those dear lips of thine. Thus Time on these loved objects flings, As substance fades away, A moral halo from his wings To beautify decay. And thus the rose, in noon-tide bloom, Adorns the gay parterre, And, fadin ~, yields its sweet perfume To scent the evening air. Ellendale, V~i. W. B. B. WE know not who is the author of the follow- ing, but it has pathos and the true poetic energy, far beyond the usual drift of magazine verses. N. Y. Evening Post. MARIAN IN HER CELL. You looked across the meadows, At the red sun in the west, And the wood was full of shadows, But my head lay on your breast And your words were low and sweet, And our hearts in music beat! You spokeI only listened (Blest hours without alloy~) You san0my tear-drops glistened I was dumb and blind with joy. Could I hear your bridal bell You in Heaven, and I in Hell l Could I stop the curshd blade At your throat, so warm and white Where my loving fingers played With the moonlight through the night 1 Could I think, and hold the steel! Could I pause, and live to feel! By the hallowed word of God There is murder on your soul! As I knelt upon the sod Where the death-black waters roll, I could hear the angry flood Calling hoarsely, Blood for Blood !Putnams Magazine. SUBSTITUTE FOE POTATOES. For the last four years, considerable attention has been paid at the Museum of Natural History in Paris, to the cultivation of a plant coming from China, and known under the name of Dioscorea Japonica. This plant, says the writer of a paper sent to the Central Agricultural Society, may by its size, weight, and hardy character, become exceedingly valuable in France, as it will serve as a substi- tute for the potato. Its tubercles, like those of the Jerusalem artichoke, resist in the open air the se- verest winter, without sustaining any injury. Several specimens of these roots, of very large size, were presented in 1852 to the Society, one of which, of a cylindrical form, was three feet~ia length; another, presented in 1853, weighed three pounds; the former having been in the earth twenty months, and the latter sixteen. The flavor of this vegetable is more delicate than that of the potato.Ualignani. 2 3 FIFTY YEARS IN BOTH HEMISPHERES. From the Athennum. and M. Noltes parents were particularly Fffiy years in both Hemispheres; or, Remi- punctual. niscences of a Merchants Life. By VIN- CENT NOLTE. Translated from the Ger- My good father did not fail to offer, in his own person, the most striking example of his man. Triibner & Co. [J. S. IRedfield, New respect for that excellent quality. He married York.] on February 22nd, 1779, at the age of forty, and was, thenceforward, assisted in his cultivation ROMANCE of war !romance of courts of the virtue he so much admired, by my mother what are these compared with the romance who, by-the-by, was punctual in all she under- of trade! Here is a clerka financiera toot, for she brought me into the world on No- merchant, whose life contains more of adven- vember 21st, or, precisely at the termination of ture, more of variety in scene and of change the nine regular months prescribed by the laws in fortune, more of intercourse with celebra- of nature. ted men and women, than falls to the lot of With this Shandean ohservation M. Nolte hundreds of those whom the world regards takes himself to school in search of humors. as occupying lofty and romantic places. Vin- His master appears to have heen fair game. cent Nolte, if he tells his story truly, has touched all extremes in life,heen one of the He. was an indolent, ignorant man, who sur- wealthiest and one of the poorest of men. He rendered the whole task of instructing his pupils has heen a poor clerk in a poor magazine at to all kinds of under-tutors, and gave over the Leghorn, and a trusted partner in the house conduct of his household to am~naglre who was of one of the most princely firms in Europe. inclined to accept his not altogether Platonic One day he is a commercial magnate, admit- blandishments, and to pack off the dunces who ted to the friendship of Ouvrard, trusted hy amused themselves, from time to time, by dis- the Bateses, the Barings, and the Laboucheres, turbing the bacchanalian exercises which usual- and a beg- ly preceded those endearments. Some recollee another day he is a wanderer tions of this brief period, during which I learned gar. Now he is closeted with a minister, and nothing but to steal fruit from the orchard, long now -he is writing squibs and translations for remained fresh in my memory. bread. He speculated in cotton, and lent money to the Pope. He intrigued with Opera After this M. Nolte meets with a genius for girls, and mingled in the schemes of Nicholas tuition in the person of the Gymnasium Pro.. Biddle. He spat venom at General Bona- fessor, Carl F. Hipp, but the superior genius parte, and played practical jokes with Audu- of young Nolte, according to old M. Noltes hon, the naturalist. He gave advice in money profession, regularly crushed the Gymna- matters to the Austrian minister, Kilbeck, and sium Professor to the ground. After this fought under - General Jackson at New Or- feat of mind the boys father very reasonably leans. He was the friend of Lafayette, and thought him sufficiently advanced for busi- a commissary of Louis Philippe. His fortunes ness, and he was promoted from the highest were as various as his tastes. He was a ship- form in the school to the lowest stool in the builder at Pittsburgh, and a prisoner in the office. Queens Bench in London. At New Orleans The copy-books were laid before me in both he received three ships laden with specie, the English and German languages, with the in- at Venice he was indebted to the monks for timation that making correct transcripts of the a crust, letters they contained, in either tongue, would As he himself here tells the story of his life, be my first employment. The gentlemen letter- Vincent Nolte bridges two worlds, and brings writers were of the usual kind, and their wretch- reminiscences of Napoleon into the drawing- ed style and language wearied me to the utmost room of Victoria. He has been hand and limits of endurance, and their news touching oil glove with the potentates of Europe, and has and soap, brimstone and Spanish liquorice had cried Hail, fellow! to the Sachems of the but little attraction for one like me, whom my American wilderness. Such a man is worth honored preceptor had inspired with a refined taste for the firsthings of Schillers Muse. Thus knowing~for what he has seen even more j toiled, most unwillingly, without any zest for than for what he has been; the more espe- the work before me, and, consequently, executed cially as he is by nature a gossip, a story-tell- it badly. er, and a picture-maker. Many people in London will remember the The young genius despised trade, and trade old merchanthis tales, his caustic humor, did not smile on the young genius. He was his love of scandal, his paradoxes and eccen- shunned as a fop, an idler, by sober people; tricities, and his easy acquiescence in the and his uncleof whose quaint figure he has whim of the hour. Punctuality is the po- left an amusing picturerebuked him in com- liteness of kings, said Louis the Fourteenth, pany as M. Nolte reminds us in his Opening sen- Neglect of my office duties was a natural tence. It is also the politeness of merchants: consequence. I went after all sorts of amuse- FIFTY YEARS IN 130TH HEMISPHERES. ments, drew caricatures on my letter stand in desultory jokes on an ignorant printer of play- the counting-room, frolicked for hours together bills with my friend, the young and universally be- loved painter, Terreni, who was a great fop, and had the mania of aping the dress and manners of the Englishmen, who from ~ime to time made their appearance in Leghorn. This disease, thanks to his illustrious example, took root in my breast too; and whenever, during the course of the week, I could see a newly arrived visitor among the English, who at that time were so constantly noticed at Leghorn, but more espe- cially at Florence, and could on the ensuing Sunday exhihit myself on the Corso attired in a similar costume, I was supremely happy. Leghorn was just the place to develop these vagabond and restless fancies. Gene- ral Bonaparte was at the gates, coming from Lodi and Arcola as a conqueror,and C6m- niodore Nelson was in the roadstead with a small but powerful squadron. Revolution was in the lads brain,and the sight of the young hero of eight-and-twenty, fresh from the discomfiture of veteran generals and di- plomatists, riding through the streets of Leg- horn, bullying the consuls and threatening the magistrates, seems to have unsettled him for life, as it did thousands of other young and ardent Italians. M. Nolte thus etches in sharp outline the great soldier, as he first saw him at Leghorn I saw before me a diminutive, youthful-look- ing man, in simple uniform; his complexion was pallid and of almost yellowish hue, and long, sleek, jet-hlack hair, like that of the Talapouclze Indians of Florida, hung down over both ears. This was the victor of Arcola! While he was taking his place on the right-hand seat in the carriagc and waiting for his adjutant, I had a moments opportunity to examine him with at- tention around his month played a constant smile with which the rest of mankind had, evi- dently, nothing to do; for the cold, unsympa- thizing glance that looked out of his eyes, show- ed that the mind was busied elsewhere. Never did I see such a look! It was the dull gaze of a mummy, only that a certain ray of intelligence revealed the inner soul, yet gave hut a feeble reflection of its li,,ht. Macbeths words to the ghost of Banquo would almost have applied here: there is no speculation in those eyes, had not what was already recorded and what after- wards. transpirQd, unmistakably shown the soul that burned behind that dull gaze. The French stayed at Leghorn, but M. Nolte was called away. A certain Mademoi -selle and he became mutually pleased with each other. It was the old story, however, of the stream that, never will run smooth. Nolte, senior, objected to his son making a fool of himself with Mademoiselle, and sent for him to Hamburgh. Here new mischief awaited him, for instead of devoting his mind to oil and molasses, he took to playing off The arrival of a most excellent company of players, who had been driven out of Brussels, or had left it for lack of sufficient support, and among whom were several performers of consid- erable talentfor instance, the dramatic actors, Mees and Bergamin, and the baritone singer, De- riihelleoccasioncd the establishment of this theatre, which in a short time became the thea- tre of the Hamhurgh fashionables. The large number of French emigrants of rank, at that time residing in Hamburgh, and also the at- tendance of the notahilities of I-Iamburgh socie- ty, secured the managers great success. .The contract for printing the playbills had fallen into the hands of a highly-noble and highly-wise city council printer, named George F. Schuiehes, who looked up to Benjamin Franklin as the patron saint of his order, and did his best to mutate him, at least in dress. For he, too, wore a kind of fur cap on his head, mounted a pair of spec- tacles on his nose, and appeared in a kind of morning-gown. There was no trouble in trans- lating the play-hill, so long as the Lexicon af- forded the means of Germanizing the French titlesfor instance, La Caravane du Caire, or Felix on lEnfant trouv~. But whenever the dictionary was at fault, in regard to certain words, he gave them the nearest translation pos- sible, to the best of his knowledge and belief, as he has often confessed to me. The first of of these, that made me roar, was: LAmant Statue, translated by Schuiebes. The Stiff Lover. The next was ~IEdipe a Colonne (Edi- pus at Cologne. Aid can be given this man, I said to myself, maliciously, with Schillers Rob. ber Moor, at the end of his great play, and so ofThred my treacherous assistance to the city council printer in translating his theatre bills. After that the street-corners were decorated with the following attractive placards : Le Manichal ferrant Marshal Ferrant. Les pr~cieuses ridi- cules The ridiculous treasures. Nicaise Pein- tre Painter Nick. La Dinde aux louis Louis Turkey. La veill~e et la matinsie vil- lageoise The old woman and a country morn- ing. Les amants proth~es The lovers of tea. The whole town laughed at these absurd trans- lations, yet it greatly displeased Mr. Schuiebes when any one tried to convince him that folks were laughing at his expense, in coming to his aid with such translations. His invariable an- swer was, that he perfectly understood the French language himself, and moreover had an assist- ant; upon whose knowledge of languages he placed full reliance. Yet a play-bill, received from Mayence, put me to shame, and far sur- passed anything I could do in that line. It ran thus : LAbb~ de lEp~e, Instituteur des Sourds muets The Abbot of the sword, In- stigator of Doves and dumb people. From Hamburgb, where the education thus auspiciously begun was finished, he was sent to Nantes, and of course took Paris in his way. By the aid of friends he was soon ini- tiated into the mysteries of Parlis life 4 FIFTY YEARS IN BOTH HEMISPHERES. To learn, on such an evening, that the beau- 1 tiful woman who, just at that moment, stood before me was Madame Recamier; that the ele- gant young man, leanin~ against the pedestal of a statue, was the celebrated dancer, Trenis, and that the person near him, with a note-book of music in his hand, the renowned vocalist, Ga- rat, was something which rendered the presence of a well-informed and agreeable companion ab- solutely necessary. Such a friend it was my lot to find. The topic of all conversation at the time in Paris was the arrest of Moreau by order of Bonaparte, now First Consul. M. iNolte pre- serves one of those salty sayings of the day which mark every incident of life in Paris: His name was seldom pronounced, by the middle and lower classes, unless coupled with an expression of the greatest love and respect, and without a malediction upon both his impla- cable persecutors,the First Consul and the Governor of Paris, General Murat, who had in his later proclamations placarded the, name of General Morean, in large letters, on all the street corners, accompanied hy the words traitre i la Bepublique. No one either could or would yield any belief to the publicly proclaimed guilt of his distinguished general, and the wit of Paris did not, by any means, commit default on this occasion, for you might everywhere hear the pasquinade ii a~y a que deux pc rtis en France, les moraux (Moreau) et les immoraux. NI. Nolte proved his genius for commerce and finance while at Nantes, and became ac- quainted with the hopes of Amsterdam, whose memoirs, were they written, would be one of the largest contributions to the secret history of modern timesand with the La- boucheres. Of the elder NI. Lahouchere he has given us a crayon portrait: Mr. Labouchere was at that time but twen- ty-two, yet crc long assumed the highly respect- ahle position of head of the firm, the first in the world, and studied the manners of a French courtier previous to the Revolution: these he soon made so thoroughly his own, that they seemed to be a part of his own nature. He made a point of distinguishing himself in every- thing he undertook by a certain perfection, and carried this feeling so far, that, on account of the untractable lack of elasticity in his body, and a want of ear for music which nature had denied him, he for eighteen years deemed it necessary to take dancing lessons, because he saw that others surpassed him the graceful ac- complishment. It was almost painful to see hi~m dance. The old school required, in the French quadrilles, some eatrecldits, and one or two pirouettes, and the delay they occasioned him always threw him out of time. I have often seen the old gentleman, already more than fifty, return fi-om a quadrille covered with perspira- tion. Properly speaking, he had no refined edu- cation, understood but very little of the fine arts, 5 and, notwithstanding his shrewdness and quick- ness of perception, possessed no natural powers of wit, and consequently was all the more eager to steal the humor of other people. He once repeated to myself a witty remark of his own to one of his clerks, the celebrated answer of IDe Sartines a former chief of the French police, to one of his subordinates who asked for au in- crease of pay in the following words: You do not give me enoughstill I must live! The reply he got was: I do not perceive the neces- sity of that! Now, so hard-hearted a response was altogether foreign to Mr. Lahouchbres dis- position, as he was a man of most excellent and generous feelinn. He had assuredly without in- tention, fallen into the singular habit of speak- ing his mother-tonbuethe Frenchwith an al- most English intonation, and English with a strong French accent. But he was most of all remarkable for the chivalric idea of honor in mercantile transactions. These connections led Nolte to make ac- quaintance with the prince of empirical hank- ers, commissaries and financiersOuvrard. This strange, vain, wayward and elastic ge- nius has himself told the story of his life; but M. Nolte has preserved some additional and characteristic traits of his friend and master. The Italian looks up to the French financier with a fond, undoubting admiration; and whenever he finds Napoleon disagreeing with Ouvrard he assumes, as a matter of course, that Napoleon is in the wrong. Ouvrard is to M. Nolte what Napoleon was to a drummer or a sergeant. If the Emperor was magnifi- cent, so was the hanker. Ouvrard, too, was imperial in his humors The H6tel de SaIm, which, in the latter days of the Consulate and the beginning of the Em- pire, had become one of the most magnificent re- sorts where the elite of French society were accus- tomed to sojourn, had called together an extraor- dinary assemhly to hear several selections from a new opera, written hy a yoan~ and promising composer. Both artists and amateurs ~vere in an equal degree enchanted with this quite ori- ginal and most charming music. Amon these was Ouvrard, who was indefatigable in testify- ing his admiration to the young composer. It was quite late at night when Ouvrard returned. As he was passing through the court of the hotel to his carriage he saw, lying on the ground, a paper, the form of which, and the stamp it bore, at once informed him that it must he the official notification of a sheriffs officer (un exploit dhuis- sier). To pick it up quickly, spring into his carriage, and drive off to his own hotel, was the work of a moment. Scarcely had he reached his residence era he examined the paper, and dis- covered that it was one of the customary pro- tests which leave the person to whom it was sent no other alternative, than either to pay the required debt upon the spot, or to be shut up in the H6tel de Clichy, the common prison for in- solvent debtors. Ouvrard read further on, and, 6 FIFTY YEARS IN BOTH HEMISPHERES. to his great surprise, found on the paper the name of the young composer whose music, had so enchanted him. The trouble was about a sum amounting to three thousand francs; and for such a trifling sum as this, a youn0 man of genuine talent w~ s to be compelled to sacrifice a brilliant future. Ouvrard felt the force of this, and instantly formed his resolution; so on the next day, the young artist received the follow- ing letter Be at your ease, Sir! What you lost yesterday evening at the H6tel de SaIm has ~fallen into safe hands. The finder considers himself fortunate in having made a discovery which places it in his power to become useful to a man whose talent and worth he can thorough- ly appreciate. In the mean~vhile comfort your- self with the intelligence, that at this moment your creditoi- has no further claim on you. The finder of your document begs you to pardon the ~feeling of curiosity which impelled him to read a paper belonging to you without your permis- sion. As he takes a lively interest in your fu- ture, and knows perfectty well how material ob- stacles bear down with leaden weight the most splendid capacities, he begs you to accept the enclosed ten notes of one thousand fi-anes each. No thanks, dear Sir, for what is merely a trifling advance upon the future success of your exer- tions! What your friend expects of you, how- ever, is only perseverance in the right path you have chosen, and a continued effort, on your part, to deserve the fame that awaits you; and the gratification this will bring him will assured- ly far, far exceed the little service he now seeks to render you.The man to whom this letter was sent was Kicolo Isonard, the afterwards ce- lebrated composer, whom wa have to thank for the splendid French opel-as, Le Rossignol, Cendrillon, and Jeannot et Cohn, which for so many years constantly filled the house of the Op~ra Comique. short period I spent in Paris, on my journey to Amsterdam; and limited as my sojourn in that capital had been, I still had found an oppor- tunity to get a peep at life behind the scenes of the new imperial rdjiine. The literary circles of the capital were just at that moment taken up with a new tragedy, which the celebrated play- writer and poet, Renonard, was then preparing to brin,, out in the Tlukitre Franceis, under the title of Les Temphiers (the Templars). The part of Ignaz de Molay, the Grand Master of the Templars, was in the hands of Talma; the parts of the King and the Queen were given to Lefond and Mademoiselle Georges. The rehearsals had been finished. The time for the first perform- ance fixed upon, and the intended presence of the Emperor and Empress everywhere announ- ced. Paris at that time was in a buzz with all kinds of anecdotes about the remarkably splendid set of diamonds which had been presented to the Empress by the court jeweller, Fossin, and which consisted of a diadem, necklace, and pendants for the ears. The price which had been asked for this superb ornament was half a million of fi-aucs; and, unless my memory fails me, I recol- lect to have beard at the time of another smaller sum, that is to say, about three hundred thou- sand francs. Josephine, whos,e purse was always empty, in consequence of her propensity for ex- travagance, had expressed a desire to obtain possession of these diamonds, but the Emperor would not hear of either of these sums. Paris had a great deal to say concerning the scenes that passed between Josephine and Napoleon in con- sequence of this affair; they were the ever-re- curring topic of conversation among the ladies generally, to whose curiosity the jeweller was indebted for very frequent visits. People want- ed to see what it was that an Emperor could deny to his Empress. On the appointed day, placards announcing the first representation of The Templars were visible at all the street corners. I had been so fortunate as to procure a parquet ticket for a seat on the second row Napoleon, who, up to that time as a mere of benches, from which I could get a good view of the imperial pair. I saw them enter their General, had found no special occasion to plume box, on the left of the house, and take their himself upon any great success with the fairer seats. Napoleon foremost and Josephine close half of creation, was more fortunate as Emperor, beside him. In the beginning of the second act, and was readily listened to by the rival beauties their majesties the king and queen appeared of the day. In Mademoiselle Georges, the love- upon the stage. Mademoiselle Geoi-ges, in the hiest woman of her time, he flattered himself that full splendor of her incomparable charms and he really had made a complete conquest, looked her splendid figure, heightened the imposing upon her as his exclusive property, became ena- scene by a dazzling diadem, eardrops, and neck- moured and jealous. Among the intelligence lace, all glittering with the most superb dia- which he received from Paris, on the day after monds. As she approached the imperial box, the battle of Austerlitz, was a message from his Josephine. who was leaning forward on the front Minister of Police, informing him that Made- rail, betrayed a hasty movement of surprise, and moiselle Georges had passed several days at then suddenly, as if struck by lightning, sank Ouvraids pleasure palace of Raincy, and had back into her seatfor in the ma,,nificent adorn- there performed one of her very best parts. Ge- meat of the actress she lied recognized the. jew- nerd Berthier, who had hastened onward four- els she was so anxious to possess. During this and twenty hours in advance of the Emperor, little episode in the imperial box, Napoleon re- on his return from Vienna, instantly sent for mained, as might have been expected, entirely Ouvrard, and intimated to him that this circum- unmoved. For th~~ Parisian world such an mci- stance had in no slight degree contributed to J dent as this was a regular mine of fi-esh anec- exasperate the Emperor, and accelerate his hasty dotes concerning the scenes which they opined return to Paris. I had seen and admired Made- must have taken place in the private chambers moisehle Georges the preceding year, during the lof the Tuileries, after their majesties returned In another anecdote we have the two great potentates as rivals FIFTY YEARS IN BOTH HEMISPHERES. from the theatre. I merely repeat ~shat I saw and heard. M. Nolte loves a bit of scandal, as he owns. But he only states what he saw and heard. Into the business portion of the narrative here presented we shall not enter. NI. Nolte went to America, where he appeared as a mer- chant-prince, and conducted some apparently large transactions. On this route, however, we follow our author with less pleasure than when he paints character and invents or re- p eats gossip. No oddity in character, escapes M.Nolte. Here is a glimpse of an eccentric, well remembered in America McDonongh himself died without heirs, either direct or collateral, and has made over his whole property to the Government of the United States, that it shall expend the same in the es- tablishment of public schools. Besides this general direction, there are a number of small beqnests and colicils of a very curious nature ap- pended to his will. One of the oddest of these is the bequest made to Leon Gozlan, in Paris. This well-known writer some years ago publish- ed a romance called the Meddein du Peeq, which, in every point of view, hut especially by somc very peculiar and profound psychological studies, attracted the greatest notice throughout France. The editor of the Courier des Etats Unis republished it in the feuilletoe of that wide- ly circulated paper, and it thus fell into -the hands of Mr. MeDonough, who read it at home in his solitary hours, and was so charmed with some of the authors observations on the world and men, that he made him his heir to the amount of ten thousand dollars. This sum was lately handed over to Mr. Gozlan by Mr. Rives, the late American Ambassador at Paris, in a check on the house of Albrecht & Co., in Havre. M. Noltes sketches of American manners are of greater interest for European readers than his narration of American intrigues and eventsthough the latter refer to such impor- tauf matters as Aaron Burrs conspiracy and the defence of New Orleans. Here, as more in our line, is the account of his first meeting with the great naturalist Audubon I ]-ode, early one moining, entirely alone, over the loft ct summit of the Alleghany ridge, called Laurel Hill. and about ten oclock arrived at a small inn, close by the Falls of the Juniata river. Here I ordered a substantial hreakfast. The landlady showed me into a room, and said, I per- haps would not ohject to taking my meal at the same table with a strange ~entleman, who was already there. As I entered I found the latter personage, who at once struck me as heing, what, in common parlance, is called an odd fish. He was sitting at a table, before the fire, with a Ma- dras handkerchief wound around his head, ex- actly in the style of the French mariners, or la- borers, in a seaport town. I stepped up to him and accosted him politely, with the words, I hope I dont incommode you, by coming to take my breakfast with you. Oh no. sir, he re- plied, with a strong French accent, that made it sound like No sare.Ah, I continued, you are a Frenchman, sir No, sare, he answer- ed, lii etum an Heenglishman. Why, I asked, in return, how do you make that out I You look like a Frenchman, and you speak like one. Ili emni an Ecuglishman, becas I got a Heenglish wife, he answered. Without investi- eating the matter further, we made up ourminds, at breakfast, to remain in company, and to ride together to Pittsburg. lie showed himself to be an original throughout, but at last admitted that he was a Frenchman by birth, and a native of Larochelle. However, he had come in his early youth to Louisiana, had grown up in the sea ser- vice, and had gradually become a thorough Ame- rican. Now, I asked, how does that accord ~yith your quality of Englishman Upon this he found it convenient to reply in the French language, When all is said and done, I am somewhat cosmopolitan I belong to every coun- try. This man, who afterwards won for him- self so great a name in natural history, particu- larly in ornithology, was Audubon. Audubon had not yet begun the studies which have since made him famous. M. Nolte tells us that he wanted to be a merchant, and had married the daughter of an Englishman, named Bake- well, formerly of Philadelphia, but then residing and owning mills at Shippin~port, at the F lii of the Ohio, and in the neh~bborhood of Louisville. It was also his intention to travel down the Ohio into Kentucky. At Pittsbur~, he found no other opportunity of doing so than the one offered by my flat-boats, and as he was a good companion- able man, and, moreover, an accomplished sketch- er, I invited him to take a berth in our cabin gratis. He thankfully accepted the invitation, and we left Pittsburg, in very cold weather, with the Monongahela and Ohio rivers full of drifting ice, in the beginning of January, 1812. 1 learn- ed nothing further of his travelling plans until we reached Limestone. a little place at the north- western corner of the State of Ohio. There we had both our horses taken ashore, and I resolved to go with him overland, at first to visit the cap- ital, Lexin ~ton, and from there to Louisville, where he expected to find his wife and his pa- rents-in-law. My two boats which I bad left under the charge of Hollon der, were to meet me at the same place. We had scarcely finished our breakfast, at Limestone, when Audubon, all at once spran~ to his feet, and exclaimed, in French, Now I am going to lay the foundation of my establishment. So saying, he took a small packet of address cards and a hammer fi-om his coat pocket, some nails from his vest, and be5 an to nail up one of the cards to the door of the tav- ern, where we ~vere taking our meal. The ad- dress ran as follows: Audubon ~- Balceweli, (am- mission Merchants (Pork, Lard, and F/osss) Ness, Orleans. Oh, oh! thought I, there you have Jr 8 competition before you have got to the place yourself. Ni. Nolte tells some interesting stories of another very celebrated American merchant, M. Girard, founder of the magnificent col- lege which hears his name. The following is amusing, and shows the imperial and impe- rious doings of the house of Hope in those days: [~t From Auhuhons Birds of America, vol. 3, p. 270. We copy Ins account of this first ac- quaintance for the readers of the Living Age: But here I must give you the line of my jour- ney. From Henderson (Kentucky), through Bus- seilville, Nashville, and Knoxville, Abingdon, in Virginia, the Natural Bridge, Harrisonburg, Win- chester, and Harpers Ferry, Frederick, and Lan- caster, to Philadelphia. There I remained four days returnin~ hy way of Pittsburg, Wheeliun Zanes- yule, Chillicothe, Lexington, and Louisville, to Hendersonthe distance being made, hy my de- viationsnearly two thousand miles. I travelled not less than forty miles a day, and it was allowed that Barro was in as good condition on my re- turn as when I set out. Such a journey on a sin- gle horse may seem somewhat marvellous in the eyes of a European; but in those days - almost every merchant had to perform the like, from all parts of the Western country, even from St. Louis on the Missouri.J had not ridden hhn many days before lie became so attached to me that I could leave him at liberty to graze when I reached a stream in which I had a mind to bathe, and he would not drink if I told him not to do so. He was ever sure-footed, and in such continual good spirits, that now and then, when a wild turkey happened to rise from a dusting place before me, the mere inclination of my body forward was ehough to bring him to a smart canter, which lie would continue until the bird left the road for the woods, when he never failed to resume his usual trotOn my way homewards I met nt the cross- ings of the Junita River, a gentleman from New Orleans, whose name is Vincent Node. He was mounted on a superb horse, for which he had paid three hundred dollars, and a servant on horseback led another as a change. I was then an utter stranger to him, and as I approached nod praised his horse, he not very courteously observed that he wished I had as good a one. Finding that he was going to Bedford to spend the night, I asked him at what Isour he would get there. Just soon enough to hare some trouts ready for our supper, provided you will join when you get there. I al- most imagined that Barro understood our conver- sation: he pricked up his ears and lengthened his pace, on which Mr. Nolte carracolled his horse, and then put him to a quick trot, but all in vain, for I reached the hotel nearly a quarter of an hour be- fore him, ordered the trouts, saw to the puttin0 away of y good horse, and stood at the door ready to ~-elcome my companion. From that day, Vincent Nolte has been a friend to me. It was from him that I received letters of introduction to the Bathboncs, of Liverpool, for which I shall ever be grateful to him. We rode to~ether as far as Shipping Port, where my worthy friend, Nicholas Berthoud, Esq., resided, aiid on parting with me he repeated what he had many times said before, that lie never had seen so serviceable a creature as Barro.] 85 Previous to 182G. FIFTY YEARS IN BOTH HEMISPHERES. lie learned a sharp lesson from his favorite correspondents in Europe, Messrs. Hope & Co., of Amsterdam, who possessed his entire confi- dence. Notwithstanding the reliance he placed in them, he had sent a Quaker by the name of Hutehinson, to Amsterdam, with explicit instruc- tions to watch those gentlemen closely, arid see that they accounted for the real prices received by them for his consignments, etc., etc. It was a rule, in the house of Messrs. Hope, to compute one-eighth per cent. more than the daily noted rate of exehan e, when sending the regular re- ceipts to bank, and this was done to cover a variety of minute office expenses, which could not be brought into a stated account. Thus, for instance. Mr. lintehinson was informed that they had sold a thousand bags of coffee, from the car- go of the ship Voltaire, at so and so much per cent. hereupon, that gentleman came, next day, to the counting-room, and interrupted Mr. Labouchere in his meditations, and running his finger along the printed price-current lie held in his hand, pointed out to him that the rate must be put at one-eighth per cent. less. The oft-re- peated hints Mr. Labouchere had given the young Quaker, who invariably came in with his hat on his head, and, without permission, marched di- rectly up to the door, and pushed on into the pri- vate counting-roomthe senetum sencterurn of Dutch merchantshad all proved of no avail: at last they got to let him stand there, without paying any attention to what he had to say. lie then wrote to Philadelphia to his principal, who dictated, for his benefit, the most offensive letters to Messrs. Hope, which finally decided the latter to let him know at once, that there existed so wide a difference between their ways of doing business and his, and all attempts to teach him better had so signally failed, that, for the sake of their own comfort and tranquillity, they should be compelled to deeline any further transactions with him. There then came a kind of apology, a promise to manage differently in future, etc. etc. But the house in Amsterdam remained firm in the resolution they had taken, offering, however, to do him the fai-or of recommending to him, as his future correspondents, Messrs. Daniel Crom- melin & Sons, their neighbors. The astonish- ment of these latter gentlemen themselves, when the first important consignments began to reach them from Girard, and the surprise of thin whole Bourse of Amsterdam, that any one could reject such business as his, requiring no advances, may be readily conceived. INE. Nolte delights in telling stories which put the Hopes in this magnificent attitude. Such a house could board Napoleon himself in the fulness of his power This powerful house, which then stood at the head of the mercantile order throughout the world, and, in Holland not only felt itself per- fectly independe~t, but considered itself equal in financial matters to any potentate on earth, and entitled to occupy a similar footing wilh them, could not recognize that it was in any manner bound by the Imperial decree. Yet Napoleon was weak enou5h to think differently. lie had FIFTY YFARS IN BOTH HEMISPHERES. dictated a letter addressed to Messrs. Hope & Co., in the hand-writing of Mollien, the succes- sor of Barb& Marbois, who had been removed. This missive, couched in the language of a mas- ter to his servant, contained the following words: You have made enough money in the Louisiana business to leave no room to doubt that you will, without reservation, comply with any order I may see fit to make. He then sent this letter with- out Ouvrards consent, by an Inspector of Fi- nance, to Amsterdam. However, the Finance Inpector was very coolly received, and had to come back without accomplishing anything. Soon afterwards Napoleo~i thought it advisable to send the Baron I~ouisafterwards Louis Phi- lippes first Minister of Financeto Holland to exploie the ground, and discover what resources Ouvrard might have there. Baron Louis present- ed himself to the Messrs. Hope, and disclosed the object of his visit. Mr. Labouchere, who receiv- ed him, at once replied: Whether we have mo- nev in our hands for Mr. Ouvrard, or not, Baron, is not a matter for which we are obliged to rea- der any account to you; and the inappropriate- ness of your present visit must have been appa- rent to yourself! This anecdote related by Ouvrard himself, I can offer as simple truth, for I have likewise heard it repeated frequently by Mr. Labouchbre also, who could not suppress a feeling of inward pride, whenever he got an op- portunity, to illustrate his entire independence of the man, at whose feet all Europe bent the knee. Among the many anecdotes scattered through these pages are a few relating to the Duke of Wellington. The following is of doubtful authenticity, though book and line appear to be quoted for it Notwithstanding this extremely irritated state of feeling on the part of the French military, kept down too as it was by force alone, there was no one in all Paris that rode about more fear- lessly than the Duke of Wellington; he showed himself evei-ywhere, and usually in a simple blue overcoat, with the red English scarf around his waist, and the usual military chapean on his bead, decorated with a white and red plume. He was generally followed by a single orderly-sergeant on horseback. I saw him ride thus one morning into the Court-yard of the Hotel de lEmpire, whither be had come to inquire for the celebrat- ed London banker Angerstein, who had also put up there. There was no lack of anec- dotes concerning the sangfroid of this hero of the day, who, at the battle of Waterloo, had sev- eral times rode himself into the midst of his squares, when the French cuirassiers charged in upon them. The Russian Count Pozzo di Bor- go used to relate that the Duke, when he want- ad, in the very beginning of the action to make attack upon the French line, with a couple of regiments of Nassau cavalry, suddenly found himself abandoned by them, athe very first cart- non shot that was fired, and was left alone with his staff, in the middle of the field. He simply turned to the Count, and smilingly said, What do you think of that l Yet it is with such p01- troons that I am expected to gain a battle! My authority for this anecdote is Mr. Alexander Bar- ing, who heard it himself from the lips of Poz~ di Borgo. As a companion to the foregoing, here is an anecdote of Napoleon, also at Waterloo On the day after my arrival at Brussels, I bad a chance to visit the field of battle. A fortunate chance brought me for a cicerone, the same pea- sant, Coste, whom Napoleon found at Charleroi, on the evening before the battle, and took with him to his head-quarters as a guide. All the different narratives of the battle which I had col- lected and read, the plans and maps I bad care- fully studied, and a panoramic view of the field I had procured in London, had stamped them- selves so vividly on my memory, that I had scarcely reached the scene, and alighted From my vehicle, crc I found myself quite at home. Not a hillock, not an unevenness of the ground, not a clump of trees, not a hamlet in the nei~hbor- hood, or far away, that I had not named at the first glance. Coste, who had to keep the descrip- tion lie bad learned by heart, to himself, at length remarked that I did not require his services, if, as he was led to suppose, I had myself been pre- sent at the battle. I acquainted him with the truth, and greatly enjoyed his contradictory an- swers, when I questioned him in regard to certain points of detail. Thus, for instance, I found my. self much more at home than he was, in the Castle of Hougomont and its garden, where the marks of destruction were still so distinctly visible, for he had been beside the emperor all d~ y, until the hero of the age was, for the second time, compell- ed to seek safety in flight. When Costethis was his own storyhaving been placed among Napoleons staff, rode with him into the first fire of the English batteries, he laid himself with his whole body lengthwise. and as close to the ani- mal as he could cling, upon his horses back, so that the enemys balls might not hit him. When Napoleon saw this, he called to him with a smile. Get up, you silly fellow! you cannot avoid the ball that is destined to strike you, no matter how you try to do so ! And he was right! added Coste, for here I am, you see. From the causeway of La Hay Sainte, we rode along a hollow, sheltered on either side by hills. I here asked my guide, if this were not the spot from which Napoleon observed the last onset of his - guards and cuirassiers, under Key. You are on the very ground! he said, it was precisely here! I then asked, What did be say l what did he do l Not much ! rejoined Coste, he looked once more through his field- glass, then he said: They are in confusionall is overlet us go ! We then took the track right across the field to Charleroi, dashing along as fast as our beasts could go, and when we reached the place, an aide-dc-camp flung me a double Napoleon, with the words: To the dl with you! or something worse. After the settlement of Europe NI. Nolte went over to America and settled himself. 1L~ 9 10 made money and married a wife. In a few years he returned once more to Europe,to find in his reception a good theme for the cx- ercise of his caustic humor. I landed at Hayre. Here I was received by the whole Exchange, not merely with distinc- tion, hut with a sort of jubilee. In connection with all the first houses, I had executed all their commissions, sent cotton to all, and put money into the purses of all. My appearance at the Exchange was the signal of the gathering of a little court about me, and for the offering of numberless dJ)ez2ners dinatoires and dinners. Had it been possible to deceive myself; as to the source of this reception and this empressement, I had hut to cast a glance at the shore of the sea, in the immediate neighborhood of the port. There I saw the great Chateaubriand, then in the zenith of his glory, companionless, wander- ing lonely and forsaken on the shore, pursuing his own dreams or inspirations. A dinner at Lafittes country house intro- duces us to good company and a happy re- joinder to a fine old saying: FIFTY YEARS IN BOTH HEMISPHERES. with arms of iron, hut with velvet gloves. My readers may have heard this; but a remark which fell from the lips of Madame Lafittes right hand neighbor is newer. Right, said he, it is sobut he very often forgot to put his gloves on. This was so true, and so a propos, that all who heard it burst out laughing. I asked my next neighbor who the witty gentleman was, and learned, to my surprise, that he was no less a person than the celebrated Marquis of Lans- downe his companion was Lord Bristol. Much space is devoted in this volume to our commercial magnatea,and especially to the Barings. A good story is told of one of th~ Messrs. Baring in America Young Baring was travelling through the west- ern part of Virginia, which was at that time peopled by the roughest class of Americans, and the vehicle he used was a very handsome and newly varnished travelling carriage. In accord- ance with the favorite custom of these wild fel- lows, who usually carried a penknife or a nail in their pockets, one of the idlers, who stood and leaned about the door of the tavern, where he had alighted for refreshment, amused himself by scratching with a nail all sorts of ridiculous figures on the varnish of the carriage doors. Baring, who came out of the inn, and caught our friend engaged in this agreeable and polite occupation, the instant he saw what was going on, very sharply expressed his disapprobation~ Thu loiterer responded, Look here, Sir, dont be saucy; we make no ceremony. Tother day we had a European fellow here, like yourself; who was mighty saucy, so I pulled out my pistol and shot him dead, right on the spot. There he lies! Baring rejoined, in the coolest manner imaginable, by asking, And did you scalp him, too -The American was so struck with this, and felt this reproach upon his savage rudeness so keenly, that, after gazing at Baring suddenly and earnestly for a moment in silence, he ex- claimed, By God! Sir, you must be a clever fellow! Let s shake hands! We soon met the master of the house, in com- pany with two very simply dressed, well man- nered Englishmen, one of whom wore something then unusual in French societya summer cos- tume, white drilling trowsers, fine cotton stock- ings and shoes. Both spoke French well. The perfection of English cotton manufactures ap- peared to be the topic of conversation; and when we returned to the house I had decided that the two gentlemen were great Manchester spinners. M.. Lafitte, as usual, led the conversa- tion, as the French say, ii tenait la come; that is, he spoke out whatsoever came into his head, interrupting others, and starting countless topics that had nothing to do with the matter in hand. On reaching the drawing-rooms we found Madame Lafitte, with her only daughter, now the Princess de la Moskowa, and several gentle- men, most of them opposition deputies in the chamber, among them M. Casimir Perrier and M. Grammont, to whom M. Lafitte introduced me personally. At table one of the Englishmen was placed at Madame Lafittes right hand, the other at her husbands. I concluded, hy this distribution of the places of honor, that they must be, ;probably, owners of several great cot- ton factories, with enormous crediis at Lafittes, which regulated the proportion of his great po- liteness to them. NI. Lafitte, whose talkative- ness had as yet found no obstacle, rattled away. To please me, he had made a water-color He told a great deal about the hundred days, drawing of his celebrated Sons of Edward,9 and said he had never admired Napoleon; and in the Luxembourg gallery, and had presented that during the time when he was daily sent for, me with a picture, called The beheading of and consulted by the Emperor, he had learned Lady Jane Grey. It w~ts a sketch, hut so mov- to know him well, and had discovered that he ing, that all who saw it at my house experienced possessed the art of making himself popular in the same feeling. I wanted Delaroche to paint the highest degree. He was quite confidential it in life size, and at last he consented. Madame with me, said Lafitte, spoke without any reti- de Montant was one of the usual visitors at his nence, and once made to me a notable remark studio. She was horn Duehesse de Ia Roche- about our nation. The French, he said, are foucauld, and was the intimate friend of the a people whom one must know how to govern Prince Paul Demidoff, who afterwards married In the later period of his life, M. INolte was more familiar with artists than with financiers; and he has left some amus~ingif apocalyptic stories respecting living celebrities. Here is a tale about Delaroche and his fitmous pic- ture of Lady Jane Grey, and how it came into the hands of Prince Demidoff: 11 F~IFTY YEARS IN BOTH HEMISPHERES. the Princesse Mathilde Bonaparte, daughter of the King of Westphalia. She possessed influ- ence enough with this gentleman to induce him to buy the picture for 8,000 francs, which was 2,000 more than Horace Vernet had received for his greatest pictures, even for The Pope carri- ed to St. Peters by the Swiss Guard, and The Pope, Michael Angelo, and Raphael, on the porch of the Vatican. As the picture drew near its completion, the wild enthusiasm of all who saw it awakened a sort of sorrow in Delaroche, that lie had sold it for 8,000 francs; but the bar- gain was made. Madame de Moutant undertook to influence Demidoff, who was prudent in his extravagance, to a higher offer; and it was de- termined that I should get from the art dealers, Hittner & Goupil, Rue Montmartre, a letter, as if from an English capitalist, offering 15.000 francs, and requesting me to lay the offer before my friend. The letter came to my hands, from which it passed through Delaroches, to those of Madame de Moutant, and thus to Demidoffs, who at once sent to I)elaroche 12,000 francs, be- cause the picture so much surpassed his expec- tation; and in this way it was paid for, at fifty per cent. above the original price. From this moment Delaroches pictures rose in price. After this strange confession, we have some moralizing and further scandal and story telling (about fatuous pictures and famous people) as follows The raising of the price of his Lady Jane Grey, tlirou,, h Madame de Moutant, cannot be cited here against him, for lie had nothing to do with it; and although he knew the manner in which it was done, he did not help, but only tolerate. Who could blame him, especially with a man like Demidoff, who never knew shame, who was ready for the foulest tricks, and who never listened to the voice of justice. What a frightful picture of moral depravity would the secret history of this favorite of fortune exhibit! His veins were full of Cossack blood; and he respected even the sex of women so little, as to have used the knout both to Madame de Mon- tant and to his wife the princess Mathilde. Ma- dame de Moutant knew him thoroughly, and was sure that his purse-pride was almost beyond hearing any reason. The following will show Delaroche in his true light. M. Thiers, Minister of the Interior, determined to have the church of la Madeleine completed, and the side walls covered by six grand pictures, representing scenes in the life of St. Mary Magdalen. He wisely so.ught Delaroche, stipulated to pay him 25,000 francs for each picture, and 25,000 francs more for a vo~-age to Italy, there to make studies and procure models, which were not to be found amid the Savoyard physiognomies, or the forms of- the Parisians. In this agreement one point remained unsettled, the finishing of the Hemi- cycle which should connect the two walls, and about which the minister could not decide, whe- them it should be painted or sculptured in wood. Delaroche very properly held, that if painted it must be by the same hand that should paint the side walls, since another artist would have quite another idea of the Magdalen. On the minister asking what would be the price of this last pic- ture, he replied, Nothing. He had nothing further in view than to get the preference as painter, and he left the price to the ministers own sense of propriety. M. Thiers agreed. Delaroche received the first 25,000 francs, and went to Rome, where I saw him again early in 1835. J)uring a visit to his studio, where I saw rows of exquisite sketches, studies, and drawings for the painting of the Madeleine, he received a letter from a protectress and friend of his, Ma- dame Dosne, mother-in-la~v of M. Thiers, in- forming him that the minister had determined to have the hemicycle painted, and to give it to the painter Flandin. She had done what she could against this, but in vain. Delaroehe at once wrote to Thiers, that he would return the 25,000 francs received as soon as he arrived in Paris, whither lie determined to go at once, and that their contract was at an end. The Marquis of Montemart, who was present, another friend, and myself endeavored to dissuade him from this course, but in vain. He left us for a quarter of an hour, and then brought in his answer, worded with all the bitterness of a wounded artist spirit. Nor would lie change or soften one expression. M. Thiers, said he, must learn with whom he is dealing; that I am a man of honor, and - not a mountebank like himself. One more anecdote of Delaroche must be added The envy of his brother artists rose to its height during the exhibition of his Beheading of Lady Jane Grey. Delacroix, the two Bon- langers, Cbampmartin, and others, formed a clique, who devoted themselves to his overthrow from the height which he had won so li,,htly. These gentlemen, who had themselves praised the picture to Delaroche, usually met at the Sunday receptions of Madame de Mirbel, the celebrated miniature painter of the Faubourg St. Germain, where the bitterest criticism was allowed, and where gall flowed freely. Madame de Mirbels rule was to be on friendly terms with all the notable historic painters, that these might suggest her name to all their friends ~vho might be in want of miniatures. She had invited Dc- laroche, but he had hitherto neglected the invita- tion. One morning I told him of the gossip which went on ~bout him in the drawing-rooms of this lady, and told him he should go there himself, and see and hear what was going on with reference to himself. Not bad advice, he said, I think I will go next Sunday. Accord- ingly, to the great astonishment of all, he made his appearance. Madame de Mirbel almost fell upon her knees, and seemed utterly confounded at the honor. After half an hours stay he took leave of the lady, who, surrounded by her satel- lites, accompanied him to the door, - ayiug, Ab! M. Delaroche, why go so soon l His answer was, Pardon mc, Madame, I have ac- complished a double object in comm,, here this evening. First, I came to pay my respects to you; then, as I am busied with a picture, iti which hypocrisy and Dissimulation are to ap ORPHAN WINNY. pear, I needed some studies of heads, and as we have shown, is a volume full of anec- (looking round upon the painters)I have sue- dote and gossip, character and humor. Some ceeded perfectly; I have found them: Madame, of the stories are doubtful: many of the facts I have the honor to wish you good night. and flo-ures are open to correction. But the We must pause at this pointnot for want amusing interest of the book is independent of matter, but in fairness to the author. Here, of the exactness of facts. From chamberss Journal. ORPHAN WINNY. Ii~ travelling through the north of Scotland, endeavorin0 to find out a relation who had some years previously settled in that part of the world, or, failing in this, to obtain a situa- tion as governess, my inquiries led occasion- ally to strange recitals concerning circum- stances and individuals, that might have suited well for the foundation of many a romance proving the oft, though never too often re- peated adage, that truth is stranger than fiction. In that bleak and singularly shaped town Peterhead, whose harbors run, like the jaws of a sword-fish, into the sea, I had occa- sion to take up my abode for some time at the house of one Abel Grey, who, with moderate custom, and great prudence, maintained his family in much respectability. Of course he had an admirable coadjutor in his good and industrious wife, who managed her little house- hold with a methodical judgment and in a simple sway I have rarely seen equalled. His shop, merely a clothiersfor some thirty years ago, men did not, as now, monopolize every branch of business under one roof was, I remember well, on the right hand side of the passage on entering, and the parlor ex- actly opposite; and surely it was the most comfortable little parlor in the world! At least I thought so, when, after a freezing ride on the outside of the coach from Aberdeen, my landladyfor I had taken a small bed- room and sitting-room on the first floorsent up a polite request that I would join the fami- ly at tea. Every corner of the room was illu- minated by that most cheerful of all li~hts, a blazing fire, and revealed, what perhaps shows the hospitality of a good Scotch housewife more than anything else, a tea-table covered with abundance of good things. Remember- ing, as I did, the scanty supply of thin bread and butter, which, with a decoction of very p ale hyson and cerulean milk, make up a London tea, I was enchanted with the Land of Cakesrecollect, good reader, I was a hungry outside passengerwhich could thus receive a stranger as an honored guest. In one corner of the room were two l~tle girls, apparently of the same age, busily em- ployed in hushing a doll to sleep, and making ready its tiny cradle; they both called Mrs. Grey mamma, and yet one of the children was dressed in deep mourning, while the other wore a frock of bright crimson. A fine curly. headed boy, of four years old, in his night gown, ready for bed, sat by the fire teaching the kitten her lettersa kind of catechism which could only have occurred to a child of his age. I could not help remarking the im- aginative employments of the children, at the same time asking Mrs. Grey if the little girls were twins. 0 no, replied she; they are not the same mothers children. Indeed! I exclaimed in some surprise; and yet they both call you mamma? Yes, replied Mrs. Grey, pointing to the child in mourning, but Winnys mother is dead; and the child, as if catching the words, ceased her play, and turned her beau- tiful dark eyes full upon me, as if to say: Pity me! Poor child! I exclaimed; but she seems to have found a kind relation in you, Mrs. Grey. No relation, replied that good woman: I doubt whether Winny has a relation in the world. You quite interest me about the little creature, said I; would it be too great a liberty to inquire her history? I dont know much of it, said Mrs. Grey; and what I do know, I have been cautioned not to reveal. She has been confided to my care by a gentleman who has adopted her: he is extremely fond of her, and no doubt will give her a good education, to fit her for a governess, or some such desirable employ- ment. Alas for the desirableness of such an em- ployment! Had simple Mrs. Grey known as much of the drudgery of a governesss life as I did, she would have found some other word by which to qualify it. The postmans knock interrupted our conversation. I shouldnt wonder, said Mrs. Grey, if that is a letter from Captain Singleton ; and almost the next minute her husband entered fromthe shop, con- firming the supposition. Winny, said Mr. Grey to the little girl, come here, my pet, and tell me what would please you most. What, most of allof everything? asked the child, looking wistfully in his face, as if she 12 ORPHAN WINNY. 13 believed for a moment in his power to grant When peace was declared, I found it her wish. somewhat difficult, being a second son, to sub. Yes; what in all the world could happen sist upon half-pay only. The trifling addition to please you best? of a pension for an awkward wound at Wa 0 that dear mamma could come back terloo, could scarcely eke out my scanty in- again! said the child, with painfully touching come sufficiently to meet my expenses, which, earnestness, without being extravagant, had involved me Nay, Winny, said Mrs. Grey, after a mo- in debt. Perhaps I may as well mention here, ment of deep silence, caused by the unexpect- that before the battle I had engaged myself to ed reply of the child: that is contrary to a lovely girl, whose faith I had no cause to your little prayer at night, and which you tell doubt, and who seemed formed to make earth me you say from your heart Thy will be a paradise; but my Eve was tempted! Re done. turning home, proud of the laurels won in de But I do wish dear mamma were alive fence of my countryglorying in the wounds again, said the child, beginning to sob. And that brought sathty to those I lovedwith joy- it would be wicked to deny it, for mamma said ous exultation, I hastened to claim my reward God wouldnt love me if I told a lie. for every perilmy own, my lovely bride Quite right, my darling, said Mr. Grey, when the news was brought me that my elder caressing her: never fear to tell us all your brother, on whom the estate had devolved by thoughts and wishes. But Winny is too good the death of my father, had, during my ab- and grateful not to be happy that Captain sence, wooed and won her! I should not have Singleton is coming to see her to-morrow? alluded to this piece of perfidy, which changed Dear Papa Singleton ! said Winny, the whole current of my thoughts and feelings, brightening through her tears hell let me were it not, perhaps, an excuse for the care- talk about mamma, and sing the songs she less life I led some time afterwards. taught me. I started off no one knew whither, and And who was this mamma, thought I, whose half resolved that my family should never hear mextiory seems thus to engross the very abun- of me again. I assumed the name of Bond- dance of the little orphans heart? A day broke, and commenced a roaming life, men- or two revealed to me her sad story. tally decided to be indifferent to everything. Captain Singleton, the gentleman who had But, in reality, I was never intended for a cit- adopted Winny, arrived on the following izen of the world. In spite of my determi- day. He appeared to be exceedingly delight- nation to be apathetic, there were persons and ed with his little protdgde, who hovered about circumstances continually makin~, claims upon him with an affection which was well calen- my sympathies and affections; and as 1 had lated to secure his love. He came to the town not the means of being generous, this was cx- for no other purpose than to see her, and ceedingly painful to me: indeed my supply of therefbre spent the greater portion of his time money was so limited, as to render it expe- at Abel Greys, merely sleeping at the George dient that I should devise some way of in- Inn, at the top of the street. The manners creasing my store. At last, while sojourning of Captain Singleton were so agreeable and in one of these Scottish towns, I resolved to gentlemanly, that I almost fancied I had met receive pupils in fencing and drawing, and for with an old friend. Mrs. Grey being obliged that purpose issued cards; but finding the to attend to household duties, occasioned seve- town too small to answer my purpose, I thought ral tete-a-tetes between us, and during one of of seeking my fortune on a wider field. Ac- these he acquainted me with the circumstances cordin~ly, I packed up my baggage, took an which led to his adoption of Winifred Brock- outside seat on the mail, and started one win Icy. ters morning for Elgin, intending to make that This drifting sleet, said Captain Single- my halting-place. It was severe weather, and ton one day after dinner, as we completed our the roads were cut out of the snow, which lay third game at chess, in the absence of Mr. piled on each side as high as the roof of the and Mrs. Grey and the children who were em- coach. As we were proceeding slowly up a ployed elsewhere reminds me of that storm, hill, I perceived some travellers on foot before now twelve months ago, when I first sawWin- us. They consisted of two men, a woman, fly. As you seem to take an interest in the and a little girl; the sleet was beating in their little creature, Ithat is, if you have patience faces, and the mother had drawn the cnd.of for a ni~ri~ative in which I must necessarily be her shawl as a veil over the childs bonnet, in egotistical, and recount some of my own ad- an attempt to shield her from the weather, as venturesi will give you a sketch of Winnys shy led her by the hand up the hill. The history. party paused as the coach overtook them. I assured him he would confer a favor that Coachman, said on of the young men, per- would be highly gratifying tome; and he pro- ceiving that there was plenty of outside room, ceeded. 14 what will you charge for this lady and little girl to EI,in? Ten shillings, said the man. The funds of the party were compared, and were evidently insufficient; the lady also ap- peared unwilling to avail herself of the contri- hutions of her companions, though most anx- ious to procure a seat for the child. What is the least you will take my little girl for? she asked. Why, three-and-sixpence, replied the coachman no less; so he sharpwe cant stay here all night. Oh, I am so glad! exclaimed the mother, lifting the child in her arms. Now, darling, I dont care for myself, so that you can ride. But I can walk quite well, dear mamma I am not-tired, said the child, evidently un- happy at the idea of being separated from her mother. Had I not been interested in the scene, common humanity would have prompted me to interfere. Madam, I said, oblige me by occupying this seat next me; for your lit- tIe girls sake, who evidently will not come without you; I must insist upon it. I spoke decidedly, holding out my hand at the same time to assist her; the coachman was in a hurry, and the next instant the lady and her child were seated beside me. The guard threw them an extra top-coat he had stowed away in the boot. I buttoned them both up in it, and under the shelter of my umbrella, they were comparatively comfortable. I could not help wondering who my companions were; but the severity of the storm prevented much conversation; the child, being wrapped up warmly fell asleep, and the mamma seemed in- clined to be silent. On arriving at Elgin about seven oclock, the lady expressed a wish to procure a private lodging; I insisted on accompanying her in the search; so giving her my arm, and my hand to the little girl, I sallied forth with my new acquaintances, and soon had the satisfaction of seeinn them com- fortably established in two very neat apart- ments. I then took my leave, without even knowing the name of those for whom I was so interested, hut not without obtaining permis- sion to wait upon them on the following morn- ing. Sauntering back to my hotel, I was at- tracted by the exhibition of a bill in a shop- window, announcing the opening of a theatre. It instantly struck me that my roadside friends must be part of the corps drarnatique. The season was to commence on the following night with the comedy of the Provoked Hus- sand; Lady Grace by Mrs. Brockley; and the song of Over the Mountain and Over the Moor, between the play and farce, by Miss Brockley. I felt a strong presentiment that these were my new friends; and recollecting how successful I had been in private theatri ORPHAN WINNY. cals when with my regiment, I wondered that the idea of trying the stage had never occur- red to me. Here, however, was an opportu- nity; and I resolved on offering my services to the Manager for an appearance or two, my future engagement to depend upon my suc- cess. The thought was exhilarating; and my dreams were filled with visions of surpassing Kemble, and acting in London under my own name, to the infinite mortification of my proud relatives. Next day, I made my promised call, but was informed that the lady and the little girl were gone to rehearsal. I was right, then she was an actress. I left my card, intimating that I would take the liberty of calling at an earlier hour on the following morning. Of course, that night I went to the theatre a neat, temporary place, fitted up in the town- hall and took my seat in what were called the boxes, which were the front benches, par- titioned off from the rest. The comedy com- menced, and enter Lady Grace the identi- cal person whom I had buttoned up in the guards top-coat of many capes! Her appear- ance and manner were admirably suited to the character; she was evidently a gentlewoman. Indeed there was much good acting in the play ; at the conclusion of which, the curtain was again drawn up, the orchestra played a symphony, and the little girl, for whom so many had been interested on her weary way in the snow-storm, came forward to sing. She was the very impersonation of the pictures and statuettes of Little iRed Ridinghood, wearing a short red cloak, and her beautiful little feet bare. How picturesque she looked! The audience welcomed the tiny vocalist with enthusiasm. Her sweet voice, joined to the simple words of her song Over the mountain, and over the moor, Hungry and barefoot I wander forlorn; My father is dead, and my mother is poor, And she weeps for the days that can never return: then her beseeching manner, with clasped hands, as she finished the verse Pity, kind gentlefolks, friends to humanity; Cold blows the wind, and the nights coming on Give me some food for my mother, in charity; Give me some food, and the~i Ill be gone, was so full of pathos so, to me, descriptive of the childs real situation, that I, with the rest of the audience, was completely carried out of the mimic scene, and she concluded her swig amidst a shower of silver. This was scare~y pardonable, but it was irresistible. In my after-acquaintance with Mrs. Brockley, I often entreated her to let Winny sing that song on the stage again; but her honest, independent pride would never consent to it she had not calculated on such a result. Next morning, I OEPIIAN WINNY. 15 spent a pleasant hour with Mrs. Brockley and that the same insidious malady (consumption) her little daughter, and escorted them to re- which had brought her husband to an early hearsal, when I sent in my card to the mana- grave, would shortly make Winny an orphan~ ger, obtained an interview, and, apparently to I and her dying prayer would be, that her daugh- his great satisfaction, arranged to appear as ter might be snatched from a profession in IIan~ilet, Prince of Denmark, about a fbrtnight which her husband and herself perhaps a~ from the commencement of the season. But a just punishment for their imprudence my plans were doomed to be frustrated. How- had suflered so much misery. As I had ample cver, in the mean time, I became greatly inter- leisure, and still felt the same extraordinary ested in Mrs. Brockleys affairs. She told me interest in little Winny an interest which and I niay repeat her history in a few the circumstances I have detailed can scarcely words that, born in India, she was placed warrant, and which, I confess, is a mys- at a boarding-school in England, and becoin- tery to myself I started for the north. ing acquainted with Mr. Brockley, a younger The company of strollers were acting in this son, whose father insisted on his marrying a town, and Mrs. Brockley fortunately occupied rich widow, many years older than himsehg a Mrs. Greys apartments: fortunately~-- I ought, romantic attachment ensued, which terminated perhaps, to say providentially for the ex- in a private marriage, and finally, to avoid the ceeding kindness of that excellent woman did wrath of his father, an elopement. But their much to smooth the pillow of the sufferer. rash union brought nothing but misery; their I had the satisfaction of arriving in time to means were soon exhausted and utterly calm the anxiety of the dying mother; a smile abandoned by her own and her husbands re- for an instant seemed to roll back the curtain lations to save themselves from be~gary, which death was dropping over the face, and they had embraced the theatrical profession. endeavorin~ to press my hand, her hast words Placed in a position for which they had little were: Protect my little darling orphan Win- talent and less liking, yet unable to extricate ny! At first, I thought the child would in- themselves from it, the fatigue, vexations, ex- evitably folhow her mother to the grave ;her citement, and privations of the precarious life heart seemed breaking in continual sobs fbr they had chosen, at length threw her husband dear mamma; but Mrs. Greys care won into a decline, which, after long suffering, ter- the little creature from her incessant grief. It minated his existence amidst poverty and sor- seemed desirable to leave her here fbr a short row. Left with her little daughter, who time; the society of the children would prove evinced extraordinary talent for the stage, the the most natural cure for her sorrow, and I young widow, with aiiy friend to advise could then devise such arrangements as were what was best to be done, was still struggling best suited for bringing mylittle prot~6e home: on in a strolling company, compelled, as I had it is for that purpose my present visit is paid. witnessed, even in the depth of winter, to ac- Iperceive that Winny has become attached to complish her journey on foot. Alas! this was an rs. Grey and the children; and I fear, a picture of the poor player, who struts and from her affectionate disposition, should she frets his hour upon the stage, which had never remain longer here, the separation would be before been exhibited to me, and yet it was too painful, and confirm a shiade of melancholy from the life. I confess it disenchanted all my in the character of my intended-to-be brilliant previously conceived visions of the careless little Winny. joyousness of an actors life; however, I flat- Captain Singleton had conceived a strong tered myself that the success of my ckbut prejudice against Winnys bcin~ sent to school, would place me in a very different position; arising, probably from the unhappy circum- but, within two days of that event, a letter from stance of her mothers imprudent elopement. my agent in town informed me that my We had much conversation on the subject, re- brother had been thrown from his horse and sulting in my accepting the situation of gov~ killed on the spot, and as he died childless, the erness to Miss Brockley. This was an unex- estate devolved upon me. I had parted from pected and happy event for me, who had been my brother in wrath, and I was inexpressibly long dependant on my own exertions as a shocked at the suddenness of this catastrophe. mere, drudging, unassisted teacher; while That night I took my place by the mail for masters were to be engaged, and no expense London; and on bidding farewell to the spared to make my pupil as accomplished and Brockleys, entreated permission to be respon- elegant as she was beautifuL Itwas a painful sibl~ for the expenses of Winnys education, part.in~ for Winny and the Greys: little El- and to be considered a friend on every emer- len cried bitterly, clasping the neck of her gency. play-fellow, and the boy declared he would go Some months after this, my own affairs with Winny. Mrs. Grey prayed Heaven to having been easily arranged, I received a let- bless the little orphan; but Abel took the ter from Mrs. Brockley, expressing her fears child in his arms, now wrapped up w rmly in ORPHAN WINNY. her furred cloak and hood, purchased the day before for the journey by Captain Sin~leton, and carried her, that cold winter-morning, to where the mail stood ready horsed, within five minutes of starting. Winny, said good Abel Grey, as he p laced her beside her new guardian, there is Little likelihood of my ever seeing you again, my pet, though I think I love you as well as either of my own children; hut if anything should happen to make you unhappy or un- friended in this world, recollect there will always he a home for you with Abel Grey the clothier. The journey was not very speedily accom- plished in those days, but in due time we ar- rived safely at Captain Singletons estate in Devonshire. The apartments commanding the finest prospect were appropriated to Winny, and adorned with everything calculated to excite her interest and admiration, in order that her mind, as Captain Singleton expressed it, might be dothed with the beautiful. I could see that he was anxious to banish past scenes from her memory; but this was not so easily accom- plished, for Winny, as her bright and appre- hensive intellect expanded, would read poetry in the most dramatic manner, kindling into an enthusiasm that would not unfrequently betray her teachers into exclamations of ad- miration and applause. But ,memory shone most conspicuously in her love of old songs. Her musical acquirements were considerable, both vocal and instrumental; yet after exe- cuting with brilliant effect some fashionable Italian song of the day, Winny would love to sit by the window, and with no other accom- paniment than the movement of the clouds, or the waving branches of the trees, sing the old ballads taught her by her mother. Let it not be supposed, however, that she was un- happy; she was much too good and affection- ate for that, returning the lavish kindness of her benefactor with singular and engrossing devotion. Winny was now seventeen, and had ad- mirers from far and nearundeterred by any opposition from her guardian, who made it a point, apparently of constrained duty, to give every facility to such aspirants for her hand as were by character and circumstances con- sidered unexceptionable. But a change seem- ed to come over the manners of my hitherto sweet and gracious Winny, for she not only instantly and peremptorily put a negative upon all such addresses, but was even at times pet- tish and harsh in her answers to her guard- ians remonstrances on the subject. At last, young Augustus Oakdale, heir to the magni- ficent estate of Oakdale Hall, with a lineage from the Conquest, and possessions stretching far and near, came in full pomp and pane ply to woo and win. Then Captain Singleton seemed to have formed a resolution: he positively prohibited a refusal, which Winny unhesitatingly and in- stantaneously would have given. I remember the scene well, for I was present. Winny, said the captain, I must exercise the author- rity whichforgive the expressionmy uni- form care and kindness invest me withand I insist on your giving a fair consideration to this young mans proposal. It has ever been my dearest wish that you should be properly settled in life, and here is an alliance offered which surpasses even my loftiest anticipations. Winny, continued he, in a tone almost of asperity, it is my duty, as your guardian, to recommend your acceptance of young Oak- dale. As lie concluded, a deep blush crim- soned to scarlet Winnys cheek and brow, followed instantly by a deathlike pallor, as she said in a low, determined voice: Yes you are my guardian, and I accept Mr. Oak- dale. Upon this, without a word, Captain Singleton rose and left the room. Next day, a note from Captain Singleton brought young Oakdale to the house; he seemed a good-natured young man, but of little penetration, and was quite satisfied with Winnys calm and even formal acceptance of his proposal; but from this moment Winnys cheerfulness was gone: even the cordiality and joyousness with which she had ever met her benefactor, disappenre~ entirely from her manner. Captain Singleton, too, did not seem to seek her society as heretofore, buf, to all appearance, busied himself anxiously in securing her the most ample provision out of his own fortune, and making the most costly purchases as befitting presents for so distin- guished a bride as Winny was about to be- come. Time wore on, and the marriage was am pointed to take place on Winnys eighteenth birthday, when, one morning, on entering her apartment suddenly, I found her alone, pale, and weeping, in the midst of wedding finery which her maid had been unpacking, and displaying for her admiration. What has happened, my dear Miss Broek- hey? I said: you seem unhappy. 0 most unhappy! she exclaimed, throw- ing herself weeping upon my bosom. Do you remember, she asked, those words of Abel Grey when I was a little child: If anything should happen to make me unhappy or unfriended, I should find a home with him? Yes, I replied; but you are placed in circumstances the very reverse of that. Apparently so, perhaps, but, in reality, I am miserable. 16 ORPHAN WINNY. I know not how far this avowal might have gone, had not the maid interrupted it, by in- forming her mistress that Captain Singleton wished for a few minutes conversation with her. Desiring he mi~,ht be admitted, she re- quested me to step into the inner room until the interview was over. It was more of a recess than a rooma large bay-window, sepa- rated from the adjoining apartment by a kind of archway, hur~g with thin muslin curtains; and here I found myself in the embarrassing yet unavoidable position of a listener to the following scene. iMiss Brockley, said Captain Singleton an unusual formality with him I am sorry to be the bearer of a most unpleasant commu- nication. Winnys weeping was now over; her pride now seemed to be wounded by her guardians coldness of manner: she removed the magnificent wedding-veil which lay on the couch beside her, and throwing it carelessly aside, almost spurning it from her, merely motioned to him to be seated. Captain Singleton was closely observant of the whole action, and, in a kinder tone, said: Winny, I think you must feel conscious that I prize your happiness above all other consid- erations. I have striven, to accomplish it by every means in my power, and do not scruple to avow, that from the day I first saw you, when, a little child, your mother lifted you up into my arms by the wayside, I have felt a deeper interest for you than for any other human being. Winnys pride vanished in a moment, and fervently, but silently, her bene- factors hand was clasped in her own. In mind, in accomplishments, in beauty, you were all I wished you to be; my hopes were achievedyou made the happiness of my home; and this happiness, which could never be replaced, I considered it my duty, for your sake, to sacrifice. The alliance with Mr. Oakdale, in many respects, would be a distinguished one; and upon my representing this to you, you seemed to think so too; you calmly acquiesced in the proposal; not one regret~ ever escaped your lips for the desola- tion your absence would cause here; and your continued, and, I must say, unkind silence on the subject, at length forced upon me the painful conviction, that I had no hold upon your lovenot even upon your gratitude! Winny wept violently, unable, had she wished, to utter a word. Ay, resumed Captain Singleton,. now you see and feel the injustice of your indiffer- ence towards me. Oh, sobbed Winny, not indifference oh, if I dared only tell you! Well, well, if I have wronged you, for- give me, Winny. This is a more severe pre- face to what I have to announce than I in- tended; and instead of using reproaches, I DXLI. LIVING AGE. VOL. VII. 2 ought, perhaps, to have been forbearing and kind. 1 flattered myself I was wholly unself- ish in this matter, and that I could rejoice in your rejoicing at leaving me and my dull home for gayer scenes, and nearer and dearer ties. Oh, not dearernever half so dear! said Winny, as if her whole heart leaped up to her clear, dark eyes to show its truthful- ness. But I thought you were weary of me that at last the poor orphan girl, who loved you better, ay, a thousand times better than a daughter could, had become a burden to you. It was wrong, very wrong; but pride deter- mined me, at the cost, perhaps, of a broken heart, to obey you, and never to breathe a desire to remain where I thought my presence was no longer wished. Then let me understand you ri~htly, Winny, said Captain Singleton, hurriedly. If this marriage, by any unforeseen circum- stance, were broken off, would it not affect your happiness? Oh, asked Winny, in almost wild ecstasy, without answering his question, is it broken off? Perhaps this letter which you hold in your hand contains my reprieve! Oh, if it does, in mercy say so! It does. Thank Heaven! And youfor I am not too proud to beg nowyou will not yet dis- card your poor orphan, Winny? Never will I part from you, Winny, till you beg me to do so, said Captain Singleton. Then I am happy! and the poor girl again took his hand, and pressed it affection- ately to her lips. And now, said Captain Singleton, in some embarrassment, shall I, or shall I not, make known to you the contents of this letter from young Oakdale? I fear your pride will be hurt by it, Winny. Oh, she replied, artlessly, I had forgot- ten Mr. Oakdalcs letter: I can forgive him anythin,, I am so much obliged to him. I almost begin to like him! It would seem, said Captain Singleton, opening the letter, that some one who knew you in infancy now recognizes you, or re- members your parents; for after a preamble, these are young Oakdales words: Notwith- standing my great admiration of Miss Brock- ley, if the assertion which was made in a pub- lic assembly last night be truenamely, that Miss Brockley is the daughter of theatrical parents, and has actually appeared upon the stage herselfi must, however reluctantly, at once decline the happiness I had promised myself by the alliance, etc. Oh, almost screamed Winny, assure him that I have been on the stage; assure him that I will return to the itage; anything that will confirm him in his dear, delightful rejec- tion, and get me out of this dismal captivity! 17 ORPHAN WINNY. But, continued she, in a graver tone, and with a natural revulsion of feeling, am I to blame for that? No, certainly not, replied Captain Single- ton. It is a prejudice, very often justifiable; but in the present instance, it is the pride of a shallow fbol, which rejects a bride, radiant in beauty and virtueno matter what her originwhom an emperor might be proud of! and Captain Singleton, more excited than I had ever before beheld him, walked hurriedly about the room. I never felt so uncomfortable in my lifeevery moment ex- pecting to be discovered where I had invol- untarily become a listener. Winny, no doubt, had forgotten that there was such a person in existence as her poor, insignificant governess; and Captain Singleton, after a moment or two of profound silence, whether catching a glimpse of some one behind the curtain or not, I cannot tell, but suddenly he took up the wedding-bonnet, wbich was lying on a chair, desired Winny to tie it on, as if it were her ordinary attire, and snatching up a shawl, another article of the ill-used trousseau, wrap- ped her in it, placed her arm within his own, saying: Come, Winny: you look pale; the air will revive you, and I have yet much to say, led her from the room. Thankful as I was to emerge from my hid- ing-place undetected, I could not help laugh- ing at the unceremonious appropriation of the despised wedding-gear, in which Winny, though, I believe, quite unconscious how she was attired, looked charmingly. I had my own surmises as to tbe sequel of their conver- sation, which surmises were soon verified by the bright smiles on all the faces of the house- hold. Thank goodness, said Mrs. Smith, Win- nys own maid, the house is again what it used to be: master has got back all his good- humor, and my dear young lady has left off weeping: her present intended pleases her better tban her last, I believe! And what does it matter his being twenty years older than herself? Why, he is only thirty-eight, and looking so young and handsome, that there isnt any lady in the land but would be glad to have him. Though the day was not yet specified, every one supposed the marriage would shortly take place; .when a message arrived to Captain Singleton from his brothers widow, residing in London, who was on her death-bed, re- questing his presence, and earnestly entreat- ing him to bring Miss Brockley along with him. Captain Singleton seemed much agita- ted by these unexpected tidings, which open- ed up wounds that had long been healed, and also by the singular wish, which was of course to be complied with; and Winny herself de- scribed to me what took place. On their ar- rival, Captain Singleton conducted her to the bedside of the invalid, who seemed strangely excited on beholding her. I have wronged you both, said the dying woman: you have already forgiven me, Captain Singleton, but how can I expect pardon from this poor or- phan girl, whom I have for years known to be the child of my sister ? At these words, said Winny, Captain Singleton started, and turned towards me with a look as if awaking from a dream: without perceiving this, my aunt continued: Pride forbade my acknow- ledging relationship with one who, by the position she had chosen, seemed to have dis- graced me. We were orphans, like Winny. The mistress of the school at which she had been placed, for her own interest, complied with my entreaty to be silent on the subject of my sisters imprudent marriage, and so the circumstance faded from the recollection of all save myself. But my injustice to my niece has been an incessant reproach to me. Your generpsity, Captain Singleton, on the death of your brother, and which I so little merited at your hands, elaimed some return. I knew the gratification this avowal would have been to you, and yet pride kept me silent; but I could not die in peace until I had done justice to Winnytardy, indeed, but which will, I trust, yet obtain me her pardon, and give hope and tranquillity to the few hours allotted me. The poor lady died that night, and on their return home after the funeral, Captain Singleton said to me with uncontrollable de- light: Now, Miss Howard, Ive solved {he mystery of Winnys first fascination. But who was to give Winny away? Cap- tain Singleton proposed to send for Abel Grey, as a proper compliment to that worthy man. Cheerfully he obeyed the summons, and be- stowed the hand of his little pet as he called herupon one who loved her with perhaps the strangely blended feelings of a father and a husband. Before that happy day, young Oakdale that no one might labor under the mistake o( his being left to wear the willowconsoled himself with an insipid, unintellectual beauty, somewhat pass~e by the by, but then she boasted of a pedigree as ancient as his own. Captain Singleton would not hear of my re- signing my situation, now comparatively a sinecure; and what was perhaps still more generous, insisted on my accompanying him- self and Mrs. Singleton on a trip to Scotland, where, loaded with presents for the family, we all once more, but under such different cir- cumstances, assembled round the happy fire- side of Abel Grey, the clothier. 18 A VISIT TO IIARTWELL. 19 From Chamberss Journal. ked their thirst: however that may be, a A VISIT TO HARTWELL. grateful quaffer of the lymph has sung NEAIILY in the centre of Buckinahamshire and forty miles to the north-west of London, stands the ancient borough-town of Ayles- bury, a place of great consideration, some rights of which are still held by a singular tenure of William the Norman, which enjoins the lord of the manor to provide straw for the kings bed and chamber on royal visits. I hope, says Camden, the nice part of the world will obscrve this. Let us add our hope, that if it should please our gracious Queen to rest at Aylesbury, the straw may be of the finest and softest description. Besides the litter, the said lord was also bound to provide his majesty with three eels whenever he should come in winter; and in summer he was to furnish sweet herbs with the straw, and two green geese for the royal tablewhich fowls we take to mean Aylesbury ducks, or which that loyal borough is still famous. The name of Aylesbury is imparted to a larue and fertile vale which extends along the northern flanks of the Chiltern Hills, the teeming fertility of which has been acknow- ledned for anes. Nearly two hundred and fifty years a~,o, old Michael Drayton thus wrote of it: Aylesbury s a vale that walloweth in her wealth, And (by her wholesome air continually in health) Is lusty, firm, and fat,her soil throughout is sure For goodness of her glebe and for her pasture pure; That as her grain and grass, so she her sheep doth breed, For burthen and for bone, all other that exceed. But even before the quaint poet sang the praises of Aylesbury Yale, the learned Cam- den had celebrated its fertility in good set Latin. The valley, he writes, is almost all champaign, the soil chalky, stiff, and fruit- ful. The rich meadows feed an incredible number of sheep, whose soft and fine fleeces are sought after even from Asia herself. In the northern part of this celebrated and very beautiful vale stands Hartwell House, sur- rounded by its fine demesne; and here it is that we propose to ask our readers to spend a day with us during the leafy month of June. And indeed we venture to say, that it would be difficult to select a more lovely sylvan scene within the same distance of London. The name is expressive of beauty, being de- rived from a hart or deera species which, according to Camden, abounded formerly in the woods of Buckinghamshireand a well or spring, near the mansion, recognized by tradition as the one where harts formerly sla Stay, traveller I Round thy horses neck the bri- dle fling, And taste the water of the Hartwell spring; Then say which offers thee the better cheer The Hartwell water or the Aylesbury beer! Some ancient title deeds belonging to Hartwell, represent on the seal a deer drink- ing at a well, with a peacocks head attached to the back of the animal, which may explain why so many of these gaudy birds have been cherished from time immemorial in the vicini- ty of the mansion. The goal of our pilgrimage is easily reach- ed. The footway to it from Aylesbury, from which it is about two miles distant, lies along pleasant paths, and through fertile meads. With a liberality worthy of general imitation, the present proprietor of Ilartwell not only throws wide open the gates of his beautiful demesne to all comers, ~but allows visitors to inspect his house, which, as we shall see, pre- sents many objects of attraction to the anti.. quary and general visitor. Nothing can be conceived more beautiful of its kind than the park which infolds hart- well House within its umbrageous arms. Un- dulating, and presenting those soft, swelling, verdant waves which form so characteristic a feature of English parks, it is dotted with oases of stately trees, many of whose gnarled trunks tell of years now dim in the obscurity of the past. Under the Hartwell oaks, gather still, as in the olden time, country lads and lassesfor it is the especial wish of the pre- sent proprietor to keep up ancient games; and it is worthy of remark, that amongst the numerous tenantry are farmers whose names are nearly as old as their lords family. The latter have been in possession of Hartwell since 12$; and this evidence of local stabili- ty is additionally and pleasingly strengthened by the fact, that there are still on the rent roll the names of Monk, Horton, t~urney, and Flamborow, whose progenitors appear as ten- ants more than three centuries ago. With respect to the last mentioned family, whose line still exists under the variation of Farm.. borough, it has been suggested that one of their number may have been the prototype of Goldsmiths honest farmer in his immortal Vicar of Wakefield. There is inferential tes- timony as to Oliver having visited Aylesbury; and from a dinner given to him at Bedford, he has perpetuated the epulary powers of the corporation of that place in his play She Steeps to Conquer. But, however unwillingly, we must pass from the park and its lovely sylvan scenes to the house, in which we had the happiness of being a guest for some days. This was erect- A VISIT TO HARTWELL. ed in 1570 by Sir Thomas Lee, and, in ac- cordance with the architectural fashion of that period, is Elizabethan. It is a noble struc-~ Lure, solidly built, and affording, in its Eliza- bethan details, sufficient variety to please and gratify the eye. Beyond the first or outer hail is the great hall, in which mighty banquets were held of yore, and where the present tenantry are still hospitably entertained. The ceiling of this vast apartment is elaborately decorated wjth Sir James Thoruhills paintings, allegoric ally representing Genius writing ii istory among the Ruins of Italy.. That these pictures are highly appreciated by the tenantry, who fre- quent this hall, may be doubted. It is said that at a recent audit-dinner, a gentleman asked the host whether the river-god over their heads represented Achelous; to which he jocosely replied: Perhaps so, but he,s a calf-headed fellow at anyrate : . upon which a farmer gravely remarked: No, sir; that cannot be; his horns are too lono~ Beyond this fine hail are suites of apart- ments handsomely decorated, arid hung with numerous pictures by Lely, Kneller, Yandyck, O~tade, Ceyp, Weenix, Reynolds, and other masters. Sir Joshua exerted his skill in per- petuating the Lees of his day, and he has left some other excellent specimens of his pencil at Hartwell, where he was a welcome visitor; but here the badness of his oils is unhappily very conspicuous in his pictures. Probably the most interesting portrait in the collection is that of Sir John Suckling, who was con- nected with the Lee family. It is by Van- dyck, and is the portrait mentioned by Au- brey in his Lives of Eminent Men. The drawing-room, the windows of which have a southern aspect, and open on the pleasance, is a very elegant apartment, and is remarka- ble, likewise, for the gorgeous coloring of the walls, which are literally flooded witl~ the pris- matic colors. This startling effect is produced by a number of prisms in the windows, and is heightened by the colors being reflected in mirrors. This idea could have originated only in a philosophical mind, and Dr. Lee, in fact, is a savant of no mean order, as the observa- tory which is attached to the house, and which has a world-wide reputation, attests. Before proceeding to this interesting apartment, let us ~lance at the noble library beyond which it is situated. This room, revealing the intellec- tual tastes of its owner, is filled with curious and valuable astronomical instruments, besides containing a rich collection of works treating of that science. From the union of the Hart- well, Colworth, and Totterid~e libraries, to- gether with the constant additions that have been made by Dr. Lee, the collection is very extensive and valuable. The number of books is indeed so great, that some are to be found in almost every room in the house. From the library, a corridor leads to the observatory, which, while commanding a wide expanse of the heavens, has the advantage of being attached to the house. It contains one of the finest equatorial telescopes in the world. The object-glass, which has an aperture of 59 inches, was purchased by Admiral Smyth from Sir James South, who brought it from the continent, and pronounced it to be Tulleys chef dceuvre. A large amount of good astro- nomical work has been done with this instru- ment, the most important of which was the observation and measurement of double stars by Admiral Smyth, and the investigation of the wonderful phenomena ot their colors. In this latter labor, we may mention that great assistance was derived from ladies, whose eyes were called into requisition on the occasion. Adjoining the observatory is the chapel, which bears traces of the occupancy of Hart- well by Louis XVIII. and his family. Here are his prie-dieu, an elaborately carved altar, a fine missal, which belonged to the arch- bishop of Rheims, reading desks, and other ecclesiastical relics. As we shall revert to this interesting period in the history of Hart- well, we shall now conduct our readers to the museum, which occupies the entire length of the northern side of the first floor. The great staircase conducting to it is a stately oaken structure of easy ascent and great breadth. The balustrades, at regular distances, sustain twenty-four carved oaken figures, mostly war- riors with shields and drawn swords, who scowl fiercely and grimly on the visitor as. he ascends to his bed-room. Indeed, seen by candlelight, which casts huge and distorted images on the walls, the effect is almost start- line; and it was on this account that the queen of~Louis XVIII. caused the figures to be re- moved from their exalted position, and con- signed them to a cellar, where they were found when the royal family departed. A description of the museum would far ex- ceed the limits of this paper. Suffice it to say, that it contains a vast assemblage of all kinds of curiosities, collected with great dili- gence and at much expense by Dr. Lee, while he was a travelling bachelor of the uni- versity of Cambridge, and during later years. The Grecian and Egyptian antiquities are particularly numerous, and the geological and mineralogical department singularly rich. All the articles are named and described, and thus the visitor is instructed as well as inter- ested while examining the collection. On the same floor as the museum are the sleeping apartments, any one of which would make halPa-dozen ordinary London bedrooms. That which was assigned to us was occupied 20 A VISIT TO HARTWELL. by Charles X. when he was at Hartwell; and if vast space be necessary to royalty, assured- ly the king must have been at home here. From the distant dusky corners which the candle hut faintly illumined, it would riot have been a difficult stretch of imagination to conjure ghosts, for the reader need hardly he told that Hartwell is tenanted by these un- substantial beings. However, we must say we slept a long round sleep in Aie royal bed, without being in the slightest degree disturb- ed. But things might have turned out other- wise had we spent the night in the muniment- room, which is a very secluded apartment in a retired part of the house, and reputed to be the favorite abiding place of the spirits of the departed, as it is the treasury of their wills, royal patents, court-rolls, etc., several of which bear dates anterior to 1290. Lined throuvh- out, as the room is, with oak exquisitely carved, but black with agedimly lighted by narrow oriel windows, which spiders innumerable have been permitted, unmolested, to curtain with their webs, it may be supposed that the ghosts of Hartwell are not likely to be dis- possessed of their retreat. And now, before leavin,, the house, we must say a few words respecting its occupancy by Louis XVIII. of France, who, with his queen and suite of two hundred persons, lived here from 1807 to 1814. At that period, Hartwell belonged to Sir George Lee, Bart., who, being a bachelor, and not caring to live in his ances- tral mansion, let it to the royal family for the annual rent of 500. Besides the constant residents, the king was frequently visited by French princes and emigrant nobles, who brou~ht attendants with them. Thus the ac- commodation required was so extensive, that the halls, galleries, and large apartments were ingeniously divided and subdivided into suites of rooms and closets; and it was curious, as we were informed, to see how, with that me- thod for management characteristic of the French, the second and third class stowed themselves in the attics, converting one room into several by an adaptation of li~ht parti- tions. On the ledges and leads of the roof, they formed gardens, which were stocked with pIa~~ts, shrubs, and flowers, contained in boxes; and they, moreover, kept fowls and pigeons there, so that the superstructure was thus loaded with many extra tons of weight; but all was well conducted and cheerful, and in the evenings there was music and dancing. His majesty had probably, before taking up his abode at Hartwell, learned how sweet are the uses of adversity; and when walking through the groves sur- rounding the house, must have felt, if he did not exclaim 21 Now, my co-mates and brothers in exile, Hath not old custom made this life more sweet, Than that of painted pomp iAre not these woods More free from peril than the envious court? His majesty occupied much of his time iii reading, and througbout all his vicissitudes he retained his partiality for the classic writers, and especially for Horace, of which there is a curious instance on record. When his fidus Achates, the Due dAvaray, was compelled by illness to quit Hartwell for Madeira, he wrote from thence to his royal friend for some books, and among others, for a French translation of Horace. To this request Louis, having in part complied, returned the following answer: Your commission about Horace was not so easy. There is a translation by the Abhi Des fontaines, but he got no further than the middle of the third book of the Odes, so that would not suit you. And after alluding to other attempts, he adds: I see but one, remedysend me the list of odes you have, and I will endeavor to supply the deficiency by a humble attempt of my own.~~ The royal version of the Venusian bard would, indeed, have been a welcome prize to a publisher; b~~t if ever written, in all proba- bihty it was destroyed. It was this classical taste of the kings that led Lord Byron to write in his Age of Bronze Good classic Louis, is it, canst thou say, Desirable to be the Desire l Why wouldst thou leave calm Hartwells green abode, Apician table, and Horatian ode, To rule a people who will dot be ruled, And love much rather to be scourged than schooled The calm tenor of the kings life at Hart- well, was rudely broken by the death of hi~ queen, which happened in 1810. This event seems to have been a heavy blow to him. Writing of it, he says: I freely confess that I was not aware I loved the queen so much as I now find I did. And again, some months after her death: Fear nothing for my health: it has not suffered. lam already at the point where I fear I shall remainno more tears, no more pangs of sorrow, but a sincere regret, a void in my life which I feel a hundred times a day. Comparatively tranquil as was his life here, the ambition of again wearing the kingly crown, seems never to have deserted him. Small pamphlets, privately printed, calling on the French nation to restore him to his throne, were extensivelycirculated; and when the king left Hartwell, several hundreds of them were found in the rooms occupied by the arch- 22 bishop of Rheims, who was the kings secre- tary. One of these pamphlets, given to us by Dr. Lee, thus concludes : We will never abandon our right to be your sovereign. It is the heritage of our fathers. Frenchmen! we call upon you to do us justice. Signed, Louis, and Talleyrand Perigord, Arch- bishop of Rheims. Nor did the birth of Na- poleons son, when the former was in the zc- nith of his fortunes, disconcert the Sage of Hartwell, as he was called. When the event so ominous to the Bourbon interests became known to him, it was treated with philosophic resignation and sarcastic dryness by Louis, who is reported to have said: So, then, we are to have a babe in the Napoleon family. Whether he is really the flesh and blood of the unhappy arch-duchess herself, or only an interloper smuggled into her bed chamber, what care I? Many people look upon this event as highly important. I am not of that opinion. If God has condemned us to this tyranny, Bonaparte can never want a succes- \Sor; if, on the other band, the Divine wrath should pass away, all the babes in the world will not prevent the overthrow of the edifice of iniquity. At length the turn of fortune came: Napo- leon I. fell, and Louis became the desired of the French. But the news took the royal family by surprise. On the 25th March, 1814, (Lady-day), they were at prayers, when sud- denly two post-chaises were seen approaching the house, each drawn by four horses, and dis- playing white flags. The carriages contained deputies from France, with the intelligence that Louis XVIII. was proclaimed. Hardly had the excitement occasioned by these joyous tidings moderated, ere another party of depu- ties arrived, charged to solicit the exile to re- turn and take possession of his throne and kingdom. These gentlemen were ushered into the library, where the king signed the celebrated document, said to have been sug- gested by the supple Talleyrand, stating that he accepted and would observe the constitu- tion of France. The pen with which the ILLUSTRIOUS TRADESMEN. signature was written was preserved, and is to be seen among the memorabilia in Dr. Lees museum. The royal establishment, which was very handsomely kept up~2O,OOO having been allowed to the king annually by our governmentwas forthwith broken up, and the king and his sister returned to France. Beyond Ilartwell, however, we have no concern with Louis; although we may state, in conclusion, that he did not leave his quiet and beautiful English home without regret; and various circumstances which occurred in France, testify that the royal family retained an agree able and grateful recollection of their asylum in our country. A. Jardin ~e Ia Hartwell was constructed at Versailles, and other remembrances kept alive the memory of the past. The king was always ~lad to see any one from llartwell; and as an instance of his condescension and kindness to his old friends, the following amusing anecdote is re- lated :On his journeys to and from the me- tropolis, Louis had been in the habit of chang- ing horses at the Kings Arms Inn, at Berk- hampstead, the landlord of which had several daughters, with the eldest of whom, a very sensible young woman, he was very fond of chatting, and became highly pleased with her sprightly freedom of manner. On the tri- umphant journey to London, she rushed out to congratulate the king on his restoration an attention which he received with great pleasure, and good bumoredly invited her to visit him in Paris. The young lady took him at his word; and on her arrival in that city, was provided with an apartment in the Tuile- ries. At her first interview with Louis, she asked his majesty whether he did not feel him- self more comfortable in the retirement of Hartwell than amidst the toilsome parade of the Parisian court? To which the king re- plied: Madam, I have always felt it my duty to make myself comfortable in every situation to which I am called. Louis, it is stated, treated his fair guest with uniform courtesy and respect. ILLUsTRiOUs TRADESMEN. The doctrines of Islamism teach that no man may be above his destiny; that every one may learn a vocation whereby he may earn his bread, if predestined to do so. A curious list is given in Maradja of the - occupations of patriarchs, caliphs, and sultans, which commences with the first man: Adani til- led the ground; Noah was a carpenter; Abra- ham, a weaver; David made coats of mail; Solo. mon made baskets of the date-tree; the Caliph Omar manufactured skins; Othman sold eata hles; Ali, the cousin of the Prophet, hired him- self to a master for a salary. The Ottoman sove- reigns did not think it beneath them to submit to this law, in imitation of so many eminent exam- ples. Thus Mohammed II. sold flowers; Soli- man the Great made slippers; Achmct I. made ebony cases nud boxes; Achmet 111. excelled in writing, and in emblazonin~ the canonical books; Scum II. printed muslins. Deanss Ottoman Em- pire 23 THE ORIENTAL MERCHANT. From Household Words. THE ORIENTAL MERCHANT. I WHitE Haj Hamed borrowed a hundred dinars of the merchant Kodadad, he swore hy the faith of the Prophet to return the sum within six months from that time, and fixed the hour and day. He was a young man, full of hope and confidence, and Kodadad was old an~ wary. My son, said the latter, this is perhaps a rash promise. Say one year. But, Haj Hamed would not accept a further delay. He was going from Tarsus to Damascus on a commercial jour- ney, and had accurately calculated the time. One month to go; one month to come hack; three mouths to sell his goods; a whole month to spare. But, the accidents of the road,sickncss, robbers unforcseen delays I He relied upon the mercy of God; and with many asseverations said that at the appointed time he would present himself at the kiosque of the merchant Kodadad, on the banks of the river, and lay bcfore him a hundred golden dinars. The money was lent without interest, and payment was a sacred obli- gation. The caravan set out, flags flying, and drums beating, from the rendezvous on the opposite side of the river, and soon entered the gorges of the mountains. After proceeding a little way, a halt wasagreed upon; for many of the merchants had stayed behind, saying their last adieus to their families, or making additions to their mer- ehandise. Haj ilamed, who possessed several camel-loads, and had been among the flrst to be ready at the place of meeting, repined at this delay. He had earned his title of Haj, or Pilgrim, when a boy, by going in company with his fa- ther to the shrine of the Prophet; but this was the first journey he had undertaken since. His impatience, therefore, may be excused. He had started with the idea of making a fortune; and was impatient to be doing. Besides, there was his promise to Kodadad. If he forfeited that, his credit was gone for ever. Accordingly, he spent the first part of the day that followed the halt, sitting by the roadside, counting the strag- glers that came in, and jeering them for their tardiness. This young man, said some, be- lieves that time was made only for him. What matters a day more or less I At the end of life we shall have to regret our impatience. There are evils by every wayside. Why should we be cager to come up with them I These philosophical remarks found no favor with Haj Hamed, who, instead of imitating his companions, and reclining lazily, under the shadow of trees on the green grass, irstening to the songs of the birds and the gurgling of the stream, began at length to roam uneasily about. He saw that another sun would set, and perhaps another, and behold them still in the lap of the same valley. He climbed the mountains, en- deavoring to distract his thoughts, and whenever he obtained a glimpse of the encampment be- low, he gazed at it, endeavoring to discern signs of a forward movement. But, the tents remain- ed unstruck; the people remained in groups; the camels and horses were dispersed here and there, and the lazy tinkling of their bells showed that they, at any rate, were enjoying themselves. The young merchant at length turned away and plunged into the deep recesses of the forest. Na- ture had no charms for him. As he went, he counted in his memory the number of pieces of cloth his bales contained, compared the cost- price with the probable market price, and revel- led in the anticipation of gigantic profits to be realized in the paradise of his imagination some dusty bazaar in the far off city of Da- mascus. Whilst he was meditating on these sordid matters, he was suddenly recalled to himself by a surprising accident. A huge mantle was thrown over his head; and before he had time to struggle, he was cast on the ground, and rolled up, like a bale of his own goods, in complete darkness. At first, he thought that instant death was to be his fate; and he murmured, ~May Heaven pay my debt to the merchant Kodadad I Soon, however, it appeared that he was only a prisoner; and he felt himself raised and carried along, while smothered laughter came to his cars. If this were a joke, it was a practical one. He tried to speak; but no answer was returned, ex- cept renewed laughter. Presently, those who carried him set him down; the bonds that con- fined him were loosened, the mantle was whisked away, and, to his surprise, he found himself in a beautiful garden, surrounded by a bevy of maid- ens, who clapped their hands, and enjoyed his amazed appearance. Haj Hamed was too thoroughly an Oriental not to understand his position, after a few mo- ments thought. lie had evidently been watched during his progress through the forest, by the inmates of some harem, unincumbered by male attendants, who in a spirit of fun had made him prisoner. The incident is not an uncommon one, if we may believe narrators; but, it gener- ally leads to disagreeable results. Our merchant felt uncomfortable. These merry girls were quite capable, he thought, after having made a butt of him, of throwing him down a well, or into a pond. lie looked around for the chief among them rather anxiously, and soon recog- nized her in a very young maiden, who, after having laughed with the me4, had flun~, herself carelessly on a pile of cushions under a tree, and was gazing at him with interest. Lady, said he, assuming a humble attitude, this is not wise nor well. I am a merchant travelling with my goods that require care and watchfulness, and beg to be released. She seemed annoyed that her beauty, which was great, did not amaze him; and replied Fear nothing. There is no danger. This is my fathers kiosque. He has given it to me and I live here with my maidens unmolested. There is a guard of slaves at the gate; but they only appear at a signal of dangerwhen I sound this shell. She raised a conch to her lips, and a shrill sound filled the air. The slave girls, scarcely understanding her motive, again cast the mantle over Hamed, and bade him be silent and motion- less. Several men came hurriedly; but were dismissed with jeers and mockeries. In a fe~ 24 THE ORIENTAL MERCHANT. moments, the merchant, more dead than alive, wandered into the mountains, endeavoring to was uncovered again, and told to be of good follow the same track as before; but, although cheer, for he had permission to depart. he several times imagined he recognized the trees By this time, however, beauty had begun to and the rocks, his search was unsuccessful. All exert its influence; and Haj Hamed, instead of was wild and seemingly uninhabited. He culled rising, remained gazing in admiration at the lady aloud Leilah 1 but the echoes only answered, of the place. She met hi~ glance, at first, with la! la! no, no; and ~irhen night came, he a disdainful, expression: but according to the knew not which way to turn. So, he sat down Oriental idea, two such souls have secret sym- beneath a huge sycamore to wait patiently until pathies, from the influence of which neither can the morning. escape. No sooner did their eyes meet in a full When light came, he remembered his promise gaze, than both felt faint at heart. The lady to Kodadad. He was to pay the hundred dinars turned very pale, and leaned her head upon the at noon. lie determined to hasten to Tarsus on cushion; the maidens, raising the trembling foot over the mountains, for he knew the general Hamed, led him to her side. They talked for direction in which it lay. Many hours of travel hours: not of themselves, but of love: and cx- were before him; but he was light of foot, and patiated eloquently on the happiness of meeting, at length beheld in the distance the minarets of whilst the attendants played on their lutes, or the city, and the winding course of the river. sang songs. illustrative of their situation. The Suddenly, the landscape darkened. Clouds seem- shadows of night were coming on, when a peen- ed to come out of every valley, and to inundate liar sound at the outer gate announced that the the plain. The rain fell; the wind blew. He father of the maiden, whose name was Leilab, hastened onWard, clutching the leather purse in had come to visit her. So, Haj Hamed was which he carried his wealth, and invoking the thrust unceremoniously forth; and was awaken- assistance of the Prophet. When he reached ed from his dream of happiness amid the deep- the banks of the river, he heard, through the cuing gloom of the forest. He returned bowed mist, a muezzin proclaiming the hour of noon down and heavy hearted to the encampment. from the distant mosque. The waters were tur- Many thoughts kept him awake for many buleut. No ferryboat was in sight. It was. im- hours; it was not until the sky that stretched possible to cross. Haj Hamed prayed; and an betwixt the mountain tops overhead had begun idea came to his mind. He plucked. a large to whiten, that at length, overcome with fatigue, reed, and hollowed it, and placed therein a hun. he fell asleep. Pleasant visions spake beneath dred pieces of gold, and tied other reeds to it, his eyelids. When he awoke, the tents were and floated this raft upon tl~e stream, and confi- struck, the camels were laden, and the people ded in the mercy of God. were filing off. Why this hurry i he cried. Now, it happened that Kodadad, remembering Was not this a pleasant place to tari-y in l Haj Jlameds promise, had gone to his kiosque Time is et~rnal. There is no need to hasten that day, to wait for his juoney. The wind fsom the present, which is joyful, to the future blew; the rain fell. The debtor did not appear. which is full of danger. Several merchants We must allow him an hours grace; for the thought he was jeering them for their philosophy storm is violent, said Kodadad. The muezzin of the previous day, and hastened to complete chaunted the hour of noon. The merchant call- their arrangements, and follo~v the caravan. ed to his slave to bring another pipe. Presently, Hameds camels had been laden by his servants, a bundle of reeds came floating along the misty and were ready to proceed. He hesitated a mo- waters; a black boy stooping forward seized ment: but remembering his debt to Kodadad, them as they passed. He was about to cast them cried, March! and went away with. his heart away again, when the ux~usual weight prevented full of new recollections. him. Master, said he, this is a reed of lead. The journey ~vas prosperous, but t~dious. The merchant, who wisheA to pass. the time, told When the caravan reached Damascus, the mar- him to break the reeds. He did so, and lo! a ket was found to he encumbered with merchan- hundred glittering pieces of gold fell suddenly disc, and sales were with difficulty effected. upon the pavement of the kiosqne! Month after month passed away; most of 11am- This story which is told in many different eds bales still remained on his hands. The fifth ways, illustrates the Oriental idea of mercantile month from the time of his departure had arrir- probity. Turkish merchants, in their dealings ed, and he was beginning to despair of being amon~ themselves, arc famous for keeping their able to perform his engagements. At length, engagements with scrupulous exactimude; and however, a merchant about to proceed to Ba& the example of Haj Hamed is often cited as a dad, made him an advantageous offer for the model. Of course it is understood that the debt, whole of his stock, and he was enabled to depart all in good golden dinars, came to its destina- after having realized a good profit. Several ac- tion in some miraculous way: the Prophet be- cidents and delaysoccurred on the journey; but ing always deeply interested in the good deeds the caravans reached the valley, one march from of his servants. The young merchant was not Tarsus, on the eve of the day when Hamed had without his reward. IJis credit was in future, promised payment to Kodadad. Most of the unlimited. But not only so; Kodadad insisted merchants immediately rode forward to glad on giving him his daughter in marriage. And their families and friends; but our young mer- it will surprise none but very matter-of-fact peo- chant, feeling his love for Leilab revive with plcto whom we do not address this legend intensity, determined to spend that day in en- that this daughter turned out to be the same deavoring to obtain an interview with her. He very imprudent Leilab, whose~ fascination bad LUCIFER AND THE POETS. nearly caused Haj Hamed to dishonor his v rhal promissory note. We learn, moreover, that she settled down into a most prudent and exemplary wifewhich relieves our mindfor, except un- der extremely Oriental circumstances, we should not recommend her conduct for imitation. From Chamberss Journal. LUCIFER AND THE POETS. LUCIFER seems to be a favorite character with the poets. It would be interesting to present in one comprehensive tableau the different Satanic portraitures or studies, which have variously ex- ercised the poetic and artistic genius of ancient and modern times. The delineation of the Spi- rit of Evil with his attributes and workin~s, forms, in truth, a grand and awful subject, and one which is worthy to employ the highest crea- tive faculty. In our conceptions of the Tempter, nothing mean, or base; or grotesque, must he ad- mittedat least not as. salient characteristics; because we must remember that Lucifer one day wore a crown under the eyes of God. Therefore, we must think of him as a prince of mighty sway, as a power of awe-striking terror, with a kingly presence, and having the bright- ness.and.the glory of his once high estate still apparent in his scornful eyes. The great diffi; culty in the right imagining of Lucifer, appears to consist in the reconciliation of his character as a monarch of proud dominion, an archan- gel ruined, with the idea of the Tempter and the Fiend, the utterly evil and accursed thing. Dante, elsewhere so profoundly master of the terrible, has miserably failed in his description of Lo imperador del doloroso regno. In fact, his Lucifer is nothing more than a huge, misshapen monster, remarkable only for his enor- mous size and his preternatural ugliness. The sam~ characteristics, in great measure, also dis- tinguish and disfigure the Pluto of Tasso. He does, however, speak worthily in that fine pas- sage commencing Tartarei Numi I, etc. In this paper we shall merely advert to the portraits of Lucifer presented to us by our Eng- lish poets. Thus, we shall not once refer to the Mephistopheles of the wonderful Faust of Goethe, nor to the iDcmonio in that very powerful drama of Calderon, El Magico Prodiqioso. Milton in his Paradise Lost, Byron in Gain, Bailey in Fes- tus, and Elizabeth Barrett Browning in the Dra- ma of lixile, have all given us, according to their respective ideals, the likeness of the Adversary, of the Prince of the Power of the Air, of the fallen Star of the Morning. We may with pro- pUety, add to this catalogue the name of Tho- mas Aird. whose Devils Dream contains a sketch of the infernal being, hardly second toanyin- deed, a thoroughly Dantesque creation. To begin with Milton. His Satan is emphati- cally a hero. Nothing mean, or little, or con- temptible, distinguishes his character: all about him is great and lofty. He treads the halls of hell with a free unconscious dignity, as if still he 25 walked amid the hills of the heavenly Paradise. He is godlike, even in his ruin; he is a king, al- though he wears no re~al crown; he possesses still the undaunted courage and the reckless dar- ing which prompted him to battle with the hosts of God upon the plains of heaven. His spirit is undismayed by failure, and untamed by the long course of the fiery discipline. In the review of the past, and in the contemplation of the fn- ture, he is sustained by pride, lofty as the high- est towers of heaven, and deep as the lowest abysses of despair. In the midst of dire discom- fiture, he is yet untiring in his efforts to mar the works of God. Thus, after his defeat by the celestial armies, he exclaims, in proud defi- ance What thoubh the field be lost? All is not lost: the unconquerable will And study of revenge, immortal hate, And courage never to submit or yield, And what is else not to be overcome; That glory never shall His wrath or might Extort from me. In his personal attributes he is still invested with excelling majesty. He stands alone, and above his fellows, proudly eminent: But his face Deep scars of thunder had intrenclied; and care Sat on his faded cheek. His armor is of adamant and gold. He wears no gloomy, sable trappings, but a gay and gor- geous vestment, whose gold reflects the glowing light and pride of the noontide sun. Although sorely defaced, the stamp of his heavenly origin is upon him still. He is of regal port, but fad- ed splendor wan. His fulgent head And shape star-bright appeared, or brighter, clad With what permissive glory since his fall Was left him, or false glitter. How vividly has Milton portrayed the woes of that eternity of ill from which there is neither refuge nor escape! Within him hell He brings, and round about him; nor from hell One step, no more than from himself~ can fly By change. Hence, even while wanderin,~ upon the primeval earth, amid the fairy bowers of Paradise, in all their pure, fresh beauty, he still groans beneath the heavy curse, the consequence of his sin; and the soft breath of the winds of heaven bears upon its perfumed wings no balm for his burning scars, no charm to silence the voice of the ago- nized soul. Thus he cries in his despair Me miserable! which way shall I fly Infinite wrath and infinite despair? Which way I fly is hell; myself am hell; And in the lowest deep, a lower deep, Still threatening to devour me, opens wide, To which the hell I suffer seems a heaven. LUCIFER AND THE POETS. So far from the depths of his misery, the fallen archangel has no resource, except in conflict with the King of heaven. He will endeavor, at least, to disturb His counsels, to ruin His fair designs, to dash confusion amid the order of his worlds. The remembrance of the divine service is to him an unwelcome memory. His pride refuses to bow with suppliant knee before the throne of heaven; there is no hope, therefore, that he will ever be restored to his foregone glory. Every- thing that reminds him of his once happy state, is now distasteful and grievous. The echoes of the paradisal songs that linger by him still, are a re- proach and a torture to his distempered spirit. So, at last, he exclaims, confronting the idea of his irretrievable sin, and the wrong that can nev- er be repaired All good to me is lost; Evil, be thou my good; by thee, at least, Divided empire with heavens king I hold. Here, then, Satan takes his stand as the uncon- querable foe of God and man with the proud, de- fIant glance, undimmed by ages of suffering and despair. Very different is the Lucifer of Lord Byrons Gain. Although he looks almost a god, he has none of the kingly attributes with which Mil- ton has dignified his hero. He is an unmitigat- ed fiend. Having failed to make himself equal with God, he will be aught save a sharer or a servant of his power. According to his own avowal, he is of those Souls who dare use their immortality; Souls who dare look the Omnipotent full in His everlasting face, and tell him that His evil is not good! Byrons Lucifer is essentially the scorning spirit the Tempter, the suggester of strange doubts and questionings to man. He tells Cain that he Is One who aspired to be what made thee, and Who would not have made thee what thou art. And then, again, he exclaims in reference to the exile from Eden I would have made ye Gods; and even He who thrust ye forth, so thrust ye, Because ye should not eat the fruits of life, And become gods as we. Then who was the demon? He Who would let ye live, or ~e who would Have made ye live for ever in the joy And power of knowledge? Thus he endeavors to insinuate into the hu- man heart doubts of the divine goodness; to overturn therein the altar of faith; to envelop the mind of man in suspicion and in gloom; for Well he knows, that when trust and confidence in God are shaken, there will be no bulwark or pro- tection against the assaults of the enemy. This Lucifer is not like Miltons Satanof lofty, warlike bearing. We do not think we can well conceive him as engaged in conflict with the heavenly hierarchies, nor yet as taking counsel amid the infernal senate prior to fresh enterprises against the Eternal King. He is rather a dweller aparta plotter in secreta terror and a shadow in a lonely way. He is not begirt with awful majesty, nor does he bear the impress of regality upon his darkened brow. He is the fallen one, disappointed and writhing in strange agony be- neath the sense of his defeat. He finds.a fiendish joy in disturbing the peace of Gods fair crea- tion, and in sowing the seeds of discord in the new-born world; and he commences by render- ing man a prey to doubtings and distrust. The contemplation of the Ruler of the universe, and of his unbroken felicity in the heavenly king- dom, is to him, indeed, the bitterness of woe. When Cain tells him that, for all his pride, he has still a superior in power and glory, he ex- claims with indignation and with scorn No! by heaven, which He Holds; and the abyss, and the immensity Of worlds and life which I hold with HimNo! I have a victortrue; but no superior. Homage He has from all-but none from me. I battle it against Him as I battled In highest heaven. Through all eternity, And the unfathomable gulfs of Hades, And the interminable realms of space, And the infinity of endless ages All, all, will I dispute! And world by world, And star by star, and universe by universe, Shall tremble in the balance, till the great Conflict shall ceaseif ever it shall cease Which neer it shall till He or I be quenched! And what can quench an immortality, Or mutual and irrevocable hate? He as a conqueror will call the conquered Evil; but what will be the good he gives? Were I the victor, His works would be deemed The only evil ones. Baileys Lucifer has not so much of the true fiend in him as either Miltons or Byrons. He is a calm, sublime intelligencethe necessary Evilworkin~ out obediently the mysterious de- signs of the Creator. He is neither the warrior nor the mocking demon: he is the philosopher, the calm, reasoning spirit, discoursing of time and eternity, of sin, of righteousness, and of judgment, and intent upon the fulfilment of his mission. He indulges in no expressions of hatred nor scorn against the Divine Being. because he recognizes the justice of his position, and thus acknowledges that good is God, the great ne- cessity, who has appointed even unto him his place amid the infinity of worlds, and for whose glory only can he act, and for his creatures good. He is, therefore, the servant and minis- ter of the Eternal: he battles not against the Most High, but goes to do His will. lie does not seek to penetrate into the mysteries of the divine counsels; but even through the agency of evil, he is instrumental in forwarding their accomplishment. According to his own asser- tion God hath sanctioned all That I have done, or may do to the end, Which I have nought to do with. The Lucifer of Festus has neither the restless, unquenchable pride of the Satan in Paradise Lost, nor yet the scorning malignity, the burning discontent of the archfiend of Byron. He is 26 LUCIFER AND THE POETS. 27 crowned with an unvarying melancholy, with the Go to! Ye call this ruin? I half scorn calmness of despair. The ill I did you! Were ye wronged by me, I know Hated, and tempted, and undone of me Nor joy nor sorrow; but a changeless tone Still, whats your hurt to mineof doing hurt, Of sadness like the ni,,ht-winds, is the strain Of hating, tempting, and so ruining? have of feeling. i am not The swords hilt is the sharpest, and cuts Of what I through As other spiritsbut a solitude Even to myself! I the sole spirit sole. The hand that wields it. Lucifer, as delineated by Mrs. Browning in the in The image of the infernal king, as portrayed Drama of Exile, is a lofty and Titanic spirit of the Devils Dreasn by Thomas Aird is only a sketch~ and scorn. He has a glorious darkness. He pos- , yet it is striking and impressive in sesses an air of regal majesty; for he has not yet the highest degree. The whole poem, indeed, is lost the remembrance of his kingly throne in replete with gloomy grandeurwith an air of heaven. The prodigy of his vast brows and wild, shadowy sublimity, like that which some- melancholy eyes do comprehend the heights of times invests the scenery of an awful dream. We have read nothing that reminds us more of some great fall. He is Dante than this, in its rugged power, and in the An Idea to all souls life-like coloring of its dark imagery. In the pe- A monumental, melancholy gloom, . rusal of this strange production, our ideas are Seen down all ages, whence to mark despair, affected more hy hints and half-utterances than And measure out the distances from good. by elaborate description. In the same way the He has fallen below hope of final re-ascent, unfilled sketch, the vague outline of some great because he has mocked the misery of ruined artists design often impresses us more power- man, which no spirit would dare to do, if he fully than the completed picture. Airds demoit expected to see God, though at the last point is a grisly terror: he has no clearly defined of a thousand years. He is mighty even in de- shape, but his wing is woven of grim shadows, feat; and although agonized beneath the sense mixed with twists of faded glory. His aspect of thunder, in conversing with the angel Ga- is like the hurrying storm. The Devils I)ream briel, he can exclaim, in the face of earth and will scarcely admit of quotation: it must he read heaven: as a whole in order to be rightly appreciated. It is 4 too, have strength unique in plan and execution; and in the world Strength to behold Him, and not worship Him; of poetic literature, it stands out in its grand Strength to fall from Him, and not cry on Him; and solitary gloom, like some stern rock, black Strength to be in the universe, and yet with the thunder-strokes. Neither God nor his servant. The red sign In conclusion, we may take Miltons Satan as Burnt on my forehead, which you taunt me with, the emblem of physical force and energy. He is Is Gods sign, that it bows not unto God framed on the grand heroic type, like one of the The potters mark upon his work to show giants of old days, and he stands before us as one It rings well to the striker, of earths conquerors. To him belong the earn- The faulty. construction of some portions of est heart to plan, the strong will to direct, the the exquisite Drama of Exile is more than re- unwearied arm to undertake the boldest enter- deemed by the sublime conception of Lucifer in prise. In his character, there is an admixture of his kingship of resistant agony towards all the spirit both of the lion and the snake. He is surronnding good. We know of nothing finer the lion in his courage and daring, in h~ majes- than that passage in which he compares the sor- tic port, in his anger, and his pride; he is the rows of the human with his own eternal woes serpen.t in his stealthy cunning, in his fair out- when addressin0 Adam and Eve, and the wailing side and his poisoned fangs, in his falsehood and earth-spirits, he exclaims : his treachery. Throughout the whole course of his dark career, Miltons Satan is emphatically a I scorn you that ye wail, king without the purple robe; a hero though he Who use your petty griefs for pedestals wears no laurelled wreath; a mighty criminal, To stand on, bee koning pity from without, magnificent in sin. Byrons fiend is the so- And deal in pathos of antithesis Of what ye were forsooth and what ye are; phist, the suggester of evil ~imaginations to man, I scorn you like an angel! Yet one cry, the tempter, the scornerby no means so great I, too, would drive up, like a column erect, and glorious a creation as Miltons, but far more Marble to marble, from my heart to Heaven, thoroughly devilish. Baileys Lucifer is a meta- A monument of anguish to transpierce physician, very spiritual, a sublime intellect, vast And overtop your vapory complaints, in intelligence; but scarcely to be regarded as a Expressed from feeble woes. true fiend, since he is finally restored to his pris ~ tine glory in the paradise of God. The Lucifer Pass along of Mrs. Brownings drama is the suffering, ago- Your wilderness, vain mortals! Puny griefs, In transitory shapes, be henceforth dwarfed nizing demon, lofty in his unvanquished pride To your own conscience, by the dread extremes Dashing out the hands of wall Of what I am, and have been. If ye have fallen, On each side to meet anguish everywhere, It is a steps fallthe whole ground beneath And to attest it in the ecstasy Strewn woolly soft with promise; if ye have And exaltation of a wo sustained, sinned, Because provoked and chosen. Your prayers tread high as angels! If ye have grieved, Such are the pictures presented by English po- Ye are too mortal to be pitiable; ets, of greater or less eminence, of the imperson- The power to die disproves the right to grieve. ation of Evil. 28 ERASMUS. From the Eclectic Review. 1. Desiderii Erasmi Opera Emendatiora et Auctiora. [The Works of Desiderius Eras- mus, Corected and Enlarged.] Lugd. Bat. 10 tom. fol. 17036. 2. Knights Life of Erasmus. Cambridge. 1726. 8vo. 3. Vie d Erasme, par Burigne. [Burign6s Life of Erasmus.] Paris. 1757. 2 tom. l2mo. 4. Jortins Life of Erasmus. London. 2 vols. 4to. 175860. 5. Hesss Erasmus von Rotterdam nach Sein- em Leben und Schriften. [Life and Writ- ings of Erasmus of Rotterdam.] 2bde. Svo. Zurich. 1790. 6. The Life of Erasmus. Witli Historical Remarks on the State of Literature, be- tween the Tenth and Sixteenth Centuries. By CHARLES BUTLER, Esq., of Lincolns Inn. London. John Murray. 1825. 7. Bihlioth~que dElite.Eloge de la Folie, traduit du Latin dErasme, prc~cc~d!e de 1 flistoire dErasme et de ses E~rits. [Select Library.The Praise of Folly. Translated from the Latin of Erasmus. Preceded by the History of Erasmus and his Writings.] Par M. KISARD. Paris. Librairie de Charles Gosselin. 1842. one of the bridges crossing the num- berless canals of Rotterdam, in the centre of the city, stands a bronze statue ten feet high, of an ecclesiastic, with a soft and somewhat sickly, intellectual expression, diligently read- ing a book which he holds in his right hand; and hard by is a mean-looking house with the inscription : Ha?c est parva domus, magnus qu~ natus Erasmus (this is the small house in which the great Erasmus was born). This bronze statue was preceded by one of stone, and that hy a wooden image erected ten years after the death of Erasmus: the stone statue was substituted eight years later. In 1592. the Spaniards threw it in the Meuse, and thirty years elapsed before its place was occu- pied by the existing monument, which is re- garded as the chef-deuvre of Henry de Kei- ser. The admirers of Erasmus have said that, in this respect, he resembled the divinities of ancient Rome, who were honored with images of clay before golden temples were erected to them. In 1672, this famous bronze was pulled down by the insurgents, who looked on it as having some connection with popery, and wbo had well nigh destroyed it. The magistrates of Basel commissioned a merchant of their city, at the time in Rotterdam, to buy the statue; but the authorities at Rotterdam having persuaded the people that Erasmus, though a cleric, was neither a saint nor a sayer of mass- es, and that his statue required neither adora- tions nor prayers, it was determined that it should not be sold, but replaced upon its pe- destal. Erasmus was the son of a citizen of Ter- gou, whose name was Gerard. Margaret, his mother, was the daughter of a physician. Ills parents were not marrieda reproach of which his learned adversary Julius Scali~er did not fail to make a virulent use in a lite- rary controversy, while the better sort of people defended Erasmus, as a man who had procured for himself a high reputation, not- withstanding the irregularity of his birth. The brothers of Gerard, who was a man of pleasure, would have persuaded him to enter the church, leaving his patrimony to them. To escape from their solicitations he went to Rome, where he wa~ employed as a copyist. While there, his relatives informed him that Margaret was dead. His grief for his sup- posed loss induced him to take orders, but on returning to holland he found Margaret still alive. As a priest, he could not fulfil his pro- mise of marriage to her; she would not marry any other man; and they did not live to- gether. At four years of age young Gerardwho afterwards adopted the custom of scholars in that age of revived ancient learning by trans- lating his name into Latin (Desiderius) and Greek (Erasmus)was sent to school, and while yet a boy, his pleasing voice secured him an appointment in the choir of Utrecth Cathedral. At nine he was removed to the school of Hegius, at Deventer, where one of his school-fellows was Adrian, who succeeded Leo X. as pope. Wonderful stories are told of his retentive memory at that early age. His mother, who resided for his sake at Dc- venter, died of the plague when he was thir- teen. His father soon followed her to the grave. Erasmus had an elder brother, who shared with him a small patrimony, which sufficed for the expenses of their studies at the universi- ties. Their father was scarcely dead when their relatives and their guardians robbed them of their little property, and sought to cover their delinquency by inducing the young orphans to become monks. The more ac- tire of these guardians had formerly heen a school-master; but he was not tinctured with the love of letters, and, under a reputation for piety, he carried a-perfectly selfish nature. Young Erasmus wrote him one day a some- what elaborately composed letter, to which he sullenly replied Write me no more of that kind, without sending also a commentary. He was one of those servants of God who thought they offered to Him an acceptable sacrifice when they enrolled some helpless youth on the list of some monastic order; and he recounted with pride the recruits he had brought to St. Francis, St. Dominic, St. Bene 29 ERASMUS. diet, St. Augustin, St. Bridget, and other heads and founders of eonvents. As soon as the boys were fit to go to college, their guard- ian, fearing, as he said, that they might there imbibe sentiments too worldly, sent them to a convent in Brabant, whose monks derived their ineome from the instruetion of ehildren. When a youth of lively eharaeter and preco- cious intelligence eame into their hands, it was their praetice gradually to subdue him by harsh treatment of various kinds to the proper tone of the monastic life. These brothers were ignorant enough, buried in the shades of their convent, strangers to science, spend- ing in prayers the time not employed in scold: ing and whipping their pupils, incapable of teaching what they did not know, and filling the world with stupid monks or badly educa- ted laics. In this convent Erasmus and his brother spent two years, under a master who was the more severe for his want of learning, chosen not by competent judges, but by the general of the order, often the most igno- rant of the monks. This man had a gentle colleague, who loVed Erasmus, and amused himself with him, and who, hearing him speak one day of returning home, labored to retain him in the convent, and unite himself with their body, telling him all sorts of tales of the happy life they led there, and bestowing on him many caresses and little gifts. The boy resisted like a man. lie said simply that he would take no part until his reason was more advanced. The monk, who was a good- natured man, did not urge him. On return- ing to Tergon, they found that one of their two guardians had died of the plague., without having having given up his accounts. The other, taken up with his trade, troubled him- sell but little about his wards. They thus came entirely into the power of the other, whose name was Guardian. He began to speak strongly of a scheme for engaging them in the church. Erasmus was now fifteen, and his brother three years older. The~ elder brother was feeble, and afraid of Guardian, and seeing himself poor; would willingly have suffered him to do what he liked with him, to escape the difficulty of resisting him, and the uncertainties of a precarious life. Erasmus, who appears, even then, to have felt the in- stinct of his future, spoke of sellinc~ the little land that remained to them, mating up a small sum, going to the universities to com- plete their studies, and committing themselves thereafter to the grace of God. His brother was induced to consent, on condition that Erasmus would be the spokesman. Guardian called for them some days after they had pledged themselves to each other. Assuming a gentle tone, he spoke largely of his paternal tenderness towards them, his zeal and his vigilance, and afterwards congratulated them on his having found a place for them in an- other convent nearer home. Erasmus thank- ed him, but told him that his brother and himself were both too young to take so grave a stepthat they could not become monks before they knew what was meant by being a monkthat they wished to consider the matter more maturely, after devotin~, some years to the study of lettersthat some time for reflection could not hurt them. Guardian was not prepared for a refusal. lie broke forth into threats, and could scarcely keep off his hands. He quarrelled with Erasmus, resigned his guardianship, sayin~, that they had not a form left, and that they must look out for themselves. The youth Wept~ but his resolution remained unshaken. The threat- enings having failed, the guardian changed his mode of attack. He intrusted the business to his brother, a man of polish, and of persua- sive talent. He had the youths into his gar- den, treating them with pleasant conversation and wine. He drew so attractive a picture of monastic life, that the elder youth yielded. Erasmus, at sixteen, of delicate constitution, oppressed with a~ue, solitary, and poor, what must become of him! He was beset by persons of all qualities. One gave him a lively description of monastic tranquillity; another set before him a tragical representation of the dangers of the world, as if monks were living beyond the world; this man terrified him by reciting the miseries of hell, as though the convents never led to hell, that other quoted miraculous examplessuch as a man being devoured by a lion as he turned hack from a monastery; sonic Take of monks who had been honored by conversa- tions with Jesus Christ, and of St. Catherine, who had been affianced to him, and had en- joyed long interviews with him. Erasmus was looked on as a grand prize, whose preco- cious abilities promised a monk that would do honor to his gown. While agitated by these uncertainties, he had seen, in a monastery near the town, one of the companions of his childhood, who bad been in Italy seeking his fortune, but not suc- ceeding, had been induced by the love of repose, a taste for good living, and a repu- tation for good singing, to become a monk. Cantelius such was his name persuaded Erasmus to follow his example, boasting of the quietude, freedom, harmony, angelic fel- lowship, and literary leisure of the convent. To Erasmus the convent now seemed to be the garden of the Muses, where the cherished tastes of his life would be indulged. Return- ing to the town, new assaults awaited him. Again Cantelius plied his charms, and put an end to his hesitation, by asking him to be- 30 ERASMUS. come his pupil. Erasmus sought relief from present at cks in the convent, but without intending to remain there. After many months spent in literary luxury and equality, without being obliged to fast or to perform nocturnal duties, the day arrived for taking ihe habit of the order. He spoke of resuming his freedom, but he was met with new threats, and after a brief sruggle, he suf- fered himself to be made a monk. A whole year passed away without regrets. But by slow degrees, he learned that neither his soul nor his body could conform to that way of life. He saw studies neglected or despised. In- stead of true piety, for which he had some relish, there were endless chants and ceremo- nies. His brother monks were, for the greater part, stupid, ignorant, sensual, and ready to oppose any among them who gave signs of a delicate intellect, and a stronger inclination for study than for feasting. The most robust had the greatest influence. Thou~h at first he had been exempted from fasting, he was soon brought under rule. So tender was his constitution, that if his meal was postponed for an hour, his heart failed him, and he fell into a swoon. He suffered grievously from cold and from wind; but how could he escape them in an unhealthy convent, with long damp passages, and with cells imperfectly closed? He was in a continual shiver. The mere smell of fish gave him a headache, and brought on symptoms of fever. So light was his slum- ber, that it was with the utmost difficulty, and after some hours, that he could fall asleep, after rising to perform the nightly offices of devotion, from which, during his novitiate, he had been exempt. Deeply did he now sigh for liberty once more. But he was met by horrible scruples. Tricks of Satan, said one, to draw away a servant from Jesus Christ. I had the same temptations, said another, but since I overcame them, I have lived as in Paradise. There is danger of death, insinuated a third, in abandoning the hahit for this offence against St. Augustine, men have been smitten with incurable disease, blasted by the thunder, or killed by the bite of a serpent: the least of the evils is the in- famy attached to an apostate. The young monk feared shame more than death: his re- pugnance was conquered, and to the gown he now added the friars cowl. Regarding him- self as a prisoner, he sought consolation in study; hut as letters were viewed in the con- vent with suspicion, he was forced to study secretly in the religious house where men were allowed to be drunk in public. Erasmus had attained his twenty-third year when the Bishop of Cambray invited him to come and live with him. Having obtained the consent of his bishop in ordinary, of the particular prior of the convent, and of the general prior of the order, he gladly accepted the invitation; but he stayed with the bishop only a short time. He entered the famous theological College of Montaigne at Paris, whose very walls, he said, were theological. But the regimen of the place was deadly. John Standonn~e the governor at the time, who had spent his youth in poverty, and was as hard as the rocks of the desert, fed his young pupils with fish and tainted eggs, never al- lowing them meat, making them lie on wretch- ed beds in damp chambers, and to crown all, forcing them to wear the monks gown and cowl. Many youths contemporary with Eras- mus, became mad, blind, or leprous; some of them died under this harsh treatment; and Erasmus himself was so ill, that he had great difficulty in recovering; and, according to his own statement, he must have lost his life, but for the protection of St. Genevii.~ve! The love of letters and of theology had drawn Erasmus to Paris the first time, but the college diet and sickness drove him away~ He soon repaired thither again to complete his studies, but was driven away the second time by the plague. He seems at this time to have taken private pupils, among whom was Lord Montjoy, a young English nobleman, who became a valuable friend to him in after life. Erasmus had to submit to vexing humi- liations in consequence of the negligence or injustice of those on whom he had claims for the means of living. While rambling through the Netherlands, he was invited to visit the Marchioness de Vere, whose castle, on the top of a mountain, he reached with difficulty, and not without danger. His first view of the marchioness enchanted him, and from the warm comforts of her hospitable abode he wrote of her in the most laudatory terms to Lord Montjoy. Within a year he altered his tone. She had promised him a pension, but here- ceived nothing. He made a voyage to Eng- land, where he associated with the leaders of the classical revival in London and the uni- versities, with Colet and Linacre, Grocyn and Latimer. In returning to France he was upset in a boat, and all his gold went to the bottom. He borrowed some money to take him from Calais to Paris. Travelling on horseback, in company with an Englishman, on the road to Amiens, some robbers had lingered in advance of them more than a day, to see whether he might be a good prize; but on that occasion his poverty was of service to him, for the rob- bers, perceiving that he was poor, did not think it worth their while to take his life for such a trifle. He had taken away all tempta- tion to hurt him by letting them take the little that he had. By these successive losses he was reduced very low. He urged a friend, who was preceptor to the son of the marchio- ness, to press his demands; but his friend had ERASMUS. claims of his own, and the affairs of the mar- chioness were going to ruin. The poverty of Erasmus was, of course, relativepoverty for a man of delicate habits, fond of change, buying manuscripts, having scribes in his pay, elegant and lavish in his tastes, burdened by the cost of his frequent removals, his high friendships, his domestics, secretaries, messen- gers, copyists, one who could not afibrd to be Erasmus but at that price. Any other man Wonl(l have thought himself well off with what to Erasmus was poverty. Yet his resources were precarious. The little he received from his various pensions in England, Germany, and France, only helped him to incur debts, and it was reduced to less than half by the officers and bankers through whose hands it passed befbre it reached him. At the age of forty, Erasmus took a journey to Rome, a journey which he had been con- templating all his life. He arrived at Bo- logna some days before the triumphal entry of Pope Julius II., the conqueror of liomagna. In the midst of a crowd who clapped their hands to the destroyer of tyrants, he must have smiled at the aspect of that booted and spurred papacy; offering to the kisses of the stupid multitudes his feet whitened by the dust of the battle field, brandishing the sword like the keys of St. Peter, and pushing his horse on the breaches of walls thrown to do him honor. I like to represent to myself Erasmus, says M. Nisard, in the beautiful history before us, in the grand street of Bo- logna, leaning a~ainst a wall, wrapped in his fur, his ironical countenance gazing on the passing cort~ye, and meditating those wise critiques on the warlike papacy which his ad- versaries afterwards treated as heresies worthy of the flames. It was on Tuesday, November 19, 1606, that the pope made his entry into Bologna. Some astrologers and some merchants would have dissuaded him, but he laughed at their predictions and said, In the name of God, let us advance and enter. Before arriving at the church, he passed under thirteen triumphal ardhes, on each of which was writ- ten To Julius IL, triumphant over tyrants. On each side of the principal street were raised tribunes, in the form of long galleries, on which the great people and the ladies of the high house of Bologna wavA their hand- kerchiefi, and showered their devices on the head of the triumpher. The street was hung with veils sewed together, which formed an immense canopy over a space plante~1 with green trees, and decorated with arms, paint- ings, devices, suspended from all the windows, while the road was covered with carpets. A hundred young nobles, carrying in their hands golden staves the only kind of arms smtable to the vanquishedpreceded the 31 cortege; then came twenty-two cardinals, in scarlet robes, having their hats laced with gold; then the condemned who were favored by the pope, or victims of the tyrant of Bologna, set free, and bearing an inscrip- tion on their breasts; then, behind a for- est of standards, in a cloud of perfumes, incense, white wax-tapers, hymns, and con- certs, two canopies, borne on mens arms, one of white silk, broidered with gold, for the holy sacrament, the other, mnoremagnm- ficent, of crimson silk and gold brocade, for tIme pontiff, who trod beneath his feet the bou- quets of roses presented by the young girls of Bologna,a rare present for the season; last- ly, came the orations, the only thing to con- sole the little for not having the trimnphs of the great, and the pacific fbr not being vic- torious. There were four ambassadorsof France, Spain, Venice, and Florence; four including two rectors of the university and two senators, besides six nobles of Bolognain all fourteen; and, in returning, when twenty of the principal citizens had presented to the pope the keys of the city, some pieces of poetry were recited, a new discourse was delivered, and a psalm was chanted in fromit of the pontiff by the Bishop of Bologna enough, as MI. Nisard slyly remarks, to keep Julius II. from believing himself a God. After the fttes came the plague, and per- haps because of the feasts; while pope Julius II. was receiving a second triumph at Rome, in which, said the good Christians of the period, one could see at one glance of the eye the church militant and the church triumphant, the plague deciminated the crowd, still pale and staggering fromn the excess of the previous night. Erasmus ran a great risk on this occasion. Though he bad laid aside, by permission of the pope, the com- plete dress of a regular monk, he retained the white band. It so happened that the sur- geons who had the care of the infected were required to wear a piece of white linen attached to the shoulder, that people might avoid coming in contact with them. Even with this precaution, they were in danger of being stoned in the streets by the most cowardly populace in all Italy, says Erasmus, who were so afraid of death, that the smell of incense throws them into a fury, because it is their custom to burn it in their funerals. Erasmus went out into the streets within his white band, little dreaming that they would confound an ecclesiastic wmth a physician, or take a band for a shoulder-knot. That fin- prudence nearly cost him his life on two occasions. The first time he went to see one of his learned friends. As he drew near the house, two ill-looking soldiers rushed upon him,, with cries of death, and drawing their swords to strike him. A woman passing by 82 ERASMUS. told the wretches that they were mistaken, correspondence with Luther. Long hefore, that the man before them was not a physcian he had written strongly a~ainst the abuses of hut a churchman; this did not appease them; the church. He was now in the plenitude of they continued to brandish their swords against his literary sovereignty; the three grandest Erasmus, when happily the gate of the house monarchs of the worldFrancis I., Charles was opened from within, received poor Eras- V., Henry VIJI.contended for the honor of inns trembling w4h terror, and closed upon his having him as a voluntary subject. Popes assailants. The second time, he was entering offered him public hospitality in the Eternal an inn where some of his countrymen lodged. City. His writings poured forth from the All at once a crowd gathered around him, presses of Germany, Italy, and England. armed with sticks and stones, and exciting each Small royalties, as well as provinces and cities other to strike by crying Kill the don! kill as large as kingdoms, beg~ed his acceptance the dog ! At the m6ment a priest passed by, of a glorious repose among them. While who, instead of haranguin~ th~ crowd, smiled Europe was wrapped in the momentary agreeably, and whispered in Latin to Erasmus silence that preceded the outbreak of the They are asses. These asses would great war of civilization between her three have finished by tearing the poor foreigner to great kings, and Erasmus sat upon the throne pieces, if he had not been overlooked from a of letters, the silence was broken hy a harsh neighboring house, by. a young nobleman in a voice from Wittemberg. Luther hurled Eras- rich purple cloak. Erasmus, who did not un- mus from his throne. The latter had done all derstand the lane uage of the people, asked he could, as far as his convictions and desires this young gentleman in Latin what they went, in the way of reformation. He would meant. It is your band that enrages them, have confined the dispute to scholars, councils, they are sure to stone you if you dont and aimed no further than the rectification of remove it. Erasmus durst not remove it, but abuses. There needed a man of promptitude, he hid it behind his dress. Afterward, he activity, passion, audacity, decision, energy, obtained from Julius II. a dispensation, con- who could look into principles, and who could firmed by Leo X., to lay aside his canonical agitate the people. Though Luther and costume for that of a secular ecclesiastic. Melanethon were most anxious to have Eras- His journey to Italy increased his reputa- mus with them, and though the monks classed tion, but not his wealth. He superintended theus together, even hating Erasmus more the education of the two sons of Boeria bitterly than they hated Luthev, there was Some time he spent at Turin, at Venice, always a wide gulf between their tempera- Padua, and at Rome, where he was well ments, their habits, their principles, and their received by the pope and several cardinals, objects. Luther urged Erasmus to more dcci- He returned to England poor and needy, and sion; Erasmus preached to Luther modera- forced to employ his powerful intellect in tion, compromise and management. Luther applications,often unsuccessful,--for relief was concerned for the salvation of mens His first residence was with Sir Thomas souls; Erasmus for classical literature, sacred More, then a young man. We find him at science, and the unity of the church. The one time living in St. Marys, Oxford, and at prudence of Erasmus was timid, n another at Queens College, Cambridne fiank always uncertain, ot always ~. , . sometimes self-con- Henry VIII., who, as Prince of Wales, had tradictory, and not free from the charge of written m6re than one friendly letter to him, hypocrisy. He had little zeal for evangelical gave him a royal welcome. Wolsey emulated truth. He shrank from tumult and contro- his master in giving him splendid promises. versy. He had no mind to be a martyr. He From Lord Montjoy he received a pension; was not earnest enough, not profound enough Archbishop Warebam, besides frequent pres- in his co~mvictions, not free enough from the ents, gave him the rectory of Aldington, near fascinations of the world andof intellectual Ashford, in Kent. had the promises made to ambition, not sufficiently independent of the him in this country been performed, he said, personal comforts indispensable to a man of he would have spent the remainder of his refined tastes and feeble healthin one word, life here, but he accepted an invitation from not robust eftough in mind, heart, or body, to Charles, Archduke of Austria, to Brabant, take the lead, and he would not follow in the where he obtained a pension, and a canonry. suit of the Saxon monk, who, in literary Though irregularly paid, he resisted an invi- talent and reputation, was so immeasurably, tation from Francis I., with an offer of a and so consciously beneath him. When Leo benefice of a thousand livres, and still lingered X. was succeeded by Adrian, formerly the at Louvain, and other places in the Nether- fellow student of Erasmus, the new pope lands. pressed his quondam schoolfellow to hasten to It was while occupied as a teacher among the church of St. Peter as the opponent of the bigoted theologasters, as he called them, in Luther. Erasmus would have excused him- the University of Lotivain, that he came into self on the ground of bodily suffering, his ERASMUS. want of suitable learnin ~, his sense of neglect on the part of some who had called him the Prince of Letters and the Star of Germany, his apprehension of the dangers he must bring upon himself if he entered on such a combat. He gave some salutary counsels to the holy father, breathing, on the whole, a wise and tolerant spirit. He was manifestly afraid of an encounter with the vehement and popular genius of Luther. But in surveyin~, the whole field of circumstances which constituted his own situation, he, at length, resolved to break a lance with the champion of the Reformation, to whom all mankind pointed as specially his rival. He attacked the doc- trine held by Luther, in common with some of the chief divines of catholicism, respecting the Freedom of Will, a treatise not with- out much merit, but, like the writer, rather upholding the opinion opposed than destroy- ing it. Men of all parties agree in thinking that it brought little glory to Erasmus, and less help to the papacy. It was not an attack in front. It touched nothing vital to the con- troversy. He neither entered on it, nor car- ried it forward, with spirit. Many expressions escaped from him in his letters, which show with what reluctance and sadness he went down into the arena: he who had longed to spend the evening of life in the garden of the Muses, reluctantly pushed, at sixty, among gls.diators, and holdine, the net instead of the lyre. With these regrets he mingled some bravadoes. his self-love was flattered by the king of England and the pope. The compliments he received before the work was published, closed with reproach- es. lIe ought to have begun earlier. And when it appeared, his admirers complained that it was too gentlethat it had no object. The monks received it only on the condition that it should be but the beginning of an end- less war, the first of a hundred treatises. They had an instinctive perception of the part which Erasmus was playing in this great quarrel. They saw the mixture of rationalism with his profession of faith. They had no liking for a man who treated his belief as a personal property. They continued to involve him in the cause of Luther, and even to treat him worse than his adversary. Erasmus, they said, has laid the eggs, Luther had hatched the chickens. Luther was only infected with the plague, it was Erasmus who had introduced the pestilential seed. Erasmus is a soldier of Pilate, the dragon spoken of in the Psalms. It had been good, cried a monk, if that man had never been born an indirect man- ner of asking for the pile to shorten the du- ration of the mischief. Some monastic casu- ists had in their chamber a portrait of Eras- ofus, on which they had the savage pleasure of spitting every morning. Others said loud- I~XLI. LIVING AGE. VOL. VII. 3 33 ly that it was too bad that so many men had perished in Germany for harboring the here- sies of Erasmus, while the author of these heresies still lived. Luther wrote a letter to Erasmus, which has been variously regarded by men of different parties, in which he con- jures him not to lend his powerful aid to the enemies of the Gospel. It certainly breathes a spirit of compassion rather than of dread towards the veteran writer. Erasmus had put himself in a false position, by abandoning his natural calmness, in demanding justice against Luther at the hands of his protector, Frederick, the elector of Saxony, and by writing to Luther himself a letter full of studied insults. Look you, said Luther to Melanethon, in a tone of triumph, at your Erasmus. and his vaunted moderation; he is a serpent. Luther was now the master of the field, and whatever may be thought of the philosophy of Erasmus, practically he was beaten by the Saxon monk. Erasmus leaned to the ancient and lo% established faith of catholicism; and since he must needs die un- der one of the two standards, catholicism or protestantism, he preferred the former, in his outward profession. In reviewing the con- troversy between these illustrious men, Mr. Butler says, with admirable candor Unfortunately for Erasmus, neither the works we have mentioned, nor the hatred of him, which the Lutherans expressed on every occasion, could moderate the bitter animosity with which he was pursued by many members of Isis own communion. To present even a short view of the controver- sies to which their abuse of him gave rise, and of Erasmuss answers to them. would require a work much larger than the whole of the present volume, and would contain few interesting par- ticulars. That Erasmus had, in some measure, provoked these insults and attacks, by his offen- sive satires and ironies, cannot he denied. But his services to religion and literature should not have been forgotten. A person who courted the favors of the celebrated Lord Bolingbroke, took occasion to mention before him some failings of the Duke of Marlborough, his lordships oppo- sment. Sir, exclaimed Lord Bolingbroke, the Duke of Marlborough was so great a man that I have forgotten all his faults. Add to thisthat Erasmus repeatedly and explicitly disclaimed in his works every opinion that was contrary to the faith or doctrines of the Catholic church; and that he could enumerate among his defenders many of the most illustrious of her children.cLife of Erasmus, pp. 193, 194.) The visits of Erasmus to England are but imperfectly reported by M. Nisard, the latest writer on Erasmus with whom we have come into contact, and of whose interesting sketch we freely avail ourselves. The fullest account of them are given by Knight, in his Life of Erasmus, and his Life of Dean Colet. 34 ERASMUS. Mr. Butler traces five distinct visits in 149 7, at the age of thirty; in 1506 iin 1510 and in 1517. After much wanderin~, and many hesitations in his choice of a permanent abode, he fixed in the year 1531 on Basel as a peaceful and well governed city, where the theologians were moderate men, and where he lived tranquil and respected in the society of Frohen, the great printer, wieldin~ his mighty press as the master of the literary movements of the ae. Froben had offered him a house and a salary. He declined both, choosing to he Frobens friend rather than his pensioner. He purchased a house where, with the exception of some journeys which he commenced, hut which his had health in- terrupted, he lived in the friendship of Pro- bens family, and in the midst of labors which, in his epistles, he calls Herenlean. To the house wal attached a carden of some size, with a small pavilion in the middle, to which he repaired on fine days, not to take repose, but to translate some pages of Basil, or of Chrysostom. The first sorrow he experienced at Basel was the sudden death of Froben. lie loved him for the gentleness of his conversation, for all the good service he had rendered to liberal studies, for his noble character, for the purity of his manners, for the judgment with which he conducted his business, and for his attach- ment to his friends. He was a man without bitterness or misgivings, willing to he robbed rather than affront people hy closely watching their transactions. He could neither remem- ber the severest injuries, nor forget the small- est services. Gentle, affable, of temper even too easy for the head of a house and the fiLther of a family, he knew not how to exhibit po- liteness towards those whom he could not but suspect, nor hide beneath an open counte- nance the inward feeling of mistrust, when he had detected the frail honesty of some by the facility with which they had deceived him. For this Erasmus sometimes reproached him; Froben smiled, and fell into the same snare next day. His profession supplied him with peculiar pleasures. When he had drawn the first proofs of some celebrated author, of whom he was preparing an edition, he came triumphing, with a radiant countenance, to show his specimen to Erasmus and his other friends, as if that had been the only reward he expected for all the pains bestowed on the impression. Frobens editions were prized for their correctness. lie printed none but serious books, refusing his presses to libels, though that was a lucrative branch of trade he would not tarnish his reputation by money dishonorably gained. He fell as if thunder- struck one day when he was mounted on a ladder to reach some book on a high shelf and he was carried to his bed, unconscious, having crushed the brain: he died after a lethargy of two days. Erasmus composed two epitaphs for him, in Greek and Latin, both ingenious and touchinga rare example of esteem and friendship reciprocated between an author and his bookseller. The Reformation had so far prevailed at Basel as to be publicly acknowledged. Eras- mus was regarded with an evil eye. No one dare undertake anything against a man placed under the guardianship of the public faith; but they murmured against him in their secret meetings, and already the most ardent asked if there was no other neutral town where he could conceal his equivocal impartiality. Elsewhere his Catholic friends complained of his remaining in a town infected with heresy and though he took infinite pains to satisf~r the most fastidious, thou~h he had been seen in less than twelve days to read the first part of a treatise by Luther not yet published, to write a diatribe in reply, set it up, revise it, and print it, that the answer might appear at the same time as the attack, so that Luthers friends might not triumph in the interval be. tween two fairsthe season for publication for want of an antagonist,his enemies gave it out that lie was playing a double game, that he disavowed at Basel in his secret intrigues with the professors the doctrines of his replies to Luther. ~IEcolampadius, who had long lived on terms of friendship with Erasmus, com- plained of ineivilities, which Erasmus tried to explain away by puerile excuses. The Pro- testant was backed by the sympathy of his fellow citizens. Erasmus foresaw a coming storm, and, at the age of sixty, he yielded to it, and became again a wanderer. Before his preparations were completed, the revolu- tion broke out at Basel. The Catholic and Protestant parties were only prevented by the authority of the senate from fighting in the public square. The churches were spoil- ed. The ornaments of wood were burned, those of stone or metal broken to pieces. Erasmus, referring to this destruction of ima~ gas, said, All this happened in the midst of such laughter as to astonish me that the saints worked no miracle, they who had for- merly performed such great ones for trifling offenees,whieh M. INisard, evidently join- ing in the sentiment, marks as bearing a dou- ble senselike most of the sentences of this sagacious scepticcapable of being, at once, the ironical reflection of an enemy of the saints, and the pious cry of astonishment from an adorer of images. The mass was soon abolished at Basel, and in all the canton, and citizens were forbidden to celebrate it private- ly in their houses. Erasmus became alarmed. He secretly applied to King Ferdinand for a safe-conduct through his dominions and those of the emperor. At the same time he sent ERASMUS. away his money, rings, vases, and other valu- ables, which he owed to the munificence of his illustrious friends. Soon after he openly loaded two wagons with his books and his baggage. He was on the point of departing when be was seized in the night with a vio- lent illness, which detained him at Basel, un- easy for the consequences of a departure pre- pared in secret, of which the senate would have reason to complain. The report spread. cEcolampadius had expressed some vexation. Erasmus besought him to come and see him. He came. They discoursed of theology. He allowed Erasmus to differ from him on some points. He promised him protection in the name of the city, and even endeavored to persuade him, by a thousand sincere reasons, not to go away. But all my goods are at Friburg. Well, go; hut promise me to re- turn. I shall remain some months at Fri- burg, to go afterwards where God shall call me. They squeezed each others hands, and parted. Recovering from his illness, Erasmus freight- ed a barge, and fixed the day for his depar- ture. Was he to leave Basel stealthily, or in open day? The latter would be nobler, the former safer. He would have adopted the nobler course, but he had some friends who, doubtless, had no idea of displeasing him by suggesting a middle path between a clandes- tine flight and an open departure. There were on the quay at Basel two wharves at which to embark for going either up or down the Rhine, one near the great bridge, the most frequented part of the town, the other opposite St. Anthonys Church, the little wharf used by fishing boats and other small craft. It was at this latter point that the friends of Erasmus counselled him to embark. All was ready; the sailors were at their oars there wanted only the pass of the senate, but it did not come. The captain of the barge was sent for to the senate; he was questioned once and again. About what? Erasmus knew nothing; he became restless. Standing on the bridge, wrapped in a fur mantle, Pro- bens last present, with troubled aspect, we may believe that he was a prey to all the ago- nies of fear. He was not a stranger to the disposition of a large part of the senate to- wards him. Threatening words had been ut- tered; why was the captain of the bar~e de- tained? Was he to be given up to the icono- clasts of Basel? It was the month of April; a piercing fog was rising from the river. Eras- mus trembled in every limb. Was it from fear? He might have said that it was from cold. It was the fate of all his actions, and of all his words, to leave some doubts. At length the captain came from the sen- ate, with orders to embark at the grand wharf near the bridge. Erasmus was thus forced 35 to brave the honor of a public departure. The people uttered no cry, made no gesture. Erasmus congratulated himself that it was no worse. lie had that vanity of restless spirits which makes them believe that they inspire no moderate sentiments. In reality, he was regarded only with indifference; they neither wished him well enough to salute him with their regrets, nor so ill as to violate in his person the laws of hospitality. On boarding the little vessel he composed a quatrain, in Latin, bearing this sense Farewell, Basel! of all cities The one that has offered me, for many years, the sweetest hospitality: From this barque which hears me away, I wish thee all blessin b 5; and above all, Mayest thou never have a guest more trouble- some than Erasmus. He was received by the magistrates of Fri- burg with great honor. In the name of the arch-duke Ferdinand they offered him a house in which he spent the early part of his sojourn. At first, the climate pleased him, and seemed milder than that of Basel. It was the relief of his mind, escaped from the disturbances of Basel, and relieved by the journey from his incessant labors. In a few months, all was changed; the air became harsh. With the labors, resumed more actively than ever, came back the languor, depression, swooning, and all the inconveniences which becloud the fair- est sky. Health was merely the cessation of sharp sufferings, a little sleep after a painful operation. These were his best days. In these rare and short intervals he began, re- vised, or completed works, for which the health of two strong men would now scarcely suffice; besides endless letters on points of doctrine and other subjects, which made him relapse from his painless languor into new crises of suffering. He knew this, he spoke of it, he complained of it to his friends, and yet he spared not a phrase. So large the sacrifice he made to literary fame! Every week his enemies gave it out that he was dead; according to some, by a fall from his horse, which broke his skull; according to others, by an incurable malady. The more urgent spoke of him as already buried, speci- fying the place, the month, the hourswear- ing that they had been present at his burial, and had trodden on his grave. He knew of these reports, and he wearied the presses of Basel and Friburg; he seemed to multiply his life to make men more impatiently desire his death. Partly to maintain his independence, and partly to escape the insalubrity of the bro- ken down palace in which Ferdinand had harbored him, he purchased a house and 36 ERASMUS. made alterations in it, as if for a long resi- dence. In a lettter to John Rinekius, he said: If you were told that Erasmus the septuagenarian, had taken to himself a wife, would you not make three or four signs of the cross? Yes, Rinckius, and not without good reason. Well! I have done a thing not less difficult nor less tiresome, nor less incompatible with my character and my tastes. I have bought a house of handsome appear- ance, and at a reasonable price. Who will despair of seeing the rivers flow back towards their sources when he has seen poor Erasmus, the man who has always preferred literary leisure to everything, become a dealer in law, a purchaser, a bargain-maker, a builder, having no more dealing with the Muses, but with carpenters, locksmiths, masons, and gla- ziers? Alas! in that beautiful house he had i~ot even a nest where he could safeiv lay down his little body. He cal nastily constructed a room with ~.iininev and a planked floor, but the sinel! of ttie lime made it still unfit to live .r:. We thus sec bun placed between two nouses in whici no could not remain without dan~xer tho cnn offered by a prince but in rums and :nsaiuhrious as these mansions of state ~sually are; the otner unfinished, or too new to be inhabited with safety. And already lie was complain- m~ Qi the flux that carried him off. While ills expenses increased. his revenues fell short. His two English pensions yielded but a fourth after all the deductions made by the bankers, and ever, that fourth was sometimes appropri- ated hv gentlemen of the road. Of his Fle- mish pension he was robbed by an old friend to whom he had trusted everything, to whom he would have entrusted his life. From Charles V. he never received a form. Has not Erasmus, he asked, come back to evan- gelical poverty? It was a favorable mo- ment for making him offers. So many princes, tired out by the heavy verbosity of their or- dinary theologians, would be charmed with the relief of the illustrious old mans refined and attractive discourse! So ninny exalted prelates, poor in genius would he delighted to make use of his! But these promises did not tempt Erasmus. He had known for half a century that promises bind him who receives them, but not him who makes them. Cardi- nal Bernard, Bishop of Trent, begged him to make use of his eminences credit with Ferdinand. Did he wish for a placea pen- sion? What would an ecclesiastical dignity be to me, replied Erasmus an increased load for a stumbling horse! As to amassing money, at the end of my career, would it not be as absurd as to increase the provisions for the road at the end of a journey? All I wish for is a tranquil old age, if not joyous and flourishing, as see many have. Pope Paul HI. wished to introduce some erudite person into the College of Cardinals. Eras- mus was proposed, but he made objections; first, his health, which unfitted him for the duties of the cardinalate ; afterwards, the smallness of his fortune: he could not be a cardinal with a revenue of less than three thousand ducats. His friends asked for him some ecclesiastical commissions which might help to raise the requisite income. He knew of their proceedings, and strongly blamed them. To think of bestowing the supreme honors of the priesthood on one who expected death every day, who often desired it, so cruel were his pains! I can hardly venture to put my foot out of my chamber, and I am af- frighted at the prospect of mounting the back of an ass; this thin, transparent body can no longer breathe but in a heated atmosphere and it is a man afflicted with so many evils whom you wish to aspire after commissions or (urdinals hats! M. Nisard says these refu- sals were sincere. his conscience, his tastes, the repose of his last days, all forbade such late ambition. NXThat a lie to his whole life would he not ~nve given if he who had boasted of the simplicity of the primitive church, in- directly attacking the wealth of the prelates and the luxury of their manners if he had been seen wrapped in the Roman purple! What a figure he would have cuta broken- down old man planted on a mule between two footmen, or carried, like a woman in a litter, in processions of tall cardinals, managing their fiery steeds like the emperors pages! And as for money, while he had enough to pay his servants, to warm his chamber without a stove, to drink occasionally his spoonful of old Bur- gundy wine mixed with liquorice juice, to send for the best physician in the place, to re- new his gown and his fur-lining, and to enter- tain some messengers on the grand routes of Germany and Flanders, what more did he need? After seven years of uninterrupted suffer- ing and constant labor, battling with the Lu- therans in the great religious contest, and with the Budieans in the great literary contest, of the age, added to two or three visitations of the plague, which drove his friends and his do- mestics away from him, he became weary of Friburg and of his beautiful house. A pro- phetic sadness took the place of the engaging humor and the habits of agreeable satire which he had maintained even in his sufferings. He wished to revisit his true countryBasel, Pro- bens little garden, and the pavili?n where lie had translated Chrysostom: he wished to su- perintend the impression of his Ecelesiastes, which he had committed to the presses of Pro- ben as his last voucher before God and men. His physicians had recommended to him change of air. He was carried on a litter to ERASMUS. Basel, the only town he had loved, because there he had found liberty and friends. Seven years before, he had left her, disturbed and threatened with troubles; be returned to her calm, tranquil, settled down in a serious mood, all her people in the first fervor of a new faith. His friends had prepared for him an apart- inent such as they knew he liked, small and commodious, without a stove, and hav- ing an eastern aspect. He was solaced; these changes were good for him. It was in August, the month in which the fewest people die, and in which the dying hope. Here, he said, I find myself, at least, less ill; for to find myself actually well I have no more hope in this life. He was not, however, without projects. He contemplated journeys to Brabant and to Besan~on. At Basel there remained some causes of inquietude: he had more friends there than at Friburg, but at the same time more enemies. Death, he feared, might surprise him in an heretical city, where- by his latter end would contradict his life. A man of the middle-path to the end, he had made choice of a city without any marked character, where Roman-catholicism, having no serious enemies, had none of the exaggera- tions produced by controversy. God, how- ever, determined otherwise. The small room which his friends at Basel had prepared for him was to be his death-chamber. It was the reformers, against whose violence, as he es- teemed it, he had been fighting for twelve years, that rendered him the last honors. He had been so long accustomed to extreme dan- ger that the really last conflict took him by surprise. In the brief moments of relief from horrid suffering, he was working at a commen- tary on The Purity of the Church, and a revision of Origen. But his forces having ac- tually failed, he was obliged to lay down his pen and confess himself vanquished. He did it, as M. Nisard says, with a touching grace, preserving to the last the sweet and benevo- lent irony which was the natural turn of his thoughts. A few days before his death, his friends having come to see him, Ab, well ! he said, smiling, Where are your rent gar- ments; where the ashes with which you are going to cover your heads? On the evening of July 15, 1536, the final agony came on. During that struggle, the last of all mans sting- ~les, he was heard, frequently, to pronounce in Latin and in German, these words :My God! deliver me. Lord Jesus, have pity on me! Lord, end my sufferings! Such were his last groans. He yielded his soul towards midnight. The whole town, the consul, the senate, the professors followed him to his grave. His bo- dy was borne by students, and laid in the ca- thedralnow a protestapt churchnear the choir, in a chapel which had been dedicated to to the Virgin. They still show at Basel the house in which he died, his ring his seal, his sword, his knife, and his will, written in his own hand, in which he bequeathed most of his property to the aged and infirm poor, to young girls at an age to be married to whom poverty might become a snard, and to young men of good promise - a will, of which M. Nisard says, it was neither that of a dogmatic Catholic (who would have en- dowed convents), nor of a reformist (who would have consecrated his property to the propagation of the new faith), but of man loving good and kuowin~, how to do it, and as it regards religion, steering still a middle course. Such is a brief sketch of the life of Eras- mus, drawn from his own letter to his friend Goclenius, written after his fiftieth year, from the biographical memoir prefixed by Beatus Rhenanus to the edition of the works of Eras- mus, published four years after his death at Easel, and given in the London edition of his Letters, folio, 1642. We have also consulted the curious observations of Bayle in his Die- tionaire Historique et Critique. Chronologi- cal minutes of the principal events, which M. Le Clere drew up while engaged on the splen- did edition of the works of Erasmus indicated at the head of this article, were inserted by bim in successive volumes of the Bibliothi~que Choisie. These are translated and enlarged in Jortins Life of Erasmus, followed by criticisms on his writings. M. de Burign6s Vie dErasme, contains the history of many celebrated men with whom he had been con- nected, a critical analysis of his works, and an impartial examination of his religious senti- ments. We have here presented M. Nisards History of Erasmus and his Writings, in as condensed a form as we could, sometimes trans- lating his words literally into our own language. Mr. Charles Butler has filled seven pages of his Life of Erasmus with a catalogue of all his works, in the order of the Leyden edi- tion. The work to which M. Nisards history is pre- fixed The Encomium of Folly, is without a rival in any language, age, or country, for its acute judgment, its polished taste, its pungent and sparkling wit. lie says he wrote it or~ a journey from Italy to Eu~land; and he dedi- cated it to Sir Thomas More. It was univer- sally admired, and twenty thousand copies were sold in a few months. Those who do not read Latin, but to whom French is easy, will be charmed with the elegant translation now before us. But of course the original has forces and points not easily transferred. The author himself confessed that it was too gay for some of the subjects treated. We have a lively remembraimee of our grammar-school days, when this was a favorite class-book with our teacher, if not with all his pupils. The 88 ERASMUS. Colloquies, by which Erasmus is best known, foreign money to be introduced into England; is praised even by Mr. Butler as a literary whereas, according to Mr. Batlors more accu- composition, though be is perplexe by the rate statement, his friends having neglected freedoms taken with the Roman~atholic to inform him that pcrsons travelling out of Church. It is said that in the public library England were only authorized to take with at Daventer are shown volumes of the works them a certain amount of the current specie of of Erasmus, in which the monks covered with the realm, the custom-house officers stripped thin paper all the passsages in which the an- him of almost all he bad. his own interest, thor had animadverted on the church of that and that of his friends wcre exerted in vain time, and on the manners of the religious. The to procure its restitution, (Butler, p. 64). We Sorbonne decided that the Colloquics con- also agree with Dr. Merle DAubign6, who tamed many erroneous, scandalous, and im- speaks of the hcautiful and conscientious pious positions; and, but for the interference work of M. Nisard, as appearing to him to be of Francis I., the faculty of theology at Paris at fault jn appreciation of Erasmus and of would have adopted their decision. They Luther. Erasmus, it is true, was earlier in were condemned by the Inquisition. At Paris the field of reform than Luther; but Luther and in other places editions have been publish- went immeasurably further as he obtained ed with the objectionable passages omitted. more spiritual light. Erasmus had brighter They have been translated into English by literary talent, finer wit, more calmness and Bailey, Clarke, and LEstrange. We have moderation; but Luther was more decidedly not room here even to mention his original religious, more energetic, more daring. Eras- writings; his prefaces, learned and eloquent, mus prepared the way for Luther, who soon to classical and theological writers; his cdi- f threw him into the shade. tions of ilecuba and Iphy0ene, and Jerome; Much of the labor of Erasmus was of a of Suetonius, and Cicero, and Augustine; his kind to introduce a higher order of education, Ciceronianus, and the controversies in which in which independent treatises on all subjects it involved him; his Letters, so varied in their would be composed in modern tongues, so as topics, and in their style so natural as the pie- to supersede the best productions in a dead tures of his inward life, so illustrative of the language. To use an ancient image, variously literary revival, and of the religious revolution applied by poets from Cowley to Byron, his in which he took so prominent a part. All of literary fame was pierced by an arrow feath- of them, to use Mr. Butlers language, dis- ered from his own wing. If I am not play so much learning, Ingenuity, spirit, fancy, greatly mistaken, be says, in his Treatise on science, and taste, andthat without which Epistolary Writing, the time fast approach- nothing is excellent,genius so much abounds as when the public will no longer stand in in them, that no works either ancient or mo- need of these instructions, and young men dern, are read with greater pleasure. His will no longer want in y precepts. Even his substantial glory is, that 6f having published great work Ada~i a presenting in a the first printed edition of the Greek New golden and a jewelled vase the distilled wis- Testament, which he dedicated to Pope Leo dom of the Hebrew, Greek, and Roman X., and accompanied it with a new Latin ver- literature, which gave the impulse to the sion. The labor required for this work can be highest works of modern intelligence the appreciated by but few even of the learned, magazine of Minerva to which men resort as lie lived to publish five editions of the Greek to the leaves of the sybil, said I3udmus,even Testament. In the first two, he did not insert that marvel of iiidustry, scholarship, and taste, the passage oJ the three heavenly witnesses. would scarcely be read in the present. day for (1 John v. 7.) When reprehended for this its own s~ ke, however interesting, in collate- omission, he offered to insert it in tile next ml respects, to the lover of ancient erudition. edition, if it should he found in a single mann- On the whole, we cannot do otherwise than script. Afterwards the Codex Moatfort- cherish a hearty veneration for the memory innus, now in the library of Trinity College, of this glorious Erasmus, whose character we Dublin, was found to contain it, when Eras- should essay in vain to sketch. His portrait inns fulfilled his pledge, and the passage was by hlolbein is preserved in the city which is printed in the subsequent editions. honored by his tomb; another portrait, by We owe so much to MI. Nisard for bis cx- whom we know not, adorns the ball of quisitely written account of Erasmus, that we Queens College, Cambridge. But who shall cannot refrain from correcting a small error draw the intellectual, moral, spiritual linen- into which he has fallen, respecting one of meats of a man, whose struggles for life began Erasmuss journeys to England. He reports, so early, pci vaded so long a course of years that the pirates, as he called the custom- the most rcmarkablc in the development of house officers at Dover, searched his pockets, civihization.surrounded by contemporaries because the sumptuary laws of the country whose names arc volumes and whose deeds nine did not allow more than a fixed amount of bistorics,bolding a middle course between MISPRLNTS. popes, cardinals, monks, and priests on one side, and profound thinkers, earnest workers, impetuous reformers, and awakening peoples on the other ;-a man who lived in fellowship with Rome, though lashing the vices of her clergy, and mocking the superstition of her votaries ;always complaining of poverty, yet maintaining his independence to the last, and bequeathing gold, silver, and jewels to his friends, but the bulk of his property, esti- mated at seven thousand ducats, to the poor; tortured nearly all his days by gout or gravel, and often rambling over Europe, yet feaving works behind him that filled more than ten folio volumes, eulogized by cardinals, pontiffs, and monarchs, by Catholic, Protes- tant, and sceptic ;as learned as he was witty ;as humorous as he was plodding; uniting the patience of the drudge with the enthusiasm of genius ;a Catholic, but for protestant necessities and aspirations ;a Pro- testant, but for catholic alliances, calculations, prejudices, and conclusions ;a man standing entirely by himself; neither the slave of tra- dition nor the champion of freedom; marry- ing the past to the future, and guiding poster- ity to bolder thoughts, broader views, and more settled principles than his own; who believed much, but doubted more; whose satirical smile cut beyond the reach of swords; and whose life is in those works, which, 39 though they have ceased to be read, have spread the influence of his thoughts far and wide, as the evening sky prolongs and radiates the light of the sun which has set behind the western hills? We have lingered on the threshold of his obscure biith-place, among the busy tradesmen of a Dutch sea-port; we have watched the rapid flow of the Rhine from the overlooking platform of the cathe- dral where his remains await the trump of God; we have spent hours of sober luxury, days of earnest thought, beneath the shadows of his many-sided genius; and, while we re- joice that his Romanism was frittered so much away by the Christian philosophy of which he was the great master, we shake the head in wonder and vexation, saying to ourselves, After all, Erasmus, we know thee not; thou art to us a mere phantom, crossing #he great European stage, of which the coarse and im- petuous, but manly and transparent Luther was the hero. There have been men in Germany, in France, in England, of whom Erasmus was the type. It may be that all times have need of them, and all places. But as with Erasmus, so with the rest, the moment arrives when they must give way to the ener- getic and the .pushing, who, not content with ridiculing the things that ought not to be, will lift n~ a strong arm and smite them to the dust. MISPRINTS. WE often wonder what readers can possibly think of misprints. Many there are which broadly proclaim blunder, and about which there can be no mistake; inasmuch as the idea of attaching any meaning to them is at once rejected ; but there are others which have some faint and unlucky affinity to the context which appears to demand acceptance for them. So in our article of last week Proving Too Much, we are made to say that men who have utterly lost character with the public are nevertheless received and petted as usual in good society, their faults or vices being con- demned in consideration of their amusing qualities, or the more substantial merits of their casks and wine merchants. Now the context may have indicated to the reader that the faults or vices were not con- demned in consideration of amusing qualities, but condoned; but he had no such clue to the correction of the substantial merits of casks and wine merchants, for unluckily the casks have connection with the business of wine merchants. Perhaps, indeed, it should have struck the reader that, to assign substan- tial merits to wine merchants casks was a har- dihood beyond us; perhaps, too, it may have occurred to him that folks who propitiate the not a world with good entertainments do recrale their guests with ~vine out of the cask, good though such wine may be; but certain we are that casks come so near wine merchants as to leave no room for divining the word meant and written, namely, cooks. A collection of errors of the press, of the malignant type, would be amongst the curiosi- ties of literature. Bayle records several curi- ous specimens. In the loyal Courier of former days, it appeared that his Majesty George the Fourth had a fit of the goat, at Brighton. We have seen advertised a sermon by a celebrated divine on the Immorality of the Soul, and also the Lies of the Poets, which should be a very comprehensive publication. The vicinity of Lives and Lies is indeed most dangerous, a single letter more or less making a lie of a life, or a life of a lie. Glory, too, is liable to the same mischance, the dropping of the liquid making it all gory. What is treason, asked a wag, but reason to at? which tan accident of the press may displace with the most awk- ward effect: imagine a historical character im- peached for reason, or reasonable practices. Misprints are no doubt reducible to laws; and this is certain, that they always fall npon the tenderest part of an authors writing, and where there is a vital meaning to be de- stroyed. Examiner. 40 MRS. STOWES SUNNY MEMORIES OF FOREIGN LANDS. From the Eclectic Review. Sunny Memories of Foreign Lands. By Mrs. HARRIET BEECHER STOWE. With Illus- trations. Two Volumes. Post Svo. Lon- don: Sampson Low, Son, & Co. - THESE volumes are sure to be extensively read. The name of Mrs. Stowe guarantees this. The unprecedented popularity of Un- cle Toms Cabin has rendered it familiar to all classes of our countrymen, and has natu- rally awakened an intense desire to know all that can be learnt respecting the author. The extraordinary qualities of that work have commanded universal admiration. Its circu- lation has partaken of the rapidity of the nine- teenth century. From the palace to the cot- tage, from the Queen to her poorest subject, it has b& ome a cherished treasure; and the deep emotions it has enkindled, while partak- ing of the fervor of passion, have the endur- ance of strong conviction. The sensation created by this work is wholly unprecedented, and stands out as one of the distinctive fea- tures of our day. When, therefore, it was first announced that Mrs. Stowe was engaged in the preparation of a work descriptive of her visit to the old country, few readers failed to anticipate intense pleasure in its perusal. This feeling will not be disappointed. We have read the volumes before us with more than ordinary satisfaction. They are very much what we anticipated, and we can hon- estly and warmly recommend them to our readers. The title is appropriate. It accu- rately describes the general hue and coloring of the work, nor can we see any valid reason why a more shaded narrative should have been given. We regret that some of our con- temporaries have indulged in splenetic, and as it appears to us, most uncandid criticisms, on the temper of the work. Mrs. Stowe, we are told, came to England over a heavin~ sea of rose-water; wherever she turned she beheld pleasant faces; to her eye the air was full of light. The blackest cloud turned to- wards her its silver edge. The verdure wore its brightest green, the sunshine kindled with its richest fires at her approach. If such were the caseand we are not disposed to question the general correctness of the pic- turewhy should not the narrative partake of a more pleasing and joyous hue than is common to such works? To speak of her returning laudation, for laudation is to insin- uate a charge for which no valid ground is furnished. Surely we have had enough of the censoious and cynical on both sides of the Atlantic, to induce us to tolerate one sig- nal example of an opposite character. Eng- land and America have been too frequently caricatured to dispose us to censure an honest and hearty attempt to do justice to some of our better qualities. It is easy to dilate on the dark features of our national character and institutions. This has been done ad nau- seam; and now that an opposife example has been furnished, we are not disposed ill-natur- edly to complain, or, with an affectation of in enuousness, to plead that our character has been drawn too brightly. Mrs. Stowe was. unquestionably received amongst us with open arms. The fact was alike honorable to our- selves and to her. She had suddenly risen from obscurity by a combination of brilliant qualities, honestly devoted to one of the no- blest objects of human philanthropy. Her reputation was of the very best kind. There was nothing unreal, much less pernicious in it. It was the reputation of great talents, earnestly consecrated to virtue and humanity. Had her reception been other than it was, it would have augured in us the want of quali- ties Which we have been accustomed to deem most honorable and had Mrs. Stowes record of her visit been other than joyous, it would have indicated a phlegmatic and ungrateful temperament, which we should be sorry to at- tribute to the author of tTncle Toms Cabin. If there be characters and scenes, says the author, in her preface, that seen-s drawn with too bright a pencil, the reader will consider th~t, after all, there are many worse sins than a disposition to think and speak well of ones neighbors. To admire and to love may now and then be tolerated, as a variety, as well as to carp and criticize. America and England have heretofbre abounded towards each other in illiberal criticisms. There is not an unfa- vorable aspect of things ~i1 tbrt Old World which has not become perf~t~y familiar to us; and a little of the other side ma-- have a useful influence. With this sentence we are content to leave the class of objections to which we have re- ferred. The work consists of familiar letters, written during her residence in Europe to friends and relations in America. As a literary composition it is, therefore, open to some ex- ception; and there is a usinuteness of personal detail in some of the letters which might have been advantageously dispensed with. Mrs. Stowe will do well to retrench these matters in subsequent editious of her work, and this may be easily done without a ectmg its gene- ral character. It should be borne in mind that the work was designed for America rather than for England, and we can readily believe what the author asserts, that she would have been far more at Qase had there been nopros- pect of publication in England. We take her volumes, however, as they are; and with- out doubt or hesitancy affirm that we have rare- ly been more gratified than in their perusal. From some of her judgments we dissent. Her criticisms naturally partake, in many cases, MRS. STOWES SUNNY MEMORIES OF FOREIGN LANDS. of the complexion of the American mind, but there is a geniality and warm-heartedness combined with a rich vein of shrewd sense and intelligent refinement throughout her work, which would counterbalance far more weighty faults than she has fallen into. It was natural that Mrs. Stowe should visit Eu- rope with most kindly and sympathetic feel- ings. The extensive popularity of her work insured this, and it would therefore be the height of fblly to regard her volumes as the calm exposition of an unbiassed observer. They make no pretensions to anything of the kind. She describes what she saw, acknow- ledges the kindness she received, and insti- tutes comparisons between her own and the mother country, in the most cordial and checr- ing spirit. We take, therefore, her volumes for what they profess to be, and look to other writers for an impartial and searching analy- sis of our character and habits. Her work will be best understood through the medium of extracts, and of these we shall freely avail ourselves. Arriving at Liverpool, in April of last year, she was fully sensible of the thrill and pulsation of kindred with which all intelligent Americans approach our country. Its history, she says, for two centuries, was our history. Its literature, laws and language are our litem~ture, laws and language. Spenser, Shakspeare, Bacon, Milton, were a glorious inheritance, which we share in common. Our very life-blood is English life-blood. It is Anglo-Saxon vigor that is spreading our country from Atlantic to Pacific, and leading on a new era in the worlds development. America is a tall, sight- ly young shoot, that has grown from the old royal oak of England: divided from its. parent root, it has shot up in new, rich soil, and un- der genial, brilliant skies, and therefore takes on a new type of growth and foliage; but the sap in it is the same. A crowd was as- sembled on the wharf to receive her, and she was strongly impressed with the appearances of robust health which they exhibited. It seemed, she tells us, as if I had not only touched the English shore, but felt the Eng- lish heart. She found a cordial reception at the house of Mr. Cropper, one of those beau- tiful little spots which are so common in Eng- land, but with which she was yet unacquaint- ed. The sofa and easy chair wheeled up before a cheerful coal fire, a bright little tea- kettle steaming in front of the grate, a table with a beautiful vase of flowers, books, and writing apparatus, and kindfriends with words full of aflectionate cheer,all these made me feel at home in a moment. The hospitality of England is famed throughout the world. It has its own forms and modes of expression, hut its reality is ad- mnitted by all intelligent foreigners. Our man- 41 ners are, it must be confessed, somewhat cold and reserved; but nothing of this kind was visible to Mrs. Stowe, whose previous reputa- tion had broken down the usual impediments to free and unrestrained inmercour~e. A circle of famil~ relatives, shc says, could not have received us with more warmth and kindness. The same fact was visible wher- cver she went. Her name was familiar to all, and every pefson, from the highest to the lowest, took pleasure in assuring her of their warm-hearte and rateful admiration. From Liverpool she proceeded to Scotland, where she had an early opportunity of seeing some of the most distinguished men of that coun- try, as well as gazing on points of its scenery, to which, in our apprehension, there is no superior. She visited, of course, Abbotsford where is the intelligent foreigner who does not ?and her remarks on the genius and writings of Sir Walter Scott are well entitled to attention. She notes, with sonic surprise, the absence of enthusiasm for X alter ScotL Allusion, she says, to Bannockburn and Drumelog bring down the house, but enthusi- aim for Scott was met with comparative silence. This fact, if such it beof which we have our doubtsis accounted for by the circumstance that Scott belon~ed to a past, and not to the coming age. He beautified and adorned that which is waxing old and passing away. He loved and worshipped in his very soul institutions which the majority of the common people have felt as a restraint and a burden. This characteristic of his poetry, doubtless, operates to some extent; but Scotts reputation is mainly founded on his novels, and here, as we believe, is the main secret of the absence of enthusiasm noted by our au- thor. Mrs. Stowe associated chiefly with the religious public, and amongst these the class of novels has till recently been prohibited. The writings of Sir Walter Scott have mainly conduced to the removal of this feeling, but even they have only gradually made their way. At first, they encountered strong oppo- sition. The repugnance founded on the gen- eral qualities of the class operated against the individual. Nor are we surprised at this. The most cursory view of our literature will suffice to show that the qualities of the need were until recently such as ought to exclude it from all religious circles, and it is the great merit of Scott that he proved to the world that fiction might be employed with extensive popularity without availing itself of the keen- tiousness and irreligion which characterize Fielding and our older novelists. For a long time, the religious public were in doubt res- pecting him, and even yet, though his volumes are universally read, and formal panegyrics on his genius are perpetually uttered, religious men hesitate, when speaking on the theme, as 42 MRS. STOWES SUNNY MEMORIES OF FOREIGN LANDS. though fearful that their language may be un- derstood for more than they design. Most of us can remember the thne when the Waver- ly Novels, though read, were kept from gene- ral view. This state of things is now happily passed. It was a species of dishonesty which ought never to have been practised, but the scruples which induced it are yet visible in the subdued and mcasured terms in which they are spoken of. An opposite fact is re- ported of Burns, of whom Mrs. Stowe re- marks, Poor Burns! how inseparably he has woven himself with the warp and woof of every Scottish association. There is no mystery in this; the writings of Burns fully explain it. It is impossible to read them without feeling that they are the utterances of a heart richly laden with some of the noblest elements of our nature, and sympathizing with whatever is common to humanity. Burnss popularity is founded on his poetry, and this was freely admitted wherever the language he used was known. His speech \vas national, his feelings genuine and true-hearted, and his occasional outbursts of strong, indignant pro- test, only served to awaken pity, and to di- minish reprobation of the excesses he plung- ed into. Many of our readers will be surprised at the glowing terms in which Mrs. Stowe speaks of the writings of Scott, and will deem her vindication of them, on some points, scarcely conclusive. His treatment of the Covenan- ters is one of these, and we confess to a want of satisfaction in the defence she has set up. That Scott did not designedly inisr~resent them we freely admit. With this faull we do not charge him. It is not needful in order to make out our case, and we should be sorry to see it proved. What we do charge against him is, that he suffered the force of prejudice to operate so powerfully on his mind as to color all the views which he took of the con- tending. parties of that period. The agents uf priestly intolerance and of royal perfidy are painted in resplendent colors. Whatever virtues they possessed are brought out strong- ly to view, whilst their terrible vices are either wholly merged, or are divested of their most repulsive features. On the other hand, the heroism, the superhuman fidelity to principle, the intense, though in n~any cases one-sided devotion to duty, which characterized the Covenanter~, are concealed from view by the grotesque aspect of their religious forms, or their narrow-minded and fierce sectarianism. Scott might, and ought to, have known better. Evidence was accessible, which would have wrought conviction had not his prejudices been concerned. It is to his disgrace that his sym- pathies were not with the suffering class, who, in their day, and according to the measure of their enlightenment, were heroic witnesses for that truth under whose shelter we calmly live. But our readers must hear what Mrs. Stowe alleges on this point Scott has been censured as being wilfully un- just to the Covenanters and Puritans. I think he meant really to deal fairly by them, and that what he called fairness might seem rank injustice to those brought up to venerate them, as we have been. I suppose that in Old Mortality, it was Scotts honest intention to balance the two par- ties about fairly, by putting on the Covenant side his good, steady, well-behaved hero, Mr. Morton, who is just as much of a Puritan as the Puritans would have been had they taken Sir WaIter Scotts advice; that is to say, a very nice, sensible, moral man, who takes the Puritan side because he thinks it the righ.t side, but contemplates all the devo- tional enthusiasm and religious ecstasies of his associates from a merely artistic and pictorial point of view. The trouble was, when he got his model Puritan done, nobody ever knew what he was meant for; and then all the young ladies voted steady Henry Morton a bore, and went to falliub in love with his Cavalier rival, Lord Evan- dale, and people talked as if it was a preconcerted arrangement of Scott, to surprise the female heart, and carry it over to the royalist side. The fact was, in describing Evandale he made a living, effective character, because he was de- scribing something he had full sympathy with, and put his whole life into; but henry Morton is a laborious arrangement of starch and paste- hoard to produce one of those supposititious, just- right men, who are always the stupidest of mor- tals after they are made. As to why Scott did not describe such a character as the martyr Duke of Argyle, or Hampden, or Sir Harry Vane, where high birth, and noble breeding, and chival- rous sentiment were all united with intense devo- tional fervor, the answer is, that he could not do it; he had not that in him wherewith to do it; a man cannot create that of which he has not first had the elements in himself; and devotional en- thusiasm is a thing which Scott never felt. Vol. i. pp. 143145. As a companion picture, we may refer to our authors visit to Stratford, which she ap- proached with the reverence of intense ad- miration. Shakspeare, Bunyan, and Defoe, are mentioned as the three writers whose works should be specially studied by all who would know the force and amplitude of our verna- cular speech. They are radically and tho- roughly English. They have the solid grain of the English oak, not veneered by learning and the classics; not inlaid with arabesques from other nations, but developing wholly out of the English nationality. Much of what we have written respecting the feeling of the religious public towards Scott is applicable to Shakspeare, and we are the more inclined to refer our readers to this portion of Mrs. Stones narrative, in the hope that it will serve to induce a more discriminating esti- mate of him than has hitherto been prevalent. MRS. STOXVES SUNNY MEMORIES OF FOREIGN LANDS. 43 It seemed to me (she says) so sinnular that of such a man there should not remain one accred- ited relic! Of Martin Lnther, though he lived much earlier, how many things remain! Of al- most any distinguished character how much more is known than of Shakspeare! There is not, so far as I can discover, an authentic relic of any- thing helonging to him. There are very few an- ecdotes of his sayings or doings ; no letters, no private memoranda, that should let us into the secret of what he was personally, who has in turns personated all minds. The very perfection of his dramatic talent has become an impenetrable veil; we can no more tell, from his writings, what were his predominant tastes and habits, than we can discriminate, among the variety of melodies, what are the native notes of the mocking-bird. The only means left us for forming an opinion of what he was personally, are inferences of the most deli- cate nature from the slightest premises. The common idea which has pervaded the world, of a joyous, roving, somewhat unsettled, and dissipated character, would seem, from many well-authenticated facts, to be incorrect. The gaieties and dissipations of his life seem to have been confined to his very earliest days, and to have heen the exuberance of a most extraordi- nary vitality, bursting into existence with such force and vivacity that it had not had time to col- lect itself; and so come to self-knowledge and con- trol. By many accounts it would appear that the character he sustained in the last years of his life, was that of a judicious, common-sense sort of a man; a discreet, reputable, and religious house- holderlb. pp. 215, 216. We should be glad to qoute largely from this part of the work, but must content our- selves with the following beautiful passage, in which the influence of maternal gentleness and.purity on the genius of the bard of Avon is strikingly alluded to. The world has had many illustrations of the vast benefits which have accrued from the silent teachings of ma- ternal love, but in no case, perhaps, have our obligations been greater than in the case befofe us. Referring to the mother of Shak- speare, Mrs. Stowe remarks pression, on the chiId~ sonl of a mothers purity. I seem to have a vision of one of those women whom the world knows not of, silent, deep- hearted, loving, whom the coarser and more prac- tically efficient jostle aside and underrate for their want of interest in the noisy chit-chat and commonplace of the day; but who yet have a sa- cred power, like that of the spirit of peace, to brood with dove-like wings over the childish heart, and quicken into life the struggling, slumbering ele- ments of a sensitive nature. I cannot but think, in that beautiful scene where he represents Desdemona as amazed and struck dumb with the grossness and brutality of the charges which had been thrown upon her, yet so dignified in the consciousness of her own pu- rity, so magnanimous in the power of disinter- ested, forgiving love, that he was portraying no ideal excellence, but only reproducing, under fic- titious and supposititious circumstances, the pa- tience, magnanimity, and enduring love which had shone upon him in the household words and ways of his mother. It seemed to me that, in that bare and lowly chamber I saw a vision of a lovely face which was the first beauty that dawned on those child- ish eyes, and heard that voice whose lullaby tuned his ear to an exquisite sense of cadence and rhythm. I fancied that, while she thus se- renely shone upon him like a benignant star, some rigorous grand-aunt took upon her the practical part of his guidance, chased up his wanderings to the right and left, scolded him for wanting to look out of the window because his little climb- ing toes left their mark on the neat wall, or rigo- rously arrested him when his curly head was seen bobhing off at the bottom of the street, following a bird or a dog, or a showman; sutercepting hin~i in some happy hour when he was aiming to strike ofl~on his own account, to an adjoining field for winking Mary-huds; made long ser- mons to him on the wickedness of muddying his clothes and wetting his new shoes (if he had nay), and told him that something dreadful would come out of the graveyard and catch him if he was not a better boy, imagining that if it were not for her bustling activity, Willie would go straight to destruction. lb. pp. 203, 204. Much is recorded of the Stafford House We know nothing who this Mary was, that was family, and we do not wonder at it. Our an- his mother ;but one sometimes wonders where in that coarse age, when queen and ladies talked fa thors reception was so cordial and flattering, miliarly, as women would blush to talk now the attentions she received were so delicate and when the broad, coarse wit of the and well-timed, and the personal qualities of Merry Wives of Windsor~~ was gotten up to suit the the distinguished circle gave such value to taste of a virgin queen, one wonders, I say, their kindness, that Mrs. Stowe would have when women were such and so, where he found been more than human had she not keenly those models of lily-like purity, women so chaste felt the attention shown her. She never loses in soul and pure in language that they could not an opportunity of recurring to the Duchess even bring their lips to utter a word of shame. of Sutherland and her distinguished relatives; Desdemona cannot even bring herself to speak and the tone of her remarks, whilst hi~hly the coarse word with which her husband taunts . her; she cannot make herself believe that there laudatory, never awakens the suspicion of un- are women in the world who could stoop to such worthy motives, or of a deficieney of self grossness. part, I respect. There is neither inflation nor servility For my cannot believe that, in such an in her remarks. They are the cordial re- age, such deep heart-knowledge of pure woman- sponse of a grateful and intelligent woman, hood could have come otherwise than by the im- I who duly appreciated what was due to herself 44 MRS. STOWES SUNNY MEMORIES OF FOREIGN LANDS. and rightfully referred to the cause with which she was identified the flattering recep- tion with which she met. It is well known that a meeting took place at Stafford House between Mrs. Stowe and the ladies most hon- orably distinguished in the anti-slavery move- ments of our age. This meeting was a most remarkable fact, and our author was wise enough not to appropriate the honor of it to herself. I rather regard it, she says, as the most public expression possible of the feelings of the women of England, on one of the most important questions of our daythat of individual liberty considered in its religious bearings. Referring to this meeting, Mrs. Stowe justly remarks The most splendid of Englands palaces has this day opened its doors to the slave. Its treas- ures of wealth and of art, its prestige of high ~iame and historic memories, have been conse- crated to the acknowledgment of Christianity in that form wherein, in our day, it is most fre- quently denied the recognition of the brother- hood of the human family, and the equal religious value ef every human soul. A fair and noble hand by this meeting has fixed, in the most pub- lic manner, an ineffaceable seal to the beautiful sentiments of that most Christian document, the Letter of the Ladies of Great Britain to the La- dies of America. That Letter and this public attestation of it are now historic facts, which wait their time and the judgment of advancing Christianity.Ib. p. 298. Our readers will be desirous of knowing the impression made on Mrs. Stowe by some of our literary celebrities. She met several of them on various occasions, and her sketches are full of interest. Designed primarily for American readers, her descriptions will be read on this side of the Atlantic with no slight curiosity and pleasure. Take for in- stance the following account of Macaulay, with whom she breakfasted at Sir Charles Trevelyans. accurate, that, if his poems were blotted out of existence, they might be restored simply from his memory. This same accurate knowledge extends to the Latin and Greek classics, and to much of the literature of modern Europe. Had nature been required to make a man to order, for a per- fect historian, nothing better could have been put together, especially since there is enough of the poetic fire included in the composition, to fuse all these multiplied materials together, and color the historical crystallization with them. Macaulay is about fifty. He has never married yet there are unmistakable evidences in the breathings and aspects of the family circle by whom he was surrounded, that the social part is not wanting in his conformation. Some very charming young lady relatives seemed to think quite as much of their gifted uncle as you might have done had he been yours. Macaulay is celebrated as a conversationalist and, like Coleridge, Carlyle. and almost every one who enjoys this reputation, he has sometimes been accused of not allowing people their fair share in conversation. This might prove an ob- jection, possibly, to those who wish to talk; but as I greatly prefer to hear,, it would prove none to me. I must say, however, that on this occa- sion the matter was quite equitably managed. Vol. ii. pp. 2, 3. Milman, who was present on the same occa- sion, ~s represented as tall, stooping, with a keen black eye, and perfectly white haira singular and a poetic contrast. Our author sat between the two, and tells us in continua- tion .of her sketch Somehow or other, we found ourselves next talking about Sidney Smith; and it was very pleasant to me, recalling the evenings when your father has read and we have laughed over him, to hear him spoken of as a living exiStence, by one who had known him. Still, I have always had a quarrel with Sidney, for the wicked use to which he put his wit, in abusing good old Dr. Carey, and the missionaries in India; nay, in some l)laces he even stooped to be ~piteful and vulgar. I could not help, therefore, saying, when Macau- lay observed that he had the most agreeal3le wit ~Jacaulays whole physique gives you the im- of any literary man of his acquaintance: Well, pression of great strength and stamina of consti- it was very agreeable, but it could not have beca tution. He has the kind of frame which we usu- very agreeable to the people who came under the ally imagine is peculiarly English : short, stout, edge of it, . and instanced his treatment of Dr. and firmly knit. There is something hearty in Carey. Some others who were present seemed all his demonstrations. He speaks in that full, to feel warmly on this subject, too, and Macaulay round, rolling voice, deep from the chest, which said : we also conceive of as being more common in Ab, ~vell, Sidney repented of that afterwards. England than America. As to his conversation, He seemed ~o cling to his memory, an(l to turn it is just like his writing; that is to say, it shows from every fault to his joviality as a thing he very strongly the same qualities of mind, could not enough delight to remember. I was informed that he is famous for a most Truly wit, like charity, covers a multitude of uncommon memory: one of those men to whom sins. A man who has the faculty of raising a it seems impossible to forget anything once read~ laugh in this sad earnest world, is remembered and he has read all sorts of things that can b~ with indulgence and complacency always. lb. thought og in all languages. A gentleman told p. 6. me that he could repeat all the old Newgate lite- I ketches are furnished of the histo- rature, banging ballads, last speeches, and dying~ Sbghts confessions; while his knowledge of Milton is sol nan Hallam, Sir R. H. Inglis, Dr. Lushington, 45 MRS. STOWES SUNNY MEMORIES OF FOREIGN LANDS. Lord Campbell, the Archbishop of Canter- directed to it, and hcre is her solution of the bury, Lord Palmerston, Mr. Justice Talfourd, enigma Mr. Dickens, and others. The following an- A lady asked me this evening what I thought ecdote has more than ordinary interest. It of the beauty of the ladies of the English aristoc- relates to an occurrence at the Mansion racy: she was a Scotch lady, by-the-by; so the House, and confirms the impression generally question was a fair one. I replied, th~ t certainly made on all candid readers by the opinion report bad not exaggerated their charms. Then referred to. came a home question How the ladies of Eng- land compared with the ladies of America. A very dignified gentleman, dressed in black Now for it, patriotism, said I to myself; and, velvet, with a fine head, made his way through invoking to my aid certain fair saints of my own the throng, and sat down by me, introducing him- country, whose faces I distinctly remembered, I self as Lord Chief Baron Pollock. He told me assured her that I had never seen more beautiful he had just been reading the legal part of the Key women than I had in America. Grieved was I to to Uncle Toms Cabin, and remarked especially be obliged to add: But your ladies keep their on the opinion of Judge Huffin, in the ease of beauty much later and longer. This fact stares State versus Mann, as having made a deep im- one in the face in every company: one meets la- pression on his mind. Of the character of the dies past fifty, glowing, radiant, and blooming, decision, eonsidered as a legal and literary docu- with a freshness of complexion and fuicess of out- meat, he spoke in terms of high admiration : line refreshing to contemplate. What can be the said that nothing had ever given him so clear a reason? Tell us, Muses and Graces, what can it view of the essential nature of slavery. We he? Is it the conservative power of sea fogs and found that this document had produced the same coal smoke the same cause that keeps the turf impression on the minds of several others present. green, and makes the holly and ivy flourish? Mr. S. said that one or two distinguished legal how comes it that our mat ned ladies dwindle, gentlemen mentioned it to him in similar terms. fade, and grow thin that their noses incline to The talent and force displa,yed in it, as well as sharpness, and their elbows to atfgularity, just at the high spirit and scorn of dissimulation, appear the time when their island sisters round out into to have created a strong interest in its author. a comfortable and becoming amplitude and ful- It always seemed to me that there was a certain ness ? If it is the fog and the sea-coal, why then severe strength and grandeur about it which ap- I am afraid we never shall come up with them. proached to the heroic. One or two said that But perhaps there may he other causes why a they were glad such a man had retired from the country which starts some of the most beautiful practice of such a system of lawVol. i. pp. 260, girls in the world, produces io few beautiful 261. women. Have not our close-heated stove-rooms something to do with it? Ilave not the immense Those who have been in extensive inter- amount of hot biscuits, hot corn cakes, and other course with Americans can scarcely fail to compounds~ got up with the acrid poison of sale- have noticed the early deterioration of female ratus, something to do with it? Above all, has beauty. The fact is painfully obtruded, even not our climate, with its alternate extremes of a casual observer, and has led to many heat and cold, a tendency to induce habits of in- on door indolence? Climate, certainly, has a great amusing theories. Few countries are richer deal to do with it; ours is evidently more trying in the personal beauty of its younger women, and more exhausting: and because it is so, we but their bloom speedily disappears, and should not pile upon its back ettors of diess and gives place, at a much earlier period than diet which are avoided by our neighbors. They amongst ourselves, to the indications of physi- keep their beauty, because they keep their health. cal exhaustion. An interval of a few years It has been as remarkable as anything to me, works marvellous changes in this respect. since I have been here, that I do not constantly, Health is supplanted by sickness, and the vi- as at home, hear one and another spoken of as vacity and hopefulness of youth give place to in miserable health, as very delic~ te, etc. Health the tokens of premature decay. how is this? seems to be the rule, and not the excej)tion. For The question is frequently asked, and many my part, I must say, the most favorable onien that I know of for female beauty in America is, explanations have been offered. How far the multiplication of water-cure establishments, these are satisfactory it is not for us to say. where our ladies, if they get nothin~ else, do gain One thing at least is certain. The universal- some ideas as to the necessity of fresh air, regu- ity of the fact proves the existence of some lar exercise, simple diet, and the laws of hygiene general law, far wider in its range and more in general.Vol. ii. pp. 1820. certain in its operation than the varying modes of fashion. Mrs. Stowe frequently expresses It is well known that Mrs. Stowe is the surprise at the measure of health enjoyed in daughter, sister, and wife of American divines, this country, and admits it, as undoubted, that and she may therefore be ~afely assumed to personal beauty is fhr longer maintained than be conversant with the style of preaching amongst her own countrywomen. The ques- common throughout the States. As a general tion is, doubtless, somewhat perplexing, and rule, she represents it as more logical and ar- to ladies themselves, must be fraught with no gumentative than that of our country. It ordinary interest. Our authors attention was takes more cognizance of the intellect, as- 46 MRS. STOWE S SUNNY MEMORIES OF FOREIGN LANDS. sumes less, and seeks by the force of reason- of absolutism. History records no strug~le ing to induce conviction, rather than by the more sagaciously planned or more heroically urgency of appeal, to give practical effect to conducted than that over which he presided. admitted truths. One principal difference His personal, integrity is beyond suspicion. that struck me, she says, was, that the Eng- The deepest devotion of his heart is conse- lish preaching did not recognize the existence crated to the constitutional rinhts of his coun- of any element of inquiry or donbt in the try, and future ages, rising superior to the popular mind; that it treated certain truths whispers of envy, and despising the concln- as axioms, which only needed to be stated to sions which a false philosophy draws from de- be believed; whereas, in American sermons feat, will enrol his name amongst the worthiest there is always more or less time employed in of our race. Pure, high-minded, and heroic, explaining, proving, and answering objections as enlightened in his patriotism as he is uni- to the truths enforced. Mr. Binney is re- versal in his knowledge, he is the type of that presented as an exception to this rule, and better class of minds out of which the regene- we should be glad to see this feature of his rators of a nation are born. Had the aristo- public exercises more extensively prevalent cracy of England shared his sagacity, they amongst us. Speaking of Mr. Binney, we are would have beea amongst the foremost to do told him honor, but the opposite course which they hav~ pursued will tell with terrible effect He is one of the strongest men among the Con- aouinst them when the day of retribution gregationalists, and a very popular speaker. He c~mes. Our rulers are intensel anxious to is a tail, large man, with a finely-built head, high avoid the of y forehead, piercing, dark eye, and a good deal of necessity appealing to the popu- force nnd determination in all his. movements. lar mind of Europe, and hence their protract- His sermon was the first that I had heard in ed negotiations with Austria. Kossuth natu- England which seemed to recognize the exist- rally looks to the war which is now raging, as ence of any possible sceptical or rationalizing that which will probably bring the great prin- element in the minds of his hearers. It was, in ciple of his public life into prominent action. this respect, more like the preaching that I had We can readily imagine with what intense been in the habit of hearing at home. Instead solicitude he listens to the reports which reach of a calm statement of certain admitted religious us from the seat of war; and are greatly mis- facts, or exhortations founded upon them, his dis- taken if he is not yet destined to act a conspi- course seemed to be reasoning with individual cases, and answering various forms of objections cuous part in the struggle. The urgency of such as might arise in different minds. This the crisis has drawn him from his retreat, and mode of preaching, I think, cannot exist unless a his marvellous oratory has again thrilled the minister cultivates an individual knowledge of his hearts of thousands of our countrymen. From people.Ib. p. 30. his views some will dissent, but the point of difference between us is not great. Vienna is more accessible to the Czar than Constanti- nople, and we may yet live to see the Ger- man C~sars more endangered in their capital than the Sultan has ever been. But we niust not forget Mrs. Stowe. The theme is tempt- ing, but we recur to the visit of our American traveller to the English residence of the Mag- yar chief. She says We can find room only for one extract more, and amongst many we select the fol- lowing, in which honor is done to one of the noblest and most patriotic exiles whom op- pression has ever driven to our shores. We have frequently expressed our opinion of the ex-governor of Hungary. It is impossible to have gazed on his calm and somewhat sorrow- ful countenance, or to have witnessed its in- stantaneous lighting up when the fortunes and hopes of his fatherland are spoken of, without being deeply prepossessed in his favor. Re- ceived with open arms, welcomed at once to the heart and to the home of the English people; this distinguished man has conducted himself amongst us with singular sagacity. Ordinary men would have been stimulated by his flattering reception to imprudence, if not to rashness; but Kossuth wisely retired from the public eye, and waited, in hopeful confidence, that the better star of his coun- try would yet pierce through the dark clouds by which its brightness had been obscured. Yielding to a necessity which no genius could resist, he landed on our shores the victim of domestic treachery, as well as the sworn enemy We found him in an obscure lodging on the outskirts of London. I would that some of the editors in America, who have thrown out insinu- ations about his living in luxury, could have seen the utter bareness and plainness of the reception- room, which had nothing in it beyond the sim- plest necessaries. Here dwells the man whose greatest fault is an undying love to his country. We all know that if Kossuth would have taken wealth and a secure retreat, with a life of ease for himself, America would gladly have laid all these at his feet. But because he could not acquiesce in the unmerited dishonor of his country, he lives a life of obscurity, poverty, and labor. All this was written in his pale, worn face, and sad, thought- fuL blue eye. But to me the unselfish patriot is more venerable for his poverty affd his misfor- tunes. Have we, among the thousands who speak loud GRANITE BATTERIES. of patriotism in America, many men who, were she enfeebled, despised, and trampled, would fore- go self, and suffer as long, as patiently for her It is even easier to die for a good cause, in some hour of high enthusiasm, when all that is noblest in us can be roused to one great venture, than to live for it amid wearing years of discouragement and hope delayed. There are those even here in England who de- light to ,,et up slanders ae,ainst Kossuth; and not long ago some most unfounded charges were thrown out against him in some public prints. By way of co terpoise, an enthusiastic public meeting was held, in which he was presented with a splendid set of Shakspeares Works. He entered into conversation with us with cheerfulness, speaking English well, though with the idioms of foreign languages. He seemed quite amused at the sensation which had been excited by Mr. Ss cotton speech in Exeter Hall. C. asked him if he had still hopes for his cause l He answered: I hope still because I work still my hope is in God, not in man. I inquired for Madame Kossuth, and he an- swered: I have not yet seen her to-day; add- ing, she has her family affairs, you know, madam; we are poor exiles here; and fearing to cause embarrassment, I did not press an interview. When we parted, he took my hand kindly, and said God bless you, my child. I would hot lose my faith in such men, for any- thing the world could give me. There are some people who involve in themselves so many of the elements which go to make up our confidence in human nature generally, that to lose confidence in them seems to undermine our faith in human virtue. As Shakspeare says, their defection would be like another fall of manlb. pp. 51, 52. We purposely omit reference to Mrs. Stowes continental excursion, as our space is preoc- cupied with matters more interesting to the Epglish reader. I-Icr volumes are enriched with numerous illustrations, and will be pe- rused with intense delight by large number~ of our countrymen. We part from them with regret. Unlike our ordinary experience, we were sorry to arrive at their close. We wish- ed that she had gone on writing, and shall be glad to renew our acquaintance with her at the earliest possible moment. The recent decision of the House of Lords, in the case of Jeffereys v. Boosey, having an- nulled the copyri~ht of Messrs. Low, they have issued an edition in foolscap Svo, nt the low price of 2s., in order to meet the competi- tion which is threatened. As Mrs. Stowe has an interest in their editions, we strongly re- commend them to the preference of our read- ers. From the Examiner, 26 Aug. commenced by land, and in due form. But how GRANITE BATTERIES. unlike is the attack to that upon Silistria l The form is very soon neglected the French speedi- ly grow tired of being methodical, and do the work allotted them by assault the English, meanwhile, have dragged six 32-pounders, by main force, over rocks and ploughed fields, without making a single zig-zag, to a point whence the guns can be directed, at pleasure, against~the towers or the principal fortification. Capt. Pelbam takes a line of his own and ph ces a ten-inch gun in a wholly irregular but very an- noying position. There is a moment when Sir Charles Napier has made lip his mind to rush to certain destruction, but he is restrained, and the fleet merely throw a shot and shell every five minutes by way of diversion for the Russians. Now mark the consequences, as related in a private letter, published by the Standard. It is Capt. Pelhams fire : AT the moment when some of our contempo- raries were reprobating, in language most severe and unmeasured, the indiscretion of those who advocated, in Parliament or the press, a rather more vigorous action on the part of our fleets in the Black Sea and the Baltic, and at the time we were told, on the authority of an admiral who had seen Cronstadt from the top of a lighthouse, that the batteries were of solid graniti, to attack which would be certain destruction, on the au- thority of Sir Charles Napier, we ventured to remark : Cronstadt is, no doubt, as strong as it can be made- but if it has any extraordinary look of so- lidity, such as to strike an observer out of can- non-shot range at the top of a tower, it is to be suspected that such a show is false, that it is posticite, that the place is padded out, that it is an impostor of a fortress, or in one word, Russian, which expresses every mystification. Well, as far as Cronstandt is concerned, the accuracy of our guess remains to be verified; but we have had a specimen of Russian fortifica- tion at Bomarsund. The batteries there, also, were pronounced to be granite; and we were told to prepare for a siege of some duration, because the ground is extremely unfavorable for digging trenches and approaches; and of course the line- of-battle ships, though carrying guns of larger range than the fortress, were not to be risked against the granite batteries. & the siege is Three or four shots set the eat stones visibly chattering, as I could mark by a pocket telescope; one block then fell out, then another, then a third, fourth, etc., and these were followed by an ava- lanche of loose rubbish, just as you see macada- mizing stoiies poor out from the end of a cart whee the back-board is removed. Next as to the face of the fort, exposed to the distant fire of the ships, not one of which appears to have been damaged. The large blocks of granite that formed the face of the fort, and which in appearance offered an 47 48 MISCELLANEOUS. immense resistance, fell out in masses, and the rub- about six fathoms, which is little more than ble with which the wall was filled in, tumbled out sufficient for a man-of-war. By sinking stone- in heaps. The Edinburgh, the Ajax, and the laden hulks in this narrow channel, one month steamers fired at long range on the Bomarsund would suffice to imprison the Russian fleet in- fortress while at the same time the tacked the fort of Presto, on the other Leopard at- side; and this itself would be of the highest im- side the nar- row channel. At half past twelve a flag of truce portance, for if the allied fleets, either by storms, was held out at an embrasure of Bomarsund, to- battles, or otherwise, were withdrawn, the Rus- wards the fleet; a boat, with an officer was sent on sians would immediately come out and sweep shore, and at about half past twelve the governor the Baltic, to the terror not only of this country, surrendered. hut also of Sweden and Denmark, who, for that been reason alone, dare not sympathize with us. More Now, supposing thatFort Menschikoff had than this, however, might he accomplished. If exposed for a forenoon, not to a shot and shell Britain were to make a permanent barrier, the every five minutes, hut to the sustained fire from effect ~vould he so destructive ~o the power of the broadsides of five or six line-of-battle ships, Russia that, very possibly, the mere threat might is there not a strong probability that the solid induce Nicholas to make peace on any terms. granite would have been macadamized into Two or three thousand hulks laid down in the the loose blocks of rubble to which the Bomar- channel I have referred to, would produce an im- sund forts were reduced by the employment of a portant geographical change. The impeding of twentieth part of the means supposed Possibly the current would, of course, raise the level of Fort Mensehikoff might have surrendered as the water considerably, and form extensive lakes nimbly as Fort Presto himself. and marshes where there are at present roads The construction of granite towers is, in fact, and houses. The silt, instead of being swept a return to a wholly obsolete method of fortifica- thronob the narrow channel, would settle down tion. When arbalests were superseded by artil- in the hollow, and in a few years fill it up. lery, it was speedily perceived that stone walls Petershuro-. which lies so low that it is in danger, could no longer be relied upon. The gins and every year, of being flooded, would feel the effect cracks of war, imperfect as they were in their of the change almost immediately; but the com- infancy, produced a speedy revolution in the con- plete catastrophe would not take place, till struction of fortified places. The lofty towers spring, and then the destruction of hoth St. and high walls of the castle disappeared, to be re- Petershura and Cronstadt would be inevitable. placed by earth-works of enormous thickness, At the breaking up of the ice, the present chan- and of the smallest elevation that would afford a nel is scarcely sufficient to allow the deluge of range to the guns. The solid mound of the Ro- water, ice, and mud, which sweeps downwards man reappeared (faced sometimes with masonry, into the Gulf of Finland, to pass; but when that to prevent an escalade), because it alone possessed channel is choked up, St. Petersburg and Cron- the power of resisting, for any length of time, the stadr would be entirely submerged, and the terrible energy of the m~ew invention. however, whole lower basin of the Neva covered with the Russians, having built towers of granite or ddbris some scagliola substitute, the word went forth , ucreasing in quantity each successive sprin~. Were the operation fairly begun, Kich- and granite towers were pronounced impregnable. olas would have sufficient work on his hands To doubt their strength, exposed you to ridicule; without a ~var. He would require to remove the to deny it, to anathema. They were religiously entire population, with the archives and most believed in ; and if the Czar had mounted them valuable property, to some other locality, before with catapults, it would have been pronounced spring; and wheme, would he go The govern- certain destruction to approach, arru~d only meat would be removed to Moscow. commerce with Paixhans. However, the granite-battery to Riga; the lakes and marshes of the Neva pretext for inaction will avail no longer, would become the frontier of Sweden, and the Not the least gratifying part of the gallant and pressure at present exercised upon Sweden and important achievement at Bomarsund is, that it I)cnmark would be transferred to Prussia and has been accomplished with a small loss of life. Austria, who would then feel the necessity of Had the short and decisive course which was looking very sharply to the freedom of the Dan- there employed been adopted sooner, how many nbc and the independence of Turkey. might have been saved out of the thousands of the Allied, the Turkish, and the Russian soldiers, ________________________________________ who have perished by the sword, or still moi-e miserably by disease, at Gallipoli, Varna, S ilis- Among recent inventions, Dr. Marcets appa. tria, and in the fatal marshes of the Dobrudsclia~ ratus for Artificial Respiration promises to be useful, as it has the advantage over other contri- vances of the same kind of being self-acting. It BLOcK ur CEONSTADT AND SUBMERGE ST. has a double cylinder, into which air is com - PETxxsnuau. James Gall, Jun., communi- pressed; and each, by the alternate filling and cates, in a letter to the Edinburgh Witness, a discharge, with the end of a slender tube inserted plan for ending the war without bloodshed. He into one of the nostrils, causes the lungs to go develops his scheme as follows through the process of expiration and inspiration. Beyond the reach of the batteries at Cron- It has been tried on asphyxiated dogs with per. stadt the channel of the Neva is only six miles feet success; and there remains now to test its broad, with an average depth of about four fath- capabilities on human beings. Chamberss Jour. oms. In the centre of the stream it deepens to aal. 4 N U. N~1tUP6 4W I 5J1W 1Ff u ~L TIFf FIN /18 TFf ~ TXAT/ISLLI 088/ZR, 8188 WAS /18/11188 81188 8118/8 88 TI/Sr N 1111188118 110TJ11 1188/ 11/8 N 18//j/111r 8T8-Th /18/8 8118 881111. 8rrrgr~ /1.

LITTELLS LIVING AGE No. 542. 14 OCT., 1854. THE COMING STEP. THE coming step ! one of lifes sweetest music notes, listened to, welcomed, and com- mented on in the little circle made glad by its approach; one of the home-charms especially dear to that golden clasp of many links, the aged and adored mother, in whom unite so many titles and tics of pure and sacred affection. Dear, too, that note of home-returning, to loving wife, fair, blushing bride, or gentle sister; and ah! per- haps more precious than all, to the conscious maiden, listening with fluttering heart and deep- ening blush, to her lovers well-known footstep, which she, though first to hear, is last to meet. Music of the heart! how enchantingly is the coming step of the fond father recognized and responded to by the quick, delighted cries of childhood, as with patteriug feet and joyful clamor, they rush to meet him at the threshold their little plump arms outstretched to receive, to cling around, and grasp him anywhere, every- where ! each little mouth pursed up ready for the first kiss, the very first, whose loss has to be compensated to the others by a double share of endearments; while gambolling in the midst, bounding, barking, almost speaking his wild joy, the favorite dog, completely one of themselves, gives vent to the exuberance of his joy in a thou- sand canine extravagances. Step of the beloved! joy-note of the heart! how many and delightful are thy echoes! THE FIRST. TEE FIRST, the first! oh! nought like it Our after years can bring For summer hath no flowers as sweet As those of early spring. The earliest storm that strips the tree, Still wildest seems, and worst Whateer hath been, again may be, But~ever a~ at first. For many a bitter blast may blow Oer lifes uncertain wave, And many a thorny thicket grow Between us and the grave But darker still the spot appears Where thunder-clouds have burst Upon onr green nublighted yesrs No grief is like the first. Our first-born joy perchance t was vain, Yet that brief lightning oer, The heart, indeed, may hope again, But can rejoice no more. Life bath no glory to bestow Like it unfalln, uncursed; There may be many an after glow, But nothing like the first. The rays of hope may light us on Through manhoods toil and strife, But never can they shine as shone The morning.stars of life Though bright as summers rosy wreath, Though long and fondly nursed, Yet still they want the fearless faith Of those that blessed us first. DLXII. LIVING AGE. VOL. VII. 4 Its first-love, deep in memory, The heart for ever bears For that was early given, and free, Lifes wheat without the tares. It maybe death hath buried deep, It may be fate hath cursed; But yet no later love can keep The greenness of the first. And thus, whateer our onward way, The li~hts or shadows cast, Upon the dawning of our day, Are with us to the last. But ah! the morning breaks no more On us, as once it burst, For future springs can neer restore The fi-eshness of the first. Eliza Cooks Journal. A VALENTINE. A GIRL, who has so many wilful ways, She d cause an angels patience to forsake him, Yet is so rich in all thats girlhoods praise, Did old Sathanas on her goodness gaze, Out of a devil she d an angel make him. But with Sathanas she has nought in common, And is (thank Heaven!) no angel yet, I trow: Her faults, her sweetnesses, are purely human She is more beautiful as simply woman, Than any one diviner that I know. Therefore I do but wish that she may keep This womanhede, and change not, only grow; From maid to matron, youth to age, may creep, And, in a quiet blessedness, aye reap, On every hand, of that which she doth sow. Chambers. 50 A SPEcIFIc FOR CHOLERA. One of the Granada papers, the St. Georges Chronicle, states that a plant named guaco is a certain specific against cholera, and publishes a variety of corre- spondence in proof of the assertion. We make the following extracts : The preventive virtue of the guaco against all poisons is undeniahle. Not only did the cholera cease entirely by the use of it on the infected plantations, among those who had as yet escaped the infection; hut on those estates also on which the malady had not appeared not a single case occurred, although surrounded by others where the epidemic was making great rava,, es. The author then gives a few statistical returns, showing that out of 400 persons who were attacked with cholera on four plantations surrounding his own, and on which the guaco was used at his recommendation, only 25 died, but to several of these the remedy had been ap- plied too late. Another corrcspondent says The guaco is a creeper, indigenous to Cuba and the Spanish, ~nd is found in great quanti- ties along river courses and in swampy places. The leaf is heart-shaped, very pointed, of a fine dark-green on one side, and of a light purple- changing color on the other. The leaf as well as the stem is covered with a fine fur, hoth of which have a very hitter pungent taste. There are two kinds of guaco, distinguished by their flowers, those of the one being pale-yellow and of thc other white: the former is preferred. I have seen the guaco on the Spanish Main, and witnessed its sur- prising effects in cases of cuts and bruises and bites from venomous reptiles, etc. The editor of the St. Georges Chronicle states: The guaco is more particularly celebrated as a certain cure for the bite of venomous reptiles; and it is also believed to be an antidote hy the Indians on the, Spanish Main, who inoculate themselves in the hands, feet, and breast with its juice, swallowing two table-spoonfuls of it at the same time, to ren- der themselves proof against the serpents bite. It is mentioned by Humboldt as having cleared the two sides of the Magdalena River of the deadly snakes which formerly infested those parts. Mr. Darling, when Lieutenant-Governor of St. Lucia, acting on a suggestion which appeared in the local newspaper, procured from th~British consul at Caraccas a box of growing plants of the guaco, which was conveyed in one of the mail-steamers, via Jamaica, from which the inhabitants of St. Lu- cia obtained a liberal supply, and in a very short time every garden in the island was to be seen ornamented with the valuable creeper. We have read before of its antidotal and curative powers with reference to cholera, and it is said to have been successfully used in recent cases at Jamaica. Mr. Cockburn, the Venezuelan consul at this place, has, we understand, written to the Main for the plant. It can also be had in Trinidad, where it grows commonly. It is of a fihrous root: it grows and runs along the earth. The body is straight and perfectly cylindrical when the plant is young, but becomes pentagon, forming project- ing angles, as it grows older. The leaves on the body are opposite to each other, with the form of a heart, and are of a dark-green color spotted with violet, smooth above, and rough with a light- brown below. The plant is corrimbiferous; its MISCELLANEOUS. flowers are yellow, small, and of fonr leaves in each petal ; the crown is monopetalous, bulbous like the flo~vers of tobacco, with fine denticles, has five stamens joined by the anther in a cyliudrical form, which surround the pistil. The petal con- tains a number of large grains, each of which has a soft tuft at the point. The guaco loses its leaves in the dry season. Toys AND GAMES OF DIFFERENT NATIoNs. I was amused, here, by watching a child play. ing with a pop-gun, made of bamboo, similar to that of quill, with which most English children are familiar, which propels pellets by means of a spring-trigger made of the upper part of the quill. It is easy to conclude such resemblances between the familiar toys of different countries to be acci- dental; but I question their being really so. On the plains of India, men may often be seen, for hours together, flying what with us are chil- drens kites; and I procured a Jews-harp from Tibet. These are not the toys of savages, but the amusements of people more than half-civilized, and with whom we have had indirect communi- cation from the earliest ages. The Lepchas play at quoits, using slates for the purpose; and at the Highland games of putting the stone and drawing the stone. Chess, dice, draughts, hockey, and battle-door and shuttle-cock, are all Indo-Chinese or Tartarian~ and no one familiar with the wonderful instances of similarity be- tween the monasteries, ritual, ceremonies, attri- butes, vestments, and other paraphernalia of the Eastern and Western churches, can fail to ac- knowledge the importance of recording events of most trifling analogies or similarities between the manners and customs of the young as well as of the old.Himelayiea Journat. YouTuFsrLxEss OF PuBLIc MEN IN ENGLAND. I could not help thinking, as I looked around on so many men whom I had heard of historically all my life, how very much less they bear the marks of age than men who have been connected a similar length of time with the movements of our country. This appearance of youthfulness and alertness has a constantly deceptive influ- ence upon one in England. I cannot realize that people are as old as history states them to be. In the present company, there were men of sixty or seventy, whom I should have pronounced, at first glance, to be fifty. Generally speaking, our ~vorking-minds seem to wear out their bodies faster, perhaps because our climate is more stimu- lating; more, perhaps, from the intense stimulus of our political r(ginie, which never leaves any- thing long at rest. The tone of manners, & this distinguished circle, did not obtrude itself upon my mind as different from that of highly-educated people in our own country. It appeared simple, friendly, natural, and sincere. They talked like people who thought of what they were saying, rather than how to say it. The practice of tho- rough culture and good-breeding is substantially the same through the world, though smaller con- ventionalities may differ. Mrs. iStowes Suan~y Memories. AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF THE INSANE. From The Journal of Pyschoiogical Art. SPIRITUAL PATHOLOGY; OR, THE AU- TOBIOGRAPHY OF THE INSANE.* WE published, in one of our earlier numbers, a short article on the Autobiography of the Insane, based upon some letters that appeared in the American Journal of Insanity, written by persons after having recovered from attacks of insanity. Our attention is again directed to this deeply interesting subject by the perusal of the two works whose titles are given at the bottom of this pare. It is not our intention, at p resent, to enter at any length into a psycho- logical investigation of the facts recorded by those who have attempted to describe their personal feelings and operations of the mind during paroxysms of mental derangement. The subject is too subtle and too profound to be cursorily discussed. Data of this kind can- not be otherwise than invaluable in the hands of those competent, by psychological study and practical knowledge, to appreciate the phe- nomena of healthy and morbid mind. It is our intention, therefore, to lay before our readers the salient points contained in the volumes be- fore us, reserving for some other occasion any practical comments that may occur to us in connection with this important subject. We do not deem it necessary to detail mi- nutely the facts relating to the early life of Mr. Walford, as recorded in the interesting series of letters published in the volume now under review. We are anxious to confine our atten- tion principally to the psychological portions of Mr. Walfords life; and perhaps, therefore, we may be excused for quoting somewhat in detail his account of his early school-days. We cite the passage with the view of pointing out the grave responsibility incurred by those who undertake the important educational care of the young. The origin of much incurable mental disease may be clearly traced to the badly organized school, and to the criminal and cruel negligence of those whose solemn duty it is to guard the tender minds of the youth placed under their care from vicious habits and moral pollution : The frequent punishments I witnessed in this school, administered often with symptoms of pas- sion amounting almost to fury, terrified me ex- ceedingly at first, hut my feelings gradually be- came less sensitive, till I at length imagined no ~ 1. Autobiography of the Rev. William Wal- fori. Edited (with a continuation) by the Rev. John Stoughton (of Kensington.) London: Jack- son and Walford, St. Pauls Churchyard.2. Me- moir of Richard Williams, surgeon: catechist to the Patagonian Missionary Society in Tierra del Fuego. By James Hamilton, D. D. London: J. )lisbet, 1854. 51 other means were sufficiently stringent to enforce obedience, and stimulate industry, so that I ac- quiesced in the propriety of it. This sentiment was very injurious to me, as it greatly strength- ened my natural propensity to impatience, and made me too readily susceptible of provocation from imbecility and indolence, au evil to which through life I have been more liable than my conscience and moral sensibility approve. This however, was far from being the greatest injury I suffered from going to this school. Before that time, I was in a considerable degree ignorant of vice, and unpolluted by its worst seductions, an exemption for which I was indebted to maternal care and guardianship, by the protection afford- ed to my innocence. As soon as I entered this school, I was very much removed from my mothers inspection, and at no long interval en- tirely so. Here I came into intimate association with a multitude of boys of all ages, from seven to sixteen. Utterly unconscious of the perils to which I was exposed, I easily yielded to the temptatious that beset me; and my temper, too susceptible of evil to preserve inc from the contagion which surrounded me, quickly rendered me a victim to the abominations that were incessantly before me. When reflecting on this part of my history, I cannot avoid deeply feeling the injuries that were inflicted upon me: injuries likely to have spread their pernicious consequences over my whole life, and to have issued in the most fearful re- sults in the life to come. I ought undoubtedly, young as I was, to have obeyed the checks of conscience which I occa. sionally experienced, and to have resisted the in- ducements to evil which so fatally beset me: but I cannot avoid censuring the neglect of mor~ al discipline in a ease where it was so much needed, and where, though it might not have ac- complished all that was desirable, would, with- ou~t doubt, have proved exceedingly beneficial. The master of the school was a clergyman, con- sequently a teacher of religion and morals; but he was little attentive to the discharge of the ob- ligations of this class to which he had volunta- rily subjected himself. It was impossible he could be i,,noraat of the enormities that were perpetrated within reach of his observation, hut which he certainly exerted little or no effort to control. We now proceed to extract from Mr. Wal- fords letter those portions that refer directly to his own description of his attack of severe mental disease. In Letter XVI., after refer- ring to his resignation of his pastoral charge at Yarmouth, he observes I have, hitherto, said n thing respecting an insidious malady, by which, from a very early age, I was often very grievously affected, but of the nature and causes of which I was altogether ignorant, though its effects were inexpressibly painfuL This malady had shown itself, chiefly, by almost incessant headaches from my infancy, but soon after my settlement in Yarmouth it as- sumed a new form. I was attacked by parox- ysms of despondency, which during their con- 52 tinuance rendered life a burden almost intolera- ble. I could give no account of the reasons of such disquiett~e, and was at a loss to devise any probable mea~ of relief. As, however, it was indispensable to try something, I took a journey on horseback for three or four weeks, and rode three or four hundred miles. The daily exercise, and change of scene and object, greatly relieved me, and at my return I had acquired my usual state of spirits and vibor. But after the interval of a few months, gloom and disquietude again overwhelmed me, and I was constrained to try some amusement that might alleviate the dis- tress, and chase away the clouds. Alternate paroxysms and remissions of this description were experienced during the whole of my abode in Yarmouth. With almost every source of happiness open to me, I was often, for months together, more wretched than I can describe. My prospects were darkened by the thickest clouds, all things present and future were encompassed with fear and dread. Taciturnity, irrital~lity of temper, an unnatural and diseased sensibility of conscience, and such a degree of indolent lassi- tude as rendered every mental occupation dis- tasteful, increased over me to such a degree, as to alarm me lest the sanity of my mind should be subverted. At times my thoubhts were so agitated and my conceptions so disturbed, as to make me apprehensive that some foreign invisi- ble agency was acting upon me; imaginations of the most extraordinary nature often darted upon me with such rapidity, as left me without control over them. I went into company as much as possible, read amusing books, rode much on horseback, but all was in vain; nothing availed to interrupt or divert my thoughts from the most distressing and perplcxia~ difficulties of speculation, as long as the paroxysms continued to exert their power over me. Often I wandered about the fields and country, driven from my occupations and my home, by unutterable anguish, lingerin~ in unfrequented lanes, and hanging on gates and stiles, pouring out frantic and broken supplica- tions to God to have mercy on me. Not seldom I was alarmed lest, in spite of myself; i should abandon all reIi~ion, and become an infidel or atheist. I dared not disclose to any the condi- tion of my feelings, lest I should be taken for such, or for a madman. My pious, cheerful, and affectionate wife, was but too sensible that some sad cause of disquietude preyed upon me; but for several years, I replied to her anxious inqui- ries merely, that my spirits were low and de- pressed, from what cause I knew not. If these torturing paroxysms had not been relieved by freqn.enf intervals, I must necessarily have re- linquished my profession, as it was with inex- pressible difficulty I performed its duties, while they were forcibly pressing upon me. So extra- ordinary, however, was my state, that during the intermissions I experienced, I was often cheerful and even gay; I lost sight of my sorrows, and was astonished at myself that I could ever be so painfully affected. This alternation of feeling altogether unaccountable to me, continued to actuate me through the whole period of my resi *ience in Yarmouth. AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF THE INSANE. Mr. Walford became one of ~the classical teachers at Homerton College, and of his resi- dence here he writes During the first years of my abode at Homer- ton, I enjoyed many remissions, that were greatly aided by our long vacations, and the jourucyings for which they afforded opportunity. Though I had no regular and stated obligation of preach- ing, I yet was employed on the greater propor- tion of the Sundays, in delivering one, two, and even three discourses, to congregations in Lon- don or the adjacent populous villages. These engagements, I found, were seldom unaccom- pealed by advantage to myself, as they inter- rupted the morbid tendency to gloomy thought aiid painful speculation, which I had no power of otherwise overcoming. They had frequently a still more beneficial effect, in exciting religious affections, under the influence of which I was induced to hope, with a lively expectation, that I should at length be freed, in the possession of immortal life, from all the sorrows and burdens that now oppressed me. Such intervals of delight were very transient and the next d~ y, often the next hour, found me again plunged into the gloom which had become habitual to me. I had to encounter more than the many evils by which, as I have told, I was oppressed when I lived in Yarmouth; and I re- pented the same and other expedients that I at that time adopted, with a forlorn hope that they might work some relief. The great speculative difliculty respecting the origin of the evil by which, as has been intimated, I had been at vari- ous times exceedingly distressed and agitated, returned with such a degree of force, that no means I could employ were able to free me from its perpetual intrusion. At home and abroad, in company and in solitude, it haunted and ha- rassed me; left me no power, with any perma- nency, to direct my thoughts to other topics, but constrained me to dwpll upon it, with scarcely any intermission, at the time when I felt that all my endeavors to solve the mystery were utterly unavailing. No captive loaded with fetters and shut up in- the gloom of a dungeon, can more passionately seek for relief than I did, to extri- cate myself from a bondage which was intoler- able. To the anguish occasioned by the inces- sant occupation of my mind on this one subject, was added a tormenting suspicion, that the Gov- ernor of the universe was malevolent, or he would not permit such frightful evils to exist, which he had power at once to terminate. Hence I was involved in never-ending inquiry for some absolute and irrefragable argiuji eat in support of the Divine benevolence, a~ no conception could be fraught with consequences so appalling as that of irresistible power directed by a dispo- sition to delight in inflicting misery. - To discover such an argument, I turned over theological and metaphysical volumes of Eng- lish and Latin writers, ahore than I am able to enumerate; but the search was vain. If at any time I thought I had grasped a satisfactory the- ory, my belief in it was evanescent, and it left me helpless as before. I wanted a demonstra- tive argument; probabilities and moral reason- AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF THE INSANE. lags appeared to me to he altogether impotent in a case that seemed so flagrant. I exerted my utmost skill to construct a demonstration for myseW but I was unable to succeed. In such a turmoil, the only book that afforded even a tem- porary relief, was Butlers Analogy, to which I continually had recourse whenever I was most heavily oppressed; but the alleviation thus gained speedily forsook me. Besides the inces- sant ~sgony which was thus inflicted, a morbid~ restlessness of conscience, which never permit- ted me to think I made the exertion I might do to promote the welfare, spiritual and tcml)oral, of my fellow-creatures, filled me with most dis- tressing apprehensions respecting the reality of my personal piety, and alarmed me lest I should become subject to the anger of God. Amidst such agitations, tossed as I was from wave to wave of inexpressible distress, I often felt no words could so well describe the horrors of my state as Cowpers lines : Me howling winds drive devious, tempest tossd, Sails ript, seams opening wide, and compass lost; And, day by day, some currents thwarting force Sets me more distant from a prosperous course. 53 my sixteenth years residence in the CoIle~e, when, by an unlooked-for and most grievous oc- cumrence, the cup of bitterness, already filled, was made to overflow. My only daughter, of whom I have before made mention as a very enga~ing, pious, and accomplished child, now about seven- teen, met with an accident, which inflicted a wound on the skull, under the effects of which she languished three or four months, when she expired fi-om pressure on the brain, which baffled the exertions of several eminent medical practi-. tioners to relieve. This blow stunned me, in the first surprise occasioned by it: as soon, however, as I could reflect upon it with any degree of calm- ness, I felt that, deep as was the an~uish I suffer- ed from it, it was small compared with that which I experienced from my troubled apprehen- sions. My child was departed from me; yet so con- tradictory were my feelings, that though my bo- som was wrong by alternate paroxysms of doubt akin to atheism, and of imaginations that pie- sented the Governor of the world to me as the adversary, rather than the benefactor and fi-icud of his creatures, I was so awed by the sense of his majesty and wisdom, that, if the lifting up of a fin,,er might have restored to me my much- To gain some remission of my anguish, I was loved child from the grave, I should have restrain- compelled, when walking or riding alone, to ed it. recite mentally verses, English, Latin, or Greek, The influence of the two kinds of distress by which 1 had committed to memory for this pur- ~vhich I was affected, differed as much as the pose, an expedient not much less annoying causes of it did. My own peculiar suffering than the cogitations that I wished to shun. never softened may heart, never drew a tear from During many years, I could seldom or never my eyesI ~va~ unable to weep, though I often sleep on going to my bed, without adopting this passionately desired to do so: the grief I felt course. during the time my child was daily sinking to At length, by the earnest persuasion of a death, and immediately following, vented itself beloved fi-icad, who was, in some degree, ac- in floods of tears that seemed to exhaust my quainted with my disquietudes, I resolved to try whole nature, and render me incapable of re- what medical aid could do for me; and I ap- pressing them. As soon, however, as my dead plied to a very intelligent and experienced phy- was committed to the grave, I resolved instantly sician for advice, though I augured little advan- to return to the vigorous discharge of my col- tage from it, as I had a rooted belief that not lege and other duties, as the surest means of my body, but my mind, was in want of healing, overcoming my sorrows. I ~vent into the lecture a want mint to be redressed by medicine, room: hut, after one or two attempts, I found re- On relating my case as one of extreme dejec- sistance vain; and, to chango the scene, went in- tion, without assigning such particulars as I have to the country to visit a friend, by whose con- detailed, Ireceived a most positive assurance that verse I had often been cheered, amid of whose the malady was derived from the body, and that sympathy I was fully assured. I should now ter- there was little doubt it would be overcome by inmate my narrative if I were not actuated by a suitable curative means. hope that a perusal of what is to follow may af- No hesitation could exist as to the disinterest- ford some support and relief to any of its read- edness of the advice, as, on learning fi-om me ers who may suffer from causes similar to those who I was, the giver of it peremptorily refused by which I was so long and so grievously af- any gratuity, and assured me that heshould have flicted. great pleasure in seeing me, and giving his ad- It is generally thought by persons in such cir- vice as frequently as I xvi~hed. I saw him sub- cumstances, that their cases are singular and ex- sequently many times, always found the greatest traordinary; and pious sufferers almost univer- kindness and sympathy; but all was, alas! nun- sally ascribe their sorrows to the immediate hand vailing; as I sunk habitually deeper and more of God, who, as they suppose, has withdrawn his deeply in the slough that on every side environed favor from them, and has given them up to the me. Nothing was now before me but the pros- sad consequences of their transgressions. They poet of being constrained to relinquish my con- are also exce~lingly prone to believe that their neetion with the College, to abandon all my en- suffering is entirely mental and spiritual, and not gagements, and, iii obscurity and misery to at all the effect of bodily disease; while, in many await the approach of dissolution, respecting instances, they suppose themselves to be acted which I entertained the most direful presages. upon by a satanic influence. In such circumstances, I persisted in pursuing Such notions greatly aggravate the anguish my various occupations, until near the close of which they feel, and dispose them to despair of 64 AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF THE INSANE. any permanent relieg either now or hereafter. rived at my friends abode. Everything was The instance which I am relating will serve to prepared for my jdurney on the preceding even- show that these notions are for the most part ing, and I retired to my bed at my usual time, either partially or entirely groundless; and that in as tranquil a state as could reasonably be cx- such sufferings are the effects of corporeal dis- pected in my circumstances. I slept quietly ease, and the disordered condition of the nervous until about five in the morning, when I suddenly constitution. Afflictions of this character, like awoke in a condition which I am unable to de- all others to which mortals are liable, are indeed scribe with any exactness. I seemed to myself to be traced ultimately to the will and permission to be environed by a dense and sulphureous fog of God Almighty, who for purposes inscrutable or smoke, and was so overcome by horror as to by men, suffers them to befall even the wise and exclaim aloud, that I was ruined and lost, though good, as well as those of different ch~ meter. We I had no conception of the cause that induced may and must conclude, that neither good nor the frightful apprehension. I continued, how- evil happen but by his appointment; but we ever, to exclaim, when my wife, awakened by have the surest ground on which to believe that the outcry, earnestly asked what was the matter I no suffering to which we may be exposed, in the For some time I could reply only by repeating present life, furnishes an indication of Gods dis- that I was ruined for ever. At length she en- pleasure in individual cases; and it is the peen- treated me to rise and get ready for my journey, liar glory of the religion of Christ, that no living which I did, under the influence of these extra- man is warranted to despair of divine mercy and ordinary and unaccountable feelings. The forgiveness, hut on the contrary, however deplo- morning was very cold, which appeared to re- rable his condition may be, he has Gods sure vive me, so that by the time I was dressed and promise that he shall obtain favor if lie seek it ready to set out, I was a good deal relieved. I with sincerity, humility, and perseverance. hind to travel about eighty miles by coach, and What share in human sufferings of the kind though freed from the notion of being lost, I was in question is permitted to the invisible and im- during the day in very excited, yet gloomy and placable adversary of God and man, I shall not wretched state. The aiceting with my friend, presume to define. Much of what is false and and the soothina effect of his company and eon- mischievous on this subject may readily be found; verse, stilled, in a considerable degree, my per- but while the fact of satanic agency in the affairs turbed feelings, and I went to bed without any of mankind, is too strongly stated by the sacred fear of not sleeping. writings to admit of question or disbelief, I know I nevertheless passed a sleepless night, and of no scriptural rule by the application of which during the twelve successive days and nights, the influence of such agency may be safely discri- in all thirteen, I did not gain a moments sleep. minated from the action of the mind itself. The My nerves seemed to be rigid, and at the utmost only criterion by which the spiritual and heaven- tension, and niy feelings were hard and unim- ly agency exerted in the minds and hearts of pressible. I tried the influence of opium one true Christians can be determined, exists in the or two nights, in tolerably strong doses, hut it effects which it produces; where the fruits of the produced no effect, and I used it ~o more, I fully Spirit are found. there the presence of the Spirit expected I should lose my senses, as it seemed is manifest; and where the works of darkues are, impossible for me to endure the suffering. But there we may be sure is the presence of the I afterwards learned, under the pressure of keen- prince of darkness. In every possible ease, one er agonies, that no one can estimate the degree rule is laid down, and one assurance given, lIe- of anguish which it is impossible for him to sus- ~ist the devil, and he will flee from you. tam. The most skilful physiologist is entirely igno- As it was my intention to be absent from rant of the manner in which our bodies and home not more than a fortnight, I went to my minds exert their mutual action on each other; sleepless bed on the last night of my stay, with ~ll he knows is that such action takes place: it the forlorn hope of getting some portion of that is therefore no wonder that we should be utterly soothing aundyne; and as I was to set out at unacquainted with the process by which spirits, four in the morning, I withdrew very early. No either heavenly or infernal, exert their respective sleep or drowsiness came over me for two or three influences on the souls of men. It is no inconsider- hours, when a violent palpitation of the heart ban- able attainment in divine, as well as human philo- ished all expectation of rehiOse. and I desired an sophy, calmly to acquiesce within the hiuiits which apothecary in the neighborhood to be sent for. the feebleness of our faculties assigns to us; and When he came, he made the inquiries usual on which we can by no exertions pass beyond. such occasions, and said he could discern no in- How much sorrow should we avoid by such ac- dications of disease, but, possibly, the liver might quiescence! How much of what men call know- be affected; advised an application to a physi- ledge should we disallow under its guidance! cian, as soon as I could, after my return home; he administered no medicine, but recommended Mr. Walford, with the view of mitigating his a foot-bath, and left me. ilappily the bath an- sufferings, retired after his daughters death swered its intention, and I fell into a profound into the country. In describing his feelings sleep. I was roused early in the morning, and at this period he thus writes began my journey homewards, though a good deal depressed. You will be able to form some conception of The weather was frosty and cold, but when I got the state in which I was, when I relate the occur- out of the coach for breakfast, all my sorrows rences of the day on which I left home, and ar- had vanished my appetite was good, and my AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF THE INSANE. spirits were buoyant, and I got home with an expectation of better times. I spent, however, a sleepless night, though I felt somewhat hetter than was usual, and met my pupils at the proper time, in the lecture room. As I proceeded with the husiness, they discovered that I was in great distress, and implored me to desist. I complied, but was never again able to meet them. I had never made any complaints to them, hut I learned, after my recovery, that they had long suspected some unknown and great distress was preying upon me. It was the practice of the College, for the whole family to assemble for de- votional purposes morning and evening. The morning service was conducted by me, and that of the evening by the students in succession. My prayers, which were always dictated at the moment of delivery, unconsciously to myself led my pupils to this conclusion. In compliance with the advice I had received, I called on the day of my return upon a physi- cian, a very kind and long well-known friend; he said then but little, which was chiefly to di- rect a dose of colocynth to be taken, and pro- mised to visit me as soon as the operation of the colocyath should be ascertained. He came, and said he was quite sure the liver was in perfect health. Having been previously informed res- pecting my feelings and conceptions of myself, he assured me my complaint was unassailable by any medical treatment; that medical men are wholly ignorant of the causes that were con- cerned in the production of such maladies, and of any methods of cure. He strenuously advis- ed the cessation of all mental exertion, with the utmost possible avoidance of every disquieting concern; entreated me to abstain entirely from opium, and to consult no medical practitioners, as they could do no good, and might do much injury. His decided opinion was, that the brain had been over-worked, and was now, as he said, taking its revenge by demanding rest. The per- formance of my duties at the College was now suspended, and, after more than a twelvemoath spent in the vain expectation on my own part, and on that of the supporters of the Institution, that I might resume them at no vcry distant period, I relinquished my office, and my residence in the College. I retired to a house in hackney, in which during the space of rather more than four years, I underwent horrors of which it is imposible for me to convey an adequate concep- tion. Here Mr. Walford says he would be inclin- ed to bring his narrative to a conclusion; but he says he writes with a hope of aflbrding solace and comfort to some fellow-sufferers into whose hands his memoir might haply fall. After stating that he was induced to make ~ trial of travelling, and visiting several distant places, as Brighton, Nottingham, Birmingham, etc., he proceeds as follows Once I set out in company ~vith two beloved friends, for the Lakes of Cumberland, and the southern parts of Scotland, but was unable, through the extreme agitation of both body and mind, to go beyond Northampton, whence I re 55 turned home in deep despair of finding relief by any such means. I ~s persuaded to try what daily short rides in an open carriage, driven by myself, and accompanied by my wife, would do for me. This I soon discontinued, as I be- came more and more averse to the persons whom we met, and the places through which we passed. I could scarcely endure the sight of strangers and the visits of my friends, who called with the intention of consoling me, soon became so irk- some as to induce me to secrete myself from them. Several pious friends proposed to me to permit them to hold a meeting for prayer with me; but the proposition excited my alarm to such a degree, that if they had not desisted, I should have become frantic and violent. I began to shut myself up in solitude, as walk- ing or riding through the streets made me reel as though every one I met was acquainted with my wickedness and misery. I could not endure to look an~ one in the face; and ere lonu, the sight of my own face filled me with fear and aversion, as I considered myself to be wholly a reprobate, forsaken of God and odious to man. This unhappy sentiment originated in an irre- pressible notion that I had been unfaithful in the performance of my duty, especially that which was connected with my college residence. Every instance of languor, deficiency, and imperfection which came to my remembrance, was so magni- fied and exaggerated as to appear of the most criminal and unpardonable nature. Before I left the college, I felt assured that I should not survive the day of its taking place; so that I looked for~vard to it with inexpressible dread and horror. The conception I entertained of my unfaithfulness became so powerful as to con- vince me that I had no sort of right to retain the property I possessed; and I even contem- plated selling the stock which I had in the funds, that I might in some mode or other make away with it, though I was aware such a measure would reduce me and my family to absolute pen- ury and want. The dread of ne~otiating this sale and making the transfer, which could not be done but in my presence at the bank, deterred mc; thoubh I had so much power over myself as to execute a warrant, giving to my wife au- thority to receive the interest, lest in some reck- less hour I should perpetrate so perilous a deed. My worthy and most sympathizing friend, the Treasurer to the college, to whom I intimated what was passing in my bosom, for strange as it may appear, I could not restrain myself from divulging nearly all my feelings, used every expedient he could devise from day to day, to persuade me that all my misery originated in delusion, and that no greater satisfaction could be felt by all the patrons of the institution, than would result from my return to the office I had holden. But his endeavors were all fruitless, and I continued in hourly dread that I should 1)0 reduced to abject poverty, and end my days in a work-house, a prison, a lunatic asylum, or a ditch; and not improbably by ray own hands. For many months I suffered from disordered action of the hea,-t, and a remission of pulse, which, whenever I was excited, and almost every occurrence produced excitement, occa- - 66 sioned a species of convulsive action, which I thought would suffocate me. Besides which, I appeared to myself to be surrounded with a dense vapor, that prevented me from clearly be- holding the objects of vision. My nights were often sleepless, and I was in such constant alarm and trepidation, that I could not allow myself to be left alone for an instant, without uttering cries of ngony. In such a condition, a year slowly glided over me. I was not, indeed, at all times equally oppressed as now and then, chiefly in the latter hours of the day, I was so freed from my gloom and dreary apprehensions, as to feel some mcasure of cheerfulness, which tempted me to hope for entire deliverance from my grievous bondage but after many alterna- tions of such feelings, I learned that no reliance on the flattering hope could be exerted, as in a few hours the hrightness vanished, and the clouds accumulated as thickly as ever. The morning hours were invariably the worst se~tsons of the day. After the expiration of this first year, all my distressing symptoms increased in strength and continuance. The remissions of which I have just spoken, became less and less frequent and during the succeeding four years, I was op- pressed by unbroken darkness, and tortured by anguish, which I will describe as well as I am able in my next letter, though no words can ex- press with edequate force the terrors through which I passed. I am quite at a loss to relate in the order of their occurrence, the truly frightful sufferings to which I was subjected; nor is it either possible or desirable I should recite the half of them. In the course of the first year to which I have ad- verted, I was disposed incessantly to talk of my feelings, and to weary the members of my fam- ily by reiterated complaints. I had habitually no religious feelings, but such as were made up of the keenest anguish, on account of the loss of all those pleasures which I had formerly en- joyed, in exercises of public and private devo- tion, and of the utter despair in which I was in- volved, of obtaining the future blessedness which is promised to all the faithful disciples of our Lord Jesus Christ. Sometimes, however, during that period, an unusual excitement to pray would so prevail over me, as to induce me to desire all who might happen to be in the room where I was, in whatever they might he engaged, to kneel while I addressed supplications to Heaven, with an earnestness almost frantic, for some allevia- tion of my intolerable anguish. After about the period of which I write, these impulses alto- gether forsook me, and I for days and weeks together used no prayer, unless that now and then a passionate ejaculation would escape from me. I now shut myself as much as possible from the observation of any but my own family, and for two or three years never passed the threshold of the street-door. I abandoned all public and social devotion, as I could not bear it: and thought it vain and useless for my condition, which I felt assured was that of a lost and repro- bate wretch. Not unfi-equently, when called to dinner, I rushed out of the house into the garden, AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF TIlE INSANE. because I could not dare to implore a blessing, or express auy thankfulness so God, who had, as I believed, entirely and finally deserted me, and had become my Almighty enemy. Books of every description I ordered to be removed out of my notice, and insisted on the whole of my library being sold, at whatever loss might be in- curred; and that was considerable, as I had paid exorbitant prices, on account of the closing of the continent during the French ~var, for a large number of them, and which were extremely de- preciated by the return of peace, which opened a free intercourse with all parts of the world. My reason for this procedure was, that books of every kind, especially religious ones, and the Bible in the greateit degree, were associated with remembrances that I would gladly have banished forever from my mind. I earnestly wished I had never learned to read or write, while at the same time I felt the strongest dc~ire to engage in both, hut was driven fi-om them by the morbid sensi- bility, which was so extreme as to be affected by every topic of thought that was presented to me. Similarfeelings constrained me to shun the con- verse of my friends, though I was passionately desirous of their converse. I could compare my- self only to a human body, the skin of which having been stripped off; no part can be touched without inflicting agony. This condition at length increased to such a degree, that I could not bear the ordinary conversation of The mnem- hers of my family, whether they were sad or cheerful. The light of day so distressed nine, that I had all my windows blinded. The sun, the moon, and stars filled inc with me pressible dread, and I beheld them as seldom as Was pos- sible. All ornamental furniture, especially look- ing-glasses, was especially offensiye to me, and was removed from the apartment in which I lived. My own personal appearance was ne~- lected to the utmost. I should never have shaved myself, or changed my clothing, hut for the affectionate remonstrances of my wife nor could I endure the thought of having new clothes made. For what purpose, I said to myself; should an outcast wretch like mc pay any regard to external appearance or ornament It seemed even shocking to me, and monstrous. My irritability of temper was so great, that I fully expected, in some fit of passion, I should murder some of the inmates of my house. And this notion became so strong, that for about two years it was seldom absent from my thoughts so that I often, in imagination, underwent all the forms of public prosecution invented speeches I would make -at my trial, when I knew 1 should plead guilty; and endured agonies in this way that could scarcely have been exceeded by real- ity. During the four last years of my extraor- dinary wretchedness, I was perpetually haunted by an extreme apprehension that I should de- stroy myself; in order to get free from the inces sant torment I was compelled to endure. I never indeed proceedea to any actual attempt on my life, though I was very often revolving the differ- ent methods of destroying it, and considering which I should choose. My patient wife was sometimes cautioned by her friends to remove from me, as far as possible, the means of destine 57 AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF TILE INSANE. tion; and I was continually telling her of the my thoughts, but was constrained to use every thoughts that were perpetually present to me. method I could devise to bring to my remem- Often I asked if she was not afraid of living with branee what I was forced to pursue, until I me; but her reply invariably was, Not in the alighted on the name or object that was. sug- least degree. She knew me too well, and was gested to me. Days together was I employed in too confident of Gods mercy to herself and to this fruitless pursuit, without being able to dis- mc, she said, to have any such apprehensions. cover what I wanted. Often, when found, it The agitation and restlessness that affected would sug~est to me something else of the same me were so great, that I was unable to sit down, kind, with similar disquietude, till I felt that the as the moment in which I attempted to do so labors of Sisyphus were less fatiguing and use- brought an increase of misery; and I was thus less than those from which I could not escape. kept pacing up and down my parlor, from the My nights were often greatly disturbed by the time of getting up until going to bed. I was so sudden occurrence of some su& ~.h things, that sud- intensely wearied by this incessant going to and denly darted on me when nearly asleep, and in- fro, as frequently to scream with anguish. In stantly banished all power of sleep. consequence of this painful excitement, I seldom Early in the commencement of the four years rose from my bed before noon, as I was able to to which I am directing attention, a sug5estion continue this posture without additional pain, was made to me by some friend to try some As soon as I came down stairs, I hastily s~val- game, as chess, bagatelle, drafts, etc. At first, I lowed my breakfast, standing, and then the end- rejected the proposal with scorn; hut on after- less movement began. While my body was thus wards conceiving a hope that, perhaps, some- occupied, my mind was the seat of the direst what of this kind would enable me to sit so contemplations, revolving the past and the future, much as to avoid the extreme weariness of being until sometimes, when thinking of my pious always on my feet, I made trial of chess, which friends who were no longer living on earth, I succeeded so far as to keep me on a chair. Hay- loudly hid them an everlasting adieu, as I was ing made this discovery, I called regularly for never to be admitted to the rest to which they the chess-board as soon as I came down stairs had been conducted, or join in those strains of in the morning, and insisted that my wife or celestial harmony that resound through the niece (who lived with us) should play the whole abodes of the blessed and immortal inhabitants, day, until it was time to retire for sleep. In this and to whiTh I formerly hoped I should be con- manner I played thousands of games, sometimes ducted, when the trial of life should have been varying the employment by backgammon, etc. surmounted. On such occasions, sighs of dis- Some inconsiderable degree of alleviation was *ress, so deep from my bosom, would involunta- thus obtained during the day. As, however, my rilv escape, as too plainly indicated the profound companions were compelled at bedtime to with- soirow that affected me. To this day more than draw, I was then left alone for hours, as I ex- twenty years have passed away, yet I am often ceedingly dreaded to go to bed, on account of surprised by sudden sighing, which, though an- the sleeplessness and other innumerable disqule- associated with any sentiment of distress, occa- tudes which I almost invariably had to encoun- sions a temporary emotion. ter. I therefore paced up and down the room Through this weary, toilsome, and exeruciat- until midnight, or later. These solitary hours ing period, my ni,~hts were often almost, if not were the most afflicted I was doomed to suffer. quite sleepless. When endeavoring to compose Sometimes I was so alarmed lest the anger of myself to rest, I was often roused to vigilance God should suddenly fall upon me, and seal my y limbs trembled with the agitation by convulsive startings, which no sooner ceased doom that m than the most hideous app9arances of monstrous of my thoughts. face and shape would pass before me; to free It would not be difficult, to enlarge thi rela- myself from which, I. was constrained to l~eep tion of misery, but enough has been said to wea- my eyes open, that the real objects about me ry me in the recital, and more than enough, I might dispel those of my disordered imagination, fear, to weary the reader of these dreary pages; Ilosv often did I exclaim, in the words of the I shall, thereforeafter observing that these mid- suffering patriarch, The arrows of the Almighty night hours were rendered, in some degree, more ax~e within me, the poison whereof drinketh up easy by my finding out that I could play back- my spirit. * * When I say, my bed shall gammon without a partner, as the game very comfort me, my couch shall ease my complaint; much depends on the dice, terminate the bar- then thou scarest me with dreams, and terrifiest rowing detail. me through visions. * * Thou writest I must, however, remark, that every hope of bitter things against me, and makest me to pos- recovery was long banished from me, and I be- sess the iniquities of my youth. Amidst these lieve from my friends: this utter prostration of bitter agonies, I was annoyed more than can be hope aggravated, as much as aggravation was imagined by a cause which seems trivial, but possible, the misery of my condition. Yet re- was far otherwise. Very often, persons, places, covery at length, though long despaired of, came, and things would occur to me, the names and and through the great mercy of God, I was res- particular appearances of which I was unable to cued from the horrible pit, and the miry clay, recall without long endeavor of a most wean- into which I had seemed to be rapidly sinking. some kind. I could not remember the name of some one, nor present to my fancy the faces or This state of mental gloom and desponden- forms of various persons or things with which I had been familiar nor could I banish them from cy was, however, to come to an end. We 58 AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF THE INSANE. will quote in detail Mr. Walfords own account to its close. It amused me, and after reading i~ of his extraordinary recovery again, I wrote out a pretty extensive abridgment of it. I then attempted a work by Mr. Babbage, The blissful recovery which I experienced was the title of which is, I think, The Economy of not to he ascribed to any medical process what- Manufactnres. ever. I had, indeed, much against my own in- After reading and epitomizing these works, I clination, been so importuned by my friends as was so mucl~quieted as to regret I had no others to cons~at, three or four years before my recovery of similar character: and I then engaged in took place, to consult one or two medical advi- writing a translation of the history of Herodo- sers; but the effect proved, as I fully expected, tus. Before I had completed my translation of that nothing was to be hoped for from this expe- the first book of that history, the spring brought dient, and I positively refused to see any other the month of May. My son entreated his mo- medical persons. About the same time, I was ther to take a ride in a carriage with him, and I over persuaded, on account of my general ma- joined in the entreaty, as I greatly wished she bility to sleep, to keep laudanum by my bedside, should enjoy some refreshment of this kind. and to have recourse to it when sleep was found The carriage was brought to the door, when my to be impracticable. I tried this measure two or faithful wife positively refused to go unless I three times without any sensible effect, and firm- would accompany them. This, I both thought ly resolved to take no more. I adhered to my and said, was impossible. She, however, per- purpose, and no other experiments of the kind sisted in her refusal; and for some time I warm- were ever adopted. A few months before any ly remonstrated with her, and urged her going. symptoms of improvement appeared, I now and While I was thus engaged, a sudden inquiry of- then prevailed on myself to walk up and down fered itself to me: Why I could not go I a few hundred yards in the road adjacent to my could discover no reason; and calling for my house, when I was concealed by the darkness of hat, I jumped into the carriage, when I directed the niaht from the notice of any who might pass the driver to take us to Eppin,, Forest, through me. Soon after, I went several evenings, when Wanstead and Woodford, a ride which, in former the light of day had departed, into my garden, years, I had often taken with great pleasure. and paced up and down for some time. On these The verdure of the grass, trees, a~d country in occasions, I sometimes felt an impulse, during general, with the fineness of the weather, so af- niy walks, to pray with deep fervency, that some fected me, that all my fears, disquietudes, and measure of relief might be afforded to me. sorrows vanished as if by a miracle, and I was These prayers were short and broken, yet I trust wellentirely relieved, and filled with a trans- they found acceptance in heaven, port of delight such as I had never before expe- Some weeks or months after these occurrences, ricnccd. My hope and confidence in God were an old friend from Suffolk, a most worthy minis- restored, and all my dreary~expectations of de- ter, came to see me, and stayed a day or two. I stroying myself or others wer~ entirely forgot- had formerly smoked many a pipe of tobacco in ten. On my return home from this reviving ex- company with my friend, though for the preceding cursion, every desire to shut myself up and ex- five years I could not bear the sight of a pipe. elude my friends was departed, and I could with My wife, aware of his habits, had the materials difficulty restrain myself from being always for smoking set before him, which he employed, abroad. and earnestly pressed me to accompany him, This extraordinary change of feeling took which I passionately refused to do. On the place, as I have said, in May; and on the first evenipg of his departure, when, as usual, I was day of the following August, I set out in com- the only person sitting up, it occurred to me to try pany with my son and an active friend, who had if I could smoke, which for four or five years I before travelled on the continent, for France, had discontinued, on account of the manifest bad Switzerland, and Germany. Th~ delights of effects which it produced on my pulse: I instant- that journey were so enhanced by contrast with ly procured for myself the smoking apparatus, the events of the five preceding years, that I was and found I could perform the operation without in a species of rapture throughout the whole. I the injurious results which had induced me to felt no appTehensions of dabger in going so far relinquish the practice. Soon after this experi- from home; and the glorious scenes I witnessed ment, I resolved to try if I could read, though I so enchanted me, that my pleasure overflowed was under a great difficulty to select a book that the limits of ordinary enjoyment. One only re- did not seem likely to awaken painful associa- gret was occasioned by the unavoidable neces- tions, and I especially shunned all such as treat- sity, under which my companions in travel were ed of religious subjects. Accident determined placed, of returning at the end of the month to my choice. I had not relinquished a Book So- business; by which I was hurried from scenes ciety of which I was a member, though the hooks of surpassing grandeur and interest, before I that came to my house were carefully concealed had half gratified myself with gazing upon them. from my notice. At the time of which I am Enchanted and fascinated as I was with this now writing, I found that a History of the Cot- tour, I attribute no part of my recovery to it, as ton Manufacture, by Mr. Baines, was brought I had been entirely freed from my sad condition, to my house, and as it seemed not very likely both of body and mind, before it took place; that anything in it would excite my feelings, I if this had not been the case, no wishes of my resolved, though with extreme apprehension, to own, nor any entreaties of my friends, would try this book. In a day or two, I found nothing have had power to persuade me to set out upon in it that much distressed me, and I perused it lit, so deeply was I affected by the remembrance AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF THE INSANE. of former disappointments. Immediately after my return, I was seized with a most unexpected and severe diarrhcea, which I thought would terminate my joys and sorrows alike: it yielded, however, to skilful medical treatment, after some days; and one of my medical attendants, who had long been acquainted with my constitution, assured me when the vehemence of the parox- ysms was abated, that the effects of it were far more beneficial than any medical treatment could have produced; ~ad he anticipated a perfect freedom from the return of my distressing ner- vous disease. This anticipation has been verifi- ed by several successive years of established health; and though I am now occasionally in some measure disturbed by some of the minor symptoms of my disorder, for short periods, chiefly during the hours of night, my general health is remarkable for my years; and the con- dition of my feelings tranquil and cheerful, though seldom much elevated. It will not appear surprising that, after the singular and remarkable detail that has been given, I felt a great wish, if possible, to ascertain the cause of nearly fifty years intense suffering throu,,h which I had passed. While, indeed, under the great force of my sorrows, I was ever- more induced to regard them as arising from mental and spiritual causes, quite independent of any bodily disease; yet as soon as my recove- ry was confirmed, I strongly suspected this no- tion was incorrect, and some recollections of former years led me to the conclusion that it was quite unfounded. My natural temperament had ever appeared to me to be more of the sanguine than the saturnine species, so that whenever I possessed myself sufficiently to consider the case impartially, I imagined that somewhat superin- duced, and not native; was the source of my melancholy despondency. - I shall therefore brief- lymention the occurrences that befell me, and the conclusion from them at which I arrived, by putting them together. My knowledge of physi- ology is very scanty, so that if my memoir should meet the eye of any proficient in that science, I must crave his candor for what I am about to state relative to my belief of the nature and causes of my complaints. I have what appears to me to be a probable judgment on the whole case, which, however, I do not presume to repre- sent as if it were demonstrated, or as entitling me to imposd it on persons who are alone quali- fied scientifically and religiously to decide res- pecting it. From a very early agesay five or six years from my birthI was subject to very severe at- tacks of headache, which increased in intensity up to about the twenty-second or twenty-third year of my age. At this time I was a student, and my studies were very often seriously affected by this frequency of pain. About this period, my attention was forcibly drawn to an increasing dischar~e of fetid mucus from one (the left) of my nostrils, which became very offensive to me, and clearly indicated something wrong on the left side of the upper part of the interior of my head. The first surgeon in London was at that time Mr. Cline, to whom I applied for advice. His opinion was that an ulcer had formedja the frontal sinus, which he supposed to be easily curable could it he got at: as this was impracti- cable, he recommended certain applications of mercury to the nostrils, the vapors of which were to be conveyed by the agency of heat into the head. This practice was tried for some time, but served only to aggravate the sym, toms, and was therefore discontinued. Soon after this ex- periment, I went to Birmingham to visit my friends, when it occurred to me to consult Dr. Withering, who was then practising as a physi- cian with eminent reputation. He did not coin- cide with Mr. Clines opinion, but inquired if I had at any time suffered an injury upon the skull l It had never before occurred to me to reflect on what I had often heard from my mo- ther, that when I was about two years old I had fallen on the edge of a fender, nd inflicted a very dangerous wound on my forehead, the scar of ~vhich was at that time quite visible. On di- recting his attention to this mark, he instantly said, there was the origin of my pain; wound had been produced in the interior of the sinus, which he feared would never be healed, though it was not impossible it might be worn out by the increase of years. He cautioned me ahainst allowing any tampering with it, as it was im- possible to do good, and injury might be inflict- ed. lIe advised the application of leeches, when- ever the pain might b~very troublesome; and recommended me to take snuff plentifully, as the means of stimulating the secretion of mucus, in order to assist the escape of the purulent matter that was ever forming, and was the chief cause of the headaches from which I suffered. This advice appeared to me to be wise atid good, and I immediately acted upon it, with great ultimate though not immediate benefit, as my headaches continued without material dimi- nution, for perhaps four or five years. Soon after I went to reside in Yarmouth, which was when I was on the point of thirty years of age) I experi- enced the first serious attacks of the malady, the growth and termination of which have been de- scribed in the last letters, and need not therefore be repeated. After the first of these paroxysms of despondency took place, I gradually perceived the headaches by which I had been so long af- flicted were almost imperceptibly becoming less frequent and intense, while the symptoms of de- jection increased in about the same proportion. These changes were so slowly effected as to elude much observation at the time of their occurrence, though I subsequentlybecame painfully conscious of them, in the great increase of my mental suf- fering, and the almost entire cessation of the hemiplegia, or partially local headache. After my recovery, when often reflecting on the course of suffering through which I had passed, it oc- curred to me that the headaches and the mental depressions were the results of one common cause the injury ~uflicted on my head in infancy. I conceived that the headaches were the effects of the injury, so long as the consequences of it were confined to the sinus exterior to the brain; and that the mental suffering, which by slow degrees succeeded to the decreasing pains of the head, and finally displaced them, was caused by what medical men technically term metastasis, or a 5.9 60 AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF THE INSANE. transference of the effects of the injury from the Other fears, apprehensions, and tcrrors will en- external sinus to the interior of the cranium, and gage his thoughts and agitate his hosom, accord- these so affected the brain and the nervous sys- in~ to the strength and virulence of his per- tern that is dependant on it, as to produce the turbed imagination, hut they cannot he imputed grievous sorrows of which I was, for almost sixty to either his supposed or actual piety, as lie is ~ears, the subject. possessed of neither. The conception now stated is entirely my own, Mr Walfords recovery was not, however, a and if it he incorrect, the incorrectness belongs only to myself and I have set it down as a proba- permanent one. The Rev. Mr. Stoughton, in ble reason for attributing many of what are called his continuation of the memoir, says nervous diseases to injuries immediately or re On the 21st of December, 1849, the Editor re- motely affecting the brain and the nervous system, ceived from his reVered and beloved fricud a in a greater or less degree, though I hope and he- notethe last lie ever sent to himcontaining lieve, in few instances so pregnant with intense an invitation in time following terms, which show and durable wretchedness as that from which I the feelings with which he uticipated the birth- was mercifully delivered. My notion, which I day that proved his last have briefly developed, of the origin of my mal- If I am pemmitted to live until the 9th of ady, derives some confirmation from the observa- January next, I shall have completed my 77th vation made to me by Dr. Withering, which I year; and I write for the purpose of saying that have noticed, that possibly the effect of my early I hope you and Mr. Stoughton will come and injury might be out~rown by advancing years. dine wth me on that day, and spend as muany Such, I imagine, ms the probable reason of may sud- more days and nights with us as you can afford. den and almost instant recovery: the cause was You will not, I hope, allow anything, if possible, exhausted, and the effect ceased. to prevent my hiaviub this pleasure, as I cannot When referring, in another portion of his look for returns of that day without presump- autobiography, to his restoration to health, Mr. tion. Walford, when speaking of the probable phys- The invitation was gladly accepted, and the ical cause of his. attack of mental depression, day thus spent with hima was one of unusual gra observes tification. Infirmity seemed to have hmit sligbtly touched his vigorous constitution, while age had Ignorantprejudiced,and irreligious men are fre- not at all mpaired the energy of his stron0 in- quently guilty of ascribing such a deran~ement as tehlect, o~ooled the ardor of his domestic and that which I have described to false conceptions social affections. His coaversatiomi was, as ever, of the nature of religion, and the extravagances intelligent and sensible, and indicated that his of heated and fanatical imaginationsthe results mind was in a state of placid enjoyment. It was of puritanical or methodistic representations of interesting to see his manly and venerable form, Christianity. By such means they endeavor to seattd at the fireside of Ids library, surrounded discredit all serious and spiritual piety, and to by his favorite authors, to listen to the reminis- justify their own careless and wicked disregard cences of old times, and to remarks pronounced of it. In the instance which this memoir offers in no undecideff tone, on various topics, theolo- to observation, it is plain and undeniable that the gical and literary, and to witness the beaming dejection, melancholy, and excited apprehensiomis forth of that unaffectedly genial spirit which al- of misery,, present and future, would have agi- ways crowned his simple, but generous and tated any mndmvmdnal whmttever, religious or irre- hearty hospitaliries. Old a~,e with a matmired higious, who should have suffered from physical mind and a mellowed hemirt is always beautiful. in a similar disturbance of nervous and men- It resembles a tree tinted with autumnal hues of tal health. The specific objects on which the glorious richness, and reflecting from its leaves morbid influence is exerted will vary, accordin~ the brilliant rays of sunset. A charm of pre- to the several predominant characteristics of the cions holy power invests it, which whoso feeleth persons affected by it: irrehigious macn are as ha- not bath a (Iry and withered soul. The subject b he to such injnries, and the natural effects of of these recollections was a choice specimemin of them, as any of directly opposite and contrary such old age, and rarely was it seen in a better character ; but the special effects will differ, just light than on that last birthday. as the individual habits, mental and moral, differ Afew weeks after this, intelligence of an alarm- from each other. A bad man may he the victim ing kind respecting him was received by his of nervous derangement, but his dejection will not friends in town. He had become seriously indis- be associated with anguish arisin,,, from his ap- posed, and in connection with very considerable prehension that he has lost the favor of God, to- physical disease, some plain symptoms of his gether with the forfeiture of all the pure and old melancholy had m~.de their appearance. But heavenly delights which his dependance on God, after a little while there was a marked improve- and his converse with him, were wont to impart: meat. Health, bodily and mentah seemed as if his distress may be very great, but it will have no they would be entirely restored. During a visit relation to his exclusion from the spirits of just paid to him by the ~vriter, Mr. Walford express- men made perfect, and a final separation from ed the alarming apprehemisions he had felt lest his friends whom he bad loved on account of their his previous sad visitation should return in an- sympathy in holy affections, and in conv.erse with miti~ated force. And then with touching sim- whom he had been expecting a friendship more phicity, while his eyes were full of tears, and his perfect and an intercourse more blissful than can lips quivered with irrepressible emotion, lie ad- be enjoyed in this mortal and transient state. verte~ to tIme efforts he had used to qmmehl his dark 61 AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF THE IIWSANE. gave way, and Christian faith and hope burst forth. Continuing the narrative his biographer oh-. serves A third visit paid by the writer was scarcely less mournfnl than the second. The bed-room, to which disease and infirmity now confined Mr. Walford, so darkened, b~ his express direction, as scarcely to leave his features visible, was but as a sign and symbol of the mental state of the venerated and much-loved sufferer. With per- verse acuteness he parried off all arguments of consolation, and obstinately verred tbat while his distress twenty ears hefore was the effect of disease, his present sorrow was independent of such a cause. His explanations of the former visitation were repeated, but in vain. His perti- nacious refusal of all comfort, was however, but too plain a proof of the renewed and entire ascendency of that same insidious morbid influence which had previously been such a destroyer of his peace. Still it was hoped th~ t a time of joy would return. Anx- iously did his affectionate niece, who resided with him, and his not less affectionate daughter-in- law, who spent the last few weeks under his root; watch and wait for such a happy season, even as the watchman waiteth for the morning: but in this ~vorld it never came. The paroxysms of anguish, indeed, abated; he spoke less and less of his sorrow, and sunk down into a state of si lance, if not torpor. Days and nights gloomily rolled on, so different fro~n their tranquil glid- mb which he frequently described in his letters and other papers ; but it was the happy ebufi- dance of his friends, notwithstanding his own fears, that the angry billows, n~ less than the gentle wave, was bearing his weather-beaten bark to the better land. That land he reached on the 22d of June, 1850. The poor hody looked truly like a wreck; but the eye of Christian faith could see the soul, which had often had such hard work to pilot the unmanageable vessel, safe beyond the reach of storms ~nd the return of night, on the; shores of the heavenly country. ~Te copy for the perusal of those who are interested in this case, the account given in the appendix of the post mortem examination of Mr. Walford. It is as follows forebodings by a humble and believing applica- tion of the Gospel to his own ease. I I can only rest, said ha, on the most gene- ral assurances of the divine mercy; declarations which include all are alone such as I can believe include me. If any man sin, we have an advo- cate with the Father, Jesus Christ the righteous: and ha is the propitiation for our sins and not for ours only, hut, also for the sins of the whole world. That is general enough. It gives ma hope. After repeated references to this encouraging topic, he resumed his wonted love of conversa- tion, discussin~ several theological and critical questions with unabated interest; and as some references happetfad to be made to popular me- thods of representing truth by the aid of imag- ery and illustration,he observed that such modes, thou~h at times vary important, desirable, asid even necessary, could never yield satisfaction to a mind of his habits, desiring as he did to get below the outward covering and drapery of truth, to investigate its essential nature, and to form clear, definite, and abstract views of its substance and soul. The impression left by the interview was high- ly encouraging, and it was fervently hoped that the last clouds of eventide had broken and would vanish, and that the going down of the sun would he a scene of glory. But the hope was soon checked. Tidings of relapse, fearful re- lapse, succeeded. Another visit was paid, and how different was the scene in the quiet little study at Uxhridge from that witnessed only a few weeks before! How very different from the cheerful birthday scene! Disease had manifestly been at work. The form had shrunk; the face was hagg ard; thes unken aye indicated despon- dency. He made an affectionate acknowledg- ment of his friends kindness in coming to visit him, but expressed himself as no longer entitled to the pleasures of,friendship, no longer worthy of esteem and regard. Books, which he had so much valued, he declared were now a torment to his sight. Philosophy, his favorite pursuit, he denounced as a word he could not endure. In- cessant restlessness would not allow him to re- main in his chair for a minute, but he was ever pacing his study with perturbed emotion. It was night, dark, starless night, with that soul that had once been so bright and sunny. All efforts made to administer consolation were instantly Examination of the body of the Rev. William repelled, and he dWelt with agonizing earnest- Walford, on the 27th June, 1850, the fifth day ness upon his state of mind, which he described after his decene in terms characteristic of his usual correct and No remarkable external appearance; there was exact habit of expression, but swelling out some- more fat over the whole body than could have times Into bursts of unwonted eloquencethe been expected, when his long illness and great eloquence of despair. It Was plain that with the abstinence from food are considered. On open- recurrence of physical disease had come the dense ing the head, the dura mater was found so firmly morbid melancholy of bygone years. attached to the bone at ~vo points, as to be inca- It was a painful task for those who watched pable of separation without being torn. Those him to see with what power the malady operated two points wereone near the superior and an- on his mind; not merely beclouding his thoughts tenor angle of the right parietal bone, the other with regard to religion, but, as in the former case, at the superior and posterior angle of the left pa- producing strange ideas and fears with regard to natal bone: they were marked on the internal his circumstances. Yet, amidst his mysterious surface of the bones by deep depressions having hallucinations there came now and then, espe- a sort of honeycombed appearance, but not ca- cially once, a lucid space in which disease rious. The outer table of the skull alone re 62 AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF THE INSANE. mained at these parts, and its thickness scarcely disease in every form, I have been able to ex- exceeded stout letter-paper; the size of both de- plain, to some extent at least, almost every ease; pressions was nearly the sameabout an inch but for the cause of my own illness, and for the long by three-fourths o~ an inch in breadth. The explanation of its strange symptoms, my know- color of the brain under the first point was differ- ledge and means of judging fall far short. But ent from all its surrounding surface; it bad as- whether mere natural causes occasioned all the sumed a green tinge similar to long-retained pus: bodily sensations or not, scarcely signifies: the this did not extend more than a quarter of an meiatal changes, I am fully assured, were alto- inch into the substance of the brain. There was gether the work of. God. no discoloration of the brain at the second point, At the very outset, I should acknowledge that nor was there elevation of the surface at either: I had no previous belief in the truth of Christian- the depressions in the bone were from thickenin~ ity. I viewed it sometimes in one light, some- of the dura mater in those specified localities, times in another. I regarded it, for the most The dura mater throughout its whole extent had part, as an absurdity. At its many votaries I lost much of its proper vascularity, and assumed wondered, and their understandings I looked a thickened yellow, leathery appearance. Over down upon as strangely deluded. I could not the whole surface of the brain there was consid- comprehend how a God should die, nor even erable serous effusion: the ventricles were full brin,, my mind to admit that an atonement was of waterthere were no signs of recent infiam- necessary. The works of infidels, however, I matory action, but there were several points of always read with dissatisfaction or disgust; and unnatural adhesion of the membranes, denoting any scurrilous attack on the faith of others I former existence of an inflammatory state. The should have been ready to oppose. But into the lungs were sound throughout, but had large ad- truth of the matter I never thought of intluiring; hesive bands at various parts, the consequence anti, as far as my perusal of it went, the Bible of inflammation at some remote time. There was a mere lumber-book. Science, literature, were several ounces of water in both sides of the and my profession, were my whole delight; but chest. the truth or falsehood of Christianity I felt it no The heart was large, flabby, and covered with part of my business to examine. a good deal of fat, especially at the base. It Of natural religion I had something in my contained no bloodit was strongly adherent to heart. Many a time have I lifted my eyes from the pericardium over the whole space corres- nature up to natures God, and have adored his ponding to the left ventricle, the evident effect excellency as revealed in his beautiful and mag- of inflammation at some former time. The nificent works. I knew myself to be a creature valves of the heart were sound; the aorta was sprung from God ; but I never dreamed that I was fully one-half-larger than natural, and at its on- a creature accursed before him. I knew God to gin from the heart, was an almost continuous cir- be infinitely just; but I never feared that that cle of ossification. The whole inner surface of justice would consign me to eternal misery. I the left ventricle and of the arch of the aorta had knew that I oftentimes acted contrary to my a deep red color, like inflammation, but there conscience; but I believed that intellectual en- were no enlarged capillary vessels to be seen. lightenment and the mere force of reasoning The pericardium contained about an ounce of could carry human nature to perfection, and water. All the abdominal viscera were in a place it far above the control of passion. I dci- healthy condition. fled human nature as capable of transcendent IDAN. virtue, and absolutely dened its innate corrup MACNAMARA, Surgeon Uxbridge. tion. I hoped that the soul was immortal, but WILLIAM RAYNER, Surgeon,) could never feel convinced that it was so; hut as We now proceed to direct the attention of to everlasting torments,I viewed the doctrine our readers to another work presenting many ~ and a defamation of the justice of points of deep psychological interest. In the . e existence of a devil I believed no more than any other bugbear. memor of Mr. Richard Williams, surgeon, w~io The only instances when confidence in my officiated, as catechist to the Patagonian Mis- own opinions has been altpgether shaken, were, sionary Society in Tierra Del Fuego, we have I well remember, moments when, without an as- the details of an extraordinary mental attack, signable reason, I have awakened from sleep, and during which this gentleman is said to have an indescribable awe and terror have seized on undergone marked spiritual changes. We my soul, filling it with undefined apprehension subjoin Mr. Williamss narrative of the singular of the future.* illness which issued in what is termed, his St To such lucid moments does Jane Taylor re conversion. fer, in lines not the less poetical because of their I bless God that ever I was afflicted. Not only simple truthfulness: do I date my conversion from my illness, but I And yet, amid the hurry, toil, and strife, believe that this illness was designed for my eon- The claims, the urgencies, the whirl of life, version. It was a seizure more remarkable than The soniperhaps in silence of the night Has ties any of which I remember to have heard or read; When ~hes, transient intervals of light- things to come, without a shade of doubt, and, apart from the inward working of the mind, In terrible reality stand out. it presented a series of extraordinary symptoms, Those lucid moments suddenly present which seem to defy solution. Myself a medical A glance of truth, as though the heavens were man, and for many years accustomed to witness rent: AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF THE INSANE. Snch is a slight picture of my state of mind previous to my illness. Up to the moment when it seized me, I had been engaged in the active duties of my profession. I had visited many patients, and during the evening had felt fa- tigued and laugnid, and anxions to seat myself comfortably in my arm-chair. A little after ten oclock I saw the last of the persons waiting for me, and instantly I felt myself severely unwell. I went up stairs, and threw myself on my bed. In a few minutes I felt inexpressibly ill. The first sensation was an amazing weight on the chest, with difficulty of respiration; the carotids of my throat striking like hammers on my head, and a feeling as though torrentsof air were rush- ing into my brain, and the head were itself ex- panding. The agony became insupportable, and I knocked for some one to come to me. Mean- while my mind acquired a wonderful vivacity. Thought upon thought came pourin~, in with a distinctness of apprehension, enlargement of view, and faithfulness of memory, such as I never before experienced. A power to compre- hend my personal identity, and to understand my relation to time and eternity, was wonderfully given me. The passing moment seemed without beginning or end. I felt as though immortal faculties, immortal relations, were beginning to be recognized. The thought began to stagger me, that the hand of death was grasping the cords of life. With the thought, darkness thick, palpable darknessgathered on~y soul. A mountain load seemed to crush my hr ast. It was girt as with bands of iron. My heart felt too hi,, for its wonted space. A horror of an- guish filled my whole being. Unnumbered sins sprang up before my astonished conscience, and Death in his terror rose up to my gaze. Look where I would, there was no hope. One wide, unbounded ocean of dismay and terror, lashed with tempestuous howlings, roared on every side; and the thought of an offended God pierced my soul with madness and despair. In this state I lay for hours. Meanwhile my sister, alarmed by my knocking, had come and found me speechless. Others of my friends were sent for; then medical attendance. Recourse was had to remedial measures; but I still grew worse. The night passed, and the morning found me the same. A painfully vivid conscious- ness of everything going on around me added greatly to my distress. The first faint glimmer of light that broke into my soul was when the name of Jesus was uttered. With the very And through that chasm of pure celestial light, The future breaks upon the startled sight Lifes vain pursuits, and Times advancing pace, Appear with death-bed clearness, face to face; And Immortalitys expanse sublime, In just proportion to the speck of time: While death, uprising from the silent shades, Shows his dark outline ere the vision fades; In strong relief against the blazing sky Appears the shadow as it passes by. And though oerwhelrning to the dazzled brain, These are the moments when the mind is sane; For then, a hope in heaventhe Saviours cross, Seem what they are, and all things else but dross. Essays in Rhyme. 63 thought of that name the hope of mercy was al- lied, and like a drowning man I clung to that hope. In the a,,ony of my soul I called upon that name; and in the meanwhile, finding that one of Gods servants (Mr. M., senior) had en- tered the room, I felt a new hope, as if the very presence of a man cf God was a source of safety. He bade me look to Jesus. With the very bid- ding I felt an infinite joy in so doing. Faith in that holy name rapidly ,,ained the ascendant. My darkness was turned into light, and in a short time I felt a sweet sense of the pardoning mercy of God. After this I grew better and better, and all my sym~3toms remitted, till I felt nothing except the languor resulting from the violence of my previous sufferings. Towards the evening, however, a relapse took place, with phenomena essentially different. Beginning with the same contraction of the chest as before, there followed tetanic spasms a violent jerking of the upper part of the body from side to side, interrupted by quiet intervals, sometimes by a complete rigidity of the neck and spine. So sensitive was I to touch, or to the im- pression of a breath of air, that the approach of any one evincing an intention to disturb me would throw me into convulsions; and, suspectin,, te- tanus or hydrophobia, the three medical atten- dants inquired whether I had been bitten by a dog, or had sustained any mechanical injury. With short intermissions, this state of things lasted for successive days, till my strength was nearly exhausted. Towards the close of the fourth day, and during the succeeding night, my eves were upturned in thicir sockets; I retained not the slightest power of voluntary breathin,,; I was incapable of speech; and the attempt to swallow aflrop of water brought on spasms which threatened suffocation. During all this period I was possessed of.per- feet consciousne~s; nor had I any pain. The only painful sensation was the impossibility of resisting the convulsive mdvements of my body, and the fearful constriction of my chest. At first I was, as it were, a mere spectator and obser- ver of the symptomsthinking, and even rea- soning upon them; and when abstracted from their consideration, I felt that I could calmly meditate on Gods mercies. I had no painful conflicts about my state, but a settled serenity a tranquillity for which I could scarcely account, unless from the conviction that my salvation was sure. But during the last night of this stage, I experienced wonderful evidence of a world to come. My friends were assembled various distances around my bed. The curtains were drawn, and a candle yielded its obscure rays. I heard the sobbings of my relations. I knew that they looked on my life as fast fleeting. I was myself convinced that I should not recover. I had pictured my body carried to the grave, and had marked in minds eye all the attendant cir- cumstances. Mentally I had taken leave of earth, and I lay in perfect peace, assuredof my salvation. A dead silence now reigned arouncf; and as I waited the moment of my final change) it was an intense and deeply absorbing thought that soon the great scene would he revealed. Whilst lying thus, I thought I heard a gentle 04 knocking. My soul started in expectation. In- wardly I exclaimed, I come, Lord Jesus ! Re- lapsing into quietude, I felt all but dismissed. It had the effect of so far arousing me, that I got power to speak, and called to my kin~lred, who came around me in surprise and anticipation. I took leave of them. I told one to be watchful, and spoke to the others, till power of speech a~ain forsook me. As I lay I drew my hand to my breast to examine its beatings. I felt they were small and weak, and I was content, for I should soon be in another world. I was even anxious to die for I feared lest, living again, I might lose what now seemed so sure. Then it was that a new order of feelings came over me. II had the most extraordinary sense of the bodi- ly presence of the Power of Darkness standing by the side of my bed; not that I imagined that I saw anything, hut I felt as if I could have put my hand on the very spot where he stood, and I shrank from that side with horror and loathing. But, blessed be God! on the opposite side stood, equally revealed to my spiritual senses, the Power unto Salvation, the veiy embodiment of love; and to this I turned as to a refuge. I shrank from the Evil One, and poured out my prayers to Christ, whose protection was evident to me. Thus I lay, when all of a sudden the most brilliant light darted into the room, and filled me with astonishment. Now, I thought, the time is surely at hand. God is visibly mak- ing manifest his approach. Quickly will the an- gels of God be descending, and I shall behold ray Redeemer. By the vigor thus imparted I was enabled to sit up in bed, and with a feeling like that which Lazarus might have experienced, con- scious of a supernatural Presence, I called out to my friends, Did you not see the light V Next minute the impression caine over me that I was yet to live; and at the same time, inspired with the certainty of knowing what I ought to take. I told my assistant to bring me forty drops of the tincture of opitini, and twenty drops of the muriated tincture of iron, and to repeat the dose every twenty minutes. After taking the first dose, I continued sitting ia bed; feeling as though entranced; and what is singular, my arms, when extended at an early part of the evening, had remained so, evincing the catalep- tic state. I took the second dose, and laid down. These doses, so large that my assistant afterwards wondered what could have possessed him to bive them, were the means of my recovery. After a miserable interval, during which the body seemed to be sinking into corruption, and the mind itself seemed to have lost all power of joy or sorrow, hope or fear, a profound sleep closed my eyes. It lasted upwards of twelve hours, and, awaking as, from a dream, there remained no trace of my former state, except extreme debili- ty. I never had the slightest relapse, but made rapid progress in recovery. Dr. James ilamilton, the editor of this me- snoir, when commenting upon the preceding narrative, observes that there are One or two circumstances of which an ordinary spectator may possibly judge as accurately as the AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF THE INSANE. patient himseW with all his professional train- ing. For instance, it was at the close of a laborious day, and when excessively fatigued, that Mr. Williams was first seized with those singular sen- sations in his head, and with the brilliant ac- companying ideas. Now, to say nothing of any intermetliate cause, such as determination of blood to the brain, we know that excessive ap- plication or exhaustion is not unfrequently fol- lowed by similar odd sensations. Dr. Moore mentions Dr. Isaac Watts, who, after great exer- tion of mind, thought his head too large to allow him to pass out at the study door; as also the case of a gentleman who, after delivering a lecture at the College of Surgeons, said that his head felt as if it filled the rooin.* With Mr. Williams the sensation was as though torrents of air were rushing into his brain, and the head itself expanding. Nor do we suppose that i~ is at all uncommon for nervous exhaustion to be followed by such cataleptic seizures as Mr. Williams ex- perienced, when his eyes were fixed, and whfiu lie had lost the power of speech, as well as voluntary respiration. The inspired certainty with which he prescribed for himself the tonic opiate, need not surprise us. Suggested by some con- stitutional craving, invalids often fancy that if they could only obtain a given antidote, they would instantly be well. And they frequently are right - Sometimes the specific is a strange one, and would not readily have occurred to a man of science. In the present instance we pre- sume that science would have countersigned the patients prescription, had it only known all the circumstances; but then it must be remembered that in the present instance the patient himself was a doctor. Intense mental conceptions so strongly im- pressed upon the mind as, for the moment, to be believed to have a real existence, ni-c amon~ st the most frequent specti-al illusioust As coming neiir t~s class, we must regard that extraordi- nary sense of the bodily presence of the Powei- of 1)arkness standing by she side of his bed, which filled the imagination of the patient towards the close of his illness, a~ well as the brilliant light which followed. To bystanders no light was vlsi- He, no presence was palpable. Unlike the voice and the light on the road to Damascus, which the spectators heard and saw, these manifestations were confined to the individuals own mind. Still these ideas were substantially correct. Disease might embody them in forms too mate- rial ; and yet they weic truths. It was true that sins unnumbered stood chargealde against one who had hitherto lived without God in the world. Is was true that Cod was offended, and death was coming. It was true that boundless dismay and terror environed the Christless transgressor. The name of Jesus had no more effect in tranquillizing the conscience and kindling hope than that bles- sed name should ever have. And,the instinct which shrank from the Power of Darkness and ~ The Power of the Soul over the Body. By George Moore, M.D. Fourth edition, p. 264. f See Hibbert on Apparitions. Aberorombie on the Intellectual Powers, Part 8. AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF THE INSANE. 65 cried to Jesns for protection, was itself a token inspire emotion. I knew not how to account for that a new life was dawning. There might be this state. I had believed that the work of nervous excitement, but there was also a spiritual change and renovation had been completed, at awakening. There might be morbid sensations; least carried to so high a degree that it was im- hut the pervading conviction was scriptural, and possible I could wilfully sin against God again. the conscquent change of thought and feeling was I abhorred the thought; yet here I was in dark. permanent. That change we shall leave Mr. Wil. ness, and sin palpably abounding in my heart. hams to describe How sad was the sight of myself! It was the It was on the 15th day of September, 1846, first glimpse at the inherent corruption and orig. that I was taken ill., It is now September, 1847, inal depravity of my heart. It was the first of a when I am writing this. The delightful feelings series of painful but important lessons which of the first few days of convalescence I remem- convinced me that God had only hitherto in- ber well. Joyfully exulting in the interposition structed me in the first principles, and laid the of Divine Providence and mercy, which had foundation for my faith; but that the work of brought me out of thick darkness into the glori. grace had to be carried on, and an absolute ous light of tuith, 0 what a heaven flitted through change of heart effected, by many a severe and my soul! Holiness, with its celestial gilding, fiery ordeal. seemed to tinge every ol3ject around me. The In the course of weeks, I was enabled to take world was no longer the same world; tts people a trip into North Wales. Here my connection no longer the same beings. Myself and my fel- with the world was first re.established. All the lows I no longer regarded as creatures of a mo- avocations of man, that were apart from his reli. ments duration, but I saw eternity impressed as gious duties, appeared to me to have vanity legi- a seal on the whole generation of men. The uni- bly stamped on them. On my route, I stopped verse was no lQnger a confused assemblage of in- a short time in Liverpool; but the bustle and distinct parts, moving towards a gloomy terminus, commotion excited no pleasurable sympathy, for but, as far as the Divine purposes were concerned, I felt that it was all vanity. The whirl, the din, a bri~,ht whole of uniform perfection, and the en- the confusion, all told me of the worlds spirit tire expanse filled with love, unbounded love, and in the countenance of the busy throng I God himself seemed to move everywhere. All could not read one expression in unison with my was joy to my soul. I looked on myself as a own feelings, or which came home to my heart. brand plucked from the burning, and rejoiced in At Beaumaris I abode at a commercial hotel the sure hope of salvation. Jesus was most and there, in the presence of the usual visitants precious to me, my glory and infinite joy. of an inn, I took out my Bible, glorying in the The Bible, hitherto a sealed book, was now a thought that I was thus unfurling Christs ban- river to my thirsty soul. I was astounded at its ner. One of the company entered into conversa- contents. As I turned over its pages, wonder tion, and boasted of his religious acquisitions, upon wonder ravished my delighted heart. I and of the high position he held in the church felt that I would care to live only for the sake to which he belonged as teacher and deacon. of reading it. It was a glorious light. At times But gradually he drank to inebriation. I was its hea~enlyrays would subdue me into a mellow glad to find a room to myselg and in dejection to and peaceful benignity; at others, rouse me into ponder over this first instance of a false professor. ecstatic bliss. Everywhere was the authority, the My stay in North Wales, especially my visit love, of God recognized. Its power to command to Llanberis and Snowdon, afforded my mind my obedience was as the thunder-clad arm of Om- the healthful occupation of contemplating and nipotence and its pleadings for holiness were as adoring God as revealed in his works. To me the gentle whisperings of love, to which my heart, the God of nature and the God of revelation my mind, my soul answered assent. How I won- now were one, and I began more sensibly to feel dered at my former darkness! How amazed did I the relation wherein we stand to God by the con- feel that the precious light had so long shone in joint link of creation and redemption. How my way, and I never had perceived it! I re- glorious to know that a pathway had been opened solved to make it the absolute rule of my life, for the rebellious sinner to the favor of the great These first days were as though they had Eternal, whose hand had formed the mighty fab- been a foretaste of heavenly peace. Never shall nc of the universe, and who had given the being I forget my first mortification at finding that sin and life we enjoy, but from whom I had so long still existed within me. There had been no been severed, and to whom I had never felt my actual committal of an offence that my con- relation, nor acknowledged my obedience! But science charged me with yet a sudden and un- the great Eternal was now the Lord my God; expected change had come over me. There was and I, the creature of his hand, could, through a cloudiness in my mind; my faith was dim; the Redeemer, look up and believe that the my heart had ceased to exult. It was as though Power which guided the planets in their course, all had been a bright and glorious dream, and I would direct me in all my ways, and preserve me had now awakened to the stern realities of a cold by his providential care. I felt that he had first and miserable world. Alas, the bitterness of loved me. I felt that God so loved the world as that moment! I strove to recall my hopes, to give his only begotten Son, that whosoever they seemed delusion. I read my Bible, the behieveth in him should not perish, but have bright revealing light which had heretofore al- everlasting life. I felt that it is the First and most made the very print more clear, was gone; the Last who there expresses his care for all the and, although I still knew it to be the Word of family of man, including myself, a worm so in- God, the page had ceased to enkindle rapture or significant. At that mercy I could only wonder DXLII. LIVING AWL VOL VII. 5 OUR NEXT ALLY. and adore; and, with faint conceptions of his matter for future psychological analysis and love and grace, I could but humble myself before comment. They cannot p~ove otherwise than him. of deep interest to all engaged in the study of We place upon record the preceding ex- medical-psychology. tracts from the two volumes referred to, as Frem the Examiner, 26 Aug. OUR NEXT ALLY. Tux Swedish papers are employed in canvas- sing the question whether Sweden can safely join the league of the Western Powers a~ainst Rus- sia. The conqnest of Bomarsund is, no doubt, an important step towards the formation of the new alliance but does it, in itself; offer a sufficient guarantee to Sweden l It is thus that the Nya Verrnlandstidning explains the dangers to which that country will be exposed in the event of its being engaged in a war with Russia The northern provinces of Sweden, like the Da- nubian Principalities, which were likewise invest- ed before the commencement of winter, are ex- posed to an occupation. Sweden has no Silistria or Rutschuk there to arrest the march of a Rus- sian army. Nor is there a Balkan, or even a Wall of Trajan to be crossed, ere the capital is reached, so that Sweden will have to defend herself in open fight and in her own country. It is true the fight will not last beyond the six months of winter. Then the fleets will re-appear, and stop the retreat of the enemy, if it has not been sufficiently hasty. But meanwhile a consid- erable portion of our country will have been ex- posed to all the sufferings of war, to all its dangers and all its sacrifices; the ravaging of iNorrland, the ~ eiznre of the shipping of Gefle (exchanged for Brahestad), the plunder of the nohie treasury of Upsala, and the wealth of the capitalall this risk would then be incurred. It is, however, evident that this is a danger for Sweden which will not pass away with the present war. It may arise at any future moment and Russia, even if now deprived of Finland, will doubtless be able to find a propitious moment for revenging herself on a State which, for six months in the year, can receive no succor from the mari- time powers. It is clear that Sweden cannot be- come our ally with safety, unless the power of Russia is sensibly reduced. In order, then, to secure the alliance of Swe- den an alliance of the utmost importance to their future plans the Western Powers must show that they are prepared to advance beyond the four conditions, sine gu6 non, of their late communication to the Conference. iNone of these conditions, however effectually they may restrain the power of Russia in the Black Sea, can mate- rially lessen her preponderance over the Baltic powers. Now the Treaty of Vienna affords the bellige- rent States an indisputable ground for the reduc- ing the power of Russia in the Baltic within the required limits. The kingdom of Poland was erected by that treaty, and its first articles are de- voted to the maintenance of Polish nationality. Let England and France declare that the fulfil- ment of the Treaty of Vienna is a fifth condi- tion of their treating for peace with Russia, and Sweden becomes from that moment their ally. We are quite aware that the provisions of the treaty fall lamentably short of seeurin~ to the Poles all that they have a right to expect at the hands of Europe. But still if the treaty were faithfully carried out, a great step would be gained towards the complete restoration of Po- land. If a national organization can be main- tamed in the several portions of Poland, their re- union will assuredly be one day accomplished. In the mean time an effectual bridle would be placed on the power of Russia in the north of Europe. Poland is the great corn-growing coun- try, from whence the supplies of Dantzic and Odessa are derived. The rivers, the forests, the fortresses by which it is encompass~d, render Po- land a sort of European citadel, from whence the Czar dominates over half Germany and the shores of the Baltic. If Poland had her national army, one of the chief sources whence Russia derives her recruits would be cut off; and the Poles might be counted on whenever a necessity for acting against Russia might arise. The restoration of Poland would, moreover, prevent Russia from turning to her own ends the sympathy with which she is regarded by the Southern Selavonians; a sympathy from which she may possibly, before long, derive some great and unexpected advan- tage. Besides, it has been part of the policy uniformly adopted by this country, under successive admin- istrations, whilst abstaining, for the sake of peace, from insisting on the performance of the treaty of Vienna as regards Poland, by no means to recognize in Russia any right contrary to its pro- visions. But should the allies, in now coming to terms with Russia, remain silent respecting the notorious infraction of previous stipulations, may it not fairly be held that they have waived the right to insist upon those stipulations being carried into execution? Policy, then, no less than justice and humanity, requires that England and France, whilst careful- ly watching over the safety of a Mohammedan, should not altogether neglect a christian nation, which has suffered still deeper wrongs than Tur key, at the hands of the Emperor Nicholas. EFFICACY OF MEDIcINE. Thunberg ob~ serves, that almost always, and everywhere, his medicines acted with the greatest efficacy, as well as certainty, upon the slaves which he accounts for, because their constitutions were not so much impaired by improper diet as those of their masters, and because they were also less accus- tomed to the use of remedies. 66 AMERICAN NOVELS. From The Spectator. AMERICAN NOVELSFASHION AND FAM JNE: THE SHADY SIDEA~ THE decision that an undomiciled foreigner cannot convey a copyri~,ht valid in this country, seems likely to work some change in the book- trade, and in a direction that needed no stimu- lus, that of mere lowness of price. Mr. Hodg- son annonnces two of Coopers later novels in his Parlor Library, with Mr. Bentleys per- mission. Mr. Bentley himself has advertised the series of Prescotts Histories at a cheap rate; but unless the price is that of print and paper, with the usual profit thereon, and the style of getting up as plain as readers of Prescott will put up with, he will he under-dope by somebody, or sev- eral bodies. In fact, the same publisher has in- cluded Mrs. Ann Stephenss fiction of Fashion assd Famine in his Railway Library, at one- twentieth part of the price for which less effective novels have been published with a copyright attached. The Shadg Side, another Amesican fiction, from Mr. Low and Mr. Constable, of Edinburgh, is perhaps a more remarkable exam- ple of low price; while almost even as we write, competition issues another edition of Fashion and Famine, as well as another edition of Mrs. Stowes Sunny Memories. With this last, cheapness, we believe, (though we have not seen the publi- cation,) has gone to a pitch that seems impossi- ble, if the whole work is really printed. In speaking of l4sshion and Famine as an effec- tive novel, it must not be considered that we count it a first.rate fiction. The story is essen- tially very like the usual run of stories that aim at combining an intense interest with sketches of every-day life. Neither are American manners shown in the book, otherwise than incidentally, and in a way that the writer cannot help, having laid her scenes among her own people in the Empire City and the country round about. The effect is for the most part very strongly melo- dramatic; the leading person of the piece being one of those cold-blooded, selfish, artful, all- accomplished rou~s, whom we continually meet in romances of the intense school, exaggerated by American magnificence of idea beyond the soberer nature of Europeans; for certainly Amer- ica, among her other claims to distinction, heats creation in her fictitious villains. Still Mrs. Ann S. Stephens is a mistress of her craft. There is a story which moves along from begin- ning to end; there are scenes of great power, though often too theatrical and glaring in their effects; there are sketches of fashionable society in New York and Saratoga, with a little too much of what Lord Sydenham called Broad- way finery; but there are also some very pleas- ing pictures of homely or domestic life in Amer. sea; Mrs. Leicester, the mother of the libertine, is a nicely-drawn character, quiet, lady-like, conscientious, grieving over her sons wrong- ~e Fashion and Famine; or Contrasts in Society. By Mrs. Ann S. Stephens. Published by Bentley. The Shady Side. By a Pastors Wife. Publish- ed by Constable and Co., Edinburgh; Low and Co., London. doings; an old English lady with a touch of greater mildness. Jacob Strong, the old attend- ant of Leicesters deserted, ill.used, but criminal wife, loving his young mistress with a passion hopeless in the outset, but surviving everything, and leading him even to the wearing of a livery in Europe, so that he can watch over her, is a conception general in the outline, but truly indi- genous to America in the filling-up, and perhaps only to be naturally developed in a land of equal- ity. Mrs. Gray, the large-hearted, charitable huckster-woman, is a piece of worthy nature, belonging to all countries, at least of Northern origin. The Shady Side. The workings of the vol- untary principle have been a frequent subject of treatment in this country, as well in fiction as in more formal argument. The points chiefly dwelt upon here, however, have been the inter- ference of the congregation with the ministers theology, and the necessity under which he lay of rendering his sermons acceptable to his paymasters, by observing a discreet silence on their own backslidings, hut making up for that reticence by an onslaught upon those of other people. In The Shady Side, an American novel, by a pastors wife, some turn for mastership in this direction, so dear to human vanity, may be found. But the main topic of illustration is pecuniary. If the circumstances of this story have any general truth, the Americans seek their salvation in the cheapest market, nay, below the cheapest market of the economists, for tbey will not pay the price of producing and maintaining a divine. According to the Pastors Wife, the best city livings do not more than sup- port a man in the way he must of necessity live; leaving him without provision for old age. The smaller town and the mass of country congrega- tions either retain a man with a family in abject poverty, or he has to exhaust his own means in living comfortably. The story of The Shady Side is soon told. A gifted minister of the Congregational Church marries a young, accomplished, and amiable woman. Their own means are small; the cleri- cal income is insufficient to support them, as their expenses increase with their family. Their private resources are exhausted; embarrassment is added to poverty; and after several changes, for the ministers merits are sufficient to in- duce invitations, where promises are not kept, or the expected advantages are not realized, the husband dies prematurely, and his wife, after striving to support her young family by teach- ing, follows him to the grave. If we take the general facts respecting the re- muneration of American ministers as they are given, the logic of the tale is better than that of didactic novels in general. Where it is deficient, the deficiency rather adds to the effect of the fic tion. Edward Vernon, in his college career, aimed at the bar and the loftier walks of life, which legal success opens to a man in America perhaps more than elsewhere. The decline and death of a beloved sister, the wishes of his mother, and his own religious feelings, subse- quently lead him to the church. He is conscien- tiously and laboriously devoted to his duty; but 67 AMERICAN NOVELS. 68 in times of exhaustion, or depression, or when ficulties of their position, have pathos or force. his highly sensitive nature encounters rubs, the The exhibition of the pastors people is quiet, old leaven of scholarly or worldly ambition rises , often with touches of satire; sometimes the quiet- within him. ness passes into flatness. This is a fair speci Mortons visit was not productive of good to his men, the gossip which takes place when the milliner brings home the news of Mr. Vernons classmate. He was a man of fine social qualities a man of talent and ambitionrecently admitted intended marriage, from a town where she has to the bar; a professor of godliness withal; but his been for fashions; and Salem is all agog piety, if genuine, had never gone, with its melting power to the, depths of his nature, firing and fusing the soul, and working an amalgamation conforma- ble to that apostolic model, I count all things but loss for the excellency of the knowledge of Christ Jesus our Lord. His friends change of profession had always vex- ed him. Now that he saw his unwearied efforts for the prosperity of his peopleand saw, too, that these efforts were often at the expense of his own mental culture and finish of style and execution he vented his feelings in a way that did more mis- chief than he imagined. It was at the close of the Sabbath, when Edward was inwardly chafing with the thought that his sermon had fallen far below his design, that Mor- ton said, abruptly: What a fool you are, Vernon pardon meto waste so much time in running after your people! You had a splendid sermon there, in conception, but you gave yourself no time to elaborate it. Why, my dear fellow, the materials you bad in that discourse, wrought up as you are capable of doing it, would electrify the most cultivated audience in our land. Your are doing everything for the people and too little for yourself. Edwards face flushed, and a bitter smile played on his lip. (Had not his own heart been saying the same thing, though he durst not frame it in words?) He made no reply, and Morton contin- ned: I see how it is. You lay down your book, or your pen, and start off to every sick child or whimpering woman that takes a fancy to see the minister. I. would nt do it. I would cultivate myself for a higher field. The people here do nt appreciate such a thinker and writer as you are. Already, at the thought of the sick and tempted to whom he had, in the past week been a messen- ger of comfort and succor, Edwards bitter feelings gave place to gentler emotions, and remorse smote his heart. He gave Morton a sad, earnest look, as if in doubt whether explanation were not labor lost on a man of so little Christian sensibility. Mary entered soon, and the topic was not pursued. This want of thorough devotedness to his vocation is shown not only in yielding to such thoughts as these, hut in quitting one charge after another, on sufficient lay motives, no doubt, but hardly sufficient on religious grounds. These and other circumstances, as peculiarities of tem- perament and health, cause the logic to fall short, by suggesting some natural unfitness in Edward Vernon for the ministry; but they give interest to his career, by the human failings and struggles exhibited. The story is artistically treated. It is not so melo-dramatic, or productive of what some will think so effective scenes, as Fashion and Famine. The Shady Side, however, is more thoroughly American; every chapter in fact containing a picture of domestic life or manners in the New England States, real and fresh. The scenes in- volving the internal struggles of Edward Ver- aon, th~ pious resignation of his wife, or the dif Esther Annes little brown shop was now the centre of attraction, not so much on account of its new millinery as of the information there to be ob- tained on the subject of the young ministers mat- rimonials. Almost every one was taken by sur- prise. Some, who had benevolently selected for him, were not a little piqued. A few, who had still nearer hopes, sighed as they were thus dashed at a single stroke. Esquire Lewiss daughters were among the first that called; and they were not easily suited in the choice of bonnets. One after another was exam- ined and rejected, being used as foils to hide their excessive interest in the one topic on which they had resolved thoroughly to examine Miss Brooks. You are sure this report is true? Yes, I am sure of it [that bonnet, Miss Lucre- tin, is a good fit,] for the girl said her sister saw him every time he came. He has visited her ever since last June, [there, the brim wants raising a little. Ican lap it under the crown.] He met her first away from homesomewhere she was visit log; that time he was gone so long, you remem ber. [Let me look at that drawn silk.] What did you hear of the family, Esther Anne? Well, as good as any in Mayfield; hold their heads prettyhigh, Iguess [that white straw, Miss Helen will look sweetly on you]. The girl said, her sister said, she heard the gentleman where she lived say, that the doctor was a clever man, and the girl well enough; but he had a son in New York [the price of that is three dohlars]a half- brother of hers in New York was a slippery kind of a manlived in dashing style. If his debts were paid lie would nt own a cent. [I dont quite like this white straw, Esther Anne]. What more did you hear of the young lady herself? [Try this French lace]. Not much, except what I told you. Shes young and pretty, has al- ways been kept at school [there, thats a complete fit. Just look in the glass.] Never mind; finish what you were saying. They say her father has been very indulgent to her, because she lost her motlierso young; and hes brought her up to books, and music, and drawing, and all that sort of thing. The young ladies winked to each other under the shield of the bonnets. That girls sister did nt seem to like her much. She said there were some families in Mayfield that thought hired girls good enough to associate with anybody; but she had lived six months right over the way from Dr. Allisons, and had not been able to get acquainted with Miss Mary. She said she was always flaunted out with her neck full of curls. Shell have to put em up now, I guess, [will you take those two bonnets ? You may lay them aside. Well not conclude till mother has been in and looked at them.] You did nt hear when the wedding is to come off, did you? No; they guessed not for some timeshe is so young; but I find some folks here think he has gone now to make arrangements. 0 no! he has gone to his fathers. ISLANDS OF THE WESTERN PACIFIC~ ETC. Well. von know the Whitman place is to be sold; nod they say Mr. Cook talks of buying it. Since this thin~ has come out, many think Mr. Cook is trvin~ to get the place for Mr. Vernon. What would lie want of another house himself? Miss Leovy asked him about it yesterday; and he told her if he purchased it there would be some one in this autumn. I hope Leevy will give it up now. Shes tried hard enough to catch him. The Misses Lewis could bear no more, but bit their lips with vexation, and went home to report to their intriguing mamma. Mrs. Lewis was not prepared for the failure of her deep-laid schemes. She had withdrawn her daughters from the gay society, taken them to hear every sermon, sent them to all the prayer-meetings, drawn them in to the circle of inquirers, rejoiced over their growing interest in religious things, encouraged them t6 make an early profession of their faith, as fruits of the revival; and now to be disappointed thus! Be- tween the two she had thought herself secure. Lu- cretia was just the right agetwenty-five. Helen, she knew, was very pleasing, though she had sup- posed her too young; yet she was nineteen last month. She tried to vent her disappointment in displeasure at the innocent cause of it. She would not have believed Mr. Vernon such a deceit- ful man; coming here, so pleasantly, week after week so many interviews as he had had alone with Lucretia, and so ready as he had been to ride in their carria~e to the nei~hborhood meetiubs. It was too bad. lIe could not be the man she had thought him. And there were others to echo this too bad. There was the shrewd, match-making Mrs. Pritch- ard, who had recommended no less then three of her favorites to Mr. Vernon. Another lady of the pai ish had boarded a niece from the city two sum- mers, with an eye to the cultivation of a special acquaintance. No wonder she felt injured. From the Examiner. J~ui al of a Oruise among the Islands of the Western Pacific, etc. By John Elphinstone Erskiue, Captain H. N. Murray. WANT of opportunity has hitherto pre- vented us from noticing the work of Captain Erskine, but it is never too late to notice a good book. Now, therefore, in our leisure and holiday time, we proceed to render some ac- count of Capt. Erskines journal. The cruise of this most judicious officer lasted seventeen weeks, and extended over the groups of the Pacific Islands called the Navigators or Sa- moan, the Friendly or Tonga, the Feejees, the New hebrides, and the Loyalty, with the large island of New Caledonia. These, extending from the 16th to the 23d degree of south lati- tude, and from the 163d degree of east to the 170th of west longitude, include seven de- grees of latitude and twenty-seven of longi- tude. We shall commence with such a general outline of the inhabitants of the islands of the Pacific Islands as may serve to make Captain Erskines narrative intelligible to the reader. One race of men, with brown complexions, lank hair, and scanty beard, speaking essen 69 tially one tongue, although divided ntO many dialects, inhabits all the islands from the Sand- wich group near the Tropic of Cancer to New Zealand, which reaches to the forty-seventh degree of south latitude, and from the Tonga group to Easter Island, over seventy degrees of longitude. This race ends with the Friend- ly Islands, which are wholly inhabited by it; and with the group of the Feejees, 300 miles north-west of them, commence, not one but several races of men, speaking not one hut many distinct languages. A few physical fea- tures, however, are common to them, namely, a black skin, frizzly but not woolly hair, and abundant beard. The different varieties of this race extend over all the islands from the Feejees to New Guinea, both inclusive. The French, with some propriety, have called the islands they inhabit Melanesia, or the isles of black men; while Polynesia has long been ap- plied to those peopled by the brown race. At the point of junction of the two races, some intermixture has ensued, a frequent in- tercourse taking place between the Tonga and Feejee groups; a voyage of three hundred miles across the trade-wind being one of no great difficulty with a people whose residence is al- most exclusively littoral, and habits universally maritime. That the black races have received a large share, if not indeed all the civilization they have attained, from the fairer race, seems probable, and is indeed fully admitted by them- selves. The influence of the Polynesian over the Melanesian race may be traced by lan- gua0e, at least as far west as New Caledonia. Although (says Capt. Erskine), evidently con- sidering themselves a superior people to the Tongans, the Feejecans do not hesitate to ac- knowledge that they are indebted to the former for the introduction of most of the useful arts and manufactures, although their own superior intelligence has enabled them to improve upon their original models. Previous to their intercourse with Europe- ans, the only foreigners to whom either the black or fair races of the Pacific are indebted for any part of their civilization, are the ad- vanced nations of the Malayan Archipelago; and it is quite certain, from the total absence of all vestige of their languages, that the) are not, like the latter, under obligation to Hindus or Arabs, direct or indirect. The influence of the Malays is discoverable only through the evidence of language. Thus all the sections of the brown-complexioned race have adopted the decimal numerals of the Malays, and even the black races have, in a few cases, done so, to the supercession of their own rude systems, which extended no further than five. Some theorists indeed who sought, through lingual evidence, to prove that the brown race and the Malnyan are one and the same people, ISLANDS OF THE WESTERN PACJFIC~ ETC. wished to exclude the languages of the Melan- lighter; although at Bua I noticed that the old& r esian people from all admixture of Malay. men were, in many instances, of a deeper black Exclusive, however, of the numerals, even the than the young ones. One young-chief whom I words incidentally introduced by onr present visited there was said to have been born of a author, show that this opinion is utterly ground- Tongan mother, and his complexion was very less. Thus the name of the island of Tana, one different from that of the other Feejecans. of the New Hebrides is, at frill-length, Tana- asori, or the great land; the noun, in this case, being the Malay word for land, with the loss of a final aspirate, and the epithet being a native term. In the same way, we have the name of the second largest of the Feejee group, Yanua-levu; the noun, in this instance, being the Malay word banua; a land or region to which is affixed a Feejecan adjective. The name for a sort of Feejecan town-hall, Ulu- puaka, is another example. This means the boars head; the first of the words being the Malay for head, or source, atid the last a Pblynesian word. Our extracts from Captain Erskines sensi- ble and trustworthy narrative, shall be con- fined to his account of the black or Melanesian people, as being at once the most novel and the most curious portion of his work. lIe thus describes the wide difference which exists ha- tween the black and brown races, as to physi- cal form. Allusion has been made in the preceding Jour- nal to the great difference in physical appearance between the Feejecans and the lighter colored Malayo-Polynesians to the eastward. It is iM- possible not to perceive, on arriving at these islands, that one has come among a distinct race of men; and although a further acquaintance may make one aware of many points of resem- blance, in their habits, to the Tongaus, I think it wilt on the whole confirm the first inipression. The standard of height among the Feejecans is about the same as that of their neighbors; but their more muscular and less rounded limbs, their crisp hair, even when, as among the com- mon people, it has undergone no process of dress- ing, their somewhat flatter features and the dark color of their skins, to which the quantity of hair on their bodies gives a kind of blucisli-black tinge, offer a strong contrast to the many Ton- gaas with-whom one has generally an opportu-- nity of comparing them on the spot. The ad- ventitious ornaments of black and red paint, and the artificial frizzing out of the hair to an im- mense extent by the higher classes of both sexes sometimes partially dyed with lime, or pow- dered with a substance resembling our hair-pow- der, said to be the ashes of the bread-fruit tree together with the scanty dress of the men, con- sisting merely of a small bag, suspended by a -narrow strip of native cloth roniid the loins, serves also to increase the distinction. The chiefs are incontestably much finer looking than the common people; their features having much less of the African negro cast, and their fore- headspartly, perhaps, on account of the form and height of their head-dresses -~- appearing loftier and more expansive. I did not perceive that, in general, the color of their skins was As a good specimen of the black race, in its most favorable form, we shall give Captain Erskines description of the great living hero of the Feejecan Archipelago, a kind of canni- bal Napoleon: We arrived at last at the residence of Tha- komban himselg and here we were received with much ceremony. An entrance having been cleared for us through bundles of native cloth, immense coils of cordage, and other articles, the produce of the late Butoni tribute, the chief himself the most powerful, perhaps, of any in the Pacific, and certainly the most ener- getic in cliaracter---was seen seated in the attitude of respect to receive us. He rose, however, as we entered, seeing that it was expected, unfolding as he did so, an immense train of white native cloth, eight or ten yards long, from his waist, and invited me to occupy the one chair be pos- sessed, the others takin ~, their seats on rolls of cloth, or, like the natives, sitting cross-legged on the floor. It was impossible not to admire the appearance of the chief: of large, almost gigan- tic size, his limbs were beautifully formed and proportioned; his countenance, with far less of the negro cast than amon~ the lower orders, agreeable and intelligent; while his immense head, of hair, covered and concealed with gauze, smoke-dried and slightly tinged with brown, gave him altogether the appearance of an eastern sul- tan. No garments confined his magnificent chest and neck, or concealed the natural color of the skin, a clear but decided black; and in spite of this paucity of attirethe evident wealth which surrounded him showing that it was a matter of choice and not of necessityhe looked every inch a king The missionaries said that he was a little agitated with thu prospect of our inter- view, but I confeis I qid not discover it. Not far from him sat his puincipal and favorite wife, a stout ,good looking a omtn, with a smiling ex- pression, and hei son I hakombaus heir, a fine boy of eight om nine and lie was surrounded at a respectful distance by a crowd of crouching cour- tiers. This crouching posture must be adopted not merely when sitting, hut when moving about in his presence, and I have even seen Navindi as- sume it when pas4ng before him. here is another sketch of a Feejecan We were all much phe~used with Tui Levuka, at least after be had got over the effects of a glass of rum, which some ~crson gave him on his first coming on hoard, and which seemed to stupefy him. He is a young man, the son of the Tui Levuka mentioned by-Captain Wilkes, and has a very good reputation among the white people. His dress was simple enough. To the usual maro was added a wrapper of native cloth, and he wore a necklace of white shells, and a turban 70 ISLANDS OF THE WESTERN PACIFIC~ ETC. (the ~ sala, permitted to chiefs only) of white gauze round his head, whieh was frizzed out to a considerable size, but not to that of the ambas- sadors wife at Lakemba. His figure was slight, but very muscular, the forehead of a good height, and the features not negro, although the nose was slightly flattened and the mouth wide, with regu- lar teeth. His black beard and mustachios were thick, but of moderate length, and the skin a de- cided black, quite different from the copper color of the other Polynesians. Captain Erskine gives lithographic portraits, on the same page, of a chief of the brown- complexioned race, and of the Napoleon of cannibalism; and, to the. eye, the distinction between them is certainly very wide. The first, with his brown complexion, lank hair, and beardless chin, might pass for a Malay; while the man-eater, with his dark skin, his flowing beard, and his mulberry-paper hood resembling a turban, might easily be taken for one of the Seik chieftains that fought so hravely on the Sutlej. As we proceed westward, the negro-like character of the Melanesians seems to increase, until we come to New Guinea, which occasion- ally produces specimens not always distinguish- able from a Congo negro. The inhabitants of Tana, one of the New Hebrides, are a much inferior race to the Feejeeans, both in body and mind. If we remember well, Cook de- scribes these as the most monkey-like people of the whole Pacific. Findin~ that we were not disposed to annoy them, the natives began to flock on board by de- grees, coming off in canoes fitted with outriggers, but somewhat clumsier and heavier than those of Samoa and Tonga. We at once recognized Captain Cooks description of the people as identical with their appearance at the present day. They are generally of short stature, but muscular and athletic for their size; the color of their skins a shiny black, and their bodies cov- ered Thinly with hair, or a kind of down. Some had black or brown crisp hair; but that .of the greater number was twisted and tied up into an immense number of thin cords, the ends being frizzed out, about two inches from the extremity, where the color was a sandy red. The nose was generally rather flat, and the eyes of a chocolate color; the ears of almost all being pierced, and flat rings of tortoise-shell and other trinkets hana- in,, from them. Even in the same group of the New llehri- des, a wide dilThreuce exists in the physical form of the Melanesians, as will appear from Captain Erskines account of the inhabitants of Vate, or Sandwich Island. line noses, good foreheads, and beards of a mode. rate size. As their manners were more composed, so their dress was much more decent, consisting of a broad belt of matting, seven or eight inches wide, very neatly worked, in a diamond pattern of red, white, and black edlors, with a species of maro suspended in front. Now as to the moral character of the Melane- sians. We begin with the dark features of it, without any doubt the most prominent. Fore- most stands cannibalism; and there can he little question but that, for the purpose of the shambles, a man and a hog are pretty nearly on an equality with this race. So habitual (says Capt. Erskine) has the use of the dead body for food become, that the missiona- ries assert that the Feejeean langua~e contains no word for simple corpse, but the word uled, ha kola, conveys the idea of eating the body; and a term which, when translated, we at first consi- dered a jest, puaka balava, or long pig, is em- ployed in serhsus parlance, to express the differ- ence between the human body and that of a hog, to which the epithet dma, or true, is in distinc- tion applied. The supply of human flesh was formerly in all parts of Feejee, and is still in the districts to which the influence of the missiona- ries has not extended, furnished from different sources, the luxury being in general denied to women and slaves, although they are supposed sometimes to satisfy their curiosity or inclination in secret. All enemies killed in battle are, as a matter of course, eaten by the victors, the bodies being previously presented to the spirit. This source of supply, to which it is now believed all the negro races of the Pacific have recourse, as well as to the bodies of shipwrecked persons, in whose disfavor a strange superstition seems to have existed even in countries now civilized, is by no means sufficient for the Feejecan demand, whose customs require that on occasions of ce- remony, when strangers of consequence are en- tertained, the magnificence of the chief shall be exhibited by a feast of human victims. The following is a detailed account of a chase more bloody than any of Nimrods; the mighty hunter being the Feejecan hero whose personal appearance we have already described as resembling that of a i-ace to whom even the flesh of a cow is abhorrent. This visit, then, being the first paid by the Bu- toni (the fishermen) for six or seven years, and the quantity of tribute being very large, it was considered proper to give them a handsome re- ception. A larc~e house called the Ulu ni Pu- b aka, or pigs head, was prepared for the ac- corumodation of themselves and their families, and food collected from all directions for their entertainment. According to custom, a family These people although differing a good deal called the Vusarnudabe was called upon to among themselves, had, except the black color of furnish meat for the first breakfast, and, as it their skins, few points of resemblance to the Ta- concerned their pride that this should be of the nese. ihey were of larger stature and more regn- best, steps were taken to provide one or two, ha- lar features, some having straight or almost aqui- man bodies. As Ban was not actually at war 71 72 ISLANDS OF TIlE WESTERN PACIFIC. with any of the neighboring tribes, and no ene- Through the heroic conduct of two Eng1i~h rnies were to be had, some little management was ladies, the wives of the missionaries, three out necessary to secure this supply; but at last, of thirteen captured victims were saved, tea through the co-operation of a tributary town on having been already murdered, cooked, and Viti Levu, called Nandavio, and, it was said, by eaten0 The father of the chief thus pro. the assistance of two Tahitians, or Malayo-Poly- nounced sentence: Those who are dead, are nesians, residing at Ban, two poor wretches were dead those who are alive, shall live. entrapped on a small island, called Anutha, or Yanutha, and brought to the capital, where they The prevalence of cannibalism among the were slaughtered and eaten. The missionaries, black races of the Pacific, seems to be nearly who are disposed to think well of Thakombans general hut to what it is to be ascribed, intentions, suppQse that, had the example not would be rather difficult to say. That it is not been set by the Vusarandabe, he would have been universal, even with them, is certain, for it is satisfied with supplying his guests with pigs. It not supposed to exist itmong the Papuans of now. however, became a point of honor with him, New Guinea and its neighborin~g islets; and his turn for supplying the hreakthst having ar- that it is not confined to them is equally so, rived, not to be excelled in munificence by his inferiors; and the chiefs of Nasilai, a city ~ since it was universal with the New Zealand- Rewa, which had been lately subjugated, were ers, a brown-complexioned people. For our ordered to forward the required provision to Bau. own parts, we cannot help agreein0 with Cap- One man only was obtained from this source, tam Cook in thinking that a craving for flesh when Navindi, tbe Turanga ni Lasakan, or on the part of omnivorous man, where no chief of the fishermen, whose duty it is more other than human flesh was available, must particularly to procure human flesh, and who have bad some share in its origin. Captain might have taken offence at the presumption of Erskine thinks that the Feejeeans, who have the Vusarandabe in preceding him, was ordered hogs and fowls, are inexcusable; but neither to perform his horrible office. Taking with him of the latter seem to be very abundant, and accordingly the nambete, or priest, he started their with several canoes for Nakelo, a town situated Polynesian or foreign names would seem on a river or branch of the sea connecting Rewa to imply that they are but comparatively with the coast of the main land opposite to Ban. recent introductions. Certain it is that ennui- An ambush laid here havin~ failed, it became balism bad no existence in any of the islands doubtful whether it would not be necessary to of the Pacific where tIme dog, the hog, and the have recourse to their own resources; that is, to common fowl were abundant. Our notion is in slaughter some of their own slaves to furnish the some measure corroborated by the answer Butoni banquet. a sacrifice of course to be avoid- which Takomban, the Feejecan hero above ed if possible. The priests aid was accordingly mentioned, gave to CaptaiA Erskine hiumself, invoked, Navindi hinting at the same time that. when the captain remonstrated with him on should they continue unsuccessful, he (the priest) the subject of the horrible tragedy we have would probably he one of the victims himse . recounted On retirin I asked Mr The oracle having been consulted, a hundred ho- . Calvert dies are promised by the gods, and the party (one of the missionaries) the meaning of the continued their course, skirting along under the chiefs interruption of my speech, and was told overhanging mangroves to the village of Notho. that, at the moment of expressing our horror Here they lay concealed till low water, when the at the practice of eating their fellow-men, he women are accustomcd to come to the coast to broke out, that it was all very well for us pick shell fish for food, and, sallying out at the who had plenty of beef (hula ma kan) to re- proper time, secured fourteen of these defence- monstrate, but they had no beef but men. less and unsuspecting beings, one or two being Among those condemned by the customs of clubbed to death, as a rush was made to escape. the Feejecans to be murdered and eaten as a One man attempting to save either his wife or matter of course, are all who have the misfor- daughter shared her fate, but with this exception, all were of the softer sex, and they were imme- tune to be shipwrecked, or as the phrase is, diately conducted in triumph to Ban. who have the marks of salt water in their On Sunday, the 29th of July, the hollow sound eyes. of the awful lali, or sacred drum, bore across the water to Viwa the intelligence that a cargo I found on my return to the ship that very few of human victims had arrived in Ban, and a na- of the natives had come on board. The shores tive Christian chief (I believe Namosemalna), of tIme bay are hut thinly populated, and they who had quitted the capital to bring the informa- have very few canoes. One small one I remark- tion to the mission, related to the shuddering Ia- ed capsize in comm off under sail, but she was dies, whose husbands were absent at Ban, or San- soon righted. Had she been lost, and the crew dalwood Bay, in Vanna Levu, on their usual an- obli~ed to save themselves by swimming, the old nual meeting. the whole of the circumstances of customs of Feejee would have entitled the tribe the capture. In the course of the day different inhabiting time part of the shore which they might reports as to the intentions of the authorities reach to put them to death and feast on their ho. were brought over, hut in the evening came a de- dies. In the wildest districts, such, for instan6e, finitive one, that all were to he slaughtered on the as tho~e on the western side of Viti Levu, there is morrow. no doubt that this privilege, in the case of their 73 ISLANDS OF THE WESTERN PACIFIC. own countrymen, would be asserted even in the formed by a Feejeean, evidently proceeding on present day. A general belief that the flesh of some linportant business, in a low tone of voice, white man is salt and unpalatable, and a kind of as if not desirous of being overheard, that Tui rcspect for the race or dread of the vengeance of Thakau was dead, and that preparations werO their God, whom the Feejeeans consider to be an- going on for his burial. Not doubting the truth tagonistic to their own deities, and more power- of the information, but knowing that the prepa- ful, would probably exempt a foreigner from this rations partly consisted in strangling the wivea fate, particularly if (as would be the case with a of the deceased, Mr. Williams hurriedly appris. shipwrecked man) he carried about him nothing ing his colleague, Mr. Haziewood, of the circum- to excite their cupidity. stance, hastened with bun to the chiefs resi- dence, with the humane intention of endeavoring Among the horrors of Melanesian customs to save the lives of some at least of the destincd are the inhumation of living aged parents, and victims. As they crossed the threshold they the strangulation of the widows of chiefs, stepped over the body, yet warm, of the first the first, a practice resemblin~ that of the strangled wife, whilst two men, each holding the Bataks of Sumatra, a people who invented end of the fatal cord, were performing the office written letters and possess them; and the last, of the executioner on the second, then in the the widow-burning of Hindus, who were agonies of death. Tni Kila-Kila, the heir to the learned, religious~ and manufacturers of inns- chieftainship, sat at a short distance, with a scowl of fierce determination on his countenance; lin, long before the time of Alexander the whilst in a more remote corner, to the astonish- Great. The following passage from Captain mont of the missionaries, reclined old Tui Tha- Erskines book describes both practices kan himself, apparently in no more infirm condi- tion than on the previous day. A remonstrance Mr. Williams (one of the missionaries), who on the atrocity of such proceedings durina the had lived for four years at Soino-Somo, gave me lifetime of the chief, was met by a stern an- some very interesting particulars of the manners nouncement from Tul Kila-Kila that his father of the people, who, in spite of the advantages of was dead; the spirit had quitted him yesterday frequent communication with a good class of for- he before them was no living man, but a corpse eigners, remain the fiercest of the group; and whom they were about to carry to the tomb. have been prevented, as yet, by the determined Seeing that no expostulations were likely to opposition of their t~vo energetic chiefs, father be of any avail in favor of the old man, whose and son (Tui Thakau and Tui Kila-Kila), from mind, fiom his composed silence, was evidently furnishing a single convert to the ranks of the made up to his fate, the missionaries turned their Christians. It is singular that this dislike to the attention to the surviving wives, whose lives they new doctrine did not extend to the persons of its were successful in savin~, the two already sacri- teachers, who, after the first feelings of jealousy flood being considered as sufficient for the occa- had passed over, were treated with kindness and sion. The principal wife, a woman of higher respect, and received on a friendly footing by the rank than any person present, had escaped the chief, who had,, nevertheless, intimated to his own usual fate, Feejecan custom requiring that the subjects that any falling away from the faith of ceremony of strangulation shall be performed by their forefathers would be punished with instant one of an equal grade. The bodies having been death. The history of the funeral and death placed in a litter, amid the old chief in another, (for in such order did these events take place) the funeral procession began, the principal wife of the elder chief, is a striking example of a hor- and son fanning his face as they conducted him rible Feejecan custom, snd appears the more cx- to his living grave. Arrived at the sea-shore, traordinary, as Tui Thakan had always been the party embarked in canoes for a small island comisidered one of the most indulgent of fathers, containing the tombs of the chiefs of Somo- and Tui Kila-KIla, whatever his other vices Somo; and the two Englishmen, not desiring might have been, had invariably shown himself to witness any further horrors which they bad no a dutiful, and even affectionate son. Mr. Wil- means of preventing, returned to the town to hams haviimg accidentally heard that t~e old secure the safety of the remaining widows. The, chief was dangerously ill, paid him a visit, with ceremonies attending the inhumation of living the hope that he might be induced, with the fear persons have often been witnessed by Europeans, of death before his eyes, to take a more favora- and are fully described by Jackson (App. A). ble view of the prospects held out to him by the The only difference in the case of a chief is, that Christian faith than hitherto. The old man, a bed is formed. at the bottom of the grave, of who was not in so critical a state as Mr. Wil- the bodies of the strangled women, the earth hams had been informed, received him with being then hastily thrown in amid stamped down, hearty good humor; and in reply to his exhorta- so as to drown any expressions of agony from tions to consider his prospects in a future world, the sufferer. This strange and unnatural prac- d~cIared that his illness was of no consequence; tice, which is so common, that an aged or de- that such an event as his death was far distant, crepit person is rarely seen among the Feojees, and that there was no necessity to trouble his is excused under various pretences, and offers a head with those matters for several years to strong contrast to the customs of the Tongamis, come. On the following morning, Mr. Williams, who esteem the care of the old as one of their whilst standing at the door of his house, was a principal rehioious duties. Although, as in the good deal surprised, having left the chief in such case of Tui Thakau, fathers are said to offer n~ high spirits so short a time before, by being in- resistance when the time of their fate has arrived, ISLANDS OF THE WESTERN PACIFIC, ETC. yet it is probable that the natural love of life has been the cause of the general habit of the abdica- tion by a chief at a certain age, often not very advanced, of the whole, or a portion, of his au- thority in favor o~ his son, who has of course less inducement to hasten the period of his succes- sion. Almost a singular instance of a ruling chief being allowed to reach the age of decrepi- tude, is that of old Tanoa, of Ban, the father of Thakomban, who, though not a Christian, will not listen to any proposal to put the old man to death. The catalogue of Melanesian vii-tues will not occupy much room. Although less ad- vanced in the arts than the brown race, they seem, at least the more improved of them, to exhibit a superior energy and hardihood. The Totigans, indeed, a brown-complexioned peo- ple, look up to the Feejecans, a black-complex- ioned one, as models worthy of their own imi- tation. Fidelity and chastity in the women of the black, are virtues only to be contrasted with the notorious profligacy of the brown complexioned race. Alto,,ether (says Capt. Erskine), the position of women in society cannot be considered low, depending, as it does, more on their birth than their sex; and, as far as we were able to judge, the intercourse between the sexes, without pre- tending to any exalted feelings of modesty or principle, is conducted, with great. delicacy, ex- cepting in cases where the bad example of disso- lute white men has spread its contamination. Thakonauto, of iRewa, who has been more ex- posed to this evil influence than most other chiefs, has carried his debauchery to such a de- gree of grossness, that Thakomban, on a visit which he paid to that district, was said to have quitted the formers house in disgust. The Fee- jecans do not permit early marriages, asserting, perhaps with reason, that such connections would tend to prevent the growth of the young women, and deteriorate their race. Virginity is conse- quently preserved to a greater age among the girls than in most other countries; and we heard nothing of the loose conduct on their parts which among many of the more luxurious Polynesians used to be tolerated before marriage. Wives are said to be in general faithful to their husbands; and although occasionally an example of a Mes- salina, such as Jackson (App. A. p. 468) describes the queen of Rewa to be, may occur, female vir- tue may be rated at a high standard for a barba- rous people. A touching story of female courage and de- votion is given by Captain Erskine, well worth transcribing: On the death of the present chiefs father (a Feejecan), and consequent strangulation of his wives taking place, Mr. Williams had succeeded in rescuing one of these, and carrying her over to his own premises. Not anticipating any revi- val on her part of a desire to follow her husband to the grave, no steps were taken to confine or watch her. Either unable to overcome her grief at his loss, or the feeling of remorse at having failed in her duty to his memory, she escaped during the night, and swimming across the river, and presenting herself to her own people, insisted on the completion of the sacrifice which she had in a moment of weakness reluctantly consented to forego on the previous day. Pita, the chief, whose mother was one of the victims on this occasion, is said to be impressed with the bar.. barity of such proceedings; and the usual effects of the increasing prosperity of the Christians. who soon begin to acquire a taste for foreig~i manufactures and more domestic comforts, are likely to display themselves in the union of these two communities. Among the harmless superstitions of the black races are the Tabu and Circumcision, probably both borrowed from the brown- complexioned people. It is singular that among things subjected to the tabu or inter- dict, are words entering into the composition of a chiefs name, which after his death are forbidden to be used, and in fact disappear from the language, just as if such words as defender and faith, had been banished from our own language after the death of our eighth Henry. Before the introduction of Christianity, no fewer than forty words, previ- ouslv in use, had disappeared in the dialect of Tahiti, some of them, as the word for water, of much importance. New terms were, of course, substituted. The total population of the four groups of Islands, visited by Captain Erskine, is very small. Even including the large island of New Caledonia, it would probably not be more than 300,000 souls. But the estimates are of course for the most part conjectural. The Feejees, with their black population, are supposed, de- spite of murder and cannibalism, to be the most populous, and to contain two-thirds of.the whole number. For New Caledonia, which is equal in size to one-third part of the kingdom of Ireland, the highest estimate has been no more than 60,000, while the lowest is but 25,000; giving no more than two and a half and six to the square mile. But whatever the number of their inhabitants, these are now in progress~ of being Christianized and humanized the work, with few exceptions, of Anglo-Saxon teachers; men whose zeal, piety, and intre- pidity have seldom been equalled and never surpassed. The means pursued are the only effectual ones, the employment of numerous native teachers, under the guidance and direc- tion of the strangers. It is remarkable, that, although in a better cause, the means are the very same by which was brought about the conversion to Mohammedanism of some fifteen millions of the populations of the western islands of the Indian seas, the bulk of them but a few years before the first appearance of Europeans. 74 75 FOOTES AFRICA AND THE AMERICAN FLAG. Of the author of the volume before us, Capt. ~rskine, we have only to add, that in his inter- ourse with the natives, he appears to have aken Captain Cook as his guide and model, tnd that in our judgment that great traveller could not have a worthier successor, whether as a man in authority or as a navi~ator. In a long cruise, and an intricate and often un- known navigation, his frigate of deep draught encountered no accident. lie mixed fearlessly and unarmed with cannibals and savages, yet without a single collision to interrupt a friendly and beneficent intercourse. From The Spectator. FOOTES AFRICA AND THE AMERICAN FLAG. Tnrs quaint-looking title indicates the con- tents of the volume exactly. The book ~on- tains a geo~raphical and historical sketch of Africa, or rather of Negroland, and an account of the doings of the American squadron on the Slave-coast. It is the result of much African experience, which infuses into the volume liv- ing knowledge, definite ideas, and a certain degree of vigor. A good deal of the matter is drawn from books; and even when the au- thor is narrating his services, the composition, (mainly abridged from his own official corres- pondence,) wears the air of compilation, rath- er than the results of direct observation, be- cause compilation is the turn of the author. In the rapid sketch of the early periods of African history, before the slave-trade, during its growth and in its palmy days, the materials must of necessity be drawn from books, and pretty common books too; but the seaman has added hints of th& pirates the trade drew to the African coast, and the piracy in which the trade itself often mer,,ed, that perhaps only a seaman acquainted with the coast could have written. The story of the proceedings since this country took up the suppression of the slave-trade in earnest, and the success which has attended it, is also freshened by personal knowledge, though upon the whole it is the least vivid part of the book. The geographi- cal sketch of Africa is a condensed summary of the natural and social features. The two other subjects have more interest, and more of actual experience. They are the history of Liberia, and of the proce~dings of the American squadron on the coast, especially while the author was on the station. The early struggles and essential success of Liberia will have novelty for many readers; ~Africa and the American Fla0. By Commander Andrew H. Foote, U. S. Navy, Lieutenant Com- manding U. S. Brig Perry on the coast of Africa, A.D~ 185051. Published by Trubner, London; and Appleton, New York. and it deserves a fuller exposition than it fell in our authors way to give. The idca of an African state consisting of civilized free men of color was practically carried out in a small way by one John Kizell. He had been a slave of South Carolina, and joined the English dur- ing the Revolutionary war, and on its termina- tion was sent to Africa with many others. He formed a settlement at Sherboro, about six- ty miles from Sierra Leone; prospered in trade; built a church, and inducted himself preacher. On this foundation the American societies that aimed at Christianizing Africaby removing free men of color from the States erected their superstructure. There was much, however, to be done. A more extended dis- trict than Sherboro was required; and when with difficulty it was obtained, the bargain was repudiated by some of the native chiefs, after they had received the purchase-money; and the philanthropists had to go to war, by way of showing their love to man. Through difficul- ties not very dissimilar to those which beset the founders of Virginia and other colonies in the olden time, Liberia struggled on till the White governor could be superseded by the Color& d man. The topic, however, which requires ex- positionand it can only be given by an ac- tual observeris the working of Republican- ism and universal suffrage in such a society. It is true that there was little room for destruc- tion or oversetting, as with the accumulated wealth or the various institutions of the old states in Europe. Still, it was a bold proceed- ing to combine into a federation several dis- tricts occupied by native Africans in a state of crass ignorance and superstition, with a sprinkling of Colored men from civilized coun- tries, where they were looked upon as a de- graded race; bolder still to give a vote to each adult male. The Negro institution of the palaver had indeed prepared the peo- ple for the debating part of the business:, and perhaps their very ignorance of an assemblys power might contribute to the success of the experiment. That it has thus far succeeded, seems certain; but a knowledge of the actual working of the sxperiment in its details would be desirable, if it could be obtained, nut only as a curiosity, but as a rare example in politics. This is the picture of the chief people and the capital, as drawn by Captain Foote. Notwithstanding the heterogeneous popula- tion of Liberia, a commendable degree of or- der, quiet, and comparative prosperity prevails. With such men as President Roberts, Chief-Jus- tice Benedict, Major-General Lewis, Vice-Pres- ident Williams, and many other prominent per- sons in office and in the walks of civil life, the government and society present an aspect alto- gether more favorable than a visitor, judging them from the race when in contact with a white population, is prepared to find. The country is FOOTE S AFRICA AND THE AMERICAN FLAG. theirsthey are lords of the soil; and in inter- course with them it is soon observed that they are free from that oppressive sense of inferiority which distinguishes the colored people of this country. A visit to Monrovia is always agreea- ble to the African cruiser. Monrovia, the capital, is situated immediately in the rear of the hold promontory of Cape Me- surado, which rises to the altitude of 250 feet. The highest part of the town is eighty feet above the level of the sea. The place is laid out with as much regularity as the location will admit. Broadway is the main or principal street, run- ning nearly at right angles with the sea. Besides this, there are twelve or fifteen more. The town contains not far from two thousand inhabitants. Many of the houses are substantially built of brick or of stone, and several of them are hand- somely furnished. The humidity of the climate has greatly impaired the wooden buildings. The State House, public stores, and the new Aca- deiny, are solid, substantial buildings, appropriate to their uses. There are five churches, and these are well attended. The schools, will compare favorably with the form~l district schools in this country [America]: which is not saying much in their favor. There is a good deal of matter to be gleaned from the account of the American squadron and the authors own doin~S. Captain Foote lays it down broadly, thit unless the American squad- ron is efficiently kept up, the slave-trade will become as active as ever, under the American flag. The best mode of proceeding is for a British and an American ship to sail together, so as always to be within easy communication. In this way everything can be overhauled; the American taking vessels sailing under tbe American flagthe British, ships of her own or any other nation with which she has right of search treaties; for the American only rn~d- dle with her people. The following rather disjointed extracts will show how business is done. The Perry was Captain Footes own ship. A list of American vessels, which had been on the coast during the preceding year, was pro- cured. Many of these vessels came from Rio and adjoining ports, with two sets of papers. A sea-letter had been granted by the Consul in good faith, according to law, on the sale of a vessel in a foreign port; the cargo corresponded with the manifest; the consular certificate crew list, port clearance, and all papers, were in form. Several of these vessels, after discharging their cargoes, changed their flag; the American captain and crew, with flag and papers, leaving the vessel, and she instantly becoming invested with Span- ish, Portuguese, or Brazilian nationality. By this arrangement, as the United States nev- erhas consented, and never ought to consent, even on the African coast, to grant to Great Britain or any other power the right of search, a slaver, when falling in with an American cruiser, would be prepared to elude search and capture by the display of a foreign ensign and papers, even had she slaves on board. And on the other hand, she might the same day fall in with a British cruiser, and by displaying her flag, and present- ing the register or sea-letter, vindicate her Amer- ican nationality. This illustrates the importance of men-of.war, belonging to each nation, cruising in company for the detection of slavers. The papers of the second slaver captured by the Perry were in form, excepting the crew list which showed but one American on board, who was master of the vessel. And in a letter of in- structions from the reputed owner, he was re- quired to leave whenever the Italian supercai-go directed him to do so. This shows how readily the nationality of a vessel may be changed. The master of the first slaver captured by the Perry stated that had he not supposed she was an English cruiser he would have been l)repared with a foreign flag, and otherwise to have eluded search and capture; and that on a former occa- sion he had been boarded by an English cruiser, when, to use his own expression, he bluffed off John Bull with that flag,referring to the Ame- rican ensign. The Lucy Ann, ~vhen captured, was hoarded fifty or sixty miles to leeward or North of Loan- da. She had an American flag flyin~, although her papers had been deposited in the Consuls office at Rio. The English boarding-officer, who was not allowed to see any papers, suspecting her character, prolonged his visit for some time. As he was about leaving the vessel, a cry or stifled gre an was heard issuing from the hold. The main hatches were apparently forced up from below, although a boat was placed over them, and the heads of many people appeared. Five hundred and forty-seven slaves were found in the hold, almost in a state of suffocation. The master then hauled down the American flag, declared the vessel to be Brazilian, and gave her up. * * * * At three oclock in the afternoon, a large ship with two tiers of painted ports was made to wind- ward, standing in for the land towards Ambriz. At four oclock the chase was overhauled, having the name Martha, New York, registered on her stern. The Perry had no colors flying. The ship, ~vhen in range of the guns, hoisted the American ensign. shortened sail, and hacked her main-top- sail. The first lieutenant, Mr. Rush, was sent to board her. As he was rounding her stern, the people on board observed, by the uniform of the boarding-officer, that the vessel was an American cruiser. The ship then hauled down the Ameri- can and hoisted Brazilian colors. The officer went on board and asked for papers and other proofs of nationality. The captain denied having papers, log, or anything else. At this time, some- thing was thrown overboard; when another boat was sent from the Perry and picked up the writ- ing-desk of the captain, containing sundry papers and letters, identifying the captain as an Ameri- can citizen ; also indicating the owner of three. fifths of the vessel to be an American merchant, resident in Rio de Janeiro. After obtaining satis- factory proof that the ship Martha was a slaver, she was seized as a prize. 76 MISCELLANEOUS. 77 The captain at length admitted that the ship pendence combined with a look out for damn- was fully equipped for the slave-trade. There ges of their skippers, and the over-zeal of were found ou board the vessel one hundred and British officers, not always free of a desire to seventy-six casks filled with water, containing make prizes. The last, when detected, should from one hundred to one hundred and fifty gal- he promptly put down. The zeal is not so ions each; one hundred and fifty barrels of fan- easy to deal with, for in checking that we may na for slave-food several sacks of beans ; slave- deck laid; four iron boilers for cooking slave- damp activity. The vulgar bluster of Amen- provisions; iron bars, with the necessary wood- can merchantmen may he disregarded when work, for securing slaves to the deck; four hun- the amende is made. The promptness to take dred spoons for feeding them; between thirty offence, the disposition to stand upon dignity, and forty muskets; and a written agreement be- the tendency to magimiloquence and to fend tween the owner and the captain, with the receipt ing and c,, which appear to character- of the owner for two thousand milireas. ize some of the American officers, must be left There hem,, thirty-five persons on board this to time. When an American is more satisfied prize, many of whom were foreigners, it was at heart with his countrys greatness, and the deemed necessary to send a force of twenty-five men, with the first and second lieutenants, that dignity it reflects upon himseW he will be less the prize might be safely conducted to New York disposed to cavil ahout trifles and pick quarrels for which place she took her departure that to assert his importance. evening. The writing-desk thrown overboard from the Martha soon after she was boarded, contained sundry papers, making curious revelations of the A SCHEME is talked of for a Ship Railway agency of some American citizens enga,,ed in the from the Mediterranean to the Black Sea; and slave-trade. These papers implicated a number news has come that the laying down of the tele- of persons who are little suspected of ever having graph cable to Corsica half way from Europe participated in such a diabolical traffic. A citizen to Africa has been successfully accomplished, of NewYork, then on the African coast, in a letter and in water more than three hundred fathoms to the captain of the Martha, says: The French deep in some places. It was thought that very barque will be here in a few days; and, as yet, deep water would present an insurmountable dif- the agent has no instructions as to her taking ficulty; but here is the difficulty overcome, and ebony [negroes, slaves] . . . . From the Rio converted into an incitement to new exertions. papers which I have seen, I infer that business is The electric telegraph, too, is now complete from pretty brisk at that place It is thought Bombay to Calcutta the begmnnmn,, of a great here, that the brig Susan would bring a good scheme of physical improvemehts, which will de- prize, as she had water on board C, monstrate more and more the folly of having so an American merchant, has sold the Flood, and long left the resources of India undeveloped. As she was put under Brazilian colors, and gone Dr. Royle has said: It is a country of such vast ~around the Cape. The name of the brigantine extent, so diversified in soil and climate, that we in which B came passenger, was the Sotind: may readily believe it capable of producing eve- she was, as we are told, formerly the United States ry kind of natural produce; and we are glad to brig Boxer. Other letters, found with this, observe, that the conviction is spreading in quar. stated: The bark Ann Richardson and brig Sn- ters where it may promote enterprise. Irrigation san, were both sent home by a United States crui- on a grand scale, next to roads, is what India re- ser. The Independence cleared for Paraguay i quires; and with these combined, there seems no several of the American vessels were cleared, possibility of setting a limit to her productiveness. and had sailed for Montevideo, etc., in ballast i It has been shown, on the best of evidence, that and, as I suppose, bound niggerly; but where in irrigation in India yields a profit of from seventy hell they are, is the big business of the matter. to a hundred per cent., and thus pays better than The sailors, as yet, have not been near me. I gold-digging in Australia. Incredible as this shall give myself no trouble about them. I have may appear at first sight, it is easy of proof. The seen them at a distance. I am told that they are value of water to Indian cultivators is already all well; but they look like death itself. V well known : they purchase it willingly at one Z tells me they have wished a hundred times, rupee, or two shillings, for 500 cubic yards; and in his presence, that they had gone in the ship; any person or company undertaking to form re- for my part, I wish they were in hell, Texas, or servoirs, or dig canals, would be sure of success, some other nice place. B only came down while at the same time contributing, in the best here to take in, but was driven off by one of the possible way, to the welfare of the country. English cruisers; he and his nigger-crew were Great good has already been effected by the under deck, out of sight, when visited by the building of dams and weirs across some of the cruiser. rivers; and a project is now on foot for a canal of 180 miles long, from Sukkur to Hyderabad, Indications frequently turn up of the deli- which will fertilize at least a million acres. So cacy required in dealing with American yes- much is involved in this question, that we can- sels, and of the difficulties springing from the not forbear directing attention to it. Chamberss techiness of their naval officers, the low inde- Journal. 78 From the United Service Magazine. THE FATE OF SIR JOHN FRANKLIN. Tnz desire of knowledge which an omni- scient Creator has impressed upon the mind of man, though often misdirected by an abuse of his free-will, is one of those attributes which pre-eminently distinguish him from all the other beings that share his earthly habitation. It is upon this spirit of inquiry, and the power which the children of each succeeding gen- eration possess of benefiting of the experi- ence of their fathers, that the social progress of man depends. The truths discovered or the theories put forth by one man of science serve as stepping stones to others. Newton demonstrated what Kepler had propounded, and the discovery of the planets lying between Mars and Jupiter verified Bodes assumption. of a scale of distances. The discovery of one great law has been productive of the know- ledge of nmnerous truths in its application through the universe. The power which New- ton recognized as the cause of the apple fall- ing to the ground is the same that retains the planets in their orbits, and, as in the works of Infinite Wisdom, the greatest results are pro- duced by means the most simple, the compu- tations made upon a principle well-established are infallible. The weight of the planets, their distances from the sun, and from each other, with the extent of their orbits, have been ascer med by calculation based upon known principles. It was this conviction of the Qbedience of matter to cer in fixed laws which enabled Le Verrier to assert that some disturbing cause affected the periodical return of Saturn, and which led to a discovery that must render his name for ever illustrious. The men who have so skilfully read the page of Gods works will be ever esteemed the ben- efactors of their race, because, in demonstrat- ing so closely the laws which govern the uni- verse, in expatiating upon the harmony which pervades the entire, in dwelling upon. the un- erring certainty with which results may be calculated, they teach the rest of mankind to look up tp the great first cause. And there can be no doubt but tbat an extensive ac- quaintance with the truths of science will in- duce a knowledge that rather tends to hum- ble than puff up, leading, as it does, to the contemplation of the Eternal Truth, in whom there is no chance or shadow of alteration, or, as some translators have it, no parallax. Some there are who dread that science will chase poetry from the earth; but surely such fears are groundless. What inspiration can be so deep as that which the knowledge of truth inspires, what aspirations so lofty as those whk~h ascend in security that mystic ladder that science has reared, and which, like that in the vision of the patriarch reaches from hea FATE OF SIR JOHN FRANKLIN. yen to earth, bringing down angel truths, and carrying back heavenward yearnings. Will our admiration for the star-besprinkled mid- night sky be lessened by an acquaintance with the laws that govern the transmission of light? The astronomer who patiently watches these distant worlds, till, reasoning from analogy, he peoples them with beings, bright as their own beams, is surely as essentially a poet as the effeminate Assyrian, who, looking into the deep innane, beheld the thousand orbs of night, and, turning, compared them with his Myrrabs eyes. After offering our humble tribute of thanks to the astronomers, who nightly watch the rising and setting stars, who mark the moment when they culminate, and note down their in- creased or diminished refulgence, to these men, to whose patient investigation we are in- debted for so much, we acknowledge our obli- gations, and turn, with an equally grateful feeling to the adventurous travellers and dar- ing mariners who have traversed this orbed earth of ours, and brought back accounts of climatic differences in the various zones, of the wonderful diversity which nature presents in the flora and fauna of the countries they saw. To these men we are indebted for the highly civilizing influences that commerce exerts; from them we have learned the condition of our fellow-men in other regions. And the poet, and historian, and philosopher, have found new materials on which to exercise their genius in following those who first traced a way across the seas, or over the mountains and plains, which had before been deemed im- passable barriers. All these discoveries are the result of that spirit of inqiiiry innate in the breast of man. First, individuals ventur- ed on these enterprises; afterwards govern- ments, either avaricious of commercial advan- tages, or anxious for glory, sent forth expedi- tions on voyages of discovery. That we are deeply indebted to those who unlock for us the stores of scientific knowledge, and pois~it out the way to commercial wealth, there can be no doubt; but mankind is proverbially un- grateful, and nations, like individuals, are stained with the crime. Like improvident fathers, we incur debts, which we leave to our children to pay, an~d it is posterity which is generally expected to do justice to those, the first fruits of whose labors have been reaped by us; and posterity, in paying the debts of its predecessors, generally incurs new ones on its own account. How often have we heard it mentioned, as a gross injustice~ that the continent that Columbus discovered received its name from another. We speak with warm indignation of the exiled Dante, the persecu- ted Tasso, the starving Otway, and we forget Sir John Franklin. But let us not leave it to posterity to paint FATE OF SIR TOUN FRANKLIN. 79 this picture, let us portray it ourselves, and which may be yet available, or, that we had let us now do what posterity will say we ought not even endeavored to ascertain their fate. to have done. Sir John Franklin and crew Sir John Franklin was sent out by the Ad- were sent out by a department of the legisla- miralty. He received positive instructions as ture, whose acts are reco~nized by the nation. to the object he was to endeavor to attain, and There can be no doubt but that these man- the course he was to pursue. He was spoken ners were fully impressed with the difficulties with, two months after he left England, but of the enterprise, hut animated by mingled has not since been heard of. IRewards have feelin~s of pride and hope, they did not shrink been offered to those who should find any from the danger. If they returned triumph- traces of the crew or ships; and we may ant, they should be received with rewards and here remark that Lady Franklin, with the congratulat~ions; if they perished in those dis- clear sightedness of affection, fixed upon a tant seas, their names should be embalmed in better mode of distributing the rewards she undying remembrance in the breasts of their offered, than the government had thought of countrymen. These thoughts lifted their in apportioning theirs. No traces have been hearts to a steady enthusiasm, and helped discovered of the ships, and it is therefore as- them on through many a hairbreadth escape. sumed that they have been lost. This appears But let us follow them into those dreary re- a most extraordinary mode of reasoning, par- gions, when the night of many months comes ticularly when there are many possibilities on. They have been searching for a passage that the ships under Sir John Franklin may through ways gorged with ice, the impedi- have entered the Polar Seas, and are in a po- meats are becoming daily greater, and at sition from which they cannot be extricated length hewing, with great difficulty, a dock in without more help than their present crews the ice, they prepare to winter there; but can afford. blinding snow storms come on, fierce winds A pamphlet written by Mr. John Murray, blow, separating huge masses of ice, and drift- civil engineer, has powerfully re-wakened our ing them along. One of these great icebergs sympathies for Sir John Franklin, and the is drifted towards the spot where the ship has party under his command. Mr. Murray is of found an icy haven. The crew and officers opinion that the Palar Basin is an open sea. see the impending danger, they feel that their his reasons for holding this opinion are found- supreme hour is come. And what does their ed upon the direction of the currents in these commander? He tells them that they are to regions, the changeable position of the mag- die in the service of their country; be re- netic poles, and their coincidence of late with minds them of the Christians hope. Calmly the points of greatest cold. The action of the he awaits the shock that will plunge his ship suns rays during the long polar summer is beneath the waves, and, communing with him- supposed to be sufficient to dissolve the ice. seW he ponders on his fate. His last sigh will Besides this, the many Russian adventurers be to his Creator, his avant dernier to the land who have traversed the coast of Siberia, have of his birth, to the home of his affections. He perceived, or fancied they perceived, an open commends his soul to God, his memory to his sea beyond. If this he the case, it is evident country. With the calmness of a Christian that a more direct and better route to the Pa- and the generous self-devotion of a hero, be cific would be found by sailing in a north- awaits the impending death. But let us sup- easterly, than in a north-westerly, direction to pose that by a merciful interference the dan- Behnings Straits. ger is averted, the ships are extricated, a pas- We find a principle of compensation per- sage is opened through the ice, and the yes- vadin~ the entire economy of nature. The sels steer homewards. How high are the hopes, air of the tropical regions becoming rarified how fond are the anticipations which fill the by the intense heat received from a vertical breasts of the long absent mariners. With sun, ascends to the higher regions of the at- what satisfaction will they not be received. mosphere; and the colder air from the tem- With what honors will they not be loaded by perate and frigid zones rushes in to supply the the nation in whose service they have risked void, whilst the warm air, displaced at the their lives. Let us ima~ine sueh feelings ani- equator, is wafted towards the poles. The mating their breasts, and then let us picture same principle obtains in the ocean. By means the damp, the darkness, that dim these warm of currents the warm waters of the equatorial effusions on hearing that they have been not regions are exchanged for the icy waters of alone unsought, but actually pronounced offi- the frigid zones. The most extensive system cially dead. Let us not give posterity a right of currents is that formed in the Indian to draw such a picture of us. Let it not be Ocean, under the influence of the trade winds, said that the lives of our fellow countrymen and which, doubling the south of Africa, re- should be of so little importance in our eyes, ceives the name of the Lagullus current, from as that we should neglect to send them aid the cape and bank of that name. This streani, FATE OF SIR JOHN FRANKLIN. which is from ninety to a hundred miles in breadth, having doubled the Lagullus hank, flows northward along the western coast of Africa, taking the name of the South Atlantic current until reaching the Bay of Benin; it is turned westward partly by the coiiflguration of the land, and partly by coming in contact with the Guinea current, which flows from the north into the Bay of Benin. The great equa- torial current issues from this bay, and tra- versing the Atlantic, from Guinea to Brazil, flows afterwards by the shores of Guiana to the West Indies. The breadth of this current varies from 160 to 450 geographical miles, and its velocity is from twenty-five to seventy- nine miles per day, the mean rate being about thirty miles. The length of its whole course is about four thousand miles. This great stream enters the Carribean Sea, but m~y be recognized again in the powerful current which issues from the Mexican Gulf, through the Straits of Florida. Having followed a northerly course for some time, this great stream deflects, and flows across the Atlantic till it reaches the Azores, where it widens, forming a large expanse of warm water in the centre of the Atlantic, where its tempera- ture is 10 dee. Fahr. above the surrounding ocean. The influence of this great gulf stream is felt along the coast of Norway, and even to Spitzbergen; that its waters also enter the Polar Sea is highly probable. Dr. Scoresby furnishes us with seine very remarkable facts relative to the temperature of the Greenland Sea. lie found that this sea at the depth of 50 fathoms was often three, and in some instances five, degrees warmer than at the surface. At a depth of 730 fathoms the tempePature was 37 degrees, whilst at the surface it was only 29 deg.; and at the depth of 762 fathoms the temperature was .30 deg., when at the surface it was only 32 deg. This increase of temperature with the increasing depth is observable only in the Greenland Sea, and must arise from some local cause. The neighboring seas present no such excep- tion to the general rule. North of Behrings Straits, in latitude 70 deg. 2 mm., and in lon- gitude 164 deg. 40 mm., Captain Beechy found the temVerature of the water at the surface to be 49 dug., and at the depth of 21 fathoms it was only 37 deg. Captain Ross made a series of observations on the temperature of the sea, at the surface and at certain depths. In Baf- fins Bay the temperature decreased with the depth, and this is the general rule, more strikingly exemplified in the tropics, where the difference of temperature in the ocean, at the surface, and at various depths is greater than what is found in temperate zones. Captain James Ross in the Antarctic re- gions found, about the parallel of 56 de~. 26 nun., south, that there is a belt or circle round the earth, where the mean temperature of the sea, obtaining throughout its entire depth a boundary or kind of neutral ground between the, two great thermic basins of the ocean to the north of this circle; the sea has become warmer than its mean temperature, by reason of the suns heat, which it has absorb- ed, elevating its temperature at various depths in different latitudes, so that the line of mean temperature of 39 deg. 5 mm., in latitude 45 deg. south, has descended to the depth of 600 fathoms; and at the equatorial and tropical re~ions, this mark of the limit of the suns in- fluence is found at the depth of about 1,200 fathoms, beneath which the ocean maintains its unvarying mean temperature of 39 deg. 5 mm., whilst that of the surface is about 78 deg. Re turning to the Greenland Sea, we find that Dr. Scoresby took soundings between Greenland and Spitzbergen with 5000, 6,000, and in one instance with 7,200 feet of line, without finding bottom; and within a cannon shot of the northern shore of the Island of Jan Mayen Dr. Scoresby could not find the bottom with soundings of 300 fathoms. We have here evidence of the high temperature an(l great depth of the Greenland Sea. The character of the Siberian coast, examined by Von Wrangel is low and flat, rising littl~ above the sea. The soundings were not exceedin 21 fathoms, shallow, with green mud bottom. The soundings in Bebrings Strait are found to be between 28 and 30 fathoms, decreasing gradually to either shore. Captain MClure rounded Cape Barron in 73 fathoms, without observing land. Off Point Krehlett, in Baring Island, the soundings were regular from 3 to 30 fathoms, at a distance of four miles from the shore, but on the north-west of the island, at a quarter of a mile from the land, the water was 65 fathoms deep. At a 100 yards from the cliffs, there was a depth of 15 fathoms. In the comparatively narrow sea of Baffins Bay, Captain Ross found at a distance of nine miles from the hand, water 1,070 fathoms deep. Here we see that the soundings along the Siberian coast are very shallow, whilst the water in the Greenland Sea and in Baflins Bay is very deep. The influence of the gulf stream may be dete6ted here. We have al- ready seen that ,this great current, passing through the Bahama Islands and Florida, runs northward along the American coast as far as Newfoundland, where it encounters the cold current setting southward from Baffins Bay and the coast c$f Greenland. The junction of these currents causes comparatively still water, and deposits on the Newfoundland banks~ Both these currents exert a great influence on the Atlantic flood; for its northward progress being checked by these, it deflects, and passes in an east-north-east direction across the At.~ 80 81 FATE OF SIR JOHN FRANKLIN. lantic, often casting upon the shores of Ireland system represented by the magnetic lines, are and Scotland the produce of the West India a ong the two hemispheres in different Islands. The great Atlantic flood-tide which directions. Those in the northern hemisphere at present enters the Polar Sea between Spitz- are going from west to east, those in the south- bergen and Norway, deposits the abrasions of em from east to west; and as the foci of max- the shores along which it has passed, upon the imum intensity move with different velocities, co~sts of Siberia and North America; tend- the forms as well as the places of the curves ing, as we have seen, to choke up all the pas- are slowly yet continually changing. The sages which communicate with Baflins Bay. weaker magnetic focus in the northern hemi- B~t the deep water of that channel is main- sphere moved through fifty degrees of longi- tamed by the current flowing from the Polar tude in two hundred and fifty years. Sea, through recently discovered passages, and At present, the cold is much more severe others yet unknown. However, the great out- in the east than on the west coasts of the ward current from the Polar Sea is along the northern continents and islands. Norway is east coast of Greenland, which accounts for an instance. The havens on the west coast the depth of water in that sea. The inter- are never frozen; ships can enter there at all change ihus established keeps up the system times in safhty: but on the eastern side of the of equilibrium to which we have adverted, Dovrefeld range it is quite different. The the warm waters of the Atlantic being cx- gulf-stream is no doubt instrumental in pro- changed, by this arrangement, for the colder ducing this change. The isothermal curves currents of the Polar Sea. of January, as delineated by Professor Dove, Though the amount of solar heat annually of Berlin, rise steeply from Labrador to received by the earth and radiated back into Spitzbergen, and descend almost perpendicu- space is probably uniformly equal, still, there larly to the European coast. From Norway are local causes that exercise an influence to Nova Zembla, their eastern sides even form upon the temperature of different countries, overhanging summits. In Scandinavia the producing periodic climatic changes. Amongst circumstances are also extraordinary. From these agents of change we must place magne- the intervention of tIme British Islands, the tism, a power with the extent of whose infin- southern parts of Norway are less open to the ence we are not yet fully acquainted. The warm sea current than the northern parts, north magnetic pole was determined by Cap- and hence in the month of January the tem- tam Ross to be in 70 deg. N. lat., 97 deg. W. perature actually becomes warmer in pro- long. Captain James iRoss determined the ceeding from south to north, and at the North position of the southern magnetic pole in 70 Cape the south-east winds are the coldest. deg. S. lat. 162 E. long. The magnetic The history of Greenland ofihrs some curs- equator, or line of no dip, says Mrs. Somer- ous instances of climatic changes. The coun- ville, crosses the terrestrial equator in sev- try received its name from ai~ Icelandie ad- eral places, extending alternately on each venturer, perhaps a pirate who accidentally side, but never deviating more than twelve reached the coast. He was so charmed with degrees from it. The deviation is greater in the verdure that everywhere greeted his eyes, that part of the Pacific where there are most that he gave the country its present name: islands, and it is greatest both to the south and and the glowing account that he gave of this north in traversing the continents of Africa land upon his return home, induced many to and America. Thus, it appears that the con- return with him and settle there. This oc- figuration of the land and water has an infin- curred in 983. The east coast, which is now ence on terrestrial magnetism. North and inaccessible on account of the perpetual ice south of the- magnetic equator the needle dips heaped upon its shores, was in f-hose remote more and more, till at last it becomes perpen- days the seat of flourishing colonies. This dicular to the horizon in two points, or rather part of the country is now called by those lineal spaces,the north and south magnetic who live on the -western coast, lost Greenland, poles, which are quite distinct from the poles bec use no traces can be found of the people of the earths rotation. C6lonel Sabine tells who once dwelt there. We have - authority us that the angle of the dip is not always the for sayin~ that war and pestilence, called the same; that it has been decreasing in the north- blade death, devastated these colonies; but era hemisphere for the -last fifty years at the there can be no doubt but that the climatic rate of three minutes annually. It is also sub- changes which occurred, prevented the re- ject to variations of short periods, and is af- peopling of these districts. Labrador was fected by earthquakes even when remote. peopled by a colony from Iceland, in the year The changes in the magnetic system are 50 1000, and received the name of Vinland. That irregular and so complicated, that half a cen- the coast was then free from ice is evident tury is sufficient to alter the form and position from the fact that these enterprising adven- of all the lines connected with the system. turers explored it from latitude 41 deg. 30 The foci of magnetic intensity, and the whole mm., to 72 deg. 55 mm. I~XL]~I. UYJNG AGE. VOL. VII. 6 82 FATE OF Sill JOHN FRANKLiN. Of Greenland we learn nothing from 1216 hold with hope. It was a mayne high to 1408. The country had fallen under the land, nothing at all covered with snow, and dominion of Norway. and all intercourse with the north part of that mayne high land was foreigners had been interdicted. But in 1408, very high mountains, hut we could see no a bishop proceeding from Norway to the snow on them. In 1610, Jonas Pole sailed to Greenland settlements, found the eastern Spitzhergen~ passing by North Cape. In lat. coast so fast blocked by ice, that he was una- 77 de_. 25 mm., he found the weather at ble to land. In 1477, Columbus visited Ice- Spitzhergen, on the 17th of May, very warme land, and foulid that the sea was not then and fhrre temperatur than at the North Cape. covered with ice. A portion only of the coast That Greenland and Spitzbergen enjoyed a may have been ice-bound; for we learn from milder climate formerly than at present there ancient historical records, that in March, 1477, can be no doubt, and it is equally true that the northern parts of Iceland had no snow, similar climatic differences have been felt in and that in February of the same year, the other countries. There is no fact in the southern part was free from ice. In further natural history of the earth better ascertain- evidence of the change of temperature of the ed, observes Sir David Brewster, than that east coast of Greenland, we have the testi- the climate of the ~vest of Europe was much mony of a bishop of Iceland, who, in 1540, re- colder in ancient than in modern times turning from Norway, saw from the deck of When we learn that the Tiher was often fro- his vessel the east coast of Greenland, and zen, that snow lay at Rome for forty d~ ys, observed beyond the icy barrier shepherds that grapes could not ripen at the north of feeding their flocks. The worthy bishop re- the Cevennes, and the Ew inc Sea was frozen lated his experience at his return home, but over every winter in the time of Ovid, and many who have since heard the narration, that the ice of the Rhine and the Rhone sus- doubted its truth; but it is well worthy our tamed loaded wagons, we cannot ascribe the attention that the magnetic needle had then amelioration of such climates to the influence nearly attained its eastern delineation. May of agricultural operations. The cold men- not this have been the cause that no ice then dian which now passes through Canada and encumbered the coast? Siberia may have passed through Italy, and We have very good reason to believe that if we transfer the present mean temperatures the countries of the west of Europe were one of those cold regions to the corresponding time much colder than at present, and that parallels in Europe we shall obtain a climate ice must have collected on the northern shores agreeing in a singular manner with that which of Europe and Asia in quantities unknown at is described in ancient authors. the present day. This would naturally be the The large tract of ice which since the mid- case if the Greenland Sea were free of per- dle of the fifteenth century has been accumu- manent ice; for the Atlantic flood-tide could lating~on the east coast ef Greenland seems then enter the Polar Basin on each side of to be in some way connected with the position Spitzbergen, carrying with it the warm infin- of the American magnetic pole. These im- ence of the gulf-stream. The course pursued mense icebergs, hrou~ht down from the Polar by the first navigator who went out in search sea in spring, take ground, and form a nucleus of a north-east passage, would seem to imply round which other masses attach themselves. In that such was the case. the years 1815, 1816, and 1817, a partial re- In the expedition sent out by the English moval of the ice took place, and it was pre- under XVilloughby, the crews of two vessels cisely then that the magnetic needle had at- perished in consequence of the severity of a tamed its westward limit. In consequence Lapland winter. In the years 1594, 1595, of this disruption of the ice many icebergs and 1596, the Dutch sent out several ships on floated down the Atlantic during these sea- voyages of discovery. The vessels took the sons as far as the fortieth parallel of latitude. course of Waigatz and Nova Zembla, but all We have no reason to suppose, from the were interrupted in their progress by the ice; experience of the travellers in those northern whilst it is evident that in {his same year, seas, that the basin beyond Nova Zeinbla is a 1596, the Greenland Sea must have been free frozen sea. On the contrary, those who have from ice, as it was then that the Dutch discov- gone farthest north have found the ice mov- ered Spitzbergen. We are told by these ing southwards, an~ every indication pf an voyagers that in lat. 80 dcg. 11 nun., being off open sea beyond. The Russians explored that island on which Hakluyts Headland is the entire European and Asiatic coast situated, they found that there groweth here from the White Sea to Behrings Straits in leaves and grape, yet in Nova Zembla, under the ten years following 1636. The ships in 76 deg., there groweth neither icaves nor these expeditions had always kept close to the grape. Hudson, in 1607, saw the coast of shore, and their progress had been continuab OTeenland in lat. 72 deg. 38 mm., at the dis- ly impeded by the ice. The probability is, tance of twelve leagues. This land he termed that had they stood out boldly to sea they co~ FATE OF SIR JOHN FRANKLIN. have made better way. The Russian expe- dition, under Lieutenant Von Wrangel, set out in 1820, in order to survey a portion of the Siberian coast and the islands in the Po- lar Sea. The Russians, it must he remarked, have performed longer transglacial journeys than any other travellers. One of the officers of the Von Wrangel expedition narrates of his experience : I passed high and very difficult hummocks, and crossed wide fissures, notwithstanding which, I was enabled by the lightness of my sledge to accomplish ten wersts in a due north direction, when all fur- ther advance was stopped by the complete breaking up of the ice and a close approach to the open sea. I saw the icy sea break its fetters; enormous fields of ice, raised by the sea in an almost vertical position, driven against each otherwith a dreadful crash, press- ed downwards by the force of the foaming biflows, and reappearing again on the sur- face covered with the torn up green mud which everywhere forms the bottom of the sea. On returning I found a great part of the track which I had followed already gone, and large spaces which I had just traversed were now covered with water. The expedition under Von Wrangel dis- continued its northward course on the 23rd of March, 1823. The horizon, on that day, was overspread with a dense blue vaporan ap- pearance which always indicates open water. Some of the officers still proceeded due north for about nine wersts, when their progress was stopped by a vast break in the ice, extending east and west farther than the eye could reach, and which, at the narrowest part, was more than three hundred yards across. The shawesterl wind was widening the gap, and the easterly current was running at the rate of a knot and a half. We climbed one of the loftiest ice hills, when we obtained an exten- sive view towards the north, whence we be- held the wide, immeasurable ocean spread be- fore our gaze. It was a fearful and magnifi- cent, but to us, a melancholy spectacle. Frag- ments of ice of enormous size, floated on the surface of the agitated ocean, and were thrown by the waves with awful violence against the edge of the ice-field, on the further side of the channel before us. The collisions were so tremendous, that large masses were every in- stant broken away; and it was evident that the portion of ice which still divided the chan- nel from the open ocean, would soon be com- pletely destroyed. Had we attempted to ferry ourselves across upon one of the floating pieces of ice, we should not have found firm footing on our arrivaL Even on our own side, fresh lanes of water were continually forming and extending in every direction in the field of ice behind us. We could go no further. This point of return was in lat. 70 deg. 51 mm., long. 175 de,,. 27 mill. east, at a distance of 105 wersts from the main land. The depth of the ~ea in this place was 22 1-2 fathoms with a clay bottom. The testimony of Captain Sir Edward Perry is also strongly in supI)ort of the belief that the Potar Basih is an open sea. Whilst travelling in sledges on the ice in 1827, he found the whole mass beneath him moving southwards, at the rate of three or four miles per day, whilst his party could only travel for- ward ten or twelve~ In consequence of this movement in the ice, when the travellers ar- rived in lat. 82 deg. 45 mm. north, east long. 19 deg. 30 ruin., all hope of getting farther north was abandoned. At this extreme point, whence the party returned, the ice indicated no proximity to a permanent body, either by its even surface, or its extent; on the con- trary, it was so full of hummocks, that it occupied just six hours to cross one of the floes, the extent of which, in a straight line, did not exceed 2 1-2 miles. This drifting. motion of the ice showed that there was an open space in the direction whence it came. Its hummocky character also showed that it had been broken up during the summer. The ice in this case presented the same appearance as that traversed by the Russian officers off the coast of New Siberia. The drift wood found in these northern re- gions may be looked upon as a conclusive ar- gument that the Polar Basin is, at least some- times, an open sea. Very little drift wood is met on the northern shores of the islands of New Siberia, whilst on the southern sides it is found in abundance. This circumstance is worth noting, as the northern shores of these islands are washed by the. Polar Sea, whilst the southern coasts are sheltered from its ac- tion. Mahogany and logwood, the peculiar productions of the Mexican Isthmus, have been found on the west co~ist of Greenland. There are only two routes by which these produc- tions of the south could have reached the Greenland shores. This wood may have been carried by the Gulf stream between Norway and Spitzbergen into the Polar Sea, and pass- ing along the north coast of Greenland, might. enter by this route into Baffins Bay; or, this wood may enter the Polar Sea by Behrings Strait, and being carried along the northern coast of America might so enter Baffins Bay. Either supposition obliges us to admit that the Polar Basin must be occasionally an open sea, as the wood could not by any possibility pass along the coast of Labrador into Davis ~ Straits, in consequence of the current, which we have already described, which is constant- ly setting southward along that coast. It has been found by observation that the flood-tide runs northward along the Asiatic coast, as well as along that of America, but the 83 84 tide upon the latter coast is by far the most powerful. The meeting of these tides at Beb- rings Straits produces peculiar undulations in this part of the Northern Pacific, and as the principal flood is greater than the ebb, a cur- rent which is accelerated with southerly and easterly winds, sets towards Bebrings Strait. The currents in the sea between Spitzbergen and Greenland, is towards the south-west. This current has been observed to drift at the rate of between twelve and fourteen miles per day. The main current setsto the westward all along the northern coast of the European conti- nent. Between the island of Teehast and the Asiatic shore, the flood-tide, which flows from the west, brings salt water, and the ebb-tide that flows from the east for double the length of time of the flood, brings fresh water. In 1739 a Russian expedition d6ubled the Sacred Cape, and at about a hundred miles to the east of that point, encountered, on the 21st of Au- gust, ~ strong current with a south-east wind, and the followin~ day they were in fresh wa- ter. In three days after, a violent south-east storm arose, with a current from the same quarter; after two days the storm subsided, and the water soon became salt again. Huge masses of ice were bearing down from the south-east; on the 31st of August, the ships were again in fresh water; and on the 9th of September, they were frozen in twelve feet of water, while lying opposite to, and at the dis- tance of about thirty English miles from the mouth of the Indigirka. The ice of the Polar Sea impedes the northern progress of the tides and currents. Captain Beechy observed that the Southern line of the pack extended be- tween Point Barrow and Icy Cape, and farther on in a westerly direction. Cook examined the ice in 1778, and found it to be a vast col- lection of loose pieces, so closely wedged to- gether, that a boat could scarcely pass be- tween them. These pidces varied in extent from four to fifty yards. They were all of pure transparent ice, except the upper sur- face, which was a little porous; this ice seem- ed composed of frozen snow. Cook remarks, that the sun contributes very little to its de- struction; that it is the wind, or rather the waves raised by the wind, that brings down the bulk of these huge masses, by grinding one against another, and wasting away those parts that lie exposed to the surge of the sea. At Icy Cape, in lat. 70 deg. 29 mm. north, and long. 198 deg. 20 mm. west, Cook found the ice aground in 27 fathoms, on the 26th of Au- gust. Captain Clerke, who succeeded to the eommand of the expedition, ~n Cooks death, entered Behrings Strait in 1779, and on the 8th of July, in lat. 69 deg. 21 mm., long. 192 deg. 42 mm. west, came close to the ice. Keep- ing forty leagues to the westward along it9 edge, lie could discover no opening, neither FATE OF SIR JOHN FRANRLIN. could he see a clear sea beyond. When in lat. 69 deg. 37 mm., the ships being then in the midehannel between America and Asia, the ice extended from east-north-east, to west- south-west. On the 19th of July, the ships were completely embayed in the ice, with but one opening southward, through which they directed their course. On the 21st of the same month, they got a sight of the American coast at the distance of eight or ten leagues, and endeavored to reach land, but were pre- vented by the ice, and obliged to wear away to windward. Thus, observes Captain King, a connected solid field of ice, rendered every effort we could make to a nearer approach to the land fruitless, and joining as we judged to it, we took a last farewell of a north-east pas- sage to England. We must not forget to remark that all the examinations of the ice made by English tra- vellers, were undertaken for the purpose of obtaining a passage alone the American coast. It is to the Russians we are indebted for what- ever information we possess concerning the state of the coast nd seas westward of Beh- rings Strait. From the Russian surveys of 1762, 1773, and 1787, it appears that a cur- rent runs westward durin~ the summer, and easterly in th.e utuma. Some of the inhabi- tants of the north-east parts of Asia say, that in summer the ice drifts along the coast in a simi- lar manner, and that strong south-easterly winds aceel~rate the currents. Von Wrangel found, in the vicinity of the New Siberian Isl- ands, that winds from the ~vest, and particu- larly from the west-north-west, carried a cur- rent along the coast, which sometimes raised the water three or four feet. The current ge- nerally set from the east, but when the wind was from the north-east, the current set to the westward. Numerous rivers discharge their waters into the sea on this part of the coast, where the water is unusually fresh. There can be no longer any doubt that a communication exists between Baffins Bay and the Polar Sea. The numerous expedi- tions that have gone out in search of a north- west passage have fully established that fact. But whether the principal commummication be through Smiths Sound, or by Banks Strait, or through Wellington Channel, is yet umiknown. The, numerous islands that lie between the continent of America and Greenland render all these routes very perilous. There may be passages through the islands yet undiscovered, but all are at present so packed with ice as to be unnavigable. Captain MClure says, that since rounding Cape Austen (the northern part of Baring Island) the ice has lost much of its terrible aspect, which led to the infer- ence that we were fairly in Barrows Strait; and that the main polar pack takes a direct line from the last-mentioned cape to the east FATE OF SIR JOHN FRANKLIN. north-east, and that which fills these bays is the comparatively small ice which drifts from its southern edge; as we have invariably re- marked that there is a decidedly easterly cur- rent, which impels the enormous Polar floes on that coast, while the lighter influenced by the wind, is oftentimes setting in an opposite direction. It is evident from Captain MClures experience, that there exists during the summer, a navigable lane of water from Point Barrow along the whole face of the American continent. Beyond this lies the Polar pack of ice, in many places,. no doubt, aground; but it is conjectured that beyond this the sea is open. A strong current flows continually southward through Daviss Strait;, along the coast of Labrador to Newfoundland. Its velocity is increased during the summer months by the melting of the ic in the Polar Sea, as well as by the waters of many rivers that mingle with this current. The alternate rising and depression of the tides, and the set of the currents in these northern seas, the shallowness of the water on the Siberian and North American coast, to- gether with the great depth of water in the Greenland Sea and in Baffins Bay, justify the belief that the water in the Polar basin has a circular motion, and that sweeping the ice from west to east, it gorges the north- ern coast of America and Greenland. The little rise and fall of tide that takes place along the Siberian coast, leads us natu- rally to infer that the Polar basin occupies a larger surface than the width between Nor- way and Spitzbergen. Now, a deep ocean is not easily frozen. The action of the winds and waves, with the tidal oscillation, will scarcely allow its surface to remain tranquil. It is only narrow seas, and those not subject to tides or currents, that fieeze over. It is true that icebergs are found on the island of Spitzbergen, in the valleys, and against its steep shores; but it is equally true that field ice only is met with on its northern shore. The sea hetween Greenland and Spitzbergen, as well as along the coast of Norway, has been proved to he exceedingly deep; may we not be justified in supposing that the deep sea ex- tends far beyond this wide passage into the Polar basin, where tides daily exert their in- fluence? We must not forget that the warm waters of the Gulf stream also exert their in- fluence in these regions. Is it not very pro- bable that these saline waters, being specifi- cally heavier than the fresher waters of these icy regions, form an under current, and so en- tering the Polar Basin would prevent the for- mation of a compact body of ice? Captain MClure says, that in July, 1852, the ice in the southern part of Prince of Waless Strait presented enormous floes and heavy grounded masses, lying against their base, and upon the 85 shoal connecting them, which were considered to have been there for years, and likely to re- main for many more; but in a month after- wards every vestige had vanished. Even on the ice-hound shore of Melville Island, all the ice accumulated during the winter was melted in the middle of July. Dr. Scoresby says, that before the end of May there is usually a navigable sea on the western and northern shores of Spitzbergen; and fishermen who have wintered on the island, declare that open water is visible to the northward early in spring. Besides this the flight of birds towards the north, which the Russians have long re- marked, may be looked upon as another proof of the correctness of the supposition that an open sea lies in that direction, whither these winged emigrants take their course to look for food, until the thawing of the rivers on the continent induce their return. We must also take into account the influence of the sun in dissolving the ice. The action of the solar heat during the six months that the sun re- mains abo~ the horizon, must tend materially, together with the otl~er agencies we have enumerated, to keep the Polar Basin free, at least, from a permanent accumulation of ice. The object of these remarks upon the tides and currents of the Polar Sea, is to urge the expediency of fitting out on expedition with the aid of steam, which, when spring is suffi- ciently advanced, would no doubt, find a pas- sate into the Polar Sea between Norway and Spitzbergen. It is probable that by keeping along the Siberian coast, but not very close, a communication might be effected with Beli- riogs Strait. If by this means a shorter route to China should be discovered, the commercial advantages arising to us must be evident. But there are other objects that might be obtained by this voyage far greater than any that com- mercial gain can offer. Let us not forget our long absent countrymen. No vestige of a wreck has yet been found that could lead u~ to say with certainty that further search for Sir John Franklin would be useless. We know that these dreary regions of the north, though barren of vegetable productions, abound in animal life, and can therefore sup- ply subsistence to travellers detained there. If, therefore, Sir John Franklin has proceeded with his ships, as is very probable, a long way up Victoria Channel, he may have been ice- bound, and not wishing to abandon his ships, and undertake a journey of nearly nine hun- dred miles, is perhaps waiting for a favorable season, or help from home. Shall these hopes be disappointed? How painful would be the. feeling which would, no doubt, touch the heart of every honest Englishman, if, in years hence, some travellers passing through the Po- lar tracts should find a cairna little heap of THE EASTERN WAR. Ungrateful Florence! Dante sleeps afar; was the expression of one whose faults andwhose follies had not been kindly dealt with by his own countrymen. If the Italian poet slept far from the city that he loved, it was because he had been banished by the party opposed to his own. But against Sir John Franklin no po- litical ban has been uttered. He was sent forth a messenger over the wide waste of wa- ters, and if he has not returned with an olive branch, it is because no olive blooms in those regions whither he was obliged to direct his course. Shall he be abandoned whilst there remains a possibility that aid may come in time? Where so many means of succor are suggested, will no kindly voice be raised in his favor, no generous hand be stretched forth to flave? stonesor some other humble monument, his forefathers had guarded by a long series bearing the names of Sir John Franklin and of granite fortifications, begins to be threat- some of his fellow sailors. These names could ened. Those granite precautions indicate the not be read, nor could the story be narrated scale of the fears which must seize the Impe- without exciting profoundesnotion; hut should rial mind, should the precautions prove insuf- that monumental stone bear a date, showing ficient; and if he listened, he might have that aid might have come in time if a little heard the guns of England and France break. exertion ha~ been made, how great would be ing down his outworks of rock. The outer- our regret, how bitter our self-reproach. Let most of the portals has been taken. For al- us picture to ourselves our poor countrymen though the island of Bomarsund belongs geo- embayed in ice, and trusting confidently in graphically more to Sweden and to Finland, our sympathies. than to Russia, it is the first in the series of marine forts; and it is now under the pr~~tec- tion of France and England, in possession of their soldiers and sailors. The occupation of the Aland fortress can- not be in itself of substantive importance to the Allies ; it is of much more importance in a moral than in a military sense, and mainly as an experiment. We cannot help taking it as being to a great extent a sample of the work to he done; and we are fain to accept the reduction of it as a sample of the work done. In both respects it is satisfactory. It is no reproach to the Allies to say that the force mustered for the purpose was more than sufficient for its object. In the history of the affair we shall find not only that there was no waste of work, but that the quality as well as the magnitude of the instrument was fairly tested. The task was to take a fortress of granite, armed with some hundred guns, and defended by detached outworks on the uplands above it. The Allies had to construct their batte- ries, laud their guns, and break into the forti- fications piecemeal. It was done in dashing style; the Western tower was rapidly taken by the French; the heavier work of the East- ern tower was next mastered by the English; and then the main fort succumbed; the ships assisting throughout. The work was well done, because it was done effectually, because t~ obstacles to be overcome were not incon- siderable, and they did but serve to draw foith the spirit and invention both of the French and English, both of oflicers ~nd men, while the loss on our side was trifling. All this work was done with sixteen guiis on shore, including five mortars; a fhct which in itself tells how admirable the gunnery must have been. The weakness of the Russian gunnery is shown by the firing at the Penelope, which got aground. The Russians were energetic and resolute; they were fertile in trea~hery: a truce for burying their dead was eniployed to import ammunition, and more than one spy was de- tected, in feminine and clerical clothes. Our side relied neither on spies nor truces; the steadiness of the firing and eagerness with which individual officers landed their guns and established batteries of their ownthe sang froid of the officers, making their toilet or From The Spectator, 26 Aug. COULD we transfer ourselves to that chain- ber where, probably, the most intense amount of anxiety in all the world at present exists, we might see the dark side of the warlike scene which at present we in the West view only with hope. Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown; but when that head has by inheritance received a grant of universal con- quest,has also inherited the exulting thought that the conquest marched generation by gen- eration~ and believed it almost on the point of accoshplishment, yet sees at that point the triumphant hopes reversed and succeeded by defeat,then the uneasiness that belongs to crowns must become something like settled despair,the despair of a dynasty aching in one doomed head. Not a year ago, tIme Czar of Russia thou~ht that he had arrived at a point in the advancement of his country and his ambitions which enabled him to throw off the mask, to go forward undisguised, and to defy alike the opinion and the resistance of the world. Now the vision is reversed. Wherever he has perpetrated an ag0ression, there, at the present moment, the Czar is sus- taining a pressure. His armies are driven back upon him. The capital which he and 86 WiLD AND TAME. 87 writing notes in the intervals of duty and in sufficient: the men are brave, but the granite the midst of the firingthe En~lish sailors will splinterit fails to bold together like the tramping over the uplands, to a band of music, alliance of France and England in tbe fi~ht. in dragging the heavy guns, while the French The experiment is not without its value sailors rushed forward with an admiring wish even in reference to Sebastopol,whither, to share in the laborthe cheerful prompti- accordin~ to a report that looks correct, an tude of the sailors when summoned from their army of sixty thousand men has at last none; dinners after their toil, to succor the Pene- since the principles of Russian fort-fighting are lopethe keen vigilance of the French chas- the same, and on the side of the Allies, the seurs, picking off the Russians who showed men, the appliances, and the invention, will themselves in the embrasuresare so many be the same as at Bomarsund. It is with sat- incidental traits which test the quality, we say, isfaction; therefore, that we hear of our troops of the machine. At the same time that it exchanging the scene of inaction at Varna for proves to us that the machine is sufficient, it that of action at Sebastapol. proves to us that the Russian machine is in- rrom Household Words. world what she could do in the way of method WILD AND TAME. and training. So, allowin herself to subside into the ea~y THE Lady Albinia would think of it. chair, she sat and balanced the two sides of the She was a stately lady, of a billions tempera- question, until she herself wondered if the scale ment, and disliked precipitation. And if she had would ever turn. required a week to reflect whether she might suf- What could Mr. Lamplugh, that handsome for Mr. Lamplugh to be presented to her with- man of fortune, see in the Lady Albinia to tempt out compromising her social dignity, she might him to brave the shame of rejection, or the very surely take a longer time to decide on the offer indefinite good of acceptance l A tall thin spin- of the hand and heart of the same Mr. Lamp- ster of forty and upwards, ~vitb an aristocratic lugh now lying (in writing) before her. True, nose and a pair of chat-p brown eyes, a mouth she had labored very hard for this result, and had that was a simpie line, the merest indication of displayed as much cleverness in her tactics as a lips, and a figure which. not all the art of the general besieging a fortress; yet she was fully dressmaker could pad into the semblance of aware that she was called on for a supreme effort plumpness what was there in this very un- of condescension, should she accept it. For, comfortoble and uncompromising lady to lure though Mr. Lamplugh was wealthy, while Lady Mr. Lamplugh into the boudlage of matrimony Albinia starved aristocratically on casual help again It could not 1)0 her fortune, it could not from her friends; and though he was the v~y be her beauty, for she had neither; and her tem- ideal of a magnificent-looking man in his priffie, per was acid and her mind a blank. Perhaps it while she in her virgin forty years had withered was her title, which sounded pleasantly to the rather than ripened; yet she was of the peerage, ears of the ambitious commoner, anxious to reap and Mr. Lamplugh was a commoner of low birth, social state ft-nm his golden 5ced; perhaps it was whose antecedents were not particularly favor- her aristocratic conuections, which would help on able even in the eyes of commoners themselves, his own children to distinctioti. Perhaps he His father had been in some horrid tradeof wanted a mother for I)aisy, his eldest girl, who course the Lady Albinia did not know what; would put her into a moral strait-waistcoat, and and he himself had been a merchant soniewbere cramp her growth. Lady Albinia was allowed in Jamaica, or the Bermudas, or Madeira, or by all who knew her, to be one of the most ad- Russia, my Dear. And when therewherever mirable correctives to tin overfiash of youth. Per- that mi~ht belie had married some dreadful Imps he had been captivated by hem- attentions; creature, black most likely, and perhaps with a for Mr. Lamplagh was one of those weak nien lar~e bore through her under lip, or a piece of who are caught by a womans flattety sooner wood in her ears, or with a nose riug or flattened than by her love. And Lady Alhinia had cer- head, like the monsters one sees in encyclop~dias. tainly courted and flattered the handsome macr- And this creature had died, thank goodness! and ehamit to an extent that might have turned a left a familyLady Albinia womidered if they stronger brain than his, if a stronger braimi could were black with woolly hairwhich family Mr. have worshipped Dehrett as much a~ he did Lamplugh prudently kept in the country, away Whatever its nature, the secret feeling which from civilized life, and which was confessedly a prompted Mr. Lamoplugli to make this o~ or was g