The Living age ... / Volume 71, Note on Digital Production Creation of machine-readable edition. Cornell University Library 658 page images in volume Cornell University Library Ithaca, NY 1999 ABR0102-0071 /moa/livn/livn0071/

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The Living age ... / Volume 71, Note on Digital Production 0071 000
The Living age ... / Volume 71, Note on Digital Production A-B

The Living age ... / Volume 71, Issue 905 [an electronic edition] Creation of machine-readable edition. Cornell University Library 658 page images in volume Cornell University Library Ithaca, NY 1999 ABR0102-0071 /moa/livn/livn0071/

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

The Living age ... / Volume 71, Issue 905 Littell's living age Every Saturday; a journal of choice reading Eclectic magazine The Living age co. inc. etc. New York etc. October 5, 1861 0071 905
The Living age ... / Volume 71, Issue 905, miscellaneous front pages i-viii

LITTELLS LIVING AGE. CONDUCTED BY E. LITTELL. B PLURIBUS UNUM. These publication8of the day ehouhtfrom time to time be winnowed, the wheat carefully preserved, and the chaff thrown away.~~ Made up of every creatures best. Various, that the mind Of desultory man, studious of chauge And pleased with novelty, may he indulged. THIliD SERIES, VOLUME XV. FROM THE BEGINNING, VOLUME LXXI. OCTOBER, NOVEMBER, DECEMBER, 1861. BOSTON: LITTELL, SON, AND COMPANY. Stereotyped by R. Wheeler, 17 Washington St., Boston. Press of Geo. C. Rand.& Avery. L TABLE OF THE PRINCIPAL CONTENTS OF THE LIVING AGE, VOLUME LXXI. THE FIFTEENTH QUARTERLY VOLUME OF THE THIRD - SERIES. OCTOBER, NOVEMBER, DECEMBER, 1861. EDINBURGH REVIEW. Macanlays History of England, QUARTERLY REVIEW. Immutability of Nature, Life and Charataer of Shelley, Alexis de Tocqueville, CHRISTIAN REMEMBRANCER. Burke and Washington, NATIONAL REVIEW. Dr. Holmes and Elsie Venner, BLACKWOODS MAGAZINE. The Rector, Burtoifs Anatomy of Melancholy, Chronicles of Carlingford, FRASERS MAGAZINE. Homceopathy. By Sir Benj. Brodie, Gone. By A. K. H. B., Concerning People of whom more might have been made Concerning People who have carried Weight in Life NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. Queen Hortense BENTLEYS MISCELLANY. The Salons of Vienna and Berlin, Madame de KrudenerWorldly, Pious, Mystic La Chhtelaine Sans Chftteau, DUBLIN UNIVERSITY MAGAZINE. An Only Son, . . . 117, 407, The Rescued Infant.A Chinese Story, MACMILLANS MAGAZINE. Baron Bunsen. By the Rev. F. D. American Affairs, . ST. JAMES MAGAZINE. Isabell Carr EXAMINER. 606 Last Travels of Ida Pfeiffer, Size of Ships of War, . Secret History of the Court of France, 387 Louis XV ~ Leaders of Public Opinion in Ireland, 483 Private Correspondence of Thomas Raikes John George Watts, . Personal Recollections of the Rev. 291 George Croly, . After Icebergs with a Painter, Callins Life amongst the Indians, 435 Charles Knight The City of the Saints, 68 SPECTATOR. 99 England and the Southern States, 319, 501 Un-English Wishes for America, Contingency of Servile Insurrection, The Saturday Review on Mrs. Stowe, 157 The Prospects oftheNorth~. 167 The Czar and SirE. B. Lytton on Amer ica, . 305 Life Work Fortune-Makers, . . 531 Mr. Edward Atkinson on Cheap Cotton, Olmsted on the Slave States, - The Crusades The Tropical Forests 584 The Alps ECONOMIST. ~ English Feeling towards America, 147 PRESS. 365 Experiments with Cannon and Armor- Plates Comets 255 SATURDAY REVIEW. Flocci . German Amusements, . . Life of Joha Angell James,. ~ Comets, ~ Captain John Brown, . Science and Passion, . The Golden Treasury, , . 339, 574 Snubbing 26 173 195 205 216 253 264 475 547 551 630 186 229 231 233 234 274 361 379 518 554 587 636 639 269 93 207 14 28 132 139 161 183 190 212 Iv CONTENTS. Emperors and Empiresdiffer from Kings, etc. The Works of Charles Lamb, Free Labor in the West Indies, False Shame After Icebergs with a Painter, Viscount Monek, Governor of Canada, Marshs Lectures on the English Lan- guage Recovery of a Lost Work of Eusebius,. LONDON REVIEW. The Weakness of Giants, Sir B. Brodie on Homnopathy, How to Burn Powder Discovery of a new Cod Depot, English Law and Justice in India, Elocution French Princes and French Intrigues in America What can the South Gain? ATHEN~RUM. The Consulate and the Empire, An Arab Newspaper Cortes and his Wife King Jerome and his American Wife, Whittiers Home Ballads and Poems, Dr. Jacksons Letter to a Young Physi- cian de Leyva Arms and Armor for Ships, Fgyptian Bi3roglyphics, CHAMnERS JOURNAL. The Last LewisesLittle Capet, 222 277 281 284 472 523 560 571 3 171 177 179 188 477 536 645 40 48 51 83 90 142 199 243 558 16 Science and Arts for July, August, Arsenic-Eating and Arsenic-Poisoning, Rival EaselsLawrence and Hoppner, Cricket on the Goodwin Sands, ONCE A WEEK. Allan Ramsny, Jr., . The Tale he told the Marines, One Moment of Suspense, ALL THE YEAR ROUND. Bishop Wilkins Prophetic Dreams, The Painter and the Apparition, Suttee in China Mr. Hs own Narrative, The Last of the Lewises, In and Out of School ROBIN GOODEELLOW. An Emperor out of Harness, PHILADELrHIA PRESS. Slavery and the Rebellion, NEW YORK EVENIW~I POST. Death of Silvanus Miller, Prof. Hart on Mistakes of Educated Men Another View of Secession and Slavery, BosTOR ADVERTISER. Scotts Retirement 22 136 31 35 421 347 381 643 174 181 265 353 428 534 226 47 242 !i22 647 468 INDEX TO VOLUME LXXI. Amusements~ German, . . . 28 Arsenic-Eating and Arsenic-Poisoning, 31 American Rebellion. See Rebellion. Arab Newspaper - 48 Armor-Plates, Experiments with, . 93 Arms and Armor for Ships, . - . 243 Atkinson, Edward, on Cheap Cotton, - 518 Andrew, Goy., Thanksgiving Proclamation, 520 Alps, The 639 Bunsen. By F. D. Maurice, Berlin and Vienna, Salons of, - Burtons Anatomy of Melancholy, Brodie, Sir Benj., on Homo3opathy, Brown, Captain John, - - Burke and Washington, - - Browniow, Parson, . - - 5 - 59 99 157, 171 161 - 291 - 476 Consulate and Empire, Thiers History of Cannon Currency, A National, and Sinking Fund, Cortes and his Wife Cannon and Armor-Plates, Experiments with Comets, 139, Concerning Gone, . People of whom more might have been made, - - -- Concerning People who carried Weight in Life Cod Depot, A New Croly, Rev. George, Personal Recollec- tions of Chronicles of Carlingford, - 319, Chatelaine, La, Sans Chateau, - - Cricket on the Goodwins, - - Cotton, Cheap, Atkinson on, Crusades, The De Leyva, Virginie, - Doctors Family, - 40 47 50 51 93 207 167 305 531 179 264 501 365 421 518 567 - . . 199 - . 319, 501 English Law and Justice in India, Emperors and Empires, - Emperor out of Harness, Elsie Venner and Dr. Holmes, - Elocution Egyptian Hieroglyphics, English Language, Marshs Lectures on, Eusebius, Recovery of a Lost Work of; England, Macaulays History of, . - Flocci, - 188 222 226 435 477 558 560 571 606 14 France, Secret History of the Court of, under Louis XV Free Labor in the West Indies, False Shame Fortune-Makers, - French Princes and French Intrigues in America Giants, Weakness of, German Amusements, Gone Golden Treasury, The,. Goodwins, Cricket on the, Gas, Home-made, - 195 281 284 379 527 - 3 28 167 - 190 - 421 - 591 Homnopathy. By Sir Benj. Brodie, 157, 171 H.s, Mr., Own Narrative, . . 353 Holmes, Dr., and Elsie Venner, . . 435 Hieroglyphics, Egyptian, . . . 558 Hortense, Queen, - -. . . - 584 Ireland, Leaders of Public Opinion in, Isabell Carr, Immutability of Nature, Icebergs, After, with a Painter, Indians, Life among the, - Jerome and his American Wife, James, John Angell, Life of, - Jacksons Letter to a Young Physician, Knoxs John, Death-Bed, Krtidener, Madame de, Knight, Charles, - Last Lewises,The,Little Capet, Lawrence and HoppnerThe Rival Easels Louis XV., Secret History of the Court of Lamb, Charles, Works of, Life Work Melancholy, Burtons Anatomy of, Miller, Silvanus, Death of, - . Marines, The Tale he told to the, Mistakes of Educated Men, - Monck, Viscount,..~.. Marshs Lectures on the English Lan- guage Macunlays History of England, Mormons, The. National Currency and Sinking Fund, Nature, Immutabilityof, - - 205 339, 574 - 387 - 472 - 547 83 132 142 - 95 147 - 551 16, 428 35 195 277 - 361 99 242 381 522 523 560 606 630 50 3~7 INDEX. Only Son 117, 407, 595 Science and Arts for July, Olmsted on the Slave States, 554 August, Ships of War, Size of, Pfeiffer, Ida, Last Travels of; 26 Science and Passion, . Powder, How to Burn 177 Snubbing Painter, The, and the Apparition, 181 Suttee in China Shelley, Life and Character of, REBELLION, THE GREAT: Scott, Lieut-Gen., Resignation of, American Affairs 45 School, In and Out of Slavery and the Rebellion, 47 Slave States, Olmsted on the, England and the Southern States, 186 Salt Lake City Un-English Wishes for America, 229 Suspense, one Moment of, Contingency of Servile Insurrection, 231 The Saturday Review on Mrs Stowe, 233 Thiers Consulate and Empire, Prospects of the North, . 234 Tocqueville, Alexis de, English Feeling towards America, 269 Thanksgiving Proclamation, Gov An- Speech of Sir E. B. Lytton, 272 drew, The Czar and Sir B. B. Lytton on Timber, Lessening Supply of, America 274 What can the South Gain I 645 Vienna and Berlin, Salons of, Another View of Secession and Slavery, 647 Rector, The, 68 Whittiers Poems, . Raikes, Thomas, Private Correspond- Wilkins, Bishop, Prophetic Dreams, ence 216 Watts, John George, . Rescued InfantA Chinese Story, 255 West Indies, Free Labor in, Ramsay, Jr., Allan, . . 347 Washington and Burke, SHORT ARTICLES. Atkinson, Thos. W., Death of:, Alpine Discovery,1 . Annsthetic, A New, . Aichs Metal, Adopted Birds, The . Bottom of the Ocean, . Brandy and Honey for Bears, Burtons Anatomy, Correction, Boa Constrictor Swallowing his Blan- ket, Columbus, Consumption by the Sea, Collodion, Crown, The British, . Cunningham, Rev. J. W., Death of, Cubbitt, Sir William, Death of, Disunion of America, . Dental Hospital, . . Emperors Tobacco, . Electric Light, Editor, A Good, . . Elsie Venner, Bad Translation of; Fictionits Hidden Facts, Gypsies, King of the, . Gold, Philadelphia built upon, Hail Columbia, History of; Jewish Marriages, . Lucifer Matches, Lamartine Leather, Substitute for, Lead, Perforation of, by Insects, 27 Mont Blanc, Accident on, 92 Music in Sickness, 172 Mudies Library 189 Minnow Trap, . 479 Meteorology, . Millers, Hugh, Works, 143 170 No Pent-up Utica, 406 National Savings-Banks, Naptha and Coal Gas, 590 Oak, Variegated 13 Ostriches, Hatching, 204 280 Philosophia Ultima, 352 Phcenicia, Ancient Cities of,. 384 Paper made from Wood, 546 Perfume of Flowers, 471 Romance of a Dull Life,. 642 Sensibility, Man of, 58 Substitute for Silver, 499 Stimulant, A New, 553 Silver Mirrors, . 592 Southern Treason, . Schlagintweit, Adolphe, Journal of, 204 Taylor, Jeremy, Character of, 419 Tools Great Men work with, 635 Tea, Adulteration of, 527 Unrest, . 192 Vicarious Punishment, Visiting-Cards, New, 180 479 Wolseys Repentance, 517 Wine Corks, - 592 Weather Maps, . 22 136 173 183 212 265 443 468 544 554 630 643 40 483 520 636 59 90 174 253 281 291 15 135 471 527 550 642 156 198 319 252 280 165 170 243 252 583 66 141 160 264 268 644 27 384 499 268 406 521 30 44 172 INDEX. VII Auctumnalia, Absent, Prayer for the, Autumn, Arms! To, April 19, 1775, 1861, Army of the Knitters, After the Storm, At the Roadside, Brave, The, at Home, Bells of Shandon, Bunkers Hill Day in Virginia, Bells at Spire, Baker, Edward D., In Memory of, Comet, The, Cast Down, but not Destroyed, Contraband Refrain, Charity, C~sars Assassination, Civile Bellum, . Countersign, The, Cotton, King, Bound, . Cottons Remonstrance, Couple, The Old,. Drawing Nearer Departure, The, . Doubting Heart, Deserted, The Dens Eversor Epitaph Essays and Reviews, Examination of, Epigram, Fremont Fairy Children Fallen Leaves Flowers, Hymn to, French Princes Gathering, The Gods Peace, . God Save John Bull, Heraidric Jen DEsprit, Hora Novissima Hamlet, Extract from, How Well Break the Blockade, Hotel des trois Empereurs, Invisible Armies, The, Irish Legion, Song of, Infallibility in Error, POETRY. 34 Little Shoes and Stockings, 116 Latest War News, 237, 364 Laissez Aller, 239 Lyon, General, . 240 287 Martyr, Our First, 566 Memory of Monboddo, 594 Mulligans, Colonel, Child, 3 67 98 194 528 25 116 170 211 237 338 482 500 521 594 67 240 338 364 528 180 360 476 287 290 290 420 48~ 240 420 517 21 215 225 628 628 25 238~ 500 Kentucky 98 Kentucky now 146 Knitting Socks, . . . 525, 528, 530 Napoleon to Nono, Not Yet, North and South, Our Countrys Call, Owen, Triumphs of, Old and Blind, Prayer for the Union, Prologue in Heaven, Qui Transtulit Sustinet, Rhody, Little, Rule Slaveonia, Republic, Russell, Earl, Sweet Little Man, Sabbath, The, Scott and the Veteran,. Stand by the Flag, Shakspeare on this War, Summer Night, Secession Song, Stocking, The, Socks and Verse,. Scott Winfield, Soldiers Mother, Seceding Virginia, Spark, The, Thy Will be Done, Things hoped for,. Union.and Flag, Our, Vive la France, Virtue, Power of,. 2 116 194 215, 287 96 166 434 . 147 . 338 . 480 467 . 628 629 . 166 386 238 239 . . 239 335 435 96 . 98 . 144 . 194 211 237 288 . 386 467 . 471 . . 525 530 566 . 144 . 466 . 566 . . 146 . 237 Way by which He led thee, Workman of God, Will for the Deed, . Wars Demoralization,. Wooed, Warriors to the Women, Waiting Watchers, The Wilkes, Welcome to, Will you buy me then as now? 2 116 238 254 288 336 434 482 566 629 VIII INDEX. Chronicles of Carlingford, Ch6xelaine Sans Chateau, Doctors Family, . H.s, Mr., Own Narrative, Isabell Carr, . TALE S. 319, 501 Marines, The Tale he told to the, 381 . 365 Only Son 117, 407, 595 319, 501 Painter, The, and the Apparition, 181 . 353 Rector, The, 68 339, 574 Rescued Infant.A Chinese Story, 255

The Living age ... / Volume 71, Issue 905 1-48

THE LIYING- AGE. No. 905.5 October, 1861. CONTENTS. 1. The Weakness of Giants, . 2. Baron Bunsen.By the Rev. F. ID. Maurice, 3. Flocci, 4. The Last Lewises.Little Capet, 5. Science and Arts for July, . 6. Last Travels of Ida Pfeifler, . 7. German Amusements, . . 8. Arsenic-Eating and Arsenic-Poisoning,. 9. Rival EaselsLawrence and Hoppner, 10. The Consulate and the Empire, 11. American Affairs, . . 12. Slavery and the Rebellion, . 13. An Arab Newspaper, . London Review, Macmillans Magazine, Saturday Review, Chamberss Journa4 Examiner, Saturday Review, Chamberss Journa4 Athenaeum, Macmillans Magazine, Philadelphia Press, Athenceum, POETRY.The Way by which He led thee, 2. Little Shoes and Stockings, 2. The Brave at Home, 2. The Invisible Armies, 25. The Comet, 1861, 25. SHORT ARTIcLES.New Relic of Columbus, 13. Accident on Mont Blanc, 15. Heraldic Jen DEsprit, 21. Death of Atkinson, the Traveller, 27. Bishop Taylor, 27. Wolseys Repentance, 30. Auctumnalia, 34. Wine Corks, 44. Cannon, 47. IN PRESS. POEMs: Didactic, DescrIptive, Sentimental and Lyric. Illustrated by Darley and others, and ac- companied by Autobiographic and other Notes. By T. H. STOCKTON, Chaplain to Congress. [Only 1,000 copies are printing. Price, sin~le copy, cloth, $1.00; half calf or half morozco, $1.50. For $5.00, six copies cloth, or four half calf or half morocco. Address T. II. ,Slockton, Box 1717, Philadelphia, Pa. Subscribers at a distance will be supplied by mallfree ofpostaqe. We hope that this small edition of a handsome volume by our respected friend and relative, may be immediately taken up. The Auto- biographic ~iotes ought to be especially interestingas his experience has been long and varied. Liviag Age.] PUBLISHED EVERY SATURDAY BY LITTELL, SON, & CO., BOSTON. For ~ix Dollars a yeas!, in advance, remitted directly to the [Publishers, the Livnee Aes will be punctually for- warded free of postage. Complete sets of the First Series, in thiity-six volumes, and of the Second Series, in twenty volumes, hand- sornely bound, p~ ked in neat boxes, and delivered in all the principal cities, free of expense of freight, are for sale at two dollars a volume. ANY VOLUME may be had separately, at two dollars, bound, or a dollar and a half in numbers. ANY NUMBER may be had for 13 cents; and it is well worth while for subscribers or purchasers to complete any bro~eu volumes they may have, and thus greatly enhance their value. 3 5 14 16 22 26 28 31 35 40 45 47 48 THE BRAVE AT HOME. THE WAY BY WHICH HE LED THEE. WHEN WC reach a quiet dwelling On the strong, eternal hills, And our praise to Him is swelling Who the vast creation fills; When the paths of prayer and duty, And affliction, all are trod, And we wake, and see the beauty Of our Saviour and our God ~Vith the light of resurrection, When our changbd bodies glow, And we gain the full perfection Of the bliss begun below; When the life that flesh obseureth In each radiant form shall shine, And the joy that aye endureth Flashes forth in beams divine While we have the palms of glory Through the long eternal years, Shall we ecr forget the story Of our mortal griefs and fears? Shall we eer forget the sadness And the clouds that hung so dim, When our hearts are filled with gladness, And our tears are dried by him? Shall the memory be banished Of his kindness and his care, When the wants and woes are vanished Which he loved to soothe and share? All the way by which he led us, All the grievings which he bore; All the patient love he taught us, Shall we think of them no more? Yes! we surely shall remember How he quickened us from death low he fanned the dying ember With his spirits glowing breath: We shall read the tender meaning Of the sorrows and alarms, As we trod the desert, leaning On his everlasting arms. And his rest will be the dearer When we think of weary ways, And his light will seem the clearer As we muse on cloudy days. Oh, twill be a glorious morrow To a dark and stormy day! We shall recollect our sorrow, As the dreams that pass away. LITTLE SHOES AND STOCKINGS. LITTLE shoes and stockings! What a tale ye speak, Of the swollen eyelid, And the tear-wet cheek! Of the nightly vigil, And the daily prayer; Of the buried darling, Present everywhere. Brightly plaided stockings, Of the finest wool; Rounded feet and dainty, Each, a stocking full; Tiny shoes of crimson, Shoes that nevermore Will awaken echoes, From the toy-strewn floor. Not the wealth of Indies, Could your worth eclipse, Priceless little treasures, Pressed to whitened lips; As the mother nurses, From the world apart, Leaning on the arrow That has pierced her heart, Head of flaxen ringlets; Eyes of heavens blue, Parted moutha rosebud Pearls, just peepin~ through; Soft arms softly twining Round her neck at eve, Little shoes and stockings, These the dreams ye weave. I Weave her yet another Of the world of bliss, Let the stricken mother Turn away from this; Bid her dream believing Little feet await, Watching for her passing Through the pearly gate. Congregational Herald. THE BRAVE AT HOME. BY T. BUCHANAN READ. THE maid who binds her warriors sash, With smile that well her pain dissembles, The while beneath her drooping lash One starry teardrop hangs and trembles. Though Heaven alone records the tear, And Fame shall never know her story, Her heart has shed a drop as dear As ever delved the field of glory. Tile wife who girds her htjsbands sword, Mid little ones ~vho ~veep or wonder, And bravely speaks the cheeting word, What though her heart be rent asunder Doomed nightly in her dreams to hear The bolts of war around him rattle, lath shed as sacred blood as eer Was poured upon the plain of battle! The mother who conceals her grief, While to her breast her son she presses, Then breathes a few brave words and brief, Kissing the patriot brow she blesses, With no one but her secret God, To know the pain that weighs upon her, Sheds hply blood as eer the sod Received on Freedoms field of honor! THE WEAKNESS OF GIANTS. From The London Review. THE WEAKNESS OF GIANTS. MYTHOLOGY, tradition, and history agree in the fact that giants, though strong in body, are weak in mind; and that nature, which does so much for them in respect of thews and sinews, is, for the most part, niggardly to them in the matter of brains. Their brute force is not equalled by their intellect; and the biggest and most formida- bly pretentious of them are continually rep- resented as falling easy victims to the skill or cunning of comparatively small antago- nists. Samson was but a poor creature if he ~$re not a positive idiot; and great Goliath of Gath, fell easily before nimble little David. The Jotuns, in Norse my- thology, were, with all their tremendous strength, very easily circumvented by strip- lingsand even by children; and the famous achievements of the universally popular and highly esteemed Jacksur- named the Giant-Killerhave no other moral than to show how infinitely superior to the mere bodily force of the hugest mon- sters in human form are the skill, patience, address, and pertinacity, that are given to smaller people, in order to keep true the balances of nature, and rescue the world from oppression. When a giant becomes the friend of a dwarf, it is only that he may have the advantage of the little mans intel- lect; and the dwarf generally ends by mak- ing himself, as he ought to be, the ruler and governor of his bulky associate. It is an old, and all but universal instinct, which has contributed largely to the delight of men in ull parts of the world, and given them treasures of poetry and romance, which have gone on accumulating from the earliest ages to our own. The fight for the championship of Eng- land, which took place on Tuesday last in an island in the river Medway, safe from the interference of a police that was doubt- less instructed not to be too zealous in the performance of its duty, was in itself a very disgusting business. Yet, in its re- salts, it was so remarkable a proof of the old wisdom of the world, as represented to us by the traditions of every age and race, as to justify the journalist in commepting upon it. Most people of education~ look upon pugilism with dislike, and some even with abhorrence; but it cannot be denied 3 that very many of the educated and refined, as well as larger numbers who have coarser tastes, see a substratum of goodness under the evil thing, and defend it as not without its advantages in keeping up among the people a love of fair play, in discouraging or rendering impossible amongst us the use of the knife or the stiletto, and above all things in imprinting upon the whole course and current of an Englishmans character a con- viction of the base cowardice of hitting a man when he is down. XVithout entering upon that question at all, and recognizing to the fullest extent the brutality of the late fight between Hurst and Mace, for the greatly coveted belt of the championship, we cannot but read the details of the struggle with a certain sort of admiration for the pluck, as well as the skill of the little man, who so effectually defeated the big one. Hurst, the possessor of the belt, which he had won some months ago at the close of a short fight, by a single and all but accidental blow, stood nearly six feet three inches in height, and weighed sixteen stone. Mace, his antagonist, was but five feet eight inches in height, and weighed only ten stone and a half. It was known by the friends and backers of the giant, that he had but to strike one blow to make an end of the battld, if not of his ad- versary, and that that one blow would fell a stronger man than Mace, as effectually as a childs hand would fell a ninepin. Mace, if not his friends and backers, was precisely of the same conviction, and never lost heart, or doubted the issue, even when Hurst, to add to his other advantages, ac- quired the right of choosing his corner, and stood with his own back to the sun, and the light full in the face of his adversary. After a little preliminary sparring to feel his way, Mace, says the graphic account of an eye-witness, began the fight with a terrific blow, which completely closed Hursts eye, and seemed to make his bulky frame tremble to his very feet. Before the first round, which lasted nearly twelve min- utes, was over, Hurst was half smothered in his own blood, and his face so gashed, that, as far as appearances went, Mace might have been assaulting him with a razor. Hurst knew evidently nothing of boxing,. and his antagonist therefore merely drew aside with the most perfect 8ang-froid from TUE WEAICNI~S~ O~I? GIANTS. the. slow, awkward movements of the pon- derous arms, delivering his own strokes fall on the head and face of the giant, witha force and rapidity that was terrible. In vain, like a blind Cyclops, Hurst threw his arms abroad, and strove to grasp, to strike, even to touch his lithe, wiry foe; in vain he strove to hem him into a corner. Mace would simply inflict his tremendous blows full on the smashed face of his opponent, pass under his arm, and be gone, almost before the eye could follow his movements. We have no intention of giving all the sickening details. After a struggle of fifty minutes, during which eight rounds were fought, Hurstdisfigured, bleeding, ghastly, and insensiblewas compelled by his back- ers to give in, without having struck one blow, or even so much as touched his an- tagonist. It is not our purpose either to defend or apologize for the exhibition, or to say one word for the good taste or bumanity of those who witnessed or permitted it; but, nevertheless, in spite of our better judg- znpnt, we find it impossible to withhold the expression of a certain amount of sympathy for the poor giant~~ so sadly belabored, and of approval of the personal daring and incomparable skill of the conqueror. Yet, had it been only to express such feelings, we should not have given any addi- tional publicity to the details of so vulgar a fight. It is only because we find in it a specimen of the mightier conflicts that are being fought, or that will shortly have to be fought in the world, that we tolerate it at all, and look upon it as a kind of represent- ative battle, in which far greater issues are very palpably prefigured. All history tells us that the fiercest giants, who depend upon force alone, are inevitably beaten when it comes to the point; and that the mightiest empires follow the same law, and are doomed to fall victims to the skill and intelligence which they ignore or de- spise. We need not go back to the classic or the middle ages for proofs of the fact. We have only to look around to see it. Is not Austria a stupid giant like Hurst P and Italy a lithe, little, patient, and dexterous combatant like Mace? The fortunes of that great match, with the whole of the civilized world for its spectators, are as yet marvel- lously similar to those which were this week decided in Kent; and the issues will be the samc, or there is neither truth in. nature nor in histoi~y. hurst will, it is to be hoped, recover from his defeat; and so it is to be hoped will Austria when Italy has done ~vith har. But Hurst and Austria will have to fight other battles, with other challengers, or retire,the one from the ring, and the other from her high position among king- doms and empires. Who will challenge Hurst we cannot say, but every one can s~e fat enbugh into the future to know that Hungary will be the next nimble and skilful boxer that will try the fortune of battle with the bulky giant of Vienna. And, ~ course, the bulky monster will be beaten. In like manner that tremendous old giant, who sits at Rome, has been so belabored by the nimble little men of intellect, who have been hitting him such heavy blows, that he presents at this moment a spectacle almost as frightful to contemplate as poor Hurst did a few minutes before the fight was over. Substitute for the name of Brettle, the giants backer, in the following para- graph, the name of Napoleon III., and for that of Hurst the Papacy, and there comes out a truthful picture of the present condi- tion of one of the most formidable giants who ever appeared in the world to overcome and oppress it. iBrettle, Hursts chief backer, says the Times reporter, at last rushed into the arena, and insisted on his fighting no more; but the maimed giant seemed incapable of understanding his de- feat, and groped and staggered out again. Blind and fainting it only required one or two more blows to finish the affair; but the infliction of those on the helpless heap of flesh was horrible and sickening beyond all description. His seconds and backers gave in for him without his knowledge, and kept Hurst in his corner till he gradually became almost insensible, and all the restorative arts of the ring were exhausted in efforts to keep him from fainting, which, in the ab- sence of a surgeon, and in his then fast- failing power, might have been a most seri- ous affair. And a very serious affair it will be, when the Brettle of Pie None withdraws him from the ring, and confesses on his behalf, that the long, unequal fight is at an end for- ever. We need not pursue the course of our illustrations. They are obvious and nu- merous, and lie upon the surface of all con- temporary history. Let the giants beware! There are evil days before thi~m; and intel- lect will conquer brute force now, as it always has done, both in personal and in national conflicts. 4 J3A110N I~UNSE~. 5 From Macmillans Magazine. of one who is supporting the champio~of BARON BUNSEN. BY THE REV. F. D. I some cause in which he is interested. An~ MAURICE. no one will be able to charge the memory of IN the Times, of Jan. 9, a short article a groat man with any of the follies which he appeared on the death of Baroz~ j3unsen. may discover in his admirer. It was translated from the .Thvue Chr.~tienne, The first impression, I think, which was and was signed by M. Pressens~. ~I2he arti- left upon all who saw Bunsen during his cle was worthy of the subject & ~nd of the residence in this country, or in any other writer. It would not be easy tQ, fInd s.ny- country, was that they had seldom met with where a more beautiful obituary, on~ ~r~r a1man so thoroughly friendly and genial, so from flattery and exaggeration, and fuljor resay to meet people of all kinds on their of genuine affection and admiration. M. own ground, so little affecting dignified re-. Pressens6 is not a follower of Baron Bunsen. serve, so free from the airs of diplomacy. He professes. a dislike to many of his epin- Frankness will have struck them as his pe- ions. His appreciation of the man is the culiar characteristic. They will, of course, more real because he does~ have been surprised by the variety of his But just and generous as this testimony information upon subjects which they sup- from a Frenchman is, an Englishman could posed to lie out of the circle of an ambassa- scarcely read it without some pain. Baron dors business. What will have surprised Bunsen lived among us, and was more still more will have been his personal inter- closely associated with us than with the est in each of those subjects: his power of people of any country eicept his own. He throwing his heart into the one by which was known intimately to men of all classes the person he was conversing with was oc- and all parties in this land; some of all eupied at the moment. They will have classes and all parties expressed no ordinary found that this vivacity of mind did not affection for him. Why are they ~ silent? only manifest itself in general topics; their Is separation from our land or the separa- own private and domestic concerns were re- tion of death a destroyer of all the links membered with a sympathy which was at which bind us to those with whom we have least as pleasant, and I should suppose interchanged thoughts, from whom we have somewhat more rare. Those who were received benefits? Or are we so behind struck by his intellectual accomplishments French Protestants in Christian graces that may have thought that he was too encyclo.. difb~rences of opinion make it impossible for p~edic, that his mind wanted concentration. us to say what we feel and know respecting But they will certainly have observed that the inner worth of those whom we cannot his attachments were as diffusive as his accept as guides? Some I am sure who studies, and that in them there was no defi~. received from him a series of undeserved ciency of distinctness or personality. His kindnesses have preferred to seem ungrate- affections were the more alive in the family ful than to inflict on hi~ memory the burden circle, amongst his intimate friends, because of their awkward praises and their bad rep- they were catholic. utation. Such motives may fairly influence I have spoken of firstimpressions. Those them to a certain extent. But what they do which I have described were, I think, very ill, others may be stirred up to do better; general. I never remember to have met their partial conceptions or misrepresenta- any one, even of the Malachi Malagrowther tions of him, may call forth the friends who species, who did not share in them for understood him to vindicate his character. awhile. But I have known many, not ill- I should abstain from speaking if I did not disposed persons, who fancied they. saw think that a slight testimony from one who reason to suspect the man of duplicity, difh~red from him more widely.. than M. whom they had given credit for so much Pressens~ is likely, to have donewho straightforwardness; to suppose that he looked at all objects from a different, nearly professed with his lips what he did not in- the opposite, point of view to hismay be wardly believe. Every one knows how rap- of some use at this time. I do not pretend idly such doubts spread when they have~ to he a reluctant or an impartial witness. once entered into our minds; what revenge But my evidence will, at least, not be that we take for our previous credulity; how we BARON BUNSI~N. 1ab~r that others may not indulge the un- ~e confidence which we have abandoned. As such feelings, when they are not well founded, are most demoralizing and mis- chievousas I am well convinced that in this instance they have no foundationI will explain how I think they originated. When Baron Bunsen came to England, many of us fancied that he was half an Englishman. We knew he had many ties to this country; we had heard that he was suspected in his own of Anglomania; we were specially pleased to have the witness of a philosopher of extensive observation as well as reading in favor of our habits and institutionsagainst his own. When we desire to be deceived, every phrase carries the meaning, not that it has, but that we give it. Any kindly appreciation of that which we have done or thought, any willing- ness to meet us on some common ground, is taken to imply preference for us, nay, to in- timate how much better other lands would be if they could be cast in our mould. Many eminent foreigners have suffered grievously from these complimentary opinions respect- ing them. The moment they have shown any of the patriotism which it would have been their shame to want, there has been an expression of more than disappointmentof anger, as if we had been tricked. It is not, we say, what we Eflf,*lish call con- sistency and good faith;~~ as if we Eng- lish~~ did not show by that very language that we should think ourselves bound in duty to recant every observation we had ever made that could by possibility imply the superiority of any country to our own. No one ever was subjected to a greater share of this injustice than Baron Bunsen. If he had formed an exaggerated estimate of our meritsexaggerated, I mean, for a foreigner the very near view he had of our corrup- tions and our discontents might naturally have shaken it. But I venture to doubt whether even in the commencement of his stay here he felt or gave indications to any fairly judging person that he felt the slight- est disloyalty to his own na1~ional traditions. At that time I would have given much to believe that he had some Anglican tenden- cies; yet no cunning sophistry which I could exercise on the words I heard him speak, or that were reported to me by those who knew him better, could bring me to the conclusion that he had. Every thing convinced me that he was a German to his hearts core; that he had resisted, and would resist, every in- fluence from without, every temptation from within, to be any thing else. But if he was exposed to this kind of sus- picion, he fell just as much under an oppo- site one. ~English laymen tormented with questions of which they did not find their divines willing or able to offer a solution. English divines finding that what they had been in the habit of preaching in their pul- pits or teaching in their classes, did not sat.. isfy others or themselvesmight naturally turn to a German, free from the trammels of our education, acquainted with a variety of religious beliefs, conversant with the vicissi- tudes of opinion in his own country, most ready to communicate his thoughts and ex- periences, for some relief from their embar- rassments. Many who sought this relief may have fancied for awhile that they had found it. A number of thoughts would be brought before them to which they had not been accustomed; they would find them- selves irfts different atmosphere from that which they had been used to breathe; they could not be deceived that it was an atmos- phere, not of speculation merely, but of earnest practical faith. To some this last discovery would be most consolatory. But, in process of time, some of them might per- ceive that practical faith in them must c on- nect itself with other feelings and supports than those which the German seemed to re- quire. What was natural to him, was un- natural to them. How it should be so, they might be unable to ~letermine; the experi- ence of the fact is more than any explana- tion. On the other hand, many in a differ- ent, though equally discontented, state of mind would regard this so-called faith as a mere heirloom from Luther and the six- teenth century, which interfered with the scientific processes and idealizing processes into which they had hoped that a philoso- pher of the nineteenth century would initiate them. Each of these for different reasons would express a disappointment, perhaps an indignation, not inferior to that of the An- glican doctor, whom both abhorred. The German prescriptions do not suit our corn- plaints, would be the groan of the one. The other would threaten the imperfect per- former of the miracle of liquefying facts BIVRON BUNSEN. 7 into ideas, much in the tone of the Neapoli- he reformation; reformation always has tan on a like occasion. Oh cattivo St. meant, always must mean the recovery of a .Tanuario ! would he the mildest phrase of form which has been lost, the pursuit of lamentation when the too solid flesh did not ends which are marked out for us and which melt, thaw, and resolve itself into a dew. we have forgottenthe return to a real be- The former would not have the fairness to lief of that which we profess in words. remember that the German physician did That this was the end which Baron Bun- not volunteer his advice to the English pa- sen set before himself in reference to the tient; did not profess to say what kind of country of his birth, and of his mature affec- bath might suit his constitution! It did not tion, I am fully convinced. Whether the occur to the other that he made no pro- means which he chose for the end were the fession of any special power to liquefy facts; best possible, I, of course, am utterly incom- that he was in the habit of denouncing many petent to decide. But, as I trace them, I who performed that portent in his own land cannot help perceiving that they were, at as enchanters and false prophets; that he least, consistent; that he had a distinct probably envied the English reverence for sense of a vocation, which Germany and her factsif it did not convert all facts into cot- sons ought not to forget; that he had also ton or bank notesthough he might not a sense of certain dangers attending that find it easily attainable by himself, vocation which it became her sons to watch The true lesson from these different kinds against, and so far as in them lay to coun- of unfairness which Englishmen are prone teract; that he never supposed they could to commit, and from each of which Bunsen be counteracted except by influences which suffered discredit, is, I conceive, that we should bring the life and heart of the coun- never honor one anotherthat we never are try into fuller play, which should give it a even ordinarily just to one anotherunless practical as well as a scientific interest in the we have a position of our own which we are past, which should awaken its hopes for the resolved not to abandon; and unless we like future. those foreigners best ~vho are resolve4d that The belief of a special vocation for his they will try to understand their position people cannot have been learnt by Bunsen and to hold it fast. If we adhere to this in any of those schools to which he is ac- rule, Bunsen will not only retain all those cused of having addicted himself. It must titles to our esteem which he earned when have been received from the old Hebrew he first came amongst us, but we shall prophets. Would to God we had more of reckon it a very great additional title that, it! Would to God that when we talked of after seeing all the wealth and grandeur of our callings we meant that they were call- Englandafter seeing what may have at- ings! If it were so, with how much more tracted him much more, its scientific prowess reverence and fear should we pursue them! and the results which that prowess has pro- If he was right in thinking, as his master ducedits religious freedom and its relig- Niebuhr had taught him, that philology, un- ious activitiesin spite of strong affections derstanding by the name not only the study and domestic ties which bound him to us of language but of the historical documents he nevertheless retained unsoiled and intact of nations, is the work for which Germans his devotion to his fatherland, and would have special gifts that other nations want not suffer any tastes, feelings, opinions of from how many rash conclusions might he Englishmen to sway him the very least in save themwhat courage might he give his projects for its amelioration. And I them, supposing he could persuade them think we cannot show our respect for him that it is indeed a vocation; that God has more than by going and doing likewise. We designated them to it! shall utterly fail to extirpate any of the evils What was the measure of his own philo- which we mourn over most, if we ~ieek to logical success in his Egyptian Inquiries, or extirpat~hem by foreign and not by native in his larger work on the History of Man- methods; the plans which we borrow will kind, I must leave to those who are qualified he in our practice artificial and clumsy, the to judge. But this, I think, must be appar- notions we borrow, generally exaggerated, eat to all who only look into those books; always feeble. For no mere change can ever that they are not merely antiquarian; that 8 BARON BUNSEN. the writer has felt a human interest in Ida cries, confessions, thanksgivings~ to the liv-. subjects, and has given a human interest to ing God, Qf the most devout men, of all his discourses on them. Merely acientific ages which Germany has produced not Whe~i inquirers may be shocked at such motives, they were speculating or debating, but wheti but I cannot help thinking that zeal for the they were in the midst of individual and na- honor of Germany and of Niebuhr gave him tional suffering. an interest in penetrating hieroglyphics, and For the same purpose Bunsen, long before enumerating Egyptian dynasties, which the he caine to England, composed a liturgy. mere topics would have wantecL I do not The largest work which he wrote while he doubt his love of truth for truths- sake, but was in England contains more than one vol.. I apprehend that, to an affectionate warm- ume which is especially devoted to the ancient hearted man, truth brings greater evidences Liturgies of the Church. As I think the of itself when it can show itself surrounded writers of the Olney Hymns would have with living and personal associations, esteemed the Ge8angbuch a more effectual But, if Bunsen thought that his country- antidote to what they would have called the men ought to pursue such investigations as unevangelical tendencies of modern Ger- these with unflinching ardor, and not to be many, than any prelections against those stopped in them by any consideration of the tendencies, so I believe Jeremy Taylor would results to which they might lead, he was have valued these actual exhibitions of the certainly as strongly convinced that the life and devotion of primitive martyrs and German mind requires something to balance fathers very much more than any arguments its merely intellectual energies. His Ge- to prove that Germans were undervaluing sangbueh, which has been in part naturalized the authority of fathers or martyrs. I do among us by Miss Wentworths admirable not say this because I regard this part of translations, must have been the result of Bunsens labors as establishing a special this conviction. Such a book, coming from ground of sympathy between him and mem- a statesman, would have astonished the hers of the English Church. On the con English public; must have astonished the trary, khere is no part of his writings which German public still more; must have laid brings out the contrast between him and us him open to the charge of pietism at a time more strikingly. The ante-Nicene fathers when that charge was especially offensive, were precious to him, in contrast with those As it was not original it could procure him who adopted and wrestled for the creeds no personal fame to compensate that disa- which we take for the groundwork of our greeable imputation. Yet, if a statesman devotions. I have no words to express how desires to call forth the life of his people, to entirely I dissent from his opinion. If the give it an interest in its own past history, to conflicts of the first centuries had not issued deliver it from sordid aims, to substitute an in the proclamation of the Nicene Creed, the earnest practical faith for mere theories, to Church, it seems to me, would have passed contrast the dreams of modern revolution jute a mere collection of devout opinions; with the actual convictions of old reformers; its various schools would have sunk into I know not how by a thousand protocols, or warring philosophical sects. The Creed was speeches, or repressing edicts, he could have the proclamation of a Divine kingdom, fulfilled his function half as well. There are which was to strfiggle with the imperial some worthy men, both in England and Ger- kingdom in Constantinoplewhich was to many, who suppose that they can rekindle keep up a battle in all ages with every form faith there by continual denunciations of of imperialism, whether it came forth under Rationalism, who say also that Bunsens a secular or an ecclesiastical name. The aim was to weaken faith and strengthen Creed going forth from Nice, stifled no in- Rationalism. Let them ask themselves se- quiry.was able to check no opposing opin- riously in any quiet moment what ~1~ey have ion. Athanasius had to fight alone against accomplished by their labors, to awaken the world in defence of it, and to pvail be.. faith, or destroy that which is opposed to it cause he was fighting for the people against in any single heart? And then let them the doctors. When it became a mere sub consider what may have been done for that ject of debate among doctors in the Churches end by bringing together the most earnest of Greece, the mighty proclamation of an BARON BUNSEN. 9 a~vtual Living will by Mahomet and his suc- in all quarters of the world. They were ~ess~rs crushed the professors of it. It perplexed to find much space devoted to dis. ~oula only make head against them in the cussions of minute points of organization wes1~ by appearing once more as the an- affectinS Prussia, possibly the north of Ger- nounQement of a kingdom that rules over manynearly uninteresting, scarcely intel- ali. 1i1 that form it has had to endure the ligible anywhere else. I owe great thanks i~ciibus of papal domination; it has had to to the book for this very reason. It made ~ght with the fury of Protestant sects. It me more conscions than any book I had will, as I think, overthrow them bothbe ~ ever road before, than any book written with witness for the union of Greeks, Itomanists, a less honest and simple intention coiAd Protestantsand batter down the devil- have donehow impossible it is to conceive worship which prevails so mightily amou~ a Universal Church, how the most enlarged all three. Not for an instant would I sur- philosophy can only describe a merely local render it to the objections or arguments of Church, if the starting-point is the Geme- Bunsen, or of all other objectors, lay and inde. Suppose a Divine Being, who calls clerical, together, however much I may honor out a man, a family, a nation, who then re- them; because I believe in my heart it will veals the Head of all nations, and you can do the work which they longed to see done, explain what excuses men have found for and which their religious instincts, philo- contracting the dimensions of such a body, sophical theories, even practical devotions, so that it shall be subject to the mortal cannot do without it. By all means let bishop of a particular city; so.that it should them speak out their objections and difficul- be merely national; so that it should rep- ties; it has power to encounter them, and, resent some special opinion. But take conquer them. By all means let each man the opposite course; try to ascend from the pursue honestly his own search after unity; notion of the society to those who minister I am satisfied it will meet all their different in it, to Him who is the object of its adora- searches, and willhelp to make them effectual. tion, and that society adapts itself unawares What I have said about Bunsens efforts to the notions, education, epoch, circum- to restore the literature of the early Church, stances of the person who describes it. His explains what I shall venture to say about desire to be useful and practical forbids him his Church of the Future. The book to lose himself in considerations which would which bears this title embodies, it seems to fit any place, and therefore are fit for no me, the feelings which were likely to be cx- place. And this is only a small part of the cited by the democratic movement of the difficulty. The ministers chosen by the age, in a man who was full of strong reli- Gemeinde are merely officials. By the gious convictions, and who was vehemently hypothesis they can be nothing else; offi- averse to the old hierarchical system. The cials with the same temptations as men have Gemeinde is every thing. All ministers are felt everywhere to exercise tyranny over merely its officials. The services of the their flocks; to make that tyranny good by Church are acts of united thanksgiving, appeals to the grandeur of their work. And That which was supposed to be a sacrificial the object of the worship is,what P Bun- act, deriving some virtue from the presence sen would have answered reverently, The of the priest, is the offering of the heart and God of our fathers; the God who is revealed spirit of the people to God. This is the de- in Christ. But saying so he brings back vout aspect of the doctrine of popular sove- the idea of a Church grounded on that reve- reignt~y. In this form he hoped it might be lation; the Church of the past is the Church emancipated from its atheistical accompani- of the future. Not saying sothe old story meats; in this form it might combine the is repeated. The object of worship is really old Protestant testimony for individual faith created by the worshipper; the official be- with the social cravings of a later time. comes, in the worst sense of the word, sacer- On most men this book left an impression dotal; he is the victim and organ of all the of great disappointment. Its magnificent superstitions of the Gemeinde; not less, but title led them to expect something which more for that, its oppressor. None of these should be satisfying to the hopes and wants consequences were present to Bunsens mind~ of people in all parts of Christendom, nay, He is in truth not more responsible for 10 BARON ~ them than a hundred theories which prevail amongst ourselves. He has the great merit of bringing these theories to the test; of showing how inconsistent we have been in combining them with another much older doctrine. His noble ambition to assert the rights of the Gemeinde, to clear away priest- craft, to give sacrifice a real meaning, forces us back upon that earlier faith. Without that faith I do not see how any of these ob- jects can be accomplished; they must be ac- complished some day, if it has any reality. I do not complain of him in the least for maintaining the position he has taken up in this book. His business as a German might be to ask what kind of society is necessary that the rights of men as social and spirit- ual beings may be fully assertcd, and to see whether he could construct such a society. We who are not constructors at all may be very grateful for the experiment, may learn much more from its failure than from many successes upon which we plume ourselves. We have had ages of political experience to compensate our want of the power of theo- rizing. Institutions have not been devised by us, but have grown up in the midst of us. We may ask ourselves what they sig- nify; whether we have ever understood them; whether we are not continually un- dermining them through our carelessness respecting their nature and purposes. That self-examination will surely be more profit- able to us than complaining of what foreign- ers, better and more earnest than we are, have done or have not done. They will help us if we are true to ourselves; if not we shall destroy ourselves, without their inter- ference. In his book On the Signs of the Times, which Bunsen wrote after he left England, he did full justice to the freedom of relig- ious opinions from state interference which our people have obtained; he claimed the like freedom for Prussia; he attributed the presence of it among us in a great meas- ure to the action of the sects upon the Es- tablished Church; he attributed the ab- sence of it elsewhere, principally to sa- cerdotal in~fkience. As an assertion of the safety of entire religious freedom, of the danger of any restraint upon it, under one pretext or other, the book seems to me of great value. As an explanation of the method by ~vhich it has been won, and by which it can be maintained, I must oons.ide~ it defective. To remind English Chur~k-., men that the Puritanand espeeialJy tiw Independentwas at one time a witn~ ~ a liberty which they were dispo~d, ~o, re strain, can do them no harm. It i~ not a novel announcement to them; they heard it a century ago from the historian who disliked the Puritans most. But that historian would not have confessed that the disposition in English Churchmen to persecute arose froxu their disposition to merge the invisible in the visible ruler, civil or sacerdot4; that the force of the protest of the Covenanter.~ and of the Independent, when the Cove- nanter had become a mere believer in the Presbyterylay in his proclamation of a God who actually governed in the affairs of men, and to whom the monarch and the eccle- siastic were equally subject. So long as that faith is strong, there will be a witness against the attempt to take the power from Him to whom it belongs, to assume the right of pro- tecting that which He alone can protect. The faith is strong when men are crushed by mortal hands, when they can only take refuge in the unseen. Therefore the argu- ments against persecution come from the suf- ferers; are forgotten so soon as they have earned dominion. But it is the faith of a Church; emphatically it is not the faith of a sect. If the sects have helped to keep alive in us the belief that we are witnesses for a kingdom of God, not for certain opinions, we should be very thankful to them. For it is that belief which can alone save us from being a sect, which can alone extinguish sects. And with sects persecutionsince persecution is good to maintain the domin- ion of sectsis a denial of the dominion of God. We in England have owed any degree of freedom we have to a faith, let it have been ever so weak, in this dominion. There has been a dim sense in our mindshowever much we have resisted itthat those who touch the ark to keep it from shaking may incur the sentence of him in old time who ventured onthat experiment. To strengthen this feeiing,to deepen it, i~, I suspe6t, the one method of perpetuating the religious liberty we have, and of making it greater. The maxim of Barneveld, says Mr. Motley, was Nil scire tutissima Jides; on that he based his doctrine of toleration. God wishes all to know seems to me a much 11 BARON BUNSEN. safer faith; the foundation of a much more the English thought, perhaps of the eigh- comprehensive toleration than Barneveld teenth century, perhaps of some section in dreamed of. How Prussia may he saved this century. But if the message of the Bi- from herriotion of a paternal interference to ble is a message to mankind, not in one age keep nien straight in the faith how she is to but in all agesa message to those wants escape from state tyranny without thi~owing which are nQt satisfied by, not expressed in, herself back into ecclesiastical tyranny, I do the peculiar tendencies and conceptions of not pretend to affirm. So far as Ba~ron Thin- ~ny age or place, rather which are crying to scn has spoken on that subject in his Sign~ be emancipated from those tendencies and of the Times, I should abstain from criticis- conceptions, each new adaptation is only a ing himfor other reasons, and because he new form of bondage. And if the Bible is has shown in this volume that such a knowi- any thing less than this.if it does not speak edge of England as none of us possess re- to us, but only repeats what we first put into specting his country did not save him from it, will the Gemeinde, will any man con- mistakes about us which an ignorant native tinue to care for it P Is not the notion that could not have committed. We ought only it is not thisthat it is only a book in which to speak for ourselves. In mere protests divines or philosophers find what they hide against sacerdotal government thousands of the cause of the indifference to it in Eng- Englishmen would join him, who like a lit- land and in Germany, which~ Bunsen de- tie persecution very dearly. The abuses of sired to cure? Some learned and able men sacerdotal government have come, not from remongst us hold that our people when the conviction that there is a truth for all they hear the Bible, are too ready to think men, which it is good for all to confess to- they are hearing the words of God. If, gether but from uncertainty whether there say they, Englishmen generally, could be is an~ such truth, or whether it is not better delivered from this superstition, if we, the to force men into a nominal acknowledgment teachers, did not encourage it, there would of something which will do in the place of it. be no dread of philological and physical These remarks have a close application to inquiries, lest the Bible should be over- the last work in which Bunsen was engaged thrown; other literature would not be dis- upon earth, his Yollstdndiges Bibelwerk paraged for the sake of a single book; we fUr die Gemeinde. For an incredible num- should give full play to our faculties in the her of hours in each day, he toiled at a new study of it, and in all other studies. My translation of the Bible. It was to be own solemn conviction is that our people do printed along with the version of Luther. It not half enough believe that they are listen- was to be accompanied by historical and ing to the words of God when they are lis- spiritual explanations, which he hoped would tening to the Bible; that we, their teachers, remove some of the difficulties of the .Ger- do not half enough believe it. If we did, mans to the acceptance of it as a national we should not be afraid of any physical or and family book, such as it was held to be philological inquiries. If we did, we should by the Reformers of the sixteenth century. not try to make people understand, by a From this hook, so far at least as the inter- heap of preparatory evidence, ttiat God is pretations were concerned, an Englishman speaking to them in the Bible; we should may be pardoned for not expecting much. be confident that he would make them un- For nearly two centuriesfrom philosopher derstand his speech. If we did, we should Locke to the last issue of the Tract Society prize all liteiature much more than we do. men of different schools have been labor- Those who would take from us the fragments ing to adapt the Bible to our own tastes and we have of this faith would make us tenfold capacities. That is to say, it has been made more slaves of the letter than we are. They to echo our voices; the temper, habits, con- would make us indifferent about scientific victions of our age or our coterie, have been truth, because we should cease to believe more or less skilfully brought forth from its that any thing has he~n established or can pages. An interpretation, which should ex- be established. They would turn us into hibit as faithfullymore learnedlythe Ger- critics of Homer and Shakspeare, not read- man thought of the nineteenth century might ers or learners of either. Designing to make be some counteraction to those which exhibit us more earnest students, they would drive 12 BARON BUNSEN. out the spirit of patient, childlike reverence he said, to utter a short prayer that it ~may and hope which contains the only promise please God, either to shorten n~y sufferin~~ of result in any pursuit of any kind, or to give me strength to bear the~i~ ~11i~t But I would repeat once more that the when I try to think of higher,, my maxims which we can discern for our owii illness drags me down~ ]3efo~r~ the Ja~t half~~ guidance ought to be most cautiously applied hol4r all I could say, and I rerieatedi it; eon- in our judgment of men in different circuim. stantly, was Schiafesgnadc bi~ ~um Tag; stances from ours. There can be no diIl~r- hut for the last hour I was able, to say ence in the general principle, that we must Scldafesgnade, ~o du witist; and now look, become little children in order to leern any there is the first dawn of mornings ~nd I can truth of divinity or of physical science. hear to be awake. There may be the greatest possible differ- A deep human experience ~ssure4ly; only onces in the indications of this. childlike to want the grace of sleep till morning, and spirit, in the obstacles which hinder usfrom not to find that! But how near is this loss attaining it. The Exeter Hall orator may of all spiritual consciousness and power to think that nothing interferes with itso much the discovery of that which lies beneath it as the habits of the German student. The all, its groun4 and support. Ich Itabe ge- German student may think that nothing in- funden, he said, dass atle Brileke, die man terferes with it so much as the assumption gebaut hat zwisehen diesem und .jeneni Leben, and arrogance of the platform, as the echoes failt, und die eine, Clsristus, bleibt stehen~ and applause of an obedient crowd. Each It was what he had been saying always may give the other some warnings which it in hymns and litanies, what he had felt in- may be worth his while to heed. Those of wardly. To perceive that it was real, when us who are neither orators nor German stu- hymns and litanies could not be spoken, dents may be better for the admonitions of when feeling was dried up, this was surely both. Bunsen brought his doings to a brave a recompense for much agony. And it was and noble test when he appealed, not to pro- not only when all else seemed to be sink- fessors, but to the people. I cannot think ing (alles ge/it unter, as he said one night, that a work undertaken with such earnest~ nur Gott bleibt) that he felt this standing ness, and in such a spirit, would have been ground. Brighter moments were granted in vain, even if his own part of it was in when he could delight in the faces around vain. The book would have made its him, and in the memory of those whom he strength felt above his interpretations, as I could not sec. Then came forth his strong trust it will do above ours. And surely, a personal affections; his gratitude to old ben- man who desires to be honest and childlike, efactors; his sympathies for freedom and if he cannot find what he seeks in cloisters truth in every land. He remembered Prus- or platforms, will have it granted him in sia and England. lie longed for the unity some way which his divine Teacher knows of Italy in which he dwelt so long. He could to be better. listen again to the hymns and the organ That final education was bestowed in full which had been so dear to him. He could measure on Baron Bunsen. There came a say, It is a wonderful thing to look back time in which a frame that had been tasked from above on this life and this world! to more vigorous and tremendous efforts in Now first we know in how much darkness reading and in writing, than most of us can we have been dwelling here (was fur cm bring ourselves to think of or to believe, dunkles Basein wir hier geftihrt haben). broke fairly down; when a man who had en- Upwards, upwards. Nothing dark; no, joyed work as much as most enjoy the cessa- bright, ever brighter. lie could assure tion of it,had to exchange it for the in- those who were dearest to him that his love tensest anguish. What the suffering of any to then~ had been a2lways grounded upon a complaint in the heart is few of us can even love that was deep and eternal. lIe could guess; his form of the~compiaint is perhaps say to the one who was dearest of all, I the most terrible of all to bear or to witness. shall meet thee in the presence of Go& He felt the deep humiliation of being un- One, who had read these and other roe- able to soar above the most ordinary neces- ords of his last days at Bonn, writes sities of self-preservation. I am just able, thus BARON BUNSEN. 13 They seem to me too sacred for any but man life can have been. And yet there is th~ eyes of his dearest friends. Yet I am nothing which I remember of that, which glad that they should be known at least to would lead me to doubt those records of his same besides. Simple and devout English- later hours, or to wonder at them. lie ap- men and Englishwomen will at once ac- peared a diplomatist without trickery; a kziowledgo their sincerity and their depth. man in the world without frivolity; a states- They wiLL joyfully throw aside any suspicions nan with ever-increasing desires for the that they may have formed of him. They good of the people and the kingdom of God; will judge more kindly and hopefully of a philosopher with a human heart. There many besides him, whose statements may are, however, other recollections which come often puzzle them. They will trust more in more home to me as I read the story of his Gods judgment and less in their own. I death-bed. A little more than twenty years cannot cast stones at these countrymen of ago, just before the accession of the last mine for hard thoughts which they may have king of Prussia, he was for a short time cherished respecting Bunsen. With far less the Minister to the Swiss Cantons. his excuse, with far more evidence to confute house, which had been once occupied by the them, I have often allowed the like to bar- English Minister, Mr. Morier, lay about a bor in my own mind. But I have always I mile outside of the town of Berne. The discovered that they proceeded not from the i situation was one of the most beautiful in liveliness of my faith, but from the poverty that beautiful neighborhpod. The prospect of it. They belonged to that arguing, dis- from the garden was such as one could putatious, godless state of mind, which in scarcely see in any other country. I was sit- my arrogance I should, perhaps, have at ting with him and with some others in that tributed to him. I look back upon all such garden one afternoon, when all its near love- suspicions as reasons for shame and contri- liness seemed to pass away and be forgotten. tion. For it seems to me, casting my thought j For there came a sudden discovery of another over a number of years, that he approved world behind thata world that was alto- himself in a variety of circumstances to be gether of light and glory. The same spec- essentially a true man; one who felt more tacle may have been granted to one since in keenly almost than any one the influences the same regions. But each of these vis- by which he was surrounded, yet did not ions surely has its own significance; each take his color from them; one who could not should be remembered along with the faces have been what he was to all about him, if that looked upon it. The bright outward his life had not been sustained from a hidden world in which Bunsen dwelt, and which he source. I did not see him in all the posi- enjoyed so heartily, had a brighter inner tions in which some of my countrymen saw world behind it. i/tat was partly revealed him; I only know by the report of others to him in his chamber at Bonn. May we what he was to those who visited Rome whilst he was the Gerfrxan Minister there. not be confident that -it will be revealed But the existence of an ambassador in Lou- hereafter to us all, and that human faces, don seems a greater contrast to those scenes earthly sights, will be transfigured in its in the chamber of Bonn, than even his Ro- light? COLUMBUS.ThO following anecdote may be nut shell was a piece of pnrchment covered with interesting to some of your readers very old writing, which none of those present Captain DAuberville, in the bark Chieftain, could read. An American merchant in Gib- raltar then read it, and found that it was a brief of Boston, put into Gibraltar on the 27th of account, drawn up by Columbus in 1493, of his August, 1851. He went, with two of his pas. American discoveries up to that time. It was sengers, across the Straits to Mount Abylus, on addressed to Ferdinand and Isabella. It stated the African coast; as they were on the point of that, according to the writers judgment, the returning, one of the crew picked up what ap- ships could not survive another day; that they penied to he a piece of rock, but which the cap- were botween the ~vestern isles and Spain; that tam thought to he a kind of pumice-stone. On two similar narratives were written and thrown examination it was found to be a cedar keg into the sea, in case the caravel should go to the completely incrusted with barnacles and other bottom. marine shells. The keg was opened, amid within Captain DAubervilles narrative was given was found a cocoa-nut enveloped in a kind of in the Louisville Varieties, whence it was copied gum or resinous substance. Within the cocoa- I into The Times of that year.Notes and Queries. 14 FLOCCI. From The London Review. FLOCCI. THE latins chose this word for a thing of little value without consulting the Sib- ylline books; or perhaps the day when cot- ton would decide the fate of nations was foreshadowed in the volumes which the Sybil could not sell. That day is certainly come; cotton, if the uncomfortable meta- phor may pass, is in every mans mouth; and half the interest of a great wnr and more than half the hopes of Indian admin- istration centre on the flocculous seed-vessel of a malvaceous shrub. The naturnl world seems to ~ymbolize the social in this im- mense preponderance of small things over great. Those debaters of back-street par- liaments, who discuss in cloudy conclave the question, Was Creation a Mistake ~ would feed their world from forests of bread-fruit, and clothe it with ready-grown garments. But the food of men is a little grainthe lowest of his standards of measure; his ~dress is spun for him by a worm, or grown for him in a seed-cup or a stalk; and the coral insect rears islands for his foot to rest upon from the deeps of the sea. The many a little in labor and its product, makes a muckle which subdues and sustains the earth; and so the wool-tree, a curiosity to Herodotus, is become an imperial care to us. In no proverbial sense, indeed, there is at present much cry and little wool. True, ~the deficiency in cotton is rather feared than felt, but it is one that can no more be awaited, than if a householder should defer his in- surance till the back-stairs were in a blaze. Whatever comes of this American disruption, will include American cotton among the in- terests it affects. The civil warcertain is- sue of principles set aside for expediency, just Nemesis for ingenious joint-worship of God and mammoncannot rage long with- out a servile rising, general or partiaL When that is afoot, before that even, by the distractions and drains of the war, the cultivation of cotton will be stopped; and with it, if no remedy is provided, a thousand mills, and a million active hands will be thrown out of work. Already the transmis- sion of bales is checkedalready the chances of hostile movements imperil a crop badly and scantily harvested, as Mr. Cheetham as- sures us. It is fortunate, at such a crisis, that commerce is in some degree prepared, and that a happy coincidence of even~ utakes Americas grave diffi6ulty, ~n~i~s golden opportunity. It is on he ~rd~ tp give the ryot of Hindoosta~n h~s1~re~a~ie ptofits of a trade of twenty nillions.p~r.~rw num. It is on the cards to destr~y a~mo- nopoly, which endangers the ihark~ts and the industry of half the world. It is on th~ cards to deal an indirect blow at the slave trade, which shall complete Englands ran- som of the African, and set her ships free from a costly watch. What do you play, Messieurs the Rulers of the East ~nd Mer- chants of the West P Nations watch your game and history will follow its issue. No fitter opportunity than this can recur for the development of Indian cotton-grow- ing. Mr. Laing, like a second Camillus, has flung his shears into the ill-adjusted scale of Indian finance, and the beam is at last even. The cotton districts, thanks to Lord Dal- housies administration, are, to a beegak, ours. Practical experience and the atten- tion of interested bodies have been brought to bear upon the subject since the report of 1847. The old-fashioned gin, the ekhatkee, has given place to those inventions whose introduction to America wrought almost a miracle of improvement. Above all, rail- ways and roads are opened, or just opening, into the cotton countries. Omrawuttee, Bar- see, and Sholapore are names of stations on the Great Indian Peninsula, instead of cotton marts, separated from the sea by a hundred koss of ruts, miscalled roads, and a mountain chain as steep and difficult as the Apennines. In spite of these obsta- cles, and greater, India has been supplying the shortcomings of America. Year after year the long line of ox-carts has toiled over the plains of the Decean with bales of cot- ton, ill picked and roughly ginned, some- times weighted, too, with earth and stones, interesting to a geologist, but interfering with the mill-owners purposes. What the oxen had not meditatively chewed from the bale before them, or spoiled by the sweat of their much-ei4uring bodies in passing the Gh~t, reached Bombay, and the screw-press, and an English market, to give Indian cot- ton a bad name. From this opprobrium, circumstances and the Cotton Supply Asso- ciation are beginning to clear it. The black, disintegrated trap-rock of the Deccan can grow cotton to rival Sea Island; and the soil 15 FLOCCi. of the Southern. States deteriorates indeed; ground. The middle-man.-the wakkavia as i~ recedes through many crops from the absorbs the profits, which the Government qualities inherent in virgin forest-earth. assessment sufficiently reduces. Nor is c6t~on a crop which delays to render If regard is not had to the condition of a return! The annual yield of Egypt lay the cultivation cotton may be grown, but it eontained, a few years ago, in the pods of a wjll not be planted in India. It is a crop plant in a garden at Cairo; and the seeds which is put in and taken off the land too and stalks, too4 repay the process oC cleans- easily to be permanent without assured and ing. lasting inducements. Let the society, which The 7Ynses, in devoting a leader to the has done so much, press for an amelioration subject, has relegated it to the domain of of the poor Hindoos status. They will find demand and supply. Emphatically we ob- him, like the mass of the Hindoo people, serve that the ryot knows nothing of politi- nexus and addictus, bound hand and foot to cal economy, and will grow no cotton be- the money-lenders. Not cotton only, but cause he ought to do it by reason of Adam order and peace will be impossible unless Smith. Mr. Money has shown us that the the cultivators of Hindoostan be rescued system by which the Dutch Government re- from maltajun and marwarrie. All India generated Java, and which enriched the vii- lends or borrows money at ruinous usury; lagers as well as the state exchequer, was by but the lenders are few, and the borrowers no means let to grow. We cannot, in- many and miserable. In the mutiny, a town deed, imitate the paternal despotism of Van or village, bursting into license, attacked den Bosch, who used no compulsion, but first the books of the usurer, and then the only observed to his Malays, You must. Nabob whose courts protected him. Let Lord Canning has justly defined the limits Mr. Haywood and the able coadjutor whom within which Government aid can be afforded Sir C. Wood has given him in Dr. Forbes, to cotton enterprise, but these include the look to this. Cotton may so be instrumental passing of good laws. The cotton-grower in in helping slaves in the East as well as the Indiathe ryotstarves under bad ones. West. His crop is mortgaged before it is above the ACCIDENT ON MONT Bt.& nc.,A party as- cending Mont Blanc, consisting of Messrs. H., B., and others, all firstrate menntaineers, with their guides, had slept out all night, and afier breakf~ist Mr. B. left the others for a few min- utes, being on a slight slope near a precipice. In returning to the party Mr. B. slipped, fell on his hack and then over. He slid down 1,500 feet at an angle of 45 deg. by measurement, at a velocity of not less than sixty miles an hour, over frozen snow covered by little peas of ice like hail, and being brought up at a crevasse by the collected sno~v in his clothes; this, owing to the arrangement of his dress at the time of the accident, his trousers being down, no doubt saved him, by tying his legs together. Dr. Metcalfe was sent for to St. Gervais late that night, and arrived there at six AM. the follow- ing morning. He found Mr. B., a young gen- tleman of nineteen, in a state of collapse, wrapped in cold wet sheets, which were at once removed and restoratives given until reaction set in. Sensible; no alteration of the pnpil; face looking like that of a man four or five days in the water, covered with blood, much swollen; skin off the right side of the nose and face; forehead abraded, hands burnt black on the backs, swollen, the fingers as if the ends were ground down on a coarse grindstone; nails all right; arms and elbows clear from wounds, but bruised from under the left arm to the ankle; the side scratched in every direction, as if with a sharp currycomb, the right side not marked so high; the calf of each leg on the outside is fairly burnt black and dead, back of the calf tin- hurt; nates burnt off by the friction, and sides of the thighs the same, theseparts hem,, red or white. Pulse from 0 got to 120, weak, thready, intermittent; stupor considerable; memory good; head not affected beyond what any severe shock would cause. Diarrhma came on with much irritation, frequent micturition ; thirst great; tongue white, pale. There was no blame attributable to any one. He fell at seven AM., and was got to St. Gervais at six rn., after a most perilous carriage on a portable sledge. No bone broken. J)r. Metealfe has been unremitting in his attention, and informs me that he is doing well, and in a few weeks will probably be all right, and not marked or injured in any visible way. He is sensible, and has been up already. This is a very interesting example of a severe brush-burn, and the con- sequent shock to the systemMedical Times. THE LAST LEWISES. From Chamberss Journal. THE LAST LEWISES. LITTL1~ CAPET. A SKILFUL Belgian has painted a very touching picture of a wan, squalid child, crouching and shivering on the ground in the corner of a miserable room. The face is one of those oval, French-child faces, very smooth and very yellow, patterns of which we see flitting by us in scores over the Fields Elysian, distracting their screaming and bon- netless bonnes. A French boys face to the life; wanting only the little frill round its neck, and those other elegancies of dress with which the exquisite taste of French mammas love to invest their offspring. But this French childs face looks out with a pit- eous, stony insensibility. It seems to shrink away from an unseen, uplifted hand. Its clothes are torn and ragged: its thin limbs, much shrunk away, protrude. Shown at the Great Dublin Exhibition, in 1853, among other notable pictures, it drew succeeding hemicycles of commiserating spectators; facesof mothers especiallywith tearful eyes, sorrowing over that miserable child. The name of the skilful Belgian is Wappers, and a little Bonnet Rouge, or French Cap of Liberty, tossed lightly in a corner, tells us who is this boy with the French boys face: the most unhappy childtaking him in ref- erence to his station-..-that ever lived; the miserrimus of little ones, the scapegoat of tender years driven out into the desert, third of our series, and Louis the last but one. Miserrimus of royal children: the little proto-martyr of kings sons! This is a pite- ous distinction; a wretched notoriety. Never did child of a royal line bear so many sor- rows. When the courtiers and noble ladies poured in to see him at Versailles on the night of his birth, which took place at five minutes before seven in the evening for events of this character are noted as with a stop-watchand the cannon was thundering from all the fortresses, and the fireworks were squibbing off in the Place dArmes, and there was universal delight and congratula- tion at this fresh introduction of royal flesh and blood into the worldhow would that smirking, simpering ruck of fine ladies and gcntleman have been aghast, had it been whispered to them that the splendid infant just arrived, that tender fleur-de-lis whom in a few hours the minister was to invest in all state with the Order of the Holy Ghost, would by and by become as the most squalid little Arab of the most squalid quarter of the city, and would give up its persecuted spirit on a stone floor, fairly eaten away with dirt and vermin, its heart worn out with ill-usage and starvation! It would be only natural that the suggestionbesides being ungen- ted and out of place in a royal palace should be dismissed as impossible. Poor child! that walked from its cradle, always prattling and gambolling and saying pretty things, straight to that hideous destiny. Better had some of the hundred and one ogres croup, whooping-cough, and other ailments, that wait in ambush for children of tender yearsburst out and strangled it; even with the result of obliging the noble gentlemen and ladies of the court to ex- change their bleu-de-roi and rose-colored silks for unbecoming sables, and putting them through all the gradations of the greater and the little grief. We know this Royal Boy intimately. Even in the horror and agitation of those days of June and August which preceded their re- moval to the Temple, they thought of mak- ing him sit to Monsieur iDumontthe fa- mous miniature painterand who was besides painter in ordinary to the queen. Turn- ing over the fashionable Whos who? of the yeara boastful octavo of vanity, burst- ing with strings of names and offices; and christened the Royal Almanackwe light upon this gentleman, set out gloriously with all his style and titles. Someway a refer- ence of thi8 sort, a scrap, a newspaper cut- ting, brings a period home to us with a greater vitality. It is as though we had sent for the Directory, and were searching out M. Dumonts address with a view to calling on him professionally. His miniature has come down to us; for a marvel having escaped be- ing crunched under the hoof of an un- breeched. The most lovely chestnut hair, tumbling in profuse ringlets upon his shoul- ders, large blue eyes of wortd& ful sweetness and intelligence, with the rich vermilion lips of his beautiful mother, and a special dim- ple, for which she was noted exactly repro- duced. He was the child whom ladies wQuld love to call over to them and take on their laps and smother with kisses. His little neck was open with a wide collar, turned 16 THE LAST LEWISES. over, and a dainty frill; with a diminutive coat and small Robespierrean flaps and but- tons. Such a pretty boy! so young, so sweet-tempered, so gracious, so ready and clever! We may be sure gossips marvelled at the absence of the true Bourbon elements, and wondered suspiciously how he could ever come to be shaped into the true aiud genuine Bourbon type. We, who look back, cannot see the makings of that perfect character, which should develop themselves into the stiff-neckedness, mulishness, insensibility, cruelty, and other virtues which adorn scions of that famous line. The chronicles of this pretty childs say- ings and doings are very fullindeed, are almost Boswellian in their abundance. If we are to trust these note-books, he was making wise, affectionate, smart, and witty speeches all day long. But the truth is, most of these details come from a suspicious direction, being furnished by a sort of dy- nasty of valets, whose works must necessa- rily have a savor of their office. No doubt there were brave and faithful menials about him, from whom wa~ purged away, as by fire, this corrupting influence. Still, Mr. Carlyle cautions us against what he calls men of the valet species, not professionally filling that office, yet who have a crooked, fiunkey twig tied up with their bundle of ec- centric sticks. Much more should we be on our guard against an original unplnted arti- cle. There is a valet way of viewing thii~s, an innocent menial exaggeration which mag- nifies, a gaping bumpkin wonder and conse- quent distortion, and a gradual gathering of moss as the narrative stone rolls on. The valet historian, become of a sudden the de- positary of important faets, finds his details accumulate prodigiously with every fresh re- cital, and as he grows older, thickens his var- nish, and deepens his colors. Sowas it with the showman at Waterloo: so is it with that ex-valet who now tells and sells his stories at the Invalides. Therefore must we accept these legends of little Capet with a grain of salt. It must have been a fearfully wise child that at four years old could address its fa- ther ia a speech of this description: Papa, I have a fine immortelle in my garden; it will be at once my gift and my compliment. In presenting it to mamma, I shall say, May mamma resemble my flower! Only con- THIRD SERIES. UVI~G AGE. 762 I 17 ceive, four years old! How his amazed parent must have looked at him as he lisped his way through this elaborate period. An- other timestill rising four yearshe as- tounds us by a neat and ingenious turn which should be held up to all ordinary children at their lessons. He was making some strange sounds with his mouth over his task, and was scolded. Mamma, said the mysteri- ous infant, I was hissing myself, because I said my lessons so badly. Some one tried to stop him forcing his way through some briers. Opposition was instantly silenced by the reply, Thorny ways lead to glory! He fell down on the gravel-walk, and picked himself up with ~7~ir lines of an apt quota- tion from La Fontaine. He made puns; checking himself in his intention of bring- ing some soucis (a species of flower) to his mother, because she had already a suffi- ciency of them (cares). He was fearfully ready with his classics, and told some one that he was more fortunate than Diogeiies, because he had found a man and a good friend. He liked his garden grenadiers (flowers) very much, but would rather be at the head of living grenadiers. He was, in short, a royal, terrible child. No, this is the valets child, the change- ling of the servants halL The poor hapless boy has been so bewailed, talked over,wept over, that he has been actually gossiped into a new shape. There is a handsome margin left for the good and the sympathizing, who would weep over the wretched destiny of the most gifted and promising child ever born to a crown. As a matter of course, he was soon put to take his part in the theatrical shows of the time. The little Royal Red Book alluded to, shows a catalogue of namescrowded as the names of an army listwho form the rank and file of the various houses of his majesty, the queen, of monsieur, and the other persons of the blood; and, natu- rally enough, the little Capet had his share in the show. He was splendidly glorified, this royal bambino, as yet only toddling across the palace saloons, with a whole department to himself, labelled Education of my Lord the Dauphin. He was encumbered with a superfluity of stately supervision, and watched over by a governor-ia-chief, two sub-governors, two clerical tutors or in 18 TUE LAST LEWISES. stitutors, a reader, a secretary in ordinary, crowded with gaudy scenes, horrid night- a governess, and four sub-governesses, mare pictures, and snatches of Elysium, all We have always some picturesque glimpse jumbled together in violent contrast! A~ of this favored child. Now we look down he shall lie hereafter, shrunk and coiled up at him from the Tuileries wiadows~ pacing in a corner of his dark cell, with a film be~ his gardens at the head of a tall company of fore his eyes, and brain disordered by dis- National Guards, he himself a tiny National ease, literally rotting away, what a company Guard in a miniature uniform. How comic of spectresshall be with him all night long! the contrast between this Tom Thumb IDau- How the black veil, which always hung be- phin pacing up and down in his Lilliputian fore the dark walls, must have parted and regimentals, and the grave giants in the floated away to the right and to the left, cocked-hats stalking solemnly behind him! showing him ghostly pictures, theatrical He made speeches to these warriors with a tableaux, such as he had often gazed at from quaint old-fashioned ceremoniousness that the royal box in the Paris theatre I We, makes us smile. He apologized for the too, can see them as well as he. smallness of his own private garden, where he himself was gardener, regretting that its TABLEAU FIRST. little walks could not accommodate the gen- A snatch of Elysium! There was surely tlemen who came to visit him. That fatally one happy night to look back to, that in the precocious wisdom, and strange readiness hall of the theatre at Versaillesthat pretty of speech, someway suggest the childish playhouse which strangers and holiday-folk partner in the firm of IDombey and Son. now go down to admire. There has been a The Tom Thumb uniform was soon weight of care over the great palace, for the changed, and we see him presently in the monster dungeon has been destroyed; the full dress of a miniature colonelColonel of people are growing strangely insolent and the Piceoluomiaior, more respectfully, the even dangerous; and the little prattling child Royal Dauphin Regiment. Royal Bonbon, keeps down its spirits, seeing how dejected said the French gamins, screaming with and anxious seem the king and queen. laughter, as the little men fluttered their When, of that first of October night, he is colors, beat drums, saluted, carried arms, dressed smartly and taken down with mamma and relieved guard at important posts, in -a and papa into the theatre, where the newly droll parody on their elders. By and by this arrived officers are dining, he goes silent Tom Thumb colonel will appear in other and wondering. What a blaze of light. dresses. Alas! not uniforms. He will be what cries of joy and enthusiasm; for the looking back with despair in that boy-old officers are all standing up in wild excite- age of his, from out of darkness of soul and meat, having sprung to their feet on their body, to that mimic coloneling! entrance, and are sh6uting Vive le Roi, Our little Capet was fated to know some and swearing eternal fidelity. The vision troubled nights during his short span of ten of that beautiful mamma and her children years. It seemed to be his destiny to be has had much to do with this. They will ~perpetually awakened from his first sleep die for that lovelylady. Down with the towards midnight, and to be snatched from vile cockades of the ~nation, and trample his cot and hurriedly dressed. Or else, them under foot! The color has come back where all the elements were raging, and the to her cheeksthe kingly face smiles benig- human storm howling, to be brought out and nant. Let us all join,scarlet-coated Swiss, held up by way of show, to soothe the agi- Guard National in the Hogarthian sugar- tation. On a childs mind those midnight loaf soldiers hats, and officers of the Royal rousings must have left a bewildering im- Flanders Regiment,.and, drawing swords, ~pression. drink frantically to our dear sovereigns. I For, indeed, into that ten years which see them all nowin an old print..standing made up his little life were compressed the up and pledging that beautiful ladyand I whole seven ages of man. He saw a kind see the orchestra in cocked-hats, high up in of copy of youth, of manhood, and the tern- I a corner, just striking up the sweet air, 0 ble enforced decay of a childish old age. I Richard! 0 my king! though all the world fancy no life of that duration was ever so abandon thee! Halcyon night! We may THE LAST LEWISES. 19 be sure there was joy and soft serenity up- now upon the writers shelvesappears a stairs in the palace bed-chambers as it was print of this crossing of the Carrousel; corn- talked over. There were sweet tranquil ing out within a week of the transaction, as it dreams. All would yet be well. We are might be a cut in the Illustrated Paris News. strong in the love of those dear French The king has a round wide-awake hat and hearts! a lantern, the ladies have the pillow-shaped An ugly twinge of recollection. Four bonnets and pelisses of the time, and the days after, the savage fishwomen are storm- fiacre is seen waiting in the archway with its ing the splendid palace. They are in the letter and number conspicuous, L 16. salons, the gardens, everywhere! And then When our little prince opens his eyes followed the hot, dusty, weary procession to again, they are in the huge berline, rumbling Paris. Then are brought back in triumph and creaking over the rough stones of some the baker, the bakers wife, and the bakers highway leading from Paris. It is very dark, boy. Little Dauphin wonders why they and the tall trees lining the road flit by like should call him a bakers boy. spectres. Drivers whip is heard cracking loudly, and we roll and totter forward at a TABLEAU sEcOND. great speed. No wonder; we have six post- ~Tery often he must have been back again, ing-horses attached. Are we indeed going on that hot June day twentieth of the to act a comedy P For here, crowded to- monthwhen he and his little sister no- gether inside, are the Baroness Korif and ticed that papa and mamma were whispering, her two daughters (of which you, Agla6 are and seemed agitated; and the confidential one), and her governess, played by mamma, ladies flitted to and fro, and whispered se- and a ladys maid, and a valet, performed by cretly withtheir majesties. Sharp, penetrat- papa. At any other time we might laugh. ing child as he was, we may be sure he put See, papa has even a passport, with the bar- many penetrating questions to that sub-gov- oness name. (We are told that paper is to erness of his, and lady in waiting, who took be seen to this day; that official document, them out for their five oclock evening walk. with the round letters tumbling backwards, Then, that strange awakening at eleven and the official writing and the seal, and oclock, when the lamps were all lighted, and Louis own signature.) his drowsy eyes scarcely able to keep open, Sleep again! Was there ever such a long saw the room full ofpeople, and faces bending night P So chilly, toosuch a sense of weary over him, and his dear mamma, hurried and protraction! Now, indeed, we are roused by agitated, in a travelling-dress. The good roar of voices, and lanterns flashing in at the Madame Brunier whispers that he is to get windows, and fierce, scowling faces looking up, for they are going a journey, and he is so angry, and we can see, too, that mamma to be very still, like a dear child, for mamma. is very pale and frightened. It is midnight And here is a little girls frock of brown cal- by the church clock of this little country ico, which he is to put onno matter why, town that looks so strange, and here we are he will be told another time. No wonder all getting down, and enter a mean house. he thinks, They are going to act a comedy. Soldiers, crowds, lights, guns, bells ringing, No matter, he will hear all about it in the roarwhat does it all mean P But we drop morning; and now he is so dreadfully sleepy off to sleep again, in a corner of the room, that he lets his head drop on Madame de for we are very tired, and wake up next Nevilles knees, who haa sat down on the morning back again in Paris with the sun stairs, and is dreaming in a moment. shining, at the very gate of the Tuileries. Here is the cool night air and here are Still in the great coach, but despair in main- the stars, and we are in the Carrousel court. mas and papas faces! A horrid,, feverish What does it all mean P Here are the sea- night that we must never think of! tries challengingand here is the street. Where are we going P Hush, little Agla~ TABLEAU THIRD. (strange rechristening that !). So he turns Again roll away the black dungeon walls; round, and in a moment is again asleep on and here are lights, and flowers, and scenes, the ladys shoulder. and gallery over gallery, and a whole sea of In an inflammatory journal of the time I faces turned upwards and looking towards THE LAST LEWISES. the royal box. This night has the king and queen and little prince visited the French comedy. They are playing a piece with a straI~~ely significant title, Unforeseen Events and from the front of this box the pretty child of six years looks dowa and laughs and makes his remarks. No doubt the burr and mur- murs abroad, the fierce insolent figures, so free with their bold speeches and depo4- ment, who cluster in mobs at the palace gates, and speak to his mother as the Aus- trian, are beginning to weigh upon his lit- tle soul and puzzle his brain. But here, to- night, was a strange scene: a house crammed from floor to ceiling, a parterre densely packed, rising to cheer their majesties. Hats and handkerchiefs waving! Hale a dozen voices groan a protest, but are over- powered and driven out by the loyalists. Hark to the comic valet and the soubrette, who are at the foot.lights singing couplets in praise of their master and~mistress up-stairs. Ah! they join in the burden Surely we must make them happy! Surely we must make them happy! and the pit is on its feet cheering and vocif- erating Yes! yes! Something very sweet in this night of ro- mancethe lights, the music, that delicious rapture of our subjectsto send us home with tears of joy. Royal mamma and papa, supremely happy, dream that all may yet be well. TABLEAU FOURTH. The horrid day of the twentieth June, when the red-capped breechless poured in with pikes, and flooded the palacehe would shut that out, if possiblewhen there was the crash of doors broken in, andthe royal lady, clutching him to her arms, is hunted from chamber to chambersliding panels secret passagesand a howling mob out- side !when, too, a table was drawn in front of her as a feeble barrier against the frantic human waves pouring in at the door. A roar, and the vile red cap is upon that noble ladys flowing hair: another roar, and a cry of Little Veto! and that decoration is upon his own head! Pikes flourish in the air, wild women come up to his mother and shake their closed fists in her face. Savage men gather round him and question him, and he gives them his quaint answers. So it rolls on, wearily, anxiously, until night, when the waters recede slowly, and the :pal~ ace is at peace. Close, in a disorde~ed ~e- quence, follow other terrible days: thl~ rrn~- ing of him at midnight by beating of dru~rs and tocsin, and the great bells ringing far and wide over Paris, as for fire, and the woman rushing in and dressing him hur- riedly. Not without a shudder can he think of that awful daybreak. The messengers hurrying in with news that all in lost, and the king must die, and of that sad proces- sion when he was carried in the grenadiers arms, and heard the air rent with the cries Death to the tyrant! As he looks back over the grenadiers shoulder, he sees the smoke from the windows, and through the smoke the scarlet coats of his fathers Swiss, and cannon lumbering by him with fierce men in blouses and the eternal red cap, tugging them on with ropes. Then the interminable day, cramping in the little box in the As- sembly, with myriads of hostile faces glar- ing on them, the stifling overpowering heat, the shots outside, the periodical eruption of savage men, all smirched and bloody, their hands full of rich gold and silver, plundered from papas palace. But it comes to an end, like other long weary days we shudder to think of; and then the black pall rolls its dismal folds over all! l,~Te are most of us familiar, by aid of Valet Cl6rys touching narrative and M. Duchesnes researches, with the stages of that martyrdom of the little St. Louis. We know the minutest details of that fright- ful persecution, the degradation of mind and body, that masquerading in the red cap, that drugging of him with strong spirits, that forcing upon his innocent tongue vile street songs and licentious ballads. Nay, there are yet to be seen those shaking trembling signatures, wrung from him by a fearful terrorism; and even the tailors bills, for furnishing the son of Capet with striped Pekin waistcoats, and the ells of super- fine cloth for a coat. These little records, like Mr. Filbys bills, recovered for us by Mr. Forster, touch us more than volumes of description. We may follow the steps of his sufferings, with a minuteness unparal- leled in the history of jails. We have a se- cret yet unsubstantial trust that there has been some exaggeration. We take one glimpse at that piteous picture, which some- 20 THE LAST LEWISES. how comes home to ourihearts nearest of all, when the child was discovered at midnight kneeling on his pallet, and praying in his drean~, in a sort of divine rapture; and when the savage who guarded him came with a pail of water and so brought him back to life, and sent him crouching and cowering into a corner. Was he dreaming of the celestial palaces, and of that dear papa and mamma whom his affectionate heart had already enthroned there, and who were hold- ing out their arms to him from those happy sunny gardens where there would be no more terrible days of blood, and wild savage men and cruel jailers? The end and a happy delivery came speed- 21 fly. Joyful days, long wished for, came about, when a slow wasting-away and lassitude set in, and his strength gave way, and his gen- tle spirit was beaten in the struggle. During those hours kind voices whispered to him, kind faces bent over him, and smoothed his pillow. On that last day, a little after noon, he heard a sort of divine music filling the room; then, looking eagerly towards the fdll light streaming in at the window, called to his keeper that he had something to tell him. The keeper bent down and listened; but the head was sinking gently, lower and yet lower, upon the young breast; and the spirit of the little Capet had sped to where the wicked cease to trouble and the weary find repose. HERALDIC JEU JYEspnrr.The following verses are written with much point, and relate, I imagine, to a case of breach of promise. Can you give the ladys name here alluded to l I have only seen the poem in MS. among some collections made, about the year 1732, by one W. 0. (Qnery, William 0ldis~vorth l) Is there any clue to the author l It is entitled as fol- lows Knox Ward, King-at-Arms, disarmed at Law. Ye fair injured nymphs, and ye beaus who deceive em, Who with passion engage, and without reason leave em, Draw near and attend how the Hero I sing Was foiled by a Girl, tho at arms be was King. Crest, ~nottos, supporters, and bearings knew he, And deeply was studied in old pedi,,ree. He would sit a whole evening and, not with- out rapture, Tell who begat who to the end of the Chapter. In forming his tables nought grieved him so sorely That the man died Grlebs, or else sine prole. At last, having traced other families down, He began to have thoughts of his encreasing his own. A Damsel he chose, not too slow of belieG And f~in would be deemed her admirer Ia cli~f. He blazoned his suit, and the sum of his tale Was his field and her field joined partg per pale. In different stile, to tie faster the noose, He next would attack her in soft billet dour! His argent and sable were laid aside quite, Plain English he wrote, and in plain black and white. Against such atchievements what beauty could fence I Or who would have thought it was all but pretence ? His pain to relieve, and fulfil his desire, The lady agreed to join hands with the squire. The squire, in a fret that the jest went so far, Considered with speed how to put in a bar. His words bound not him, since hers did not confine her; And that is plain law, because Miss is a minor. Miss briskly replied that the law was too hard, If she, whos a minor, may not be a ward. In law then confiding, she took it upon her, By justice to mend those foul breaches of honour. She handled him so that few would, I warrant, Have been in his coat 6n so sleeveless an errant, She made him give bond for stamped argeat and or, And sabled his shield with gules blazoned be- fore. Ye heralds produce, from the time of the Nor- mans, In all your Records such a base non-perform- ance; Or if without instance the case is we touch on, Let this be set down as a blot in his scutcheon. Notes and Queries. SCIENCE AND ARTS FOR JULY. From Chamberss Journal. SCIENCE AND ARTS FOR JULY. GLORIOUS summer weather has been fa- vorable to floral exhibitions; and whatever there may be of art or of science in the cul ture of flowers, has had full exemplification, during the past few weeks, in the Royal Gar- dens at Kew, the newly opened Gardens of the Horticultural Society, and the Botanic Garden in the Regents Park. Rhododen- drons in full bloom under a tent are very beautiful; but some people prefer the dis- play of magnificent foxgloves in Kensington Gardens.A curiosity of vegetation was shown at the closing meeting of the Linna~aa Societytall tassels of silica growing from a lump of petrified sponge. The tassels are composed of slender threadlike stalks, spring- ing from a sheath, beautifully transparent, and so light, that they tremble like gossa- mer at the slightest movement. It is a re- markable instance, so to speak, of mineral vegetation. The Surrey side of London is making a demonstration in favor of establishing a mu- seum within its own limits, as a means of education for that division of the metropo- lis. Government is to be asked to give 10,000, and twice as much more to be raised by contributions. We shall be glad to hear of the success of the project; but let us remind the promoters, that something more is needed besides a proper house, and a collection of noteworthy things, natural or artificial; which is such a spirit of manage- ment as shall best accomplish the object in viewthe diffusion of useful knowledge. Now that Professor Max Mullers Lectures are published as a book, readers at a distance, who had not the privilege of hearing them delivered, will be able to acquaint themselves with the present condition of the science of language, and a highly interesting branch of study. Perusal of the Lectures will discover to many a significance and importance in words which they were never before aware of.A professorship of epigraphy and Ro- man antiquities has just been established at the College of France by command of the emperor. It is only of late years that the study of inscriptions has become a real sci- ence; and if as a science it can be turned to the advancement of knowledge, then the new professor may do some good. The study has now its principles, rules, and methods, as many published works suf1~ciently testify; among which, Dr. Bruces volume on -Nw Roman Wall, and the handsomely-illustrated books on Roman Camps and Stations in Northumbria, brought out at the cost of the Duke of Northumberland, are especially re- markable. We know, moreover, what has been accomplished by Rawlinson and Lay.. ard, and by Dr. Hincks of Dublin; and that the subject is not exhausted, is proved by the broad folio volume of cuneiform inscriptions just published by the Trustees of the British Muscum.The Academy of Berlin are pub- lishing a collection of the inscriptions of the Romau empire, going back to the first years of Christianity. The Royal Academy of Sciences at Munich have lately put forth a series of works on the earliest discovery of America, printed from heretofore unnoticed originals, and accompa- nied by large maps, which curiously exem- plify the geographical knowledge of the time in question. And there has been printed in New York, a translation of a rare and re- markable tract, which first appeared in 1494, or 95, writ ten by Nicolo Scillacio, a Messi- nese, on the second voyage of Columbus to America. Little by little our knowledge of that great discovery widens. Captain Jervois, commandant 2f the mili- tary convalescent establishment at armouth, has delivered a lecture at the United Service Institution on Recreations as a means of health for the army, showing the deterioria- tion, bodily and mental, brought on by want of sufficient occupation, and the benefits arising from rational means of recreation. He ad- vocates the introduction of recreation-rooms in all barracks, hospitals, and camps, with dominoes, draughts, chess, billiards, and other games, excepting cards, and in these rooms he would allow -the men to smoke and have tea and coffee. At Hong-kong in 1851, and at Yarmouth in later years, he has found the most favorable results follow from offer- ing to the men a resource which many were prepared to accept at once, and which many others preferred, after a little experience, to their usual dissipations. Ho woulj have rec- reation-marquees for troops in camp at home, or abroad on active service; and argues that though the marquees would be an additional burden, there would be a counterbalancing diminution of hospital baggage. The cap- tain shows, moreover, that it is bad economy 22 SCIENCE AND ARTS FOR JULY. to aim at producing cheap soldiers, iaasmueh as, like other cheap things, they soon become unserviceable. Another lecture, On an Improved System of Ship4uilding, delivered by Mr. 0. R. Tovell, at the same Institution, will com- mend itself to merchants and persons inter- ested in navigation, for it shows that speed and capacity for stowage are possible, and have been accomplished. Accepting Mr. Scott Russells proposition, that a good ship should have the easiest form to go ahead, and the most difficult to get to lee- ward, Mr. Tovell takes the salmons head and shoulders as the model for the fore- body of his ship, and the hinder part of the swan for the after-body; and it is found in practice, that while the circular form gives great strengththere being little or none of that creaking noise usual in ships-.--a vessel built on the improved system will behave better in a gale of wind, and sail faster in any weather, than a vessel built on the ordi- nary system. When deeply laden, the im- proved vessels sail better than when light, for the reason that they are then longer at the water-line, and that below the water-line, no portion of the timbers is straight. Straight- ness in the sides of a ship, says Mr. Tovell, is a hindrance to speed. Moreover, be- sides firstrate sailing qualities, and ability for scudding or lying-to, and other operations appreciated by mariners, the improved ves- sels cost less than others to build, because they require less curve in their timber, less labor to bend the planks into shape, and no steam for the bending. The captain of the Laughing Waters, a swift ship, reports: I can, now I am used to her, make her do any thing but speak. Dr. Frankland has been investigating the effects of atmospheric pressure on flame, car- ryipg out a course of experiments which may be said to have been begun on the top of Mont Blanc in 1859, by observing that a candle burnt at that elevation consumed less of its substance, and was less luminous than when burnt at Chamonix. In his trials with coal- gns, he finds that a quantity of gas which gives a light equal to that of one hundred candles when the barometer marks 3l~, yields the light of eighty-four candles only when the barometer falls to 28g. Hence we see that ordinary atmospheric fluctuations have a noticeable effect on illumination; and, 23 in so far as experiments have been carried with a higher pressure than that of the atmos- phere, it appears that the same law prevsils. Certain medical men of Manchester have been studying the effect of atmospheric changes in another way,namely, the influ- ence of the changes on disease,and they find a marked relation between the fluctuations of health in that great town, and the rise and fall of the barometer, and increase or decrease of humidity. Fevers, and especially scarla- tina, are most likely to prevail when the at- mosphere is damp; represent diarrhoea by a curved line, and it immediately begins to ascend as the thermometer rises above 600, mounting rapidly with increase of heat, and immediately sinking as the temperature falls below 600. The reverse is shown in diseases of the lungs and throat; in these cases, the curve rises as the temperature falls. Thus far, the inquiry only confirms popular theory on the subject; but there is no doubt that if all the meteorological elements were em- braced, and the inquiry carried on over large districts simultaneously by competent observ- ers, who would compare the state of public health with the prevalent winds, the electric- ity of the atmosphere, and its chemical con- dition, and with the rain and amount of moisture generally; if this were done, re- sults of importance to sanitary science would not fail to be arrived at. Those readers who wish for more information on this subject, may find it in a paper by Messrs. Ransome and Vernon, published in the Memoirs of the Literary and Philosophical Society of Man- chester, At the last meeting of the Geological So- ciety, a paper was read by the Rev. R. Ev- erest, On the Lines of Deepest Water around the British Isles, in which, by trac- ing the several lines of soundings, he shows that the Isles constitute an unequal-sided hexagonal figure, while the lines around Ire- land represent a pentagonal figure; and so on, giving other examples from smaller isles. He finds, moreover, some relation between these lines and present geological phenom- ena, such as dip and other characteristics of strata; and is of opinion that shrinkage is the cause of the special features in question. In England, as also in some continental. countries, there are appearances as of huge polygons broken up into small ones, as if the surface of the earth had once formed part of 24 SCIENCE AND ARTS FOR JULY. a basaltic causeway.At the same meeting Burder of Clifton on the morning of Sunday, an account was given of the recent outburst of June 30, in the constellation of Auriga, from a volcano near Edd, on the African coast of which it receded in the course of two nights the IRed Sea; and a notice of that terrible to the muzzle of the Great Bear. It had earthquake at Mendoza, where eighty-five passed the perihelion on the 10th of bue at shocks occurred in ten days, and more than the distance of seventy-six million miles from ten thousand persons perished. The effect the sun, and in its recession, on the 28th, it was felt in the Upsallata Pass of the Cordil- had come within thirteen million miles of the leras, for at that elevation travellers met a earth. The nucleus is described as having shower of ashes, and found the way obstruct- had three luminous envelopes. One observer ed by rocks and newly opened chasms. And has announced the probability, that on the at Buenos Ayres, nine hundred and sixty- 30th we were within the luminosity of the nine miles from Mendoza, it was observed comet. At one time, the tail extended over that the pendulums which were swinging seventy-six degrees of the northern sky. A north and south were accelerated, while those French astronomer believes that this is the swinging east and west were not affected. celebrated comet of Charles V., which ap- The astronomer-royals Report to the peared in March, 1656, and caused the retire- Board of Visitors shows that astronomy suf- ment of that monarch, and the ieturn of fers as well as corn and fruit in unfavorable which has for the last few years been looked weather. A plan had been formed for a se- for; but Mr. Hind, whose opinion in sucfr a .ries of observations of Mars, with a view to matter is entitled to the highest respect, af~ the accurate determination of his parallax; firms it for certain not to be that comet. but the weather was unusually bads in It has been ascertained, from many years 1860, and the observations could not be observation, that the wind makes a number made. However, as the Report testifies, of revolutions all round the compass in the good work in abundance was accomplished; course of a year, turning usually in tbe di- the quasi-permanent existence of a belt in- rection of the hands of a watchthat is ,!from dined to the ordinary belts~ was noted on N. to E.S.WT., and round to N.; but last Jupiter; Saturn presented at times the year the directions were retrograde, or in the square-shouldered figure which Sir. W. Her- contrary direction.N.W.S.E. and N. Two schel long ago attributed to him; time-sig- entire revolutions were made in this direc- nals have been, and are sent to many parts tion, and the phenomenon having attracted of England; the post-office clocks are regu- attention, the observations of past years were lated from the clock at Greenwich; the time- examined, and the remarkable fact was as- ball at Deal has been regularly dropped by certained, that there appears to be a seven- signal from the Observatory; and Mr. Airy yearly cycle in the course of the wind. In constantly bears in mind the desirability of 1853, the wind made rather less than two ro- exhibiting daily time-signals at Portsmouth tations in the retrograde direction; in all and Plymouth, and hourly time-signals at the other years, the opposite direction has Start Point. These would manifestly be of prevailed. But taking any period of seven great use in nautical astronomy. The Ord- years, we find it commencing with a small nance Survey, in which the junction between number of revolution~, then increasing to a England and Belgium is to be repeated, has maximum, twenty-one times, twenty-three or been commenced under direction ofSirllenry twenty-four times round the compass, then James, and after that is complete, steps will sinking to a minimum, and rising once more be taken to determine the galvanic latitude in the following period. On this remarkable of Valentia or Lowestoft. fact Mr. Airy observes, supposing always The astronomical world was gratified on that the septennial cycle be confirmed: I the last day of June with the sudden appear- should suggest as possible cause, no cycle ance of a comet, generally allowed to be of actions of external bodies, but a periodi- larger than that of 1858, and which, it is be- cal throb of temperature from the interior of lieved, would have made a finer sh~v than the earth. It seems likely that a very small ~any in the present century but for the twi- change of superficial temperature might suf- light lingering in the midnight summer sky. ficiently influence the currents of air to pro- This bright stranger was observed by Mr. duce the effect whichhas been observed. 25 THE INViSIBLE ARMIBS.THE COMET, 1861. THF INVISIBLE ARMIES. On ! think not, armies of the earth, A~ in the march ye go, To hail a j~ations second birth, Or wrest it from the foe, That here, upon this mortal field, Do all your forces stand revealed: The eternal scenes outstretching time ~Are now in movement more sublime! Hail! heroes of the ages gone, Of sacred story all, Who led the hosts of Israel on, Who broke the ancient thrall Of tyrants clamoring for reign Oer the rich Orients domain, Thy spirits, stirring from their height, Shall lend to us their former mi lit. For, saith the High and Mighty One, Who sitteth in the heaven, Tis not of earth and time alone That nations thus are riven; Behold ! the armies of the skies, The embattled legionssee them rise, Arrayed, and officered, and led, By angel chieftains from the dead! The solemn vision deepening, lo! What mighty numbers swell, Rising from their dark pits of woe, The serried ranks of hell! Great God! it is the conflict dire Which raged of old on plains of fire! Jesus, the mighty Victor, knew, Both ~vorlds were open to his view. And when again, on Canaans land, The rebel armies stood, Behold! the angel in command How soldierly his ~vord Im captain of the hosts he said, With sword drawn in his hand,and led, Unseen by Joshua before, To victory all the tribes of ~var! And so when Syrias gutlty king Gainst Israel led the foe, And evil omens gan to spring From out that threatening woe, Fear not, saidisracls prophet bold, Oar numbers cannot now be told, And lo! the mount of visioa came, With hosts and. chariots of flame! And shall not fair Columbia too Land of the brave and free, Her ancient heroes ~vake anew, To lifeto liberty Ho! all ye martyred sons of flame, Statesmen and warriors of fame, Filled be the air afresh with fire Which your immortal minds inspire. And when, in conflict with the foe, The nations reel and rock, Trembling as if beneath the blow Of some tremendous shock, Remember, tis the Lord that fights He rules the deeps, he crowns the heights, Sends the destroying angel forth, Or heavens strong legions bids to earth. AImi~hty God! to thee we raise To thee our souls rehearse, Oar song of triumph and of praise, With thy vast universe! Firm is the centre of thy power, Vast and controlling, every hour, And heaven, and earth, and hell shall be Moved by thine own infinity! Transcript. W. M. P. THE COMET, 1861. Terroresque in emlo, et signa magna. & Luc. xxi. I. WHENCE art thou? sudden Comet of the sun? In what far depths of God thine orient place? Whence hath thy world of light such radiance ivon, To gleam and curve along the cone of space 3* II. Why comest thou? weird wanderer of the air! What is thine oracle for shuddering eyes? WiLt thou some myth of crowaless kings declare, Scathed by thy fatal banner of the skies? III. Or dost thou glide, a seething orb of doom, Bristling with penal fires, and thick ~vith souls, The severed ghosts, that throng thy peopled womb, Whom Azrael, warder of the dead, controls? Iv. Throne of some lost archangel! dost thou glare Afier long battle, on that conqtmering height? Vaunt, of a victory, that is still, despair, A trophied horror on tIme arch of night 3 V. But lo! another dream: thou starry god! Art thou the mystic seedsman of the sky I To shed new worlds along thy radiant road That flow in floods of billowy air on high. VI. Roll on! yet not almighty: in thy wrath Thou bendest like a vassal to his king: Thou darest not oerstep thy graven path, Nor yet one wanton smile of brightness fling. VII. Slave of a mighty master! be thy bmw A parable of night, in radiance poured: Amid thy haughtiest courses what art thou? A lamp, to lead some pathway of the Lord! Notes and Queries. * The Cone of ~Space.Space is that measured part of Gods presence, which is occupied by the planets and the sun. The boundary of space is the outline of a cone. THE LAST TRAVELS OF IDA PFEIFFER. From The Examiner. The last Travels of Ida Pfe~Jfer; inclusive of a Visit to Madagascar. With a Bio- graphical Memoir of the Author. Trans- lated by II. W. Duicken, Ph.D. Rout- ledge and Co. MORE interesting than the main part of this book is the short memoir with which it opens. From babyhood to death, Madame Ida Pfeiffers career was an odd one. She was born at Vienna in 1797,the sin- gle girl among five brothers. In boyish ways she was therefore at home: indeed, in later life, she boasted that she was bolder and more forward than her elder brothers. She dressed always in their clothes, scorned dolls and needlework, and delighted in drums and swords and all out-of-door pranks. Her fatheron other points a stern discipli- narianapproved of these ungirlish tastes, and promised in jest, which was earnest to her, that she should be sent to a military school, and should be brought up as an ofil- cer. But he died when she was nine, and her mother tried to put her into petticoats. Since the attempt made the child ill out of sheer anger, the doctor who was called in prescribed a pair of trousers as the only remedy. Four years later she had sense enough to consent to change her clothes, although, as she averred, at the cost of many tears and much unhappiness: How awk- ward and clumsy I was at first! how ridicu- lous I must have looked in my long skirts, jumping and racing about, and behaving generally like a wild, restless boy! But next year a T came to be tutor in the family, and Ida straightway fell in love with him. For his sake she grew coy, and learned sewing and cookery. When she was seventeen, the appearance of a wealthy suitor drove T to a proposal of mar- riage, which she very gladly accepted. Not so the mother, who desired her daughter to be wedded to some husband with a fortune at any rate equal to her own. The poor tutor was accordingly banished, but Ida re- fused to accept any one of the lovers, who were, it would seem, as many and as diverse as bewildered Portia herself. Each rejec- tion being followed by a severe motherly scolding, at last the girls spirit was broken. She promised that she would marry the next elderly suitor who offered himself. The for- tunate man was Dr. Pfeiffer, a lawyer of Lemberg, with forty-six years to he? tvitV- two, and apparently rich. Loth to fdl~1 ~heV pledge, she told him of her love for the tutor, hoping thus to disgust him. lie, however, said that he liked her all the bet- ter for having such an affectiontt~ di~posi- tion. In a few weeks they were married. In a few weeks more the doctor, being de- prived of his employment through no fault of his, lost all his own and all his wifes money. Ten years of extreme poverty fol- lowed. Madame Pfeiffer had to give draw- ing and music lessons that her children might get even dry bread, and she now and then begged some small help from her brothers. Then her mother died, and be- queathed her a little more money. Loving her children more than her husband, she left him to live at Lemberg, and betook herself to Vienna, where good schooling was much cheaper than elsewhere. So time rolled on. Once the mother went to Trieste, and saw the sea for the first time. It roused in her her old longings after a travellers life; axid in due course, the boys being started in life, and she a voluntary widow of forty-five, the longing was still to be satisfied. With strict economy she reck- oned that her little income would supply her needs, and in 1842 she started secretly, and quite alone, on a visit to Palestine. The journey furnished matter for a book; the book brought her money, and the money was enough to take her, in 1845, to Iceland and back. It was an odd craze for an elderly lady to leave an aged husband and a couple of youthful sons, and wander about the world with no other object than the gratification of mere passion for travel. But this was Ma- dame Pfciffers mania, and it grew ~stronger with her years. In 1846 she began a thirty months tour round the world, visiting many strange regions, some of them never before trodden by white men, and certainly never by lone European woman. The first of this was her Womans Journey round the World. A second journey, taken on a dif- ferent route, occupied the time from 1851 to 1854; and this also was duly chronicled in a well-known book. The last expedition was that of which record is to be fonnd in the book before us. Of this little need be said. It comprises an account of the authoress experience of English,, and Dutch life, and a more 26 THE LAST TRAVELS OF IDA PFEIFFEA. full and stirring narrative of her journey to NiI2~idagnscar. It is like her other books, full of gossip which is always entertaining, gen- erally instrnctiye. With a womans aptness to write down all the strong expressions of like or dislike which each scene or circum- stance arous?d in turn, her statements are often overcolored, but the intention is always honest and simple-minded. The visit to Madagascar was very disas- trous. Unfortunately, instead of travelling alone, she went in company with a Mr. Lam- bert, who meddled in the politics of the isl- and, and thereby incurred the wrath of the 27 cruel Queen Ranavola. At first the white Christians were doomed to die for giving aid to the black converts. As an act of clem- ency, this sentence was remitted, and they were banished the island. Such studied hardship, however, was enforced by the es- cort which took them to the shore, that Ma- dame Pfeiffer was seized with a fever which never entirely left her. Afte a long illness at the Mauritius, she planned a voyage to Australia; but the fever returned, and she was driven, in all haste, to find her way back to Germany and die. She died three years ago, her age then being sixty-one. ATKINSON, Tun TRAVELLER.A noticeable man has passed away in our Siberian illustrator and explorer, Thomas W. Atkinson. His death took place at Lower Wabner, Kent, on Tuesday, last week. For about a year, the great traveller bad been ailing; never having quite recovered from the waste of his long and arduous journeys in the wild country of tbe Amoor; hut no im- mediate danger had been feared by his physi- cian. Little or no suffering bad accompanied bis decline, and his most intimate friends had scarcely dreamt tbat his life was in peril, lie tried the country air; he rode; he walked; he handled his familiar gun. In the early summer he had a fall which sirnok and injured him. But he bore up well, and went down to Walmer, as every one goes down in August to the sea. At length he passed away as into a tranquil sleep. Atkinson was born in Yorkshire, on the 6th of March, 1799, and lie was consequently in his sixty-second year when lie died. He was in the truest and best sense a self-made man. Left an orphan when a child, lie began life for him- self at flue early a~e of ei~ht; from ~vhich time he gained his own living, while training himself into a good scholar and a well-mannered gentle- man. Those who met him in his later years in the drawing-room or the country-house, were struck by the undefinable grace and bearing which are sometimes thought to be the monop- oly of ancient race. He educated himself as an architect, and a church built by him in Man- chester testified to his skill as a builder; but his instrument was the pencil, and his vocation that of a traveller. Owing to an accidental remark of Alexander humboldt, he turned his eyes to the picturesque land of Oriental Russia. His pictures, which have been much exhibited at evening parties, and have been reduced for his books, are exceedingly clever, and lie wrote with as much po~ver and freshness as lie drew. In person, lie was the type of an artistic traveller, thin, lithe, anti sinewy, with a wrist like rock, and an eve like a poets ; manner singularly gentle, and an air which mingled entreaty with commaiid. The two great works which lie pro- duced on Siberia and on the Amoor, have made the whole world familiar with his name, and with his extraordinary assemblage of qualities and accomplishments. These books were not only great hooks, but great deeds. Like Livings- t~ones Travels, the Amoor is not so mticli a successful piece of writino as a series of accomplished facts, and it represents, with the usual amouiit of midnight oil, preliminary years of hard riding, scant fare, nervous watching, desert fever, hunter, thirst, and cold,the pri- vation of a tent,and the fag of a savage life. Out of that misery and adventure has come to us a most precious treasury of knowledge. By pen and pencil Atkinson opened to Western Europe, and even to the Russians of St. Peters- burg and Moscow, the vast re~ions of the Amoor. Before his day, those regions were a mystery and a blank; they are now as well known to us us the country of the Orange River, and better than the shores of Carpentaria. if it be a noble thing to add to the stock of human knowledge, Atkinson had gained a high de~ree of glory.Atlueaceum, 24 Aug. CHARACTER OF BIsHOP JEREMY TAYLOR. The following note on the character of Bp. Taylor is written in an old copy of the Holy Living, in handwriting of a date at about the end of the seventeenth century The author of this excellent book bath the good-humor of a gentleman, the eloquence of an orator, the fancy of a poet, the acuteness of a schioolman, the profoundness of a philosopher, the wisdom of a counsellor, the sagacity of a prophet, thin reason of an angel, and ~lie piety of a saint.N.tes and Queries. TENNYSON is expected to write the pocup for the opening of the great Worlds Fair at Lou. don, during thin coming year. 28 GERMAN AMUSEMENTS. From The Saturday Review, they take no exercise except a little awi~n- GERMAN AMUSEMENTS. ming. However that may be, the ~a~t ~e- TRAVELLER after traveller has described mains. The Germans can go on with their how easily the Germans amuse themselves, amusements, and find a continual relish in and has painted, with contempt or admira- them. No wonder that this provokes the tion, the happy air of the leisurely groups investigation of foreigners. Surely, a people that pass the long hours of a summer day that can get so much nmuse~nent must he in beer-gardens or dancing-halls. If the happy, and have much to teach the rest of amusements ~ the Germans are amuse- the world in the art of living. That the ments at all, it must he confessed that they Qermans are very happy is not impossible. are good of their kind. With the exception They really, we are inclined to think, haye a of their execrable cigars, they have every large share of placid content, and strike a thing they want of a very excellent sort. happy balance between a morbid appetite for When they listen to music, they listen to the excitement and complete stagnation. But best bands science and art can turn out when we begin to fancy they may read a les- when they dance, they generally secure large son to their neighbors, we must look a little rooms and a slippery floorwhen they go further into the matter; and we shall then to the theatre, they see good acting. They find that the Germea mind is divided on sit in well-ordered and often magnificent the head of amusements from the French houses, and rest their limbs on seats that and English by a chasm which cannot be are as comfortable as they are cheap. Many bridged over. of these amusements are intensely slow to At first we do not understand what is English people. Let any one try, and hon- meant by people having no wish for excite- estly state his feelings after he has passed ment. We see the bad side of excitement, the third hour of the third evening at a beer- and know all the sin and misery to which it garden, and he will acknowledge that he leads. When we hear of amusement with- feels a peculiar and utter sensation of wean- out excitement, we think that this would be ness which is unknown except on the Conti- the very thing for us. We feel like a person nent. But no one can doubt that the Ger- who, after a season of venison and turtle, mans are thoroughly happy. This is shown craves for plain food and mountain fare. By not only by their air of gentle content, hut plain food, however, he means good meat by the extraordinary importance which they and bread, and good cooking. If he comes attach in common conversation to what we to real mountain fareto sour black bread should think the most insignificant occur- and curdled milkhe cannot touch it. It rences. Such an event as a brewery giving is not that he wishes to be dainty, but the its grand yearly festival, or new cellars be- difference between such fare and that which ing inaugurated by a treat to the workmen, he has been accustomed to is overpowering. is discussed with the strangest outpounings So it is with amusements. We can fancy of triumph, pleasure, and pride. ILong prac- simple amusements; we do not wish for any tice, too, or hereditary taste enables the Ger- thing feverish, or fast, or exaggerated; we mans to take more of these pleasures than are willing to content ourselves with mao- English pe?ple can do. We speak of a Ger- cent and unpretending pleasures. But the man spending seven or eight hours a day in German extremethe utter absence of cx- smoking and drinking as a curious trait of citement which that happy nation can endure character, as an odd national custom, as a is beyond us. Perhaps theatnicals furnish habit of an animal different to ourselves; the best example. The pieces that will go but why on earth does net all this beer and down in Germany are inconceivable. how smoking make Germans bilious? A Ger- any human beings should think it pleasanter man considers that, on busy days, he must to behold them than to be in bed, surpasses limit himself to about twelve or fourteen our comprehension. We are not speaking cigars, while on holidays he takes from of obscure theatres, or small towns, or un- twenty to twenty-five. Brewers alone could successful pieces. At Munich, where there calculate how much beer would be in pro- is one of the largest and best theatres in portion. We should like to know why this Germany, a piece has lately been played, does not make Germans ill, Particularly as called Die Grille. It has been much ad- 9 GER~AN AMUSEMENTS. 29 mired, and & raws capital houses. On the captivated her friends in the pit and boxes. phy~.hill it is offered as a Picture of Char- She was called for again and again. So long acte~, and the public evidently accepts it did this last that the theatrical arrange- as a very creditable and philosophical crea- ments began to proceed without reference to tion. Now, this play has one very remarka- her ovation. The clouds began to disap- ble featare in it. It is in five acts, and the pear. Next, the cottage in front of which acts are of a very considerable length, but she sang went away on the shoulders of an nothing whatever happens. We know at able-bodied porter; and then the attendants once that no reasoning, no wish to do itself got emboldened, and placidly prepared a credit, no anxiety for a new development of banquet for the next scene under her nose. art, could possibly induce an English or [he audience did not at all mind. They French audience to sit through five acts of a and the young lady were all at home, and play without any incidents. What takes the there were no strangers to make a fuss. So place of incidents is the one thing that to strong is this union between the audience the spectators of Western Europe is most and the stage, that the actors themselves utterly repulsive. The substitute is a sue- behave like a second audience when the per- cession of dialogues between two persons de- formance of any one of their number espe- scribing their feelings. There is a girl- who cially delights them. This may be seen in describes her feelings, and an old couple who places that might have been supposed to be describe theirs, and two brothers who de- too grand for such artless exhibitions. In scribe theirs. Many of our readers will re- Vienna, and at the principal theatre, a comic member the dreadful passages that cast a opera was lately given, in which the leading gloom over Sheridans Rivals, in which Julia buffo fairly finished off his comrades. The and Falkland exchange the statements of prima donna broke down without shame or their mental troubles. If all the Rivals had disguise, and hopped away behind his back been like these passagesif Julia and Falk- to have her laugh out. The chorus was land had talked for five actsthen there equally amused, and at one moment the would have been a play not unlike Die,Grille. funny man was literally in possession of the It is not a question of goodness or badness, whole house, and separated a laughing audi- of taste cultivated in a wrong or a right di- ence before him from a laughing audience rection, when such a play is liked or not behind him. This may show that the Vi- liked. In England such a play would be ennese are very happy and are easily amused, impossible. In Germany it is not only pos- and people who behave in a more reserved sible but popular, and admired. The differ- and decorous way may really have to regret ence is too radical to admit of the one na- their supposed superiority. But at any rate tion learning from the other. this degree of artlessness in amusement is There are other features, too, in the public unattainable for us. We cannot play our amusements of Germany which make us feel games in this way, and are fettered by our how far we are apart from them. A famil- traditions of superiority. iarity and an easy, sociable understanding It is much the same in literature. Ger- binds together those who amuse and those mans write novels in abundance, but their who are amused. As in the games of chil- novels are almost unintelligible to us. Per- dren, the players and spectators are still one haps the only recent German novel known group. When a German player or singer in England is Debit and Gredit. This was has done his or her part, the audience testify considered a wonderfully good novel in Ger- their approbation by repeatedly asking to see many, and this speaks volumes. Its merit the performer. In every theatre players are consisted in not being utterly vapid. It de- called for, and approval is shown by shout- scribe7d, in a faint way, scenery,. characters, ing when they come. But in Germany it is and habits that were not utterly trite. It done in a different way. The audience do was therefore endurable, and for a German not much care about scenic proprieties so novel to be endurable is to be famous. long as they and their favorites have a pro- Generally, German novels have, according longed friendly meeting. At a summer the- to our ideas, nothing whatever in them. If atre in a small German town for example, Mrs. Hannah More had grown rather less a prettyish actress sang a little song that moral in her old age, she might have written 30 GERMAN AMUSEMENTS. them all. And yet this is in the country of in the people that commands our respect in Goethe, of Wieland, of Tieck, and of many the midst of all their aberrations. But iii other writers of imagination. This is the Germany no one who studies the groups most astonishing thing about Germany, that in the beer-gardens, or watches them in a its great writers and its ordinary writers are theatre, or reads the books written for so very widely apart. Out of this harmless, them, can find traces of force. There is, in- - innocent people, with its beer and tobacco, its deed, no visible feeblenessthere is no theatrical pictures of character, and its so- timidity or shamefacedness. The people ciable audiences, have arisen great men and dare to be happy in their own way, and writers. They have shown, in the midst of would not resign their way of being happy their greatness, that they were Germans, and without an intense and protracted struggle; the leading features of the German mind but energy and the love of energy seem dc- may be clearly traced even in the peculiar ments that never entered into their compo- and original creations of Goethe. But this sition. higher literature of Germany seems to have It seems a simple and humble conclusion been a lucky accident in the history of the to say that, where nations are constituted so nation. The race of considerable writers differently, where society has long moved in has faded out of Germany with the most as- such different tracks, and where the inter- tonishing rapidity. Nor has the influence ests of daily life are so dissimilar, the amuse- of these writers left the impress we might ments of the people cannot, be the same. have expected on the national mind. If we But most Englishmen will be ready to con- are not to mince matters, we may say that fess that it is only slowly that this conclu- the prevailing characteristic of all Germans, sion is brought home to them. It is not except the very best, is that of a placid and apparent without reflection and experience gentle mediocrity. At Berlin, in the circles that the antidote to a pernicious excitement of the better courts, in the best society of does not lie in childish pleasures. In the the best minor towns, there is undoubtedly midst of a complex combination we long for abundance not only of intelligence, but of something simple, as the French philosophers vigor of intellect. But the run of the na- of the last century longed for the ideal say- tion is, we venture to think, essentially see- age and hia ideal virtues. Gradually we ond-rate. In the width of separation which, discover, as the philosophers or their sue- with regard to intellectual cultivation and cessors discovered, that these cannot be. freedom, divides the great from the ordinary The amusements of the Germans are as im- minds of the nation, Scotland presents a tol- possible in London as the philosophical say- erably close parallel to Germany. But no age was in Paris. Our amusements may be one would think of calling the bulk of the simplified, but the simplicity will be the sim- Scotch nation second-rate. There is a vital plicity of a higher refinement, and not that force, a self-dependence, and a thoroughness of a contented and puerile mediocrity. WOLsEYs REPENTAvCEIn N. & Q. hardly suppose the resemblance to be accidental; appears an historical parallel between two luck- but of this your readers will judge less statesmen, Cardinal Wolsey (1530) and Sir One of the Viziers went before Ziin Kiln of James Hamilton (1540), who, at their last hour, Egypt, and desired his opinion, saying: I am regretted that they had not served their God as engaged day and night in the service of the Sal- well as they had served their king. Pcrhap~i the tan, hoping good from him and fearing punish- latter may have unconsciously borrowed from ment. Ziin Kiln wept, and said: If I fcarcd and copied the former. But may not ~he cx- God as you do the king, I shoi4d be one of the pression be derived from the East I So many company of the saints. oriental tales, proverbs, and maxims, were waft- ed from oriental marts in Venetian galleys to If a I~urwaish hoped not ease, and (feared Italy, and thence dispersed over Europe, that not) pain, they became household words, and the ground- lie would mount to the heavenly dome; work in many instances as well of amusement And if a Vizier feared God as much as the as of thought. I enclose a tale from the Gul is- King, t~n of Saadi (An. 1258), which expresses the He would be an angel. same idea in words so similar, that one can -p--Notes and Queries. ARSENIC-EATING AND ARSENIC-POlSONING. From Chamberss Journal. ARSENIC-EATING AND ARSENIC-POISON- ING. THE practice of arsenic-eating, which pre- vails in Styria, was first brought before the world by Dr. Von Tschudi, in the Vienna Weekly Medical Times. We believe that the first mention of the subject in England was made in the pages of this Journal (No. 416, New Series, published on the 20th De- cember, 1851), in the form of a little paper framed by a foreign contributor from the ob- servations of Dr. Von Tschudi. That such a practice existed was treated in scientific circles with the usual sceptical derision; but in a little time the fact obtained credence with the late Professor Johnston, and a few other chemists. It appears that in Lower Austria, which is an arsenic-producing coun- try, this deadly poison is eaten in small quan- tities with a view to producing plumpness and good looks, and also for the purpose of imparting strength in long journeys. There is reason to believe that it was first taken by the men engaged at the arsenic-furnaces, as a means of warding off (on the principle of inoculation for the small-pox) the effects of the poisonous fumes arising from the manu- facture. In a paper on this subject, read before the Literary and Philosophical Society of Man- chester, Dr. H. E. Roscoe mentioned that through the kindness of his friend, Profes- sor Pebal of Lemberg, he had been furnished with copies of letters written by seventeen medical men to the government inspector at Oriitz, one of the principal cities of Styria, concerning the practice of arsenic-eating. From that correspondence, containing re- ports by trustworthy persons, as well as the record of cases under personal notice, it ap- peared that arsenious acid, under the name of hidrach, was well known to, and distrib- uted amongst, the Styrian peasantry. That this substance is pure arsenious acid, Dr. Roscoe proved by an accurate chemicalanal- ysis of six grains of a white substance for- warded by Professor Gottlieb of Gratz, ac- companied by a certificate from the district judge of Knittefeld in Styria, stating that this substance was brought to him by a peasant-woman, who told him that she had seen her farm-laborer eating it, and that she gave it up to justice, to put a stop to so evil a practice. On the question whether arsenic 31 was consumed in quantities usually supposed to produce death, we learn that Dr. Holler of Hartberg was acquainted with forty, and Dr. F5rcher of Grdtz with eleven persons, who indulged in the habit; and that in one case recorded by Dr Selifer, and attested by Dr. Knappe of Oberzehring, a maa in good health, aged thirty years, ate on the one day four and a half, and on the succeed- ing, five and a half grains of arsenic, with- out the least detriment. This man stated that he was in the habit of taking like quan- tities three or four times a week. We shall see now the value of the evi- dence brought forward by Mr. Heisch. Having put himself k~ communication with Dr. Lorenz, formerly of Salzburg, that gen- tleman informed him that the practice of ar- senic-eating was well known to exist, but that access to individual cases was exceedingly difficult, since the vice was proscribed by a government enactment, that arsenic be al- lowed only under the sanction of a medical certificate. Dr. Lorenz confirmed the state- ment so often made, that huntsmen and wood-cutters were in the habit of using it to improve their wind and prevent fatigue. The usual dose to begin with was about the size of a pin-head, increasing from this grad- ually to that of a pea. Those who were in the habit of taking it, did not look so old as they really were, retained a more than usually healthy complexion, were long ljved, and ap- parently exempt from infectious diseases, but were liable to die suddenly, if they did not break off the practice. Dr. Lorenz, however, was not prepared to endorse the opinions of Professor Johnston as to its power of in- creasing the beauty and charms of the fair sex. At the arsenic-works in the neighbor- hood of Salzburg, the only men who can long stand the fumes are those who are in the habit of eating portions of this poison, and the director of one of these establish- ments furnished Mr. Heisch with the partic- ulars of his own case. Destined at an early age to enter the ar- senic factory, with the view of eventually becoming the superintendent, he was ad- vised by his teacher M. B5nsch of Eisleben, to become an arsenic-eater, as otherwise the fumes from the smelting ore would soon destroy his health, and render it imperative that he should leave his employment. From an early age, therefore, up to the time at 32 ARSENIC-EATING AND ARSENIC-POISONING. which he wrote to Mr. lleisch (being then dren, and the old age which a large propor- forty-five years old), he had been in the tion of the inhabitants of the village attain, habit weekly of consuming a large amount are to be attributed to the arsenic present in of arsenic. This gentleman forwarded to the water. Mr. Heisch a quantity equal to the dose he It is well known that this poison is, of all first took, and also the amount he was at others, the most readily detected after death, that time taking. The latter was weighed even at a period so remote from the inter- at the factory, as well as by Mr. Heisch on meat as six or seven years; and on re-open- receipt, and it was found that this gentle- ing graves which had been closed for twelve man, who had begun with three, was now years in Styria, the bodies of arsenic-eaters taking twenty-three grains of pure white were found so unaltered as to be at once arsenic in coarse powder, three or four readily recognizable by their friends. This times a week! This was the only instance must be owing to the strong antiseptic pow- of which Mr. Heisch was able to obtain full ers of the mineral, and wQuld lead us to in- particulars, but many others were mentioned fer that the tissues had become so thor- to him by gentlemen who knew the individ- oughly impregnated as to be able to resist uals, and could vouch for the truth of their for a longer period the process of decay. statements. What a stumbling block is here to the The practice of arsenic-eating can barely be physiologist, what a mine of cross-question- said to exist in England. Mr. Heisch men- ing from which the judge may furnish him- tions the case of a gentleman in Lincoln- self with arguments, to torture and perplex shire, who began taking it for some skin dis- the medical witnesses! Those who consume ease, and eventually reached the quantity of this substance tell us, that the first dose of five grains daily. This, according to the re- arsenic invariably produces symptoms of poi- port, he had taken for six years, till at length soning, such as burning pain in the stom- the remedy became so necessary to him, that ach and sickness, which, when it subsides, is he could not leave it off without great incon- followed by a keen appetite, and feeling of venience, and a return of his old complaint, excitement. Like symptoms, with the i~x- In the Pharmaceutical Journal for Novem- ception of pain, are produced by every in- ber, 1860, we observe mention made of a crease of the dose. The superintendent of village of arsenic-eaters in the north of Eng- the factory at Salzburg, previously alluded land, where the mineral is found in appreci- to, informed Mr. lleisch that he never ex- able quantity in the water drunk by the in- perienced any ill consequence from the prac- habitants. A stream called Whitbeck, tice, except when he endeavored to give it rising in the Blackeombe Mountains, in up. He was then attacked with such violent West Cumberland, contains arsenic in de- palpitation of the heart, fainting, depression terminahle quantity. Ducks will not live if of spirits, and mental weakness, followed by confined to it, and while trout abound in all long confinement to bed, as necessitated his the neighboring rivulets, no fins are ever return to the habita habit he resolved found in the arsenicated stream. But its never to leave off, until he attained the age use by the villagers does not give rise to any of fifty, as originally directed by his in- symptoms of arsenical poisoning, but rather structor, M. Biinsch, and then only by grad- to the effects which are observed in Styria ually retrograding to the dose from which he among the arsenic-eaters there. When the started. Like most arsenic-eaters, he scm- railway was being carried past Whitbeck, pulously avoided spirits, and took his stumn- the first use of the water produced the usual ulant in some warm liquid on an empty stem- marked effects on the throats both of the ach. men and horses employed on the works. If in Styria the 61d adage has been real- The soreness of the mouth from which they ized, that familiarity breeds contempt, and at first suffered, soon, however disappeared, this deadly poison has become a thing of and the horses attained that sleekness of every-day use in almost every dwelling in coat assigned as one of the effects produced that district; on the other hand, for two or by the administration of minute but re- three years back, a perfect arsenicophobia peated doses of arsenic. It is a question has raged in England, hunting up suspicions how far the rosy looks of the Whitbeck chil- of poisoning from manures, ferreting out ARSENIC-EATING AND ARSENIC-POISONING. death in the paper of our walls, the covers dividuals from the quantity of arsenic used of our sofas, the very paint upon our shelves, in paper for covering walls. As was to be and threatening the absolute condemnation expected, arsenical pigment-makers and pa- of green pigments in every branch of manu- per-hangers immediately raised the cry of facture. the craft in danger, and each party mar- Some years ago, a toxicologist ofgreatnote, shalled their witnesses and adduced their evi- Dr. A. S. Taylor, was one morning about to dence. The makers of the pigment averred cut the loaf on the breakfast-table, when he that the men engaged in their manufactories observed upon the outer crust some green never experienced any bad effects, though stains which appeared exceedingly like employed for years in the production of it mould. On paring these off, and applying a on a very large scale, and naturally expressed strong power of microscope, he was much sur- surprise that though these hangings had prised to find the substance resolve itself into been so long in use, no instance of poison- a mineral powder resembling Sheeles green, ing from them had ever been previously ad- a chemical analysis of which substantiated the duced; and if they were to be charged with correctness of his suspicions. On examining being noxious and dangerous to health, why several other loaves which ~vere in the house were not leather, cotton and woollen stuffs, at the time, and had come from the same which alike owed their brilliant green color bakers, he found them in like manner stained to the same poisonous mineral. with patches of the green arsenite of copper. The evidence brought forward to condemn As this was a very serious affair, and threat- the paper-hangings, consisted in the detail ened to be the cause of inflicting much bod- of several instances of suspected poisoning, ily injury, if not death, upon other customers occurring to parties living in rooms the walls who were less observant than Dr. Taylor, he of which were covered with green papers. posted off to the bakers shop, carrying with So insensibly does this deleterious agent be- him his crusts of bread and extracted arsenic. come detached, and mingle with the air of On entering, he immediately detected the the apartment, that a gentleman whose sus- unintentional cause of so much danger. The picions were aroused as to the green paper- baker had but recently refitted his shop with hangings being the cause of his bad health, shelves, and to enhance its appearance, had discovered arsenic in the dust which had been having them decorated with paint of a slowly accumulated on the top of his books, bright grass-green color. When the loaves, carefully preserved within a glass case. The smoking hot from the oven, were placed very air of the room, though in constant use, upon these shelves, the paint immediately and well ventilated, presented evidences of adhered to them, and they became the acci- arsenious acid, on suspending in it sheets of dental medium of administering arsenic. paper saturated with one of the most deli- The baker was readily persuaded of the er- cate tests for this poison, and a chemical ror into which he had fallen, and promptly analysis of the paper showed a drachm of followed the suggestion of having the re- arsenite of copper to every square foot. maining loaves rasped, and the shelves The public mind had not been long re- planed over; but the painter was not so will- lieved from the exaggerated fear of being ing to yield to the sanitary caution, but main- poisoned by every green paper that deco- taming that no good green could be obtained rated their walls, before a similar agitation without arsenic, seemed resolved to wait till was raised against the occurrence of arsenic some more practical and fatal experiment in manures. A communication was read should undeceive him. This is but one of before the Dublin Agricultural Society by many instances which might be adduced in Professor Davy, stating that certain plants proof of the impropriety of allowing prepara- which he had watered with a solution of tions of arsenic to be injudiciously or care- arsenic, not only throve well, but absorbed lessly employed, the poison to such an extent that it could be When the Sale of Poisons Bill was before detected in any part of them; consequently, the House of Lords in 1858, tue above cmi- that the growing of turnips and other cscu- nent chemist, while under examination be- lent roots in manures containing this ruin- fore the Select Committee, adverted to the eral, might lead to symptoms of poisoning, danger likely to accrue to the health of in- more especially so if arsenic was not expelled THIRD SERIES. LIVING AGE. 763 34 from, but accumulated in, the system, as is generally believed. The minds of nervous individuals were, however, soon quieted by the knowledge that other experimenters had striven to make plants thrive under arsenical soaking, but had found that they either per- tinaciously persisted in dying in a few days, or obstinately refused to imbibe any of the poison. Moreover, it was shown that, even allowing that turnips grown upon these ma- nures absorbed arsenic, the quantity was so small that one hundredweight of roots would not contain more than half a grain; and that, notwithstanding the custom of soaking wheat in arsenical solutions previous to sow- ing it, in order to destroy the spores of the smut, no poison could ever be detected in the grain thrashed out. It is much to be regretted that some other and perfectly harmless green pigment is not substituted for this dangerous compound, since it leads one to look with suspicion on all cakes, lozenges, isinglass, gelatine, and confectionery, otherwise rendered doubly tempting by the beautiful tint. The very seductive manner in which this painted con- fectionery if offered for sale, is well illus- trated by a case of poisoning mentioned some time ago in the Times. At a fair in the south of England six children were seized with symptoms of poisoning. On inquiry, it was ascertained that they had been eating some colored sweetmeats called birds-nests, which they had purchased at the fair. On apprehending the person who sold them, several other birds-nests were found in his possession; and as he averred that they were bought from a confectioner in Exeter, a war- ARSENIC-EATING AND ARSENlC-POISONlNG~ rant was obtained to search the premises of the latter, when a quantity of green color- ing matter, used for tinting sweetmeats, was discovered, which on analysis proved to be Scheeles green. There are many other ar- ticles in every day use, in the manufacture or finishing of which arsenic forms a danger- ous ingredient; candles, for instance, are not uncommonly made up with either white or green preparations of arsenic, which may in combustion give rise to deleterious fumes; and onlyltist February, the Tribunal of Cor- rectional Police of Paris condemned a flower- maker to six days imprisonment, and a fine of three hundred francs, for having severely injured the health of one of his workmen by employing him to spread a green powder over certain flowers, assuring him at the same time that it was not arsenical. One form yet remains to be mentioned, in which arsenic is unguardedly allowed to be sold, and might become the means, either intentionally or not, of poisoning; we allude to the papier moure, or fly-papers, so much in use in summer weather for destroying these little household pests. Chemical anal- ysis has detected no fewer than from three to five grains of arsenious acid, the white arsenic of commerce, in each separate paper; and yet, when offered for sale, we are told that they are harmless to any thing save in- sect life. Surely, if the use of unglazed green paper-hangings and green confectionery is so much to be condemned, a stop should be put to the sale of these fly-papers, two or three of which contain arsenic sufficient to poison a whole family. AUCTUMNALIA. LONDON is empty; sport begins; Statesmen are seen in tweed apparel. Hey for the flash of silver fins, The glory of the double-barrel! Some vagrants crowd the Scotch express Some fly by steam the Channel over. Brougham doth the Irish mind address, And Palmerston is off to Dover. And Crinoline goes out of town To country-houses cool and pleasant, Plays billiards (if mamma wont frown), And by and by will mark her pheasant; In Lincoln-green enchants the men, A charming areberess, lithe and lissom; Fishes a little now and then Shell catch her fish: they never miss em. Glad will the new Lord Warden be To bear the Cinque Ports townsfolk cheering; Glad, too, the Chancellor, if he Succeed in his electioneering. Yet of the Whigs, their joys amid, One painful thought will take possession: Surgit amen aliquid How shall we last another Session ? Presa RIVAL EASELS. 35 From Chamberss JournaL passing through gradually the various stages RiVAL EASELS. of studentship, and emerging at last a can TnEIu~ have always been factions in art; didate for the highest prizes of~the institu- and while the schools have hattled corpor- tion. He underwent few of the privations ately, there have been plenty of single corn- of the beginnerfew of the struggles of the bats amongst individual artists. Pordenone, ordinary student. As soon as he could draw painting his frescoes in the cloisters of S. and color decently, there were patrons for Stefano at Venice, with his sword drawn, and him; almost a royal road was open to buckler at hand, prepared for the violence of him. Mrs. Jordan sat now as the Comic Titian, is a sample of the masters who found Muse, now as Hippolite; a lady of qual- it necessary to combine the profession of the ity appeared as a Bacchante. Then came fine arts with the business of a bravo. Do- portraits of the iDuke and Duchess of York, menico Veniziano was brutally assassinated the Prince of Wales, and the Duke of by Andrea del Castagno; Annibale Caracci, Clarence. He resided in Charles Street, Cesari, and Guido were driven from Naples, close to Carlton House, and wrote himself and their lives threatened by Belisario, Spag- portrait-painter to the Prince of Wales. noletto, and Caracciolo; Agostino Beltrano, The king and queen were quite willing to surpassed by his own wife Aniella di Rosa favor their sons favorite, especially as they (the niece of a painter of eminence), mur- thought, with many other people of the time, dered her in his jealous rage; Michael An- that the Prince of Wales, like Visto, had gob was envious of the growing fame of a taste. But soon obstacles seemed to Sebastiano del Piombo; Hudson quarrelled intervene between them and the painter. with his pupil Reynolds, who, in his turn, They had never liked Reynolds. He had grew uneasy at the progress of his rival always been calm and unembarrassed in Romney. Northcote says: Certain it is their presencenever awed or troubled that Sir Joshua was not much employed in and the near-sighted king, looking close into portraits after Romney grew in fashion! his pictures, had pronounced them rough Reynolds spoke of him always as the man and unfinished. He preferred the smooth- in Cavendish Square, where he lived, in the ness of West and Ramsay. Hoppner, full house No. 32, afterwards Sir Martin Archer of honest admiration for Sir Joshua, did not Shees.. Hoppner, on his death-bed, writhed hesitate to sound his praises even in the un- under the polite attentions of Sir Thomas willing royal ears. This displeased the king Lawrence. In his visits, said the poor sick very much. The Carlton House court, too, man, there is more joy at my approaching was going on in a way desperately annoying death than true sympathy for my sorrows. to good Farmer George, and Hoppner The mother of John Hoppaer was one of made himself celebrated there, for he was the German attendants at the royal palace. gay and witty, and high-spirited. The He was born in London, in the summer of Prince of XVales having joined the Whigs, 1759. The king took a personal interest in Hoppner became a zealous politician, and of the bringing up and education of the child~ the party opposed to the king. He could ex- I who, from his sweet musical voice and cor- pect nothing from their majesties after that. rect ear, was in time adorned with the white Certainly he was imprudent. What had a stole of a chorister of the royal chapel. Of painter to do with politics ?~ He thus dimin- course there were motives attributed in expla- ished the area of his prospects. It became nation of the kings kindness and benevolence, quite impossible for Tory noblemen to sit to and the boy himself was in no haste to con- a stanch Whig portrait-painter. Ho might tradict the slanderers who credited him with caricature them: and having painted all the royal descent. The world chose to see con- Whigs, what was he to do? With a rival firmation of these rumors in the favor sub- in the field, too, by no means to be despised sequently extended to the young man by the or spoken lightly of. Prince of Wales, who supported him ac- Thomas Lawrence, the son of a man who tively against such rivals as Lawrence, Owen, had been by turns a solicitor, a poet, and and Opie; and brought a stream of the aris- artist, a supervisor of Excise, a farmer and tocracy to his studio. He entered, as a pro- innkeeper, and, of co~irse, a bankrnpt, was bationer, the school of the Royal Academy, born at Bristol ten years later than Hoppner. 36 He was the youngest of sixteen children; an infant prodigy, on a chair reciting poetry, when four years old; a little later, and he begins to draw. He can take your like- ness, or repeat you any speech in Miltons Pandemonium, says the father, landlord of the Bear Inn, posting-house, Devizes, al- though he is only five years old. And at this age he produced a striking likeness of Mr. afterwards Lord, Kenyon. At seven, the portrait of the prodigy was taken and engraved by Mr. Sherwin the artist. At eight, it seems his education was finished. Perhaps he was wanted at the inn, for the readings of the child attracted crowds of visitors from Bath. He recited at various times before Garrick, Wilkes, Sheridan, Burke, Johnson, and others. All were charmed with the boy. He was splendidly handsome, with long redundant dark curls that tumbled over and hid his face when he stooped to draw. He longed to go on the stage, as much that he might at once assist his family as for any other reason, but he was overruled. In 1785, he received a medal from the Society of Arts for his crayon drawing of Raphaels Transfiguration. In 1787, being then eighteen, he exhibited seven pic- tures at the Royal Academy. He painted his own portrait, and wrote of it to his mother: To any but my own family, I cer- tainly should not say this; but, excepting Sir Joshua, for the painting of the head, I would risk my reputation with any painter in London. It was broadly painted, three- quarters size, with a Rembrandtish effect, as Sir Joshua detected when the canvas was shown to him. You have been looking at the old masters; take my advice, and study nature. He dismissed the young artist with marked kindness however. In 1789, Sir Martin Archer Shee wrote of him, as a genteel, handsome young man, effeminate in his manner; adding, he is wonderfully laborious, and has the most uncommon pa- tience and perseverance. About this time he painted the Princess Amelia, and Miss Farren the actress, afterwards Countess of Derby, in a white satin cloak and muff; and whole-length portraits of the king and queen, to be taken out by Lord Macart~ey as presents to the emperor of China. In 1791, after one defeat, he was admitted an associate of the Royal Academy by a sus- pension of the law against the admission of RIVAL EASELS. an associate under the age of twenty-tour. He was opposed by many of the academi- cians, and virulently attacked by Peter Pin- dar. In 1792, he attended the funeral of Sir Joshua in St. Pauls Cathedral, when Mr. Burke attempted to thank the me~ubers of the academy for the respect shown to the re- mains of their president, but overcome by his emotion, was unable to utter a word. In 1795, Mr. Lawrence was elected a member of the academy, having previously succeeded Sir Joshua as painter in ordinary to the king Benjamin West being elected to the pres- idential chair. Add to his unquestionable art-abilities, that he was courtly in manner, an accomplished fencer and dancer, with a graceful figure and a handsome face; that he possessed an exquisitely modulated voice; and large, lustrous expressive eyesthe light in which seemed to be always kindling and brilliant. Byron did not criticise leniently his contem- poraries, but he records in his diary: The same evening I met Lawrence the painter, and heard one of Lord Greys daughters play on the harp so modestly and ingeniously, that she looked music. I would rather have had my talk with Lawrence, who talked de- lightfully, and heard the girl, than have had all the fame of Moore and me put together. The only pleasure of fame is, that it paves the way to pleasure, and the more intellect- ual the better for the pleasure and us too. It will be seen that the portrait-painter to the Prince of Wales had no mean oppo- nent in the portrait-painter in ordinary to his majesty. The factions of Reynolds and Romney lived again in the rivalry of Hoppner and Lawrence. The painters appeared to be well matched. Iloppner had the advantage of a start of ten years, though this was nearly balanced by the very early age at which Lawrence obtained many of his successes. Hoppner was also a handsome man, of re- fined address and polished manner; he, too, possessed great conversational powers, while in the matter of wit and humor he was prob- ably in advance of his antagonist. He was well-read one of the best-informed paint- ers of his time, Mr. Cunningham informs us frank, out-spoken, open-hearted, gay, and whimsical. He had all the qualifications for a social success, and was not without some of those Corinthian characteristics which RIVAL EA~SELS. 37 were indispensable in a man of fashion, from white muslin that swathed the chins and the Prij~ice of Wales point of view. With necks of the sitters; and the coats, with E~lridge) the associate miniature-painter, fanciful collars and lappels; and the waist- e~ud two other artists, he was once at a fair! coats, many-topped and many-hued, winding iii th~ oountry where strong ale was abound- about in tortuous lines. It is not to be much ing, ~nd much fun, and drollery, and din, marvelled at that such items of costume as Hoppner turned to his friends. You have Cumberland corsets, Petersham trousers, always seen me, he said, in good com- Brummel cravats, Osbaldeston ties, and ex- pany, and. playing the courtier, and takea quisites crops, should be only sketchily rca- me, I dare say, for a deuced well-bred fel- dered ia paint. Of course, Mr. Opie, who low, and genteel withal. All a mistake. I went in for thorough Joha ]3ullism in art, love low company, and am a bit of a ready- who laid on his pigments steadily with a made blackguard. He pulls up his collar, trowel, and produced portzaits of ladies like twitches his neckcloth, sets his hat awry, washerwomen, and gentlemen like Wapping and with a mad humorous look in his eyes, publicans.-...of course, unsentimental, unfash- is soon in the thickest of the crowd of rustic ionable Mr. Opie denounced the degeneracy revellers. He jests, gambols, dances, soon of his competitors style. Lawrence makes to quarrel and fight. He roughly handles a coxcombs of his sitters, and they make a brawny wagoner, a practised boxer, in a reg- coxcomb of him. Still the quality ular scientific set-to; gives his defeated an- flocked to the studios of Messrs. Hoppner tagonist half a guinea, re-arranges his toilet, and Lawrence, and the rival easels were al- and retires with his friends amidst the cheers of the crowd. It is quite a Tom-and-Jerry scene. Gentlemen delightcd to fight coal- heavers in those days. Somehow we always hear of gentlemen being victorious; perhaps if the coal-heavers could tell the story, it would sometimes have a different denouement. Unfortunately for Hoppner, he had to use his fingers, not his fists, against Lawrenceto paint him down, not fight him. - He was a skilful artist, working with an eye to Sir Joshuas manner, and following him oftentimes into error as well as into truth and beauty. Ridiculing the loose touches of Lawrence, he was frequently as faulty, without ever reaching the real fasci- nation of his rivals style. He had not the Lawrence sense of expression and charm; he could not give to his heads the vivacity and flutter, the brilliance and witchery, of Sir Thomas portraits. They both took up Reynolds theory about it being a vulgar error to make things too like themselves, as though it were possible to paint too truth- fully. And painting people of fashion, they had to paintespecially in their earlier days strange fashions; and an extravagant, and fantastic, and meretricious air clings as a consequence to many of their pictures; for the Prince of Wales had then a grand head of hair (his own hair), which he delighted to pomatum and powder and frizzle; and, of course, the gentlemen of the day followed the mode; and then the folds and folds of ways adorned with the most fashionable faces of the day. For a time the rivalry was continued in a spirit of much moderation. The painters were calm and forbearing, and scrupulously courteous to each other. Lawrence was too gentle and polite ever to breath a word against his antagonist, if, indeed, he did not respect his talents too highly to disparage them. Perhaps he was conscious that vic- tory would be his in the end, as Tloppner might also have a presentiment that he was to be defeated. He was of a quick temper; was a husband and a father; entirely de- pendent on his own exertions, though he could earn five thousand a year easily when fully employed; but certainly the innkeep- ers son was stealing away his sitters, even his good friends the Whigs. He chafed un- der this. He began to, speak out. He de- nounced Lawrences prudent abstinence from all politic~l feeling as downright hypocrisy. He thought it cowardice to side with neither faction, and be ready and willing to paint the faces of both; and then he commenced to talk disrespectfully of his rivals art. He claimed for his own portraits greater purity of look and style. The ladies of Law- rence, he said, show a gaudy dissolute- ness of taste, and sometimes trespass on moral as well as professional chastity. This was purposed to be a terrible blow to Law- rence. Of courset here were plenty of repe- titions of the remark, and people laughed 38 over it a good deal; but in the end it in- jured Hoppner rather than Lawrence. The world began to wonder how it was that the painter to the purest court in Europe should depict the demure and reputable ladies of St. James with such glittering eyes and car- mine lipsa soup~on of wantonness in their glances, and a rather needless undraping of their beautiful shoulders ; while the painter to the prince was bestowing on the giddy angels of Carlton House a decency that was within a little of dull, a simplicity that was almost sombreness, a purity that was prud- ery. The beauties of George III.s court were not displeased to be pictorially credited with a levity they did not dare to live up or down to; and the ladies of the princes court, too honest to assume a virtue they had not, now hastened to be represented by an artist who appeared so admirably to com- prehend their allurements. Poor Mr. Hopp- ner was deserted by the Whig ladies; he had now only the Whig lords to paint, un- less he took up with landscape art, for which he had decided talent, as many of the back- grounds to his pictures demonstrate. He grew peevish and irritable. He took to abusing the old masters, and cried out at the neglect of living men. Examining a modern work, he would say: Ay, its a noble picture, but it has one damning defect its a thing of to-day. Prove it to be but two hundred years old, and from the brush of a famous man, and heres two thousand guineas for it. Northcote tells of him: I once went with him to the hustings, to vote for Home Tooke, and when they asked me what I was, I said, A painter. At this Hoppner was very mad all the way home, and said I should have called myself a por- trait-painter. I replied that the world had no time to trouble their heads about such distinctions. Hoppuer now produced but few pictures, and these met with small success. He looked thin and haggard, talked incohe- rently, with occasional bitter repinings and despondency. He resented and misinter- preted, as has been shown, Lawrences in- quiries as to his health. Certainly, there is every appearance of feeling in Lawrences letter, where he writes to a friend, You will be sorry to hear it. My most powerful com- petitor, he whom only to my friends I have acknowledged as my rival, is, I fear, sinking to the grave. I mean, of course, Hoppner. He was always afflicted with bilious an,d liver complaints (and to these must be gre~sdynt- tributed the irritation of his mind), they have ended in a confirmed dropsy. But though I think he cannot recover, I do not wish that his last illness should be so re- ported by me. You will believe that I can sincenely feel the loss of a brother-artist from whose works I have often gained in- struction, and who has gone by my side in the race these eighteen years. Hoppner died early in April, 1810, in the fifty-first year of his age. To quote Lawrences let- ters again: The death of Hoppner, leaves me, it is true, without a rival, and this has been acknowledged to me by the ablest of my present competitors; but I already find one small misfortune attending it; namely, that I have no sharer in the watchful jeal- ousy, I will not say hatred, that follows the situation. A sor~ of Iloppner was consul at Venice, and a friend of Lord Byron in 1819. For twenty years Lawrence reigned alone. After the final defeat of Napoleon, the artist was commissioned by the regent to attend the congress of sovereigns at Aix-la-Cha- pelle, and produce portraits 9f the principal persons engaged in the great war. These European portraitstwenty-four in number now decorate the Waterloo Hall at Wind- sor. In 1816, he was knighted by the re- gent; on the death of West, in 1820, he was elected to tha presidentship of the academy. Well, well, said Fuseli, who growled at every thing and everybody, but was yet a friend to Lawrence, since they must have a face-painter to reign over them, let them take Lawrence; he can at least paint eyes! In 1829, he exhibited eight portraits; but his health was beginning to decline. He died on the 7th June, 1830. He had been painting, on the previous day, another por- trait of George IV. in his coronation dress. Are you not tired of those eternal robes? asked some one. No, answered th~painter; I always find variety in themthe pictures are alike in outline, never in detail. You would find the last the best. In the night he was taken alarmingly ill; he was bled, and then seemed better; but the bandage slipped, he fell off his chair into the arms of his valet, Jean Duts. RIVAL EASELS. 4 RIVAL EASELS. This is fainting, said the valet, alarmed. No, Jean, my good fellow, said Sir Thomas Lawrence, politely correcting him, it is dying; and he breathed his last. fljg remains were interred in St. Pauls Cathedral, near the coffins of his predeces- sorsthe presidents, Reynolds and West. Since the days of Nelson, said Etty, who followed the hearse, there has not been so marked a funeral. The estate of the dead man was only just equal to the demands upon it. His popu- larity ought to have brought him wealth, but, strange to say, he was always embar- rassed. Yet he did not gamble, was never dissipated, never viciously extravagant; but he kept no accounts, was prodigal in kind- ness to his brother-artists, and in respond- ing to the many appeals to his charity. Perhaps, too, he rather affected an aristo- cratic indifference to money. He spent much time in gratuitous drawing and paint- ing for presents to his friends. It is prob- able that his death was hastened by his in- cessant work, to meet the demands made upon him for money. Washington Irving saw him a few days before his death, and re- lates that he seemed uneasy and restless, his eyes were wandering, he was as pale as marble, the stamp of death seemed on him. He told me he felt ill, but he wished to bear himself up. In one of his letters the painter wrote: I am chained to the oar, but painting was never less inviting to me business never more oppressive to me than at this moment. Still he could play his courtier part in society, and was always graceful and winning. Haydon, who never loved a portrait-painter much, yet says of Lawrence, that he was amiable, kind, gen- erous, and forgiving. Further on he adds: lie had smiled so often and so long, that at last his smile bad the appearance of being set in enamel. But then Mr. Haydon prided himself on his coarseness, defiance, and hatred of conventionality, deeming these fitting attributes of the high artist. It is only as a portrait-painter that Sir Thomas can now be esteemed. His at- tempts in another line of art were few and 39 not successful. His Homer reciting his Poems was chiefly remarkable for its re- semblance to Mr. Westalls manner, and for containing a well-drawn figure of Jackson, the pugilist. Of his Satan calling up the Legions, Anthony Pasquin cruelly wrote: that it conveyed an idea of a mad German sugar-baker dancing naked in a conflagra- tiori of his own treacle. Over an attempt at a Prospero and Miranda, he subsequently painted on the same canvas a portrait of Kemble as Rolla. And was he a male coquette? No, an- swers a lady,.-and it is a question that re- quires a ladys enswer,~- he had no plan of conquest. . . . But it cannot be too strongly stated, that his manners were likely to mis- lead without his intending it. He could not write a common answer to a dinner invita- tion without its assuming the tone of a bit- let-doux. The very commonest conversation was held in that soft, lQw whisper, and with that tone of deference and interest which are so unusual, and so calculated to please. I am myself persuaded that he never inten- tionally gave pain. Perhaps he was not capable of very deep feeling, and liked to test the effects of his fine eyes. He wooed the two daughters of Mrs. Siddons, never being quite clear in his own mind which he really loved, lie tired of the one, and was dismissed by the other, or so rumor told the story; however, his friendly relations with the family do not ap- pear to have ceased. One of the sisters died. From the day of her death to that of his own, writes a biographer, he wore mourning, and always used black sealing- wax. Uncontrollable fits of melancholy came over him, and he mentioned not her name but to his most confidential friend, and then always with tenderness and respect. It would have been more desirable, perhaps, that he should have exhibited a little more feeling during the lifetime of the lady; but perhaps marriage was not in the programme of the courtly rival of Jloppner, of the painter that began where Reynblds left off, as the sinking Sir Joshua is reported to have declared of him. 40 From The Athennum. History of the Consulate and the Empire. [Histoire du Consulat ei de lEmpire, par M. A. Thiers. Tome XI.] Paris, Lheu- reux; London, Pulan, & Co. TirE scene narrows to Elba and widens to the Field of May. At length the squadrons are gathered which will ride against the Eng- lish squares at Waterloo. The next volume is to open upon that battle of battles. To Napoleon in his islet dominion M. Thiers de- votes only a few disdainful sketches. It was not tempting to exhibit the man of Auster- litz and Lodi, like a veteran in second child- hood, amusing himself with a toy army, min- iature politicians, and a mimic fleet. Yet those little battalions and that light flotilla, opened the path to the Tuileries. It is all but demonstrated that, after the adieux of Fontainebleau, when seventy thousand men might still have been rallied behind the for- est, the emperor insincerely signed his abdi- cation. He had not renounced the sceptre; he submitted, in order that he might breathe, and that the world might contrast the glory of his reign with the impotence of the Bour- bon monarchy. Certainly, it was impossible to believe too implicitly in the imbecility of the legitimate race. The Restoration began with a masquerade of hypocrisy, and it is difficult to decide whether the king or the Imperialist, who pretended to be cajoled, proved himself the worst imposture. But the Bourbons could never wheedle cleverly. There was always a strut in their affability, an affability in their condescension. What- ever they did well, they did too late. And in their policy, organized for the security of the restored throne, a similar dilatoriness displayed itself. In January, 1815, there yet remained in Europe a fragment of the Bon- apartist Empirethe kingdom of Murat. All was at length prepared for its overthrow. France and Austria were united to consum- mate their last revenge, when the seal of Sol- omon was broken, the giant was once more at liberty, and the patched-up dynasty van- ished like an image of snow. Louis the Eighteenth had left himself absolutely with- out support. He could not be, to the army. the successor of Napoleon; he hesitated to invoke a political power by assembling the Chambers; he evinced a strange desire to tamper with established rights; old preju- dices and hatreds were raised from the tombs HISTORY OF THE CONSULATE AND EMPIRE. of the Revolution; the king showed in faot~ that, as one prerogative of his position,iie was determined to provide himself withene- mies; and this with the legions of the pop~. ular C~esar encamped around him. A mili- tary plot preceded the Elba exodus. It was reported to the emperor in his island. Great names and great influences hovered near it, half resolved and undeclared. The matter ripened swiftly, while the downcast master of nations acted Robinson Crusoe in the pur- ple over his few miles of territory, and, by dint of military genius, contrived to parade eleven hundred men. The people who, a few days before his arrival, had burnt him in effigy, were now his rejoicing subjects; they were delighted to see his engineers scarping and building at ]?orto-Ferrajo; they expected infinite results when they saw the Napoleonic horses and cattle turned forth on the pastures ofPianosa, where, on the peak~ of a rock, stood a solitary fort, which, says M. Thiers, fifty men might haV rendered im- pregnable. Suppose that, instead of hum- bling him at Waterloo, a coalition had locked him up in that cloudy, little Gibraltar, or blown the hill from beneath him! Now, all was ready at Elba, except a Treasury. Na- poleon waited, vaguely. His mother watched him closely. The Princess Pauline Borghese divined, perhaps, the mysterious hopes of his soul. Moreover, she had partly been taken into his confidence, when, as bearer of a mes- sage to Murat, she told that unlucky Pala- din to reserve himself for future opportuni- ties. And so the Elba potentate held his court, went to the theatre, rode, walked, boated, contemplated writing his own his- tory, read the French newspapers, and, it cannot be doubted, convinced himself that he might and must return to France. M. Thiers is not emphatic on this point; but the truth speaks in every act, and, so to speak, every attitude of Napoleon during his Elba retreat. The sovereigns of Europe, persuaded by Alexander of Russia, had grotesquely deluded themselves when they thought to imprison this explosive spirit for- ever within sight of the continent which he had swept with his victories. When too late, they regretted the error, and it was in contemplation at Vienna to change his place of exile from the Mediterranean to the Atlan- tic. Not from his imperial wife did he receive this intelligence. She, the real avenger of HISTORY OF THE CONSULATE AND EMPIRE. 41 Josephine, was waiting for the ultimate down- professions. Louis the Eighteenth, however, fall of her husband to-lean on the arm of Wel- was stunned, and again did the right thing liugton at a court ball. The beginning of at the wrong time. He made a constitu- the end was come, and then began the march t~onal speech in the Chambersa fortnight from Cannes to Paris. too late. Efforts were made to blind the It is a fiiuiiliar story, but M. Thiers tells it public; reports were circulated that Bona- in a way. to fascinate all readers. The little parte had been defeated, and had taken refuge army sweeps on exultingly, gathering power among the mountains, in which, it was added, and volume as it goes; the march becomes he would speedily be entrapped, and executed triumphal; gates open; arches are flung like a common malefactor. Destiny, faith- across the streets; regiment after regiment less to the Bourbons, did not permit their links itself to the lengthening column; Na- mild representative to hang the conqueror of poleon bares his breast and asks what sol- Austerlitz; or, as they preferred to express dier of the empire will fire at the emperor; it, the cowardly brigand. Neys part was the Royalist cities are avoided: the eagles the most ignoble of all. He ~vent to the are flying from steeple to steeple until king, promising to lead an army which they settle upon the towers of Notre Dame. should return with Napoleon, vanquished At first the returned exile is familiar ahd and a captive. M. Thiers says that he was popular; as his force increases he becomes reported to have added in a cage of iron. slightly more imperial; - his manifestoes He thinks the words might have been used, change into proclamations: his offer of ser- and that they would have been pardonable vice to France assumes the tone of author- in a soldier. Were they pardonable in Mar- ity; he is a candidate at Grenoble, but at shal Ney? Perhaps Macdonald behaved Lyon he is a king; in the former place he better when, afraid of being reconciled with lodged at a tavern; at the latter he drove the emperor against his will, he put spurs to direct to the door of a palace. On the road, his horse, and galloped away as though an a carriage is stopped. It contains the Prince enchantment were pursuing him. Assuredly, of Monaco, once devoutly Imperialist, now that he and Ney never fought Napoleon was Royalist to the marrow. Where are you owing to no treachery on their part. The going P asked Napoleon. I am going troops, even at Paris, refused to shout Vive home, answered the prince. And so- am le Roi !in presence of Napoleon they I, said the emperor. And then the emper- thronged to their idol as Xenophons Greeks or met an old woman who had never heard might have thronged had the great God of of his downfall, fancying him still at the War suddenly appeared to them, helmeted Tuileries. So he fell musing on the vanity and sandaled, to lead the war. The mar- of human ambition, but he did not on that shals were nothing in their eyes, unless they account, think of returning to Elba. No.: were marshals of the empire. They would France, he exclaimed, was - crying aloud to die for Ney, if Ney were fighting for the Lit- him. How distinctly the cries of nations tle Corporal; they disdained him as the gen- are heard by the aspirants to thrones, before eral of Louis the Eighteenth. All this is they mount them, and how deaf are auto- most picturesquely and cogently set forth by crats sometimes in the rarefied atmosphere M. Thiers in one of the most admirable vol- of that altitude! The stream rolls on, swell- umes of his magnificent history. The brig- ing and brightening, and the demigod it was and of Elba was clearly making progress carrying upon its waves proclaimed that he when the pliant Ney exclaimed, Soldiers, bore in his hands the gifts of peace for Eu- the cause of the Bourbons is lost forever! rope and liberty for France. Neither Eu- A Royalist officer then broke his sword, say- rope nor France believed. M. Thiers is a ing, Sir, we must turn away, that we may votary of Bonapartism; but he admits that not behold this spectacle: all far-sighted men, even among those who loved the Bonapartist name, deplored the And what would you have me do P answered the marshal: Can I drive back attempt and foresaw the catastrophe. They the sea with my hand P Others, admitting knew how his invitation to Marie Louise the impossibility of compelling the soldiers would be received, and what credit the Em- to fight against Napoleon, expressed their peror Francis of Austria would attach to his regret that Ney shou~d, within so short a HISTORY OF THE CONSULATE AND EMPIRE. space of time, have played two such oppo- site parts. You are children, replied the marshal; it was necessary to decide in one way or the other. Could I go and hide my- self like a coward, in order to evade the re- sponsibility of events! The Marshal Ney could not have taken refuge in obscurity. Moreover, there was only way of mitigating the evil, which was to make an immediate declaration, in order to avert civil war, and in order to get into our power this man who is returning, to prevent him doing mischief; for, he added, I do not mean to give my- self up to a man, but to France; and if this man wants to take us again to the Vistula, I will not follow him. After having thus silenced his rebukers, Ney received at din- ner, besides his generals, all the commanders of regiments, with the exception of one offi- cer, who refused to be present. But it was distinctly understood, and on this point M. Thiers leaves us in no doubt, that the chiefs of the army were resolved to endure no longer the warlike tyranny of Na- poleon, his arrogance, his passion for con- quest, or his habit of crushing the French people while he flattered them. I am going to see him, said Ney; I am going to talk with him, and I will declare to him that he shall not lead us to another Moscow. It is not to him that I give my- self; it is to France; and if we adopt him as the representative of our glory, it is not to a restoration of the Imperial system that we shall lend ourselves. . . . He wrote a letter to his wife, in which he detailed all he had done, and concluded with these charac- teristic words, My friend, you will not weep when you come out of the Tuileries. There was a touch of shame in that; it betrayed, too, something ignominious in the nature of the man. The Tuileries then was the temple in which he worshipped; it mat- tered little whether a Bourbon or a Bo- naparte sat under the crimson canopies. Clearly, at the moment, the Bourbons were at a discount. Louis the Eighteenth was promising to die for his people, as a prelim- inary to running away. Napoleon had now recovered his dear Marshal Ney With profound sagacity, having divined all that the marshal had prepared to say, itre- quired but a moment to inform him that Ney would encounter him at once with excuses and remonstrances. Now, he wanted to dispense with the one, and to spare himself the other. He met him with open arms, exclaiming, Embrace me, my dear marshal. -Then Ney p unfolded his papers, and was aboi~t tobegin, when he interfered. You have no neqd to excuse yourself, he said; your excuses and mine are to be found in events, which are stronger than men. But let us speak no more of the past, and indeed only remember it that we may conduct ourselves better in the future. After these preliminary words, Napoleon, leaving the marshal no time to utter a word, explained to him the position of affairs. . . . He declared that he would ac- cept the Treaty of Paris; be mentioned what he had caused to be said at Vienna; that he relied much on this communication and the intervention of Marie Louise to prevent, a fresh struggle with Europe, and that, on his arrival at Paris, he would surround himself with the most enlightened men, in order to deliberate with them on the reforms to be effected in the Imperial constitution. Ney was anticipated in all that he had proposed to say. But he and the emperor pretended to be more mutually satisfied than they actually were. Napoleons road lay through the shadows of Fontaineblean At four in the morning, on the 28th March, he entered that court of the palace of Fontaineblean where, eleven months pre- viously, he had addressed his adieux to the Imperial Guard. Already a group of cav- alry, deserters from the army of Milan, had arrived to form his guard.- On setting foot inside the palace, where the first empire had reached its end, and where the second seemed likely to begin, his face became lit up as by a sentiment of intense satisfaction. The turn of fortune had been indeed amazing, and in that vast mind, which at Elba had been cured of all illusions (we shall presently see the proofs), joy, for an instant, silenced pol- icy. But the turmoil at the Tuileries! The feeble fury of the Royalists! The prospects of a second emigration! The glimpses of coat-linings in the wardrobes of gentlemen anxious to wear their garments inside out! All Paris was expectant. The very horses in the cavalry barracks seemed to sniff the approach of the man who had fed so many vultures. Napoleon being at Fontainebleau, the Bourbon thought better of dying; the gates of the palace court were closed at eleven oclock; the royal family entered a carriage; the old dynasty drove through the silent streets. Next morning :- Great anxiety was prevalent throughout a curious multitude to know what had hap- pened. Th~ were some servants in livery 42 HISTORY OF THE CQNSULATE AND EMPIRE. moving ~ibout, but not a single officer or a singic guard mounted, except the ordinary gtotips of the National Guard outside the gates. ~rhe white flag floated above the main dome; some cries of Five Ze Roi! were heard, bi~t that of Vive lEmpereur! the military, as yet, dared not utter. Soon the fatal secret was discovered, and the news filled Paris in the twinkling of an eye. Then assembled the spirits of the resurgent empire. First came Excelmans, who stalked through the chambers and corridors of the empty palace, and ordered the tricolor to be set floating. Then followed Bassano, Ro- vigo, Decres, Mollien, Gaudin, the Queen Hortense and the ex-qucen of Spain, the wife of Joseph. In a moment the Tuileries was c1o~vded with the Imperialist aristoc- racy. About nine oclock in the evening, a single carriage turned from the Boulevards, outside the Invalides, along the Quays, and thence to the gates: The carriage was driven into the court before any one knew whom it contained. But a moment sufficed to spread the intelli- gence. Then, Napoleon, snatched from the hands of Caulaincourt, Bertrand and ]~rouet, was carried in the arms of his old officers, seized with a delirium of joy. A tremen- dous shout of Vise VEmpereur! had given notice to the crowd of high functionaries that swarmed through the Tuileries. They rushed towards the staircase, and, forming a current opposed to that of the officers, who were struggling up, a sort of contest took place which was almost alarming, since they were smothering one another and stifling Napoleon. They carried him thus to the top of the staircase, uttering frenzied cries, and he, for the first time in his life, unable to conquer the emotion he felt, allowed some tears to escape, and then, being deposited on the floor, walked on without recognizing any one, but yielding his hands to those who pressed around him, kissing them, and overwhelming him with homage. In a few moments, recovering himself, he welcomed his most faithful adherents, embraced them, and, without taking a moment for repose, consulted with them as to the formation of a government. In twenty days the empire had been re- established. But wise men looked on and doubted. Horteuse, protected by the Em- peror Alexander, had remained at the French capitol, a circumstance which embittered Napoleon against her 43 You are at Paris! he said, on per- ceiving her; you are the only person I had not wished to see here. I remained, she answered, weeping, to nurse my mother. But after the death of your father ! Af- ter that death I found in the Emperor Alex- ander a protector for my children, and I was compelled to take care of their prospects. Your children! better for them exile and misery than the protection of the emperor of Russia. But you, sire, did you not consent that the king of Rome should owe the Duchy of Parma to the generosity of that prince? Not replying to this cogent argument, Na- poleon proceeded, And this actionwho advised you to it? (The princess was plead- ing before the French tribunals to recover the custody of her children.) They have forced you to reveal family miseries which ought to have remained ccncealed, and you have lost your causevery well done! But immediately repenting his severity, and open- ing his arms to an adopted daughter whom he loved, Napoleon embraced her, saying, I am a good father, you know, and we will speak no more of these things. You saw, then, our poor Josephine diein the midst of our disasters, that death was a blow to my heart.~ The file of ancient comrades lengthened Cambac~res, Bassano, the Dukes Vicenza, Gacta, Rovigo, flecres, Counts Mollien, Regnaud de St. Angely, Lavalette :then, the glorious Davoust. Fouch6 played a more careful game. To all Napoleon held moderate, re-assuring, even caressing lan- guage. I was a year in the Isle of Elba, and there, as in a tomb, I heard the voice of posterity. He thought Austria anxious for peace, and England crippled by her debts. Vanity might induce Russia, and hatred Prussia, to resume the war. And to France he promised the millennium. But he knew that war, and war on a terrible scale, was in- evitable. Alexander of Russia had pledged his last man and his last rouble to help in crushing him. France again assumed a martial aspect. Four hundred thousand men were to take the field; two hundred thousand were to garrison the fortresses. Europe burned with impatience to see these new legions dispersed and the dis- turber chained; and M. Thiers, in a series of eloquent passages, explains how it had become nest to an impossibility that the civilized world should be convinced or con- ciliated by Napoleon. But in the estimation of the English people, he assumes, the Bour HISTORY OF THE CONSULATE AND EMPIRE. bons had fallen, and Napoleon risen pro- portionately; so that the Cabinet, in resolv- ing on a war policy, had to announce with caution, and almost with an apology. There can be no question, however, but that the preponderating sentiment, in and out of Parliament, was in favor of the war. The narrative is diffnse in the explanation it affords of the exact views with which the most prominent statesmen in France re- garded the resumption by Napoleon ofthe Imperial authority, and of the feelings which animated the various classes of the popula- tion. There was, we-think, more excitement than confidence in the sudden show of zeal on the part of the populace. The revised Constitution was coldly received in all quar- ters of the realm. Because, says M. Thiers, France could no more believe a Napoleon when he talked of liberty than Europe could when he talked of peace. The Royalists were, of course, hostile; the Revolutionists suspected the champion who had put his feet on their necks. And now, on the first of June, Napoleon meets the citizens of Paris. Shall he appear as emperor or gen- eral? He wishes to appear as he would when taking the oath. He stands forth, then, in robes of silk, in plume and imperial mantle, in the coronation coach drawn by eight horses; fifty thousand soldiers greet him; a gorgeous amphitheatre receives the emperor, the army and the multitude; the altar fronts the throne; a hundred cannon thunder into the arena; but the countenance of Napoleon is sad: he has no wife on his right hand; on his left hand he has no son. Both are away from him. Laying aside his imperial splendor, he distributes standards to the legions which are to fetch his wife and son. He is impatient to be in the field, to spring from his throne into his saddle. People around him think he is melancholy; he never smiles; perhaps he has had a vision of Waterloo; possibly, he remembers what they had been saying at Vienna about an island in the Atlantic. And in this mood, after sundry strange night vigils, he went to Malmaison, where Josephine had died in the spring of the last year; he stayed several hours, walking through the chateau and the gardens full of Josephines flowers. Poor Josephine! he said to Hortense at every turn of the walk; I think I see her! So he ordered a portrait of Josephine; kissed Hortense; said to Madame Bertrand as he entered the carriage, Let us hope, Madanie Bertrand, that we may not soon have to re- gret the Isle of Elba,and went to Water- loo. A week later he did, most ~probably, regret Elba, and much else. M. Thiers has two superb opportuni- ties left; the battle in Brabant, and St. Helena. We doubt not but that he has nearly completed the picture, radiant with the life of an unrivalled epoch. Wixa CoRKsAll wines which have been The mould grows from the outside to the inside, long in bottle acquire a flavor which we ascribe and should it i-each the inner side of the cask or to the cork. This is as great a mistake as if we cork it imparts a taste to the wine. On this ac- count old wine-casks must from time to time be attributed the flavor of wine which has been cleansed outside and inside, and new corks long cellared to the cask. The cause, in both must be put into the bottles, even when the old cases, is fundamentally the same, though the ones arc unhurt. If theinside of the cork be accessory circumstancesmay differ. The moist covered with resin or sealing-wax, the entrance cork, one side of which is in contact with the of air is cut off, and the formation of mould air, allows, equally with the wood of the wine- hindered, though not prevented. Wines which cask, the development of mould plants. The have been long in bottle often acquire an un- taste and smell of wine is, under such circum- pleasant taste from this mouldiness; they are stances, identical with that of many other mouldy brought out to do honor to a guest, and praise substances, and is what we call musty. The is expected which cannot honestly be given. It mould of cork differs of course from that of really seems strange that in this age, when so wood, and the taste is consequently not exactly many other means can be employed, cork should the same. The smell may be distinctly per- still be made use of to stop bottles.Muldei-s ceived in almost every warehouse in the country. G/iemisti-y of Wine. S 44 45 AMERI~IAN AFFAIRS. From Macmillan s Magazine. AMERICAN AFFAIRS. Cromer, August 12, 1861. DEAn Mu. Ernrou,Your contributors are probably just now scattered, or scatter- ing, over the whole of Europe, if not farther. Having myself been away from town since the 3d~ I dont know much of what may have been the talk there about the Ameri- can war, and the defeat of the Northern army at Manassas Junction. You may have fixed on some one to write on the subject, and in that case you can consign this letter to the waste-paper basket; but, if there is no one told off for this duty, I hope you will let me volunteer, for I do think that the tone of all our leading journals (so far as I have been able to see them in this delightfully quiet little fishing village), has, with the sin- gle exceptioa of the ~pectator, been ungen- erous and unfair, and has not represented the better mind of England. At the same time, under present circumstances, it is bet- - ter, perhaps, to put what 1 have to say in the form of a letter, for which I alone am re7 sponsible. In the first place, then, this defeat, this panic at Manassas Junction, had it been ten times as disastrous as it has been, has not altered in the least, and cannot alter, the rights and wrongs of the great question at issue. A truism this, no doubt; but for all that, when one sees the way in which mere success is worshipped here, and the sudden spring which the South has made into popu- larity in newspnper columns since the last mails, a truism which needs repeating! If the North were right before, they are right now, though defeated. If the Confederates were rebels before, they are rebels still, though triumphant for the moment. If the United States were to remain a na- tion at all, they had not only the right, but were bound by every feeling of national honor to strain every nerve to bring the Se- cessionists to reason. How did they set about the work? Th~y were utterly unpre- pared, without troops, without officers, with- out military stores. Their troops had been carefu3iy scattered in small detachments over the Western and Southern States; the officers were almost all Southerners, who re- signed their commissions and joined the rebels; the stores had been accumulated in the Southern forts and arsenals. They waited as long as there was hope of an ami- cable arrangement; when that hope came to nothing, at the word of the President the whole North rose as one man. That rising was as grand, as noble a national act, as any which we have seen, or are likely to see, in our generation. It wrung an approval even from that portion of the press and peo- ple of this country who were most exasper- ated at the unlucky Morrill tariff, and at the menacing attitude which the Presidents gov- ernment chose to assume toward us. Have they flinched from their work? We hear, indeed, of a regiment or two of volun- teers enlisted for three months, who are going home; but the nation has not shown the slightest symptoms of turning back. On the contrary, the President, Congress, and the nation, though they may show their reso- lution in ways which do not please us which would not be ours, perhaps, under like circumstancesdo show the most un- flinching resolution to go through with what they have begun. When this is so no lcnger, it will be time enough to sneer at them. Then, as to the battle itself, and the panic; what is the fair view of it? By the time this letter is printed, we may, perhaps, have full details; at present one has nothing beyond the barest possible despatches, and a set of one-sided accounts, written under strong excitement, to go upon. From Lhese, however, we find that there was a deter- mined struggle of many hours before the Northern troops were beaten. Jefferson Da- vis despatch begins, Manassas Junction, Sunday night. Night has closed upon a hard-fought field; ourforces are victorious,~~ etc. There is no evidence whatever as yet that the troops which were in action did not behave gallantly, but much the other way. Some regiments are reported as cut to pieces. I think that these are most likely New England or New York Regiments, com- posed chiefly of Americans, and well organ- izedmen who knew what they were fight- ing for, and how to fight. All accounts agree in the statement that the troops which took the lead in the panic were a rabble of all na- tions, Americans, Irish, Germans and oth- ers, who had been hastily thrown together, and half drilled. They will fight well enough yet, when they have been made into regu- 1 lars; but volunteers, to fight well, must be 40 AMERICAN AFFAIRS. borne up by enthusiasm for a cause, which even fighting to keep the territories free here was wholly wanting. And, as to the if, as we are often told in newspaper t~rti- panic, we may just as well remember, what des, slavery has nothing to say to the war has been so well put in the Spectator, that at allI must repeat that they are emphat- these troops, in their maddest excitement, ically right. did nothing which was not done by the But does anybody seriously believe this? Frenchmen who, within five days, drove the Will any serious person get up and say, in first infantry in Europe back from the hill his own name, or write in his own name, that of Valmy. the meaning of the whole warthe point The advance was premature, badly really at issue, from first to lasthas not planned, and not well executed. This is been, and is not (to put it at the lowest), surely natural enough at the beginning of whether slavery shall he confined to its such a war. It seems that the Northern present limits in North America, or allowed press are largely responsible for the move- to extend as and where it can? That was the meat. And here, again, there are good issue; and perhaps it is so still. But those grounds for any thing but contempt and hard who entered on the war with this as the goal words. On the news of the defeat, all the of their hopes and efforts, who would gladly best of the Northern papers have acknowl- have accepted the limitation of slavery to its edged their error, and formally undertaken present limits a few months or weeks ago, to abstain from military criticism. Our own will, unless they are very different men from papers are so little in the habit of acknowl- what I believe them to beunless the teach- edging themselves in the wrong, or of ab- ing of nil history is vainnot be content staining from criticism, however ill-judged, now with this compromise. The great cause on any matter under the sun, that I confess of freedom will draw them, and the nation to being rather struck by this action of the after them, along paths which they would American journalists, never have sought for themselves. While speaking of American journals I It is the battle of human freedom whiui may remark that the passages cited in the the North are fighting, and which should Tzmes, and other papers, which have so dis- draw to them the sympathy of every Eng- gusted and angered many of us, are from lishman, and make him cast to the winds all the New York Herald, a notoriously South.~ Morrill tariffs and angry talk about Canada, em paper, and one of the most scurrilous all bad manners and hard words. If the journals in the whole States. At the break- North is beaten, it will be a misfortune such ing out of the war the office of this paper as has not come on the world since Chris- w~s with difficulty preserved from destruc- tendom arose. An empire will be founded tion. Since that time it has not dared to in these Southern States on the simple base ~how its Southern sympathies, but has de- of slavery, having no other starting-point voted itself, in the obvious interests of its or principle whatever than their right to en- clients, to the work of embroiling the North- slave men of their own flesh and blood. It era States with us hy its unscrupulous and is of no use to speculate upon what the acts lying virulence. I quite admit that the tone and policy of such a State will be. The of the government and people of the North world will see that soon enough, should it has been such as deeply to grieve and dis- arise. Meantime, the Northern States stand appoint every right-minded Englishman; alone between us and it, and the greatest but dont let us saddle them with the fran- misfortune which can happen to us and to tic slanders of the New York Herald. These mankind will be their defeat. must be put in all fairness to the credit of God grant that they may hold on, and be the South. strong! God grant that they may remem- Hitherto I have been speaking without ber that the greatest triumphs have always immediate reference to the great cause in is- come, and must always come to men through sue. I believe that, apart from that cause, the greatest humiliations. God himself could the North are entitled to our good wishes, not set men free but through this rule. They are in the right, apart from all ques- I am yours very truly, tions of slavery. If they really mean to leave THOMAS Hi~~nxs. State rights untouched~if they are not ~ Author of Tom Brown at Rugby. SLAVERY AND THE REBELLION. From (Forneys) Press, Philadelphia, 12 Sept. SLAVERY AND THE REBELLION. IT is a significant and singular fact that out of the very prosperity of the slave inter- est in this country, indirectly, arose the re- bellion which now threatens to terribly in- jure, if not to destroy it. While the halls of Congress were resounding year after year with clamors for better protection for slav- ery, the peculiar institution was so well protected that slaves were constantly rising in value much more rapidly than any other species of property in our country. This in- crease was not spasmodic or irregular, but steady and constant, and it was kept up un- til the slaves of the United States sold for a price far beyond that everobtained for them in any other nation in which slavery had been tolerated. All this continued to the moment when the long-cherished secession heresies of the South culminated in open in- surrection against the Government; and it afforded the very strongest proof that could have been given of the confidence of the cap- italists of the Slave States in the security of slavery while the Union was unbroken and unassniled. But out of this high price of slaves, which was an overwhelming and con- clusive nnswer to the flimsy pretences by which the secession demagogues endeavored to justify their treason, arose the very feel- ing which was one of the strongest levers used in precipitating the Cotton States into revolution. We allude to the demand for the revival of the slave trade which suddenly attained a surprising degree of popularity in that section. The planters grew tired of paying $1,400 or $1,500 for field hands from the Border States, and the poor whites be- gan to consider that there was something very unjust in compelling them either to pay for slaves a sum which they could not com- mand, or to dispense with their services al- together, when by an abrogation of the United States laws against the African slave trade they might obtain supplies for a few hundred dollars per head. The dissolution of the Union, which, until the last few ycars, was rarely or never spoken of without hor- ror, as one of the most frightful of calami- ties, by the masses of the Cotton States, be- gan to be considered by them an essential condition of their prosperitynot on account of the reasons they put forward, that slave property was insecure in the Union, but really because the policy of our Government had rendered it so secure and profitable that slaves commanded a higher price than they wished to pay. These pro-slavery philoso- phers, however, were as short-sighted in their views of their selfish interests as they were cruel and treasonable in their designs. They forgot that the first effect of their blows against the Union would be the infliction of a terrible blow, by themselves, upon their fa- vorite institutionthat in trying to destroy the Union for the purpose of getting rid of its laws against the revival of the slave trade, so that they might buy slaves for a small sum, they would so diminish the value of slave la- bor, destroy the sale of its products, and un- dermine the permanence and security of the institution as to render it doubtful whether slaves were worth having at any price, and in some states, questionable whether they could be held in bondage at all. The comparison may be a trite and not very complimentary one, but they acted like the dog who in cross- ing the stream lost his meat by grasping at its shadow. And now, whatever damage has been or may be done to their institution, they must attribute to the influence of the rash counsels of their own trusted leaders. Whatever glory or blame may be atta~hed to the infliction of the severe blows upon it, that have already injured or will hereafter injure it, is due to those great practical Abo- litionists in disguise who figure as the saints of the pro-slavery calendar. CANNON. To chase the glowing hours with flying feet But hark !that heavy sound breaks in once DID ye not hear it No! twas hut the wind, more, Or the car rattling oer the stony street; As if the clouds its echo would repeat, On with the dance! let joy be unconfined; And nearer, clearer, deadlier than before; No sleep, till morn, when youth and pleasure Arm! arm! it isit isthe cannons opening meet roar. Bllron. 47 48 AN ARAB NEWSPAPER. AN ARAB NEWSPAPER. As the Athenceum takes cognizance of lit- erature and its ~5rogress in all parts of the world, it appeared to me that an Arabic newspaper, published at Beirout, in Syria, would merit your attention. This journal (of which by the kindness of the Royal Asiatic Society I have the number of the 7th of June now before me) is a weekly news- paper, which, in imitation of its European contemporaries, styles itself (sigasi, edebi, muttejeri) political, moral, and commercial, and is about the size of one of our local pa- pers. The amateur of Oriental languages will be much amused to see how such words as subscription, advertisement, office, agents are expressed respectively by ishtirak, ilan, mekteb (a most appropriate word, corre- sponding exactly to the one adopted by the modern Greeks to express this idea; viz., ypc~eicv); and, lastly, agents by those who write the names (of subscribers) chez eux. Again, he will be struck by finding the first rude attempts at leading articles. In the number of last month, for example, there were articles on the Warlike Preparation in Europe, the American War, the Warsaw Massacres, etc.,which, though weak com- pared to the articles in our newspapers, in- dicate a great step in advance. The very fact of their making this comparison, and their reflection on it, and their taking notice of the American affairs at all, is something for a nation whom many regard as complete barbarians. It is also somewhat curious to find the names of Lord John Russell and Mr. Griffith figuring in Arabic,the latter asking the former why the Austrians have not withdrawn their troops on the frontiers of Italy. Garibaldi (whom they call .Jari- baldi), the Emperor Napoleon (Emberatur .ATabulion), and Victor Emmanuel (Filcior Imanuel) may now see their names in Arabic and their acts recounted for the edification of the Mussulmans. In the same manner the doings of Cardinal Antonelli and the pope, the massacres in Warsaw, the state of affairs in Naples, etc., are duly reported. Amongst the words I have noticed imported, coined, or adopted to express modern ideas are: ,Jurnal, for newspaper, .Alejliss-ul we may even have the Arabs punctuating! umum, for House o~ Commons,Ji?eis-ul~ CHAnLEs WELLS. Musheikha, President of the Senate (in America),Fabor or Sefine bukhariye, for steamer or steam-vessel,and Besail tele- graft ye, telegraphic despatches. The mer- chant may also learn that discount (iskat) at the Bank of England is at six per cent (/1 el maye), the Turkish loan at seventy- three, and the state of the corn and silk markets. An advertisement, also, in one of the May numbers, whieb, by the way, had a conspicuous position and importance given to it, which its European brethren would much envy, stated that a certain Prof. Bet- ers had adapted the wonderful tale of Ru- binsun Kruri (Robinson Crusoe) from the English language, and that the first part was just printed, price twenty-two grush. In the number of the 7th of June is seen, un- der the head Home Intelligence, an ac- count of the withdrawal of the French troops from Syria; and in one of the previous num- bers a description of an asylum lately es- tablished for the widows and orphans of the sufferers in the massacres, and the pashas visit to it. The translation of the proclama- tion of the American President to the in- habitants of New York is also to be found in the number of the 30th of May. On the whole, the publication is exceedingly credit- able, and may become a great instrument of civilization. The fact that it has been es- tablished four years speaks much for the possibility of introducing such Anglo-Ori- ental productions. It must be confessed, however, although not very creditable to us, that the French in this;as in all matters in the East, seem to have got far before us, and their influence, language, and manners to have taken a deeper root than ours. Phere is every evidence of this paper being an imitation of a French one: they have adopted their word journal, although so chary of admitting any foreign word into the language,coin their new words after French models,and, in the French fash- ion, have a tale at the end, continued from number to number. In this tale is to be noted an immense improvementthe adop- tion of paragraphs. What may we expect, after this? Perhaps a time may come when

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The Living age ... / Volume 71, Issue 906 Littell's living age Every Saturday; a journal of choice reading Eclectic magazine The Living age co. inc. etc. New York etc. October 12, 1861 0071 906
The Living age ... / Volume 71, Issue 906 49-96

THE~LIYING AGE. No. 906.12 October, 1861. CONTENTS. 1. A National Currency and Sinking Fund, 2. Cortes and his Wife 3. The Salons of Vienna and Berlin, 4. The Rector 6. King Jerome and his American Wife, 6. home Ballads and Poems, by J. G. Whittier, 7. Experiments with Cannon and Armor Plates, P. Littell, Athenceum, Bentleys Miscellany, Blackwoocls Magazine, .Athenceum, Press, PoETRY.The Bells of Shandon, 67. Drawing Nearer, 67. Sweet Little Man, 96. Our First Mttrtyr, 96. SHORT ARTIcLEs.The EiI~perors Tobacco, 68. The Man of Sensibility, 66. High- land Epitaph, 66. Lost Party in the Alps, 92. John Knoxs Deathbed, 96. NEW BOOKS. Mr. Putnam continues his REBELLION REcORD,which will preserve for posterity some of the features of the monster,from whom God grant us a safe deliverance. CORRESPONDENCE. L. E. P.Will you not favor us with your address? P.Thanks! We felt that the sacrifice of space, then, was considerable. But it would not do to lose the article, or the others of that class. They increase the ~value of our vol- umes. And the proportion they fill is a small one, after all. To all our Friends.Please read the second page of cover, and help us to get over the evil days, and to b.egin 1862 with renewed courage. PUBLISHED KYERY SATURDAY BY LITTIELL, SON, & CO., BOSTON. For Six Dollars a year, in adYance, remitted directly to the Publishers, the Lrvnco Aox will be punctually for. warded free of postage. Complete sets of the First Series, in thirty-six volumes, and of the Second Series, in twenty volumes, hand. somely hound, packed in neat hoxes, and delivered in all the principal cities, free 01 expense of fres~,ht. are for ealq at two dollars a volnue. ANY VOLUME OSRY lue had separately, at two dollars. hound, or a dollar and a half in numbers. ANY NUMBER may he had for 13 cents; and it is well worth while for subscribers, or purchasers to complete any broken volumcs they may have, and thus greatly enhance their value. PAOZ 50 61 69 68 83 90 93 A NATIONAL CURRENCY AND SINKING FUND. To the Secretary of the Treasury: Carrying out the subject of the letter of 17 July, - 1861, 1 now submit to you in full a plan for A NATIONAL CURRENCY AND SINKING FUND. Let the United States deposit Coin and Bullion in the MINT at Philadelphia, and make all the national expenditure by MINT DRAFTS at sight upon the same; such drafts to be payable also in New York and Bos- ton; and to be for the sums usually repre- sented by bank notes, not unaer five dollars. Persons who receive these drafts will pay them away to others, or deposit them in banks for safe-keeping. The banks will not ordinarily draw the coin, for they can usu- ally pay demands upon them by these drafts. Coin will only be needed for exportation, or for convenience of change. For the latter purpose it would be desirable to pay in quarter eagles, or in silver; for exportation, in large coin, or in stamped bars of bullion. Bearing in mind that the Bank of Eng- land has now a circulation equal to 100 mil- lions of dollars, and that this is considerably below its average amount, we may suppose that by next year it will be found that such an amount of MINT DRAFTS has remained in permanent circulation, that it would be safe to invest ten millions of dollars of the uncalled-for coin and bullion in the purchase from the people of United States Stocks; and an equal amount annually thereafter. iLet the half-yearly interest on these Stocks be also so invested. Our increasing population, capital, and trade would probably make it practicable to continue this annual investment for twenty years, say till 1881, by which time we shall have absorbed 400 millions of United States Stock, and shall have a national paper circu- lation, payable on demand at the most con- venient points, of 200 millions of dollars. Our currency, with a full proportion of gold and silver, will then be better than it ever has been. That such an amount of MINT DRAFTS would be needed, we may reasonably sup- pose, when we consider that our population will then be sixty millions, and that our business will have increased in still greater proportion. In calculating the following table, fractions are rejected to the amount of about ten millions. Living Age Office, Boston, 20 Sept., 1861. 1862 First investment, - Interest one year, - 1863 Second investment, - Principal, - - Interest one year, - 1864 Third investment, - Principal, say, - Interest one year, - 1865 Fourth investment, - Principal, - - Interest one year, - 1866 Fifth investment, - Principal, - - Interest one year, - 1867 Sixth investment, - Principal, - - Interest one year, - 1868 Seventh investment, - Principal, - - Interest one year, - 1869 Eighth investment, - Principal, - - Interest one year, - 1870 Ninth investment, - Principal, - - Interest one year, - 1871 Tenth investment, - Principal, - - Interest one year, - 1872 Eleventh investment, Principal, - - Interest one year, - 1873 T~velfth investment, Principal, - - Interest one year, - 1874 Thirteenth investment, Principal, - - Interest one year, - 1875 Fourteenth investment, Principal, - - Interest one year, - 1876 Fifteenth investment, Principal, - - Interest one year, - 1877 Sixteenth investment, Principal, - - Interest one year, - 1878 Seventeenth investment, Principal, - - Interest one year, - 1879 Eighteenth investment, Principal, - - Interest one year, - 1880 Nineteenth investment, Principal, - - Interest one year, - 1881 Twentieth investment, 50 - $10,000,000 - i00,000 - 10,000,000 - 20,700,000 - 1,449,000 - 10,000,000 - 32,000,000 - 2,000,000 - 10,OOt),000 - 44,000,000 - 3,000,OOo - 10,000,000 - 57,000,000 - 4,000,000 - 10,000,000 - 71,000,000 - 5,000,000 - 10,000,000 - 86,000,000 - 6,000,000 - 10,000,000 - 102,000,000 - 7,000,000 - 10,000,000 - 119,000,000 - 8,000,000 - 10,000,000 - 137,000,00Q - 9,000,000 - 10,000,000 - 156,000,000 - 11,000,000 - - 10,000,000 - 177,000,000 - 12,000,000 - 10,000,000 - 199,000,000 - 14,000,000 - 10,000,000 - 223,000,000 - 15,000,000 - 10,000,000 - 248,000,000 - 17,000,000 - 10,000,000 - 275,000,000 - , 19,000,000 - 10,000,000 - 304,000,000 - 21,000,000 - 10,000~000 - 335,000,000 - 23,000,000 - 10,000,000 - 368,000,000 - 26,000,000 - 10,000,000 404,000;000 CORTES AND HIS WIFE. From The Athennum. CORTES AND HIS WIF~E. Summary of the Acts of Don Fernando Cortes[Archivo Mexicano: Documentos para la Ilistoria de Mexico. Sumario de la Residencia tomada a D. Fernando Cor- tes, Gobcrnador y 6~apitan General de la N. E. y a otros Gobernadores y Ojiciales de la Misma. Palmografiado dcl original por ci Lic. Ignacio Lopez Rayon]. (Mexico, Tipographia de Vicente Garcia Torres.) FASCINATED ourselves by the brilliant ca- reer and attractive qualities of Cortes, we should have cxpected that the modern Mexi- cansthe descendants of his ancient com- rades and compatriotswould have cher- ished his n~emory and been proud of his fame as their national hero. Strange to say, this is not the case. In 1823 the mob would have broken open his tomb, in order to scat- ter his ashes to the winds, had they not been anticipated by some friends who secretly re- moved the relics. In the present day, we cannot travel in Mexico without finding that the feeling towards Cortes is very different from that which is entertained by those who h~ve formed their judgment of him solely from a perusal of Prescotts pages. The Mexicans admiration of his showy qualities is seasoned by a liberal admixture of depre- ciation; and dark stories of guilt and cruelty, handed down by tradition, are readily pro- duced in support of their opinion. how comes such a feeling to prevail? Where there is smoke there must be some fire; and it may either be that this is the smoke issuing from the accusations made against Cortes in his lifetime, and dismissed by Prescott as unworthy of credit; or that Prescott has erred in so treating them, and that the opinion entertained by the Mexi- cans is the true onethat many of these ac- cusations were true, and that history must accept them asfiaws on the character of this great man. The author, or rather compiler, of the work which we have noted at the head of this article takes the latter view; and in his published extracts from the Mexican archives we have, doubtless, the long-for- gotten source whence many of these stories and much of this feeling have arisen. The documents here published exist in the archives of the city of Mexico, and were de- ciphered and copied by Rayon, a lawyer there. They consist of the instructions from the king to Luys Ponce de Leonhis secret 51 instructions.-the examination of the wit- nesses, etc., and a criminal process brought, at the instance of his wifes mother and brother, against Cortes for the murder of his wife. The cbarges involved in these documents were all known to Prescott, and summarily and ex cathedrd disposed of in a couple of pages, as follows A remarkable document still exists, called the Pesquisa Secreta, or Secret In- quiry, which contains a record of the pro- ceedings against Cortes. It was prepared by the Secretary of the Audience, and signed by the several members. The document is very long, embracing nearly a hundred folio pages. The name and testimony of every witness are given, and the whole forms a mass of loathsome details, such as might bet- ter suit a prosecution in a petty municipal court than that of a great officer of the Crown. The charges are eight in number, involving, among other crimes, that of a de- liberate design to cast off his allegiance to the crown; that of the murder of two of the commissioners who had been sent out to su- persede him ; of the murder of his own wife, Catalina Xuarez; of extortion and of licen- tious practices; of offences, in short, which, from their private nature, would seem to have little to do with his conduct as a pub- lic man. The testimony is vague, and often contradictory; the witnesses, for the most l)art, obscure individuals; and the few per- sons of consideration among them appear to have been taken from the ranks of his de- cided enemies. When it is considered that the inquiry was conducted in the absence of Cortes, before a court the members of which were personally unfriendly to him, and that he was furnished with no specification of the charges, and had no opportunity, conse- quently, of disproving them, it is impossible at this distance of time to attach any impor- tance to this paper as a legal document. ~Vhcn it is added that i~o action was taken on it by the government to whom it was sent, we may be disposed to regard it simply as a monument of the malice of his enemies. It has been drawn by the curious antiquary from the obscurity to which it had been so long consigned in the Indian archives at Se- villa; but it can be of no further use to the historian than to show that a great Paine in the sixteenth century exposed its possessor to calumnies as malignant as it has at any time since. Now, we hold that no historian has a right to form a verdict for the reader in this way withr~at producing the evidence upon which 52 he has arrived at it. It is no rAatter that the author has formed a right verdict. Let him give his opinion, plead in support of it, and sum up as he pleases, but, at least, let him, also, tell the reader what is the evidence which he has rejected, and why. If he does nQt do so, his verdict will not, and should not, pass unchallenged. It is so here. Had Mr. Prescott presented to the reader even a summary of the evidence for the charges which he repudiates, and discussed the evi- dence for or against them with greater de- liberation, the work which we are now notic- ing would probably never have seen the light. It is, we think, if taken without ex- planation or examination, calculated to dam- age the character of Cortes most materially; for there is an amount of vraisemblance and consistency in the evidence given which leaves an impression of its truthfulness; and yet, admitting its perfect truthfulness and bonajides, it seems to us to contain intrin- sic evidence of Cortes innocence. It will answer the readers purpose if we take the most flagrant, and apparently the best supported case,viz., thet of the mur- der of his wife,and give a summary of the evidence brought forward in support of it. For the better understanding of some of the allusions, we may shortly recall to the recollection of the reader the chief circum- stances connected with Cortes marriage with iDofia Catalina. Prescott tells us that ~mong the families who had taken up their residence in Cuba was one of the name of Xuarez, from Granada, in old Spain. It consisted of a brother and four sisters re- markable for their beauty. With one of them, named Catalina, the susceptible heart of the young soldier became enamored. How far the intimacy was carried on is not quite certain; but it appears he gave his promise to marry her, a promise which when the time came, and reason, it may be, had got the better of passion, he showed no alacrity in keepind. He resisted, indeed, all remon- strances to this effect from the ladys family, backed by the governor, and somewhat sharpened, no doubt, in the latter by the par- ticular interest he took in one of the fair sis- ters, who is said not to hate repaid it with ingratitude. This must have been about the year 1511. By and by, however, for some reason not explained, perhaps from policy, he now re- linquished his objections to the marriage CORTES AND HIS WIFE. with Catalina Xuarez. lie thus secured the good qffices of her family. There is some inconsistency here, for it seems difficult to understand what value could be attached to these good offices, when we are told by Pres- cott, in the next page, that his days glided smoothly away in the society of his beauti- ful wife, who, however ineligible as a connec- tion from the inferiority of her condition~, op- pears to have fulfilled all the relations of a faithful and affectionate partner. Indeed, he was often heard to say, at this time, that he lived as happily with her as if she had been the daughter of a duchess. Fortune, says Prescott, gave him the means in after- life of verifying the truth of his assertion. He should have said making comparison be- tween her and the daughter of a duchess; for whether he verified the & ssertion (not verified the truth of the assertion) or not, there is no sufficient evidence to show. A testamentary expression of confidence and love in his second wife can hardly he re- garded as such; and the issue is now raised fi~thcr, whether it was fortune that gave him the means of doing so, or a more direct in- terference of his own. After living with her for some time in pastoral retirement in Cuha, he sailed on the course of adventures which terminated in the conquest of Mexico; and it was not until he was firmly seated there as conqueror and governor that Catalina joined him. The remainder of the story is thus told by Pres- cott I-us own wife, IDofla Catalina Xuarez, was among those who came over from the Islands to New Spain. According to Ber- nal iDiaz, her coming gave him no particular satisfaction. It is possible, since his mar- riage with her seems to have been entered into with reluctance, and her lowly condi- tion and connections stood somewhat in the way of his future advancement. Yet they lived happily together for several years, ac- cording to the testimony of Las Cases, and whatever he may have felt, he had the gen- erosity or the prudence not to betray his feelings to the world. On landing, l)ofla Catalina was escorted by Sandoval to the capital, where she ~vas kindly received by her husband, and all the respect paid to her to which she was entitled by her elevated rank. But the climate of the table-land was not suited to her constitution, and she died three months after her arrival,of asthma, according to Bernal Diaz, but her death CORTES AND HIS WIFE. 53 seems u~ have been too sudden to be attrib- The evidence for the defence (if there ever uted to that disease. 11cr death happened was any) isewanting. so opportunely for his rising fortunes, that Independently of their interest from the a charge of murder by her husband has historic personages concerned in them, t,he found more credit with the vulgar than the documents are in themselves curious from the other accusations brought against him. Cortes, from whatever reason, perhaps from glimpses which they give us of the familiar, the conviction that the charge was too mon- every-day life of the times to which they re- strous to obtain credit, never condescended late. The close similarity of the law pro- to vindicate his innocence. But, in addition ceedings to those of the present day is not to the arguments mentioned in the text for very flattering to the progress made in their discrediting the accusation generally, we actual style of procedure by jurisconsults, should consider that this particular charge however much the principles of jurisprudence attracted so little attention in Castile, where he had abundance of enemies, that he found may have advanced. The verbiage and rep- no difficulty, on his return there, seven years etitions of the ~vriter, paid by the page, are afterwards, in forming an alliance with one shown to have been handed down to us un- of the noblest houses in the kingdom; that corrected for at least three hundred years. no writer of that day except Bernal Diaz We find here examination of witnesses upon (who treats it as a base calumny), not even interrogatories,the whole procedure being Las Casas, the stern accuser of the conquer- as nearly as can be that of a modern proof ors, intimates a suspicion of his guilt; and that, lastly, no allusion whatever is made to of the same kind. The witnesses are duly it in the suit instituted some years after her sworn to tell the truth. Their depositions death, by the relatives of Dofia Catalina, for conclude almost in the words of a deposition the recovery of property from Cortes, pre- of the present day. For instance, the closing tended to have been derived through her words of a modern English deposition would marriage with him ; a suit conducted with acrimony, and protracted for several years. he, All which he depones to he truth, as he I have not seen the documents connected shall answer to God; and in respect that he with this suit, which are still preserved in cannot write, makes his mark. here is the the archives of the house of Cortes, but the Spanish of 1529: Swears to the truth of fact has been communicated to me by a (us- the preceding deposition ; and not being tinguished Mexican who has carefully exam- able to write, makes a mark (unarubrica), med them, and I cannot but regard it as of and the mark, or rubrica, is not, as is sup- itself canclusive, that the family, at least, of me, a symbol or device special- Dojia Catalina did not attach credit to the posed by so accusation. ized by its user, but the same villanaus at- But tempt at a cross, which our own uneducated there is a very good reason why no classes still make. notice of the charge of murdering his wife The process thus proceeds is taken by her relatives, in the process here Criminal Process.Maria de Marcayda referred to. It is simply this, that at the against 1). hlernando Cortes.In the great time it was going on she was still alive; cityofTemistilan, Mexico, of this New Spain, and, were it not so, the existence of a proc- on the 4th of February, 1529, before the il- ess actually brought by them against him lustrious and magnificent Seiiur Nuiio de for this very charge would sufficiently prove Guzman and the licentiates Juan Ortiz de ~ elgadello, President that no inference favorable to his innocence Matienso and Diego D from their silence. The and Judges of the Royal Audience and Chan could be dra~vn cery, residing, by order of his majesty, in fact, however, appears beyond doubt, from this New Sl)ain, and in presence of me, the criminal process (in which on its side Geronimo de Median, Secretary of the said sufficient allusion is made to the lawsuit), Audience, appeared Maria de Marcayda and that the law process had been going on for Juan Suares, her son, in her name, and pre- years during the life of Dofia Catalina. sented a complaint and accusation in writing The criminal process takes the form of a against D. 1-lernando Cortes, the tenor ot mother and brother of Dojia which is as follows: Most Potent Signors, complaint by the we, Maria de Marcayda and Juan Snares, Catalina; an answer by Cortes; interroga- her son, appear before your majesty, and tories prOj)Oned by the complainers; and the complain of Don Hernando Cortes, Governor evidence adduced by them. There it stops. I and Captain-General that ~vas of this New CORTES AND HIS WIFE. Spain; and relating the cause of our com- plaint, we say, that, on a certain day and month in the year 1522, the said Hernando Cortes, being legally married according to the requirements of Holy Mother Church to my sister, Dofla Catalina Suares, in his house in Coyoacan; the said IDoi~a Catalina being in good health, and without having said or done any thing for which she should receive hurt or damage, and being with her said husband, whose duty it was to see after and take care of her, not only because he was her husband, but still more as the adminis- trator of justice,the said Don Hernando Cortes, the criminal by our denouncement and complaint, with little fear of God and of his King and Lord, under whose protec- tion we all live, with malice prepence, in their sleeping apartment, did hand-bind the said Dojia Catalina when it was out of her power to call for aid except of God Our Lord and Holy Mary his Mother, Our Lady, and tie certain cords round her throat, and tight- ened them until she was strangled and nat- urally died; and after dead, he put her down, and called his servants, and ordered one Villanueva, his valet, to tell me, Juan Suarez, to remain quiet in my room. That Villan- ueva, knowing or suspecting what had hap- pened, sent a neighbor, Esidro Moreno, to deliver the message, which he did, accompa- nied by many threats, in case I should ven- ture where my sister was. That the said Don Hernando Cortes then covered her face and neck, and with indecent haste caused her to be nailed up in a coffin, so that no one should see her or know the cause of her death. That it was immediately rumored abroad in Coyoacan that ID. liernando Cortes had killed her, because on the evening pre- vious, she had been very merry and in high spirits, not only with her husband, hut with the gentlemen and ladies who had been at the house. That, in consequence of this rumor, a friar of the order of San Francisco said to him, Selior, for the sake of your own honor, I tell you that they say publicly in the city that you have killed your wife. To which he haughtily replied, Who are the traitor knaves who say so P. That the friar answered: I only mention it to rec- ommend that the coffin be opened, and the peol)le allowed to see the body and satisfy themselves that your worship had no hand in her death. That the first Alcalde, Diego do Ocanpo, then stept forward, and said, Go to, father! Let them be for fools. No one can suppose such a thing of D. Her- nando Cortes, the Captain-General,and that he ordered the funeral to proceed, ~vhich it did, accompanied by a large concourse of; people. Therefore, we pray your majesty to receive the evidence required in such cases, and, when received, to order the apprehen- sion of the said B. Hernando Cortes, etc. And we swear by God and this cross t that this coml)laint is not made maliciously, but purely for the ends of justice. The reply of Cortes attorney is very short, and amounts simply to this, that it is a most atrocious lie (la mayor falcedad y meldad que ag en ci mundo)..the greatest falsehood and wickedness in the whole world, got up out of spite, because there is a lawsuit be- tween the parties about some two hundred and odd thousand dollars; and that it v~. only one of the many malicious devices re- sorted to for the purpose of obscuring the merit of his signal services. The judges then allow a proof, and a List of Interroga- tories are given in, which Juan Xuares de- mands shall be asked of his witnesses. The first witness is Ann Rodriguez, Doiia Cata- linas ladys-maid and the wife of JunirRod- riguez, mason. To the first three questions, which were whether the witness knew the parties and believed them to be married, etc., she rel)lied in the affirmative. The style of the Inter- rogatories is the following. For instance, take the next, the 4th: If she knew, believed, had seen, or heard tell whether, on a certain Occasion, in 1522, when Cortez and his wife gave a feast, at which many people of both sexes were pres- ent, and stayed to supper, and when the had a very pleasant party and a good time generally, the said iDofla Catalina Suarcz was in good health, strength, and spirits, without any symptom of illness. Let the witness say and declare what she knows. To this and other questions, propounded in the same leading fashion, she replied That on the night of the death of Dofia Catalina Suarez, the date of which she does not remember, she saw that Don Fernando gave a feast in the city of Coyoacan, at which Do~a Catalina was very happy and in high spirits (alegre y regocijada), and to all ap- pearance in perfect health, and at night, when about to retire to bed, she went to pray in a chapel (oratorio), which she had in the house, and when she came out this wit- ness saw her, with her color changed, and asked her what was the matter; to which she replied, that she wished God would take her from this world; also that she heard her pray to God in the chapel to take her away. On being asked if she knew why Dolia Cata- lina made this prayer, and what was the rea 54 CORTES AND HIS WIFEP son of her unhappiness, since she had so recently joined her husband after such a lengthened absence, in tbc island of Cuba, where she had received ill treatment at the hands of the Courts, and now she was with her husband and in prosperity, the witness replied, that she believed she was jealous, and was unhappy because Don Fernando feasted other ladies and women in the neigh- borhood. That on the same night she saw Don Fernando and Doila Catalina, in very good humor, retire to their chamber, and this witness being the ladys-maid of Dofia Catalina, undressed her and saw her to bed, apparently in good health; then ~vent to her own room to sleep, as usual, leaving the two in bed as she was wont. That a short time after this, on the same night, this witness being already asleep, an Indian woman came to call her and told her that Don Fernando wanted her; that she got up and dressed and went to his room, when he told her to fetch a light, for it was dark; that she did so, and on entering the room he said to her, I think my wife is dead, and this witness and the wife of Soria went to the bed and found her resting on the arm of Don Fer- nando, dead, and him calling on her think- ing she had swooned (for she was subject to fainting fits). There was also present Alonzo de Villanueva, his valet, and Violante Rod- riguez, who came along with this witness when she brought the candle. That Don Fernandos body-guard used to be in the ante-chamber, but she does not remember whether the guard was set that night or not. She knows, however, that he did not call any others but this witness and his servants, who came into this room before Dojia Cata- lina was laid out. That owing to her per- turbation on entering the room she did not take notice of the beads, * bitt, in the morn- ing an Indian woman gave her some gold beads, which Dofia Catalina had been in the habit of wearing round her neck, saying that she had found them in the room, and fur- ther that she saw some black marks on her throat; and suspecting that Don Fernando had strangled his wife, she asked what marks these were, and he replied, that he had taken hold of her there in trying to rouse her when she fainted; hut this witness and the other servants present suspected him of having strangled her, and murmured among them- selves to that effect. That she and Maria de Vera and others present covered the body with a shawl, not by order of Don Fernando, ~ This is in answer to a leading question (the 7th), whether on entering the room they found Defia C. Suarez dead, and the beads of her neck- lace strewed over the bed, some of them broken, the bed ~vet, and the body showing marks of vio- lence on the throat. 55 but of their own free will. That, after being laid out, Doila Catalina was put on a bier, until morning; and at dawn they put her in a coffin and carried her off to be buried. Then follow two fine specimens of leading questions, viz., 10th If she knows that after the coffin was closed, two San Franciscan friars went early in the morning to see Don Fernando Cortes, and said to him, Sefler, all the city says that you have killed your wife; for the love of God see and have that coffin opened, so that the people may see that there is no truth in the report, and that your own honor may be vindicated, otherwise everybody will believe it. And 11th: Item, if she knows that Don Fernando Cortes answered and said, Whoever says so, let him go to the Devil; I am not obliged to render an account to any one. And that the first Alcalde, Diego Ocanpo, being pres- ent, said, Such a thing is not to be pre- sumed of your worship, and let those who say it be considered evil speakers. To this curious style of hearsay interroga- tory, Ana Rodriguez consistently replies That she heard the matter in this ques- tion publicly mentioned at the time, and that in reply to the remark, Have a care, seflor, for they say that you killed your wife, he replied, She xvent to bed in good health, and in the a she was dead. The next interrogatory is, If she knows, believes, has seen, or heard tell, that immediately after her death, on the same night, about twelve oclock, Cortes sent Alonzo de Villanueva, his valet, to tell Juan Suarez, her brother, not to leave his room on pain of death, which message the said Alonzo de Villanueva did not like to deliver, but sent instead one Isidro Moreno to do so. To this she replies: That she heard that Don Fernando, after her death, but before her burial, sent word to Juan Suarez, her brother, that he had been the cause of her death, on account of some misunderstanding he had had with him. Elvira Hernandez answers most of the leading questions simply in the affirmative. The only additional circumstances mentioned by her are That on the day when Doiia Catalina died she saw her in church a~ a funeral ser- vice in perfect health, and that from the ~churchsheinvited~numberofladiestoher .CORTES AND HIS WIFE. house; * that this witness had heard it said and this witness and the other servants ol that on that evening she had been very merry the house went to sleep. In two or thtee and in great spirits, and had gone very late hours afterwards, as near as this witness can to bed; and that one Bartolome, a friar of~ judge, they came to call the mayor-domo him~ the order of Our Lady of Mercies, told this self and the other servants, saying that Do~a witness that before going to bed IDoiia Cata- Catalina was dead; and that this witness lina had gone into the chapel, and had cried and Diego de Soto, the mayor-domo, went to and sobbed much, and that Don Fernando Don Fernandos room, and found him with had asked her why she cried, and that she two pages, one called Salazar, and the other had replied, to let her alone, that she wished Villareal, cousin of Antonio de Villareal, to die, and that in the morning she was dead. now mayor of this city. That when they That she remembers hearing Maria de Vera came into the room, where A. de Villanueva [another witness] say, that when she ~vent had arrived a minute before them, they found into the room and found the deceased coy- Don Fernando shouting and beating himself ered with a shawl, she was about to remove against the wall, and the two pages endeav- it, when Don Fernando told her to let it oring to restrain him; that this was the room alone, that it was well enough, and that she where Don Fernando and his wife slept; had seen marks of violence on her throat, that after they were in the room as above and a stain of blood on her forehead, and related, they sent this witness to call a friar some beads of her necklace broken. Asked of the order of Mercy named Fray Bartolo- if she knows or believes that Don Fernando meo, and to tell him to come and console Don killed his wife. Replies that the whole town Fernando, for his wife was dead, and also to said so publicly at the time, and that she I tell Juan Suarez of Dojia Catalinas death, suspected it, because she had gone to bed and that he was not to go there, for that his well and was dead in the morning, and also importunities had been the cause of his sis- because at that time there arrived one Juan ters death. That he was sent to deliver Bono with proposals of marriage with a lady these messages by A. de Villanueva, the in Castile, and that the day previous he had valet, and D. de Soto, the mayor-dorno, who been shut up with this Juan Bono in a pri- said they were the orders of Don Fernando. vate interview the whole day, and they say Being asked what were the words which that this marriage was the subject of discus- passed at table between Don Fernando and sion. Dolia Catalina, which caused her to get up and go to her room weeping or in a pet, he replied, that when Don Fernando and Doiia Catalina, and other ladies and gentlemen, as above mentioned, were at supper, Doiia Cat- alina said to Solis, then a captain of artillery, Nothing will serve you, Solis, but you must employ my Indians in other matters than what I order, and I cannot get what I want done; and that to these words Solis replied, I, sefiora, do not employ them; there is his worship who orders and employs them ; and that she replied, I promise you that before many days I shall arrange matters so that nobody shall interfere with what is mine; and that Don Fernando answered and said, With what is yours, seliora? I do not want any thing of yours;~ and this he said as in joke, but the other ladies laughed, and Dofia Catalina felt ashamed (se avergonso), and re- tired as above stated. Maria de Vera merely corroborates the others. Maria Hernandez, wife of Fj~ancisco de Quevedo, says Anton Hernandez, wife of Baithazar Rod- riguez, and Violante Rodriguez, wife of Diego de Soria, do little more than answer the leading questions in the affirmative. Isidro Moreno knows of the party at Don Fernandos house, because he was a servant in the house, and had accounts with the mayor-domo relative to house expenses, and saw Doiia Catalina well and merry in the feast given that day. That after the entertainment, and at the supper- table, the cloth being already removed, in consequence of some remark made by Don Fernando, Dofia Catalina rose from the table, and, having made her obeisance (acatam~- ento), left the room in a pet, while Don Fer- nando remained with the visitors. After awhile, the company broke up, and he went into another room to undress, as was his custom. He remained for an hour or two talking with some of the peoI)le of the house, and then with his page retired to go to bed, This is lucousistent with the statement in the previous witness~ evidence, that she said she was jealous hecause lie, liushaud feasted other ladies, the invitatiou, in this instance, having come from her, not from her hushand; hut the inconsistency may have heen in Dofia Catalinas own statemejit, not in the eviderke of the witnesses:a jealous, passionate woman is not hound or expected to he consistent. - That on one of the days in the month of October, about All Saints Day, in the year 1522, Francisco de Quevedo, the husband of this witness, told her that Doila Catalina Suarez had gone to church, that day a very genteel woman, muy gentil muger (i.e., very well got up), more than on other days, and 56 CORTES AND HIS WIFE. 57 Lhat that same night, being in the city of protruding from their sockets, as of a per- Coyoacan at the feast at Don Fernan~ios son who had been strangled, and that her house, the said Doila Catalina had danced lips were thick and black, and that she had and enjoyed herself until a matter of 1O also two flecks of foam in her mouth, one on oclock at night, and that at 11 odock of each side, and a drop of blood on the shawl the same night it was said that the said where it had covered her forehead, and a Dofia Catalina was dead, and that this was scratch between her eyebrows, all of which told to this witness by Christopher Corral, appeared to this witness and to Gallarda to Captaia of the Guard of Don F. Cortes. he signs that Doija Catalina had been stran- That the day on which Dofia Catalina Suarez gled and had not died a natural death; and was found dead in the morning, this witness so it was ~mblicly said that Don Fernando heard the bells toll, and asked for whom Cortes had killed Do~a Catalina Suarez, his they tolled, and seeing a servant of Don wife, in order to marry another woman of Fernando Cortes pass, who was his macstre hi0her station, and that the said Christr. eala Ethe servant who announces visitors and Corral, Captain of the Guard of IDon Fer- shows them the way out, but in a household nando, told this witness that Don Fernando like that of Cortes probably an official of after the death of Dofia Catalina had gone some importance], who was called Manuel, into an orchard one day, dressed in a vel- who was dressed in a mourning cloak, and vet coat, and walking up and down in the this witness asked him for whom he was in orchard said to Corral, What think you, moarning and for whom the bells were toll- may a man now amarrv whom he l)leases? ing, and he told her that Dofia Catalina was And for this reason this witness suspected dead, and that this witness, suspecting that and still suspects that Don Fernando Cortes Doa Fernando Cortes had killed her, said to I killed Doila Catalina, his wife, and so it is Gallarda, a~neighbor of hers, who was a mid- held for certain in this New Spain. wife, that they should go and see Doila Cata- Here the evidence closes. There is none lina Suarez how she had died, and that this witness suspected and held it for certain that tendered on behalf of Cortes; the process Don Fernando Cortes had killed Doiia Cata- seems to have gone no further, and we are lina, his wife, for Dofia Catalina had much left to form our conclusions from the one~ conversation and friendship with this wit- sided materials brought against him. Is ho ness, because they had known each other in innocent or guilty? Notinnocent or guilty Cuba, and Dojia Catalina, oftentimes tcllin~ according ta human laws; hut in our hearts this witness of the unhappy life which she I passed secretly with Don Fernando Cortes, do w6 think that he did the deed or not? and how he often pitched her out of bed at The presumption of law is that every man is night and otherwise maltreated her, said to innocent until he is proved ~uilty. No such this witness, Ah! seliora, wife of Quevedo, presumption can be imported into the judg- one day you will find me dead in the morn- meats of posterityall legal rules are by it ing, judging by the life I pass with Don Fer- disregarded, and the moral evidence, or in- nando,and that she held him in terror, and tuitive conviction, is the test by which, also, because in this city it was publicly stated whether we like it or not, our actions will that one Juan Bono, master of a ship, came one day to where Don Fernando was, hay- be judged of by posterity. Disregarding, ing come from Castile,.nnd said to Don Fer- then, all the objections which a lawyer could nando, Ali! captain, if you were not mar- bring against the Interrogatories as leading ned, you might marry the niece of the Bishop questions against the answers as hearsay, and ofBurgos,aad they say that he brought let- against the whole procedure as contrary to ters from the bishop; and that, owing to this all principles of fair play, let us address our- suspicion, this witness and Gallarda ~vent to the house of Don Fernando at 8 oclock, and selves to it as it stands, and see what it is found Doila Catalina Suarez, shrouded and worth. And, first, is the testimony of the Placed on a bier in a room, and that this wit- witnesses true or false? To this, notwith- ness, with the said suspicion, went to her and standing the long delay in bringing the felt her feet, which were uncovered, the which chargeseveii years, and notwithstanding were not yet cold; that she appeared to be the family party of which they seem to be recently dead; and this witness told Gallarda composed, two IRodriguezes and three 11cr- to examine her well, for it appeared to her n that she was not yet dead; and that this andezes, who besides seem to have married witness, in presence of Gallarda and other interchangeably, we have no hesitation in women who were there, removed the shawl expressing our conviction that it is more true which Doiia Catalina had over her face and than false. Some portions are obviously saw that her eyes were open and stiff and either untrue or irrelevant; for instance, the 58 black marks upon the throat must be untrue if they are to be attributed to Cortes manip- ulation that night, because it is inconsist- ent with physiological experience that an ecchymosis, or black mark, would show it- self so rapidly as within an hour from such pressure as strangulation. A sharp blow on a bony part, such as the cheekbone, will raise a black mark instantly, but the effects of mere pressure on a soft surface like the neck ought not, in ~uch a short period, to have gone further than redness, or if the squeeze had been excessive, redness tending to brownness with excoriation. If, therefore, black marks on the neck were present, they regarded not Cortes, who could not have made them at the time speci- fied. But, taken as a whole, the evidence reads as truthful; the very futility of the grounds of suspicion, often going no further than, they say, it was everywhere said, etc., indicate a gossiping, credulous nature, but not a false or designing one. Taking, then, the details given as in the main truth- ful, what do they indicate? Is it stran~ula- a tion? Were it not for two trifling and incidentally mentioned circumstances, we might have had to reply, the symptoms are all those of strangulation. Most fortur~tely, the last witness adds to her description of the gorged countenance, protruding eyes, and black lips of the deceased, she had two flecks of foam in her mouth, one on each side. Here is the key to the whole case. This is no symptom of strangling, but it is the al- most constant accompaniment of a disease which simulates most of the tokens of death by strangling; namely, epilepsy. There is ~not a symptom mentioned which does not accord better with epilepsy than strangling. CORTES AND HIS WIFE. Even the black marks on the throat now be- come intelligible; they are the gorged veins of the throat standing out in relief; and these, as we have pointed out, as well as the flecks of foam, are inconsistent ~~ith stran- gling. If to this we add, that Ana Rodri- guez, her ladys-maid, says in connection with her supposition that she had swooned, for she was subject to fainting fits, we have it all before us as dear as day. The fainting fits were epileptic fits, one of which, at last, carried her off. The whole of Cor- tes behavior is to us also symbolic of inno- cence; his lively badinage at supper, his at- titude, supporting his wife on his arm, when the witnesses enter, his grief at her death, his haughty refusal (particularly when prompted and supported by the first Alcalde, obviously a toady and flatterer) to pay heed to the evil tongues of the city, knowing his innocence as he did, all bear to our minds the perfect stamp of naturalness and innocence. Not guilty, upon our honor! Cortes was peculiarly lucky, or unlucky, in having his enemies die off at periods crit- ically fortunate for him, but after so com- plete a disproval of the most circumstantial and by far the most heinous charge,.-for no one would think of comparing, in enormity, the wiping out of a rival or an enemy with the deep damnation of throttling his wife in his very bed, while sleeping in his arms, in all the confidence of love and affec- tion,we are ready to accept Prescotts ver- dict with more confidence. In fact, we can- not help thinking the publication of these Archives a most fortunate circumstance, were it for nothing but the clear, unwitting (and, therefore, more valuable) acquittal upon this the most serious charge. WHILE the Emperor Louis Napoleon was at Your majesty of course does not remember Vichy lately he was taking a walk on the banks me, but you ~vere once the cause of my passing of the Sichon and lost his way. A laborer two days in the black hole; for when you ~vas dt Ham I was a soldier there, and was punished chancing to pass at the time, his majesty made for passing you in a pound of tobacco. the necessary inquiry of him. Second to the Well, said the emperor, it shall be my torn right and then first to the left, sire, said the now, and in a few days afterwards the man man. What, you know me ~ Yes, and was installed in a well-stocked tobacconists ha~-e had the honor for years past. Where V shop. THE SALONS OF VIENNA AND BERLIN. 59 From Bentleys Miscellany, persons who were gathered around her by TUE SALONS OF VIENNA AND BERLIN. the force of her charms and her griefs. She Tim first symptoms of the awakening of possessed, besides, all those feminine quali- society in Berlin in the commencement of ties that are so particularly attractive to the present age, correspond to the era of men. Endowed with marvellous perspicuity, French domination. That epoch is one of she could see in a moment what was passing those which, morally speaking, is the great- in the mind of other persons, and could act est in the history of Prussia. She must be with them, and counsel them accordin6ly. contemplated at that moment, if we wish to At the time when Rahels salon sprang enjoy the always agreeable spectacle of a into existence ~var had ceased, and literary nation working all its energies and all its and intellectual questions were beginning to resources, even to the last available, to effect take the place of political debates. Philos- its deliverance. Berlin replied to the vigor- ophers, poets, and artists were congregating ous literary impulse of Weimar by a patri- at Berlin. Schelling, the two Seblegels, and otic rising in mass, and it is thus that the Tieck were already there, and were taking two capitals complete themselves the one by possession of the field, either by their per- the other. The influence of the salon in sons or their works. The reputation of this movement of Berlin has been depicted Thorwaldsen extended from Rome to the by M. Schmidt Weissenfels, in a work en- Baltic, and the Rhine rocks echoed the titled Rahel und ihre Zeit; but, accord- complaints of Overbeck. Then there were ing to the author of Les Salons de Vienne the two llumboldts, M. de Raumer, and a et de Berlin, this influence has been much host of others, who united to render Berlin exaggerated. The salon he declares not to a kind of metropolis of science, letters, fine be understood in Germany~as it is in France. arts, and of the genius of all Germany. To be at home in company is opposed, he M. de Varahagen was a native of Dussel- avers, alike to the character and the habits dorf, and he studied at Hamburg, Halle, of the Germana statement which, being and Strasburg, till his young imagination purely Gallican, may be taken at its just was carried to Berlin by the Arnims, Cha worth. misso, and Novalis. The wars of the It is to M. Yarnhagen dEnse, author, empire gave an entirely new turn to his soldier, and diplor~atist, and to his clever thoughts. He entered the service of Aus- and amiable spouse Rahel, that Berlin is tria, and fought at Wagram. He visited accredited with its first salon. There had Paris in the suite of Prince Schwarzenberg, been plenty of gatherings before. Queen and he afterwards entered the service of Sophia Charlotte had gathered round her at Russia, under General Tettenborn, whose Lutzelburg, the Charlottenburg of the pres- memoirs he subsequently indited. Acci- ent day, the Leibnitzes, and other eminent dent having brought him into relation with men of the day; the great Frederick had Hardenberg, he gave up the turmoil of the also his meetings of philosophers; but it camp for the more congenial pursuit of was not till Rahel, whilst still unmarried, diplomacy. He was present at the Congress assembled at her house all that was culti- of Vienna, where he became noted for the vated and refined in court and city, and at constitutional tendency of his ideas. He the head of whom were Prince Louis Ferdi- was afterwards appointed minister at Carls- nand and Charles of Mecklenburg Strelitz, rube, but dismissed at the same time as that the salon, in the Parisian acceptation William de Humboldt. lie does not appear of the word, was really founded. Rahel is to have taken office again. It was proposed said to have begun life with sad trials. She that he should be sent to the United. States, is said to have loved twice, and twice to but he declined the expatriation; he pre- have been disappointed. Naturally frail, of ferred spending his latter days at the head slight frame and delicate constitution, she of all that was most polished, most intel would have sunk under those trials, but lectual in Berlin. It is not that Berlinese that the spirit that animated so tender a society at that epoch had not its faults, its frame, and which bore her up, enabled her intrigues, its hatreds, and its passions, but to live, as it were, no longer for herself, but it was that, under the dominion of XI. and for the group of poets, artists, and titled Madame de Varnhagen, it iiever forgot les 60 convenances. It never tolerated an impro- priety, and this, after all, is the best test of good society. M. de Varnhagen had the advantage, also, of having graduated in the salons of Vienna and of Paris; but so en- tirely was his mind filled up by the necessi- ties and conveniences of a society made up of forms and ceremonies, that he could not afford to admire any thing that did not ex- ist in its powdered and perfumed circle. Thus, speaking of the great Napoleon, he says, His manners were embarrassed, the struggle of a will in a hurry to obtain its objects, at the same time that he despised the means employed,.was to be detecti~d in all his actions. It would, perhaps, have been gratifying to him to possess a less re- pulsive physiognomy; but thea it would have required some little exertion on his part, and he could not condescend to it. I say condescend to it, for in his own nature there was nothing agreeable. There was nothing but a mixture of negligence and haughtiness, that betrayed itself in a kind of uneasiness and agitation. His gloomy and half-closed eyes were habitually fixed on the ground, and only cast sharp and rapid glances around. If he smiled or laughed, only the mouth and lower part of the face took part in it, ihe eyes and forehead re- mained unmoved; and when he did bring them into play, as I had occasion to observe at a later period, his face only assumed a more grimacing aspect. The alliance there of the serious and the comic had something in it that was hideous and frightful. I have never, for my part, been able to understand how some people pretend to have discovered traces of goodness and mildness in that face. His features, of incontestable plastic beauty, were cold and hard as marble, strangers to all sympathy, and to all cordial emotion. What he saidat least to judge by what I have heard over and over againwas almost always insignificant (mesquin) in its nature, as well as in its mode of expres~ion, without wit, without philosophyutterly valueless. In the world of conversationin which he had the weakness to wish to be admiredhe had worse than no success.~~ It is a pity, perhaps, for the repose of the world that Napoleon was not equally unsuc- cessful in other spheres, but that is a point which is not so easy to determine, for Prov- idence must have had an object in sending a THE SALONS OF VIENNA AND BERLIN. Napoleon into the world, the full heavingdf which may not even yet be fully understood. It is not, however, surprising to find the polished representative of the aristocratic salons of Vienna and Berlin, the practised diplomatist who piqued himself upon the restraint placed upon all his motions and attitudes, and his conversational powers of giving to airy nothings a local habitation and a name, underrating the impetuous agi- tation of the great devastator, with neither time nor inclination for the effeminacies of language or the pedantry of forms. If what Napoleon said was ever mesquin, it must have been in contempt of those by whom he was surrounded. But the polish of an he- reditary aristocracy could not be expected in the representative of Revolution, nor would the manner of a petit maitre have pre- cisely tallied with the idea which we form to ourselves of the man who overran Europe. At the outbreak of the Revolution the Germans were without nationality or patriot- ism, disinherited of all that constitutes honor and vitality. They had given up the defence of the country to the soldiery, and the labor of negotiations to the diplomatists; they were so thoroughly prostrated by cen- turies of despotism that they did not care even to think or to interfere in govern- mental matters, and if the defence was badly managed, or the negotiations turned out dis- astrous, the public philosophically left the shame and the remorse to their rulers. We now kno~v what long days of humiliation and mourning this state of things cost Ger- many; we now know how much it costs to nations that permit their vitality to be pros- trated and their honor trampled under foot; and even the devastations of a Napoleon might have a beneficial result, could they but awaken the Fatherland to a sense of national honor and integrity, and, binding it in one common brotherhood, render all further Napoleonisms impossible. Unfortunately at the time in question, just as in our own days, that element of rancor and discord, which has been so fatal to Germany and so favorable to France, which is so much dwelt upon at the time in question in the Correspondences of Baron do Stein, as well as in the Fragments Historiques of Gentz, the Souvenirss ~f Immermann, as well as in those of M. do Varahagen, the old standing antagonism of THE SALONS OF VIENNA AND BERLIN. the north and south, the irreconcilable an- tipathy of Protestant and Catholic Germany, was in full operation, and the disastcrs of Austria on the Rhine or on the Danube were, strange to say, looked upon with the same indifference on the Weser, the Elbe, and the Oder, as in our days were the dis- asters on the Po. Constitutionalism in Italy may have a wondrous friend in the antago- nism of parties in Germany, but France knows best how to avail herself of it. The sentiment of nationality and of pat- riotism cannot be extemporized. It was so utterly extinct in Germany at the epoch of the Revolution, that it was at the very time that the existence of Germany was cast into the scale that the passion ran highest for the poetry of Goethe and Schilier, that minds ~vere most occupied with the theories of Kant, Fichte, and Schelling, that the brothers Schlegel were best listened to in their explanations of Shakspeare, Calderon, and Dante, and that people most took re- fuge in the romances of Jean Paul. Just as we have in our bosom patriots who would lull the nation into a supine and ri~nous confidence, so at such a crisis the ~people of one of the petty sovereignties of Germany disavowed the remainder, and de- clared that they would not take part in the defence of the nation, as the interests of Germany did not concern her in the most remote degree! And so we have seen the same thing repeated in the present day; and thus it is that in every succeeding epoch we see all Central Europe sacrificed to purely dynastic interests. M. de Varohagen, aristocrat by birth, ed- ucation, manners, and associations, was still too much of a patriot, and his intelligence was too much expanded, not to see the ruin- ous influences that corrupted the country. His youththat is to say, from 1785, the el)och of his birth, to 1814, the epoch of his marriage with the famous Rahelwas passed in the utmost activity. He was alternately soldier, diplomatist, and author; he was al- ways a kind of adjutantbe had been so to General Tettenborn in the campaign of 1814, of which he afterwards penned a his- tory; he had been so to Prince Hardenberg at the Congress of Vienna, and was just as much to his Excellency Marshal Goethe. lie thus participated in a multitude of stir- hug events, visited the courts of all Europe, 61 and became personally acquainted with a host of celebrities, and in his old age he was a master in the art of inditing those me- moirs, revelations, and correspondences, which have alike an important biographical and historical interest. M. de Varuhagen carried the formularies of the salon into his literature. With him history presents nothing but a succession of individualities, who are studied or portrayed without any regard to generalizations. I have always preferred, Rahel used to say, reading the human heart than books; it is easier and more convenient. And M. de Varuhagen seems to have adopted, to a cer- tain extent, the opinions of his wife. The interest of his Memoirs are entirely of a personal character. His portrait of Metter- nich is almost as good as that of Napoleon. lIe had met the great diplomatist in early life when all was fine weather; he met him again at Baden, near Vienna, after the dis- asters of the great wars, and after he had taken to himself a third wife. As to his exterior, he relates, he appeared to me to be changed, but less aged than I had been told. Time, without bending him, had made him very serious; the grace andelegance of early years had become haughtiness and dig- nity, although now and then a movement of the head would remind one of olden times. What struck me most was the sound of his voice, which, never having had anything re- markable in it, had contracted a drawling, nasal sound, which put all vivacity of coii- versation out of the question. His features always preserved the impression of that sub- lime impassibility so much admired by some and so much criticised by others, and a full sense of his own importance, which he used formerly to disguise a little, now openly manifested itself. his eyes, around which time had worn deep furrows, showed, by an occasional want of expression, the progres- sive failure of the physical faculties. M. de Metternich was, like some other great and little men, very proud of his impassibil- ity. My imperturbable calm, my invin- cible, immovable stability, he used to say himself, have won for me the confidence of the whole world. This impassibility, how- ever much assumed, and, therefore, con- stantly in danger of breaking down, served him well on great occasions. Napoleon seized him by the button-hole on a public THE SALONS OF VIENNA AND BERLIN. occasion, and apostrophized him in anger: Mais enfin, que veut votre empereur? (What does your master really want?) M. de Metternich, without being in the slight- est degree disconcerted, replied, What does he want? he wishes you to respect his ambassador. Princess Melanie was a Zichy, a family renowned in Vienna for its pride, petulance, originality, and exclusiveness. The old Countess of Ziehy, mother of the princess, was admitted by the Viennese to have been the most excessive type of this ferocious spirit lesprit des Zichy, as the Viennese termed it. Princess Melanie was no less independent, only she loved to dom- ineer with some grace and seductiveness. But she never could condescend to keep her likes and her dislikes to herself. She so far insulted the ambassador of Louis Philippe, Marshal Maison, that he appealed to the prince. What would you have me do? replied the latter. I did not bring her up. It was thus that the old fox used often, by an offhand, bantering reply, screen himself from unpleasant official explana- tions. Viennese society is well known generally ~or its ex9lusiveness; it does not travel much, and, as a natural result, abides by its prejudices. But if it dislikes demonstrative- ness, so also it is especially regardful of the courtesies of life. It disregards forms, and there is nothing more repulsive to it than not to be at ease or to live for however short a time upon the stilts of pretensions. Peo- ple who lay store by such pretensions are very soon left by it in the lurch. Among themselves the Viennese aristocrats are alike familiar and offhand, using all kinds of nicknames, and treating one another with the most unconstrained familiarity. This renders it all the more difficult for a stranger to accommodate himself to a kind of free- masonry to which he has not previously been initiated. But once known and accepted, once your particular cast of nose, twist of head, or style of address has become famil- iar, you get your nickname too, and are ad- mitted for once and forever. This amiable spirit of family coteries is never roughed by conversations on politics, literature, or trav- els: the Viennese are like the English, they keep the intellectual treasures of their minds in reserve, and cannot be troubled with the exertion of bringing such forward at every moment. Hence they have an instinctive abhorrence of what we also designate as a bore, and they look upon the paroxysinul attempts of a Frenchman to be nlways witty ~ as a kind of gymnastic exercise of the mind, which must be as fatiguing and exhausting to the performer as it is to the listener. Ce MoIi~re est de mauvais gout, said one day Marie Antoinette to Louis XVI. Vous vous trompez, madame, the king replied; on peut reprocher ~\ Moli~re ditre quel- quefois de mauvais ton, mais il nest jarnais de mauvais goi~it. Now to be witty in the salons of Vienna is not only considered as bad taste, but also as bad mannersbarb- quinade or pedantry, according as the centre of gravity carried the auditors in preference on the side of Paris or Berlin. M. de Varnhagen, speaking of the salons of Madame de Metternich, describes them as Austrian in the haughtiest sense of the word, replete with indolence, free and easy, the conversation that of a coterie, and, above all things, no politics. One day by accident, however, Count Zichy was complaining that he had not yet received a copy of the Par- oles dun Croyant, which at that epoch h~ad caused a great sensation. Perchance, observed M. do Varnhagen, the work is forbidden. Forbidden? interrupted M. do Metternich; certainly and unquestion- ably so; forbidden in so far as it cannot be publicly announced and sold, but not in any way excluded from that class of readers to whom its perusal can do no harm. The Austrian censorship never forgets the res- poet due to persons. Prince Metternich then referred to the case of the well-known banker Eskebes, who openly received the National, and he added, with a sly smile, I even believe that he finds the Parisian paper too moderate for him; but what mat- ter is it to us? we know that he is a good Austrian. Among other sayings reported of the veteran diplomatist, one was to the effect that he detested the tribuno, or, as we should say, the bar of the House of Commons, but that for motives which had nothing personal in them. As far as he was concerned, he courted argument and inquiry. lie admired the institution of Jesuits, he also declared, as every impartial Protestant ought to do, but he detested Jesuitism as he would the plague. Another favorite sophism was that he was the irreconcilable enemy to liberalism, and 62 THE SALONS OF VIENNA AND BERLIN. 63 yet he gloried in being liberal in the true ply was a shrug of the shoulders, and the sense of the wordthat is, we suppose, just observation tbat M. de Gentz was a mere as much as he liked. M. do Metternich did publicist, and that he never could under- not go as far as Louis XIV., and say, The stand anything of diplomacy. M. de Gentz state, that is I, but in all his words and ac- was remarkable for his extravagance. It tions he let it be plainly perceived that he is a pity that we must live, Talleyrand is considered himself as the sole living and su- said to have observed, or one might really preme incarnation of Austria. One day, a fall in love with virtue. M. de Gentz, too, certain General de Gerzelles was soliciting might perchance have practised virtue, only him for an appointment, as he did not wish that he had to live; he required hotels, and to be inactive. The prince suggested cards equipages, and he spent no end of money in or dominoes, and that failing, fishing, boat- intrigues and bribery. The ducats of ing, and shooting. The general, losing pa- the WTallachian and Moldavian hospodars, tience, said: And you, prince, what would princely annuities, and the subsidies of you do, if you were net in place? Oh ! France and England, were alike swallowed replied the minister, you admit a case up in this tub of the Danaides. He was ac- there that is. impossible. With a mind tually subsidized by M. Cotta, editor of the formed in the school of IDiderot and Mar- Gazette Universellefour thousand forms montel, Metternich had all the petty preju- per annumfor articles which seldom or dices, the dissimulation, and pride of official ever made their appearance? When people life, weaknesses that men of a more vigor- had no ready money, he would accept val- ens stamp, as Stein and Blileher, did not uable presents. Even snuff-boxes did not fail to reproach him with. When only am- come amiss, especially if set with precious bassador, he complained on one occasion to stones that he could detach to adorn the MI. de Champagny that the emperor no shoulders of some favorite sultaness. longer spoke to him. It is because, the Fanny Elssler imparted a last charm to latter replied, he has long ago perceived NI. de Gentzs latter days. Old, dull, faded, that it was utterly dseless to do so, and that he first saw the graceful child when dressed you have lost, by dint of lying, all the credit as a genius in the Arabiaii Nights Eater- that can be given to an ambassador. tainments. She used to come with the Behind the great mans chair was gener- torch of Eros in her hand to preside in front ally to be seen the intelligent but wily and of a revolving sun, and an equally classical vicious physiognomy of M. de G2ntz, a spe- waterfall, over the nuptials of Harlcquin cies of Figaro, always ready for an intrigue and Columbine! The old man was won by or act of political dissimulation. A note of the child; the veteran diplomatist and hlas~ M. de Gentz was once shown to an old man, of the court conquered by a mere girl. who, by dint of perusing autographs, de- Fanny, on her side, is said to have been dared that he eould read a persons charac- grateful; for, after all, the old man was i\I. ter by their writing. A distinguished per- de Gentz, the counsellor of potentates, and son, was the answer, but with corrupt the right hand of ministers. manners, n pusillanimous heart, bitter and M. do Gentz was at this time upwards of envious. The only relieving point in this sixty years of age. He had become pain- strange character was that, although himself fully sensitive, could not bear loud coaver- aged, he was in his time almost the sole sation or laughter, or to be suddenly visited representative of the new spirit in the coun- or approached, and he disliked even the cils of feudal Austria. Things no longer countenance of a military man. So he go on as they used to do, he would often took advantage of the new passion awakened repeat, and it is madness to fancy that in him to withdraw more and more from the such a struggle against ideas can be indefi- court. The pen, of which the Baron dAnd- nitely prolonged. Humanity has its laws, law says, in his Souvenirs, that it was which you altogether ignore; it marches, something as prodigious as the sword of and you think it is stationary. Take care Napoleon, and will never be met with again, that one of these fine mornings the torrent was laid aside, and the great diplomatist does not carry you away, you and your in- and publicist settled down into a mere Syb- stitutions. The arch-chancellors only re- ante. 64 THE SALONS OF VIENNA AND BERLIN. The mild, honest, heroic countenance of The sight of all the marvels of Europe gath- Archduke Charles presents a wondrous re- ered together at the Mus~e Napoh~on, lass, lief to these masks of the hack chambers. as he observed, for the glory of art than for It was the morning after Essling, numbered the glory of one man, filled him with melan- by Thiers among the victories of Napoleon, choly. Leroi, the coiffeur of Josephine, he but which does not prevent the Austrians relates, had passed over to Marie Louise, viewing that hecatomb of forty to fifty thou- but venturing one day to remark to the em- sand men as a sanguinary triumph, that M. press, seeing her in a high dress, Ab! de Yarnhagen first saw the Austrian gener- madame, when one has the good fortune to alissimo. The friend of Beethoven was play- possess such a handsome bust, what a pity ing a sacred melody on the piano! As it is it is to hide it, he was incontinently shown customary in Italian operas for the heroine the door, never to be admitted again. to prelude her appearance by an improvisa- The Germans breakfasted at Prince Met- tion on the harp, so M. de Varnhagen had ternichs and dined at Prince Schwarzen- to wait till the melody was concluded before bergs. At the former, a discussion is re- the archduke received him, which he did lated as having taken place between Gall with a grave dignity, and,. mounting on and Steinberg upon the delicate topic of re- horseback, they 1)roceedcd on a military in- ligion. The count had brought the phre- spection. At that epoch Archduke Charles nologist to admit that religion was necessary, was the soul of the Austrians. Short and were it only to keep the populace in con- thin, his whole appearance indicated a ncr- trol. And we, on our side, said the in- vous susceptible temperament. The labors corrigible philosopher, what should we do and fatigues of war had no effect, however, without the salutary terrors that religion in- upon the natural fragility of his form, which, spires to the ruling powers P M. de Yarn- in Napoleon, had disappeared in the em- hagen was soon satiated with the pleasures patement of his person. He was doted of Paris. He declares that he soon experi- upon by the soldiery, for his heroism, cour- enced no desire to penetrate farther into age, intrepidity, good sense, and amiability, this pompous void. Upon most of the were alike uncontested. No man since the faces, he says, met with in public, he could time of Wallenstein enjoyed a similar popu- perceive but one expression, that of lassi- larity with the army. Add to this, his power tude, weariness, disgust, the expression of was absolute and uncontrolled. He had no a constant want to escape from ones own chambers, no ministry, not even an emperor self, perchance from one~ s conscience. The to interfere or thwart him in any thing he only spot wheie he found comfort and re- thought proper to do. pose was at the hoarding-school of Made- NI. de Yarnhagen saw the hero of Essling moiselle Henriette Mendelssohn, where the twenty years afterwards, at a time when, select of the day assembled, after the pupils without noise, trouble, or remorse, he had, had gone to bed, in the gardens, to hear a like most of the archdukes, withdrawn into daily letter from the exiled Madame de a modest, quiet retirement. The old man Staiil. still took pleasure in talking of Wagram. M. de. Yarnhagen took an active part at It was a great, a terrible battle, he said, that sad and fatal fire which consumed the that we lost, but neither I nor my soldiers H6tel de Montesson, on the occasion of the were to blame; every man fought like a festivities given to celebrate the nuptials of hero, and only a few days afterwards they Napoleon and Marie Louise. He describes sustained another attack with indomitable the emperor as arriving with the empress bravery; to do more was beyond human on his arm, with a serious, hard, almost power. It was always expected that so up- ~icked looknot one trace of amiability! right and competent a person, with known Those present, he declares, hated one an- literary tastes, would have left some memo- other, and would rather have met on the ri ls of that great war behind him; but he field of battle than at such humiliating fcstiv- did not do so. It will be for our nephews, itics. Shameful and melancholy hypocrisy! he used to say, if our nephews take any in- A Tyrolese ballet was performed iii front of terestin what we have done. the Chateau (Ic Laxenbourg; a real postil- In 1810, M. de Varnhagen was at Paris. ion brought desp~itches from Francis to his THE SALONS OF VIENNA AND BERLIN. 65 daughter; at midnight dancing commenced, exceeding mediocrity, nnd he had for a min~. Prince Esterhazy giving his hand to the ister.a M. de Berstett. Having no male de- queen of Naples, Eugene Beauharnais, vice- scent, it became a question of partitioning roy of Italy, leading out Princess Pauline his territories. To avert this catastrophe~ Schwarzenberg. After the dance, the em- M. de Berstett had an interview with the peror and empress walked among the crowd, Emperor Alexander, at that time at Aix-la- when a sudden gust of wind set fire to some Chapelle, and, by dint of weeping for the gauze. It was so slight that Count Bentheim- imaginary grievances of his master, sue- put cut the taper with his hat, and Count ceeded in exacting from the czar, who had Dumanoir, tearing down the decorations, never seen a diplomatist weep before, a trampled out the fire with his feet. But, promise that the integrity of the duchy alas! it had extended higher, out of reach, should be preserved, and that, failing a di- and had attained the light trellis-work that rect issue, a morganatic branch should be supported the decorations. Everybody be- legitimized. This trick made Metternich gan to run, some even shouted treachery. and J)e Gentz laugh heartily when they Prince Schwarzenberg ordered the empt~rors heard of it. carriage to a back door, so that he might And yet this czar, who thus disposed of retire with less impediment. Napoleon an- principalities when the coalition had over- grily counterordered it to the front. thrown the usurpations of Napoleon, pre- This part of the story has been always tended to possess liberal ideas. He declared hitherto incorrectly related even in the pages at the Diet of Warsaw that liberal institu- of the Moniteur. Prince Joseph Schwar.zen- tions, which had been confounded with sub- berg was in the mean time rushing though versive and disastrous doctrines, when car- fire and smoke in search of his wife. He ned out with pure and conservative inten- had last seen her dancing in an adjoining tions, were alone calculated to ensure the salon. He rushed in, but found no one. happiness of nations. Unfortunately, the Once more he penetrated into the mansion, foul assassination of Kotzebue by the fanatic now in flames at every point; he found a Sand came to give a deathblow to the hopes form enveloped in fire, with a diadem on her of the liberal party, of which M. de Yarn.. head. The princess also wdre a diadem; he hagea was one of the distinguished uphold bore her out, but it was the Princess de ers, and at the head of which was incontest- Leyen. A Swedish officer, bearing out an- ably the Duke of Saxe Weimar, the friend other lady, declared that the princess was of Goethe and of Schiller. A favorite say- still behind. At the most imminent risk ing of that intellectual prince was, that it of his life, he attempted to penetrate once was by freedom in teaching, and by the an- more, but it was just as the walls gave way, tagonism of opinions, that the truth was ar- and all was buried in one common ruin. The rived at. Princess Louisa, wife ofthe duke, next day General Hulin, Dr. Gall, and M. de was as intellectuni and as strong-minded as Yarnhagen were digging together among the prince, who wished to make his little the ruins, when they discovered a human capital of Weimar the head-quarters of Ger- form, that of a female, but calcined and ir- man liberty as well as of German arts and recognizable. It was, however, soon de- literature. The 15th of October, 1806, Na- tected to be all that remained of Princess poleon returning from the battle of Jena, met Schwarzenberg by a collar of medallions, her at the top of a staircase. Who are you, upon which were engraved the names of her madame? The duchess introduced her- children. One only remained without an self. I pity you, then, observed the em- inscription; it had been left for the child peror, for I shall crush your husband. that she bore in her bosom, and which per- The Princess Louisa was not terrified by this ished with her on that fatal night. brutality; she visited the emperor again, M. de Varnhagen was appointed minister and he, to rid himself of her remonstrances, at Carlsruhe shortly after leaving Paris. said, Believe me, madame, there is a The reigning prince was the Grand-Duke Providence that orders all things, and I am Charles, to whom Napoleon had given as a only its instrument. But he afterwards wife Stephanie de Beauharnais, a niece of said of the princess: There is a woman Josephine. This Charles was a prince of to whom our two hundred guns imparted THIRD SERIES. LIVING AGE. 765 THE SALONS OF VIE~NNA~ AND BERLIN. no fear. And he said to M. de Muller, the Weimarian ambassador at Potsdam, Your princess acted like a man, and won all my esteem. M. de Yarnhagen, like Be Humboldt, be- came more and more radical in his old age. Many have attributed this to the influence of his intellectual wife, the celebrated Ra- hel; but reading over his Nfrmoirs, nine ponderous tomes, of which the least has eight hundred pages, we find the official man, be he emperor, king, general, or diplo- matist, so laid bare, his actions traced to such miserable sources, his conduct repre- sented as guided and influenced by such ig- noble principles, that the impression re- ceived is that it was the mere result of all his many years experience of great men and of public life. In reading such a book, it is like going behind the scenes with the man- ager, who introduces one to a piece of tin, and says it is with that, that we imitate thunder; and to a vracked bell, saying it is with that, that we sound the massacre of St. Bartholomew. It is certain that Rahel, whom the Germans designate as a feminine Ham- let, had a great influence on the formal yet loquacious diplomatist who had the happi- ness to call himself her husband, as she had, indeed, upon all her contemporaries; and it is equally well known that she affected the cynicism of the French Republicans in her salons; but M. de Varnhagen himself attests that his radicalism had another and a more natural source. I have seen the men and the things of my time, he used to say; I have long and silently meditated upon what I have seen, and the result has been an in- tense disgust of the world. Society, again he would say, is lost, ruined in the higher classes, to whom the friction with pol- itics has rubbed off all that educational var- nish and good tone that formerly distin- guished it, and aristocracy thus finds itself every year losing more and more of its priv. ileges, at the very time that democracy is aggrandizing and organizing itself. A radi- calism of such a nature is a mere sign of old age and weariness. It is not given to every one to be a Metternich or a Talleyrand; never to shrink before a responsibility, never to yield a line of action once decided upon, or bend before the storm. It is only weak and wayward temperaments that, after such long monologues with their consciences, come to the conclusion that, the higher classes be- ing corrupt, the people, whom they do not know, have much chance of being better. Radicalism with such an origin is scepti- cism, and nothing more. It despairs of one class, and scarcely ventures to hope better things of another. Men of action go to no such extremes. TIlE MAN OF SENsIBILITY.He is of a very forgiving temper; but the worst is, he forgives himself with full as much ease as he does another, which makes him have too little guard over his actions. He designs no ill and wishes to be virtuous; hut if any virtue interferes with his inclinations, he is overborne by the torrent, and hoes not deliberate a moment which to choose. Confer an obligation on him, and he is overwhelmed with thankfulness and gratitude: and this not at all owing to dissimulation, for he does not express half he feels. But this idea soon gives place to others, and then to anything which is in the least disagreeable to him, and he immediately sets his imagination (which is very strong) to ~vork, to lessen all you have done for him; and his whole mind is possessed by what he thinks your present ill-behavior. He has often pnt me in mind of a story I once heard of a fello~v, who accidentally falling into the Thames, and not knowing how to swim, had like to have been drowned; when a gentleman, who stood by, jumped into the river and saved him. The man fell on his knees, was ready to adore him for thus delivering him, and said he would joyfully sacrifice the life be had iaved, at any time, on his least command. The next day the gentleman met him again, and asked him bow he did after his fright; when the man, in- stead of being any longer thankful for his safety, upbraided him for pulling him by the ear in such a manner that it had pained him ever since. Thus that trifling inconvenience, in twenty-four hours, bad entirely swallowed up the remem- brance that his life was owing to it. Just so doth the gentleman I am speaking of act by all the worldThe Adventures of David Simple (by henry Fieldings Sister). IN one of the Highland graveyards occurs the following epitaph Here lies interred a man o micht, His name was Malcolm Downie; He lost his life ae market nicht By fain off his pownie. 66 THE UELLS OF SHANDON.~ Sabbata pango, Funera plango, Solemnia clango. inscription on an old bell. WITH deep affection And recollection I often think of Those Shandon Bells, Whose sounds so wild would In days of childhood Fling round my cradle Their magic spells. On this I ponder And still grow fonder, Sweet Cork, of thee, With thy bells of Shandon That sound so grand on The pleasant waters Of the river Lee. Ive heard bells chimin Full many a clime in, Tolling sublime in Cathedral shrine, While at a glibe rate Brass tongues would vibrate, But all their music Spoke naught like thine; For memory dwelling On each proud swelling Of thy belfry knelling Its bold notes free, Made the bells of Shandon Sound more grand on The pleasant waters Of the river Lee. Ive heard bells tollin Old Adrians mole in, Their thunders rollin From the Vatican, And cymbals glorious Swinging uproarious In the gorgeous turrets Of Notre Dame; But thy sounds are sweeter Than the dome of Peter Flings oer the Tiber Pealing solemnly; Oh, the bells of Shandon They sound so grand on The pleasant waters Of the river Lee. Theres a bell in Moscow, While in town and kiosk, 0, In St. Sophia The Turkman gets, ~ An abbey near Cork, celebrated for its chime of bells. 67 And loud in air Calls men to prayer From the tapering summit Of tall minarets. Such empty phantom I freely grant them, But theres a phantom More dear to me Tis the bells of Shandon That sound so grand on The pleasant waters Of the river Lee. Father Prout. DRAWING NEARER. For now is your salvation nearer than when ye believed. NEARER! yes! we feel it not Mid the rushing of the strife. As we mourned our changeful lot, Toiled beneath our shadowed life, By each step our worn feet trod, We were drawing near to God. When the day was all withdrawn, And we walked in tenfold night; When we panted for the dawn Of the ever-blessed Light; In those hours of darkness dim, We were drawing near to him. When, beneath the sudden stroke, All our joys of life ~vent down When our best-beloved broke Earthly bounds, to take their crown, By the upward path they trod, Nearer drew we to our God. In those days of bitter woe, When we saw their smile no more, When our hearts were bleeding slow, Strickenstrickenoh, how sorel XVhile we lay beneath the rod, We were nearer to our God. When upon our lifted eye Gleamed a vision of our home, When we saw the gloi:y high, Flooding all that spotless dome; In that hour of raptured sight, Pressed we nearer our delight. Through the long and vanished years Doubting, struggling, and depressed, Shrouded with their mists of tears, We were passing to our rest; rrempest4ossed and current-driven, Ever drawing nearer heaven. THE BELLS OF SHANDON.DRAWING NEARER. 68 From Blackwoocls Ma~azine. THE RECTOR. CHAPTER L IT is natural to suppose that the arrival of the new rector was a rather exciting event for Carlingford. It is a considerable town, it is true, now-a-days, but then there are no alien activities to disturb the placeno man- ufactures, and not much trade. And there is a very respectable amount of very good society at Carlingford. To begin with, it is a pretty place mild, sheltered, not far from town; and naturally its very reputation for good society increases the amount of that much-prized article. The advantages of the town in this respect have already put five per cent upon the house-rents; but this, of course, only refers to the real town, where you can go through an entire street of high garden-walls, with houses inside full of the~ retired exclusive comforts, the dainty, eco- nomical refinement peculiar to such places; and where the good people consider their own society as a warrant of gentility less splendid, but not less assured, than the favor of majesty itself. Naturally there are no Dissenters in Carlingfordthat is to say, none above the rank of a greengrocer or milkman; and in bosoms devoted to the Church it may be well imagined that the advent of the new rector was an event full of importance, and even of excitement. He was highly spoken of, everybody knew; but nobody knew who had spoken highly of him, nor had been able to find out, even by inference, what were his views. The Church had been low during the last rectors reign ~)rofoundly lowlost in the deepest abysses of Evangelicalism. A determine dinclina- lion to preach to everybody had seized upon that good mans brain; he had half emptied Salem Chapel, there could be no doubt; but, on the other hand, he had more than half filled the Chapel of St. Roque, half a mile out of Carlingford, where the perpetual curate, young, handsome, and fervid, was on the very topmost pinnacle of Anglicanism. St. Roques was not more than a pleasant walk from the best quarter of Carlingford, on the north side of the town, thank Heaven! which one could get at without the dread passage of that new horrid suburb, to which young Mr. Rider, the young doctor, was de- voting himself. But the Evangelical rector was dead, and his reign was over, and no- THE RECTOR. body could predict what the character ofthe new administration was to be. The obscur~ ity in which the new rector had buried his views was the most extraordinary thing about him. He had taken high honors at college, and was highly spoken of; but whether he was high, or low, or broad, mus- cular or sentimental, sermonizing or decora- tive, nobody in the world seemed able to telL Fancy if he were just to be a Mr. Bury over again! Fancy him going to the canal, and having sermons to the bargenien, and attending to all sorts of people except to us, whom it is his duty to attend to! cried one of this much-canvassed clergymans curious parishioners. Indeed, I do believe he must be one of these people. If he were in society at all, somebody would be sure to know. Lucy dear~ Mr. Bury christened you, said another not less curious but more toler- ant inquirer. Then he did you the greatest of all ser- vices, cried the third member of the little group which discussed the new rector under Mr. Wodehouses blossomed apple-trees. He conferred such a benefit upon you that he deserves all reverence at your hand. Wonderful idea! a man confersthis greatest of Christian blessings on multitudes, and does not himself appreciate the boon he con- veys! Well, for that matter, Mr. Wentworth, you know said the elder lady; but she got no farther. Though she was verging upon forty, leisurely, pious, and unmarried, that good Miss Wodehouse was not pol~mi- cal. She had her own opinions, but few people knew much about them. She was seated on a green garden-bench which sur- rounded the great May-tree in that large, warm, well-furnished garden. The high brick walls, all clothed with fruit-trees, shut in an enclosure of which not a morsel, ex- cept this velvet grass, with its nests of dai- sies, was not under the highest and most careful cultivation. It was such a scene as is only to be found in an old country town; the walls jealous of intrusion, yet thrusting tall plumes of lilac and stray branches of apple-blossom, like friendly salutations to the world without; within, the blossoms dropping over the light, bright head of Lucy Wodehouse underneath the apple-trees, and impertinently flecking the IRev. Cecil Went- I~HE RECTOR. wtirths Anglican coat. These two last were yiung people, with that indefinable harmony in their looks which prompts the suggestion of a handsome couple to the bystander. It had not even occurred to them to be in love with each other, so far as anybody knew, yet few were the undiscerning persons who saw them together without instinctively placing the young curate of St. Roques in perman& nce by Lucys side. She was twenty, pretty, blue-eyed, and full of dimples, with a broad Leghorn hat thrown carelessly on her head, untied, with broad strings of blue ribbon falling among her fair curls.a blue which was repeated, according to painter jargon, in ribbons at her throat and waist. She had great gardening-gloves on, and a basket and huge pair of scissors on the grass at her feet, which grass, besides, was strewn with a profusion of all the sweetest spring blossomsthe sweet narcissus, most exquis- ite of flowers, lilies of the valley, white and blue hyacinths, golden ranunculus globes worlds of sober, deep-breathing wallflower. If Lucy had been doing what her kind elder sister called her duty, she would have been at this moment arranging her ~owers in the drawing-room ; but the times were rare when Lucy did her duty according to Miss Wodehouses estimate; so instead of arranging those clusters of narcissus, she clubbed them together in her hands into a fragrant, dazzling sheaf, and discussed the new rectornot unaware, perhaps, in her secret heart, that the sweet morning, the sunshine and flowers, and exhilarating air, were somehow secretly enhanced by the presence of that black Anglican figure under the apple-trees. But I suppose, said Lucy, with a sigh, we must wait till we see him; and if I must be very respectful of Mr. Bury because he christened me, I am heartily glad the new rector has no claim upon my reverence. I have been christened, I have been con- firmed But, Lucy, my dear, the chances are he will n~arry you, said Miss Wodehouse, calmly; indeed, there can be no doubt that it is only natural he should, for he is the rector, you know; and though we go so often to St. Roques, Mr. Wentworth will excuse me saying that he is a very young man. Miss Wodehouse was knitting; she did 69 not see the sudden look of dismay and amazement which the curate of St. floques darted down upon her, nor the violent sym- pathetic blush which blazed over both the young faces. How shocking that elderly quiet people should have such.a faculty for suggestions! You may be sure Lucy Wode- house and young Wentworth, had it not been put into their heads in such an ab- surd fashion, would never, all their virtuous lives, have dreamt of any thing but friend- ship. Deep silence ensued after this simple but startling speech. Miss Wodehouse knitted on, and took no notice; Lucy began to gather up the flowers into the basket, un- able for her life to think of something to say. For his part, Mr. Wentworth gravely picked the apple-blossoms off his coat, and counted them in his hand. That sweet sum- mer snow kept dropping, dropping, falling here and there as the wind carried it, and with a special attraction to Lucy and her blue ribbons; while behind, Miss Wodehouse sat calmly on the green bench, under the May- tree just beginning to bloom, without lifting her eyes from her knitting. Not far off, the bright English house, all beaming with open doors and windows, shone in the sunshine. With the white May peeping out among the green overhead, and the sweet narcissus in a great dazzling sheaf upon the grass, mak- ing all the air fragrant around them, can anybody fancy a sweeter domestic out-of- door scene? or else it seemed so to the per- petual curate of St. Roques. Ah me! and if he was to be perpetual curate, and none of his great friends thought upon him, or had preferment to bestow, how do you suppose he could ever, ever marry Lucy Wodehouse, if they were to wait a hun- dred years? Just then the garden-gatethe green gate in the wallopened to the creaking murmur of Mr. Wodehouses own key. Mr. Wode- house was a man Who creaked universally. His boots were a heavy infliction upon the good-humor of his household; and like every other invariable quality of dress, the pecul- iarity became identified with him in every particular of his life. Every thing belong- ing to him moved with a certain jar, except, indeed, his household, which went on noise- less wheels, thanks to Lucy and love. As he came along the garden-path, the gravel started all round his unmusical foot. MisM ThE RIWTOR. Wodehouse alone turned round to hail her fathers approach, but both the young people looked up at her instinctively, and saw her little start, the falling of her knitting-nee- dles, the little flutter of color which surprise brought to her maidenly, middle-aged cheek. How they bath divined it I cannot tell, but it certainly was no surprise to either of them when a tall, embarrassed figure, following the portly one of Mr. Wodehouse stepped suddenly from the noisy gravel to the quiet grass, and stood gravely awkward behind the father of the house. My dear children, heres the lighted to see him! were all delighted to see him! cried Mr. Wodehouse. This is my little girl Lucy, and this is my eldest daughter. Theyre both as good as curates, though I say it, you know, as shouldnt. I suppose youve got something tidy for lunch, Lucy, eh? To be sure you ought to know how can I tell? She might have had only cold mutton, for any thing I knewand that wont do, you know, after college fare. Hollo, Wentworth! I beg your pardon who thought of seeing you here? I thought you had morning service, and all that sort of thing. Delighted to make you known to the rector so soon. Mr. ProctorMr. Wentworth of St. Roques. The rector bowed. He had no time to say any thing, fortunately for him; but a vague sort of color fluttered over his face. It was his first living; and cloistered in All-Souls for fifteen years of his life, how is a man to know all at once how to accost his parishion- ers? especially when these curious unknown specimens of natural life happen to be fe- male creatures, doubtless accustomed to com- pliment and civility. If ever any one was thankful to hear the sound of another mans voice, that person was the new rector of Car- lingford, standing in the bewildering gar- den-scene into which the green door had so suddenly admitted him, all but treading on the dazzling bundle of narcissus, and turn- ing with embarrassed politeness from the perpetual curate, whose salutation was less cordial than it might have been, to those in- definite flutters of blue ribbon from which Mr. Proctors tall figure divided the ungra- cious young man. But come along to lunch. Bless me! dont let us be too ceremonious, cried Mr. Wodehouse. Take Lucy, my dear sir take Lucy. Though she has her garden.~ gloves on, shes manager indoors for all thM~ Molly here is the one we coddle up and tak~ care of. Put down your knitting, child, and dont make an old woman of yourself. To be sure, its your own concernyou shoula knowbest; but thats my opinion. Why, Wentworth, where are you off to? Tisnt a fast, surelyis it, Mary ?nothing of the sort; its ThursdayThursday, do you hear? and the rector newly arrived. Come along. I am much obliged, but I have an ap- pointment, began the curate, with restraint. Why didnt you keep it, then, before we came in, cried Mr. Wodehouse, chatting with a couple of girls like Lucy and Mary? Come along, come alongan appointment with some old woman or other, who wants to screw flannels and things out of youwell, I suppose so! I dont know any thing else you could have to say to them. Come along. Thank you. I shall hope to wait on the rector shortly, said young Wentworth, more and more stiffly; but at present I am sorry it is not in my power. Good-morn- ing, Miss Wodehousegood-morning; I am happy to have had the opportunity. and the voice of the perpetual curate died off into vague murmurs of politeness as he made his way towards the green door. That green door! what a slight, paltry barrierone plank, and no more; but out- side a dusty, dry road, nothing to be seen but other high brick walls, with here and there an apple-tree or a lilac, or the half-de- veloped flower-turrets of a chestnut looking overnothing td be seen but a mean little costermongers cart, with a hapless donkey, and, down in the direction of St. Roques, the long road winding, still drier and dus- tier. Ah me! was it paradise inside? or was it only a merely mortal lawn dropped over with apple-blossoms, blue ribbons, and other vanities? Who could tell? The per- petual curate wended sulky on his way. I fear the old woman would have made neither flannel nor tea and sugar out of him in that inhuman frame of mind. Dreadful young prig that young Went- worth, said Mr. Wodehouse, but comes of a great family, you know, and gets greatly taken notice ofto be sure he & oes, child. I suppose its for his familys sake: I cant see into peoples hearts. It may be higher 70 THE RECTOR. motive8, to be sure, and all that. Hes gone off in a huff about something; never mind, luncheon comes up all the same. Now lets addressourselves to the business of life. For when Mr. Wodehouse took knife and fork in hand a singular result followed. He was silQntat least he talked no longer: the mystery of carving, of eating, of drink- ingall the serious business of the table engrossed the good man. He had noth- ing more to say for the moment; and then a dread, unbroken silence fell upon the lit- tle company. The rector colored, faltered, cleared his throathe had not an idea how to get into conversation with such unknown entities. He looked hard at Lucy, with a bold intention of addressing her; but, hav- ing the bad fortune to meet her eye, shrank back, and withdrew the venture. Thea the good man inclined his profile towards Miss Wodehouse. His eyes wandered wildly round the room in search of a suggestion; but, alas! it was a mere dining-room, very comfortable, ~but not imaginative. In this dreadful dilemma he was infinitely relieved by the sound of somebodys voice. I trust you will like Carlingford, Mr. Proctor, said Miss Wodehouse, mildly. Yesoh, yes; I trust so, answered the confused but grateful man; that is, it will depend very much, of course, on the kind of people I find here. Well, we are a little vain. To tell the truth, indeed, we rather pride ourselves a little on the good society in Carlingford, said the gentle and charitable interlocutor. Ah, yes ladies? said the rector: humthat was not what I was thinking of. But, 0, Mr. Proctor, cried Lucy, with a sudden access of fun, you dont mean to say that you dislike ladies society, I hope? The rector gave an uneasy, half-frightened glance at her. The creature was dangerous even to a Fellow of All-Souls. I may sayl know very little about them, said the bewildered clergyman. As soon as he had said the words he thought they sounded rude; but how could he help it ? the truth of his speech was indisputable. Come here, and well initiate you. come here as often as you can spare us a lit- tle of your time, cried Mr. Wodehouse, who had come to a pause in his operations. You couldnt have a better chance. Theyre head people in Carlingford, though I say it. Theres Mary, shes a learned woman ; take you up in a false quantity, sir, a deal sooner than I should. And Lucy, shes in another line altogether; but theres quantities of people swear by her. Whats the matter, children, eh? I suppose sopeople tell me so. If people tell me so all day long, Im entitled to believe it, I presume? Lucy answered this by a burst of laugh- ter, not loud but cordial, which rung sweet and strange upon the rectors ears. Miss Wodehouse, on the contrary, looked a little ashamed, blushed apretty pink, old-maidenly blush, and mildly remonstrated with papa. The whole scene was astonishing to the stranger. He had been living out of nature so long that he wondered within himself whether it was common to retain the habits and words of childhood to such an age as that which good lVliss Wodehouse put no disguise upon, or if sisters with twenty years of difference between them were usual in or- dinary households. He looked at them with looks which to Miss Wodehouse appeared disapproving, but which in reality meant only surprise and discomfort. TIe was ex- ceedingly glad when lunch was over, and he was at liberty to take his leave. With very different feelings from those ef young Went- worth, the rector crossed the boundary of that green door. When he saw it closed be- hind him he drew a long breath of relief, and looked up and down the dusty road, and through those lines of garden walls, where the loads of blossoms burst over everywhere, with a sensation of having escaped and got at liberty. After a momentary pause and gaze round him in enjoyment of that liberty, the rector gave a start and went on again rapidly. A dismayed, discomfited, helpless sensation came over him. These parishion- ers !these female parishioners! From out of another of those green doors had just emerged a brilliant group of ladies, the rus- tle of whose dress and murmur of whose voices he could hear in the genteel half-ru- ral silence. The rector bolted: he never slackened pace nor drew breath till he was safe in the vacant library of the rectory, among old Mr. Burys book-shelves. It seemed the only safe place in Carlingford to the languishing transplanted Fellow of All. Souls. 71 TIlE RECTOIt. CHAPTER II. A MONTH later, Mr. Proctor had got fairly settled in his new rectory, with a complete modest establishment becoming his means for Carlingford was a tolerable living. And in the newly furnished, sober drawing- room, sat a very old lady, lively, but infirm, who was the rectors mother. Nobody knew that this old woman kept the Fellow of All- Souls still a boy at heart, nor that the re- served and inappropriate man forgot his awkwardness in his mothers presence. He was not only a very affectionate son, but a dutiful good child to her. It had been his pet scheme for years to bring her from her Devonshire cottage, and make her mistress of his house. That had been the chief at- traction, indeed, which drew him to Carling- ford; for had he consulted his own tastes, and kept to his college, who would insure him that at seventy-five his old mother might not glide away out of life without that last gleam of sunshine long intended for her by her grateful son P This scene, accordingly, was almost the only one which reconciled him to the extraor- dinary change in his life. There she sat, the lively old lady; very deaf, as you could al- most divine by that vivid inquiring twinkle in her eyes; feeble, too, for she had a silver- headed cane beside her chair, and even with that assistance seldom moved across the room when she could help it. Feeble in body, but alert in mind, ready to read any thing, to h.~ar any thing, to deliver her opin- ions freely; resting in her big chair in the complete repose of age, gratified with her sons attentions, and overjoyed in his com- pany; interested about every thing, and as ready to enter into all the domestic concerns of the new people as if she had lived all her life among them. The rector sighed and smiled as he listened to his mothers ques- tions, and did his best at the top of his voice, to enlighten her. His mother was, let us say, a hundred years or so younger than the rector. If she had been his bride, and at the blithe commencement of life, she could not have shown more inclination to know all about Carlingford. Mr. Proctor was mid- dle-aged, and pre-occupied by right of his years; but his mother had long ago got over that sta~e of life. She was at that point when some energetic natures, having got to the bottom of the hill, seem to make a fresh start and re-ascend. Five years ago, i4d~ Mrs. Proctor had completed the humar~ terms now she had recommenced her life. But, to tell the very truth, the rector wpida very fain, had that been possible, have eon~- fined her inquiries to books and public af.. fairs. For to make confidential disclosures, either concerning ones self or other people, in a tone of voice perfectly audible in the kitchen, is somewhat trying. He had be- come acquainted with those dread parishion- ers of his during this interval. Already they had worn him to death with dinner-parties dinner-parties very pleasant and friendly, when one got used to them; but to a stran- ger frightful reproductions of each other, with the same dishes, the same dresses, the same stories, in which the rector communi- cated gravely with his next neighbor, and eluded as long as he could those concluding moments in the drawing-room, which were worst of all. It cannot be said that his pa- rishioners made much progress in their knowledge of the rector. What his views were, nobody could divine any more than they could before his arrival. He made no innovations whatever; but he did not pur- sue Mr. Burys Evangelical ways, and never preached a sermon or a word more than was absolutely necessary. When zealous church- men discussed the progress of dissent, the rector scarcely looked interested; and no- body could move him to express an opinion concerning all that lovely upholstery with which Mr. Wentworth had decorated St. Roques. People asked in vaia, what was he P He was neither High or Low, en- lightened nor narrow-minded; he was a Fel- low of All-Souls. But now tell me, my dear, said old Mrs. Proctor, whos Mr. Wodehouse P With despairing calmness, the rector ap- proached his voice to her ear. lIes a churchwarden! cried the unfortupate man, in a shrill whisper. Hes what Pyou forget I dont hear very well. Im a great deal deafer, Morley, my dear, than I was the last time you were in Devonshire. What did you say Mr. Wodehouse was Hes an ass! exclaimed the baited rec- tor. i\Irs. Proctor nodded her head with a great many little satisfied assenting nods. Exactly my own opinion, my dear. What 72 tilke in your manner of expressing your- self Morley, is its conciseness, said the laughing old lady. Just soexactly what I imagined; but being an ass, you know, doesnt account for him coming here so often. What is he besides, my dear? The rector made spasmodic gestures tow- ards the door, to the great amusement of his lively mother; and then produced, with much confusion, and after a long search, his pocket-book, on a leaf of paper in which he wroteloudly, in big characters Hes a churchwardentheyll hear in the kitchen. lies a churchwarden! And what if they do hear in the kitchen? cried the old lady, greatly amused; it isnt a sin. Well, now, let me hear: has he a family, Mor- ley? Again Mr. Proctor showed a little discom- posure. After a troubled look at the door, and pause, as if he meditated a remonstrance, he changed his mind, and answered, Two daughters! shouting sepulchrally into his mothers ear. Oh, so! cried the old lady two daughtersso, sothat explains it all at once. I know now why he comes to the rectory so often. And, I declare, I never thought of it before. Why, youre always there !so, soand hes got two daughters, has he? To be sure; now I understand it all. The rector looked helpless and puzzled. It was difficult to take the initiative and ask whybut the poor man looked so perplexed and ignorant, and so clearly unaware what the solution was, that the old lady burst into shrill, gay laughter as she looked at him. I dont believe you know any thing about it, she said. Are they old or young? are they pretty or ugly? Tell me all about them, Morley. Now Mr. Proctor had not the excuse of having forgotten the appearance of the two Miss Wodehouses: on the contrary, though not an imaginative man, he could have fan- cied he saw them both before himLucy lost in noiseless laughter, and her good el- der sister deprecating and gentle as usual. We will not even undertake to say that a gleam of something blue did not flash across the mind of the good man, who did not know what ribbons were. He was so much be- wildered that Mrs. Proctor repeated her 73 question, and, as she did so, tapped him pretty smartly on the arm to recall his ~van- dering thoughts. Ones one thing, at last shouted the confused man, and tothers another! Au oracular deliverance which surely must have been entirely unintelligible in the kitchen, Where we will not deny that an utterance so incomprehensible awoke a laudable curiosity. My dear, youre lucid! cried the old lady. I hope you dont preach like that. Tothers another !is she so? and I sup- pose thats the one youre wanted to marry eh? For shame, Morley, not to tell your mother! The rector jumped to his feet, thunder- struck. Wanted to marry !the idea was too overwhelming and dreadfulhis mind could not receive it. The air of alarm which immediately diffused itself all over himhis unfeigned horror at the suggestion..capti- vated his mother. She was amused, but she was pleased at the same time. Just making her cbee~y outset on this second lifetime, you cant suppose she would have been glad to hear that her son was going to jilt her, and appoint another queen in her stead. Sit down and tell me about them, said Mrs. Proctor; amy dear, youre wonderfully afraid of the servants hearing. They dont know who we~re speaking of. Aha! and so you didnt know what they meantdidnt you? I dont say you shouldnt marry, my dearquite the reverse. A man ought to marry, one time or another. Only its rather soon to lay their plans. I dont doubt theres a great many unmarried ladies in your church, Morley. There always is in a coun- try place. To this the alarmed rector answered only by a groana groan so expressive that his quick-witted mother heard it with her eyes. They will come to call on me, said Mrs. Proctor, with fire dancing in her bright old eyes. Ill tell you all about them, and you neednt be afraid of the servants. Trust to me, my dearIll find them out. And now, if you wish to take a walk, or go out visiting, dont let me detain you, Morley. I shouldnt wonder but theres something in the papers I would like to seeor I even might close my eyes for a few minutes: the afternoon is always a drowsy time with me. When I was in Devonshire, you know, no one minded what I did. You had better re THE RECTOR. 74 THE RECTOR. fresh yourself with a nice walk, my dear not so sure of his own powers of resistance boy. as he ought to be? She might marry him The rector got up well pleased. The alac- before he knew what she was about; and rity with which he left the room, however, in such a chance the rector could not have did not correspond with the horror-stricken taken his oath at his own private eonfes& and helpless expression of his face, when, sional. that he would have been so deeply after walking very smartly all round the miserable as the circumstances might infer. rectory garden, he paused with his hand on No wonder he was deeply alarmed at the the gate, doubtful whether to retreat into position in which he found himself; nobody his study, or boldly to face that world which could predict how it might end. was plotting against him. The question was When Mr. Proctor saw his mother again a profoundly serious one to Mr. Proctor. at dinner, she was evidently full of some sub- He did not feel by any means sure that he ject which would not bear talking of before was a free agent, or could assert the ordinary the servants. The old lady looked at her right.s of an Englishman, in this most unex- sons troubled, apprehensive face with smiles peeted dilemma. How could he tell how and nods and gay hints, which he was much much or how little was necessary to prove too pre-occupied to understand, and which that a man had committed himself? For only increased his bewilderment. When the any thing he could tell, somebody might be good man was. left alone over his glass of calculating upon him as her lover, and set- wine, he drank it slowly, in funereal silence, tling his future life for him. The rector was with profoundly serious looks; and what not vain he did not think himself an between eagerness to understand what the Adonis; he did not understand any thing old lady meant, and reluctance to show the about the matter, which indeed was beneath extent of his curiosity, had a very heavy the consideration of a Fellow of All-Souls. half-hour of it in that grave, solitary dining- But have not women been incomprehensible room. He roused himself with an effort since ever there was in this world a pea with from this dismal state into which he was fall- sufficient command of words to call them so? ing. He recalled with a sigh the classic And is it not certain that, whether it may board of All-Souls. Woe for the day when be to their advantage or disadvantage, every he was seduced to forsake that dear retire- soul of them is plotting to marry somebody? meat! Really to suffer himself to fall into Mr. Proctor recalled in dim but frightful a condition so melancholy, was far from be- reminiscences stories which had dropped ing right. He must rouse himselfhe must upon his ear at various times of his life, find some other society than parishioners; Never was there a man, however ugly, disa- and with a glimpse of a series of snug little grecable, or penniless, but he could tell of a dinner-parties, undisturbed by the presence narrow escape he had, some time or other. of women, Mr. Proctor rose and hurried The rector recollected and trembled. No after his mother, to hear what new thing she woman was ever so dismayed by the perse- might have to say. cutions of a lover, as was this helpless mid- Nor was he disappointed. The old lady dle-aged gentleman under the conviction was snugly posted, ready for a conference. that Lucy Wodehouse meant to marry him. She made lively gestures to hasten him when The remembrance of the curate of St. Roques he appeared at the door, and could scarcely gave him no comfort: her sweet youth, so delay the utterance of her news till he had totally unlike his sober age, did not strike taken his seat beside her. She had taken him as unfavorable to her pursuit of him. off her spectacles, and laid aside her paper, Who could fathom the motives of a woman? and cleared off her work into her work-bas- His mother was wise, and knew the world, ket. All was ready for the talk in which and understood what such creatures meant. she delighted. No doubt it was entirely the casea dread- My dear, theyve been here, said old ful certaintyand what was he to do? Mrs. Proctor, rubbing her hands both to- At the bottom of all this right and per- gether, and as kind as could beexactly as plexity must it be owned that the rector had I expected. An old woman gets double the a guilty consciousness within himself, that if attention when shes got an unmarried son. Lucy drove the matter to extremities, he was Ive always ~servedthat; though in Dcv- THE RECTOR. onshire,. what with your fellowship and see- iwg you so seldom, nobody took much no- ti~e~ Yes, theyve been here; and I like them a great deal better than I expected, Morley, my dear. The rector, not knowing what else to say, shouted Indeed, mother! into the old ladys ear. Quite so, continued that lively observer nice young womennot at all like their father, which is a great consolation. That elder one is a very sensible person, I am sure. She would make a nice wife for some- body, especially fox a clergyman. She is not in her first youth, but neither are some other people. A very nice creature indeed, I am quite sure. During all this speech the rectors coun- tenance had been falling, falling. If he was helpless before, the utter woe of his expres- sion now was a spectacle to behold. The dan- ger of being married by proxy waa appalling certainly, yet was not entirely without alle- viations; but Miss Wodehouse! who ever thought of Miss Wodehouse? To see the last remains of color fade out of his cheek, and his very lip fall with disappointment, was deeply edifying to his lively old mother. She perceived it all, but made no sign. And the other is a pretty creaturecer- tainly pretty: shouldnt you say she was pretty, Morley? said his heartless mother. Mr. Proctor hesitated, hemmedfelt him- self growing redtried to intimate his sen- timents by a nod of assent; but that would not do; for the old lady had presented her ear to him, and was blind to all his gestures. I dont know much about it, mother, he made answer at last. Mitch about it! its to be hoped not. I never supposed you did; but you dont mean to say you dont think her pretty? said Mrs. Proctor hut, 1 dont doubt in the least, a sad flirt. Her sister is a very supe- rior ~ my dear. The rectors face lengthened at every word a vision of these two Miss Wodehouses rose upon him every moment clearer and more distinct as his mother spoke. Consid- ering how ignorant he was of all such fe- male paraphernalia, it is extraordinary how correct his recollection was of all the usual details of their habitual dress and appear- auce. With a certain dreadful consciousness of the justice of what his mother said, he saw in imagination the mild elder sister in her comely old maidenhood. Nobody could doubt her good qualities, and could it be questioned that for a man of fifty, if he was to do any thing so foolish, a woman not quite forty was a thousand times more eligible than a creature in blue ribbons? Still the unfortunate rector did not seem to see it: his face grew longer and longerhe made no answer whatever to his mothers address; while she, with a spice of natural female malice against the common enemy triumph- ing for the moment over the mothers ad- iniration of her son, sat wickedly enjoying his distress, and aggravating it. his dis- may and perplexity amused this wicked old woman beyond measure. I have no doubt that younger girl takes a pleasure in deluding her admirers, said Mrs. Proctor; shes a wicked little flirt, and likes nothing better than to see her power. I know very well how such people do; but, my dear, continued this false old lady, scarcely able to restrain her laughter, if I were you, I would be very civil to Miss Wodehouse. You may depend upon it, Mor- ley, thats a very superior person. She is not very young, to be sure, hut you are not very young yourself. She would make a nice wifenot too foolish, you know, nor fanciful. Ah! I like Miss Wodehouse, my dear. The rector stumbled up to his feet hastily, and pointed to a table nt a little distance, on which some books were lying. Then he went and brought them to her table. Ive brought you some new books, lie shouted into her ear. It was the only way his clumsy ingenuity could fall upon for bring- ing this most distasteful conversation to an end. The old ladys eyes were dancing with fun and a little mischief, but, notwithstanding, she could not be so false to her nature as to show no interest in the books. She turned them over with lively remarks and ~omment. But for all that, Morley, I would not have you forget Miss Wodehouse, she said, when her early bedtime came. Give it a thought now and then, and consider the whole mat- ter. It is not a thing to be done rashly; but still you know you are settled now, and you ought to be thinking of settling for life. With this parting shaft she left him. The troubled rector, instead of sitting up to his 75 76 ~~HE RECTOR. beloved studies, went early to bed that night, It happened one day, while still in this and was l)ursucd by nightmares through his condition of mind, that the rector was unquiet slumbers. Settling for life! Alas! ing through Grove Street on his ~vay hodi~. there floated before him vain visions of He was walking on the humbler side 6f the that halcyon world he had leftthat sacred street, where there is a row of cottages soil at All-Souls, where there were no pa- with little gardens in front of themcheap rishioners to break the sweet repose. How houses, which are contented to be haughtily different was this discomposing real world! overlooked by the staircase windows and blank walls of their richer neighbors on the CHAPTER ~ other side of the road. The rector thought, MATTERS went on quietly for some time but could not be sure, that he had seen two without any catastrophe occurring to the figures like those of the Miss Wodehouses rector. He had shut himself up from all going into one of these houses, and was society, and declined the invitations of the making a little haste to escape meeting those parishioners for ten long days at least; hut enemies of his peace. But as he went has- finding that the kind people were only kinder tily on, he heard sobs and screams from one than ever when they understood he was in- of the housessounds which a man who hid disposed, poor Mr. Proctor resumed his or- a good heart under a shy exterior could not dinary life, confiding timidly in some extra willingly pass by. He made a troubled pause precautions which his own ingenuity had in- before the door from which these outcries vented. He was shyer than ever of address- proceeded, and while he stood thus irreso- ing the ladies in those parties he was obliged lute whether to pass on or to stop and inquire to attend. He was especially emharrassed the cause, some one came rushing out and and uncomfortable in the presence of the took hold of his arm. Please, sir, shes two Miss Wodehouses, who, unfortunately, dyingoh, please, sir, she thought a deal o were very popular in Carlingford, and whom you. Please, will you come in and speak to he could not help meeting everywhere. Not- her? cried the little servant-girl who had withstanding this embarrassment, it is cnn- pounced upon him so. The rector stared at ous how well he knew how they looked, her in amazement. He had not his prayer- and what they were doing, and all about bookhe was not prepared; he had no idea them. Though he could not for his life have of being called upon in such an emergency. told what these things were called, he knew In the mean time the commotion rather in- Miss Wodehouses dove-colored dress and creased in the house, and he could hear in her French gray; and all those gleams of the distance a voice adjuring some one to blue which set off Lucys fair curls, and go for the clergyman. The rector stood un- floated about her pretty person under van- certain and perplexed, perhaps in a more se- ous pretences, had a distinct though inartic- rious personal difficulty than had ever hap- ulate place in the good mans confused re- pened to him all his life before. For what membrances. But neither Lucy nor Miss did he know about deathbeds? or what had Wodehouse had brought matters to extrem- he to say to any one on that dread verge? ity. He even ventured to go to their house He grew pale with real vexation and dis- occasionally without any harm coming of it, tress. and lingered in that blooming fragrant gar- Have they gone ror a doctor? that would den, where the blossoms had given place to be more to the purpose, he said, uncon- fruit, and ruddy apples hung heavy on the sciously, aloud. branches which had once scattered their Please, sir, its no good, said the little petals, rosy-white, on Cecil Wentworths maid-servant. Please, the doctors been, Anglican coat. Yet Mr. Proctor was not but hes no goodand shes unhappy in her lulled into incaution by this seeming calm, mind, though shes quite resigned to go: Other people besides his mother had inti- and oh, please, if you would say a word to mated to him that there were expectations her, it might do her a deal of good. current of his settling in life. He lived Thus adjured, the rector had no choice. not in false security, but wise trembling, He ivent gloomily into the house and up the never knowing what hour the thunderbolt stair after his little guide. Why did not might fall upon his head. I they send for the miflister of Salem Chapel TElE RECTOR. clQse b~? or for Mr. Wentworth, who was accustom~4 to that sort of thing.? Why did they resq~t to him in such an emergency? He woul4 have made his appearance hefore the highest magnates of the landbefore the queen herselfbefore the bench of bishops or the Privy Councilwith less trepidation than he entered that poor little room. The sufferer lay breathing heavily in the poor apartment. She did not look very ill to Mr. Proctors inexperienced eyes. Her color was bright, and her face full of eager- ness. Near the door stood Miss Wodehouse, looking compassionate but helpless, casting wistful glances at the bed, but standing back in a corner as confused and embarrassed as the rector himself. Lucy was sI~anding by the pillow of the sick woman with a watch- ful readiness visible to the most unskilled eyeready to raise her, to change her po- sition, to attend to her wants almost before they were expressed. The contrast was won- derful. Shs had thrown off her bonnet and shawl, and appeared, not like a stranger but somehow in her natural place, despite the sweet youthful beauty of her looks, and the gay girlish dress with its floating ribbons. These singular adjuncts notwithstanding, no homely nurse in a cotton gown could have looked more alert or serviceable, or more natural to the position, than Lucy did. The poor rector, taking the seat which the little maid placed for him directly in the centre of the room, looked at the nurse and the pa- tient with a gasp of perplexity and embar- rassment. A deathbed, alas! was an un- known region to him. 0 sir, Im obliged to you for coming O sir, Im grateful to you, cried the poor woman in the bed. Ive been ill, off and on, for years, but never took thought to it as I ought. Ive put off and put off waiting for a better timeand now, God help me, its perhaps too late. 0 sir, tell me, when a persons ill and dying, is it too late? Before the rector could even imagine what he could answer, the sick woman took up the broken thread of her own words, and con- tinued, I dont feel to trust as I ought toI dont feel no confidence, she said, in anxious confession. 0 sir, do you think it mat- ters if one feels it ?dont you think things might be right all the same though we were uneasy in our minds? My thinking cant change it one way or another. Ask the good gentleman to speak to me, Miss Lucy, dear hell mind what you say. A look from Lucy quickened the rectors speech, but increased his embarrassments. Itit isnt her doctor she has no confidence in? he said, eagerly. The poor woman gave a little cry. The doctorthe doctor! what can he do to a poor dying creature? Oh, Lord bless you, its none of them things Im thinking of; its my soulmy soul! But my poor good woman, said Mr. Proctor, though it is very good and praise- worthy of you to be anxious about your soul, let us hope that there is no suchno such haste as you seem to suppose. The patient opened her eyes wide, and stared, with the anxious look of disease, in his face. I mean, said the good man, faltering under that gaze, that I see no reason for your making yourself so very anxious. Let us hope it is not so bad as that. You are very ill, but not so illI suppose. Here the rector was interrupted by a groan from the patient, and by a troubled, disap- proving, disappointed look from Lucy Wode- house. This brought him to a sudden stand- still. He gazed for a moment helplessly at the poor woman in the bed. If he had known any thing in the world which would have given her consolation, he was ready to have made any exertion for it; but he knew nothing to sayno medicine for a mind dis- eased was in his repositories. He was deeply distressed to see the disappointment which followed his words, but his distress only made him more silent, more helpless, more inefficient than before. After an interval which was disturbed only by the groans of the patient and the uneasy fidgeting of good Miss Wodehouse in her corner, the rector again broke silence. The sick woman had tt~rned to the wall, and closed her eyes in dismay and ~1isappoint- meatevidently she had ceased to expect any thing from him. If there is any thing I can do, said poor Mr. Proctor. I am afraid I have spoken hastily. I meant to try to calm her mind a little; if I can be of any use? Ah, maybe Im hasty, said the dying woman, turning round again with a sudden effort but, oh, to ~peak to me of having 77 THE RECTOTh. time when Ive one foot in the grave al-. ready! Not so bad as thatnot so bad as that, said the rector soothingly. But I tell you it is as bad as that, she cried, with the brief blaze of anger common to great weakness. Im not a child to be persuaded different from what I know. If youd tell meif youd say a prayerah, Miss Lucy, its coming on again. In a moment Lucy had raised the poor creature in her arms, and in default of the pillows which were not at hand, had risen herself into their place, and supported the gasping woman against her own breast. It was a paroxysm dreadful to behold, in which every laboring breath seemed the last. The rector sat like one struck dumb, looking on at that mortal struggle. Miss Wodehouse approached nervously from behind, and went up to the bedside, faltering forth questions as to what she could do. Lucy only waved her hand, as her own light figure swayed and changed, always seeking the easiest attitude for the sufferer. As the elder sister drew back, the rector and she glanced at each other with wistful mutual looks of sympathy. Both were equally well-disposed, equally helpless and embarrassed. How to be of any use in that dreadful agony of nature was denied to both. They stood looking on, awed and self-reproaching. Such scenes have doubtless happened in sick-rooms be- fore now. When tb fit was over, a hasty step came up the st?ir, and Mr. Wentworth entered the room~ He explained in a whisper that he had not been at home when the messen- ger car~ic, but had followed whenever he heard of the message. Seeing the rector, he hei4tated, and drew back with some sur- prise, and, even (for he was far from perfect) in that chamber, a little flush of offence. The rector rose abruptly, waving his hand, and went to join Miss Wodelouse in her corner. There th~ Iwo elderly spectators looked on silent at rn.inistrations of which both were incapable; one watching with wonderingyet affectionate envy how Lucy laid down the weakened but relieved patient upon her pil- lows; and one beholding with a surprise he could not conceal, how a young man, not half his own age, went softly, with all the confidence yet awe of nature, into those mys- teries which he dared not touch upon. The two young creatures by the deathbed cc-. knowledged that their patient was d3 ing; the woman stood by her watchful and affec- tionatethe man held up before her that cross, not of wood or metal, but of truth and everlasting verity, which is the only hope of man. The spectators looked on, and didiiot interrupt~looked on, awed and wondering unaware of how it was, but watching as if it were a miracle wrought before their eyes. Perhaps all the years of his life had not taught the rector so much as did that half- hour in an unknown poor bed-chamber, where, honest and humble, he stood aside, and, kneeling down, responded to his young brothers prayer. His young brotheryoung enough to have been his sonnot half nor a quarter part so learned as he; but a world further on in that profession which they sharedthe art of winning souls. When those prayers were over, the rector without a word to anybody, stole quietly away. When he got into the street, how- ever, he found himself closely followed by Miss Wodehouse, of whom he was not at this moment afraid. That good creature was crying softly under her veil. She was eager to make up to him, to open out her full heart; and indeed the rector, like her- self, in that wonderful sensation of surprised and unenvying discomfiture, was glad at that moment of sympathy too. 0 Mr. Proctor, isnt it wonderful ? sighed good Miss Wodehouse. The rector did not speak, but he answered by a very emphatic nod of his head. It did not used to be so when you and I were young, said his companion in failure. I sometimes take a little comfort from that; but no doubt, if it had been in me, it would have shown itself somehow. Ah, I fear, I fear, I was not well brought up; but, to he sure, that dear child has not been brought up at all, if one may say so. Her poor mother died when she was born. And oh, Im afraid I never was kind to Lucys mother, Mr. Proctor. You know she was only a year or two older than I was; and to think of that child, that baby! What a world she is, and always was, before me that might have been her mother, Mr. Proctor! said Miss Wode- house, with a little sob. But things were different in our young days, said the rector, repeating her senti- ment, without inquiring whether it were truo 78 THE RECTOR. or not, and finding a certain vague consola- tion in it. Ah, that is true, said Miss Wodehouse . that is true; what a blessing things are so changed; and these blessed young crea- tures, she added softly, with tears falling out of her gentle old eyes these blessed young creatures are near the Fountain- head. With this speech Miss Wodehouse held out her hand to the rector, and they parted with a warm mutual grasp. The rector went straight home..straight to his study, where he shut himself in, and was not to be dis- turbed; that night was one long to be re- membered in the good mans history. For the first time in his life he set himself to in- quire what was his supposed business in this world. His treatises on the Greek verb, and his new edition of Sophocles, were highly creditable to the Fellow of All-Souls; but how about the rector of Carlingford? What was he doing here, among that little world of human creatures who were dying, being born, perishing, suffering, falling into misfortune and anguish, and all manner of human vicissitudes, every day? Young Wentworth knew what to say to that woman in her distress; and so might the rector, had her distress concerned a disputed transla- tion, or a disused idiom. The good man was startled in his composure and calm. To-day he had visibly failed in a duty which even in All-Souls was certainly known to be one of the duties of a Christian priest. Was he a Christian priest, or what was he? He was troubled to the very depths of his soul. To hold an office the duties of which he could not perform, was clearly impossible. The only question, and that a hard one, was, whether he could learn to discharge those duties, or whether he must cease to be rec- tor of Carlingford. He labored over this problem in his solitude, and could find no answer. Things were different when we were young, was the only thought that was any comfort to him, and that was poor con- solation. For one thing, it is hard upon the most magnanimous of men to confess that he has undertaken ~n office for which he has not was included in the duties of his office, he must perform them, or quit his post. But how to perform them? Can one learn to convey consolation to the dying, to teach the igno- rant, to comfort the sorrowful? Are these matters to be acquired by study, like Greek verbs or intricate measures? The rectors heart said No. The rector~s imagination unfolded before him, in all its halcyon bless- edness, that ancient paradise of All-Souls, where no such confounding demands ever disturbed his beatitude. The good man groaned within himself over the mortifica- tion, the labor, the sorrow, which this living was bringing upon him. If I had but let it pass to Morgan, who wanted to marry, he said with self-reproach; and then sud- denly bethought himself of his own most in- nocent filial romance, and the pleasure his mother had taken in her new house and new beginning life. At that touch the tide flowed back again. Could he dismiss her now to another solitary cottage in Devonshire, her old home there being all dispersed and broken up, while the house she had hoped to die in cast her out from its long-hoped-for shelter? The rector was quite overwhelmed by this new aggravation. If by any effort of his own, any sacrifice to himself, he could preserve this bright new home to his mother, would he shrink from that labor of love? Nobody, however, knew any thing about those conflicting thoughts which rent his sober bosom. He preached next Sunday as usual, letting no trace of the distressed, wist- ful anxiety to do his duty which now pos- sessedhim gleam into his sermon. He looked I down upon a crowd of unsympathetic, unin- terested faces, when he delivered that smooth little sermon, which nobody cared much about, and which disturbed nobody. The only eyes which in the smallest degree com- prehended him were those of good Miss Wodehouse, who had been the witness and the participator of his humiliation. Lucy was not there. Doubtless Lucy was at St. Roques, where the sermons of the perpetual curate differed much from those of the rec- tor of Carlingford. Ah me! the rectorship, with all its responsibilities, was a serious business; and what was to come of it yet, found himself capable. Magnanimity was Mr. Proctor could not see. He was not a perhaps too lofty a word to apply to the rec- hasty manhe determined to wait and see tor; but he was honest to the bottom of his what events might make of it; to consider souL As soon as he became aware of what it ripelyto take full counsel with himself. 79 THE UECTOR. Every time he came out of his mothers pres- ence, he came affected and full of anxiety to preserve to her that home which pleased her so much. She was the strong point in favor of Carlingford; and it was no small tribute to the good mans filial affection, that for her chiefly he kept his neck under the yoke of a service to which he knew himself unequal, and, sighing, turned his hack upon his be- loved cloisters. If there had been no other sick-beds immediately in Carlingford, Mrs. Proctor would have won the day. conscience supplied all that was wantin g. If good Miss Wodehouse had been there with her charitable looks, and her diseffi- ciency so like his own, it would have been a consolation to the good man. He would have turned joyfully from Lucy and her blue ribbons to that distressed dove-colored woman, so greatly had recent events cbanged him. But the truth was, he cared nothing for either of them now-a-days. He was de- livered from those whimsical, distressing fears. Something more serious had oNiter- ated those lighter apprehensions. He had CHAPTER IV. no leisure now to think that somebody had planned to marry him; all his thoughts were fixed on matters so much more important that this was entirely forgotten. Mrs. Proctor was seated as usual in the place she loved, with her newspapers, her books, her work-basket, and silver-headed cane at the side of her chair. The old lady, like her son, looked serious. She beckoned him to quicken his steps when she saw him appear at the drawing-room door, and point.. ed to the chair placed beside her, all ready for this solemn conference. He came in with a troubled face, scarcely venturing to look at her, afraid to see the disappointment which he had brought upon his dearest friend. The old lady divined why it was he did not lift his eyes. She took his hand and addressed him with all her characteristic vi- vacity. Morley, what is this you mean, my dear? When did I ever give my son reason to dis- trust me? Do you think I would suffer you to continue in a position painful to yourself for my sake? How dare you think such a thing of me, Morley? Dont say so; you didnt mean it! I can see it in your eyes. The rector shook his head, and dropped into the chair placed ready for him. He might have had a great deal to say for him- self could she have heard him. But as it was, he could not shout all his reasons and her opinion. At Mr. Wodehouses there was apologies into her deaf ear. nobody at home but Lucy, who was very As for the change to me, said the old friendly, and took no notice of that sad en- lady, instinctively seizing upon the heart of counter which had changed his views so en- the difficulty, thats nothingsimply noth- tirely. The rector found, on inquiry, that ing. Ive not had time to get attached to Car- the woman was dead, but not until Mr. lingford. Ive no associations with the place. Wentworth had administered to her fully Of course I shall be very glad to go back to the consolations of the Church. Lucy did all my old friends. Put that out of the ques- not look superior, or say any thing in admi- tion, Morley. ration of Mr. Wentworth, but the rectors But the rector only shook his head once Sucn a blessed exemption, however, was not to be hoped for. When the rector was solemnly sent for from his very study to visit a poor man who was not expected to live many days, he put his prayer-book under his arm, and went off doggedly, feeling that now was the crisis. He went through it in ~as exemplary a manner as could have been desired, but it was dreadful work to the rec- tor. If nobody else suspected him, he sus- pected himself. He had no spontaneous word of encouragement or consolation to offer; he went through it as his duty with a horrible abstractness. That night he went home disgusted beyond all possible power of self-reconciliation. He could not continue this. Good evangelical Mr. Bury, who went before him, and by nature loved preaching, had accustomed the people to much of such visitations. It was murder to the Fellow of All-Souls. That night Mr. Proctor wrote a long let- ter to his dear cheery old mother, disclosing all his heart to her. It was written with a pathos of which the good man was wholly unconscious, and finished by asking her ad- vice and her prayers. He sent it up to her next morning on her breakfast-tray, which he always furnished with his own hands, and went out to occupy himself in paying visits till it should be time to see her, and ascertain 80 THE RECTOR. 81 more. The more she made light of it, the duty, Morley dear, continued his mother, more he perceived all the painful circum- melting a little, and in a coaxing, persua- stances involved. Could his mother go sive tone, of course I know you will do back to Devonshire and tell all her old ladies it, however hard it may be. that her son had made a failure in Carling- Thats just the difficulty, cried the rec- ford P He grieved within himself at the tor, venturing on a longer speech than usual, thought. His brethren at All-Souls might and roused to a point at which he had no understand him; but what could console the fear of the listeners in the kitchen; such brave old women for all the condolence and duties require other training than mine has commiseratiou to which she would be sub- been. I cant !do you hear me, mother P jeet P It goes to my heart, mother, he and I must not hold a false position; thats cried in her ear. impossible. Well, Morley, I am very sorry you find You shant hold a false position, cried it so, said the old lady; very sorry you the old lady; thats the only thing that is cant see your way to all your duties. They impossiblebut, Morley, let us consider, tell me the late rector was very Low Church, dear. You are a clergyman, you know; you and visited aboulj like a Dissenter, so it is ought to understand all thats required of not much wonder you, with your differ- you a great deal better than these people do. ent habits, find yourself a good deal put My dear, your poor father and I trained you out; but, my dear, dont you think its only up to be a clergyman, said Mrs. Proctor, at first P Dont you think after awhile the rather pathetically, and not to be a Fellow people would get into your ways, and you of All-Souls. into theirs P Miss Wodehouse was here this The rector groaned. Had it not been ad- morning, and was telling me a good deal vancement, progress, unhoped-for good for- about the late rector. Its to he expected tune, that made him a member of that you should find the difference; but by and learned corporation P He shook his head. by, to be sure, you might get used to it, and Nothing could change the fact now. After the people would not expect so much. fifteen years experience of that Elysium, he Did she tell you where we met the other could not put on the cassock and surplice day P asked the rector, with a brevity ren- with all his youthful fervor. He had set- dered necessary by Mrs. Proctors infirmity. tled into his life-habits long ago. With the She told meshes a dear confused good quick perception which made up for her de- soul, said the old lady about the differ- ficiency, his mother read his face, and saw ence between Lucy and herself, and how the the cause was hopeless; yet with female young creature was twenty times handier courage and pertinacity made one effort than she, and something about young Mr. more. Wentworth of St. Roques. Really, by all And with an excellent, hard-working cu- I hear, that must be a very presuming young rate, said the old lady a curate whom, man, cried Mrs. Proctor, with a lively air of course, wed do our duty by, Morley, and of offence. His interference among your who could take a great deal of the responsi- parishioners, Morley, is really more than I bility off your hands; for Mr. Vincent though should be inclined to bear. a nice young man, is nOt, I know, the man Once more the good rector shook his head. you would have chosen for such a post; and He had not thought of that aspect of the still more, my dear sonwe were talking of subject. He was, indeed, so free from van- it in jest not long ago, but it is perfect ear- ity or self-importance, that his only feeling nest, and a most important matterwith a in regard to the sudden appearance of the good wife, Morley; a wife who would enter perpetual curate was respect and surprise, into all the parish work, and give you useful He would not be convinced otherwise even hints, and conduct herself as a clergymans now. He can do his duty, mother, he an- wife shouldwith such a wife swered, sadly. Lucy Wodehouse! cried the rector, Stuff and nonsense! cried the old lady. starting to his feet, and forgetting all his Do you mean to tell me a boy like that can proprieties; I tell you the thing is impos- do his duty better than my son could do it, sible. Ill go back to All-Souls. if he put his mind to it P And if it is your He sAt down again, doggedly, having said THIRD SERIES. LIVING AGE. 766 THE RECTOR. it. His mother sat looking at him in silence, with tears in her lively old eyes. She was saying within herself that she had seen his father take just such a turn, and that it was no use arguing with them under such circumstances. She watched him, as women often do watch men, waiting till the crea- ture should come to itself again and might be spoken to. The incomprehensibleness of women is an old theory, but what is that to the curious, wondering observation with which wives, mothers, and sisters watch the other unreasoning animal in those moments when he has snatched the reins out of their hands, and is not to be spoken to! What he will make of it in those unassisted mo- ments afflicts the compassionate female un- derstanding. It is best to let him come to, and feel his own helplessness. Such was Mrs. Proctors conclusion, as, vexed, dis- tressed, and helpless, she leant back in her chair, and wiped a few tears of disappoint- ment and vexation out of her bright old eyes. The rector saw this movement, and it once more excited him to speech. But you shall have a house in Oxford, mother, he cried. you shant go back to Devonshire where I can see you every day, and you can hear all that is going on. Bravo! that will be a thousand times better than Carling- ford. It was now Mrs. Proctors turn to jump up, startled, and put her hand on his mouth and point to the door. The rector did not care for the door; he had disclosed his sen- timents, he had taken his resolution, and now the sooner all was over the better for the emancipated man. Thus concluded the brief incumbency of the Reverend Morley Proctor. When he returned to Oxford everybody was glad to see him, and he left Carlingford with univer- sal good wishes. The living fell to Morgan, lively old mothers memory, and how could any reminiscences of that uncongenial loea~V ity disturb the recovered beatitude of th~ Fellow of All-Souls? Yet all was not so satisfactory ~s it ap- peared. Mr. Proctor paid for his temporary absence. All-Souls was not the Elysium it had been before that brief, disastrous voy- age into the world. The good man felt the stings of failure; he felt the mild jokes of his brethren in those Elysian fields. He could not help conjuring up to himself vis- ions of Morgan with his new wife in that pretty rectory. Life, after all, did not con- sist of books, nor were Greek verbs essen- tial to happiness. The strong emotion into which his own failure had roused himthe wondering silence in which he stood looking at the ministrations of Lucy Wodehouse and the young curatethe tearful, sympathetic woman as helpless as himself, who had stood beside him in that sick-chamber, came back upon his recollection strangely, amidst the repose, not so blessed as heretofore, of All- Souls. The good man had found out that secret of discontent which most men find out a great deal earlier than he. Something better, though it might be sadder, harder, more calamitous, was in this world. Was there ever human creature yet that had not something in him more congenial to the thorns and briers outside to be conquered, than to that mild paradise for which our pri- meval mother disqualified all her children? When he went back to his dear cloisters, good Mr. Proctor felt that sting: a longing for the work he had rejected stirred in him a wistful recollection of the sympathy he had not sought. And if in future years any traveller, if travellers still fall upon adventures, should light upon a remote parsonage in which an elderly, embarrassed rector, with a mild wife in dove-colored dresses, toils painfully after who wanted to be married, and whose turn his duty, more and more giving his heart to was much more to be a working clergyman it, more and more finding difficult expres- than a classical commentator. Old Mrs. sion for the unused faculty, let him be sure Proctor got a pretty house under shelter of that it is the late rector of Carlingford, self- the trees of St. Giles, and half the under- expelled out of the uneasy paradise, setting graduates fell in love with the old lady in forth untimely, yet not too late, into the la- the freshness of her second lifetime. Car- borious world. 1lingford passed away like a dream from the 82 KING JEROME AND illS AMERICAN WIFE. 83 From The Athen~sum. grace, varied in Jeromes case by an occa~ KING JEROME AND HIS AMERICAN WIFE. sional duel, the folly of which was only to Menwirs and Oorre*pondence of King fe- be equalled by its ferocity. The English rome and Queen Catherine[Memoires et reader will find as much difficulty in under- Correspondanee du .hoi J~r6me et d~ laReine standing the authors account of the political Gatherine. Premiere Partie]. Paris, events of the period as if they were wars Dentu. in Flanders. But, as all the political RECENT French trials have given to the events are made subservient to the hero, and early days of King Jerome the interest of serve only as a background and mise-en-se~ne romance. Jerome was a naughty boy, and for Jerome, to enable him to assume a pose, his naughtiness led him into scrapes which the historical unities are not of much impor- had their comic and their tragic sides. The tance; they bear as much resemblance to law courts of his nephew have, indeed, been actual facts as the cannons smoke and dead very kind to him, and very hard upon the soldiers represent the battle raging behind beautiful young lady whom he betrayed and the Marquis of Granby on a village sign- abandoned; but opinion in Europe is not post. Jerome was sent to join the French yet governed by the Code Napoleon; and fleet about to sail under Admiral Gauteaume. hence appears to have arisen a necessity for Jerome was on board the Indivisible. The some further literary defence of Jeromes fleet sailed about for some time up and down conduct, and especially of his engagement in the Mediterranean, without doing any with Elizabeth Patterson. It would almost thing particular, except allowing some of seem as if M. Alexandre Dumas had been their vessels to be captured. Frenchmen selected for this delicate work. The success are not in the least amphibious and the is not great. All the Chinese puzzles ever authors maritime facts are very hazy. The invented, all the hard riddles offered under French fleet sails, in these pages, hither and penalties by the Sphinx, all the hard tasks thither; and the reader will be as perplexed laid upon victims in fairy tales or out of as Nelson if he struggles to understand what them, were easy matters compared to the they are about. difficulty of transforming King Jerome into Jerome saw his first battle, and was re- a hero. In fact, the task is no less than to warded by being sent home on board the make something out of nothing: ois ii ny~a prize Swiftsure, an English vessel captured rien le roiperd ses droits. and brought home in pomp; and on his ar- Ia the beginning Jerome is presented, in rival he received commendation, and the the Dumas fashion, as a student, at the Col- commission of an aspirant of the first-class. lege of Juillya spoiled, noisy, troublesome Napoleon, however, wrote a significant let- boy, whose escapades are told in the delicate ter to his brother, expressing a hope that he paraphrases to which the French language would give his whole mind to learn his pro- lends itself so blandly that a foreigner fession; that he would go aloft, learn the might imagine the chief end for which it was different parts of a ship, and suffer no one created was to color and soften ugly facts else to do his work. He expresses a hope with its delicately tinted epithets. The art that Jerome, in time, will become aussi of dress is as much shown in the French agile quun bon moUsse. language as in the French fashions. En- Jerome assisted at thefltes given to cele- dowed with an agreeable, elegant, and ad- brate the brief peace, or rather armistice, mirable appearance, full of impetuosity, Je- which occurred as a lull in the great war. rome at fifteen was the spoiled child of the The eclat incomparable which, according First Consul, whose paternal watchfulness to the author, these rejoicings shed upon the was defeated more than once by the uncon- name of Bonaparte, and the sc~nes magi- sidered acts of this ardent and decided na ture. ques which Paris presented to the whole world (for Paris has always understood the The ardent and decided nature exhib- art of getting up spectacles), completely ited itself in the ways by which prodigal turned the head of Jerome; he was the fly sons have distinguished themselves from on the chariot-wheel in all his glory; le time immemorial; an unlimited faculty for trait dominant de son caract~re, le sentiment spending money, getting into debt and dis- profond de sa dignit~ personelle received a KING JEROME AND HIS AMERICAN WIFE. 84 great accession of force. But before it had rome was glad of any thing that sent him on time to come to its full growth, Napoleon shore. He hated responsibility, but he de- sent him once more to sea. This time it lighted in receiving the official demonstra- was the expedition to St. Domingo. The tion of respect due to him as commander of wretched story has been often told; it re- a vessel of war and brother to the First Con- ceives no fresh illustration in these pages; sul. He was enchanted when the Governor it only becomes more confused in blood, and of Martinique received him with all the gar- smoke, and horror. Jerome was again al- rison turned out under arms. Jerome was a lowed to come home with despatches; and parvenu to the backbone, and his vulgarity the reader will smile at the tone of delicate was engrained. To appear in a state car- deprecation with which the author hints that riage, to receive attention from high person- Jerome got into all the mischief possible dur- ages, to be flattered, to spend unlimited ing the month he remained at Paris. Na- pocket-money, to have nothing to do but to poleon sent him to sea again at the end of a go to fites and public amusementsthose month, but Jerome contrived means to re- were his notions of royal felicity. The au- main at Nantes, and to amuse himself, for thor does not narrate one single trait of two months, and when, at length, he tardily youthful generosity, or manly ambition, or embarked, a convenient storm drove him rational common sense. Jerome had the un- back to port. The difficulty of getting Je- mitigated selfishness of a prince of the days rome afloat was like that of launching the of the right divine of kings to govern Great Eastern. At length he sailed, and ar- wrong;~ but he entirely lacked the royal rived at Martinique; where, utterly incom- grace and princely manner with which kings petent, and caring nothing for his profession, who have left but a sorry name in history he was made captain of the brig Epervier. conciliated, personally, the good-will and He had an attack of yellow fever, which gave propitiated the patience of their subjects. him a final disgust for the hardships of a Jerome cared nothing for the opportunities sailors life, and he expressed a very dis- offered to him of obtaining distinction; the tinet desire to give up his commission and duties of his profession were a weariness to get rid of the whole concern, which the stony- him; he even wished, as we have seen, to give hearted admiral refused to grant. It was, up the command of his vesselbecause it however, evident that Jerome was unfit to entailed duties. The admiral, exasperated at he intrusted with the destinies of a herring- Jeromes stupid discourtesy to the English boat. Under his command the Epervier flag, ordered him to return at once to France. was in the most miserable state; betwixt the War was on the point of breaking out, but sickness and the desertion of the men, it the peace, though strained to extremity, had needed to be entirely refitted. Jerome was not actually been yet broken, and the French recalled to France, but, with his usual self- admiral did not want to get into a quarrel. will, he had now no inclination to go; he Jerome, fertile in expedients for avoiding was amusing himself at Martinique, where what he disliked, wrote back excuses, and he found a childish pleasure in being treated delayed his departure till it became impossi- with the distinction due to the brother of the ble. The admiral, at his wits end, and anx- First Consul. He was the torment of his ious to be quit of him at any rate, yet fear- admiral, Villaret Joyeuse, who only desired ful of his being made prisoner, gave him to get him safely off. At last, after repeated permission to go to America. Jerome asked orders, he sailed; but scarcely had he left nothing better; and to America he went. the shore than he contrived seriously to in- The biographer, previous to naming the spot suit an English man-of-war out of pure in- where Jerome landed, proceeds to give a de- solence and heedlessness. Alarmed, how- scription of the attitude assumed by his ever, at the possible consequences of what hero. He says he had done, Jerome returned to Martinique; Jerome had searely set foot in the Amer- and the admiral, who believed him well on ican territory than he began to give himself his voyage, had the vexation to see him come the privileges, manners, and airs of a prince, back with a folly on his hands which was tempered only by the incognito which he at likely to have serious consequences. first assumed. As to his opinions and his Not in the slightest degree abashed, Je- conduct, he set them resolutely above all KING JEROME AND HIS AMERICAN WIFE. 85 remonstrances and censure from any quarter himself! Pichon se tint pour dit, and could whatever: Laudace et tot yours de laudace. only put up his prayers that he might be Jerome, it must be owned, had that qual- speedily delivered from the presence of so ity for success in perfection. The point at troublesome a charge, for whose safety he which Jerome landed in the Etats Unis was responsible, and over whom he had no was Norfolk, in Virginia; he was accompa- control. All Baltimore was in a state of ex- nicd by three companions, whom he called citement; all the pomps and vanities that his suite. He repaired to Washington, money and enthusiasm could procure were and announced to the French consul that he lavished on Jerome, and he enjoyed his po- must find the means to convey him and his sition. There were difficulties in the way suite to Francea matter by no means easy, of obtaining a passage for Jerom6 in an seeing that by that time war had been de- American vessel, difficulties which Jerome dared between England and France; Eng- was more inclined to enhance than to obvi- lish vessels were on the watch to do all the ate; he was, for the first time in his life, en- harm they could to French ships, and in- tirely his own master, and he was in no haste trinsically worthless as was Jerome in him- to return to France, to the subjection of his self, still, as brother to the First Consul, he brother, whose reproofs he was conscious of would have been a prisoner worth making. deserving, and quite certain of receiving. The poor French consul, Pichon by name, He gave himself up to all the gayeties of the with a vivid prevision of all the difficulties season, obtaining, from time to time, a little about to encompass him, made an effort to money from Pichon; but as all Baltimore get Jerome off before his presence became only asked for the honor of giving him un- known. He plaintively entreated him to limited credit, it may be conceived guard a strict incognito. Jerome promised; How happily the days of Thalaba went by. but, with his vanity, was quite unable to keep the promise. He went to Baltimore Amongst the belles of Baltimore, a certain whilst the consul endeavored to make his Miss Patterson reigned supreme. She was arrangements, and, at the end of three days, extremely beautiful, as all contemporary tes- everybody in the city knew that the vain- timony declares; she was agreeable, witty, glorious and flashy young Frenchman was clever, and ambitious ; in short, Miss no less than brother to the First Consul of Betsay Patterson, as the biographer calls France. her, was fully aware of her own charms, and Les Etats Unis were enchanted to find determined to draw a good result from them, that such a celebrity had come to visit them, she loved admiration, and she desired to nud hastened to offer the homage that was obtain a position of distinction. Her char- dear to Jeromes heart; they took him at acter was not unlike Jeromes, in her love his own valuation. Jerome was flattered and for all the vanities of life; but she was be- feted to the top of his bent; and he took it yond measure his superior in energy, sense, all as a just tribute to his merits. One in- and spirit. She was very vain, and very cident deserves special mention: the hotel- fond of admiration, of which she received keeper at Washington, whose name was enough to turn a reasonable womans head. Barney or Barnum, saw at a glance all the She desired to shine in a wider horizon. capital that might be made out of Jerome; Jerome was the brother of the hero who was and he took entire possession of him, fol- master of the Tuileries, and who could, when lowed him, flattered him, and showed him he pleased, inhabit Versailles. To go to off everywhere. The coincidence of name Paris, to have apartments in a palace, to set and nature is curious. Jerome lent himself French fashions and enjoy the delights of to his tactics, considering him only as an unlimited milliners bills, was a prospect humble satellite. Barnums reputation was well calculated to dazzle a young girl. Miss not good, and the French consul Pichon felt Betsay was beautiful exceedingly, her it his duty to warn Jerome against his unbe- worst enemies never accused her of being coming intimacy with this man, a counsel otherwise; with all her vanity she was a which Jerome highly resented, haughtily de- woman of the strictest principle; her fa- siring Pichon to mind his own business, as ther was a rich merchant, well known and he, Jerome, was capable of taking care of ~ell respected; all her family belonged to KING JEROME AND HIS AMERICAN WIFE. that quasi-American aristocracy the upper ten thousand, though it had not then re- ceived that compendious name. In birth, parentage, fortune, and educa- tion she was Jeromes equal,in intellect and character she was his superior; but then she had no brother of genius capable of rais- ing his family out of the middle class into the ranks of a reigning dynasty. Napoleon had already risen so high as to make it a dazzling honor to any not born to royal legitimacy to be connected with him; he might soar still higher, but his balloon had not yet passed out of hail, nor quite out of the reach of those still standing on their natural level ; there was yet one brief moment, when a fortunate and audacious spring might take the aspirant into the ascending car, or, failing, break his neck. Jerome at Baltimore was in the zenith of a vulgar success; all the distinction that Bal- timore could offer was given to him; he was young, lively, tolerably good looking, and well endowed with the quality for which the Puritan divine once innocently prayed as a crowning grace, a good conceit of him- self. If INliss Betsay had any female susceptibility she might be excused if she fell in love with the hero of so much homage from those who made up the whole of her world. Falling in love with a popular hero or a popular clergyman is as much of an epi- demic as hysterics among a parcel of school- girls. Nothing but the spirit of contradic- tion and a great deal of good sense can resist the force of example. Jerome fell violently in love with Miss Betsay, and proposed marriage; she aceepted the offer, which made her the envy of all the women in Baltimore. NIr. Patterson, the father, in consideration of the connection, was willing to overlook Jeromes want of actual fortune, and gave his consent. The Spanish ambassador and the Barnum before mentioned, were Jeromes confederates in the affair; both of them were amiably anxious to promote his views and prevent his thinking of difficulties. Pichon had been in great perplexity and trouble of mind ever since destiny had sent Jerome to take refuge in America. Pichons only aspiration was to keep Jerome quiet and to get him safely away. It was hopeless to try to make Jerome quiet, he was pent on producing himself in the most flagrant splen- dor at every moment, assuming the non- chalant dignity of a prince in disguise, spend- ing money and ordering about as though he had been the last incarnation of My Lord Marquis of Carabas. To get him away in safety, even if he would have consented to go, was a matter of great difficulty; for Eng- lish frigates, quite aware of his presence, were hovering about the coast, on the watch for every French vessel which attempted to leave port. The American Government could not, without violating its neutrality, give a passage to Jerome in one of their own vessels, nor in any case do more than shut their eyes. Jerome, who was a caricature of his brother, possessing all the Bonapartean imperiousness of will, though it was never shown except in matters which touched his own inclination, had declared that nothing should induce him to go back to France in any vessel of less dignity than a man-of-war. Pichon did his best; he got a small armed brig, called Le Clothier, ready for sea. A fortunate moment offered for her to get awayj: Pichon entreated Jerome to embark without delay. But Jerome, who by this time was over head and ears in love, and had matri- monial intentions, declined the invitation to repair on board Le Clothier, but he wrote despatches to his brother, which he sent by the vessel, announcing his own intention to remain in America until he should receive a reply to them ! Pichon was driven to the verge of madness and gray hairs, though the author tells us that he felt a secret pride to see the ease and dignity with which Jerome represented France. Jerome Bonaparte must have been the original from whoni Alexan- dre Dumas has drawn his heroes. On the occasion of a visit Jerome paid to Washington, the President Jefferson invited him to a grand dinner. Jerome, who took all the marks of attention as his due, treated the American President with dignified affa- bility, and charmed the company with his conversation. The next morning, as he was stepping into his carriage to return to Bal- timore, he turned to Picbon, who stood by, and said, with serene negligence, It is my intention to be married on the 7th of Novem- ber next, at Baltimore, to Miss Patterson. I invite you and Madame Pichonto be present on the occasion. Having launched this thunderbolt, he drove away. It required a day and night for poor Pichon to recover his scattered senses. It was now the 28th of Octoberthe consul-general could do noth 86 ing but protest. He wrote three letters one to Jerome, one to Mr. Patterson, and one to the consul in Baltimore, declaring that by the French Code any marriage con- tracttid by a French subject under the age of twenty-five, without the consent of parents and guardians, was null in Franc~e. On the receipt of these letters Jerome was furious, and uttered invectives against Pichon; but Thipa Patterson was dignified: he broke off the match, and sent his daughter away from home. Jerome was apparently brought to reason by Mr. Pattersons representations; he offered an apology to Pichon for the un- parliamentary language he had used towards him in the heat of his displeasure; he pro- fessed to see his error, laid all the blame upon the undue influence which had been brought to hear upon him, and especially accused the false counsels of the Spanish ambassador, Mr. Barnum, and a certain General Smith. Jerome even condescended to beg Pichon not to mention the ajJair when he wrote home. Pichon ought to have mis- trusted this sudden submission; but he was flattered at the success of his eloquence: and he wrote to Talleyrand a self-glorifying de- spatch about his own promptness, decision, and success. Jerome set out on a tour to dissipate his chagrin. Pinchon renewed his efforts to persuade him to leave America; but in vain. Admiral Willaumez sent offi- cial orders to him to depart; but Jerome only repeated his intention to await the an- swer from his brother to his despatches. They could not bring their horse to the wa- ter, much less make him drink. Jerome went on his tour. New York re- ceived him with demonstrations of ardent admiration, and gave him fites, and balls, and eatertainments to his hearts content. For three weeks Pichons heart remained at ease; but on the 25th of December, 1803, he received a brief oflicial announcement that Jerome had been married to Miss Patterson on the previous evening, as fast as the Church and the paternal benediction could unite them! They were man and wife by all that was sacred and indissoluble. Bishop Car- rol, the Roman Catholic Bishop of Balti- more, performed the ceremony. Joined to the announcement of his marriage, was a no- tification that Jerome wanted money, which Pichon was to furnish immediately. 87 All things to God are possible save one That to undo which is already done. The marriage was regular and legal in every particular; and Miss Betsy Patterson was, as far as rites and ceremonies could make her, the lawful wife of Jerome Bonaparte, and qualified to share all the honors of his rising star. Jerome had a shrewd notion of the manner in which the news would be re- ceived at home; and, with characteristic dis- like to every thing unpleasant, he left the task of announcing it to Pichon and Ad- miral Willaumez. The French consul thought it his duty to make the best of an accomplished fact, and made a merit of effacing the memory of his opposition by treating Madame Jerome with every formality of official respect. Without troubling themselves about any evil day that might be in store for them, the newly mar- ried pair proceeded to enter into all the gay- eties of the season at Baltimore. American society felt flattered at the choice of Jerome; and made an apotheosis of both bride and bridegroom. Nothing but the splendors of the last scene of a pantomime could express the glitter and glory that surrounded them, although the smell of brimstone, and the danger from rockets and red-fire, were un- pleasantly apparent through all. What would the First Consul say? Nevertheless, France was a long way off, and they could not hear what was said for a long time. On the 18th of May the news came that Napoleon had been declared emperor. Ma- dame Jerome was possibly a princess! From the moment Jerome heard of his brothers elevation, he began to be ~s restlessly im- patient to get back to France as he had hith- erto been obstinate to remain, He was, however, afraid to face his brother; and he had passed his word to the Pattersons that he would not leave America until his mar- riage had been recognized. Papa Patterson promised that when ~he time arrived for his departure he would show that he was not a father-in-law to be despised, by sending Je- rome and his wife to Europe in a vessel of his own, and in a style befitting his rank; but Jeromes desire to remain in America had waned; he wanted to go and share his brothers grandeur in Paris, and be a real prince of the blood. Napoleons reply to the announcement of KING JEROME AND HIS AMERICAN WIFE. 88 KING 3EROME AND HIS AMERICAN WIFE. his brothers marriage had not yet been re- he had been married to her for six months eeived in America. Napoleon had been past. To go back to France at any risk, ~o First Consul when the news reached him be the brother of the emperor, was the he was Emperor when he replied on the 9th idea that now possessed. him. His wife of June, 1804. He entirely declined to rec- was becoming a clog and an encumbrance. ognize the marriage, taking his stand on He had, however, to deal with a father-in- the then recent law of the year xil2th of law who was as determined in his way as the month Pluviose, which, in the language Napoleon. Jerome found that he would not of mortals, signified the 13th of February, be allowed to leave America without taking 1803; prohibiting French subjects, under his wife with him. No French vessel dared the age of twenty-five, to contract rharriage to give her a passage; but Papa Patterson without the consent of parents or guardians. chartered at his own expense a fine vessel The orders to Pichon and all French officials called the Philadelphia, on board of which, were short, sharp, and decisive. Madame Jerome, his wife, and her relative Miss Jerome Bonaparte was recognized as Je- Spear, embarked with the greatest secrecy. romes mistress, and as such was not to be But, as the old ballad sings treated with any marks of respect; and Frencti vessels were forbidden to afford her They scarce had sailed a league, a League, a passage; if she attempted to enter France A league but barely three, When dark, dark grew the foaming sea. with Jerome, orders were given that she should be arrested and conveyed back to In plain prose, they encountered a heavy America. As to Jerome himself, he was or- gale and were shipwrecked, the passengers dered to return home immediately. A pen- escaping, though much of the baggage and sion was offered to Miss Patterson of sixty all Jeromes money were lost. If the case thousand francs a year, on condition that had been reversed, and Jerome had sunk to she never assumed the name of Bonaparte the bottom of the sea instead of his effects, or molested Jerome. it would have been a solution that would not If taking matters with a high hand could have called forth tears. The unhappy Pi- have overcome difficulties, Napoleon would chon, for whose sins Jerome had surely been have borne them down. Except the local sent to America, had only just heard authen- enactment, which only held good in France tic tidings of his departure, when he was and only regarded French subjects,the thrown back into all his troubles by the law of marriage as recognized not only by news of his shipwreck andescape! His the Catholic Church, but by the consent of troubles, however, drew near their end; for Christendom, made the marriage contracted Jerome was now quite as impatient to de- at Baltimore by Jerome and Miss Patterson part as Pichon could be to get rid of him. valid in every respect,as valid as the can- He made another effort to obtain the dignity ons of the Church could make it. It re- of returning in a vessel of war, as became mained to be seen whether the will of the a new-made prince of the blood of the em- emperor or the decree of the Church were peror, but inexorable fate and the strict the stronger. If Jerome could only be firm, watch kept by English vessels made this im- the marriage must hold goodrecognition possible. He did at last what he might have or no recognition. done at first ;with the consent of his father- But Jerome could he true to nothing, ex- in-law, he took a passage in an American cept his own inclination. He was not a merchant vessel, bound for Portugal, and worse man than Napoleon, but he was a embarked with his wife and secretary. The FooL,a fool who could see nothing, feel vessel arrived quite safely at Lisbon. The nothing, care for nothing beyond the grat- French consul refused a passport to Madame ification of the whim of the moment. All I Jerome, and wrote to Paris to announce what that he inherited of the strong, inflexible he had done. Bonapartean will was concentrated in the Jerome had shown some skill in the art gratification of his own vanity and his own of tormenting consuls, and he had never sensuality. He had had his whim pretty submitted to any reasoning or representation wcll out in regard to Miss Pattersonhe which led contrary to his inclinations. No had married her in spite of opposition, but considerations had withheld him from mak KiNG JEROME AND HIS AMERICAN WIFE. ing Miss Patterson his wife on the 25th of December, 1803, and no considerations of his duty as a husband or the common con- siderations of humanity towards a woman about to become the mother of his child, withheld him from abandoning her, in a strange country, where she had neither friends nor relatives, where her position was more than equivocal, and where, if she were not in want of the necessaries of life, it was no thanks to Jerome, who made no provis- ion for the protection or support of an ex- tremely beautiful woman of seventeen whose physical condition rendered a return to her own country and her fathers house impossi- ble. He left her almost immediately on ar- riving at Lisbon, professedly to throw him- self at his brothers feet and prevail upon him to forgive the marriage. His subse- quent conduct proves that he never had any intention to embarrass himself further with her whom he had married; he showed him- self as self-willed and inconsequent in run- fling away from difficulties as he had been in running into them. Jerome set off in hot haste to present himself before his brother, who was at Turin. For eleven days he was kept waiting for an interview; during this time he wrote a let- ter of abject submission, consenting to be governed in all things by the will of the emperor, and to recognize his own marriage as absolutely null, not even requiring to be dissolved. Napoleon wrote an order to Je- rome, that he himself should announce to his wife that he had of his own free will rec- ognized that his marriage was and had been null from the beginning. In return for this unqualified submission, Jerome was graciously pardoned and re- stored to his brothers favor. Jeromes con- sent once given, all manner of official acts and declarations were set forth to show how entirely null the marriage had always been, and the offspring illegitimate beyond re- demption. France was not all the world; and the im- perial decrees, although they deprived Ma- dame Jerome of all the advantages she had hoped for from her connection with the Bo naparte family, neither reduced her to ob- scurity nor tarnished her name. The pope declared the marriage binding beyond his power to annul it; and the rest of Europe recognized in Madame Jerome the victim of arbitrary power. She and her husband never met again after they parted at Lisbon, less than seven months after their marriage. She went to England where she was received with much kindness and sympathy, and in England her son was born, whom she had baptized as Je- rome Bonaparte. She afterwards returned to America. That her conduct and charac- ter were always above the power of scandal to impugn, was no thanks to Jerome,a weaker woman or a less worldly one would have been entirely crushed by such treat- ment as she had received. Madame Jerome was equal to her situation: she would doubt~ less have made quite as good a princess as any of the temporary royalties Napoleon loved to create, as though they had been the flowers and garlands of his more solid efforts of power; but, apart from this mor- tification, she made all the gain possible out of her position. She accepted the hand- some pension allotted to her by the emperor, and lived in such amicable relations with the family, as to give a great color of prd~abil- ity to her present claim on the estate of Prince Jerome. The loss of such a husband could be nothing but a gain to her. She seems to have been a woman who, like Bussy Rabutin, naimait que le solide. A very proud, sensitive woman would have re- fused to accept the emperors pension; but she judged it best to take it. Poverty was not added to her other vexations. As for Jerome, he was through life a fool and a poltroon. The fine epithets and sentimental phraseology in which. the courtly editor of these Memoirs dresses his conduct does not disguise the very ugly look of his actions, both public and private. On his submission, Napoleon sent him once more to sea, and there he distinguished himself by his entire inability either to obey or command. He was the torment of his admiral, ~s he had been of the Consul Pichon. 89 HOME BALLADS AND POEMS. From The Athenteum. beat quicker for the day when black slavery Home Ballads and Poems. By John Green- shall be no more, and in bringing about th~ leaf Whittier. Boston, U. S., Ticknor present movement which the hopeful look & Fields; London, Low & Co. upon as preparatory to the gathering up of HERE is poetry worth waiting for, a poet the slave forces for a final fight. worth listening to. Mr. Whittier may not The poet is less martial in his latest book. ascend any lofty hill of vision, but he is He has learnt to possess his soul with more clearly a seer according to his range. His patience. The momentum is more subdued, song is simple and sound, sweet and strong. and has a slower swing, quietly intense. We take up his book as Lord Bacon liked Longer brooding has brought forth a more to take up the bit of fresh earth, wet with perfect, though less striking result. Take, morning and fragrant with wine. It has the for example, a few of the noble lines in re- healthy smell of Yankee soil s~ith the wine membrance of Joseph Sturge, a man after of fancy poured over it. We get a gush of our poets own heart the prairie breeze, weird whispers from the dark and eerie belts of pine, wafts of the salt sea wiads wandering inland, superb scents of the starred magnolias and box-tree blos- soming white. We hear the low of cattle, the buzzing of bees, the lusty song of the huskers, brown and ruddy, the drunken laughter of the jolly bob-o-link. Here are green memorials of the New Worlds spring of promise, golden memorials of her abund- ance when the horn of autumn is poured into the overflowing lap of man; we see the white-horns tossing over the farmyard wall, the cock crowing in the sun with his comb glowing a most vital red, the brown gable of the old barn, roses running up to the eaves of the swallow-haunted homestead, the June sun tangling his wings of fire in the network of green leaves, the aronia by the river lighting up the swarming shad, the river full of sunshine, with the bonny blue above and the blithe blink of sea in the dis- tance, and many a sight and sound of vernal life and country cheer. No American poet has more of the home-made and home- brewed than Mr. Whittier. His poetry is not filtered from the German Helicon; it is a spring fresh from New World nature; and we gladly welcome its sprightly run- flings. Our Yankee bard is among poets what Mr. Bright is amongst the peace men. He has the soul of some old Norseman but- toned up under the Quakers coat, and the great bursts of heart will often peril the hold of the buttons, whilst the speaker with all his native energy and a manly mouth is preaching brotherly love and driving it in. With him, too, the Norse soul is found fighting for freedom, and he has done good service in making the heart of the North For him no ministers chant of the immortals Rose from the lips of sin; No mitred priest swang back the heavenly por- tals To let the white soul in. But Age and Sickness framed their tearfal faces In the low hovels door, And prayers ~vent up from all the dark by-places And shelters of the poor. Not his the golden pens or lips persuasion, But a tine sense of right, And truths directness, meeting each occasion Straight as a line of light. The very gentlest of all human natures He joined to courage strong, And love out-reaching unto all Gods creatures With sturdy hate of wrong. Men failed, betrayed him, but his zeal seemed nourished By failure and by fall, Still a large faith in human-kind he cherished, And in Gods love for all. And now he rests his greatness and his sweet- ness No more shall seem at strife; And death has moulded into calm completeness The statue of his life. Where the dews glisten and the song-birds war- ble, His dust to dust is laid, In Natures koeping, with no pomp of marble To shame his modest shade. The forges glow, the hammers all are ringing; Beneath its smoky vail, Hard by, the city of his love is swinging Its clamorous iron flail. But round his grave are quietude and beauty, And the sweet heaven above, The fitting symbols of a life of duty Transfigured into love. In a time of trouble and struggle, of war and rumors of war, these lines take one with their quiet mastery and peaceful music, sinking solly into the soul as if spoken by 90 HOME BALLADS AND POEMS. the very Spirit of Rest. To quote the poets owit words, the whole picture is Beautiful in its holy peace as one Who. stands at evenin~ when the work is done, Glorified in the setting of the sun. Telling the Bees is a ballad as fine as the custom it celebrates is curious. The Pipes at Lucknow is a spirited poem. Many of the stanzas of The Shadow and the Light might have been found worthy of weaving into In Memoriam Ah, me! we doubt the shining skies Seen through our shadows of offence, And drown with our poor childish cries The cradle-hymn of kindly Providence. And still we love the evil cause, And of the just effect complain; We tread upon lifes broken laws, And murmur at our self-inflicted pain; We turn us from the light, and find Oar spectral shapes hefore us thrown, As they who leave the sun behind Walk in the shadows of themselves alone. And scarce by will or strength of ours We set our faces to the day; Weak, wavering, blind, the Eternal Powers Alone cau turn us from ourselves away. Mr. Whittier is most successful perhaps in the present work in setting gravely sweet and kindly comforting thoughts to a com- mon ballad measure, which he has tried again and again until it reaches its perfec- tion in pieces like My Psalm and My Playmate. Here is a specimen of the lat- ter poem 0 playmate in the golden time! Our mossy seat is green, Its fringing violets blossom yet, The old trees oer it lean. The winds so sweet with birch and fern A sweeter memory blow; And there in spring the veeries sing The song of long ago. And still the pines of Ramoth wood Are moaning like the sea, The moaning ot the sea of chan~e Between myself and thee 1 ~1~ Psalm is only to be felt thoroughly in the eve of life, when the mellowing influ- ences of age and experience have done their work, and the golden haze gathers about the closing of the calm day, touching this world with the beauty of the next. It must be read slowly and thoughtft~lly to be felt deeply All as God wills, who wisely heeds To give or to withhold, And knoweth more of all my needs Than all my prayers have told! Enough that blessings undeserved Have marked my erring track; That wheresoeer my feet have swerved, His chastening turned me back; That more and more a Providence Of love is understood, Making the springs of time and sense Sweet with eternal good: That death seems but a covered way Which opens into light, Wherein no blinded child can stray Beyond the Fathers sight; That care and trial seem at last, Through Memorys sunset air, Like mountain ranges over-past, In purple distance fair: That all the jarring notes of life Seem blending in a psalm, And all the angles of its strife Slow rounding into calm. And so the shadows fall apart, And so the west winds play;. And all the windows of my heart I open to the day. But we shall not be doing justice to these Home Ballads if we do not vary the strain. They are not all devoted to the life that is livad in our day. Here and there we find a bright and vigorous portrait painted on the dark background of the past. Such is that of Samuel Sewall, the man of God with a face that a child would climb to kiss. Sometimes, also, the poet peers into the shadowy land of Indian le- gend, watching, questioning the darkness, till the mist begins to stir and transform itself into spectral life. Then he will tell us a tale of the early time of witchcraft and cruelty. Our concluding extract is from a robust ballad, called sKIPPER IItESON 5 RIDE. Body of turkey, head of owl, Wings a-droop like a rained-on fowl, Feathered and ruffled in every part, Skipper Ireson stood in the cart. Scores of women, 01(1 and young, Strong of muscle and glib, of tongue, Pushed and h)ullcd up the rocky lane, Shouting and singing this shrill refrain Heres FInd Oirson, fur his h6rrd horrt, Torrd an fntherrd an colr(l in a corrt, By- the women o Morbleead 1 91 92 Wrinkled scolds with hands on hips, Giils in bloom of cheek and lips, Wild-eyed, flee-limbed, such as chase Bacchus round some antique vase, Brief of skirt, ~vith ankles bare, Loose of kerchief and loose of hair, With conch-shells blowingand fish-horns twang, Over and over the M~nads sang, Heres FInd Oirson, fur his horrd horrt, Torrd an futherrd an corrd in a corrt By the women o Morbleead I Small pity for him !He sailed away From a leaking ship in Chalcur Bay, Sailed a~vay from a sinking wreck, With his own townspeople on her deck! Lay by! lay by! they called to him. Back he answered, Sink or swin! Brag of your catch of fish again! And off he sailed through the fog and the rain. Old Floyd Ireson, for his hard heart, Tarred and feathered and carried in a cart By the women of Marblehead! Through the street, on either side, Up flew windows, doors swung wide; Sharp-tongued spinsters, old wives gray, Lent a treble to the fish-horns bray. Sea-worn grandsires, cripple-bound, Hulks of old sailors run aground, Shook head and fist, shook hat and cane, And cracked with curses the hoarse refrain; HOME BALLADS AND POEMS. Heres FInd Girson, fur his horrd horrt, Torrd an futherrd an corrd in a corrt By the women o Morbleead! Hear me, Neighbors! at last he cried, What to me is this noisy ride What is the shame that clothes the skin To the nameless horror that lives within Waking or sleeping, I see a wreck, And hear a cry from a reeling deck! Hate me and curse me,I only dread The hand of God and the face of the Dead. Said old Floyd Ireson, for his hard heart, Tarred and feathered and carried in a cart By the women of Marblehead! Then the wife of the Skipper lost at sea Said, God has toucht him !why should we I Said an old wife mourning her only son, Cut the rogues tether and let him run! So with soft relentiugs and rude excuse, Half scorn, half pity, they cut him loose, And gave him a cloak to hide him in, And left him alone with his shame and sin. Poor Floyd Ireson, for his hard heart, Tarred and feathered and carried in a cart By the women of Marblehead I Mr. Whittier has many admirers in this country, to whom this volume will be wel- come. REMARKABLE DIscovERY IN TIlE ALPs. color, etc. One of these fragments was recog- Theic is news fi-om Switzerland, says an Eng- nized by Julian Devoussoux (a survivor of the lish paper, which painfully recalls the memory 1820 ascent) as being that of Pierre Balmat. of a terrible catastrophe which happened on the 3. Part of a guides knapsack, with sundry Grand Plateau of Mont Blanc on the 20th Au- portions of a lantern attached to it. gust, 1820. On that day a party, consisting of 4. An iron crampon, which the guides at Dr. Hammel and some gentlemen from Geneva, that time sti-apped on their shoes when they stai-ted up the mountain, accompanied by sey- crossed the glaciers, etc., to prevent slipping. eral guides. A descending avalanche swept off 5. Several portions of gui(les dressera- three of the latter, by name, Auguste Tairraz, vats, hats, torn portions of linen, portions of Pierre Balmat an(l Pierre Carrier, all three be- cloth, coats, etc., all easily distinguishable as 1on~,ing to families now inseparably connected belpuging to men of the guide class. with the history of the mountain. From that Two of the guides who accompanied the party day, up to the 15th of last month, not a trace of of 1820 aro still alive, and it is said that Dr. them ~vas ever discovered; on that morning 1-Jammel still survives in England. The most was discovered, on the lower paint of the Glacier interestiHg circumstance in connection vith this des Bossons, a number of human remains and recovery of the remains of these long-a~ o fragments of dress, accoutrements, etc., which mourned men is, that it is in exact fulfilment of have l)een recognized as having belonged to Professor James D. Forbes prediction, based these hapless guides. These relics ai-e stated to on his observations and knowledge of the l~ ~vs consist of which guide the motions of the glaciers. Pro- 1. An arm in the most perfect state of pres- fessor Forbes, it is stated, has repeatedly told ervation, ~vith the hand, fingers, nails, skin, anti tile Chamounix guides that they might look out dried frozen flesh intact, in noways discolored; for traces of their deceased comrad~s in the part of little finger only gone. The length of Lower Bossons in about forty or forty-five years this limb extends to the elbow, after the catastrophe, and that he told Atiguste 2. Parts of two different skulls, with a good Bahnat in 1858 to keep a look-out. From the deal of hair remainin~ with the skin on both ; discovery, therefore, we may deduce a satisfac- one belonging to a fair man, the other to a dark tomy demonstration of the glacier theory now ac- one. The, hair most wonderfully preserved in cepted by men of science. EXPERIMENTS WITH CANNON. From The Press. EXPERIMENTS WITH CANNON. ON Tuesday some interesting experiments were conducted at Shoeburyness, under the superintendence of the Iron Plate Commis- sion, upon two new kinds of targets, built up to resemble a portion of an iron-plated frig- ates broadside. One target was sent in to be experimented upon by Mr. Fairbairn. This was about ten feet long by six feet high, and consisted of four plates five inches thick, the upper and lower being each about ten feet, the two in the centre being only five feet each. The peculiarity of this target was that there was no wooden backing to the ar- mor plating, for the attention of the Com- mission has lately been much directed to endeavoring to ascertain how far it is possi- ble by a slight increase in the thickness of the plates to do away entirely with the weight and expense of the vertical and horizontal mass of timber beyond them. Another pe- culiarity was the effort to do away with the acknowledged source of weakness which arises from holes having to be drilled in the plates for the bolts to fasten them to the ships side. In nearly all cases where plates have been fractured by shot, the crack has commenced from one of the rivet holes. There were none of these in Mr. Fairbairns target. The plates were fastened directly to what in an iron frigate would be its outer skin, which, in the case of the target, was represented by wrought iron three-quarters of an inch thick. From the side of this were rib girders much of the same kind as the iron ribs of a frigate would be. These were half an inch thick by about eleven inches deep and eighteen apart, with stout angle irons fastening them to the outer skin. From in- side this skin the rivets were let into the plate like topped screws, penetrating a little more than half-way through the five-inch ar- mor plate. The iron used in this target was of the very best kind, and the whole of its workmanship was admirable and substan- tial to the last degree, as the tests showed. First, a fiat-headed steel shot, abolAt one pound in weight, was fired against it to test the quality of the iron. This made only a dent of from a quarter to one-third of an inch in depth. Two of Armstrongs forty- pound shell, filled with sand, were next dis- charged point-blank at a distance of one hun- dred yards. They also dented the iron to 93 the depth of some three-quarters of an inch, but otherwise seemed to have but little ef- fect, except upon the rivets of the angle iron inside the sheathing, which were apparently somewhat started. Two fiat-headed forty- pounder steel shot, fired at the same range, produced more effect. Their indentation was quite an inch and a half, if not more, and the rivet-heads holding the armor plates were evidently shaken, though apparently they held as firmly as ever. The hun- dred-pounder Armstrong was next tried at two hundred yards, with a shell filled with sand. This broke one of the angle irons of the inner sheathing, made a deep de,nt, and started some of the smaller rivets, yet on the whole surprisingly little damage was done, and practically the target seemed as strong as ever. A solid hundred-pounder shot was then tried, and this struck with a tre- mendous blow the centre of the mark, the effect of which visibly started the plates and rather curved them outwards at some of their joints. The effect of two shots from a solid sixty-eight-pounder at one hundred yards shook the armor plates still more, starting them from the skin to which they were bolted, and denting them through their entire substance considerably. A two hun- dred pound shot was then fired at two hun- dred yards range. This ponderous missile not only made a very deep dent where it struck, but bulged the whole target in, shak- ing all the plates loose, and breaking some of the screws which held them. Still, how- ever, no plate gave way under these tremen- dous visitations, nor had any of them been detached. The last shot fired was with a hundred-pounder, at eighth hundred yards, and the effect of this was final. By the force of the concussion the upper plate, with one of the centre small ones, was com- pletely detached, and came crashing down, leaving those that still remained in a very shaky and precarious condition. It was, however, considered by all on the ground to have withstood the rude assaults it had re- ceived in a most extraordinary mani~ier. The screws held on to the very last, and a great deal longer than any one expected, while the plates, though, of course, much battered and defaced, were not only not broken, but showed no symptoms of be~oming so. On the whole, therefore, it was considered that the resistance offered by a target built on 94 EXPERIMENTS WITH CANNON. this plan had been most satisfactorily proved, ciple we have here mentioned, and was on and the value of some of it~ improvements the whole an exceedingly fine piece of work established. manship. Mr. Roberts and Mr. Burn, C.E. The next experiments were made upon a (who is associated with Mr. Roberts in his target invented by Mr. Roberts. This was invention), had, however, committed the se.. the very reverse in principle from Mr. Fair- rious fault of having their target made too baiin s, inasmuch as the thickness of the small. It was only six feet by four, and con- iron plates was diminished while the timber sequently, as all the shots were aimed low, backing was increased. Mr. Fairbairns they struck almost on the same spots, which showed how shot-proof frigates might with wanted the surrounding support a larger advantage he made of iron only, while Mr. target would have naturally afforded. So Roberts was designed to prove that wooden far the test of strength was taken at a dis- ships could be as easily rendered shot-proof advantage to the invention. The first shot as if especially built for the purpose. The fired at it with a llb flat-headed steel hall to back of this target was formed of wrought test the iron struck upon the angular face of iron three-eighths of an inch thick. To this one of the armor plates. Yet, in spite of were fastened iron T plates, which on a frig- this, it apparently made as deep a dent as a ate would run along the vessels side fore similar projectile had made in the flat upright and aft. Between these were fitted oak plates of Mr. Fairbairns target. Two 401b beams nine inches square, which being all shells, filled with sand, were then fired from tight caulked, hold the plates firmly in their an Armstrong at one hundred yards, but did position, so as to prevent lateral bend, and no perceptible damage. A flat-headed forty- enable them to resist the maximum pressure pounder which was next fired struck one of due to their strength. Over this again the rib joint pieces we have spoken of be- comes another layer of beams and T plates, tween the angles, and broke it. It, how- placed vertically, fitted in the same way and ever, still remained firm in its place, and a bolted firmly in to the ships side. Over all one hundred-pounder Armstrong shell, at this come the armor plates. Each of these two hundred yards, did no apparent dam- latter are three inches thick and two feet age. Not so, however, with a solid shot at wide, and made in an angular form, some- the same range, which came full upon the thing like a wide-shaped letter V. All the edge of the angle of the centre plate, in- joints are planed so as to insure accuracy of flicting a deep dent, and slightly fracturing fit, and thus when a ships side was covered through the plate itself. The next a solid with these plates, the alternate angular sixty-eight pounder, hit full upon the same projections and recesses would resemble in joint rib which had been struck and broken shape, on a small scale, the ordinary ridge before with a tremendous blow. It split the and furrow roofing used in glass buildings. rib joint at its outer rivet hole, breaking off Where the longitudinal joints occur a recess the end of it entirely. Still, however, the is cut in the plates, into which is fitted an target was quite firm apparently. The next iron rib six inches wide and four and one- sixty-eight pounder fired struck full upon half deep, the outside face of the rib being the extreme lower edge of the mark with also angular. These joint ribs are fastened such force as to shatter the wooden frame through with one and one-half inch bolts, which supported it, and turn the target com- while the V shaped armor plates are secured pletely over on its face. by nine-inch bolts, eighteen inches apart. On Wednesday the experiments were re- Each arnior plate rises from the side of the sumed, and the general result has shown ship to an angle, of about one foot in height that the five-inch iron plates of Mr. Fair- the face of each angle being also a foot in bairns target, fastened to a three-fourth inch depth. On this system Mr. Roberts con- skin, were perfectly able, as far as the plates tends a ship may be built of the same were concerned, to withstand for a very long strength, costing only one-fifth of the money time what was, in fact, a concentrated fire required for a ship constructed wholly of from the heavieat and most powerful ord- iron, and being only one-third of the latters nance in the world. It also showed that the weight. The target experimented on at thinner plates of three inches, rolled into an Shoehuryness was built entirely on the prin- angulated form, and presenting at all points EXPERIMENTS WITH CANNON. an inclined face to the blow of the shot, were equally well able to withstand a missile that under other circumstances would frac- ture a four and one-half inch plate, and this was the object the inventor wished to dem- onstrate. The backing of the target, even after all the pounding it received, was still perfect, though only eighteen inches thick, and had this been the hull of a ship, it would apparently, even if submerged, have re- mained quite watertight. The ribs which formed the backing to the skin inside the plates of Mr. Fairbairns target were, per- haps, a little too weak for the enormous re- sistance they were expected to exert. This, however, is a very minor fault, and one which it was only possible to ascertain from actual practice. It will be very easy to strengthen the next one constructed on this principle. The weak point in Mr. iRoberts target was the rib joint. This, though a piece of the best wrought iron, six inches by four, was never strong enough to resist the blow of a one hundred or even a sixty- eight pounder. But for this fault (which we presume Mr. Roberts will devise some ex- pedient for remedying), and but for the small size of his target, it would doubtless have held out much longer than even it did. The weak point common to both targets, and to every other description of iron armor plate that has ever been devised, is the mode of fastening, either to the target or the ships side.. Every bolt hole in a plate is a source of weakness, as from them all fractures take their rise. The expedients which have been devised to remedy this, by having tapped screws at the back of the plate, are perhaps better for preventing fractures; butthey are certainly not better adapted for what is the ultimate object of all these fastenings; viz., securing the plate to the ships side. This is the real point to which engineers should now direct their attention. On the whole, however, the experiments at Shoeburyness against these iron targets were regarded as about the most satisfactory which have yet taken place there. JOHN KNoxs DEATH-BEDStep into this room where the greatest Scotsman lies dying, and see an example more striking, warning, alarming still. From the iron brasp of kin~s and princes Knox had wrung the rights of Scot- land. Ready to contend even unto death, he had bearded proud nobles and pronder church- men; he had stood under the fire of battle; he had been chained to the galleys oar: he had occupied the pulpit ~vith a carbine levelled at his fearless head; and to plant Gods truth, and that tree of civil and religious liberty which has struck its roots so deep in our soil, and under whose shado~v we are this day sitting, he had fought many a hard battle; but his hardest was fought in the solitude of the night, and amid the quietness of a dying chamber. One morning his friends enter his apartment. They find him faint and pallid, wearing the look of one who had passed a troubled night. So he had; ho had been fighting, not sleeping; wrest- ling, not resting; and it required all Gods grace to bring him off conqueror. Till day- break Jacob wrestled with the Angel of the Covenant; and that long night Knox had passed wrestling with the prince of darkness. Like Bunyans pilgrim, he met Apollyon in the valley, and their swords struck fire in the shadow of death. The lion is said to be boldest in the storm. His roar is never so loud as in the pauses of the thunder; and when the lightning flashes, brightest are the flashes of his cruel eye; and so he who, as a roaring lion, goeth about seeking whom he may devour, often seizes the hour of natures distress to assault us with his fiercest temptations. Satan tempted Job when he was bowed down with grief. Satan tempted Jesus when lie was faint with hua~er. Satan tempted Peter when he was weary with watch- ing, and heart-broken with sorrow: reserving, perhaps, his grand assault on us for times that offer him a great advantage, it was when Knox was worn out, left alone, his head laid low on a dying pillow, that Satan, like a roaring lion, leaped upon his bed. Into the room the enemy had come; ho stands by his bed; he reminds him that he had been a standard-bearer of the trutha reformera bold confessora distin- guished suffererthe very foremost than of his time and country; he attempts to perk ade him that surely such rare merits deserve the crown. The Christian conqueredbut hard put to it only conquered through him that lovedhim. Dr. Gutlu-ies Gospel in Ezekiel. 95 96 THE SWEET LITTLE MAN.OUR FIRST MARTYR. THE SWEET LITTLE MAN. DEDICATED TO THE STAY-AT-HOME RANGERS. Now, while our soldiers are fighting our battles, Each at his post to do all that he can, Down among rehels and contraband chattels, What are you doing, ny sweet little man? All the brave boys under canvas are sleeping, All of them pressing to march with the van, Far from the home where their sweethearts are weeping, What are you waiting for, sweet little man? You with the terrible warlike moustaches, Fit for a colonel or chief of a clan, You with the waist made for sword-belts and sashes, Where are your shoulder-straps, sweet little maul Bring him the buttonless garment of woman! Cover his face lest it freckle and tan; Muster the Apron-string Guards on the Com- mon, That is the corps for the sweet little man! Give him for escort a file of young misses, Each of them armed with a (leadly rattan; They shalr defend him from laughter and hisses, Aimed by low boys at the sweet little man. All the fair maidens about him shall cluster, Pluck the white feathers from bonnet and fan, Make him a plume like a turkey-wing duster That is the crest for the sweet little man! 0, hut the Apron-string Guards are the fellows! Drilling each day since our troubles began, Handle your walking-sticks!, Shoulde- umbrellas ! That is the style for the sweet little man. Have we a nation to save? In the first place Saving ourselves is the sensible plan, Surely, the spot wheye theres shooting s the worst place Where I can stand, says the sweet little man. Catch me confiding my person with strangers! Think how the cowardly Bull-Runners ran! In the brigade of the Stay-at-home Rangers Marches my corps, says the sweet little man. Such was the stuff of the Malakoff-takers, Such were the soldiers that scaled the Redan; Truculent housemaids and bloodthirsty Qua- kers Brave slot the wrath of the sweet little man! Yield him the sidewalk, ye nursery maidens! Sauve qui peat! Bridget, and right about! Ann, Fierce as a shark in a school of menhadens, See him advancing, the sweet little man! When the red flails of the battle-field threshers Beat out the continents wheat from its bran, While the wind scatters the chaffy seceshers, What will become of our sweet little man? When the brown soldiers come hack from the borders, How will lie look while his features they scan? How will he feel when he gets marching orders, Signed by his lady-love? sweet little man! Fear not for him, though the rebels expect him, Life is too precious to shorten its span; Woman her broomstick shall raise to protect him, Will she not fight for the sweet little man? Now then, nine cheers for the Stay-at-home Ranger! Blow the great fish-horn and beat the big pan! First in the field that is farthest from danger, Take your white feather plume, sweet little man! Transcript. OUR FIRST MARTYR. BY rH~EBE CARY. Man proposes, God disposes. MEN silenced on his faithful lips Words of resistless truth and power ; Those words, re-echoing now, have made The gathering war-cry of the hour. They thought to darken down in blood The light of freedoms burning rays; The beacon-fires we tend to-day Were lit in that expiring blaze. They took the earthly prop and ~taff Out of an unresisting hand: God came, and led him safely on, By ways they could not understand. They knew not, when from his old eyes They shtit the world for evermore, The ladder by which angels come Rests firmly on the dungeons floor. They deemed no vision bright could cheer His stony couch and prison ward He slept to dream of heaven, and rose To build a Bethel to the Lord! They showed to his unshrinking gaze The sentence men have paled to see; He send Gods writing of rel)rieve, And grant of endless liberty. They tried to conquer and subdue By marshalled power and hitter hate: The simple manhood of a man Was braver than an arm~d state. They hoped at last to make him feel The felons shame, and felons dread And lo! the martyrs crown ofjoy Settled forever on his head! Independent.

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The Living age ... / Volume 71, Issue 907 Littell's living age Every Saturday; a journal of choice reading Eclectic magazine The Living age co. inc. etc. New York etc. October 19, 1861 0071 907
The Living age ... / Volume 71, Issue 907 97-144

THE LIVING AGE. No. 907.19 October, 1861. CONTENTS. PAGI 1. Burtons Anatomy of Melancholy, Blachwoods Magazine, 99 2. An Only Son. Part 8 Dublin University Magazine, 117 3. Life of John Angell James Saturday Review, 132 4. Science and Arts for August chamberss Journal, 136 5. Comets, Saturday Review, 139 6. Letter to a Young Physician, by Dr Jackson, Athena~um, 142 PoETRX;Bunker Hill Day in Virginia, 98. Kentucky, 98. The Sabbath, 98. Latest War News, 116. Cast Down, but not Destroyed, 116. Prayer for the Absent, 116. Workman of God, 116. Thy Will be Done, 144. Gen. Scott and the Veteran, 144. SHORT ARTICLEs.Vindication of Du Chaillu, 115. Birth of Napoleon II., 115. Effect of Music on the Sick, 135. Substitute for Silver, 141. Bottom of the Ocean, 143. A Spring Opened by a Shell, 143. NEW BOOKS. Edwin of Deira. By Alexander Smith. Boston: Ticknor & Fields. CORRE SPONDENCE. If An Old Subscriber in Philadelphia will write to us under his own address, we shall be happy to explain to him. We cannot answer anonymous letters, and must re- member that we are in presence of the enemy. PUBLISHED EVERY SATURDAY BY LITTELL, SON, & CO., BOSTON. For Six Dollars a year, in advance, remitted directly to the Publishers, the Lsvnee Aci will be punctually for. warded free e~f postage. Complete sets of the First Series, in thirty-six volumes, and of the Second Series, in twenty volumes, hand. somely bound, packed in neat boxes an at two dollars a volume. d delivered In all the principal cities, free 01 expense of freight, are for sale Aar VOLUME may be had separately, at two dollars, bound, or a dollar and a half in numbers. ANY NUMBER may be had for 13 cents; and it is well worth while for subscribers or purchasers to complete any broken volumes they may have, and thus greatly enhance their value. 98 BUNKER HILL DAY IN VIRGINIA. Aia America. THOUGH many miles away From home and friends to-day, Were cheerful still; For, brothers side by side We stand, in manly prido Beneath the shadow wide Of Bunker Hill. The memory of that spot, Neer by one man forgot, Protects us here! We feel an influence lent From its proud monument By Freedoms angel sent Our souls to cheer! If oer the darkening sky, The piercing battle-cry Shall sound its call God of our native land, Be with this little band! Columbias guardian, stand By one and all. By all that blesses life While ranked in freedoms strife With right good-will For victory well try, With hope and daring high; Our cheers shall rend the sky, For Bunker Hill. GEORGE H. Dow. KENTUCKY. ET MRS. SOPHIA H. OLIVER. Kentuckyshe was the first State to enter the Union after the adoption of the Constitution; she will be the last to leave it. Words iasc,-ibed on Keatuck3js contributioa to the Waskiisgtott Moms- meat. THE first to join the patriot band, The last bright star to fade and die, Oh, first-born daughter of the land, Wilt thou thy sacred vow deny? By all the lofty memories bright That crown with light thy glorious past, Oh, speak again those words of might The first to come, to leave the last. The land for which our fathers fought The glorious heritage they gave, The just and equal laws they wrought Rise, in your might, that land to save. KENTUCKY.THE SABBATH. No parricidal daughter thou, iNo stain be on thy fealty cast, But, faithful to thy boast and vow, Be first to come, to leave the last. Oh, list not to the siren voice That woos thee to a traitor cause: But answer, I have made my choice; I will support lily countrys laws. Go, spurn disunions foul cabal, All party ties behind thee cast; And still at honors, dutys call, Be first to come, to leave the last. And land of high, unsullied fame Hast thou no grievous wrongs to right? Thy hero, wrapt in Sumters flame, And conquered in unequal fight! Thy banner trampled in the dust Hark! shouts of freemen swell the blast, We will defend our flagwe must Be first to come, to leave the last. Land of my birth! how dear to me Has ever been thy spotless fame; Oh, may I never, never see The brand of traitor on thy name. Go, gird thee in thy armor bright; Be faithful to thy glorious past; And in the battle for the right, Be first to come, to leave the last. Cincinnati Commercial. THE SABBATH. Sydney Smith pronounced the following sonnet one of the most beautiful in the English lan.. guage WITH silent awe I hail the sacred morn, Which slowly wakes, while all the fields are still. A soothing calm on every breeze is borne; A graver murmur gurgles from the nIl; And echo ansvers softer from the hill, And softer sings the linnet from the thorn The skylark warbles in a tone less shrill. Hail! light serene; hail! sacred Sabbath morn. Thu rooks float silent by in airy droves; The sun a placid yellow lustre shows; The gales, that lately sighed along the groves, Have hushed their downy wings in sweet re- pose. The hovering rack of clouds forgets to move. So smiled the day when the first morn arose. From Blackwoods Magazine. BURTONS ANATOMY OF MELANCHOLY. WHEN that well-known British traveller, Leo Rusticus, Esq., pays his visit to Oxford with his interesting daughters about corn- niemoration time, and makes the tour of the university under the eyes of criticising un- dergraduates, he usually finds his way at last into Christchurch Cathedral. True, there is very little to be seen there, for it is about the ugliest possible of collegiate churches ; still, it is a cathedral, and there- fore, like other cathedrals, to be done as a duty. And, feeling this, like the British Lion in general, he does it. There, amongst other objects of interest, the attendant verger will point out to him (if he does his duty) in the north aisle, high up against a pillar, a small bust, with a Latin inscription under- neath, and a queer-looking diagram stuck rather awkwardly on one side of it, which the young ladies will probably at the first glance take for a sundial, but which is, in truth, an astrological calculation of a nativ- ity. Burton, sir, says the verger, suc- cinctly pointing up to it author of the Anatomyformerly student of this house. The young ladies conclude him to have been some medical celebrity; but papa with the superior information for which the gentlemen of the family of Rusticus have always been distinguished, volunteers a word of explana- tion Anatomy of 1~rIelanc1toly, you know, my dears. Neither of the dears know much about it; but the verger strikes in. Yes, sir, says that worthy, he was a very mel- ancholy gentleman, and is supposed to have destroyed himself; and thats his horror- scope. Miss Leonina, not at all disposed at present to anatomize melancholy, skips on to the next monument; and papa, after a nod intended to imply that the whole sub- ject is familiar to him, thinks it as ~vell to follow. He knows he has the book upon his library shelves at home, and has an impression that it is considered a clever thing; but he is by no means prepared to undcrgo an extempore examination as to its contents. He has seen the work so often alluded to, and in such high terms of praise, that he has little doubt but that all the edu- cated world are perfectly well acquainted with it, and that his own ignorance on the subject is highly inexcusable. He need not judge himself so hardly. If he were to 99 question in succession all the Fellows of the college where he will dine to-day as to their own personal acquaintance with the Anatomy of Melancholy, he would scarcely find more than one among them who had read the book. He would discover that their knowl- edge of it, like his own, had been gained from passing allusions to it in other writers, or bibliographical notices in booksellers cat- alogues. They will all have heard, no doubt, that it was the only book that could get the great Samuel Johnson out of bed two hours before his wont in the morning; but its pres- ent effect upon the early rising of Oxford would be admitted to be quite inappreciable. The truth is, that Burtons book is what everybody has heard of, and few people have rend. Its popularity was always uncertain, and subject to ebbs and flows. At its first appearance it seems to have been quite what we should now call the book of the season. The author himself, in his Address to the Reader prefixed to the fourth edition, tells us that the first, second, and third editions were suddenly gone, eagerly read, and not so much approved by some, as scornfully re- jected by others. Whether the author prof- ited or not, in a pecuniary way, by this rapid sale, the booksellers, according to Antony-a- Wood (not an authority always tobe trusted), got an estate by it, having disposed of no less than eight editionsfive in Burtons lifetime. It afterwards fell into comparative neglect. Mr. Steevens remarks that it is not noticed by either Addison, Pope, or Swift; nay, it even escaped the notice of that excursive reader, Arbuthnot, who was familiarly acquainted with more books than the prcceding triumvirate ever heard of. It rose again into temporary demand, owing to the laudatory notices of it by Johnson, Warton, and othersthe price of a copy rising in consequence, says Steevens, from one shilling and sixpence to ~ guinea and a half, but soon relapsed into comparative neglect; and although it has always had its enthusiastic readers and admirers, the read- ing public in general has been content to take its merits upon trust. Such is the fate at present of many an authors works more worthy than even old Burton to be ranked amongst our English classics. There they are, in rows along the walls of our libraries, like ladies of a certain age in a ball-room, well known by name and sight, and highly BURTON S ANATOMY OF MELANCHOLY. 13URTON S ANATOMY OF MELANCHOLY. respected, but whom no gentleman has the hardihood to take in hand. It would be an interesting branch of literary statistics, and might lead to some rather startling results, to ascertain what proportion of professed admirers of Shakspeare have any intimate acquaintance with his plays beyond what Mr. Kean has given them, or how many who talk familiarly of the great Lord Bacon ever read a line of his, except in a quotation. Southey once said that if his library (four- teen thousand volumes) were necessarily cut down to nineteen, it should consist of Shaks- peare, Spenser, and Milton; Jeremy Taylor, South, and Thomas Jackson as divines; Lord Clarendon, Isaak Walton, Sir Thos. Brown, Fullers Church History, and Sid- neys Arcadia. There can be very little doubt that a small travelling library so se- lectedsay for a modern English gentleman going out for ten years to Chinawould at least have one important recommendation most of them would be, to all intents and purposes, new books, and would probably last him a long time. We will not make any apology, in these days of msthetic revivalism, when we are all wearing our grandmothers hoops, and going back to worse than our great-grandfathers superstitions, for a re-introduction of our readers to Robert Burton and his Anatomy. A book which fascinated men of such differ- ent minds as Samuel Johnson and Charles Lamb, Lord Byron and Archbishop Herring, does not deserve to lie unread. Possibly the terms in which Byron speaks of it may seem to recommend it especially to the taste of the present day. The book, says he, in my opinion, most useful to a man who wishes to acquire the reputation of being well read with the least trouble, is Burtons Anatomy of Melancholy; the most amusing and in- structive medley of quotations and classical anecdotes I ever perused. But a superficial reader must take care, or his intricacies will bewilder him. If, however, he has patience to go through his volumes, he will be more improved for literary conversation than by the perusal of any twenty other works with which I am acquaintedat least in the Eng- lish language. * We cannot so far endorse this statement of Lord Byron as to recom- mend a reading-up of the Anatomy in ~ Moores Life of Byron (Murray, 1832), vol. i. p. 144. order to enable any ambitious friend to shine as a talker at a modern intellectual dinner-party. We doubt very much whether, even in the poets own day, such an under- taking would have repaid an aspirant to con- versational eminence. Such authorities as Peter Lombard, and Jerome Cardan, and Lipsius, and Paracelsus, or even Lucian (and these are household names compared with some of Burtons out-of-the-way acquaint- ances), if introduced in conversation either in this or the last generation, would be likely to win for a man little reputation ex- cept for pedantry. But if the volumes seem to have been rather overrated as a store- house for talkers, they were no doubt found exceedingly useful for another class, quite as important, and very nearly as large,the writers who wished to acquire the reputa- tion of being well read with the least trouble. Burtons brains have been well picked in this way since his death; and it is a pity that he could not have returned for awhile in his own person to detect and castigate, in his own peculiar style, those who availed them- selves of his prodigious reading, and excur- sive forays into all manner of unknown lit- erary districts, to gain for themselves the credit of original research. Hearne calls the book, in his day, a commonplace for filehers. Anthony Wood says the same; it is so full, says he, of variety of read- ing, that gentlemen who have lost their time, and are put to a push for invention, may fur- nish themselves with matter for scholastical discourse and writing. Several authors have stolen matter from the said book without any acknowledgment. It may seem almost treason to place Milton in the foreground of these; but there can be no doubt but that at least the idea, if not some of the imagery, of LAllegro and Ii Penseroso are taken from the Dialogue between Pleasure and Pain, or The Authors Abstract of Melancholy, which Burton prefixed to his book; though the dazzling wealth of language and fancy With which Milton has clothed the thought has no prototype in his quaint predecessor, whose verses, nevertheless, have considera- ble beauty of their own. We may presume that most of the plunderers to whom Wood and others allude have escaped the notice of posterity because the stolen property has passed into oblivior~ with the rest of their work: the only thief who appears to have 100 been convicted and executed is Sterne. Dr. Ferriar brought him to justice; and if any proof were required of the little acquaint. once which the reading world in Sternes tin~e had with the remarkable work of Bur- ton, it may be found in the fact that amongst all the admirers of !liristram S/tandy not one seems to have recognized the borrowed feathers of wit and fancy which the writer so unblushingly paraded. It seems to a reader of the present day almost incompre- hensible that one who possessed such re- markable original powers as Sterne did, should have ventured to risk his reputation as an author by such bold plagiarisms as those, for instance, which Dr. Ferriar points out in the Fragment on Whiskers. * Nothing can satisfactorily explain it, but an i~npudent confidence that the literary trifiers of the day, who delighted in his clever double entendres, and took out their scented handkerchiefs at his tinsel sentiment, would have only sneered at the officious bookworm who should be so troublesome as to refer them to an old, musty folio for the source of some of their favorites originalities. But it is time to introduce our present readers to Burton himself. Of his life, un- fortunately, little is known beyond the very driest facts. That he was a younger son of an old Leicestershire family, educated at Sutton Coldfield and Nuneaton grammar- schools, entered as a commoner of Brasen- nose at the age of sevehteen, and thence elected a student of Christchurch, are not particulars which help us much towards a picture of the man. It was within the walls of the latter college that he appears to have passed his life, with only occasional visits to the country. There he wrote the Anat- omy, and there he died and was buried. He was presented by his college to the vicarage of St. Thomas in Oxford; together vith which he held, from the gift of private pa- trons, first the rectory of Walesby in un- colnshire, and afterwards that of Seagrave #~ Tristram Shandy, vol. v. ch. i. orig. edit., The Lady Baussiere rode on, etc. We refer our read- ers to Ferriars Illustrations of Sterns for the com- parison of this passage with the original in the Anatomy (part iii. sect. 1, memb. 3): Show some pitty, for Christs sake, etc. Other instances of Sternes obligations to Burton are, Mr. Shandys letter to Uncle Toby, with its obsolete medical practices; his philosophical consolations upon Uncle Tobys death; his notions on government; the story of Abderites raving about 0 Cupid, prince of gods and men, etc. 11.01 in leicestershire, but at neither of these places does he ever appear to have resided, I have lived a silent, sedentary, solitary, private life, mihi et Musis, in the university, as long almost as Xenocrates at Athens, ad senectam fere, to learn wisdom as he did, penned up most part in my study. . . . For thirty years I have continued a scholarleft to a solitary life and my own domestic dis- contents; saving that sometimes (ne quid meutiar), as Diogenes went into the city and Democritus to the haven, to see fashions, I did for my recreation now and then walk abroad, look into the world, and could not choose but make some little obser~ttion. The character which Wood gives of him is somewhat contradictory; as he was by many accounted a severe student, a devourer of authors, a melancholy and humorous person; so by others, who knew him well, a person of great honesty, plain dealing, and charity. I have heard some of the ancients of Christchurch often say that his company was very merry, facete, and juvenile; and no man in his time did surpass him for his ready and dexterous interlarding his common discourses among them with verses from the poets, or sentences from classic authors, which being then all the fashion in the uni- versity, made his company the more accept- able. There is no doubt but that he wa~ what we should now c~sll a very eccentric character; he had probably injured his health by close reading, and had that mor- bid self-consciousness which has often been the bane of scholars. There seems also to have been a certain amount of affectation in his character. He was not content with as~ suming the name of Democritus junior in his book, but appears to have worked him- self up into the notion that he really bore some resemblance to the original Democri- tus. The character which he draws of his prototype ih the Address to the Reader, which serves as the long preface to his Anat.. omy, is applicable in almost every particular to his own tastes and pursuits as described both by himself and others. The philoso-. pher of Abdera was, he says,.. A little wearish old man, ves~y melan- choly by nature, averse from company in his latter days, and much given to solitariness; wholly addicted to his studies to the last, and to a private life; a great divine, ac I.e. ~n the old sense pf the word, whimsical, capricio~. BURTON~S ANATOMY OF MELANCHOLY. ANATOMY OF MELANCflOLY. cording to the divinity of those times, an expert physician, a politician, an excellent mathematician, as Diacosmur and the rest of his works do witness. He was much de- lighted with the studies of husbandry, saith Columella. . .. In a word, he was omn Wa- riam doctus, a general scholar, a great stu- dent; .. . a man of an excellent wit, profound conceit, . . . wholly betaking himself to his studies and a private life, saving that some~ times he would walk down to the haven, and laugh heartily at such variety of ridiculous objects which there he saw. The philosopher of Christchurch resem- bled his model in very many points of this character, and perhaps believed himself to resemble it even more completely. He was an exact mathematician, says Wood a curious calculator of nativities, a general read scholar, a thorough-paced philologist, and one that understood the surveying of lands well. That he was also an able divine, and possessed sufficient medical knowledge to have set him up as a very respectable physician, is evident from the testimony of his remarkable book. As to Democritus love of husbandry, if my testimony were ought worth, I could say as much of myself, writes Burton. I am vere Saturninus; no man ever took more delight in springs, woods, groves, gardens, walks, fish-ponds, rivers, etc. But there is ei~p curious habit recorded of him, which seems to show that he studied for the character, and was quite willing that the world of Oxford should recognize in him the eccentricities as well as the learning of the original Laughing Philosopher: Noth- ing could make him laugh but going to the bridge-foot and hearing the ribaldry of the bargemen, which rarely failed to throw him into a violent fit of laughter. ~ It is im- possible not to see in this an absurd copy of Democritus at the haven of Abdera. Prob- ably the facilities of modern railway traffic, which have interfered so seriously with the profits of the Oxford Navigation Company, have also had a depressing effect upon the jocosity of the bargemen; for Democritus himself would find a difficulty in catching a joke upon Yolly Bridge now. It is a great pity that more anecdotes of Burton have not been recorded, for he must have been a singular character as well as an amusing companion. We can fancy that, if he had been fortunate enough to m~t with ~ Orangers Biog. list. a Boswell, his biogrnphy might have ~ ahnost as amusing as the great doctor~i Here is a quaint sketch of him which Hearne has preserved Ai~g. 2, 1713.The Earl of Southampton went into a shop and inquired of the book~ seller for Burtons Anatomy of Melornckot~j. Mr. Burton sat in a corner of the shop at that time. Says the bookseller, My lord, if you please, I can show you the author. He did so, Mr. Burton, says the earl, your servant. Mr. Southampton, says Mr. Burton, your servant. And away he went. He died at his rooms in Christchurch, Jan. 6, 1639; so near the time which he had him- self foretold some years before from a calcu- lation of his own nativity, that, as we are told by Antony Wood (who never misses an opportunity of saying an ill-natured thing), several of the students did not forbear to whisper among themselves, that rather than there should be a mistake in the calculation, he sent up his soul to heaven through a slip about his neck. He was buried, as we have seen, in the cathedral, with a short Latin epitaph, said to have been composed by him- self, and which isnot free from the tinge of vanity and affectation which marked his char- acter Paucis notus, pauciorihus ignotus, Hic jacet Detnocritus Junior, Cui vitam dedit et mortem Mclpncholja. The only known productions of his pen, besides thnt which has handed him down to fame, were a Latin cennedy ealled Plijioso.. phaster, acted at Christchurch in 1617, of which no copy is known to exist; and some epitaphs in Latin verse, which are by no means equal in neatness and elegance to the elegiac lines, Ad iribum suum, prefixed to the Anatomy. But it is probable that other productions of his pen existed in MS. (and may exist still), since in his will he leaves to the disposal of his executors all such books as are written with my own hands. He made a bequest to the Bodleian Library of a eurions collection of pamphlets and tracts, historical and miscellaneous, very many of which are probably unique. A few glances at hazard into the pages of the Anatomy will be enough to enable ant one to understand the secret of the ~nthusi- asm with which it has been regarded by ~pme * Hearnes Re1i~uics, edit. Bliss, ~rol. i. p. 288. 102 BURTON~ S ANATOMY OF MELANCHOLY. 103 readers, and the neglect which it has expe- Burton could say with the greatest truth. rienced at the hands of others. Every page The matter is theirs most part, and yet is loaded. ~with quotations; and, what with mine ;that which nature does with the all.. the Latin and the italics, has such a learned ment of our bodies, incorporate, digest, as- and technical look, that one can easil3 im- similate, I doconcoquere quod hausidis- agine many a rapibler in an old library shut- pose of what I take. The method only is ting such a book in hopeless dismay. The x~iine own. It is this methodthis lucidus amount of Latin in the text itself is consid- ordowhich is at once the merit and the erable, though sometimes the author has the charm of the book. To make it a detrac- consideration to translate his quotations, arid floua from Burtons claims as an author, remit the original to the footnotes; but there that he collected his materials instead of is quite enough even in the allusions to make manufacturing them, is much like complain- the book unsatisfactory except to a classical ing of a successful architect, that, after all, scholar. Indeed, so full is it of sentences in he did not make his own bricks. the more learned tongue, that Nicholls * But full indeed it is, in every sense, of rich says, It has been doubted whether it was material collected from all sources. One originally written in Latin or English. does not know whether most to admire the Burton seems at least to have had some wealth of the learning or the originality of hesitation in the choice; he almost apolo- many of the applications. Heathen classics, gizes to himself and his readers for using Fathers of the Christian Church, Arabian the vulgar tongue; It was not mine intent physicians, German scholars, Dutch histo- to prostitute my muse in English, or to di- rians, travellers and philosophers of all na- vulge secreta Minerva~, but to have exposed tions and ages, are pressed into the service this more contract in Latin if I could have frequently only a few words from each, got it printed. Any scurrile pamphlet is fitted into the context in a sort of literary welcome to our mercenary stationers in Eng- mosaic, wonderful to examine. Never was lish, but in Latin they will not deal. When criticism less happy than that of Granger, he gets upon the subject of abuses in the that if he had made more use of his in- Church (which he probably considered as vention, and less of his commonplace book, among Minervas secrets), and wishes to his work would perhaps have been more lash out into that classical billingsgate of valuable than it is. No one would have which critics were once so fond, he gives us been more disgusted at so mistaken a com- whole pages of original Latin. f It is not pliment than Democritus himself. He would fair to say of it, as has been said, that it is have us believe, indeed, with that affectation a mere canto of quotations, though it is true from which no author seems quite to es- that such is the title which Burton himself cape, that he wrote his treatise somewhat in bestows upon it ir~ his preface, perhaps with haste some little affectation of humility I have I was enforced, as a bear doth her whelps, laboriously collected this cento out of divers to bring forth this confused lump; I had not writers. He professes also, though only time to lick it into form, as she doth her half in earnest, to use the shield of author- young ones, but even so to publish it as it ity against those who might feel offended at was first written, quidquid in buccam venit; the severity of his satire, It is not I, but in an exteniporean style (as I commonly do they, that say it. Yet, while the author all other exercises), effudi quidquid dictavit out of a confused com thus guarded himself against i1l~natured crit.- genius meus; pany ics by this self.-denying ordinarwe at the out- of notes, and writ with as small deliberation set, he would have been little pleased to have as I do ordinarily speak. heard this term applied to it by any one ex- It is remarkable to find so acute a critic as. cept himself. If it be a cento, it is not to Dr. Ferriar accepting this statement of Bur- that faot~ that it owes either its interest or tons as a true history of his authorship, and its reputation. No work ever more fully ii- believing that he poured his quotations out lustrated thewo~ds of Horace on paper as fast as they came into his head. F Taritani series juneturaque pollet. On the contrary, Burtons arrangement is, * Rut. of Lefcesterskire, vol. iii. part ~. ~, ~ an has been already observed, a peculiar ex- t See part I. sect. 2, memb. 3, subs. 15. cellency in his book, and shows it to have 104 been the careful labor of probably many years. The professed object of the book is to anat- omize the passion of Melancholy; to trace its nature, its causes, and its possible cure. If any one shall ask the reason for his choice of a subject I write of melancholy, by- being busie to avoid melancholy. I can peradventure affirm with Marius in Sallust, that which others hear or read of I felt and practised myself; they get their knowledge from books, I from melancholising. . . . I would help others out of a fellow-feeling; and as that vertuous lady did of old, being a leper herself, bestow all her portion to build an hospital for lepers, I will spend my time and knowledge, which are my greatest fortunes, for the common good of alL Perhaps we have a truer reason, or at least one which had its share in leading him to authorship, in the confession that he was conscious of a considerable store of out-of- the-way reading, which might make an enter- taining book;~ I had a kind of imposthume in my head, which I was very desirous to be unladen of, and could imagine no fitter evac- uation than this. Burtons medical studies must excuse the metaphor, which is certainly rather professional than delicate; but we must not allow its apparent humility to be caught at as a precedent; there are a great many authors the contents of whose brains can never have been such a burden to them as to justify the unlading of them upon the public. He writes under the name of Democritus junior, because the original Democritus cut up and anatomized beasts To find out the seat of this atra bilis or melancholy, whence it proceeds and how it is engendered in mens bodies, to the intent he might better cure it in himself, by his writings and observations teach others how to prevent and avoid it. Which good in- tent of his Hippocrates highly commended, Democritus junior is therefore bold to imi- tate, and because he left it imperfect, and it is now lost, quasi succentariator Democriti, to revive again, prosecute, and finish it in this treatise. He had aiiother reason for his choice of an alias Never so much cause of laughter as now: never so many fools and madmen. Tis not one Democritus will serve turn to laugh in these days; we have now need of a Democri BURTONS ANATOMY OF MELANCHOLy. tue to laugh at Democritus, one jesterto flout another, one fool to flear at an another, a great Stentorian Democritus, as big as that Rhodian Colossus: for now, as Salis~.. buriensis said in his time, totus mundus his- trionem agitthe whole world plays the fool; we have a new theatre, a new scene, a new comedy of errors, a new company~ of personate actors; Volupice Sacrcc (as Cal- cagninus wittily feigns in his Apologues) are ceiebrat~a all the world over, where all the actors were madmen and fools, and every hour changed habits, or took that which came next. He adipits that some might object against him that he, as a beneficed divine, might have more fitly written sermons; but of that class of works he saw no such great need; there being already so many commentaries, treatises, pamphlets, expositions, sermons, that whole teams of oxen cannot draw them. The reader of Burton need only turn to the Cure of Despair in the last division of his treatise, in order to feel assured that if the writer had thought fit to devote his ex- traordinary stores of learning and powers of composition to pulpit oratory, Donne would have had a formidable rival in his less known contemporary. But the pulpit was not his favorite line; and it was probably rather his studentship at Christchurch than his delib- erate choice which led him to take holy or- ders. I am, says he, by my profession a divine, and by mine inclination a physi- cian. Yet he entertained the idea of some future publication more in the way of his calling. If this my discourse be over- medicinal, or savor too much of humanity, I promise thee that I will hereafter make thee amends in some treatise of divinity.One feels curious to knew what sort of sermons he preached to the good people of St. Thomas in Oxford, and whether, on the one hand, he took any pains to adapt his powers to their level, or they, on the other, had any distinct appreciation of their learned vicar. The only thing recorded of him in connection with his parochial duties there, so far as we are aware, is, that he built the south porch of the church A.D. 1621, and always adminis- tered the bread at the Holy Communion in the wafer form. He professes to find the disease of which he treats melancholy madness so uni- versal amongst mankind, that almost no con- dition is free from it. You shall find that BURTON~S ANATOMY OF MELANCHOLY. kingdoms and provinces are melancholy, cities and families, all creature, vegetal, sen- sible, and rational-that all sorts, sects, ages, conditions, are out of tune. Folly, melan- choly, madness, are but one disease; delir- ium is a common name to all. All fools are mad, though some madder than others, And who is not a fool? who is free from melan- choly? who is not touched more or less in habit or disposition?~ In fact, the whole of this portion of his preface is but a sermon upon the text of the Stoic philosopher, that all men were madStoics themselves in- cluded. He sets to work to establish this thesis in the most comprehensive manner. Solomon, he shows, was a fool by his own confession (Prov. 23: 2), and St. Paul him- self admits that he was occasionally no bet- ter. Socrates, after consulting all the phi- losophers in order to find out a wise man, came to the conclusion that all men were fools;~ and other philosophers say the same of him. As to learned men in general, you have only to listen to their deliberately re- corded opinions of each other to be con- vinced that they are the greatest fools in the world. He cunningly anticipates a possible retort of the reader on this point Democ- ritus, that common flouter of folly was ridic- ulous himself. He quotes an old law maxim, to the effect that all women are ordinarily fools; but let no fair reader feel aggrieved, for such are all meA also. Of all estates, and of all ages, youth is mad8tulti adoles- centuli; old age little betterdeliri sene& .~ The only man whom he would allow to have a taste of wisdom is Theophrastus, who re- gretted his own death because he was just then beginning to be wise at one hundred and seven years old; which, as Burton ob- serves, was rather late in the day. But not only individuals kingdoms, provinces, and politick bodies, are liable likewise, sensi- ble and subject to this disease. Those who lived to see the French Reign of Terror might have well discussed such a theory in a more earnest strain than Burtons. Bishop Butler, walking in his garden with his chap- lain in those terrible days, turned round to his companion after an interval of medita- tion, and asked him seriously whether he thought it possible for nations, like men, to have fits of insanity? There were phenom- ena in that Revolution which were sufficient to justify the bishops speculation. Our pres 105 ent author pushes his argument still further. Even animals have this melancholy mad- ness. Put a bird in a cage, he will die for sullenness; or a beast in a pen, and take his young ones or companions from him, and see what effect it will cause. And even what he calls vegetals are liable (so he will have it) to the same diseases. Lead is sat- urnine by nature; and a plant, if removed, will pine away. Of course, our author observes, his is not the popular doctrine. On the contrary, we all think ourselves wise; and this is, in truth and he quotes Solomon, Pliny, and Seneca to the pointthe most indisputable symp- tom of folly. Never was a wiser age than his own, he says, if one could take its own testimony. In former times they had but seven wise men; now, you can scarce find so many fools. Thales sent the golden tripor, which the fishermen found, and which the oracle com- manded to be given to the wisest, to Bias, Bias to Solon, etc. If such a thing were now found, we should all fight for it, as the three goddesses did for the golden applewe are so wise. We have women politicians, chil- dren metaphysicians; every silly fellow can square a circle, make perpetual motions, find the philosophers stone, interpret Apoca- lypsis, make new theoricks, a new system of the world, new logic, new philosophy, etc. We think so well of ourselves, and that is an ample testimony of much folly. After a very long exordiumwhich is, however, one of the best parts of the book~ he proceeds to treat of melancholy as toi. Its nature; 2. Its causes; 3. Its symptoms. He gives a most elaborate synopsis, as a kind of index to the work, in which all the heads of his discourse are indicated in their sec- tions, members, and subsections. Whether this was for his own amusement, or as a kind of solemn joke upon the subtleties of the schoolmens logical divisions and subdivi~ sions, one can scarcely tell; certainly he could not expect many of his readers to en- ter upon the study in the severely philosophi- cal spirit which such an apparatus implies~ to take up melancholy as a science, in modern Oxford language. At any rate, modern students will be rather apt to run on delighted with the rich flow of quaint an- ecdote and quotation, bewildered in a pleas- ant maze (for Burtons digressions are of the longest and boldest), than to pause from BURTON~S ANATOMY OF MELANCHOLY. time to time to take up the several stepa of the discussion, or observe carefully that subsection 7 is a branch of member 3. It is only the critical reader of Burton who will feel himself bound to this mere system- atic, and less luxurious, proceeding. After premising that no man is free from disease of some kinda position which we believe is still held by the facultyhe pro~ ceeds to a preliminary digression as to the anatomy of the body and of the mind. The first we may leave unnoticed: medical technicalities are not lively reading at the best, and the anatomical science of two hun- dred and fifty years ago is not very valuable. He has certainly done his best to give his readers something of the poetry of science, even in dealing with this very technical sub- ject; showing how the brain in the high- est region is, as it were, a privy counsellor and chancellor to the heart, which (in the second region, the chest) as a king keeps his court, and by his arteries communicates life to the whole body; while in the third or lower region the liver resides as a legate a latere; and the lungs is the town-clark or crier, as an orator to a king; annexed to the heart to express his thoughts by voice. The anatomy of the soul is more curious, though it is about the hardest reading in the book, and has no doubt turned back many a lazy reader who has opened Burton in search of amusement. But we will not stop now to examine how there be in all fourteen spe- cies of the understanding. Let us proceed to ascertain what this melancholy, atra bilis, is. There is one species of it in dis- position, which comes and goes upon every small occasion of sorrow, need, sick- ness, etc., with which this treatise will have nothing to do; in this sense, melancholy is the character of mortality. It is melan- choly proper, in habit, morbus clironicus, with which we have to do. Burton accepts what he calls the common definition of it, a kind of dotage without a fever, having for his ordinary companions fear and sadness without any apparent occasion. * Those ~ It has been more than insinuated, by Dibdin and others, that the author of this Anatomy, the prey of so many literary pirates, was himsell, to a certain extent, a copyist. That there were abun- dance of treatises on melancholy, in all languages, before the appearance of his book, is of course true ; and that he made free use of them in the way of reference and quotation, lie declares himself in his ample footnotes. It would require a research who are most liable to it are ersona~it1ser~ of a black, or of a high sax uiae1eompfr~.. ion (which gives rise to differentibrms~ot thediscase, which shows iteelfin morevialerit symptoms in the latter teuriperanront); but indeed, our author goes on to say, u J can- not except any complexion, any age~condi- tien, sex, or age, but fools and stojes, which (according to Synesius) are never troubled with any manner of passion. We do not know how far the philosophers may be pleased with an exemption granted in such company, but it may be some comfort to the fools in these days of universal wisdom. On the other hand, we fear that some of our very saturnine and disagreeable friends, if they study Burton, will shelter themselves under his authority, and set down to their superior genius what is due to their bad di- gestion. Generally, saith llhasis, the finest wits and most generous spirits are, before other, obnoxious to it. It will be a great temptation to those who feel themselves dull, heavy, lazy, uncheerful in counte- nance and not pleasant to behold, to plead that these are the tokens of a superior mind, when they find it here remarked of the Same characters that their memories are for the most part good, they have happy wits and excellent apprehensions. Even the author- ity of Aristotle is quoted to the same effect. There may be an unpleasant amount of truth in the theory. The temper which sees a sad- into forgotten literature alm6st as laborious as Bur- tons qwn, to refute this charge effectually. But the definition of ~nelancholyj ust quoted from his pageS, affordsa convenient opportunity of showing, by an examInation t~f one particular instance, how far the,autborwa~ )ikely to take any thing at sec- ond-hand. One of the books to whi~h lie is thought to have been indebted 1 s A Treatise of ftelanckotie, by rimothv Bright, M,D~, first printed in 1586. [fhe work: is very scarce, and the ~ntish Museum has only an imperfect copy~~ There ls no question but that Burton made use bt the book, for he quotes from it, or refers to it, more than once. And there are several passages in the old physicians work from which at first sight it might appear that the later writer had borrowed. For instance, Brights delinition of melancholy is a doting of the reason through vaine feare, procured by fault of the mel- aneh,iin humour. Now, upon comparing this with. flurtons,as given above, it will bQ seen that the terms are the same. But whenwe come to ex- amine the process by which the later~ author ar- rives at his definition, we see that Bright got his term dotage from Aretwus ;. of the reason. from Montaltus, Albertus, Bottonus, etc. ; fear, as a necessary ingredient, from Hem~ul~ tie Sat- onia, etc.; and black choler,~~ or the inelan- cholic humor, as the cause, from Paul oftEgina. Both had probably recourse to the same authori- ties, and hence the resemblance. 106 BURTOT~S ANATOMY~ OF MELANCHOLY. ness and a weariness in all things is the scourge of a higher nature than the buoyant animslinrn which finds delight in every hour of: taistenee. There may be a moral lesson in discontent. Ennui, says a preacher uf no ordinary powers, is one of the signatures ofmans immortality. It is a thing~ says another writer, t which fools never know~ and clever men only dispel by active exer~ tion. Omnia vanitas has more than one interpretation. As to the causes of melancholy, the an. thor runs into some veryfantastic digressions. How far the power of spirits and devils doth extend, and whether they can cause this or any other disease, is a serious question, and worthy to be considered. Testimonies from various writers, of whoni few readers will have heard, are produced in support of both sides of the question; but the authors sym- pathies are plainly with the demonologists. Some strange speculations on the subject he cannot indeed admit, as, for instance, that these devils are corporeal, as David Crusius and others would have it; Bodine even being so particular as to note that in their proper shapes they are round. Leo ~uavius, a Frenchman, will have the ayre to be as full of them as snow falling in the skies; and Paracelsus stifflyniaiutains that the air is not so full of flies in summer as it is at all times of invisible devils a very un- comfortable doctrine. Not that they are in- visible at all times and to all people; that holy man Ketellus, in Nubrigensis, had an especial grace to see devils, and to talk with them. Facius Cardan, father of the great physician, an. 1491, 13th August (the son, who records it, is v~ry properly exact as to the date), conjured up seven devils in Greek apparel, about forty years of age, some ruddy of complexion, and some pale; nay, we are told a few pages further on that he had one an aerial devil hound to him for twenty and eight years. Was it to learn physic that he sdrved this apprentice.~ ship? Burton is careful not to commit him. self to the truth either of these philosophers speculations or of their peteonal experiences; hut he declares his own belief that whirl- winds, and tempestuous storms, which our meteoroIogi,4~ generally refer to natural ~ F. W. Robertso~. t Sir Iluiwer ~qttcn (in a letter to Lady Bless- ington). causes, are far more often caused by those aerial devils in their several quarters .-.-. tripudium agentes rejoicing in the death of a sinner. How far they are infiu.. ential in producing melancholy he leaves un- decided; but he thinks that this humor has been rightly termed by Serapion balneum diabsdi, the devils bath, as inviting him to come into it. Besides evil spirits and magicians, their servants, he holds that the stars may be a disposing cause. The conjunction of Saturn and Jupiter in Libra, or Saturn and the moon in Scorpio, is significant of future madness or melancholy. There can be no question as to Burtons own belief in judicial astrol- ogy. He apologizes for it gracefally Nam et doctis liisce erroribus versatus sum and professes that he does not carry his belief to an extreme. The stars do incline, but not compel.agunt non cogunt; but he will not waste time in arguing with those who will attribute no vertue at all to the heav- ens, or to sun or moon, more than to their signs at an innkeepers post; to his view, the heaven is a great book whose letters are the stars, wherein are written many strange things for such as can read. Passing from these more fantastical speeu. lations, we come to certain causes of Melan- choly more commonly recognized. Worse than all devils or witches, or adverse con- junctions of the planets, are the malignant Genii of Diet and Air. Six non-natural * things there are, so much spoken of amongst physicians, in which lie the causes of all diseases, this of black choler in- eluded; and these are Diet, Air, Secretions, Exercise, Sleep, and the Passions. Of these, Diet stands first in the opinion of all physi- cians. It is the mother of diseases, let the father be what he will, says Fernel, the great French physician. Burton supplies a very full collection of precepts as to what particular articles of food are to be chosen or avoided; but as he is impartial in his quotations from all the celebrated authorities in ancient medicine, and as doctors~ prover- bially disagree, the result to the anxious in- quirer is not altogether satisfactory. Go ~ The term aoa-aatural was fashionable in the medical science of that day. It was applied to such cases of diseases as were not congenital. A namesake of the author of the Aaatom~, John Bur- ton, M.D., of York, wrote a Treatise on the Non- aatusral., in 1788. 107 108 BURTON~ S ANATOMY OF 1~ELANCHOLY. mesius doth immoderately extol sea-fish, in the conversation of a living pl~ilesopl~er, which others as much vilifie Messarius but at which your self-conceit tak~s ~ commends salmon, which Bruerinus contra- fence in one whose only pei~sonalky i~s~ 1iiUp~ dicts ; Paulus Jovius commends lam- page. Beer, on the other hand, our ~uthor preys, and saith none speak against them strongly commends, though in oppositio~a t~ but inepti and scrupulosisome scrupulous authorities: Tis a most whole~ne and a persons. Carp is a fish of which, says our pleasant drink, and much the better for the author, I know not what to determine; hop, that rarefies it, and bath an especial it bath a taste of mud, as Franciscus Bon- vertue against melancholy. It may be very suetus poetically defines in his Liber de fairly surmised that Christchurch brewed Aquatilibus (and as we can prosaically con- good ale in those days, and that Democritus ~lrm from personal experience); nevertheless, junior patronized the tap. lie h~id sense Freitagius extols it for an excellent whole- enough, no doubt, to recognize the truth of some meat, and so do most of our coun- one golden rule in the matter of dietaries, try gentlemen. The present Leo Rusticus, which he quotes as being as ancient as Hip- Esq., prefers Scotch salmon, we are bound pocratesthat what a man relishes most to say in justice to his taste. Venison is commonly agrees with him. still a pleasant meat, in great esteem with Unwholesome air, excessor defect of sleep us at our solemn feasts; and we conscien- and exercise, and other neglects of the body, tiously dissent from the dictum, though it are set down as proximate causes of melan- were fortified by the opinions of a thousand choly. So also, disordered passions, which physicians, Greek, Latin, French, or Eng- are dwelt on at considerable length in Aris- lish, that it is a melancholy meat, and be- totelian fashion. On the great question of gets bad blood. No doubt, as Burton the connection between matter and spirit says, it ought to be well prepared by cook- how the body, being material, worketh ery; and it could only have been the atro- upon the immaterial soul he is content to eious culinary arrangements in the kitchen refer us to Cornelius Agrippa and Lemnius at Christchurch in his days that could have in their treatises on occult philosophy. We induced the assertion that it is generally cannot boast of an acquaintance with these ba~d, and seldom to be used. On another learned writers, but can guess that they point we are quite willing to agree with leave the humiliating fact pretty much as him; we recommend no dyspeptic student they found it. It is a most anomalous and to eat horse (not if he knows it). Even inexplicable state of things, that merely be- young foals we should be shy of recoin- cause a mans internal cooking apparatus is mending as an article of diet, although a little out of order, he should go nigh commonly eaten in Spain, and to furnish to hating ~ll his neighbors, and making the navies often used. Some revelations as all his neighbors l~ate him; that a good di- to certain tins of preserved meats supplied gestion should be tho root of nine-tenths of to her Britannic Majestys ships lead us to the moral virtues: but so it is. And when think that these delicacies are still in vogue will society listen to the plea which our hon- with navy contractors. Wine is set down est anatomist puts forth on behalf of those by the authorities as a great cause of head- unfortunate mortals, who find their moral melancholy. Guianerius (Tract. 1.5, c. 2) alid intellectual being so tied~ and capti- tells a story of two Dutchmen to whom he vated by their inferior senses? This gave entertainment in his house, that in one melancholy, says he, deserves to be pitied months space were both melancholy by of all men, and to be respected with a ten- drinking of wine; one did nought but sing, der compassion. Pity, indeed! we wish the other sigh. A melancholy Dutchman the unfortunate dyspeptic may get it. No keeping up a perpetual chant must have been if a man wants pity let him break his leg, a guest that no one but an experimental and get laid up comfortably for six weeks. physician would have entertained long. One Then he shall enjoy all the luxury of con- great delight in reading old Burton is that centrating upon himself the interest and you never feel certain when Democritus in sympathies of a whole householdnay, a telling his gravest stories, is not laughing at whole neighborhood. Bright eyes shall you in his sleeve ;not an agreeable feature watch him, eager to anticipate his everywish, fair hands shall minister to his necessities, a~nd ikiry forms hover about, slaves to his bidding: But let him get up in the morn- ing~ ~niiid in wind and limb to all appear- ance, with nothing particular to complain of, only feeling as if he had got the whole world upon his s~houlders, like Atlas, and was on the point of breaking down under itheavy as if with the shadow of some unknown ca- lamitywith all the little troubles of life magnified in his mental focus, like those hideous water-monsters in the hydro-oxygen microscope agelastor, mo?stus, cogitabun- duslooking as if he had newly come forth of Trophonius den (do we not know the symptoms as well as old Burton ?)and see how much pity or respect such an unhappy sufferer is likely to meet with from this pres- ent hard-hearted generation. Democritus had surely experienced the tender sympa- thies of some of his Christchurch friends when he wrote as follows It is an ordinary-thing for such as are sound, to laugh at this dejected pusillanim- ity, and those other symptoms e4~ melan- choly, to make themselves merry with them, aAd to wonder at such, as toyes and trifles which may be resisted and withstood if they will themselves; but let him that so won- ders, consider with himself, that if a man should tell him on a sudden that some of his especial friends were dead, could he choose but grieve? or set him upon a steep rock, where he should be in danger to be precipi- tated, could he be secure? Yea, but you in- fer that such men have a just cause to grieve, a true object of fear: so have mel- ancholy men an inward cause, a perpetual fume and darkness, causing grief, fear, sus- picion, which they carry with theman ob- sect which cannot be removed, but sticks as close, and is as inseparable, as a shadow to a body; and who can expel or overrun his shadow? Remove heat of the liver, a cold stomach, weak spleentake away the cause, and then bid them not grieve nor fear, or be heavy, dull, lumpish: otherwise counsel can do little good: ~u may as well bid him that is sick of an ague not be dry, or him that is wounded not to feel pain. So much for the nature and the causes of melancholy; the second part of our treatise concerns its cure. A hard matter, the au- thor tells us, but not impossible. lie no- tices some proposed remedies only to reject them. He advisesand we trust our pres- ent readers will agree with himnot to have 109 recourse to what, by a rather curious antici- pation, he calls magnetical curess or in more plain language, diabolical means that is, spells, charms, incantations, and the like. Sorcerers, he says, are common enough in every village.. and they have commonly St. Catherines wheel printed in the roof of their mouth, or in some other part about them a trade-mark which it may be useful thus to note for the protec- tion of the ingenuous public who attend modern .sdances, and by which we recom- mend them to make a point of testing the genuine articletaking care not to get their fingers bitten. Paracelsus will have it that no one shall take it in hand to deal with melancholy, who is not at once a magi- cian, a chymist, a philosopher, and an as- trologer. Burton is cautious as to giving any decided opinion of his own as to the possibility of such means of cure, but he holds them to be plainly unlawful. He ad- mits, nevertheless, that there is a supernat- ural 17s medicatrix, to which we may law- fully apply, and of which all vertue of stones, herbs, plants, seeds, etc., are but intermediate ministers ; and he weaves very gracefully together, in his own peculiar style, the acknowledgment of the heathen poet A Jove principium the moral contained in the fable of Hercules and the wagoner, apd the golden precept which was so fully recognized by the good physicians of oldGalen5 Crato, Ltelius, and their fol- lowers Sine oratione et invocatione DLI nikilfacias. The sovereign cures for melancholy are to be sought in accordance with what we have seen of its nature and its causes. Greater than all wizards, astrologers or physicians are the three Salernitan~ doctorsDr. Mer- ryman, Dr. Diet, and Dr. Quiet Si tibi deficiant medici, metlici tibi fiant Hmc tria, mens lmta, requies, moderata dieta * This was one of the celebrated maxims of the School of Salerno, which, under the Lombard princes, rose to the highest re- nown throughout Europe. It was there that the Arabian chemists and physicians taught the secrets of the East. Paris for ~ See Regimes Sasitatis Salerni; or the School of ,Salerne, etc. 4to. London: 1649. This edition has a very indifferent translation of the Latin max- ims into English verse. Burton appears to have quoted from a Latin prose version. BURTON~S ANATOMY OF MELANCHOLY. 110 sciences, Bonn for law, Orleans for suecess~. ful writers, Salerno for medicine, the distribution of Thomas Aquinas. The max- ims of this school were condensed irito a con- venient set of aphorisms in rhymed Latin verse of the twelfth century, and were trans~ lated into various languages. On the pre~ cept quoted above, Burton rests as the foundation of all sound treatment of this terrible disease. Make a melancholy man fat, saith Rhasis, and thou hast finished the cure. Let him that is vexed with this Nemesis of the body, look well to his diet above all things. And in this, says Bur- ton very sensibly, I conclude our own ex- perience is the best physicianlet every man observe and be a law unto himself. He reminds us of the Emperor Tiberius remark, which we have since freely trans- lated into a proverb, that a man after thirty is either a fool or a physician. He approves of the Roman custom of taking the chief meal at the close of the day; a point of medical discipline in which our physicians of the last generation made a perverse step backwards, tormenting the unhappy dyspep- tic with raw mutton-chops at one oclock. On the other hand, Burton and his learned authorities forbid a variety of dishes, which modern experience more reasonably con- cludes, under limitations, to be conducive to easy digestion; much more so than the cut- and-come-again at what our ancestors used to call wholesome roast and boiled. In nothing did the national obstinacy and prej- udice of Englishmen maintain its ground longer against reason and conviction, than in the deeply seated belief in the virtues of the national cookery. No doubt our hered- itary jealousy of France had much to do with it. Water, says Burton, should be good. Rain-water is purest ; next in merit is that which riseth in the east and run- neth eastward, from flinty, chalky, gravelly ground. We confess to a very limited ex- perience of water as a beverage, except un- der the modifications admitted by our tem- perance poet in June last; * certainly, if we drank it, we should like it good. There used to be some in Burtons time, in Tar- kie, Persia, India (as our merchants ob- serve), as good as our beer; but that, we are cfraid has been drunk out long since. 5 Blackwood~a Magazine, vol. lxxxix. p. 749. A~?AT~MY 01? MELANCHOLY. ~The Choaspis in Persia was fbr~d ~by the Persian kings before wine itselfY ~*srj~ thing depends, no doult,om the qunlit~f the Persian wine; we have ta#ted homenutide British, to which any water~-~.~even ~ stilV, white, and thick, like that of Nilus hi .~gypt would have been preferable. Good air, again, is an essentitil point in the case. Upon this Burton makes a long arid amusing digression, carrying his reader all round the habitable globe in search of it, where we shall not follow him. A good sit- uation should be chosen for a house, bear- ing in mind that the best soile commonly yields the worst sire. A dry sandy spot .. rather hilly than plain a cotswold country with a pleasant prospect, are what he would recommend; the last alone will ease melancholy, as Gomesius contends. Our country gentlemen are too apt, in his mind, to build in bottoms, or near woods. Some, indeed, suppose that a thick, foggy air helps the memory; and (we fear the compliment is rather malicious to the sister university) Camden commends the site of Cambridge because it is so near the fens. But of all remedies, change of air is that which works wonders. No bet- ter physic for a melancholy man than change of air and variety of places, to travel abroad and see fashions. It is no new fancy of our fashionable physicians to order their patients, who are suffering from the complications of nervousness or indigestion, to the sea or to the German baths; their predecessors in the dark ages appear to have attached quite as much weight to such prescriptions. No need to quote Rhasis, Montaltus, Celsus, etc.; let one testimony from that great doctor, Larlius a Fonte Eugubinus, stand for all; he notes at the end of several of his recorded consultations, and doubtless with perfect truth Many other things ~helped; but change of air was that which wrought the cure, and did most good. Exercise, both of bodj and mind, is al- most of equal virtue in the curative process. All nature, says the philosopher, delights in exercise. The heavens themselves run continually round; the sun riseth and set- teth; the moon increaseth and decreaseth; stars and planets keep theit constant mo.. tions; the air is still tossed by the winds; the waters ebb and flow, to their conserva- tion no doubt, to teach us that we should ANATOMY OF M2I~LANCHOLY. ~erb~I~ actioL The whole of this chap- tqr~wJ~ieh;Ireet,s of Exercise rectified, is icl~A~u~seeAote and allusion, to the sweet ~1andcapacity of the reader,asBnr- 1~n ~him~lfsaysof other books ;but we-must ~ot ~w4iuger~ov~er it. He holdsall anuise~~ menta to he.. ii~nocent, which have an inub- cent ~ntent; even stage-plays and. dancing howsoever they be heavily censured by some severer Catoes are allowable, he thinks, to frail mortality in search of. recro- ation. He will subscribe heartily, he says, to King James declaration in favor of May-games, wakes, and Whitsun ales. Yet he is not ignorant that there are higher and better things, even as relaxation, for the mind. The Christchurch student knows no delight like that which he enjoys amongst his favorite books so great pleasure, such sweet content than is in study. He would himself prescribe no better remedy, in most cases, than the learning of some art or sci- ence.~ This method of cure will hardly be- come so popular as change of air and liberal amusement. The modern .~Esculapius may pafel3r counsel to the pale invalid who has bad too much work or too much idleness, a moor in Scotland, or a trip to Hamburg, and pocket his fee with the consciousness of hav- ing at least given a palatable prescription; but it would be striking out a novel line, and one which would perhaps hardly pay, to ad- vise him forthwith to demonstrate a prop- osition in Euclide hi~ live last books, extract a square root, or even to study that pleas- ant tract of Machometes Bragdedinus, De iSs~perficierum Divi.sionilnts, or read Scal- iger, Dc Emendat4me Temporum, and Peta- vius, his adversary, tilt he understand them. The reader fancies he sees the smile on Dc- mocritus face here; has all the rest of this grave advice been really badinage? He is not much re-assured by what follows: If those other do not affect him, and his means be great, to employ his purse and~ fill his head he may go and find the philosophers stone. They who arc scarcely 80aImbitious as to embark upon this last discovery, may amuse themselves with lighter experiments; as, for instance, Cornelius ]7)rible his per~. petual motion; or that friend of whom Marcellus Vrenken, an Hollander, makes mention, as ,being about an instroment (perhaps he~ has finished it by this time) gua vir4bit qua in altero horizonte & it -~--by 111 which he can see what is going on under an- other horizon. The temptation held out to human curiosity in this last invention would seem. to be almost irresistible. Sleep, in the next place, should be at- tended to; Paracelsus holds it to be the chi~fest thing in all physic. Some cannot sleep.for witches and fascinations; it may be so with some of our present readers; it may possibly have been so with ourselves, when we were callidu.sjuventa; but those days are past. The spell of fascination is not woven that can now distract our philo- sophical repose. To read some pleasant author till he be asleep, is open to objection unless your bed-curtains have been steeped in a fire-proof solution; but of all recipes against wakefulness we must protest against that of.~Etius (even though he be the man who was thrice consul), who orders the patients a sup of vinegar as they go to bed. iRha- sis seems to deliberate about it. Burton does not, apparently; I say, a nutmeg and -ale, or a good draught of muscadine, with a tost or a nutmeg, or a posset of the same. We say so, tooany thing but the vinegar. Last, and not least, in the cure, are mirth, music, and merry company. First, indeed, of the Salernitan trio, walks Dr. Merryman. His prescriptions are that sole nepenthes of Homer, Helenas boule, Venus girdle, so renowned of old. This atrabilious plague begins with sorrow (saith Montanus), it t~st be expelled with hilarity. We are also furnished with several excel- lent philosophical arguments as remedies against discontent, some of them more in- genious than practical. Are we melancholy from imprisonment or loss of liberty? We are to remember that no man is free; all are slaves lovers to their mistresses, rich men to their gold, courtiers generally to lust and ambition, and all slaves to our affections. As to imprisonment we are all prisoners; what is our life but a prison? In Muscovy and many northern parts they are imprisoned half the year in stoves; they dare not peep out for cold; at Aden, in Arabia, they are penned in all day long with that other ex- treme of heat. We in England are im-. prisoned by the sea. As to banishment, that should be no cause for melancholy; to a wise man there is no difference of climes ;, friends are everywhere to him that behaves himself well; and a prophet is not esteemed. 112 ANATOMY OF MELANCHOLY. in his own country. Our author has no Not to be too niggardly miserable of his sympathy with nostalgia. Tis a childish purse nor too bold to practise upon humor, to hone after home, to be discontent himself; and above all things to haVe con- with that which others seek; to prefer, as fidence in his physician. Wonderful Is the base Islanders and Norwegians do, their power of Imagination, both in producing and own rugged iland before Italy and Greece, removing such diseases as this treatise deals the gardens of the world. If, in spite of with. Plures sanat, in quem plures co~fl- such impregnable arguments, any true Briton dunt, says Cardan; and this is admitted by be still apt to prefer his own rugged iland, great physicians to have been a notable so- we can only give him the advice with which cret of their success. Burton concludes his chapter Read Peter It is not probable that many sufferers Alcionius his two books of this subject. will have recourse to the pharmacopa~ia of To the remedial powers of physic, techni- the seventeenth century. It contains some cally so called, Burton is not altogether com- strange items, both simples and compounds, plimentary. lIe finds good authorities who which modern science has either lost or neg- maintain that those tribes who are so happy lected. Much to be desired were that stone as not to have invented doctors, live the called Chelidonius, found (in those days) longest, and have the best health. iDis- in the belly of a swallow, which will cure marius Bleskenius, in his accurate descrip- melancholics, and make them amiable tion of Island (Iceland), assures his read- and merry. Or that species of loadstone ers that without physic or physician they which, taken in parcels inward, it will live many of them two hundred and fifty (some say), like vipers wine (another de- years. Certain ancient writers, in their de- sideratum), ~ restore youth. All precious scription of our own island, observe, that stones and jewels have excellent vertues to tl~re was of old no use of physick among pacifie the affections of the mind; and our us, and but little at this day, except it be fair students will learn with great satisfac- for a few nice idle citizens, surfeiting court- tion that this is the philosophical reason why lers, and stall-fed gentleman lubbers; the men (and we suppose women) so much country people use kitchen physic. He re- covet to have them. For the future, when minds us that Plato made it a sign of a cor- the bride has a passion for sapphires, we rupt commonwealth, where lawyers and shall know that she only values them for physicians did abound; and he tells us how their power to inspire pure and chaste one Canonherius, a great doctor himself thoughts; if she rather affect topazes, it can one of their own tribe, proves by sixteen only be in the hope that this stone will in- arguments that physic is no art at all; no, crease wisdom, as Cardan promises; or if not worthy of the name of a liberal science, she has a fancy for a set of emeralds, it must but full of impostors, and does generally be that, like Mercurialis, she admires the more harm than good. The devil him- emerald for his virtues in pacifying. self was the first inventor of it; for Apollo Even a parure of diamonds becomes a laud- claims it, and who was Apollo but the able object of female ambition, when we re- divell ? His banter upon this subject is member that, in the philosophers system, very amusing, both here and elsewhere in it calmed anger, and strengthened wedded his book; but he checks himself at last, and love; and hence was called the Stone of recants lest some physician should mis- Reconciliation. * Of the much vaunted take me, and deny me physick when I am powers of Paracelsus aurum potabilepo- sick. Apollo, he confesses, was worthily table gold fgrave doubts are to be enter- deified, and the art is noble and divine. ~ See a pleasant chapter in De Barreras Gems Still, a discreet and godly physicians will and Jewels, part iv. c. i. medicine; and it has been f Here is the receipt, if any curious reader prefer diet to likes to try it from the Paris pharmacopula: often found, as Luelius records in his con- Dissolve halI~ an onuce of pure gold in two sultatious, that after a deal of physic to no ounces of aqua regia (nitromuriatic acid), em- ploying a gentle heat; add one ounce of oil of purpose, left to themselves, they have re- rosemary; shake the mixture, and the gold will covered. quit the acid and unite with the oil, giving a hean He has also scattered here and there, a tiful yellow color. Decant it from off the acid which remains at the hottom, and mix with fifteen few words of sound advice to the patient. ounces of rectified spii~its of wine; It is quite consonant with modern prac- tice and experience that for this complaint there is no more present remedy than a cup of wine or strong drink, if it be soborly and opportunely used. But we cannot hold with Avicennas opinion, that to be drunk is excellent good physic; or recommend, with Magninus, that a patient should be so once a month at least, even though such a grave philosopher as Seneca advises it. The sober reader will incline, with Burton, to think that such doctrines can only be maintained by heathens and dissolute Ara- bians. He might have found, however, that such bacchanalian maxims were popu- lar in his favorite sehool of Salerno Si nocturna tibi noceat potatio vini, Hoc ter mane bibas iterum, et fuerit medi. cina. And again, Singula post ova, pocula suma nova. The explanation given of this latter maxim is, Because an egg descendeth but slowly downward, and drink causeth it to de- scend. * There are some other remedies suggested which bespeak a very vigorous practice amongst the ancient faculty. Cardan pre- scribes rubbing with nettles till they blister the skin, which likewise Basardus Visontinus so much magnifies. Cauteries and hot %E Regimen ,Sanitatis Salerni. THIRD SERIEs. LIVING AGE. 708 ANATOMY OF MELANCHOLY. 113 tamed. It must have been a pretty-looking irons in the suture of the crown may also medicine; and we presume that the idea is be used; and certainly, if that kind of treat- still preserved in the IDantzic liqueur, known ment does not make a man lively, it is hard as gold-water, with its floating particles of to say what will. Also (this must in ex- gold-leaf. The author is doubtful as to the treme cases), tis not amiss to bore the virtue of amulets, lie had been even more skull with an instrument, to let out the fu- incredulous; but liginous vapors. Guinnerius cured a~ no- ble man in Savoy by boring alone, leaving the hole open a month together. Gordo- nius (a canny Scot, we opine, rather of the slow and prudent school, compared with his more dashing contemporaries) would have this to be tried last, when no other physick will serve. A large portion of Burtons treatise~is taken up with a discussion of the symptoms, causes, and cure of love-melancholy (for Love is a species of melancholy); but on this branch of the subject we decline, for more reasons than one, to enter, except to extract the following result of a post-mor- tem examination of a lover, related out of Plato: Being in the country in the vacation time not many years since, at Lindly, in Leicestershire, my fathers house, I first ob- served this amulet of a spider in a nut-shell lapped in silke, etc., so applied for an ague by my mother. . . . Among all other ex- periments, this, methought, was most absurd and ridiculous; I could see no warrant for it. Quid aranece cam febre? for what an- tipathy! till at length, rambling amongst authors, as often I do, I found this very medicine in Dioscorides, approved by Mat- thiolus, repeated by Aldrovandus. I began to have a better opinion of it, and to give more credit to amulets, when I saw it in some cases answer to experience. Empedocles the philosopher was pres- ent at the cutting-up of one that died for love; his heart was combust, his liver smoakie, his lungs dried up, insomuch that he verily belived his soul was either sod or roasted through the vehemency of loves fire.Part iii. Sect. 2, M. 3, 5. 1. As we have before observed, it is often hard to discover when Burton is in earnest, and when he is merely indulging in a grave banter. Probably he did not always know himself. His mind was so abundantly stored with all varieties of reading, from the most fantastic cabalistic lore to the grandest and truest wisdom, that it was hard or he was too dreamyto separate the fanciful from the real. The canons of cred- ibility were not so definitely fixed in his time as they are in ours. He does not care to emancipate himself altogether from the creed of the vulgar of his own day; rather, his was a mind which found congenial food both in what has been called the follies of sci- ence, and in the marvels of unlettered credulity. Of his belief in judicial astrology we have seen something already; he is un- willing to doubt the existence of Lamias and Incubi. Birds of Paradise that liveon air and dewthe bleeding of a corpse at the touch of the murdererthe manifest raining of lemmer rats in Norwayare all brought forward as recognized facts, in the ANATOMY OF MELANCHOLY. 114 way of illustration. In the middle of a grave put something like~ a popular 4ress upon digression touching the motions of the heav- Democritus junior as a substitulje~ ~ enly bodies, and the question as to whether worthy himself. Nothing, is furtb~,, f~pm the planets are inhabited, he stops to won- our wish than that any one who has ~ot yet der whether those two green children which made his acquaintance, should content him- Nubrigensis speaks of in his time, that fell self with an introduction in a review. At any from heaven, came from thence. And he rate, we n~ay claim in this instance to stand seems to treat this quite as much as a mat- acquitted of the offence of forestalling and ter of scientific observation as Jupiters regrating, which many a modern author moonswhich, he tells us, I have seen may bring against his reviewers; if we do myself. There are those who surmise that not succeed in making readers for Burton, Herodotus was smiling to himself when he at least we shall not have lured any away. remarked gravely that he knew more than he cared to tell about certain Egyptian mys- Note.Charles Lamb is well known to teries; and we willingly leave to such saga- have been an admirer of the Anatomy. It cious critics the task of getting at the real was one of the books which he advised every mind of Democritus junior. one to read in the folio edition. The follow- We have been the more willing to re- ing are printed by him as Extracts from awaken, so far as this slight sketch may a Common-place Book, which belonged to serve, the interest once felt in Burtons re- Robert Burton, author of the Anatomy of inarkable book, because he seems on the Melancholy. More than one critic has been whole to have had less than justice done to deceived by them; but they are evidently him by professional critics in modern days. nothing more than clever jeux desprits, quite Hallam coldly says: I have not found much in Lambs style; the imitation is excellent pleasure in glancing over the Anatomy, and complains of its being clogged with excess of reading. A critic who had only found time to glance over a book of this char- acter, had scarcely a right to give an opinion cx eathedra upon it, and can only be excused by the dire necessity that binds critics who undertake the whole range of literature to say something. Dibdin says, it is~ in a great measure, a task to peruse. We sus- pect that professed bibliomaniacs are apt to read a book from beginning to end after a fashion of their ownskipping the inter- mediate portion, and confining their atten- tion to the title-page and colophon. Bishop - Kennet remarks: This author is said to have labored long in the writing of this book to suppress his own melancholy, and yet did but improve it; and some readers have found the same effect. Their idiosyn- cracies must have been almost as peculiar as that of a certain melancholy Duke of Mus- covy, whom Burton mentions, who was instantly sick, if he came but in sight of a woman. We have some confidence that any reader whose tastes are not entirely of the modern school, and who may be tempted to take down and dust the volumes of the Anatomy, will find that he has his reward. By no means let him accept this attempt of ours to I, Democritus junior, have put my fin- ishing pen to a tractate, Dc Melancholia, this day, Dec. 5, 1~2O. I bless the Trinity which hath given me health to pursue my worthlesse studies so far, and make suppli- cation with a Laus Deo if in any case these my poor labours may be found instrumental to weed out black Melancholy, lurking cares, harte-grief, froarthe mind of man. $ed hax volo magis quam expecto I turn now to my book. I nunc, liber. goc forth, my brave Anatomy, child of my brain-sweat, and yee, candidi lectores, lo! here I give him up to you; do with him what you please, my masters. Some, I suppose, will applaud, commend, cry him up (these are my friends); he is aflos rarus, forsooth, a none-such, a Phenix (concerning whom see Plinius and Mandeville, though Fienus de Monstris doubteth at large ofsuch a bird, whom Montaltus confuting, argueth to have been a man, make scrupulositatis, of a weak and cowardly faith. Christopherus a Vega is with him in this). Others again will blame, hiss, reprehend in many things, cry down altogether my collections for crude, inept, putid, poat ceenam scripta; Coryate could write better upon a full meal, verbose, inerudite, and not sufficiently abounding in authorities. . This morning, May 2d, 1662, having first broken my fast upon eggs and cooling salades, mellows, water-cresses, those herbs according to Villanovas prescription, who disallows the use of meat in a morning, as T~URTON~S A~IAfOjM1VQF M~ELANCHOLY. gross, fat, hebetante, feral, altogether fitter f wi4~d beasts than men, e contra corn- nieiid~d ibis herb diet for gentle, active, 6o~i~ludng to contemplation in most n~en, I b~t~x~k iwysolt to the nearest fields. (Being in London, I commonly dwell in the 6ubusbe~, ~s ai~iest.~quietest, locimusis propr~Qr(~s4 free from the noises of carroches, waggoxts, ~ne- chanic and base workes, spectacles of out- landish~ birds, fishes, crocodiles, Indi& ns, 115 mermai4s, adde quarrels, fightings, wran- ~lings of the common sort, pUbs, the rab- ble, duelloes with fists, proper to this Island, at which the stilettod and secret Italian laughs.) Withdrawing myself from these buazing and illiterate vanities, with a bezo ~ sn~auos to the city, I begin to inhale, drawe in, snuff up, as horses ~vith dilatis naribus, snorts the fresh aires with exceed- ing great delight. Explorations and Adventures in Equatorial Af- rica; with.~ Accounts of the Manners and Gus- toms ofthe People, and the Ohase of the Gorilla, Crocodile, Leopard, Elephant, Hippopotamus, and other Animals. By Paul B. Dii Chailin. With Map and Engravings. Nurray. fly this time most of our readers have doubt- less, like the fist young lady in Punch, read the Gorilla book, so that in chronicling the pnblication of a second edition of M. Dii Chail- lus most interesting narrative Of moving accidents by flood and field, Of antres vast, and deserts idle, Rough quarries, rocks, and hills whose heads touch heaven, And of the cannibals that each other eat, we need do little more than call attention to his ne~v preface, in which he gives a e~ronological table of his various journeys. This may and probably will not satisfy those, who say with the Duke in Othello to vouch this is no proof Without more certain and more overt test ; but that test is surely to be found in the Pro- ceedinqs qf the Academy of N~sturnl Sciences, Phila~lelphia. In the pages. of those Proceed- ings wilt be found extracts from private letters written by him while in Africa in 1856, 1857, and 1858, and t~bich letters contain descriptions of new objoct~ o?~Natui~atHistory discovered by him; and the value of these new discoveries cannot be better established tlurn in the words of Professor Owen, who, at~r speaking in the highest terms of tIm traveWer himself, proceeds to say: his collection is the most interesting illustration of the lower creation that has ever reached Europe, and has added very considera- bly and in important respeets to oni- knowl- edge. There is one portiowofM. Dc Chaillus book which we regiird wiThpeculiar intes-est, and that is, his descriptions of the manners and cus~ torus of die ditlbreat races with. which. he came in cont:rct. His contriisuions to our knowledge of the Folk-Lore of iEqnatorial Africa, so to speak, are to our min4. Little inferior in import- nnce to the additions ~vhicls he has made to the Patina o~, tl~at. reu~trk~bI~ but liithert~ imper- fectly kpowii t ritor~: and whenever a philo- sopLiicat lrTht~ry~6f2I~epular Mythology shall be wrThcsWnrr ~bt~ridons to the prescnt trnveHer f6t~ tliofr~f6h~ati~n upon this point which ho has collected, will be made manifest.Notes and Queries. BIRTH OF NAPOLEON 11.My attention has recently been called to the following passage in Histoire de lEmpereur Napoleon, par P. M. Lau- rent do LArd& he be 19 Mars, 1811, limp~ratrice Marie-Lou- ise ressentit les premi~res douleurs de lcnfnnte- merit. On craignit dabord des couches p& ~ril- lenses: Ic c~l~bre Dnbois, pudvoyant le ens oh uns opdration difficile deviendrait ndcessaire, demarida ce quil faudrait faire si loa drait r~duit h opter entre Ic saInt de la mbre et ccliii de lenfant. Ne pensez quh Ia mere, dit vive- ment 1empereur, en qn~ les affections de lhomme triompherent, it ce moment solennel, des int~rets et des combinaisons dii monarque, etc. I have, I think, in some MemoIrs of Napo- leon, seen a directly contrary statement, viz., that in his anxiety to have an heir to his throne, the emperor directed the surgeons, under the circumstances referred to, to save the child at Whatever hazard to the safety of the empress; and I shalt be much obliged if any of your readers can refer me to the work in which the statement occurs. [TIre circumstances of the birth of the king of Rome are thus described by J. G. Lockhart, The tlistoi-y qf Nupoleon Buonaparte, 2 vols, 1829, ii. 126 (Family Library,i) : On the 20th of April, 1811, Napoleons wishes were crowned by the birth of a son. rfhe birth was a difficult one, and the nerves of the medical attendants were shaken. She is but a woman, said the eniperor, who was present, treat her as you w-onjd a bourgeoise of the Rue St. Denis. The ac~oucheur, at a subsequent moment, withdrew Napoleon from the couch and deniandeti whether, in case one life must be sacrificed, h2 shonld I)rcfer the mother or the child l The mothers, lie answered, it is her right At length the child appeared, but without any signs of life. After the lapse of some minutes a feeble cry was heard. Napoleon entering the arte-chamher in which the high functionaries were assembled, announced the event in these words: Ir is A KING OF ROME. ]Noies and Queries. 116 A PRAYER FOR THE ABS~NT.WORKMAN OF GOD. THE LATEST WAR NEWS. OH, pale, pale face! Oh, helpless hands! Sweet eyes by fruitless watching wronged, Yet tnrnin~ over toward the lands Where Wars red hosts are thronged. She shudders when they tell the tale Of some great battle lost or ivon! Her sweet child-face grows old and pale, Her heart falls like a stone! She sees no conquering flag unfurled, She hears no victorys brazen roar, But a dear face which was her world Perchance shell kiss no more! Ever there comes between her sight And the glory that they rave about, A boyish brow, and eyes whose light Of splendor hath gone out. The midnight glory of his hair Where late her fingers like a flood Of moonlight wanderedlingering there is stiff and darkwith blood! She must not shrink, she must not moan She must not wring her quivering hands, But sitting dumb and white alone, Be bound with viuwless bands. Because her suffering life enfolds Another dearer, feebler life, In deaths strong grasp her heart she holds And stills its torturing strife. Yester eve, they say, a field was won; Her eyes ask tidings of the fight; But tell her of the dead alone, Who lay out in the night! In mercy tell her that his name Was not upon that fatal list; That not among the heaps of slain, Dumb are the lips shes kissed. Oh, poor, pale child! Oh, womans heart! Its weakness triumphed oer by strength! Love teaching pain, disciplines art, And conquering at length! St. Louis Republican. CAST DOWN, BUT NOT DESTROYED. 2 Cost. 4 9. O NORTHERN men,true hearts and bold, Unflinching to the conflict press! Firmly our countrys flag uphold, Till traitorous foes its sway confess! Not lightly was our freedom bought, By many a martyrs cross and grave; Six weary years our fathers fought, Midst want and peril sternly brave. And thrice six years with tightening coil, Still closer wound by treacherous art, Men-~-children of our common soil Have preyed upon the nations heart! Yet still it beats, responsive, deep, Its strong pulse throbbing through the land, Gathering a human flood to swcep Hesistless oer the rebel land! Firmly resolved to win success, Well tread the path our fathers trod, Unflinching to the conflict press, And, fearless, trust our cause to God 1 N. Y. Evening Post, July 26. A PRAYER FOR THE ABSENT. FATHEIt of all! to thee Whose ear is ever listening to our prayer, Whose watchful eye can view us everywhere, To thee I pray. Oh, let thy kindest care With him each moment be! All merciful thou art! Be near to him in every day and hour, When dark temptations round him lower, And when the battle rages fierce in power Oh, strengthen his young heart! Oh, lift his thoughts to thee When on each side the dead and dying lie, When thick and fast the fatal charges fly And when each m6ment death to him seems nigh, Then very near him be! Father in heaven, hear! Protect him when dark storms around him pour, Make him thy gentle care till all is oer, Oh, bless and keep him! I will ask no more, Nor will I longer fear! Coagregatioaalist. WORKMAN OF GOD. WOItI~MAN of God! Oh, lose not heart, But learn what God is like; And in the darkest battle.field Thou shalt know where to strike. Oh, blest is be to whom is given The instinct that can tell That God is on the field, wben~he Is most invisible. And blestis he too who can dive Where real light doth lie, And dares to take the side that seems Wrong to mans blinded eye. Oh, learn to scorn the praise of nen! Oh, learn to live with God! For ,Tesus won the field through shame, And beckons us this road. For right is right, since God is God, And right the day must win; To doubt would be disloyalty, To falter would be sin. Faber. AN ONLY SON. CHAPTER XXII. Peernaghur, etc., etc. DEAREST MOTHER,YOU may well ask what hurried me here and launched me thus upon a new and unexpected course. TQ tell you the truth, it was the resolute kindness of Miss Florence Barrington. Some days before his excellency made me a formal offer of this appointment I had a conversa- tion with her which equally surprised and moved me. She had read my mind as in an open book. She had understood that the very passport to her uncles good-will, Lord Roystons recommendation, was to me a barrier against its cordial acceptance. She had even penetrated into the secret of the strangely mingled attraction and repulsion, which her own likeness to Lady Constance exercised upon me from the first moment of introduction. It was in the name of Lady Constance that she begged me not to refuse another offer of her uncle should he make one. You would have been as much struck, I believe, as I was, with her tone and man- ner in making an apology for mentioning the name which I have been learning to di- vest of some among the feelings which have clung to it. She said, that worthy love work- ing in worthy natures, mightfulfil other ends than what it had thought its own. She said, that judging Lady Constance by her- self, she was certain that she would need some consolation for having won what she could not accept and so repay; and that there could be no such consolation as to know that some such worthy end had been fulfilled in me. As she spoke, the voice was not Constances; but the spirit which thrilled in it was hers, indeed. I will be open with you, mother dear; it flashed across me that it were no treason, scarce a transfer, to surrender to such a counterpart of her own self what it were insult now to call hers. I almost wished I could feel for Florence Barrington what I have felt for Constance Cranleigh, and could dare to say so. Some- thing killed the thought as it arose; partly the likeness to Constance, partly something else, which seemed to frown against it, as if but one degree removed from the wrong of indulging the old affection. There now, that is my last bit of senti- ment, as far as I know, for ever and a day. Forgive it, as I pass on. What she next said was this, that she and her Cousin Rosa, hearing that her uncles government in- tended to create ths post had entreated him to nominate myself. Was ever any thing so kind, yet ever any thing so audacious? The governor, of course, said I was too young in years and service, objections which they met by the most undeserved commen dations of my character and abilities. Only fancy his excellency beset by such advisers? Well, he offered the appointment to a Mr. Plowden, a civilian of superior att~iinments and some length of service. He had just obtained long leave home, and could not forego the hard-earned and dear privilege. Then a Captain M., whose name I suppress for reasons, would have been nominated; but something in his regimental accounts would not come out satisfactorily. Delay could not be brooked; so the governor, I presume in despairhe said, in his official note, on account of my readiness in acquir- ing native languagesadopted the sugges- tion of his nieces. I had short warning; bought three horses and a few baggage ponies out of the money which that too gen- erous pappy returned after all my trouble in saving it; and here I am on the north- west bank of the Nerbuddab. That is what brought me here. Where it has brought me, and wherefore, I will expound in some future epistle. Theres a row begun about a herd of buffaloes which has been driven from one of my villages; we are consid- erable cattle-stealers hereabouts you must know; and the righting of such wrongs wont allow dawdling. So good-by, dear mother, love and duty to my father, kind remembrances to all Cransdale folk. Your ever loving and dutiful, NED. Peernaghur. My VERY DEAR FATHER, I should think it stranger still if you could exactly strike off my whereabout upon the map. I have heard that they have at Indore ~an old chart of the province on copper, supposed to have been etched by a Chinese engineer for a Mogul emperor; but it is of doubtful au- thenticity, and, little as I know of survey- ing, I believe myself to be the most scien- tific surveyor the country has seen since the problematical Chinaman. As for the history of the district it is the old one in India. A princely family suffers from plethora of moral vice and dwindles into physical atro- phy. Then come adoptions and substitu- tions of one kind and another. Even such attempts to perpetuate legitimate authority are frustrated by endless intrigues and stained by repeated assassinations. Un- womanly women, and creatures of crime, whom one cant call men, tyrannize in the name of this or that infant of spurious ori- gin. Whether in league or at feud their unvarying system of government is that of misrule, ral)ine, and cruelty. A rabble sol- diery, Arabs, Pathans, Mekranees, Poor- beahs, and what not, overawe the capital; but elsewhere the central government is 117 AN ONLY SO~ powerless, except for occasional raids. Every landowner turns his house into a citadel, and runs a rampart of baked mud, loop- holed for musketry, round his principal pa- ternal village. Therein horesists the agents of such central authority as may assert itself for a time; and thence he sallies out to plunder weak outliers. This kind of. an- archy seethes and scorches for years within the borders, and then overflows, to set on flre pleasanter pasturages outside, owning British rule. Annexation not seeming im- mediately desirable, that sort of compromise is made, which consists in sending a British Resident to tyrannize beneficently over maleficent tyrants. His duties become at once intricate and overwhelming. Distant dependencies havent a chance of his care: 50 the Bombay people send him one Ned ]Locksley to do the work as assistant on the frontier. Of course I am theoretically the subaltern and slave of Sir Joseph Buckle; but as the distance between us is great and the road a track; as our last mail-bag bearer, but two, was eaten by an alligator, and the last shot with poisoned arrows by the Blicels, I dont receive many orders, and act upon still fewer, being practically bide- pendent. Talking of Bheels, I may proceed to say, that though my district is peopled by various races, intermingled in habitation though distinct in blood, that race is in nu- merical majority. An outcast and down- trodden race, whose unrecorded history stretches back into remotest ages, before the fairer-skinned stronger-limbed herdsmen from the Himalaya streamed in conquest over Hindostan, before the wild riders of the central Asiatic stepp& s piled cavalry saddles into Mongol thrones. Poor fellows! Even their Rajpoot tyrants seem to make a grotesque acknowledgment of their original title to the soil. Every new-made rajah submitted, and, for aught I know, submits to have his forehead smeared with blood drawn from a Bheels finger and toe, when he assumes the turban of sovereignty. Spite of which, the fiscal officers of these same rajahs have been allowed to take a Bheels lifb at convenience without trial, form, or ceremony. Little wonder if the bolder or more despairing of them, crouching in the jungle or burrowing in caves and clefts, turn thieves, marauders, shedders of mans blood, showing none of that mercy which they never receive! A Bombay missionary told me that he was among them once, and actu- ally received this answer to his invitations: Even men drive us from their homes, how should God let us come near?~ Their faces have literally gathered blackness, and in hue, if not in feature, might justify the term I so dislike of niggers. All are not, however, jungle tribes o~r hill tribes. Some live in alluvial plains, h~iThe in frail villages, practise an imperfect sy~- tem of irrigation, and till with the rudest of instnvments the richest of soils. Oh, dear m~! I am writing like a guide-book,for a limited class of tourists, I fear. couldnt y~u send Cousin Keane out to mc, since you cant come yourself? say, which I dont believe, that he manages things at Rookenham as well as you can at Cransdale. At all events, then, he could help me with work of which the bare thought confounds. Its not that afore- said irrigation: only think if you could come to me, the planner of the Cransmere water- mends! Its not so much the agricultural improvement: only think again, I say, if you could come, the President of the St. Ivos Farming Association! Its the assess- ment and land-tax work appalls me. We call it making a settlement, and a pretty settling I am like to make of it! Sir Joseph is right enough, though. We must both fix and collect the revenue, were it only to cut off all the oppressions upon that score of the ruffianly clique which keep the nominal sov- ereignty. But at Eton, in my time, none of us knew the multiplication table: and even at home I never came right out at the other end of Long Measu~e. Imagine, therefore, what I am likely to do with coins, and weights, and measures, outlandish, and as old as Alexander, maybe Noah. As by-play, I am creating a police, en- tirely of cow-stealers, armed with bows and arrows. The inspectors alone, tell Hutch- ins, have trousers, and take them off when ordered on duty. How strangely things fit in in a mans life! My crossbow practice, with deaSr old Phil, under the cedars, tells here, and has conciliated vast respect among the cowguards black. They had an arch- ery meeting, after a sort, and shot for a pot of ghee, which, to their intense astonish- ment, I won. But bows and arrows wont serve my turn, nor even matchlock men, nimble and swift marchers, as my barefoot brigade can show themselv~s. As sure as fate, I must raise a squadron of irregular horse; or the dacoits, professional robbers, to say nothing of contumacious and refrac- tory landowners, with well-mounted tenants wielding sharp swords, will be too bold and quick for me. But for this I must have su- perior authorization. Send me out a two- ounce rifle, with all necessary fittings. Con- sign to Briggs and Chundurree, Bombay. The tigers have eaten two of my village Bheel woodcutters of late; and though I mean to have a shot at them with the rifle I have by me, I want something heavier and more reliable. Expense no objectso the 118 AN ONLY SO1~. 119 we~p~n be firstrate. If you know any rough Companys chaplain at Bombay, much inter- & nd ready treatise upon roadmakiag, or any ested in such matters, to see what can be book.~ay, for instance, published in some done in a formal and regular manner if pos~ ~nteiprising colonywhich gives receipts sible, upon this head. for sueli .a manufacture, send it, please; also My mission, however, is clear enough, any book on Egypt or Holland, or both, to preach by deed rather than word, with an treating of dikes, embankments, and the occasionally sharp-edged commentary, the like. I have little enough time for reading, astounding doctrines, as they are reckoned as you may guess, just now. But your little hereabouts, that right may possibly consort Greek Testament never leaves my person, with might, a strong ruler be just, and even nor does a day pass without a dip into it. a just be merciful. Grand preaching that, I have no notion what may be stirring even mother dear, the preaching of a law not in the Indian world, much less tho Euro- other than an introduction to the Gospel pean, our dawks having exceeded of late is it not P Pray for your boy, dear, that he their usual exemplary irregularity, and left may have a wise head, true heart, andI me newspaperless. Remember me to Crans- fear you must addstrong arm, to deliver dale in general. Kiss dearest mother for his sermon. her and your ever dutiful and loving To-day, however, I am in the Book of NED. Judges, as I said, sitting literally, like Deb- orah, under a palm tree. Under a clump of Mkawulpore. them, indeed, a tope, as we say, clustering DEAREST OF Movmixs,You say you trees, under whose shadow my tent is spread. are glad I read the New Testament. I have My tent-pitchers, I must tell you, had almost need, too, were it only to qualify my practice a pitched battle for the site with the mon- of the Old. You may wonder what I mean keys. Had they been Hindoos, reverence by that ; but the fact is, that besides the might have driven them, the tent-pitchers, identity of many Oriental customs, manners, into the open, when the sacred grinners and modes of thought and speech, the whole showed fight. I should have been prettily tenor of my life, and of those around me, grilled. But my poor Bheels will pelt a the primitive character of their virtues, and, monkey without compunction, though they unhappily, still more of their vices and will offer a fowl in sacrifice to the demon of crimes, together with the kind of attempts I tigers; so the apes are expelled, and I am make to encourage the one and check or in possession of the tope. It is not often root out the other, all combine to make me that my cutcherry business offers any thing feel as if I were gone back in the flesh as as interesting as the case I have been at all well as in the spirit to the days when there day. I dont often stuff my writing with were Judges in Israel. Last time I was in Indinnisms, but have probably expounded our hill country I lived for coolness in a cutcherry work to mean the labor of the cave, and couldnt help thii4~dg of David in tuagistrates desk before now. It was a case Adullam. The description ~ his sojourn of cattle stealing, complicated by manslaugh- there, in the First Book of Samuel, will give ter, or murder; it is hard to classify the you an account of my mode of life, word for deed impartially. Nothing unusual, you word. will say~ if you have not forgotten my former Every one that was in distress, and letters. Case and complication alike com- every one that was in debt, and every one monplace. True for you, madam; but the that was discontented, gathered themselves curious, unusual, and interesting circum- unto him; and he became a captain over stance was this, that the counsel for the de- them; and there were with him about four fendant was a woman-.--his wife; and most hundred men. acutely did she plead his cause. I should I dont know Whether David had oppor- premise that the Bheelwomen enjoy consid- tunity to punish their misdeeds, as well as erable social liberty, though sharing, as do in some measure to xedress their grievances, the women of all savages, a cruel dispropor- I try to do what little I can in both ways. tion of household and field labor. They I wish I could do what David tried to do for have, however, much influence over their them, if, indeed, as I rend somewhere, it husbands, and not undeservedly. The man was to that nondescript gathering that he upon his trial was one Bikhu, a Bheel from cried, Come, ye children, and hearken unto Malwa. The evidence against him pretty me: I will teach you the fear of the Lord. clear. My puggees, or trackers, whose skill, I cannot, however, well play the missionary or instinct shall I call it, even among these among them, though I endeavor to act, and wild tribes, is wonderful, pronounced his make them see that I do, upon the same name without a moments hesitation, when principles as a true missionary would preach. the footmarks of the marauder were first I have written, by the way, to Mr. Mayor, a come upon. Through jungle and over sandy AN ONLY SON. rock they had followed him with the uner- he said shoot, l3ikhu shot; but Bad~ga ring sagacity of blood-hounds; and, assisted slew the cow-herd. Do justice, Sahib. by a detachment of my cowguards black, Jinowing what I now know of Bheels,~ had effected his capture, much to the aston- felt that if her facts were correct, her argu- ishment and rejoicing of the country side. ment was unanswerable. il3adaga was a Taxed with the robbery, he admitted it with- gentleman whose name had reached my ears out blushing. I beg leave to say that I have before, a petty maraud~ing chieftain, whose seen the accusing flush even under these infiaence in his own region and over his dark skins. Like a true Bheel, he was a fa- kindred families was paramount. Clansmen talist, and threw the blame of his maiprac- are cousins here, as among the Celtic High- tices upon the powers above, landers. Change but the name, and Scott Sahib, said he, I am Mahadevas wrote of my Bheels thief. But great is your good fortune. Let me go. I will not rob during your raj, or reign. I was half inclined to take him at his word: thought indeed of offering to so frank a character an inspectorship in the cow- guard. But it appeared, further, that in the scuffle a villager had been killed; and tbe arrow which stuck in him was found to cor- respond in length, shape, feathering, and I cant say what other conclusive particulars, with those of Bikhus quiver. Now cow- stealing, though meritorioiis, if successful, is admitted on this border to be punishable if detected. Manslaughter is a minor con- sideration, so far as public justice is con- cerned. The punjayets, a sort of jury of five, p resided by their patils or headmenwhom I am scrupulous in associating with me wherever circumstances will allow,dont trouble themselves about avenging blood- shed as a social offence, but leave it, as of old in Israel, to the avenger of blood and ~ rivate retribution. The slain cow-herd aving no relatives, and the chances being against any ones retaliating in juggra or blood-feud-fray, Bikhu thought himself safe, and was painfully candid; went even so far as to express a hope that the arrow would be returned to him, being of superior make and workmanship. This was awkward for me, vho, though no patron of cow-stealers, endeavored without offending popular preju- dice, to magnify, as against theirs, the crime of manslayers. I shook my head and mut- tered of rope. Bikhu seemed, on the whole, resigned. Then uprose and outspake a woman; a girl, we should have called her in England. I inquired her age; she was just fourteen, with as beautiful and interesting a countenance as I have seen in India. I am Thakali, she said, the wife of Bikhu. Hear me, Sahib, and do the thing which is just. Sahib, those are your soldiers, point- ing to a brace of sentries with drawn swords outside the tent; bid them slay Thakali. You will have killed her, not they. Bikhu is the slave and soldier of Badaga. When Each trained to arms since life began, Owning no tie but to his clan, No oath, but by his chieftains hand, No law butBadagarcommand. It seemed certain, upon investigation, that the chief himself had been present at this particular foray; and, so far, Thakalis assertion, that her us and bad acted under orders, was borne out. I remembered to have seen it laid down by no less an author.. ity than Sir John Malcolm, that in such phases of Indian barl~arism as I must meddle witk~, it is wisest, safest, and most effective, to punish the chief for the crime of his sub- ordinate. Thakalis plea chimed in with that great oriental statesmans policy. Wherefore after solemn admonition, Bikhu was reprieved. Even to a fatalist life is sweet. He was certainly pleased; but the poor girl was beside herself with grati- tude and joy. I have sent a message to the chief to say that if he does not come in, make his salaam, and bring back the cows, or pay for them within four days of its receipt, he must reckon with me, and so forth. Such being the case, Bikhu and Thakali both declare they dare not revisit him, and that they must starve, unless I take com- passion on them. I have told them they may eat my rice till I can otherwise pro- vide; and therewith ended this days cutch- erry. Whether my gallows bird will make a confidential servunt, time will show. I hear he is very fond of horses, having stolen a good many, as most Bheels do: not much of a rider, but having a knack of grooming vicious ones. I dare say my Syces would be delighted to turn Abool Harg, my chest- nut Arab, over to him. . . Peernagkur. DEAREST FATuER,TommyWilmot has just killed our man-eater. That is the great news of the day, so I hasten to record it. Theres a shouting and yelling and beating of drums and gongs in the village at this moment, which, if it wasnt for the jungle, 120 y~at could almost hear in Cranadale; but bamboo deadens echoes, where it grows thick. To begin at the beginning, you may re- member that you sent out last year a two- ounce rifle: n firstrater it was and is. But really business grew so fast ~ipon me that live tiger and torn villager were getting to be both drugs in the market. I had killed some five or six brutes my first year, partly for sport, partly from policy, not to say relig- ious enthusiasm. I see you lift your eyebrows. But the fact is, that Waghia as they call him, the lor(l of the tigers, was the most popular di- vinity in these parts when I first came; and I couldnt bear to see my poor Bhecls bow down to clay caricatires of this bloody mon- ster. There was one rude stone image, at a shrine on the jungles edge, some three miles distant, which was always richly hedaubed with votive oil and vermilion, and on whose head endless cocoanuts were broken for of- ferings. I hated and longed to smash it; but was afraid at first of kindling some fa- natical outburst. One evening, however, I became aware that Bheel votaries of Waghia cherish some of that latent contempt for him which makes Neapolitans flog St. Januarius. For riding slowly near the shrine, a little be- fore sunset, I overheard two villagers, Go- paji and iDevaji by name, reviling their idol in round terms. You fellow! cried Gopaji, I gave you pulse and broth, and a chicken; yet you killed my buffalo! Broth and a chicken! screamed Devaji; I gave you three chickens and a goat, yet you carried off my child! What more do you want, you rascal? This was a great opening. My good friends, said I, riding up, men can kill ti- gers as well as tigers men. Its a disgrace for a man to worship a savage brute. And whats the good of it? He will fill his belly, sacrifice or no. Up jumped Gopaji and Devaji from their knees, on which they J~iad been making this recriminatory poojah, an- glic~ worship. They scratched their thinly bearded chins as they gaped on me; but with no pelemical anger as it seemed. Very fine talk for Sahibs, at length said Gopaji, with that stolid cunning where- with the world over the true clod tries to trip his adversary; Sahib rides a horse as wicked a~ Waghia, and almost as great a jumper: poor Bheels wa!k afoot. Sahib carries sword and gun, such poor Bheels as we, carry clubs and havent even bows and arrows. The inference was obvious: if I were in their plight, I should compromise, he meant, with pulse and broth and chickens. You 121 know my readiness to kindle at any spark of defiance. I am not afraid of Waghia, my good friend Gopaji, said I, in answer; the same only God who made him made me, and made me his master. I have little time for shikar, as you know; but Ill hunt till I kill four tigers in that jungle here, on one condition. The Sahib is lord of all, and may make any that pleases him. Well, if I kill four tigers in this neigh- borhood, you shall own that Waghia is beaten : and I may have leave to smash this stone. I kicked it slightly with contempt, as I put the question. Smash him at once, Sahib, cried the time-serving Gopaji. Devaji himself took heart, and spat therewith upon the image of the brute that had eaten his child. Not till I have fought him four times on foot alive, and brought him in four times dead. Wherefore, I went a tiger-hunting with Bikhu, who is a puggee, a shikaree and an esprit-fort, as it turns out, into the bargain. He was an admirable assistant, tracks like a sleuth-hound, and stands as stiff as a well-bro- ken pointer to game. I killed my first four in two months time, and smashed Waghia with pompcordm populo. I feasted three villages on the occasion; and as I gave a rupee to every Bh& t, or wandering priest of the Bheels for ten miles round, no theologi- cal ohjections were started. But I was a good deal away from here for some months after, round by Tor~n-Mall and the Mhawul- pore Hills, a spur of the Yind?iya on your maps. Waghia looked up again, and wood- cutters down. Two of them were killed one a cousin of Gopaji. My presiige was shaken. A Bh~t of some popularity, who was away on a pilgrimage when th~ rupee went round, and got none, be an to utter the Bheel for Nemesis. I li the s oot- ing well enough, but had no time on hand, being heart and soul in my drill for the Ir- regulars, who recruit very fast, I am happy to say. Bikhu is bold, but cant manage the two-ounce. The crisis was pressing. I luckily bethought me of Tommy Wilmot, sergeant by this time, and applied for him to the colonel. It was a dear delight to see a Cransdale face and hear a Cransdale tongue, as you may fancy, in the Trans-Ncr- buddah. But better still, I had rightly con- jectured Tommys true vocation. He took to the two-ounce as if he were its father, and to the jungle as if it were his cradle. My fame for shikaree is goneutterly eclipsed by Tommys who slays tiger, leopard, bear, and wolf, with a skills pluck, and persever AN ONLY SON. 122 AN ONLY ~SON. ance, beyond all praise. Tell his father he down to the rivers bank. But! had n~ no~ has a bundle of skins of all sorts, but wont tion of making a road for were convenienop send them till he can wrap them round the of inroad of freebooters from the hills~ ivories of a ~ elephant. These are Wherefore I planned a fort~ But below it, rare in the Viadhyn near us, and he has not as the hills trend sharp off, lies a plaid, which yet had an opportunity. We had a terrible was half desert simply for want of irrigations old tiger who had kept out of my way. There was an old canal; but the sluices were Our puggees swear it is the same that ate seized by end of the semi-bandit landown- Gopajis cousin, and Devaji declares he ers, of wh~m II have often written, who hold- knows by the pugs that it is the same ing in his hands thus the sources of bar. that took his child more than a year back. renness or plenty, ground down the peas- Be that as it may, he will eat man or child antry at pleasure, till his exactions made no more. Tommy had a squeak for his own them almost all forsake the neighborhood. life in killing him though; fired my light Then it was not even worth his while to keep rifle, which he had in hand, first, and only the canal in repair. The banks fell in and broke a paw. Had Bikhu bolted, as some the channel became a heap of mounds. gun-bearers will, Tommys career was ended; Under the guns of my fort no landowner, but that stout-hearted gallows-bird stood his great or small, bandit or other, could play ground, and handed in the two-ounce in a such pranks. So I stamped,~that is, offered twinkling. The ball lodged in the brain, good wages,got workers with a will, Thenca Tommys safety, and Bill Baccys scooped out the old course and carried it into the bargain. Thence also the yelling, further inland, across the plain. Please shouting, drumming, and goAg-beating this God, next year we shall stand comparison blessed night. I should explain that Bheel with the Delta of the Nile itself. There are Bikhu is, in Cransdale parlance, Bill two or three considerable towns across the Baccy so says Sergeant Wilmot. My love river, within the Hon. Companys domains, to Lady Cransdale, and to Lady iRoyston, so that a ferry, still under the guns of my if shes at Rookenham. Remember me to precious pet, the fort, will create a commerce, Keane, when you see him. As for darling of which Lockselabad will be the active cen- mother, loves too little for herfor you, too, tre. Of course, I shall institute a fair or two so far as that goesfrom your ever dutiful cattle-dealing versus cattle-stealing, which and affectionate NED. even my Bheels begin to understand as an Lockselabad. advantageous exchange. But for all these blessings I shall have to fight with an ineffa- DEAREST FATIIEri,I wonder whether ble scoundrel, Mundroop Siagh. This fel- the name whence I date will ever get on to low is a Bheelalah, that is, of mixed par- any map or stick on any. Dont think me entage, by a Rajpoot father and a Bheel guilty of the vanity. I called the town that mother. The bad qualities of both races is to be, and fort that nearly is, Yassuffahad, are marvellously combined in him. Proud, in honor of Sir Joseph, my chief. But nei- fierce, and debauched, as a Rajpoot, igno- ther actual builders, future burghers, nor ex- rant, shameless, and thieving, as a Bheel, he pectant garrison of Irregulars, would brook is as sanguinary as both. He has long been it. He was never within two hundred hess the terror of the surrounding country, and of the place, they insisted; but Locksley has hitherto set at defiance the forces of Sahi~ stamped, and behold a fort, a town, a both the native states between which his pa- canal, and tanks. So, with a little wrench ternal hill-range intrudes. God willing, for euphony, they gifted the foundation with when my fort is built, I will have a reckon- our patronymic. I struggled against it, for ing with him. I was afraid of the Psalmists reproach, you I am gathering quite a little army in a know They think that their houses shall small way. My famous cow-guards, as you continue forever; and that their dwelling- know, were bow-and-arrow men; but when places shall endure from one generation to I went fort-levelling, as I did last year, pre- another; and call the lands after their own paratory to my fort-building, I was obliged names. Nevertheless, man will not abide in to form a company to the use of firearms. honour; seeing he may be c~~mpnred to the Tommy Wilmot is a firstrate ligl* infantry beasts that perish; this is the way of them, drill, so I have had his somewhat irregular This is their foolishness, and their posterity leave on urgent tiger-killing affairs com- praise their saying. But remonstrances muted to a sort of permanent non-commis- were in vain; and I am first fortifying, then sioned commission under me, an4 he is ad- building, Lockselabad. I had made a big jutant to my barefoot Bheels. I have taught road, as you know, to this extreme point, him to ride, which he does with pluck, though which some day, I hope, though not, I fear, not much se.t or hand. I have a man of in mine, may pierce the hills which here come men, howe~ ~, for my irregular horse, who AN ONLY SON. 123 are long since thoroughly organized, of the latter had to be rebuilt againa equipped, and disciplined. My aide-camp, rogue elephant from the Viadhyn having lioutehant, chief of the staff, riding-master tranipled its bamboo edifices into splinters what shall I call him ?.is a glorious old one night. Tommy Wilmot avenged the ar- Mussulman trooper, an Arab and a Centaur chitect. And now I must conclude. Not, by birth, a sword-grinder by trade, and a however, it strikes me, without informing swordsman by long practice. He has a cap- you what the one-eyed thinks of my grand- ital beard for an Arab,.they not being an fathers old regulation sword. He went into hirsute race,once black, now grizzling, fits over it. Vowed that Shums itself, to He has but one eye, a piercer though, as wit Damascus, never forged such a blade. we used to say at school. His nameis Nus- He has ground it and set it to such an edge reddeen. He has been in most services in that I could literally shave with it, had I not India, where there was good riding and hard long since discarded that effeminate custom. fighting, never, however, serving long in any, He has made a wonderful wooden scabbard when quiet times came. His last corps was for it, soft shammy leather within, and red Stubbs irrcgulars, whence he took his dis- velvet without. But for the handle no man charge on learning, no one knows how, that on earth would assign a regulations origin I was getting a troop together in these re- to it. gions. It seems he took a fancy to my man- By the way, the shammy leather is of agement of Rosa Barringtons little peppery sambur bide, a large kind of deer, which gray, which he saw me ride in Bombay, and Tommy or Bikbu shoot for venison, and the swore by Mahomed, that when I should latter tans and softens as only savages can. ride afield he would be close behind. I have So you see I have good men and true with made him Jemadar, and, should the corps me, of divers nations, tongues, and peoples. increase, he shall be Hissaldar, or chief na- I lead a laborious, active, full, and varied tive officer in due course of time. The one- life. I should be sorry to leave or change eyed is a wonderful bigot in most things, it, though a run home would be like a peep excel)t, strange to say, in his theoretical into Paradise. You know where and to horseman~hip, and is quite willing to incor- whom to distribute loves and remembrances. porate some of my cross-country~ notions Tell the Wilmots that Nusreddeen, who is a from Cransdale with the oriental, tight curb great iconoclast, discovered that some of the haute-~cole. We make our sowars hunt Bhcels make clay figures of their Tommy, in hog with as much diligence as drill. I am huge yellow nioustaches, with a dead tiger sorry to say the plain which has fallen out at his feet. I am afraid some of the votive of cultivation, below Lockselabad, is only offerings formerly made to Waghia, deceased, too fine a field for the sport; the old canals are actually made to the image of his slayer. and watercourses making pretty jumps. Love of loves to mother. Any thing lighter, straighter-riding, and Your ever dutiful and affectionate more dashing than our littie corps is, we, NED. flatter ourselves, far to seek. Most of our troopers are young native swells. Cadets, Bheem Kote in the Hills. in some instances, eldest sons, of good DEAREsT PATUER,It must have been Rajpoot families. They bring their own six months or more since I intimated to you horses; but as every man must have his my desire to square accounts with Mundroop hobby, I give or advance them money of my Singh. Plunderer, ravisher, and mur~rer own to improve the remounts, so the cattle as he was, my intention had been to wait is wonderful well bred throughout. By the until I had finished my fort, obtained some way, I have overdrawn two or three hundred reinforcements from Sir Joseph, made alli- pounds, giving a bill on you, which shall be ance with the native state on the other side duly repaid. I have not been gambling this of his hills, and drawn a cordon round them. time, nor even breaking my bank with horse- Then, I should have sent in to offer him life dealing, as you might imagine; but I have and liberty, on condition of his coming in, been building a new village or two for some submitting to the durbar, and emigrating to reclaimed Bheels, whose chief, I am sorry to some fixed, distant, and less dangerous quar- say, I was compelled, after several pardons, ter. An audacious and atrocious aCt of his to hang. There was no government money own has precipitated his fate. Naturally available. Those rascals of the durbar or enough he viewed with evil eye the building ministry, squander so much of what we col- of my fort at Lockselabad; but the course of lect, spite of all Sir Joseph can do to check its construction, apparently overawcd him. them; so, lest my wild men should take to Anyhow, he gave no sign, though sinister the woods again if I delayed my promise to ~umors of his doings on the other slope of provide for them, I made the clearings and his hills would reach us from time to time. built the villages at my own expense. One It seems, however,, that he kept an eye upon AN ONLY SON. our movements. Last week the fort was finished, and I had notice from Sir Joseph that two twelve and four six-pounders, a marvellous park of artillery for this part of the world, had been allotted by the durbav to arm it. The troops from the capital would escort the pieces about two-thirds ofthe way hither to a small town, called Kallishuhr. There I was to meet them with my squadron, and bring them safe to their destination. I set out on Tuesday, leaving only some half-dozen sowars behind; but a company of the Bheel infantry, and Tommy Wilmot in command. His presence, known by spies to Mundroop, kept that worthy from ventur- ing within rifle-shot of the walls; but my absence with the cavalry gave too tempting an opportunity for a raid to be neglected. On the second morning of my march, that was on Thursday, he and a rabble of mounted robbers, swept down from the hills across our plain, plundering and burning the vil- lages, and committing outrages too dreadful to name. He reckoned to have gained his fastnesses before intelligence could reach me. But he reckoned without Bikhu, and, above all, without Abool Harg. I had left that vicious but incomparable Arab at home, on account of his propensities to kick and bite at other horses on the march, and pull out picket pegs on bivouac, and trample upon sleeping Syces. But he and Bikhu have an understanding, as I think I have told you before. He is no great rider: but can go on a level. When news came to Wil- mot of the mischief raging, he jumped to the wise conclusion that I should have in- stant news or none. He asked the Bheel whether he could ride the chestnut and over- take me. Bikhu says that he told the horse thereupon what the state of things was. That will seem strange to you; but the horse is a magical creature in the Bheel creed, and rarely have I heard a wild legion round their camp fires in which there did not figure an enchanted steed. Bikhu vows that the Arab understood him, and let himself be saddled like a lamb. Considering the hour at which he and his rider joined us he must have gone like a greyhound when the saddle was on. Before sunrise on Friday we were on our way to pursue the marauder, which I re- solved upon at once, sending on a solitary sowar to give news of this diversion to the artillery and its escort. Bikhu was again invaluable. He knew of a jungle path which we could follow in single file,~and which led, by a short cut, to the most distant angle of our ravagcd plain. We reached it late that evQning. We found some of the villagers of its farthest hamlet creeping back to look upon the charred remains of their cottages. That was a rousing sight enough; but will you credit my reportand, creditirig;ean you conceive my feelings, when these? poor people brought me children, with theithands mercilessly severed from their wrists~ bythe swords of those bloodstained ruffians! Muti- droop himself had ordered the mutilatimi: and had said with fiendish laughter that Locksley Sahib was a great hakeem, and might sew them on again, perhaps! Saturdays sunrise saw us once more upon the march. The track was easy enough to follow, and was such that we could all per- ceive the truth of Bikhus assertion that the homeward ride of the robbers was at foot. pace and in fancied security. About nine oclock in the morning it be- came evident that we were close upon them. How my blood boiled! I prayed that I might not lose my senses in the excitement, and so fail to bring the matter to righteous and revengeful issue. The bleeding stumps of those poor innocents, whom he had not even Herods excuse for smiting, seemed to madden me. Presently the Bheel dis- mounted. He was riding my quieter charger, and was leading the way. I myself rode Abool Harg. Bikhu, motioning to us to halt, laid his ear to the ground. After a long and breathless silence, he declared that he could discern the trample of hoofs ahead. I turned to look upon my troopers: not one but had a grip upon the handle of his sword. We were by this time in a stony ravine, which wound round the base of a hill with a very gradual ascent. One of the peasants, whom the sowars had taken in croup, to act as guides if necessary, assured me that there was open ground almost immediately be- yond. On it, then, we should charge the wretches. The wind, which was pretty fresh, was happily whistling down the pass. It carried to them no sound of our approach. When we emerged from it, in utter silence, we were comparatively close upon their heels. At last, one turned and caught sight of us, as we deployed into line, on the edge of the little plateau. Crime upon crime! They had many women with them, dragged from the ruined villages. Some borne before them on their own horses, some upon little hill ponies. Hapless girls! man after man, as he cast his prey loose, cut at the poor crea- tures savagely with his scimitar. A yell of indignation burst from usas we rode at them like a whirlwind. I saw Nusreddeen myself ply his sword among the miscreants with ghestly butchery. Bikhu, who rode manfully beside me, pointed out a man on a magnificent black horse. That is Mundroop! I had neither eyes, nor heart, nor arm, for any other; but went upon him as oa a boar in the open. He 124 AN~ ONLY SON. ~a~w it and put his horse to its best pace. I knew~the breed frQm the moment I could - se~ his s4~ride. A noble animal, from Katti- ~~~ii; but never did Kattiwaree snare drop foal thst could get away from a pure Nejd Azab of such rare size, speed, and strength as Abool Harg. I felt we should soon shake off the field, and that Muadroop, at last, must turn and fight me hand to hand, or be ridden down and sabred as a hog is speared. What minutes they were as we stretched out! He at full speed, I keeping my horse in hand, not knowing of what ne- cessity some reserve of wind and power might prove. Fancy settling down to work thus deliberately, in pursuit of the best swordsman on the north bank of the Ner- buddah I The excitement was of that kind which gives back all the calm of which the first agitation robs one. I can remember passing my sword into the bridle hand that I might use the right to pat my chargers neck, leaning forward ia the stirrups. I should think we must have ridden a mile before he discovered that Abool Harg was not to be blown. He began to save the Kattiwaree. I did not alter my pace for a second, and of course gained on him now at every stride. He pulled up short, throwing the black al- most upon his haunches as he wheeled round to confront me. Perhaps he thought I should rush past before I could rein in, and so expose myself to a back-hander. Man and horse had been too well trained at hog for that. To my surprise he threw up his hands, both weaponless, bringing them to- gether with the peculiar supplicating gesture of an Eastern craving quarter. I lowered my point. Quicker than lightning he snatched a pistol from his shawl belt, fired, and threw it at me, seizing his sword, which was hitched naked at his saddle-bow. Abool Harg saved me. Thepistol ball I found af- terwards had grazed and stung him. He rose up and plunged with a scream at the Kattiwaree, striking out like a demon with his fore hoofs. Master as he was of horse and sword, Mundroop missed his sweep at me. I thrust at him with whatever force an Indian sun has not dried up out of a cricket- ers arm, drawing back the razor-like blade after a cutting fashion, which I had learned from Nusreddeen. The mutilated children and their slaughtered mothers were avenged. He sunk forward on his horses mane and fell heavily to the ground as the animal shied from Abool Hargs renewed assault. Wretched man! It seemed horrible not to dismount and see if any life were left in him to be stanched with the flowing blood. Yet I dared not attempt it: having to bat- tle with my horse, wild to stretch out in pur- suit of the other. Two horsemen were near- ing me. Half blind with sand and sweat I could not discern whether friend or foe. So I waited, facing them, the fallen man lying close behind my restive horses heels. The empty Kattiwaree made for them. One caught its bridle, which made me think they must be riders of Mundroops band. I set my teeth, resolving to drive the spurs in and launch myself at full speed against them; but a few moments showed me the well- known figures of Bikhu and the one-eyed Jemadar. I called to the former to jump off and take my Arabs bridle, leaving the two others to Nusreddeen. Then I dismounted; but found the miserable robber chief stone dead. His sword was tightly clenched in his stiffened fingers. I had much ado to release it. You shall have it, dear father, in ex- change for that which slew him. Nusred- deen insisted that we must bring the corpse away with us, else it would never be believed what doom had overtaken him. I fastened it therefore,it was a sickening task,upon the Jemadars own beast, he mounting the captured Kattiwaree. The Bheel then re- mounted and led the troop horse with the ghastly burden. Nusreddeen and I rode after him, side by side; but at respectful distance from each other, my brute still mak- ing vicious manifestations as we went. Two of my sowars are killed, six wounded. Nine- teen of the robbers are slain, and many wounded. We have four prisoners. I send this letter by an orderly who carries news of the skirmish to the Resident, and a re- quest for the troops at Kallishuhr to march at once with the two six-pounders upon Mundroops stronghold in the hills. I mean to join them there and rifle the nest at once, now the kite is killed. Not a moment more to spare. Kiss mother for me. Your ever dutiful and affectionate NED.~~ Khanum Bagh. That is, dear mother, the ladys garden. A romantic place to date from, and a fine romance of real life I have to write from such a place of dating. Well, if I was once re- fused, I have now made, in my turn, a re- fusal. If you cant quite say of me He jests at scars that never felt a wound, you will think that the wound at which I can afford to jest has at last healed whole- somely. Only think, if an earls~ daughter would have none of my wooing, a kings widow has wooed me; I might be sitting on a rajahs musnud and wearing a rajahs pug- greeAnglic~, be throned and turbaned, had I not turned a deaf ear to a Ranees blandishments. It is fair to say that Koom- pany Bahawdur dosVt encourage such es- capades on the part of its young politicals, 125 126 AN ONLY SON. and had I listened to the voice of the charmer my own tent, pitched as you may ika~Igine, I might have been swinging at a ropes end at a wide and respectful distance 1ron~ ~tha1~ opposite the Residency; a consideration of her highness~indeed, at the extreme iar* which may have had its influence on my de~ thor angle of the vivifying tankwhex~A one cision. But now for my romance, which fey- of the wretched nondescript appendages~ to a~ erthdless is a reality, female Eastern court entered, announcing~ I must have often told you tales of our himself as her highness vukeel or -eoi~iflden- Maharanee Lall Beebee, the widow of the tial agent. His business, he- informed me, last rajah of this precious principality. She was to secure my attendance at a grand is the mother, or reputed mother, of the natitch, to be given by the Maharanee in sickly child in whose name the durbar rule, honor -of her happy escape. It would be a Handsome, bold, and witty, she has the rep- sumptuous affair. There was a famous troop utation of a minor Messalina. Her political of dancing girls attached to the tank tom- intrigues put Sir Joseph out of all patience plc; they would join the ordinary perform- now-a-days, as her intrigues of another kind ers of her highness retinue. used to put the late rajah out of it. They Now the paganism of the nautch, and the say she knew precisely when it became im degradation of its poor dancers, have always perative to put him out of something more, shamed and disgusted me. I was present at to save herself, at last. So the lamented one such entertainment in my early Indian sovereigns epifee disagreed with him, al- days, and have never chosen to attend an- though her own fair hands prepared it. I other. 1, therefore, with what compliment- had business at the Residency some few ary apologies I could, intimated my disin- months after Mundroop Siaghs affair. By clination to the vukeel. He was not easy to the way, I never heard whetho~ his sword satisfy, throwing out unambiguous hints of came safe to hand at Cransdale. Be sure the grief which my refusal would cause his you let me know some day. When I was mistress, who, though screened from my ob- about to leave again, Sir Joseph said to me, servation, was desirous of beholding the fen- that her highness of Maharanee had asked tures of such a Roostum, such a hero, as the that I and my Irregulars should escort her, English Sahib who slew Mundroop Siagh. her son, and her ladies, to this country resi- The obstinate old ape indeed plied me with dence of the royal Zenana. so many questions as to my reasons for re- That was fairly in the way of business, fusing, that in a sort of exasperation I told my own route lying somewhat in the same di- him such an entertainment was not accord- rection. Our departure was delayed some few ing to the law of our Book, nor, if I mistook days to meet the views of her highness as- not, of the Koran itself. The Maharanee, trologer; but on an auspicious evening the I must tell you, is of a Mussulman house; cavalcade set forth, horses and asses, mules and I remembered that in Egypt the Almehs, and camels, with a sprinkling of elephants, a sort of nautch girls, had been banished, My duty was to see that nothing came in for reformation sake, from the capital, with the Maharanees way, and to keep out of it concurrence of the Moollabs, if not at their myself. For two days I succeeded in doing suggestion. This rid me of the vukeel, both; on the third Abool Harg interfered whom I have not set eyes on since. The to prevent me from doing the latter. lie next morning we resumed our march. Dur- took an obstinate fit just as a sort of palan- ing the midday halt, a muffled figure, pass- quin containing the fair lady was coming up ing quickly by me, slipped into my hand a a narrow path at the swinging trot of its hu- little scroll of paper. When I could unroll man beasts of burden. There was some con- and read it unobseived, I found it to contain fusion and alarm on their parts as the brute two or three Persian sentences, to the effect kept plunging, and the curtains being thrown that as Kadigahs reverence did hut increase back, by accident or on purpose, I had a her affection for the true Prophet, so might full view of the affrighted Maharanee. To the heart which warmed for a warrior esteem do her justice, her fright seemed rather af- a saint. I took this for a polite sneer from fected than real. I thought her completely the offended Maharanee, yet was not a little collected, and fully capable of bestowing astonished at her attempt to open a corre- nod, beck, and wreathed smile, amidst her spondence. That astonishment grew, when interesting agitation. Perhaps you will say that same evening Thakali, my Bhools wife, I do her injustice. She thought fit, how- entered upon a conversation, half of innunedo ever to declare that her nerves had received half of remonstrance. She, was evidently a shock; and as our next camping-ground bursting with some secret and. made skilful was in a very pleasant place by a marble attempts to draw me into questioning her- shrine and a large tank, with trees in abun- self, and knitting some negotiation. H~r dance, she refused to stir thence on the en- simple arts, I need not say, wore in vain; suing day. I was sitting in the afternoon in yet it caused me antioyance and -anxiety to AN ONLY SON. 127 feel that she was exercising them, and to move the escort to-day. There was, besides, s~LTrfliSe that some one had been tampering the risk of giving a public affront in return with her as a means of access to myself. for what was of course a secret overture Our marches grew daily shorter, for, of meant to be more than friendly. course, we had to regulate them entirely by I Meditation, even under double canvas the caprices of the royal lady, who~seemed and thick trees, is thirsty work with the ther- bent upon lengthening out this journey be- mometer at ninety-six in the shadiest shade. yond the limits of mortal patience. Out- To cool my reflections upon the best mode landish dainties of cookery and confection- of taking leave without discourtesy, or corn- cry found continually their way to my table; promising courteousness, I had recourse to and by and by another letter was cleverly a little jar of sherbet, wrapped round with thrust into my unexpecting and unwilling wet towels, and deposited in the least sultry hand. This was no mere scrap of furtive corner. Happily, I took not a gulp, but a correspondence, but almost a state paper, a mere sip; enough, however, to convince miracle of shamelessness, of craft, and yet me that something more than sugar and of that childish ignorance and fatuity which milk of almonds flavored it. I looked about so often makes the policy of Asiatics incon- me and perceived that, over a fold of her ceivable to the consistent and sober minds of veil, the dark, piercing eyes of Thakali, who Europeans. It was a direct and open pro- was crouching on the ground outside, were posal to unite my personal and political des- fastened eagerly upon me. I called her qui- tinies with those of the subtle and audacious etly but firmly. Thakali, find a little tame Ranee. Studded with quotations from am- monkey and bring it here to me. orous Persian poets, and unrestrained avow- I knew there were dozens of them he- als of passion, it disclosed the plan of an longing to the camp followers. She came intrigue for the overthrow of the durbar, the soon back again with on~ like an impish in- deposition from his nominal authority of her fant in her arms. I had got a little tin fun- own infant son, and the seizure of supreme nel ready, and forcing it between the crea- power by herself and me. Her talent for tures teeth, too suddenly to let it bite my managing her own people, with mine for fingers, poured a liberal dose of my spicy conciliating the half-savage outliers, would sherbet down its throat. It had a chain come in aid to the resistless force of such a round its waist, the other end of which I darling of the sword as I. My saintliness made fast to a tent-pole. was such, that I l~ad only to proclaim the Sit down there, Thakali, and watch that unity~ and allow the Prophet, for all Mus- monkey for me. sulmen to hail me as a Syud or holy chief at She smiled, without an apparent shade once. The Maharanee would he my Zuleika, of misgiving or of malignity. and I her Yussuf and Roostum in one. Without another word, I turned to a Should I accede to this highly practical, if little table on which lay my writing-desk, somewhat startling, proposal, I was to sig- and setting down the jar in front of me, pro- nify the gratifying intelligence by mounting ceeded to write despatches for Sir Joseph. Mundroop Singhs black charger instead of For nearly an hour no sound stirred save the vicious chestnut for two days, wearing a the scratching of my pen. At the expira- red turban instead of.thewhite folds of mus- tion of that time there was a sort of whin- lin which usually protect my head-piece. ing moan from tho monkey. I turned to Means would then he found for closer, more look on it. It shivered, moaned again twice explicit, and delightful communication. or three times, had a strong spasm, and Was the woman mad or mocking? died. Two things were certain. I must he- The horror and astonishment upon the stride the chestnut, night, noon, and morn- face of Thakali were almost appalling. She ing, sending the black Kattiwaree to the sprang to her feet and turned towards me farthest rear of the procession, and must with the wildest gestures of protestation and forego the luxury of even a clean muslin entreaty. I said nothing. wrapper round my perplexed and cogitative Sahiht She swore to me upon her temples. She would at least interpret thesi~ holy hook,4hat it was a love charm only: as signs as neo.ative innocent as mothers milk, if only.the right She diA, and was not slow to resent the man drank it! injury. Who swore that, Thakali? It was but yesterday we reached this The beautiful Khaaum, the Mahara- place. I eneamped upon the outskirks of nee! its wide and really beautiful park. Our last Then it all came out, with too much hon- march had been rather long and fatiguing. est breathlessness and vehemence to let me Much as I wished to turn my hack for good doubt the tale, or suspect my poor Bheel and all upon her highness, I could hardly friend of any but ftiendlytreac e . The 128 AN ONLY SON. Xhanum herself had sent for her, had seen, J Loekselabad. had spoken with her; had bewitched her One only line, dear father, to tell you with blandishments, and terrified her with that the current of my life is once more threats; had bribed her with smiles and turned into the long-dreamt-of channel gold, and hound her with oaths, of which this time. I shall learn under a great sol- the enumeration would fill an index to a dier to be a soldier indeed of some sort. book on demonology. Her craft had appar- God grant it be the right. Sir Charles Na- ently read the truth of poor Thakalis grati- pier wants irregular cavalry for his coming tude and attachment to me, and she had con- campaign in Scinde. I am ordered to march cocted a story which should enlist them upon for his head-quarters without an hours un- the side of her own desires. She had told necessary delay. Some convention of our he~ that an evil wizard had cast upon myself Government with this semi-independent a spell which had chilled the once warm state allows our services to be at its disposal. flame wherewith I loved her; that this Love to mother. No fear of the Maharanee alone kept back herself and me from the de- now, you may tell her. If I can find means lights of love and the glories of empire. of despatching letters on the march, I will; Should I but drink a draught in which a cer- but if none come, dont fret, as the possibil- tam magic powder had been dropped, the ity is problematical. In haste, your loving spell would break, two loving hearts would and dutiful, NED. come together, and our united star of grand- CHAPTER XXIII. eur would arise. A true woman, Thakali could hardly be HEdH, sirs, joost speer at him, quoth supposed, you know, dear mother, to he Sergeant Macpherson, with a significant jerk guiltless of all love for match-making: a of his canny head towards a little sand- true Bheel, she is a devout believer in art- mound outside the wall of Sukkur, on which znagie. There were the motives, and there the general, with hands folded behind his in the shape of the dead monkeywas the back, stood in conversation with a tall, thin, deed. I gave poor Thakali to understand most clearly, that, beautiful Khanums or elderly officer and a younger aide-dc-camp. not, she must never think again of interfer- By all reule he suld na be the man to ing in any possible matrimonial engagements fight you hawk-nebbed Baloochs, ye ken. for n~e: that she would rue the day when Kites dinna pike out kites een, they say; ever she should open her lips to any human and conseeder the neb the chief carries him- being on this matter, not excepting her sel. trusty Bikhu, his own self: that the sole Shure thin, sargint, Im thinkin its the other condition of pardon must be that she should wrap the deceased in an old shawl hoith of a name they do be givia your coun- and carry the corpse to the Khanum in pri- thry folk. vate, informing her that he had drank the What name might ye be sooggestin, powdered sherbet, which must account for Corporal Molony? said the Scot after a the departure of Locksley Sahib without prickly sort, as if expecting a pluck at the formal leave-taking. That was last evening, thistle. I am writing far on in the night, meaning Isnt it Sawnies they do be callin yez? to march two hours before sunrise. I have not quite finished my despatches for the Res- inquired the corporal in the most aggravat- ident, and must not dwell much longer upon ing tone of insinuation. my personal adventures to yourself. Aiighm at a loss to pairceive the fitness So Phil has actually his company in the o sic an appellation, retorted Macpherson Guards, and with it his lieutenant-co I onelcy. loftily, yet with rising choler flushing his It will be long before I have any such han- broad cheek-bones. dle to m.y name, being only lieutenant, with- Corporal Molony raised his voice; it must out the colonel appended. After all, I have have reached the sand-heap, as he replied,~ no right to complain: for my career is more anomalous, in soldiering, than lfts. I have- Shure its none but a Sawny, sargint nt set eyes on my regiment, or foot on its wouldnt know the differ atwixt kites and an parade ground, these years! aigle. Jist take another look at the giner- You neednt fear any farther freaks of als bake agin, will yez? the Maharanee. She has a forgiving dispo- He tapped his own nose, conspicuous for sition when the first fit is off her. Besides which I am far enough out her reach at Lock- ~ simous absence of convex curvature, with selabad, and mean to sip my sherbet cau- I such inimitable drollery, that even the wrath- tiously for six months at least. Love and ful Caledonian joined in the guffaw. duty to father. The officers could not resist; but turned Your own son, NED. aside to hide their amusement. AN ONLY SON. Did you hear that saucy rascal, Blunt? asked Sir Charles. Oh, hear him! I hear too much of him, answered the ~olonel. He is a corporal of my own light company, and always a skrim- maging wid his tongue, to use his own ex- pression. Looks as if hed skirmish with some other weapon, too, said the aide-de-caml5. True for you, replied the colonel; hes a smart enough soldier. There was not much wind that evening; but what there, was blew from the desert. The air was thick with a sandy haze, nar- rowing the horizon, and rendering objects even at little distance almost as indistinct as in an English fog. This sort of mist was thickened in one direction by a column of rising dust. Out of it, by degrees, emerged the leading files of a small body of mounted men. Well horsed! observed the general, peering through his spectacles. Service- able uniform and equipment. Bless me. what a few baggage ponies! What I like to see! Know the corps? he asked impa- tiently of the aide-de-camp. No, sir. Tell the officer in command to halt his men and speak with me. Whats your name, sir; and what force is that? Locksley, general; Irregulars from the Trans-Nerbuddah. Who raised and equipped them? I had that honor, general. You seem to have done it well, sir. Is that your usual amount of baggage? I cant easily make it less, sir; but I am particular about it. Right, sirquite right. The things are well slung too. MMurdo must see these ponies. Your voice seems to come back to me, sir, now said the tall, thin colonel. Did I understand you to say your name was Locksley? Ned Locksley, colonel, at your service. Cant you mind the sea-mews on the Skerry? Good heavens, my dear boy! cried the old soldier in ecstasy, seizing one hand ifl both his own. The turban and the beard deceived me. He is a chip of a good old THIRD SERIES. LIVING AGE. 769 block, Sir Charles. You remember Locks- Icy of the Welsh Rangers? Killed at Corunna, poor fellow? The same. This Ned is his grandson. Let me beg your favorable regard for him. His baggage ponies have been before- hand with you, colonel. Your grandfather was a fine soldier, sir, and I am pleased to make your acquaintance. Come and din& with me when youve seen your men to their quarters. Know Captain Annesley? I dare say hell show you the quartermaster-gener- als. Ned and the aide-dc-camp went their way, their elders returning slowly in another di- rection. Having filled, so long, a post of duty so remote, Ned would have been a stranger among his comrades, had it not been for this meeting with Colonel Blunt. OBrien was the only man of his own standing serv- ing with Napiers small but admirable force, But the old Peninsular was a universal fa- vorite throughout it, known, esteemed, and almost loved by all. His friendship was a passport not only to the chiefs acquaintance, but to that of every officer in camp. Ned found himself in double sense at home. At home in the ready brotherhood of his brother officers; at home in the home-memories of the fatherly veteran. I was old Ned Locksleys recruit, my boy, and, by George, you are mine. Youd have been a college IDoa by this time, I be- lieve, but for my listing you at Freshet- You should have taken the queens shilling though, you young dog, instead of John Companys. You know, colonel, I said if ever I went soldiering it should be soldiering in earnest.~ Yes, and sarve your impudence right, youve been thief catching and cow-keeping ever since, you see. Ned laughed. We shall see soldiering now, sir, I hope, at all events. Wholl show it you? One of old Sir John Moores boys, at last, to say nothing of old Blunt and his queens Light Borderers. No nobler tutors, colonel. They can count on an admiring pupil. Is that the Brunswickers book under your surtout? I think I see the stumpy, square outline still. By George, boy! So you remember that, do you? Yes, thats my devotional 129 AN ONLY SON. orderly book, as ever. Muss oft gelesen seyn. Eh? I owe you more for that bit of insight, colonel, into what a soldiers mind might be, than I could make words to tell. Ive tried to follow that regulation clause of it myself, you see. Out of the looser folds of his half eastern military tunic he took his little Testament and tendered it to the old officer. Thank God for that, ~ said he rev- erently. Its better than the Brunswicker, since it is the Word itself. But the Greek beats me. I warnt never no scholard to brag on, and found the Latin tough enough till I got on good terms with it. All right! Come in! It was Captain Annesley, to say that the Trans-Nerbuddahs were to parade at day- light. He wants to pick a few likely nags and men for some diversion he is brooding. A march into the desert, I believe, or some such hopeful feat. There aint a vulture there, Im told, to pick a fellows bones even. But they bleach nicely, said the colonel. I lost a few poor fellows three marches out of Aden once, and know the sort of thing. Well, good-night, gentlemen. I neednt say the chiefs a punctual party, Mr. Locks- ley. It was for the march to Emaumghur, that unparalleled act of happy daring, that the great soldier was picking troopers. Two hundred horsemen only were to escort into the waste less than four hundred infantry, mounted for the nonce on camels. Neds heart bounded within him, as, one by one, the eagle-eyed veteran selected five-and- twenty of his men for service. Selection good? he asked of Locksley when they had formed a line a little in ad- vance of their chaffing comrades. Ned -went very carefully down it, only halting at one trooper on a showy-looking horse. The mans thoroughly good, general; but the horse is not equal to its appear- ance. Pick out a sounder, then. Ned obeyed. As the proud iRajpoot horse- man learnt his rejection, a tear of rage and dis~ippointment rose to his eyes. Thegen- erals glance observed it. Master of every chord which thrilled in a soldiers breast, of whatever race or creed, he said to - Locks- ley, Make it clear to your sowar that we pass him over for the horses fault aloiie. Tell him I know a man when I see Qne; and he shall be my orderly the first great lIght. The swarthy features were radiant Dgain at once. The Rajpoot drew his sword and kissed it in token of unalterable fidelity. We march at sundown for Emaumghur, then said the general. I make no secret of it; but have sent on to warn and threaten the Ameer. A heavy march it was in the dark night and deep sand. An awful march, next day, under the scorching sun. No forage, and scanty water, at the camping ground when nightfell. Even two hundred horse were a hundred and fifty more than the desperate adventure would allow. Yet after that sec- ond sifting, when two-thirds of the cavalry were sent back, fourteen of the Trans-Ncr- buddahs remained, inclusive of the one-eyed Jemadar and exclusive of their leader, Ned. Strange magic of a manly mastermind! Under a Napier that weary march in the howling wilderness was like a martial holi- day. When the very camels grew faint for want of such poor prickly herbage as would satisfy their patient hunger, there was an amicable struggle between the horsemen and the undaunted infantry, for the honor of hauling up the sand steeps the dragging howitzers. For at one time the sand stood heaped and hardened almost into stone, stretching into table-lands or stiffening ab- ruptly into ridges; at another, it swept, with mingled shells and pebbles, as if a rapidly receding tide had left it, round thin streaks of vegetation where the gazelles found covert and the wild boars a lair. Out of one such scrubby mockery of a jungle emerged, one afternoon, to Neds amusement, the garru- lous Molony, holding at arms length a stick, in the cleft end of which a snake was wrig- gling. Yons a rare opheedian yeve captured, corporal! said Macpherson, who had once done hospital-sergeants duty, and offected scientific phrase. OFidcleran, is it, thin? Sorra the mor- sel more than Macpherson. The OFidde- rans is no varmint; but dacent folk, near Mallow, mee own cousins, by the mothers side. OFidderan, indeed! 130 AN ONLY SON. Aughmnaedesii~oiis o geevin offence, corporal; but thats the pheelos opher name for serpents. ~~Morets th~ shame for thim, miseallin o eraythurs. Couldnt they spell snake, that theyd write O~Fiddertm short for sarpint 1 Ony rate, yous a vara curious specimen. Yell maybe let the foreign doctor have it? Furrin doethor, indeed! Wid his name Mac something. Thats a quare way to ba6k a counthryman, Misther Macpherson! Hoot, man! Maximeelians the gentle- mans name, which is nae name of ony Scot- tish clan. Augh misdoot hes a Gerrman. Max Gervinus was, indeed, a thorough Teuton. Blue-eyed and fair-haired, tall, stout, and handsome, he had in nowise de- generated from such ancestors as Tacitus drew. His mental was in no ridiculous dis- proportion to his physical stature. He might have been a man of mark in public life, but for his birth, as subject of a petty state, where cumbrous artificial restraints cramped all political activity within boundaries natu- rally very narrow; where military life of- fered no prize beyond the command of a small contingent, rarely called into perma- nent, much less, into active existence; and where commercial enterprise itself could scarcely swell beyond the limits of a larger pedlaring. Too practical to float into the atmosphere of vague metaphysical ~bstrac- tions, his mind, which yet partook of the speculative German temper, had launched itself upon the sea of physical research and study. Surgeon and physician, he was a chemist, a botanist, and a natural historian. Anxious to enlarge, not in mere theory, his field of view, he had solicited and obtained the post of personal medical attendant to a Serene Highness, of royal German blood, whose spirit, half military and half philo- sophical, was sending him upon what he himself was pleased to designate a compre- hensive-objective politico-material worlds- observation-tour. Whatever may have been the genuineness of the philosophical element in his Serenitys cor~position, there was a fine fuU dash of hussar blood in his veins; 131 and the gathering of Napiers Lorce had at- tracted him irresistibly to Scinde. He had fruitlessly solicited leave to accompany the flying column into the wilderness, though volunteering for the storming party when the stronghold should be reached. But medicos being few, and Max covenanting to find his own -water, and to act under or- ders as might any British assistant-surgeon, he obtained the favor denied to his Serene patron, and was permitted, in the interests of science, to risk his life in that noble fel- lowship. There were two varieties of land- lizard, he assured Ned Locksley, with five of sand-beetle, to be found in the Scindian desert, the securing of which, or of any of which, would amply repay him for any dan- ger encountered or hardship endured. But his language and bearing made it evident to all that he was no mere crackbrained en- thusiastic sciolist. His childlike simplic- ity took nothing from his vigorous manli.. ness, whilst his intellectual accomplishments graced without overshadowing his transpar- ent amiability. He spoke English very fairly, with so few peculiarities, that the canny Macpberson, while dubbing him the foreign doctor, showed only characteristin caution in misdoubting of his natibual origin. Ned was charmed with him, with his mingled erudition and acuteness, with his conjectures and questions concerning men or beasts in the remoter hill-tracts and jun.. gles. Long before Emaumghur was reached, they were fast friends. That kites nest was empty, as all men know, before the eagles talons could claw the occupants. Nothing remained to do but to make the sticks fly, and take wing backward, as if by scent of water, to the shifting banks of the great In- dus flood again. The Trans-Nerbuddabs who had not been selected, those also who were sent back on the desert march, were all somewhat consoled on learning that there had been no fight after all. But Nusred- deen was right to see the grinding and set- ting of every sword throughout the, squad- ron. Mecanee was at hand. LIFE OF JOHN ANGELL JAMES. From The Saturday Review. LIFE OF JOhN ANGELL JAMES. ~ THIs is a liberal age. Those who have lived in it long enough have witnessed many opposites brought together, and many causes of separation done away. But one distine- ti~on remains, strange to say, as sharp as ever, in spite of innumerable influences de- liberately and accidentally brought to bear upon it. The old social barrier between Church and Dissent stands, as far as we can see, firm and unshaken. Low Churchmen court Dissenting ministers, disown all differ- ence of feeling or position, call them dear brothers in pulpits and on platformsmeet, too, on solemn stated occasions affecting to be social intercoursebut, practically, noth- ing comes of it. Their families stand aloof. The vicar patronizes the Baptist minister, who, in his turn, compliments the church- man; but the vicars wife has no friendship with the ministers partner. Her daugb- ters never flirt with his sons, or form inti- macies with his girls. If accident or public duty bring them together for an hour or two, the effect is only to make all sides realize an uncongenial element, and to render them more shy of each other for the future. And as it is with the pastors, so with their con- gregations. The layman knows no more of the social inner life of the Dissenting minis- ter than he ever did. How, and when, if ever, he unbends from that peculiar guarded sectarian precision which marks person and demeanor out of doors, is still a perplexity to him. He cannot help a sense of pity at a life of obscure sacrifice which he cannot understand, simply because it never touches on his experience. People may say that the difference of social standing is the cause of the barrier we have assumed, but this only removes the~question a step further. Why does not Dissent rise in social standing P Why do people leave it as they get on in the world? Upon all such points the very can- did, and we think able book before us throws a light. A good many of our readers possibly know very little of Angell James. Nevertheless, his name is a household word, and has been any time these forty years, with an influential ~ Life and Letters of John An~qell Jones. In- cluding an unfinished Autobiography. By R. XV. Dale, M.A., his Colleague and Successor. Lon- dox: Nisbet. portion of the religions world, as onepre-erni- nent for what they call pulpit-po~ver, who was the orator of the platform, and whose writings had a circulation which n~ nnya world-wide reputation might envy; and his history is here given with a spirit and a sense of the importance of the theme which have their cffect upon the general reader. For six hundred octavd pages we are made to see things from a Nonconformist point of view. Here neither the biographer nor his subject shows even a moments sense of depressing obscurity. Angell James does not seem to have been a vain man, but we find him regarding his own career as the most won- derful thing he had ever known, as he con- templates the standing that has been as- signed to him in this extraordinary age; and of his congregation he can speak as of a church on which the sun of prosperity shone with unclouded splendor; and though this sounds to us superlative language, it is probably not more than adequate to the demands of the readers for whom the book is mainly designed, and who are justified in regarding its subject as an honor to their system, and a crowning example of what Dissent may achieve. Not that he had in him the spirit of schism and division, but, finding himself in that religious section, from the time he thought at all, he implicitly received and made the best of it. Thus he may be accepted as a favorable type of sec- tarianism. Its influences worked on a good soil; his religion was genuine, zealous, de- voted; his practice was in strict conformity to it, and represents in all its main points in its strictness, in its laboriousness, in its uniform consistency the Puritan ideal. Yet we must say it gives a view of social life, cold and very far from generous, and accounting for the social isolation we have noted from causes that lie deeper than mere standing and position. The child who starts in life under the impression that all the neighbors, people who live respectably and go to church every Sunday, are sinners, and the world who hears the term Christian even applied as a mark of exclu- siveness and separationstands in a per- fectly different relation to society, and learns wholly different lessons from it, from another who regards those around it with a sense of fellowship, as inheritors of the same tradi- tions, as subject to the same influences, as LWB OF JOHN ANGELL JAMES. members of one vast community of which it is proud to feel part, sharing the same his- toiy, and looking forward to the same fu- ture. lI~li~ious exclusiveness in childhood and iii a sectarian community consisting mainly of one class this may be carried out witbdut the counteracting influences which will interpose themselves in a national relig- iona life of prohibitions where books, society, intercourse, and amusements arc hedged round with innumerable prominent obtrusive vetoes, has a dwarfing effect on the dawning imagination, on the faculties which impart a tone of poetry to society, and sweeten life, which those who enforce it know little about, and perhaps care less, but which painfully explains a great deal which might otherwise puzzle us. Angell James parents, small tradespeople in Dorsetshire, were both Dissenters. His mother, he tells uswe presume in deference to the popular interest in the mothers of great menwas a good but not a great woman. He himself was sent to a com- mon school, where he manifested so little zeal for learning that when, in after years, a schoolfellow was told he had become an emi- nent preacher, he exclaimed, What, i/uk thick-headed fool! why he was fit for noth- ing but fighting. But though the future preacher showed no precocious gifts or graces, he had a distinct theory of religion in his mind derived from his mother. We see it in the history of his conversion, and in his natural use of a certain phraseology. What would be cant in others he uses with the simplicity of a native tongue. Low Churchmen who talk in the same way can- not do it as naturally; we see they are con- scious of an easier mode of saying the same thing. At the usual age, he was apprenticed to a linen-draper. Shortly afterwards, he became aware of religious impressions and placed himself under the direction of a pious cobbler. We read immediately after of a call to the ministry; and his father, who de- serves throughout. more tenderness than his son bestows on his memory, sends him to the Nonconformist College at Gosport, where he studied for two years, making such use of its advantages as was compatible with his being put on the preaching list at seven- tecn~ and being sent out to preach to vil- I~gn congregations. Nr. James was an eminently consistent 138 character, but he has to confess to certain lapses in this stage of his career. lie was a boy, after all, with some of a boys light- heartedness, struggling against the tram- mels gathering round him which it was the first business of the systeni -to impose. At sixteen, he had given the cobbler occasion to grieve over him by going for an hour or two to an election ballnot that he could dance, but just to see what was going on~ lie was also betrayed into another incon- sistency by going to see a mimic play, got up by some young men of the town; but here his conscience so sharply rebuked him, that he rushed out, expecting the beam over his head to crush him. Nor was this all: When I had been in Gosport a year, he writes, I was sent out to preach in some of the principal places in the county, such a~ Southampton, Lymington, Romsey. In the latter place I was guilty of an indiscretion which excited some prejudice against me among the serious people. One of the dea- cons, or principal people, gave an entertain- ment on the majority of his only son and child. A dance was got up, in which Ijoined, and manifested a degree of -levity in other ways. Some of the congregation would not come again to hear me preach. I did wrong, clearly wrong; that is to say, the act was a thoughtless folly, and shows upon what slen.. der threads hang our reputation and useful- ness; yet some excuse might have been made for a youth only between eighteen and nineteen years of age. We believe Roman Catholicism is just as rigid in the suppression of the youthful ele- ment in those set apart in boyhood for its ministry. In both cases, this accounts for a certain air and cut, the token of subjection to public opinion, before the individual char- acter has had time to express itself in such a manner. Mr. James has to lament in the students of the college he subsequently vis- ited, the excess of hilarity and unsancti fled levity with which, in this their last refuge, they were- apt to indemnify them- selves for restraint elsewhere, and perhaps not without reason, -for nature will avenge itself for unnatural restrictions. He himself, having developed a real turn for pr~aching, is not so much to be pitied. He had more than enough of excitement. The Cong~egationals have evidently a taste for boy-preachers. We read of one who owed much of his popu- larity to the youthful beauty of his appear- ance; and the sensation is no doubtpi2uant, LIFE OF JOHN ANGELL JAMES. of seeing a boy act his part with precocious~ gravity, and exhort his elders with confi- dence, unction, and thunder. Before Angell James was twenty he was sent as a supply to Birmingham, or, as it is expressed, to the Church-meeting in Carrs-lane, where he made his debut with a coolness which he af- terwards wondered at, considering the age and gravity of his audience. He so charmed them, however, that in a very short time they pressed him to stay amongst them It was a rather peculiar and striking scene, and a trial of his humility, to see a youth of nineteen surrounded by seven ven- erable men, who were tendering to him the oversight of their own souls, and that of the Church which they represented. gency, Providence, he piously tells us, chose better for me than I should have chosen for myself; and he considers that he was di- rected from above to choose a plain woman, older than himself, hut with p6sition, money, and the home he wanted I had been one day most earnestly pray- ing for divine direction in this important step, and during prayer Frances Smith oc- curred with such force to my mind, that I considered it an indication of Providence that my attention should be directed to her. Without such interposition he implies that he might have overlooked her high qualities in favor of more open attractions; for, he tells us, this dear eminent woman had few personal charms; she had little spright- liness or vivacity; her demeanor was grave, but by no means gloomy. Such early prudence of choice gave great satis- faction to his congregation, and to all parties except the ladys friends, and the marriage proved a very happy one during the ten years it lasted. He may well exhort young min- isters by his example against hasty ill- formed matches. Three years after the death of this lady we have the account of his second marriage, and his first experience served so prudent a man as a precedent in his next choice, for here again he does not appear to have chosen by mere dictate o~ feeling:. By Gods good Providence I was di- rected to one in every way worthy to be the successor of m~r first wife, and this is saying much. The widow of Mr. Benjamin Ncale, of St. Pauls Churchyard, had been sought by many, but she was reserved for me. His widow was left without family, and in the possession of property (subject to some charitable bequests, which she liberally car- ried out) to the amount of 20,000. Possessed of a masculine understanding, great public spirit, equal liberality, and emi- nently prudent, she was well fitted for the sta- tion into which Providence now brought her. She had her failings; but they were very light and small compared with her many and eminent virtues. One of these ancients might be supposed to have placed his head on those young shoul- ders, to judge by the weight and preternatural gravity of manner with which these offers are acceded to, both vied voce and by an epistle. It is altogether a new phase of human nature to those who know boys mainly as turned out by public schools and universities. The connection thus early formed lasted for life. He was pastor of the same place for more than fifty years, with increasing popularity a centre for the Congregationalists both of England and America. This tells well for the Voluntary system, of which he was a warm advocate; but he was not one to press any system to an extreme, and he seems early to have discovered the best way to make it answerby rendering himself, that is, as little dependent on it as possible. It is not in nature to resist a smile over the simple straightforward history of his two marriages. If thcre was any step in his ca- reer which he regarded with unmixed satis- faction, both for the motive and the accom- plishment, it was having secured for himself in succession two rich wives, and he writes for readers on whom he securely depends for an undoubting approval. Under the circum- stances we do not withhold ours, but the world will not the less have lost its romance when the reign of Congregationalism sets in. Again he recommends his example to young Our hero found himself at twenty with a ministers Church and a small pittance, but with- It has long been my opinion that the com- Out a home. A wife was a very natural idea to enter into any youths head at such a mo- parative failure of many of our ministers in their public career is owing to unsuitable meat, and he began to give much thought to marriages. They are in haste to be married, this momentous matter. In this emer- and often make most unwise selections. . . 134 LIFE OF JOHN ANGELL JAMES. It is but rarely that a student makes a ~vise choice. The result is, a frivolous, weak, moneyless, thriftless woman becomes his wifea young family comes ondifficulties increasea small stipend, hardly sufficient to obtain necessaries, is all they have to de- pend upon, the spirit of the husband and the father is broken, and he wears out a life in moving from church to church, without being useful anywhere. This is all very well; but what becomes of the Voluntary system if it needs the assist- ance of rich wives? Again, he is congratu- lated by his congregation upon his most interesting and honorable connection. A rich London widow, the friend of Rowland Hill, would represent wealth, rank, and fash- ion to the church in Carrs-lane. Per- haps it might have cast a shade over thcir expectations had they known that this aus- tere female was entering on her sphere resolving to do her utmost to discourage worldliness among the more wealthy people ia her husbands congregation, and that from her arrival their tea-parties would lose the distinctioa of their honored pastors presence. Nothing, indeed, is unmixed gain in this world, and we cannot but suspect that the severity of this ladys views, and her masculine power of carrying them out, was almost too much for her husband; and that possibly a more dependent wife, though with less money, might have suited his nervous system better. It does not seem a right state of things for the asceticism to be on the wifes side. For about twenty years of his life the popular preacher was afflicted with such a nervous affection as obliged him grad- ually to give up all engagements away from home. It became a mania, which he thus describes to a friend 135 it find it difficult to explain the idiosyn- crasy under which I labor. It is something like this: I make a promise to preach; after awhile I am somewhat poorly; I wake up in the nightthe promise comes up like a spectre before me; it is a trifling concern no matter, it is a concern, it is a future. I cannot sleep; I rise uncomfortable, and con- tinue so through the day. I go to bed dread- ing I shall not sleep; the prediction verifies itself. Then I ealculate there are so many weeks to intervene, and that I shall not sleep comfortably till it is over; and how can I endure broken rest so long? By this time the matter has got hold of me, and neither reason nor religion can throw it off; and where others would find that which they would never think about for a moment till the time comes, I find that which darkens every moment till it is past. It is not, ob- serve, a dread of the service itself, but a dread that I shall not sleep till it is over. This is strange in a man who could commit a sermon two hours long to memory with- out misplacing a word, and hold his immense audience in breathless attention till it was over. Wc have commented on topics occupying but a small fraction of the book, which en- ters largely on his public laborshis contro- versies with Our Churchhis correspondence with American ministershis efforts to get up Revivals in England after their example his great work, The Anxious Inquirer, which was the fruit of this movementhis curious scheme for converting Qhina by throwing into that country a million of Tes- taments, as it were from the cloudsand his originating the Evangelical Allittace. The volume concludes with a chapter by his son on his home life, written with a truth, candor, and graphic skill which give it a very hon- orable place amongst religious biographies. EFFECT OF Music ON TIlE SIcKThe ef- the piano-forte, with such instrumetits as have feet of music ~n the sick has been scarcely at nil no continuity of sound, have just the reverse. noticed. In fact its expensiveness, as it is now, The finest piano-forte playing will damage the makes any general application of it out of the sick, while an air like Home, sweet home question. I will only remark here that wind or Assisa al pie dun sauce, on thQ most or instruments, including the human voice, and dinary grindin~ organ, will sensibly soothe. stringed instruments, capable of continuous themand this is quite independent of associa sound, have generally a beneficial effectwhile tionFlorence Nig1~tingale. 136 From Chamberss Journal. SCIENCE AND ALITS FOE AUGUST. Now that it is settled that the new For- eign Office shall be Palladian, and not Gothic, to the disappointment of those who prefer the picturesque pointed style; that Birmi~igham talks of building an exchange, and Boston, in New England, of establish- ing a zolilogical garden; that locomotives can cross the Rhine by a handsome railway bridge at Kehl; that Lieutenants Smith and Porcher of the royal navy have dug up fine statues ia ancient Cyrene, and are prosecut- ing their search for more; that Lord Somers points out Cilicia as a promising region to explore for remains of early Christian art; that Mr. Lough has shown what a noble me- niorial of George Stephenson he will one day erect at Newcastle; that Sheffield has set up a statue to James Montgomery; that H.M.S. Icarus is pursuing her fishery-protection cruise round the coasts of the kingdom; that the Gorilla controversy has ended for the present by a purchase of certain of the monsters for 500 for the British Mu- seun; that holiday-time has come to Par- liament as well as people: now that all this is done or doing, Manchester, fertile in re- s6urces, has made up its mind that the forthcoming meeting of the British Associa- tion within its walls shall not be in any way backward; and as Mr. William Fairbairn is president, and will deliver the thirty-first annual address, we may be sure that me- chanical science, at least, will have due con- sideration. That good work will be done by the sections, is confidently anticipated: astronomy has made progress, and now that the spectroscope is available for observation of the sun, the communications on that sub- ject will be unusually interesting. The Earl of Rosse has made further observations of the nebu1a~ ,and discovered that the spiral form is the most prevalent in those far-remote and mysterious objects. He finds reason to believe, moreover, that they move, having some sort of rotation, so that the study of the nebuke appears to be at present richer in promise than at any previous time. Interesting facts in geology and ethnology may also be looked for, and additional par- ticulars on a question which has been some- what vexed of late; namely, the compkrative anatomy of the brain as between man and SCIENCE AN1~ ARTS ~OR AUGUST. the. ape. qne of our ablest ethnologists has just returned from a journey to ]3enni~xk, during which he searched some of the so- called kitchen-middons ancient refuse- heaps, containing bones, shells, and flint implements of various kinda, which, judging from appearances, were thrown aside as rub- bish by the early tribes of the stone period. The antiquaries of Copenhagen have come to some very important conclusions from the relics discovered in these primeval mid- dens, which may tend to elucidate yet a little more the early history of mankind. Mr. Archibald Geikie, after careful examina- tion of the shores of the Firth of Forth, concludes that an upheaval has taken place within the historical period, or since the Roman invasion. In one locality, this up- heaval amounts to as much as twenty-five feet; and the inference from the facts is, that if such a change could occur without attracting notice during its slow progress, former changes could in like manner occur, and that many great ones have taken place since the appearance of man on the earth. Mr. Bryson brings forward further evidence as to the aqueous origin of granite, and de- monstrates the fact by instrumental means. In common with Mr. Sorby, whose interest- ing researches into this subject we have already noticed, he finds fluid cells in all the specimens of granite which he has hitherto examined.Another geological fact worthy of notice is that, according to the report of the explorers who surveyed the American continent from Canada to the Rocky Moun- tains and Vancouvers Island, there is abun- dance of lignite in certain localities, which has long been worked as fuel by the Hud- sons Bay Company, and is in request for steamers on the Pacific. Moreover, it is convertible into gas, as may be proved at some future day by the towns of New Colum- bia.This mention of American exploration reminds us that Captain Parker Snow has been makingpreparations, though with some doubt as to the means of completing them, to sail in the discovery yacht Endeavor, to carry out, if possible, his scheme of discov- ering further relics of Sir John Franklins expedition. It is his design, should the state of the ice in Baffins Bay favor quick progress, to replenish his stores from those left on Beechey Island by former expedi SCIENC1~ AND ARTS FOR AUGUST. tions, and push on to wintcr in King Wil- liams Land, which, in his opinion, has been by no means sufficiently ~carched. A member of the Horticultural Society at Paris, after a series of experiments, has dis- covered a process by which the blossom of the purple lilac can be made to appear white, by preventing the development of the natural color. The process is to plant the trees in a hothouse which, facing the north, receives no direct rays from the sun, but only a diffused light, until the buds and blossoms are about to burst, when the light is completely excluded by shutters, except- ing now and then a faint ray introduced through a narrow slit. In this condition of darkness, the coloring principle is kept in abeyance, and the flowers come forth per- fectlv white; but the leaves having been in a more advanced state than the blossom at the time of seclusion, retain their natural color. By similar treatment, red roses may be changed to white, and other flowers will probably be found susceptible of the same influence; a curious interference truly with the ordinary operations of nature. A simple remedy for the grape disease has been successfully tried for three successive years by a cultivator in the ~vine-producing districts of France. He had noticed the efficacy of lime in preventing the accumula- tiqa of moss on the bark of trees, and pre- serving wheat from the rot, and he gave a coat of whitewash to all his vines, particu- larly to the young wood, and found that the branches lost the red spots indicative of the malady, and recovered their normal color. He now applies the whitewash immediately after the pruning, whereby the trouble is diminished; and referring to this years op- erations, he says the difference between the appearance of his vines, which were limed within the first two weeks of March, and his neighbors, which were not limed at all, was astonishing. Moreover, the coat of white- wash protected the young leaf-buds from the early spring frosts. M. Fr6my has been investigating the composition and manner of production of gums in the vegetable organization; a sub- sect but little inquired into, yet fraught with important results. Seeing that with a com- bination of lime and an acid it is possible to produce a sort of gum-arabic, we shall per- haps hear of the production of other kinds 137 of gums by artificial means.By treating antimony in a certain way, Dr. Stenhouse has discovered that it can be converted into what is now known in the market as Patent Antimony Paint, which possesses none of the deleterious qualitica of white-lead, and costs less. Besides being lower in price than the lead, a given quantity will cover one-fourth more of surface; while, for out- door work, it is much more durable. Dr. Stenhouse is known for his fruitful re- searches into the chemical constituents of various vegetable products; he has now added to the list by discovering that a white crystalline substance can be extracted in considerable quantities from the bark of the larch. This substance is pleasantly aro- matic; but what its economical uses are, remains to be investigated.Jt appears that there is now something in common between crockery and carpentry, for silicate of pot- ~sh is found to be an excellent material for rejoining broken earthenware, glass or stone, and with such strength, that the articles will not break a second time in the same place; while carpenters and joiners may use it as a substitute for glue, and with especial ad- vantage in constructions exposed to the weather. rhe army is not what it used to be, is the desponding remark of a few per- sonages of the old school, who see in change a confession of weakness; but those who think and see otherwise will learn with satis- faction that a professorship of Tropical Medi- cine as well as of 1-Jygiene has been establish- ed in the Army Medical School at Chatham. We trust that one consequence will he a diminished mortality among our troops at stations between the tropics in the next offi- cial report on the health of the army.The Medical Society of Boston (Massachusetts) offer a prize for a paper on the accidents that ensue from the use of ether and chloro- form; on their nature, and on the means of prevention.The Croonian Lecture of the Royal Society, delivered by Dr. E. Brown- S6quard, On the Relations between Mus- cular Irritability, Cadavelic Rigidity, and Putrefaction, set forth a number of inter- esting physiological facts. Popularly ex- plained, the term irritability is to be under- stood as signifying full power or vigor; and with this in mind it will be easy to compre- hend the main argument of the lecture; namely, that the less of muscular irritability 138 in the body at the time of death, whether in man or animals, the more rapidly does pu- trefaction set in. It was noticed at Solferi- no, that the corpses of those killed in the morning, when the muscular system was vigorous, decomposedafter a longer interval than those killed in the evening, exhausted with the fatigues of the day. For the same reason, the flesh of overdriven cattle becomes very soon tainted and unfit to be eaten. From a series of observations carried on at Manchester, Dr. Thomas Moffat is of opinion that diseases of the nervous centres are more likely to occur in stormy seasons, especially storms of hail and snow, than at other times. The diseases referred to are apoplexy, epilepsy, paralysis, vertigo, diar- rhoea, vomiting, and cramps; and many per- sons will perhaps be able to remember cases which seem to bear out the theory; hut we think that long-continued observations in places wide apart would be required before it could be established that there is, in real! ity, an intimate connection between hail and snow showers, stormy weather and elec- tricity, and certain forms of disease. Astronomers are now pretty well agreed, that the comet which took them by surprise on the 30th of June last, is not the famous comet of Charles V., nor any one of those mentioned in the annals of their science. In a communication to the Academy of Sciences at Paris, M. Leverrier explained how this conclusion was arrived at. Three observa- tions of a comet, made twelve or twenty-four hours apart, according as the motion is fast or slow, enable the observer to calculate the comets orbit, a task which occupies about twenty-four hours. The orbit once calcu- lated, can be compared with other known orbits, and whether a comet be an entire stranger, or a former one re-appearing after a long absence, is thereby ascertained. Of the comet of 1861, it may be said that no man knows whence it came or whither it goes; and not till some very exact calcu- lations shall have been finished, shall we know whether it will ever again come within sight of the earth. Of course some attempts were made to investigate the physical con- stitution of the comet; some observers with the spectroscope think they saw certain dark lines; others, whose carefulness of observa SCIENCE AND ARTS FOR AUGUST. tion is beyond question, saw no lines what~ ever. Mr. De Ia Rue endeavored to obtain a photographic image of it, but though he focused the comet for full fifteen minutes, not the slightest effect was produced. And yet the illuminating power was great, for it threw a light upon the sea equal to that of ~ young moon. Some time ago, in his annual report to the Board of Visitors of the Greenwich Observa- tory, Mr. Airy recommended that as the minor planets had become numerous, much time and labor would be saved, if instead of the places of the whole number being calcu- lated annually by each observatory in Eu- rope, an arrangement could be made for a division of labor. The subject was further discussed by the congress of German astron- omers which met last year at Berlin; and we believe that a distribution of the small planets among certain observatories will ere long be made. The necessity for the distri- bution becomes every year greater by reason of the increasing number, which is at pres- ent seventy. It is not unworthy of record, that twelve of these threescore-and-ten were discovered at the late Mr. Bishops observa- tory in the Regents Park. The congress above mentioned meet this moatil at Dres- den, to deliberate on a further distribution; namely, the observations of fixed and variable stars and nebuke among the obser- vatories best fitted for the work; also to devise some arrangement whereby comets and planets, when noted in future, may be followed and calculated systematically. One of our ablest photographers, consid- ering that it would be easy to detect forge- ries of bank notes by taking photographic copies of the suspected notes, and examining them under the stereoscope side by side with genuine notes, concludes, and not without reason, that with stereoscopic pictures of double stars, whose motion is doubtful, as- tronomers would he able to detect the small- est displacement. Mr. Warren de la Rue has all the means and appliances for testing this ingenious notion, and we hope he will do so. As a case in point: M. Linis writes from Brazil, that he has determined the lat- itude of a place in that country by photo. graphs of the eclipse of 1858. COMETS. From The Saturday Review. COMETS. Tm~ comet which has just ceased to at- tract att~nt,ion has certainly some right to complain 9f the indifference of the English public. It was scarcely, if at all, less bril- liant than that which glorified the autumn of 1858; and its tail was considerably more elongated. Like its predecessor, it has been pronounced a new acquisition; for no as- tronomer has yet succeeded in identifying it with any which has visited us before. In spite of all these attractions, the spectacle appears a sort of failure when compared with the exhibition of 1858. The earlier of the two recent comets was honored with more than one leader in the Times, and was made the~ubject of innumerable communications to that many-sided print, of every possible calibre, from the calculations of accredited astronomers to the speculations of the most ignorant and conceited observers of the one absorbing phenomenon. This year, a lan- guid glance at the celestial visitor through a binocular seems to have satisfied the curi- osity of average Englishmen; and the last haze of the tail has been allowed to disap- pear without a single flash of nonsense on the subject appearing in the Times. This contrast might be welcomed as a symptom of greater sobriety of speculation having set in with the Conservative reaction, were it not for the fact that the injudicious luminary of 1861 appeared in the height of the session of Pailiament, while its predecessor burst upon the world in the full swing of the Silly Season. Whatever the cause, it is matter for con- gratulation that the only literary product of this recent apparition is a republication in a separate form of what is decidedly the best resum6 of all that is known of comets which has yet appeared. The work to which we refer is an excerpt from Aragos Popular Astronomy, and contains perhaps the best chapters of a work which attempts, with a success second only to Sir John Herschels, to popularize astronomical science. The history of ohserved comets stretches back as far as the Chinese records of the first cen- tury. More than six hundred of these strange ~ A Popular Treatise on Garnets. By Francois Arago. Tranelated and Edited by Admiral W. H. Sinvth and Robert Grant. London Longmans. 1861. 139 bodies are recorded in the catalogue of com- ets, and the orbits of about a quarter of them have been determined with more or less ac- curacy. Four only have been distinctly recognized on their re-appearance, of which three lie within the limits of the planetary system, and the fourth, the famous comet of Halley, reaches but a little way beyond the orbit of Neptune. Halley had the honor of first predicting the re-appearance of a comet. He perceived the near approach to identity of the calculated orbits of the comets of 1682 and 1607, and on searching the past records he found another earlier appearance recorded in 1531, which satisfied him that his comet had a period of about seventy-five years, and ought to re-appear towards the be- ginning of 1759. As the time approached, the problem was treated with more exact- ness by the French philosopher Clairaut, who fixed the middle of April as the time when the comet would approach most nearly to the sun. He claimed a margin of thirty days for error in calculation, and exactly one month before the predicted time Halleys comet was found in its perihelion position. This was the comet which again appeared, obedient to prediction, in 1835, and it is now as completely recognized a member of our system as any of the planets themselves. The instant that a new comet is announced, the first efforts of astronomers are directed to a comparison of its observed course with the records of former appearances, and some notion of the multitude of these bodies may be formed from the fact that no comet since that of 1835 has been identified as an old friend. The return of some of them has been predicted with more or less certainty from the form of their orbits, which in sev- eral instances have been ascertained to be clearly elliptical while others are certain to fly off to practically, if not absolutely, infi- nite distances; but with the exception of the few data which have thus been arrived at, little is known of the track of comets be- yond the general fact that they move at all sorts of inclinations to the plane of the solar system, and, as often as not, in a direction opposite to that which is common to all the planets. One singular circumstance, indeed, is known of a little comet, first calculated by Eneke, which revolves in a period of about three years, and has occasionally excited some alarm by its anticipated proximity to 140 COMETS. the earth. In less than a century its period has steadily diminished by about four days ~a fact from which astronomers have drawn the almost irresistible inference that the planetary spaces are occupied by a rare re- sisting medium, which must ultimately bring all the planets into collision with the sun. This rather meagre account is all that as- tronomers have to tell us about the orbits of comets, and, except in negativing a host of popular fallacies, they have been still less successful in the inquiry into the composi- tion of these anomalous bodies. Popular curiosity concerns itself more with the ques- tion what comets are made of than with any investigations of their erratic orbits. To the alarmists, the little that is known on this subject ought to be especially grateful. Whatever comets are made of, they seem to be of a very cobwebby texture. In 1770, a comet passed outside of the moons orbit, within the moderate distance of a million and a half miles from ourselves. If it had been as heavy as the earth it would have prolonged the year by two or three hours. It did not add a single second to the period of the earths revolution and must have been less than a four thousandth part of the weight of our globe. Another comet actually thrust itself between Jupiter and his moons without causiug the smallest appreciable disturbance of their movements. Even the most bril- liant are transparent enough to allow stars to be seen through the centre of the nucleus, and from these observations the inference has been drawn that the substance of a comet is considerably less solid than a Lon- don fog. Perhaps the strangest phenome- non ever observed was the splitting of one very familiar comet into two distinct bodies, which went on in neighboring orbits without any special symptoms of an extraordinary nature. These considerations rather tend to blunt the interest of the inquiry whether a comet is ever likely to come into collision with the earth; but Arago re-assures the timid with a calculation that the odds, in an average case, are some hundreds of millions to one against the occurrence of such an event. Still, it is not impossible; and those who delight in catastrophes which may be viewed at a distance will be rejoiced at the prediction that, after an interval of an un- known number of millions of years, several of the best known comets must be swallowed up by the sun itself. Newton himself spec- ulated on the possibility of comets furnish- ing the fuel of the central luminary, and at- tributed the sudden appearance of previously unknown stars to a conflagration due to cometary interference. To come back to the earth, it is ascertained to be by no means improbable that the globe may gather up into its atmosphere some portions of the tails of comets which approach inconven- iently near. Certain remarkable dry fogs, in 1783 and 1831, were, with inswfllcient reason, attributed to this cause; and the first observation of this years comet was said to have been preceded by a peculiar haze, which it was sought to connect with the comet itself. But all these minor influ- ences, even if more satisfactorily established, are insignificant matters compared with the possibility, so often asserted, of a confiagra. tion to be caused by a collision with a blaz- ing comet; and the first point to be settled is whether comets are really incandescent luminous bodies. This problem was very happily treated by Arago himself, who de- monstrated that comets owe at least a large portion, if not the whole, of their light to the reflection of the solar rays. Their light has the quality ofrefiected light; and more.~ over, when they disappear, it is not in the way in which a luminous body becomes in- visible, by gradually subtending an angle too small to produce a sensible impression of light, but by a much more sudden process caused by their increasing distance from the sun, the centre of their illumination. Still it is possible that some portion of a comets light may be its own property, and those who prefer to fancy them as burning worlds may still have some shreds of argument where- with to defend their hypothesis. But if they are not bright, comets may at any rate be hot, and every one knows the superstition about comet summers and comet vintages. Arago deals with this question as carefully as with others of more pretension. A close analysis of meteorological records shows that the average temperature of comet years has not been appreciably higher than that of others, and that extreme cold has some- times been experienced during a comets visit. Even the wild speculation that a comet may some day drag us by its attr~ic- tion to infinitely remote regions of unwarined space, is considered with abundant gravity; COMETS. and though it is admitted that a comet, if it were only heavy enough, and if it came near enough; might make a satellite of the earth itself, the consolation is offered that no such comet has ever been seen, and that if we were carried off to the most remote rcg1~6ns of space, it is by no means certain that the temperature of the earth would fall so low as to extinguish human life. The experiment would not he a pleasant one to try, and it is more comfortable to fall hack on the assurance which the nebulous char- acter of comets affords against any appreci- able disturbance of our orbit. A chapter upon tails almost completes the history of comets which Arago compiled. One thing is certain about themthey al- ways appear denser at the edges than in the centrea phenomenon which can only be explained by regarding them as hollow coni- cal or cylindrical envelopes of a certain de- gree of transparency. But the way in which they are thrown off at the rate of millions of miles in an hourthe force which moves themthe changes which they undergo the tendency to remain in general opposite to the sun, in defiance of all mechanical lawsare all matters which puzzle modern 141 astronomers as much as they may have puz- zled the earliest Chinese observers. Some would make them mere optical effects, with- out more substance of their own than a sun- beam shining in a darkened room. Newton made the tail a mere vapor thrown off by the heat of the sun; but neither this hy- pothesis nor those of Kepler and Tycho Brah6 were sufficient to account for some of the most familiar facts. Blot and Gregory, Laplace and Delambre, all had theories which are discussed and rejected by Arago, whose chapter ends with a brief statement of his own solution of the problem, What is the cause of a comets tail? The answer given is, I do not know; and it is the only answer which astronomers have yet been able to give to the enigma. These are the main conclusions to he drawn from the work which has been so op- portunely republished. They are not quite so ample as the hypotheses which have often been sown broadcast by less-informed writ- ers, but they comprise all that is known on a subject which is perhaps the more fasci- nating from the mystery which still hangs about it. Sunsrirtrru FOR SILVER. Two French chemists, MM. Dc Ruolz and Do Fontenay have lately obtained, after several years exper- iments, a new alloy, which may be very useful for small coin and for many industrial uses. It is composed of one-third silver, twenty-five to thirty per cent. of nickel, and from thirty-seven to fifty-two per cent. of copper. The inventors propose to call it tiers-argeut, or tn-silver. Its preparation is said to be a triumph of metallur- gical science. The three metals, when simply melted to~ether, form a compound which is not homogeneous; and to make the compound per- fect, its inventors have been compelled to use phosphorus and certain solvents which they have not yet specified. The alloy thus obtained is at first very brittle; it cannot be hammered or drawn, and lacks those properties which are es- sential in malleable metals. But after the phos- phorus is eliminated, the alloy perfectly resem- bles a simple metal, and possesses in a very high degree tim qualities to which the precious metals owe their superiority. In color it resembles ~laLinum, and is susceptible of a very high pol- ish. It possesses extreme hardness and tenacity. Itis ductile, malleable, very easily fused, emits when struck a beantifal sound, is not affected by exposure to the atmosphere, or by any but the most po~verful re-agents. It is without odor. Its specific gravity is a little less than that of silver. An alloy possessing these properties must be very useful to gold and silversmiths. It can be supplied at a price forty per cent. less than silver, and its greater hardness will give it a marked superiority. It may also serve as a substitute for gold-plated or silver-plated arti- cles, which are now so common on account of their cheapness, but which will not bear re-plat- ing more than a few times, and which are, in the long run, sometimes inure expensive than the pure metal. The new alloy, however, will be most useful for small coin. Its preparation and coining are so difficult that the coin made of it cannot easily be counterfeited. Its hardness would render it more durable than silver and thus the expense of re-coining, and the heavy loss arising from the wearing of our silver coin- a~e, would be greatly diminished. It is proba- ble that this alloy would be more preferable for small coins than nickeltime metal which is used for the new Bel~ian coinage about to be issued. Apart from the objectionable color of tlmis latter metal, there are other reasons why it would be desirable to employ an alloy similar to the one described above. 142 ANOTHER LETTER TO A YOUNG PHYSICIAN. From The Athennum. almost blind credulity may be attended with Another Letter to a Young Physician: to neither good nor evil consequence; but it mdi,, which are appended some other Medical cates a state of popular intelligence out of Papcrs. By James Jackson, M.D. Triib- which charlatans have from time immemorial ner & Co. made their profit. The readines& of illogical minds to reason on insufficient data, and em- ThOUGH Dr. Jacksons Letter to a Young brace the wildest conclusions of post hoc Physician is not exactly a publication for ergo propter hoc reasoning, which pro- the table, it is one of which claimed Joanna Stephens a public benef4actor, we should gladly hear that it had found its placed Mrs. Mapp in her coach-and-four, bore way into the hands of every lady in the coun- witness to the cures of Ward and Taylor, and try. Scarcely any social change is more to testified that painted nails and slips of wood be desired than that women should be better could draw morbific virus from the human instructed on the theory of medicine, and the system, did not disappear together with faith arts and sciences pertaining to it. Led by in metallic tractors. It countenanced the custom and curiosity to dabble in physic, obscenities of Mesmer, built Grahams Tem- they are almost as ignorant of its first prin- plc of Health, upheld the pernicious pine- ciples as were our grandmothers in the tenth tices of St. John Long, and in our time fur- degree, who centuries since doctored their nishes Spirit-Rapping with its thousands of children and dependants with specifics com- believers. pounded of a hundred different ingredients. The time, we trust, is not far distant when Natural affection and domestic convenience a writer of competent attainments and im- make them the nurses of the sick, and not partial judgment will offer the public a sat- unfrequentlr, in cases of emergency, they isfactory history of medicine,not a compi- are the only ministrants at hand to discharge lation wandering over thrice ten centuries of offices that would properly devolve on a reg- scientific darkness, with a show of erudition ularly trained medical adviser. Yet little or filched from Le Clere and Freind; but a no care is taken to procure them information, sound, honest history of medicine during the without which a mother will often be power- last hundred years;referning to the ancient less to afford comfort to a child struggling schools only to dis~play the causes of their upon her breast with needless suffering. In- errors, and having for its chief object the cx- deed, a proposal to instruct ladies in nosol- position of those facts and principles which, ogy and the mysteries of the pharmacopioca even at the present unsatisfactory stage of would shock the delicacy or excite the ridi- medical science, recent investigations have cule of most persons able to bring about a conclusively ascertained. Until public in- better state of things. The result of this un- telligence is better informed both as to what wise treatment of an important subject is, is really known, and as to the means by that, as a rule, gentlewomen regard a physi- which we may reasonably hope to attain cian s prescription with the same sort of su- further knowledge on subjects concerning perstition as was formerly expended on amu- which no one can be indifferent, ignorant lets and charms, and in pure simplicity believe pretenders, be they ambitious knaves or mere a dose of medicine to be a mysterious agent self-deluded enthusiasts, will find a submis- capable of driving disease out of the body. If sive crowd of worshippers and victims. In Dr. Allopaths pills are taken previous to the the mean time it is something to have a phy- abatement of a fever, to Dr. Allopaths pills sician of reputation come forward and frankly the improvement is attributed; if Dr. Ho- avow how far, and under what circumstances, moeopaths globule is administered an hour be- medical science can cope with disease. It is fore the advent of a refreshing sleep, Dr. Ho- well for the invalid of average education and moeopaths globule gets all the credit of the sagacity to know that one of the most en~ change for the better; and just as the chain- lightened physicians of the present century her in which a patient recovers under the admits that all he can effect in the practiee kindly efforts of nature has been presided of his profession is, in certain caso~sucb over by Dr. Allopathor Dr. Homoeopath, so cases being by no means a majority of tbos.~ the one or the other is held by the spectators that seek his treatmentto assist nature in to be a wise man. In a particular case this working her own cure ANOTHER LETTER YO A YOUNG PHYSICIAN. 143 When a surgeon is called to a man with that she needs. Just so, the physician, in a broken leg [writes Dr. Jackson], he places the larger number of cases under his care, the limb 6f his patient, and in some measure makes it his business to dispose of every his whole body, in a fixed. position, using thing relating to his patients in such a man- splints and bandages; arid then he watches ner as to give the best chance for the salu- him from day to day. He does not pretend tary operation of the natural powers. A that the processes of healing in the fractured good nurse, it may be said, may do the bone are brought into operation by the splints same. But the qualifications of a well-edu- and bandages, nor by his watching. But he cated physician must enable him to take the has placed the injured parts under the cir- case with much greater advantage. cumstances most favorable for healing; and he watches that he may guard against every Testy innovators, who are fond of railing thing which can interfere with the salutary at the intolerance of Orthodox Medicine, operations of nature, as well as that he may will do well to take a lesson of moderation give to her any support which he may think from an orthodox physician. BOTTOM OF TIlE OCEAN.Mr. Green, the famous diver, tells singular stories of his adven- tures, when making search in the deep waters of the ocean. He gives some sketches of what he saw on the Silver Banks, near Hayti The banks of coral ~on which my divings were made, are about forty miles in length; arid from ten to twenty in breadth. On this bank of coral is presented to the diver one of the most beautiful and sublime scenes the eye ever beheld. The water varies from ten to one hundred feet in depth, and is so clear, that the diver can see from tvo to three hundred feet, when submerged, with little ob- struction to the sight. The bottom of the ocean, in many places on these banks, is as smooth as a marble floor;, in others it is studded with coral columns, from ten to one hundred feet in height, and from one to eighty feet in diameter. The tops of those more lofty support a myriad of pyramidal ;en- dants, each forming a myriad more; giving the reality to the ima~inary abode of some ~vater nymph. In other places the pendants form arch after arch, and as the diver stands on the bottom of the ocean, and gazes through these into the deep winding avenue, he feels that they fill him with as sacred an awe as if lie were in seine old cathedral, which had long been buried beneath old oceans wave. Here and there, the coral extends even to the surface of the water, as if those loftier columns ~vere towers belonging to those stately temples now in ruins. There were countless varieties of diminutive trees, shrubs, and plants, in every crevice of the corals where the water had deposited the least earth. They were all of a faint line, o~ving to the pale light they received, although of every sh~tde, and entirely different from plants I am familiar with, that vegetate upon dry land. One in particular attiacted my attention; it re- sembled a sea-fan of immense size, of variegated cojors, and of the most brilliant line. TIme fisk which inhabited those silver banks, I found as different in kind, as thq teenery was v~fied. They were of all forms, c~ilors, and si~.esfroni the symmetrical goby, to the globe- like sunfish; from those of the dullest hue, to the changeable dolphin; from the spots of the leopard to the lines of the sunbeam ; from the harmless minnuw to the voracious shark. $ome had heads like squirrels, others like cats and dogs; one of small size resembled a bull ter- rier. Some darted thron~h the water like roe- teors, while others could scarcely be seen to move. To enumerate and explain all the various kinds of fish L beheld while diving on these banks, ~vould, were I enough of a naturalist so to do, reqnire more space than my limits will allo~v, for I am convinced that most of the kinds of fish which inhabit the tropical seas can be found there. The sun-fish, saw-fish, star-fish, white shark, ground shark, blue or shovel-nose sharks, were often seen. There were also fish which resembled plants, and re- mained as fixed in their position as a shrub. TIme only power they l)ossessed was to open and shut when in daiiger. Some of them re- sembled the rose in full bloom, and were of all lines. There were ribbon fish, from four to five inches to three feet in length. Their eyes are very large, and protrude like those of the frog. Another fish was spotted like the leopard, from three to ten feet long. They build their houses like the beaver, in which they spawn, and the male or female watches the ova till it hatches. I saw many specimens of the green turtle, some five feet long, which I should think would weigh from four to five hundred pounds. lYennro the siege of Sevastopol, a Russian shell buried itself in the side of a IPII without the city, and opened a spring. A little fountain bubbled forth where the cannon-shot had fallen, and during the remainder of the siege afforded to the thirsty troops who were stationed in that vicinity an abundant supply of pure cold water. Thus the missile of death from an enemy, under the direction of an overruling Providence, proved. an almoner of life to the parched and weary soldier of the Allies. 144 THY WILL BE DONE. BY JOHN G. WHITTIER. WE see not, kno~v not; all our way Is night: with Thee alone is day. From out the torrents troubled drift, Above the storm our player we lift, Thy will be done! The flesh may fail, the heart may faint, But who are we to make complaint, Or dare to plead in times like these The ~veakuess of our love of ease? Thy will be done! We take with solemn thankfulness Our burden up, nor ask it less, And count it joy that even we May suffer, serve, or wait for thee, Whose will be done! Though dim as yet in tint and line, We trace thy pictures ~vise design, And thank thee that our age supplies The dark relief of sacrifice. Thy will be done! And if, in our unworthiness Thy sacrificial wine we press, If from thy ordeals heated bars Our feet are seamed with crimson scars, Thy will be done! If, for the age to come, this hour Of trial bath vicarious power, And, blest by dice, our present pain Be Libertys eternal gain, Thy will be done! Strike, thou, the Master, we thy keys, The anthem of the destinies! The rumor of thy loftier strain Our hearts shall breathe the old refrain, Thy will be done! SCOTT AND THE VETERAN. BY BAYARD TAYLOR. AN old and crippled veteran to the War De- partment came, He sought the Chief who led him on many a field of fame The chief who shouted Forward! whereer his hanner rose, And bore his stars in triumph behind tile flying foes. Have you forgotten, general, the battered soldier cried, The days of eighteen hundred twelve, when I was at ~onr side Have you forgotten Johnson that fought at Lundys Lane? Tis true Im old and pensioned, but I vant to fight n~ain. THY WILL BE DONE.SCOTT AND THE VETERAr~. Have I forgotten, said the chief; my brave 01(1 soldier? No And heres the hand I gave you then, and let it tell you so; But you have done your share, my friend; youre crippled, old, and gray, And we have need of younger arms and fresher blood to-day. But, general, cried the veteran, a flush upon his brow, Thevery men who fought with us, they say, are traitors now; Theyve torn the fla~ of Lundys Laneour old red, white, and blue; And while a drop of blood is left, Ill show that drop is true. Im not so weak but I can strike, and Ive a good old gun To get the range of traitors hearts, and pick them one by one Your Minii~ rifles, and such arms, it aint worth while to try; I could ut get the hang of them, but Ill keep ray powder dry. God bless you, comrade, said the chief; God bless your loyal heart; But younger men are in the field, aikd claim to have their part; Theyll plant our sacred banner in each rebel- lious town, And woe, henceforth, to any hand that dares to pull it down! But, general, still persisting, the weeping veteran cried, Im young enough to follow, so long as ~oure my guide; And some, you know, must bite the dust, and that, at least, can I; So give the young ones place to fight, but me a place to die. If they should fire on Pickens, let the colonel in command Put me upon the rampart, with the flag-staff in my hand; No odds how hot the cannon-smoke, or how the shells niay fly; Ill hold the Stars and Stripes aloft, and hold them till I die Im ready, general, so you let a post to me be given, Where Washington can see nie as lie looks from highest heaven, And say to Putnam at his side, or, may be, Gen- eral Wayne, There stands old Billy Johnson, that fought at Lundys Lane! And when the fight is hottest, before the trai- tors fly, When shell and ball are screeching and bursting in the sky, If any s!iot should hit me, and lay me on face, My soul would go to Washington, and not to Arnolds place! Independent.

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The Living age ... / Volume 71, Issue 908 Littell's living age Every Saturday; a journal of choice reading Eclectic magazine The Living age co. inc. etc. New York etc. October 26, 1861 0071 908
The Living age ... / Volume 71, Issue 908 145-192

THE LIVING AGE. No. 908.26 October, 1861. CONTENTS. 1. Madame de KrudenerWorldly, Pious, Mystic, 2. Homeeopathy, by Sir Benj. Brodie, 3. Captain John Brown, 4. Gone. By A. K. H. B. 5. Sir B. Brodie on Homoeopathy, 6. Size of Ships of War 7. Bishop Wilkins Prophetic Dreams, 8. How to Bury. Powder 9. Discovery, of a New Cod Depot, 10. The Painter and the Apparition, 11. Science and Passion, 12. England and the Southern States,. 13. English Law and Justice in India, 14. The Golden Treasury Bentleys Miscellany, Frasers Magazine, Saturday Review, Frasers Magazine, London Review, Examiner, All the Year Round, London Review, ~ All the Year Round, Saturday Review, Spectator, London Review, Saturday Review, POETRY.ViVe la France, 146. Kentucky Now, 146. Napoleon to Nono, 146. Prayer for the Union, 166. Memory of Monboddo, 166. SHORT ARTICLES.NO Pent.up Utica, 156. A New Stimulant, 160. Philosophia Ultima, 165. Extemporaneous Speaking, 170. Ancient Cities of Phoenicia, 170. New Anoesthetic, 172. Daily Weather Maps, 172. Lucifer Matches, 180. Aichs Metal, 189. Jewish Marriages, 192. NEW BOOKS. REBELLION RECORD.G. P. Putnam, New York. This work goes on every week. Here we have a number containing handsome portraits of Gen. Dix ; dear Gen. Lyon; a good likeness of Gen. McClellan; Secretary Cameron, lookin~ like Ahithophel or Burleigh; The President, solemn and firm; and the gallant young Governor of R. ., Gen. Sprague. Patriotically, we suppose, Alex. H. Stephens is done in wood; and so is P. G. T. Beauregard, late Major U.S.A. PUBLISHED EVERY SATURDAY BY LITTELL, SON, & CO., BOSTON. For Six Dollars a year, in advance, remitted directly to the Publishers, the Lrvneo Aes will be punctually for. wardedfree of postage. Complete sets of the First Series, in thirty-six volumes, and of the Second Series, in twenty volumes, hand. somely hound, packed in neat boxes, and delivered in all the principal cities, free of expense of freight, are for sale at two dollars a volume. ANY vo~uscu may he had separately, at two dollars, hound, or a dollar and a half in numbers. ANY NUMBER may he had for 13 cents; and it is well worth while for subscribers or purc broken volumes they may have, and thus greatly enhance their value. hasers to complete any PAGE. 147 157 161 167 171 173 174 177 179 181 183 186 188 190 KENTUCKY NOW.NAPOLEON TO NONO. VIVE LA FRANCE. A sentiment offered at the Dinner to Hill. the Prince Napoleon, at the Revere House, Sept. 25, 1861. BY OLIVER WENDELL EOL~5E5. TEE land of sunshine and of song! Her name your hearts divine; To her the banquets vows belong Whose breasts have poured its wine; Our trusty friend, our true ally Through varied change and chance, So, fill your flashing goblets high, I give you, Vive in France! Above our hosts in triple folds The self-same colors spread, Where Valors faithful arm upholds The blue, the white, the red; Alike each nations glittering crest Reflects the mornings glance, Twin eagles, soaring east and ~vest; Once more then, Vive in France! Sister in trial! who shall count Thy generous friendships claim, Whose blood ran mingling in the fount That gave our land its name, Till Yorktown saw in blended line Our conquering arms advance, And victorys double garlands twine Our banners I Vive la France! O land of heroes! in our need One gift from heaven we crave To stanch these wounds that vainly The wise to lead the brave! Call back one captain of thy past From glorys marble trance, Whose name shall be a bugle-blast To rouse us! Vive in France! bleed: Pluck Cond~s baton from the trench, Wake up stout Charles Martel, Or find some womans hand to clench The sword of la Pucelle! Give us one hour of old Turenne, One lift of Bayards lance, Nay, call Marengos chief again To lead us! Vive la France! Ab hush! our weleome guest shall hear But sounds of peace and joy; No angry echo vex thine ear, Fair Daughter of Savoy! Once more! the land of arms and arts, Of glory, grace, romance; iler love lies warm in all our hearts; God bless her! Vive in France! KENTUCKY NOW. OLIVE-CROWNED but yesterday, High among the stars she stood, Deprecating, interceding! Pointing down to those who lay Dying upon field and flood Women wailing, brothers bleeding! Last night while her children slept, From the land where Terror reigns, Ruthless train-bands swept upon her. Then she woke, and groaned, and wept, Seeing on her peaceful plains The flag of treason and dishonor! There among the stars she stands, Wearing now no olive crown There despoiled she stands in sorrow. And the self-same shameless hands, That have torn her olive down, Will try to tear her down to-morrow! Louisville Jouraal. NAPOLEON TO NONO. ON THE EVE O~ THE REMOVAL OF TEE FRENCH ARMY FROM ROME. HOLY Father, ere we part, Take, oh, take my words to heart; And if they disturb thy rest, Think them uttered for the best. Hear my counsel ere I go: Shut up shop, Pio Nono! By thy saints, whose pictures wink While thou art on destructions brink: By thy priests, who in their sleeve Deride thee, though they feign to grieve: By thy friends I bid thee go, Shut up shop, Pio Nono! By thy brigands unconfined, Raisers of the papal wind: By the hate their deeds have sown For thee, and for thy rotten throne: By thy foes, I bid thee go, Shut up shop, Pio Nono! By thy want of common sense, By -thy lack of Peters pence: By the cropper thou wilt come When French support is ordered home, Away thy temporal power throw: Shut up shop, Pio Nono! Holy Father, when Im gone, Fly to England quick, alone: Hire a cosy lodging there, A three-pair back in Leicester Square: There at thine ease thy bacca blow, And die in peace, Pio Nono! Puack. 146 MADAME DE KRtJDENER. From Bentleys Miscellany. MADAME DE KRUDENER. WOMAN OF THE WORLD, AIJTIIOR, PIETIST, AND ILLUMINIST. JULIA BARONESS OF VIETINGROFF, was born in 1766, at Riga. Her father who at one period had enjoyed a high place at court, had withdrawn from thence, and lived like a feudal baron of old at his chateau in Cour- land. It requires to have seen these castles of the nobility on the Baltic to understand what a sense of grandeur and of solitude might be imbibed by a child brought up in such a place. Immense plains, only dotted here and there by some struggling colony of Ger- mans, or by the miserable huts of the na- tive peasants, stretch far away boyend the horizon around the seignorial residence, which is itself often of an imposing grandeur and extravagant proportions. Already, in the time of Catherine and of Elizabeth, the nobles began to build palaces in these arid steppes, or amid the dark pine forests. The life of such a feudal lord was as curi- ous within as its contrasts were great with- out. In the time of the Empress Anne whose husband was himself iDuke of Cour- land-such barons had all the pride and in- solence of petty tyrants; and they avoided the court of St. Petersburg, where, however haughty they might be, the were forced to bend. It was in vain that~nne and Eliza- beth summoned the young nobility to court. It was not till the Princess of Anhalt Zerbst took with her the love of the fine arts and of science, intellectual life and vigor, to the court of the North, that the representatives of the great families of Courland, of Es- thonia, and of Livonia, also found their way to St. Petersburg. But nothing could be more monotonous than life at the castle. You might walk ten miles without meeting a person with whom to exchange a word. The major-domo might be a perfect example of German civilization, the governess from Paris or Geneva might represent either city in miniature; still their resources were soon exhausted. Winter would bring, with sledge and skating, parties on the great frozen lakes; but a winters evening in one of these feudal solitudes of Courland was a terrible affair. The ch~telian would go to sleep over his chess or his backgammon, and the chatelaine would pretend to have instructions to give to her household, but in reality would te,ar herself away from the horrors of a weari- ness that set upon her like a nightmare. It may be imagined from this what influ- ence such conditions of existence had upon the youth of Mademoiselle de Vietiughoff, especially as from her earliest years she was of a highly imaginative, impressionable and somewhat fantastic nature. Those born and bred in the tumult of great cities never have the same susceptibilities; they are blunted, or they perish in the bud. A single inci- dent of early life will serve to portray its general tone and character. She had for great-grandmother an elderly and august personage who monopolized all the respect of the house, and who uttered nothing but oracles. With regard to family matters she was an unquestioned authority; she had every event that had happened for the last hundred years at her fingers ends. Nor was she much less intimately versed in the history of her country, especially in so far as her family was concerned in it. The best point about the old lady was, that with all her pride she doted upon her children, her grandchildren, and grandchildrens children. Nevertheless, the day came when this grand old lady was to go, like her prede- cessors. She had already disposed of her worldly goods. Peter had this domain, Jean Casimir the other; the capital went to Bur- chard, and the plate and jewels to Lebrecht- Antony; but she had not decided to which of her four sons she should confide her mor- tal remains. Jean Casimir had just erected a new family mausoleum, and he claimed the honor of possessing his -mothers body; but Peter had also his family vault, and if Bur- chard and Lebrecht-Antony had no mausolea, they offered their own castles for a last home to their mothers relics. Tradition in these gloomy and superstitious regions will have it that the mother takes happiness with her, and where the bones lay would be the head and the support of the family. The struggle for the possession of the body, ere the soul had departed from it, be- came so oppressive, that in order that it might not be said that she died ~t Jean Casimirs because he had a new mausoleum erected, she had herself removed in a dying state, and in midwinter, in a sledge, to the house of Peter, who received her in triumph; but she had scarcely got into her bed than Lebrecht-Antony, his wife, and daughter, 147 MADAME DE 1~flUDENE~. managed so effectually as to get her carried away by another sledge. But if Lebrecht had proved himself sharp, Burchard was no less so, and he succeeded in ravishing the moribund old lady from his possession. Thus it was that in the depth of a Baltic winter, amid snow, ice, and wind, the fan- tastic sledge that bore this half-animate body was dragged about dark forests and over boundless plains, by day and by night, un- able to find a resting-place. It can be easily imagined what an effect so strange an event had upon a young and susceptible person as Julia. Alluding to it in after life, she said, What a pity that I cannot, as this noble lady did for her race, also give my heart to humanity, especially to that portion of humanity that suffers! Would to Heaven that the poor should thus dispute the possession of my remains among themselves, that each were to wish, as being his own, to bury me near his hut! What a happy rest it would be! The father of our heroineBaron de Viet- inghoffwas, of all the feudal lords of his epoch and of his country, the one who least appreciated the pleasures of that system of life. Given to study, and to literary and scientific pursuits, he might have felt the iso- lation less than others, were it not that his instincts as a man of the world predominated, and led him to seek for gratification in the metropolis of Russian predilection Paris. On the occasion of his first visit to that brilliant capital, his daughter was a mere child; but on the occasion of the second, she was a grown-up girl. Among those who frequented his house were DAlembert, Buffon, Grimm, ]3Holbach, and Marmontel. Julia, young as she was, was distinguished by these notabilities, and her father was justly proud of her. Soon, however, her peculiar and strange instincts began to re- veal themselves, and gave much anxiety to her parent. She became discontented and melancholy, wished to return to the soli- tudes of the North, had dreams and visions, at first at intervals, and then so frequently that her father tried what change of sce~ie would do, and took her to Germany, to Switzerland, and to the south of France. But the peculiar idiosyncrasy of her charac- ter remained unchanged; she would set upon a rock, or wander alone at undue hours in some romantic solitude, weeping or prophe sying; and to her father, who was deeply imbued with the philosophical doctrines of the day, the manifestations of such pious mysticism were as disagreeable as they were unintelligible. When he would have en- gaged her in a discussion upon an article in the Encyclopi~dia, she would seek the soli- tudes of a cloister, and meditate there upon the imaginary charms of monastic seclusion. But every thing has its time, and Baron de Vietinghoff had the satisfaction of seeing his daughter become one of the most frivo- lous women of the world, and with so pecul- iar a nature, she at once went to such ex- tremes as to terrify the more sedate as to her future. She was the mere child of grace and fantasy, and yet so seductive in her way- wardness, that she seemed to have the gift of bewitching all whom she approached. Her marriage with Baron de Krudener was, however, less a matter of feeling than a con- cession made to her parents wishes. Her husband could not understand her, and she did not love him; hence the tie led only to weariness and indifference. All she seemed to care for was movement. She went first to Venice, where her husband filled the posi- tion of Russian ambassador, thence she re- turned as quickly to Paris. But she seemed to be devoured by an unconquerable rest- lessness. Her father scolded in vain. She even declared her lover, the singer Garat, to be without soul or intelligence. Nothing seemed to satisfy her; she seemed to seek for gratification only in contradiction and trouble. She could not live, love, sin, and repent like the rest of the world; she would have sold herself to Satan, but only on the condition that the archangel would have made it worth her while. Paris abounded at that epoch in women anxious to obtain notoriety, no matter at what expense, but few went to such extremes as did Madame de ]irudener. Her greatest annoyance was that joy and grief, love and hatred, glory and humiliation, should be allotted to her only in common with others. One evening she was told that Madame de Genlis was the first person who had attainQd perfection on the harp in Paris, and that it had given her much celebrity. It appears to me, ahe observed, that it is sufficient to make ones self ridiculous in France to become cele- brated. As to that, I also will learn the harp. She did not learn the harp, but she 148 MADAME DE KRUDENER. wrote a romance, and then she said, Of the two kinds of folly by which Madame de Genlis has attained celebrity, I have chosen the easiest. I have written a book; it re- mains to be seen if I have attained the same end. Yahirie appeared at Paris in 1804, after a short s6jour made by Madame de Xrudener, subsequent to her separation from her husband in 1792, ii~ Riga, and Leipzig. The work created a sensation. It portrayed the heart as the active interpreter of the dark mysteries of conscience. Gustavus, the hero of the book, is a kind of sentimental Werther, who falls in love with the wife of the father who has adopted him, the young and beau- tiful Yal6rie, in whom we have the ardent and romantic character of Madame de Kru- dener; the spoilt and undisciplined child grown up to be the thoughtless and unprin- cipled woman, only still tormented by those religious scruples which she could never en- tirely divest herself of, and which she now sought relief for by transporting them into the domain of poetry. Gustavus is also a sketch from life, and the struggle of these two hearts, that meet only to suffcr, are depicted with a skill peculiar to woman. Val6rie, in reality, belongs neither to the school of Goethe in his Werther, nor to that of Rousseau in his Nouvelle H~loise, but to what another woman, Madame de Stajil, also succeeded in depicting in her usual masterly manner in ~Corinne and KDelphine. Yal& ie introduced the fash- ion of promenading the hero and heroine about the worlda fashion to which the epistolary style lent itself with peculiar facili- ties, and the shoal upon which most imitat- ors have wrecked themselvesthat of fas- tidious developments and digressionshas been as skilfully avoided by Madame de Kru- dener as by Madame de Sta~l. The letters of Gustavus are replete with tenderness and subdued passion, those of Yak~rie are less real; they are at times cold and affected, as if the author feared to reveal the secrets of her own heart. It has been said that the philosopher Saint-Martin had a hand in this work; but although she had relations with that strange personage, it does not appear that he ever had any influence with her, still less any participation in her literary labors. Yal~rie especially abounds in descrip 149 tions of scenery and of events connected with the authors travels, and we find in it a notice of a visit made with her father to the Grande Chartreuse at Grenoble, dis- guised as a man, access to the monastery being interdicted to women. She was at that time twenty years of age, and had been married five, and her account of the emo- tions which she experienced not only portray the strange undisciplined and sceptical sen- timents on religion by which she was all her life tormented, but also contain a prophecy of the future to which such scepticism must inevitably lead. Two individuals were issuing on a cold and gloomy night in the autumn of 1786, envel- oped in their mantles, from the Grande Chart- reuse at Grenoble. The smallest of the two personages was distinguished by the grace and elegance of her shape, no less than by the inexpressible expresson of mild beauty that expanded in every feature; and it was with the liveliest marks of affection and solicitude that her companion helped her to descend the steps of the portaL The latter was a man of a cer- tain age, but robust and well built, with a pa- trician air, calm and strong. Both took their way to a carriage that was awaiting them, and which took them to an inn at some distance in the town. No sooner arrived, than the youngest, overcome with fatigue, let herself fall on a sofa, at the same time unloosing her hair, which escaped in brown and silken tresses. As to the oldest of the two trav- ellers, he remained for a moment upright before his companion, contemplating her with quiet pleasure, till, taking her hand, he said, in a voice in which reproach was mingled with admiration, Well, Julia! are you happy in having done what no woman dared attempt before you P What did you see? What did you feel? Speak! Must we congratulate ourselves upon our adven- ture? Alas, I fear not, and that our friends in Paris will laugh at us, seeing us return disappointed. For you know, my dear, they all endeavored to dissuade us from.this ex- pedition. Instead of replying, the graceful figure rose up, and, throwing herself into the arms of him who had spoken, exclaimed, with pro- found emotion, In the name of Heaven, father, do not say a word of this expeditiou 150 in Paris! Give me your promise to hold your tongue to all the idle questionings to which we shall be subjected. And why so, my dear child? Do not ask me. Give me your word! How excited you are! Truly so. I no longer breathe.-.-I no longer live! It seems to me as if the gloom we have left behind us will forever darken my existence. Frightful voices murmur in my soul, which is troubled, wandering, hu- miliated, and would like to hide itself in the deepest abyss, not to see and not to hear. O father, father! what is our life? What frightful precipices, what gulfs open them- selves under our feet, whilst we move on in joy and indifference! What a horrible enigma is that of an existence for which we shall probably pay for every minute by in- expressible and unending punishments! Who is He who will inflict these punish- ments? I will dispense with the good things that his gracious hand bestows, if he will only also take back the arbitrary and tyran- nical bonds by which he overwhelms me! Nothing, nothing! I want nothing of Him who deems it wise to veil himself eternally from my contemplation, and to harass me with his secrets. The father drew the child to his bosom, while she, more and more terrified, pressed herself on his breast with convulsive sobs. You are my fatheryou! I know you. I have seen you suffer for my griefs, sympa- thize with my tears. I read the expression of that love which sustains and raises my being upon your face, whose every feature paints to me the history of my weak heart. You do not hide yourself; you do not make of your solicitude for me a dark and gloomy mystery, in which you oblige me to believe even when my reason refuses to understand. No, father, your look bears testimony to your love; a loyal, open, irresistible testi- mony. I have no need to appeal to a third party to interpret your physiognomy; it is thus that a father should be with his chil- dren. So, also, do I love you; and I am faithful to you; faithful to that noble heart upon which mine reposes, and beyond which I know nothing. For of eternity, neither you nor I wish for it. Is it not true that you reject a present the granter of which persistently refuses to show himself to you, and does not even permit von to know if MADAME DE KRUDENER. the good things that he dispenses to you emanate from his kindness or his irony? For Heavens sake, Julia, be calm; your excitement leads you astray, and you do not see that you are talking blasphemy! Come to yourself, my daughter.-to that calm rea- son which constitutes the charm of your mind, and which is only troubled by a mo- ments excitement. You think, perhaps, continued the young girl, more sedately, that it is the sight of this monastery that we have just visited that has suggested these ideas. Well, then, learn that it was not the case; that my heart has been troubled and my head con- fused for a long time nowa very long time, alas! This will quite suffice to show bow closely the subject of the romance attaches itself to the intimate existence of the author, and we find the same incident alluded to, in a more agreeable manner, in a letter of Gus- tavus: I have just been reading the life of a saint, which I found in one of the draw- ers of my room. This saint had been a man, and he had remained a man: be had suf- fered, he had cast away the desires of this world far away from him, after having cour- ageously struggled with them; he had ban- ished all the images of his youth from his thoughts, and raised up repentance between them and his years of solitude. He worked daily in preparing his grave, thinking with gladness that he would leave his dust to the earth, and he tremblingly hoped that his soul would go to heaven. He dwelt in the Chartreuse; in 1715 he died, or rather he disappeared, his death was so soft. Men live there who are sai& to be fanatic, but who every day do good to other men. What a sublime and touching idea is that of three hundred Chartreux living the most holy life, filling these vast cloisters, only raising their melancholy looks to bless those whom they meet, exhibiting in every movement the most profound calm, telling with their features, with their voiceswhich are never moved by excitementthat they only live for that great God who is forgotten in the world but is adored in the desert. Qui dit piiete, dit toujours un pen proph- ~te, is a proverb with the French, althoug~h of far greater antiquity, for prophet and poet were almost synonymous in the times of the Hebrews; but it is impossible not to see MAJIAME DE KRUDENER. Madame do Krudener, as she was in the nineteenth century, in these thoughts and fancies. The woman of fashion belonged to the eighteenth century; courted and flat- tered, vain and affected, frivolous and incon- sequent, beautiful and susceptible, a thousand triumphs awaited her.triumphs of grace,tri- umphs of talent, and triumphs of gallantry: to the nineteenth century belonged the pious lady, the charitable mother of the poor and the afflicted, the pale, thin ascetic who seeks for mercy at the foot of the Cross, pilgrim, martyr, the lady with the gray dress and plain white cap covering her closely cropped hair, once so much admired! At the period when Madame de Xrudener was a women of the world, the Encyclop~e- dists had reached the last hours of their or- gies, the hours when the tables were turned, and the lights were put out, and two enor- mous and bloody handsthe hands of the Revolutionwere feeling about at hap-haz- ard among the powdered heads that crowded the salons of the Baron of Holbach. So- ciety, mined to its very base, threatened at every moment to topple over. Paris at such an epoch was filled with adventurers, vision- aries, and necromancers. Mesmer reigned with magnetic wand and galvanic chains and circuits, while Saint Germain and Caglios- tro resuscitated the dead, who, on their part, terrified the world by the most astounding prophecies. It was about 1804 that Madame do Km- dener first met Madame de Sta~l in her ex- ile at Coppet. Both of these womenat that epoch at the very pinnacle of their worldly and literary famewere about to follow their own line, and to take the part that was destined for them in the great events that were taking place. The one became a political, the other a religious, martyr. Equally made to exercise a powerful influ- ence upon their contemporaries, there have not been wanting those who have made van- ity the basis of their actions. There may be some truth in this, but it is very far from being the whole truth. The first public signs of conversion on the part of Madame de Krudener manifested themselves in 1806, during her residence at ~enigsberg, where she had gone to visit Qi~een Louisa of Prussia. The fair and frail farm that only a few years previeusly had been the idol of Madame R6camiers salons, 151 dressed in Greek attire, with naked arms and bust, was no longer to be seen save in a high dress, and her hair combed back and deprived of all ornaments. She had then attained her fortieth year. Her husband, from whom she had long been separated, had died at Berlin, in 1804. For some time she wore a small crucifix of gold over her dress, but even that disappeared. She took off all her rings, reminiscences of former frivoli- ties, but that did not prevent people admir- ing her hands, which were the prettiest in the world. Her step, previously quick and hurried, became now slow and measured. In company she remained standing, talking at the corner of a chimney, and out of doors she dispensed alike with equipages an~ lac- qucys, going about like a Sister of Charity, and she was admitted everywhere without ceremony. The first time that Madame do Krudener obtained a sense of her power over the mul- titude is said to have been at Venice. A beggar-woman had been arrested, and the mob interceded for her. Madame do Km- dener, passing in her gondola, also intar- fered, and she addressed the parties with such effect as to bring about the desired ob- ject, whereupon the mob carried her in tri- umph, shouting, See the beautiful young lady, who has pity on the sufferings of the poor, and will not allow them to be mal- treated. This event produced a great im- pression upon her. From that day she cul- tivated the favor of the people; the gondoliers disputed the honor of conveying her to church, and within the portals of the sacred edifice people recommended themselves, to her prayers. The progress of events also materially influenced her resolves. After the battle of Jena, she wrote: Great des- tinies are being accomplished: keep your eyes open. He who tries the hearts of the humble as well as of the strong, is about to manifest himself to kings as well as to peo- ple. As the prosperity of Napoleon increased, Madame de Krudener withdrew to Geneva, where she made the acquaintance of Empey- tas, a minister of the Reformed Church, who, like herself, was imbued with the spirit of mystic ardor as well as of piety. She had at this epoch two children, one of whom, a boy, she sent into Livonia, the other, a girl, she kept near herself~ 152 The days of her predications and missions had now arrived. At Heidelberg she visited the prison for criminals, and dwelt for some weeks among thieves and assassins. War had massed these personages in a few strong places, and they had, in consequence, be- come so dangerous that their gaolers were frightened to venture among them. Yet a frail woman was not is true that her very fragility was a kind of protection to her. But she had to bear with their rail- lery against herself and against the Creator of all things. There was, in her own words, a perfect luxury of vice and perdition among them. Strange to say, she met in this gaol a man with whom she had danced in Paris. Good lady, he said, do not try to con- vert me. A society that humbles and pros- trates itself before him who steals a crown attests that there is only one thing in this world below, and that is success. To suc- ceed is virtue, to fail is crime. Another took her hook out of her hand, and struck her on the head with it. Get away, old fool, he said; if you were young and pretty, you would not be thinking of God, but of his creature, and now all the nonsense that you talk is for the consolation of your old age and of your worn-out carcase. These sentimental promenades of Madame de Krudener among gaols and fortresses, her preachings and predictions among the poor and the subversive, and the fame of her proceedings, that spread far and wide in town and country, did not fail to attract the attention of the authorities. The tumult of war saved her for a time. She attempted, on the retreat from Moscow, to reach Berlin, but was obliged to return into Switzerland, the eternal home of th~ free and of the per- secuted, and sometimes of the ungrateful. When news arrived of the battle of Leipzig, Thank Heaven, thank Heaven, princes and people, she exclaimed, for having saved you; you have nothing else now to do, porro unum est necessariurn, thank Heaven! She spoke of Alexander as a young hero who joined the energy of a Caesar to the celestial candor of an apostle, as the elect of Heaven, and her words had an effect that can scarcely be imagined in less impressionable and ex- citable times. This was, indeed, the mo- ment of Madame de Krudeners greatest tri- umphs, and better to have died at that time, with the halo of a prophetess round her pale MADAME PE KRUDENER. brow, than to have lived to dishonor her gray hairs with all the vanities of illuminism and witchcraft. Madame de Krudencr first made acquaint- ance with the thaumaturgist Jung Stilling at Carlsruhe, in 1814, and her excitable tem- perament allowed itself at once to be won over by all sorts of strange systems and fan- tastic theories. Jung Stilling was the son of a peasant, and had himself been brought up as a tailor. Goethe was the first to detect a precocious intelligence in this youth of hum- ble origin, and it was to his having noticed him that he was indebted for the sympathy of the world. But these manifestations of interest awakened new ambitions: the tailor- ing was given up for doctoring, and Jung Stilling became a physician without the trou- ble of studying the science or passing an ex- amination in order to obtain a degree. He improvised the latter as a more easy process. His business consisted in effecting cures by mystical means and by supernatural incanta- tions, of which he alone possessed the secret. Such is th~ natural love for quackery and humbug, that crowds hastened to the em- piric. He more particularly addicted him- self to the cure of the eyes, and here he per- formed miracles. All those upon whom he operated were to recover their sight, and if they did not do so it was because they were destined to remain blind! What is still more strange is, that this man who practised medicine without a diploma, this dreamer, quack, and cheat, who had always lived with- out the bounds of reality, was appointed professor of political economy! Needless to say that he was most profoundly ignorant of the merest elements of the science that he was appointed to teach; but Europe was at that epoch so upset by the horrors of war, that a small German university did not look too close to its appointments. Jung Stilling not only managed, however, to get through his course of political econ- omy with credit to himself, but he found time, while he was disseminating his absurd theories of the development of wealth and the increase of human happiness, to indite a whole host of frightful romances. Finding, however, that this failed to procure the need- ful, he changed his tacticshe had alreadf experienced how much could be done hy pre- tensions to the mystical~and he assumed to have given himself up to a profound study MADAME DE KRUDENER. 153 of the occult sciences, the elements of which times she was in want of money, and then he at the same time developed in his The- when she could get a remittance she would ory of Spirits and Scenes of the Invisible divide it with the poor and the needy. Hey World. tribulations and anxieties were truly exces~ Such is the man whom, unfortunately, an sive. She was getting old, and at open war educated, refined, and latterly a pious per- with all the police of Europe; the nomade son like Madame de Xrudener allowed her- had to raise her tent as soon as it was pitched self to be influenced by. The apparitions of wherever she went. At length she found a supernatural world were the inexhaustible refuge at the house of her son-in-law, Baron theme of their conversation, and the too de Berckheim, who lived in the environs of credulous neophyte listened to all the en- Riga. ~ravagances of this arch-impostor as if they But it was not without a pang that she lad been words of the Gospel: they prayed thus resigned herself to a retired life. She tcgether, and they summoned spirits to ap- said that if the Creator thus humiliated her, pear before them. All the false prophets it was because he could no longer be glori- and cheats that at that epoch abouaded in fled by her. It was thus that she wrote to Als~tia, in Franconia, in Switzerland, and in Empeytas, in 1820: God permits lassitude Bavaria, congregated around this madman, to creep over its elect, so that they may who pretended to be in immediate commu- know of how little import is their strength nication with the Deity. Madame de Kru- and renown to him. He has shown to me dener found herself irretrievably mixed up also within these few days that he has no with these mock propagandists. This was longer any need of my poor services. My all that was wanting to deliver her over to head bends down upon my chest, my arms her enenies, who were not few in number, fall by my side, and my step, which formerly and who were jealous of her labors and suc- was as a spring towards an object to be at- cess among the poor, the imprisoned, and the tamed, is now slow and painful. 0 my afflicted, but who, so long as she had perse- friend! when the terrible hour shall sound, vered, backed by a steady piety and a sound with what fright shall I answer the appeal! faith, had found it impossible to annoy her. It is in vain that I attempt to compare my Now nothing was easier: she had given up good and bad days disseminated over the true ueligion for imposture; she had asso- earth, in vain that I attempt to draw con- ciated herself with a parcel of notorious clusions: there is no fruit.alas! no fruit! cheats; she was denounced as being herself I began life as a frivolous and coquettish wo- a deceiver, as subversive, infidel, and impi- man, and after a brief but short martyrdom, ous. She who had been the friend of Alex- I finish as a woman without courage and ander and the beloved of the people, was complaining. ridiculed and laughed at, and the last epoch M. de Steinberg relates having seen this of her lifethe era of her disgracewas remarkable woman in her retirement. It fairly entered upon. Her travels were now was, he relates, a fine summers evening, prosecuted with a commissary of police in the when I was walking along the banks of the carriage and a gendarme at each doorsad river, that I saw an open carriage pass by, and painful perigrinations, yet still more or in which an old lady, in a dress of gray silk, less triumphal, for the people hurried wher- was seated by the side of a young man. ever she was, and pressed around the car- Without knowing that it was Madame de riage of the poor persecuted lady. Thus it Krudener, I experienced a singular impres- was that she was hurried from one frontier sion at the sight of this person. A moment to another. No German state would allow afterwards the carriage stopped, and the old her to remain upon its territory: nowhere lady got down, leaning upon the arm of her could she find an asylum. On the threshold cavalier. Although at a short distance, of every hostelry she was met by a police I soon understood why she had thus got officer, who at once bade her pass on; and down. There was a group of girls close by the miserable woman, worn out with fatigue on the banks of the river, busy washing and often ill, had no alternative but to get clothes, and Madame do Krudener, perceiv- up again into her carriage, and to pursue ing them, could not resist the temptation of the course of her anxious migrations. Some- getting down and preaching something to 154 them. She accordingly made her way to the laughing country girls, who opened their great eyes with wonder, and getting up upon a bench, she thus obtained a commanding position, from whence she addressed a horn.. ily to those present, of which I perfectly re- member the principal points. What are you doing there? she cried out in the dialect of the country people, and with a loud voice. The girls looked at one another laugh- ingly, and replied that they were washing linen. Very good, replied Madame de Kru- dener, you are washing your body linen; but do you think of the stains that lie on your consciences, of the spots on your celes- tial clothing, that will drive you one day into confusion and despair, if you appear before God without having washed them? You open your great eyes, and you appear to ask me with surprise how I can know that there are any stains on your celestial vestments? Believe me that I know it most indubitably. The souls of all of us are similarly circum- stanced, and the best and noblest have their stains; that is why we are ordered to inces- santly keep watch over our purification, and to wash off the spots from our souls, as you do those from the linen. Neglect to do this, and God will punish you in heaven, as your master will punish you on earth if you neg- lect the other. But the punishments of God are as much more terrible than those of man as heaven is higher than the earth. And thus the discourse was prolonged, in a style that was at once familiar and yet mystical, but always borrowing its meta- phors from circumstances of daily life, and that were within reach of the simplest minds. The effect was prodigious. As Madame de Krudener spoke on, these poor girls passed from a state of stupid astonishment to gath- ering up fragments, and then following every sentence of the address, and as they did so, their former boisterousness changed into an aspect of modest decency. Gradually they left their work, went up to the old lady, and, falling on their knees, they wept, whilst she, elevated above, smiled with the smile of love, and stretched forth her hands to bless them. The calmness of the spot, a cloudiess sky, the inspiration of her words, which were carried away by the enbalmed breeze of the MADAME DE KRUDENER. evening, all combined to produce an ineffaee- able impression on my mind, and I cannot to the present day hear Madame de Krude- ner s name mentioned without being re- minded of that scene. Madame de Krudener only excited public attention once more after this; it was when she went to St. Petersburg to plead the cause of the Greeks. This active Philliellenism met, however, with a very poor success with government, which politely invited her t~ quit the capital and take herself off to tie Crimeathereby indicating the course of ler travels. Unfortunately, while at the old capital of the Tartar XhansXarasu B~zar or the market on the Blackwater, she caught a pestilential fever, of which she died on the 13th of December, 1824. Madame Hommaire do Hell, whc trav- elled with her husband in Southern Russia and the Crimea in 183839, gives a some- what different account of the fate of this re- markable woman Every one is aware of the mystic influ- ence which Madame de Iilrudener exercised for many years over the enthusiastic tern- p erament of the Emperor Alexander. This lady, who has so charmingly portrayed her own character in Val~rie, who was pre- eminently distinguished in the aristocratic salons of Paris by her beauty, her liblents, and her position as an ambassadress, who was by turns a woman of the world, a hero- ine of romance, a remarkable writer, and a prophetess, will not soon be forgotten in France. The lovers of mystic poetry will read Val6rie, that charming work, the ap- pearance of which made so much noise, not- withstanding the bulletins of the grand army (for it appeared in the most brilliant period of the Empire); those who delight in grace, combined with beauty and mental endow- ments, will recall to mind that young woman who won for herself so distinguished a place in French society; and those whose glow- ing imaginations love to dwell on exalted sentiments and religious fervor, united to the most lively faith, cannot refuse their admiration to her who asked of the mighty of the earth only the means of freely exer- cising charity, that evangelical virtue, of which she was always one of the most ardent apostles. The Lettres de Mademoiselle Cochcle~ made known to us with what zeal MadWn~ de Xrudener applied herself to seeking ~6ut and comforting the afflicted. Her extre~ goodness of heart was such that she W~s called, in St. Potersburg, the Mother of the MADAME DE KRUDENER. 1~A) Poor. All the sums she received from the emperor were immediately distributcd~to the wretched, and her own fortune was applied in the same way, so that her house was be- sieged from morning till night by mujiks and mothers of families, to whom she gave food both for soul and body. With so much will and power to do good, Madame de Krudener by and by acquired so great an influence in St. Petersburg, that the government at last became alarmed. She was accused of entertaining tendencies of too liberal a cast, religious notions of no orthodox kind, extreme ambition cloaked under the guise of charity, and therewith too much com- passion for those miserable mujiks of whom she was the unfailing friend. But the chief cause of the displeasure of the court was the baroness connection with two other ladies, whose religious sentiments were by all means exceedingly questionable. They were the Princess Galitzin and the so-called Countess Guacher. The publicity which these ladies affected in all their acts could not but be injurious to the meek Christian enterprise of Madame de Krudener. The princess was detested at court. Too superior to disguise her opin- ions, and renowned for her beauty, her caus- tic wit, and her philosophic notions, she had excited against her a host of enemies, who were sure to take the first opportunity of in- juring her with the emperor. As for the Countess Guacher, her rather equivocal posi- tion at the court furnished a weapon against her, when, suddenly issuing from the extreme retirement in which she had previously lived, she became one of Madame de Krudeners most enthusiastic adepts. When the Princess Galitzin returned to St. Pctersburg after a journey to Italy, the emperor, who sincerely admired her, took upon himself to make two ladies acquainted whom he thought so fitted to appreciate each other. As he had foreseen, a close intimacy grew up between them, but to the great mortification of the court, this intimacy was, through Madame de Krudeners influence, the basis of an association which aimed at nothing less than the conversion of the whole earth to the holy law of Christ. At first the scheme was met with deri- sion, then alarm was felt, and at last, by dint of intrigues, the emperor, whom these ladies had half made a proselyte, was forced to banish them from court, and confine them for the rest of their days to the territory of the Crimea. It is said that this decision, so contrary to the kind nature of Alexander, was occasioned by an article in an English ~wspaper, in which the female trio and his ii~perial majesty were made the subjects of most biting sarcasms. Enraged at being ac. cused of being held in leading-strings by three half-crazed women, the emperor signed the warrant for their exile, to the great joy of the envious courtiers. The victims be- held in the event only the manifestation of the divine will, that theyshould propagate the faith among the followers of Mahomet. In a spirit of Christian humility they de- clined receiving any other escort than that of a non-commissioned officer, whose duty should be only to see to their personal safety, and transmit their orders to the persons em- ployed in the journey. Their departure pro- duced a great sensation in St. Petersburg; and every one was eager to see the distin- guished ladies in their monastic costume. The court laughed, but the populace, always sensitive where religion is concerned, and who, besides, were losing a most generous protectress in Madame de Krudcner, ac- companied the pilgrims with great demon- strations of respect and sorrow to the banks of the Neva, where they embarked on the 6th of September, 1822. The apparition of these ladies in the Cri- mea threw the whole peninsula into commo- tion. Eager to make proselytes, they were seen toiling in their b~guine costume, with the cross and the Gospel in their hands, over mountains and valleys, exploring Tartar vil- lages, and even carrying their enthusiasm to the strange length of preaching in the open air to the amazed and puzzled Mussulmans. But as the English consul had predicted, in spite of their mystic fervor, their persuasive voices, and the originality of their enter- prise, our heroines effected few conversions. They only succeeded in making themselves thoroughly ridiculous, not only in the eyes of the Tatars, but in those also of the iRus- sian nobles of the vicinity, who instead of seconding their efforts, or at least giving them credit for their good intentions, re- garded them only as feather-witted illumi- natce, capable at most of catechizing little children. The police, too, always prompt to take alarm, and having besides received special instructions respecting these ladies, soon threw impediments in the way of all their efforts, so that two months had scarcely elapsed before they were obliged to give up their roving ways, their preachings, and all the fine dreams they had indulged during their long and painful journey. It was a sore mortification to them to renoUnce the hope of planting a new Thebaid in the moun- tains of the Crimea. Madame de Krudener could not endure the loss of her illusions; her health, already impaired by many years of an ascetic life, declined rapidly, and within a year from the time of her arrival in the peninsula, there remained no hope of saving her life. She died in .1823, in the 156 arms of her daughter, the Baroness Breck- I heim, who had been for some years resident on the southern coast, and became possessed of many documents on the latter part of a life so rich in romantic events; but unfortu- nately these documents are not destined to see the light. Princess Galitzin, whose religious sen- timents were perhaps less sincere, thought no more of making conversions after she had installed herself in her delightful villa on the coast. Throwing off forever the coarse b& . guine robe, she adopted a no less eccentric costume, which she retained until her death. It was an Amazonian petticoat, with a cloth vest of a male cut. A Polish cap trimmed with fur completed her attire, that accorded well with the original character of the prin- cess. It is in this dress she is represented in several portraits still to be seen in her villa at Koreis. The caustic wit that led to her disgrace at the court of St. Petersburg, her stately manners, her name, her prodigious memory, and immense fortune, quickly attracted round her all the notable persons in Southern Rus- sia. Distinguished foreigners eagerly cov- eted the honor of being introduced to her, and she was soon at the head of a little court, over which she presided like a real sovereign. But being by nature very capri- cious, the freak sometimes seized her to shut herself up for whole months in total soli- tude. Although she relapsed into philosoph- ical and Voltairean notions, the remembrance of Madame de Krudener inspired her with occasional fits of devotion that oddly con- trasted with her usual habits. It was during one of these visitations that she erected a colossal cross on one of the heights com- manding Koreis. The cross being gilded is visible to a great distance. Her death in 1839 left a void in Russian society which will not easily be filled. Reared in the school of the ei~hte~xith century, well MADAME DE KRUDENER. versed in the literature and the arts of France, speaking the language with an en- tire command of all that light, playful rail- lery that made it so formidable of yore; having been a near observer of all the events and all the eminent men of the empire; possessing, moreover, a power of apprehen- sion and discernment that gave equal vaA- ety and point to her conversation; a man in mind and variety of knowledge, a woman in grace and frivolity, the Princess Galitzin belonged by her brilliant qualities and her charming faults to a class that is day by day becoming extinct. Now that conversation is quite dethroned in France, and exists only in some few sa- lons of Europe, it is hard to conceive the influence formerly exercised by women of talent. Those of our day, more ambitious of obtaining celebrity through the press than of reigning over a social circle, guard the treasures of their imagination and intellect with an anxious reserve that cannot but prove a real detriment to society. To write feuilletons, romances, and poetry, is all very well; but to preside over a drawing-room, like the women of the eighteenth century, has also its merit. But we must not blame the female sex alone for the loss of that su- premacy which once belonged to French so- ciety. The men of the present day, more serious than their predecessors, more cccu- pied with positive, palpable interests, seem to look with cold disdain on what but lately commanded their warmest admiration. The so-called Countess Guacher, who shared the exile of Princess Galitzin and of Madame de Krudener, and who died in ob- scurity in 1823, was the Countess de La- mothe, who had been whipped and branded on the Place de Gr~ve as an accomplice in the scandalous affair of the diamond neck- lace. No PENT-UP UTICA. Everybody has beard the lines No pent-op Utica contracts our powers, But the whole boundless continent is ours. But very few people know the author, or in what poem they occur. They were written by Jonathan Mitchell Sewell, a New Hampshire poet, as an epilogue to Addisons play of Cato, on the occasion of its performance hy an ama- teur company in Portsmouth in 1788. The whole production was one of decided power. The spirit of the Revolution entered into every expression. We give a few lines And what now gleams with dawning rays at home Once blazed in full-orbed majesty at Rome. Did Romes brave Senate nobly strive t op- pose The mighty torrent of domestic foes, And boldly arm the virtuous few, and dare The desperate perils of unequal war ~ Our Senate, too, the same bold deed has done, And for a Cato armed a Washington! Rise, then, my countrymen, for fight prepare, Gird on your swords, and fearless rush to war I For your grieved country nobly dare to die, And empty all your veins for liberty; No pent-up Utica contracts our powers, But the whole boundless continent is ours I independent. From Frasers Magazine. H0M~E0PATHY. A LETTER TO 3. S. S., ESQ. BY SIR BENJAMIN BRODIE, DART. DEAR SIR,You desire me to give you my opinion of what is called Homoeopathy. I can do so without any great labor to my- sell; and without making any exorbitant de- mand on your patience, as the question really lies in very small compass, and what I have to say on it may be expressed in very few words. The subject may be viewed under differ- ent aspects. We may inquire, first, whether Homoeopathy be, of itself, of any value, or of no value at all P secondly, in what man- ner does it affect general society? and thirdly, in what relation does it stand to the medical profession P I must first request of you to observe that, whatever I maythink at present, I had origi- nally no prejudice either infavor of or against this new system: nor do I believe that the members of the medical profession gener- ally were in the first instance influenced by any feelings of this kind. The fact is, that the fault of the profession for the most part lies in the opposite direction. They are too much inclined to adopt any new theory or any new mode of treatment that may have been proposed; the younger and more inex- perienced among them especially erring in this respect, and too frequently indulging themselves in the trial of novelties, disre- garding old and established remedies. For myself, I assure you that, whatever opinion I may now hold, it has not been hastily formed. I have made myself sufficiently acquainted with several works which profess to disclose the mysteries of Homoeopathy, especially that of Hahnemann, the founder of the Homoeopathic sect, and those of Dr. Curie and Mr. Sharpe. The result is, that, with all the pains that I have been able to take, I have been unable to form any very distinct notion of the system which they pro- fess to teach. They all, indeed, begin with laying down, as the foundation of it, the rule that similia similibus curantur; or, in plain English, that one disease is to be driven out of the body by artificially creat- lug another disease similar to it. But there the resemblance ends. Hahnemann treats the subject in one way, Dr. Curie in another, and Mr. Sharpe in another way still. Gen 157 cml principles are asserted on the evidence of the most doubtful and scanty facts; and the reasoning on them for the most part is thoroughly puerile and illogical. I do not ask you to take all this for granted, but would rather refer you to the books them- selves; being satisfied that any one, though he may not be versed in the science of med- icine, who possesses good sense, and who has any knowledge of the caution with which all scientific investigations should be con- ducted, will arrive at the same conclusions as myself. But, subordinate to the rule to which I have just referred, there is another,~which, by some of the Homwopathic writers, is held to be of great importance, and which is certainly the more remarkable one of the two. The doses of medicine administered by ordinary practitioners are represented to be very much too large. It is unsafe to have recourse to them, unless reduced to an al- most infinitesimal point; not only to the millionth, but sometimes even to the bil- lionth of a grain. Now observe what this means. Supposing one drop of liquid med- icine to be equivalent to one grain, then, in order to obtain the millionth part of that dose, you must dissolve that drop in thirteen gallons of water, and administer only one drop of that solution; while, in order to ob- tain the billionth of a grain, you must dis- solve the aforesaid drop in 217,014 hogs- heads of water. Of course, it is plain that this could not practically be accomplished, except by successive dilutions; and this would be a troublesome process. Whether it be at all probable that any one ever un- dertook to carry it out, I leave you to judge. At any rate, I conceive that there is no rea- sonable person who would not regard the exhibition of medicine in so diluted a form as being equivalent to no treatment at all. But however this may be, I may be met by the assertion that there is undoubted evi- dence that a great number of persons re- cover from their complaints under llomoeo- pathic treatment, and I do not pretend in the least degree to deny it. In a discourse addressed by myself to the students of St. Georges hospital, in the year 1838, I find the following remarks: There is another inquiry which should be always made, before you determine on the adoption of a particu- lar method of treatment; what will happen I1OM~EOPATHY. 158 HOM~EOPATHY. in this case, if no remedies whatever be em- athy. But other circumstances occur every ployed, if the patient be left altogether to now and then, from which, when they do nature or to the efforts of his own constitu- occur, it profits to a still greater extent. tion? . . . The animal system is not like a Humanun est errare. From the operation clock or a steam-engine, which, being bro- of this universal law medical practition- ken, you must send to the clockmaker or ers are not exempt, any more than engineer to mend it; and which cannot be statesmen, divines, lawyers, engineers, or repaired otherwise. The living machine, any other profession. There are cases in unlike the works of human invention, has which there is a greater chance of too much the power of repairing itself; it contains than too little being done for the patient; within itself its own engineer, who, for the and if the patient under such circumstances most part, requires no more than some very becomes the subject of Homoeopathic treat- slight assistance at our hands. This truth ment, this being no treatment at all, he ac- admits, indeed, of a very large application. tually derives benefit from the change. If the arts of medicine and surgery had In a discourse to which I have already al- never been invented, by far the greater num- luded, I thought it my duty to offer the fol- her of those who suffer from bodily illness lowing caution to my pupils: The first would have recovered nevertheless. An ex- question which should present itself to you perienced and judicial medical practitioner in the management of a particular case is knows this very well; and considers it to be this: Is the disease one of which the patient his duty, in the great majority of cases, not may recover, or is it not P There are, in- so much to interfere by any active treatment, deed, too many cases in which the patients as to take care that nothing should obstruct condition is so manifestly hopeless, that the the natural process of recovery; and to fact cannot be overlooked. let me, how- watch, lest in the progress of the case, any ever, caution you that you do not in any in- new circumstance should arise which would stance arrive too hastily at this conclusion. make his active interference necessary. If Our knowledge is not so absolute and certain any one were to engage in practice, giving as to prevent even well-informed persons his patients nothing but a little distilled being occasionally mistaken on this point. water, and enjoining a careful diet, and a This is true, especially with respect to the prudent mode of life otherwise, a certain affections of internal organs. Individuals number of his patients would perish from have been restored to health who were sup- the want of further help; but more would posed to be dying of disease in the lungs or recover; and Homoeopatbic globules are, I mesenteric glands. . . . It is a good doubt not, quite as good as distilled water. rule in the practice of our art, as in the But this does not account for all the sue- common affairs of life, for us to look on the cess of Homoeopathy. In this country there favorable side of the question, as far as we is a large proportion of individuals who have can consistently with reason do so. I plenty of money, combined with a great might have added that hysterical affections lack of employment; and it is astonishing are especially a source of error to not very to what an extent such persons contrive to experienced practitioners, by simulating imagine diseases for themselves. There is more serious disease; seeming to resist for no animal machine so perfect that there may a time all the efforts of art, and then all at not at times be some creaking in it. Want once subsiding under any kind of treat- of exercise, irregularity as to diet, a little ment, or, just as well, under none at all. worry of mind~these, and a thousand other Now, if it should so happen that a medical causes, may occasion uneasy feelings, to practitioner, from want of knowledge, or which constant attention and thinking of from a natural defect of judgment, makes a them will give a reality which they would mistake in his diagnosis, and the patient not have had otherwise; and such feelings whom he had unsuccessfully treated after- will disappear as well under the use of glob- w~rds recovers under the care of another ules as they would under any other mode of practitioner, it is simply said Dr. A. was treatment, or under no treatment at all. mistaken; and it is not considered as an~r What I have now mentioned will go far thing very remarkable that the symptoms towards explaining the success of Homoeop- should subside while under the care of Dr~ HOM4EOPATHY. 169 B. But if, on the other hand, the recovery all times there have been pretenders, who takes place under the care of a Homoeop- have persuaded a certain part of the public athist, or any other empiric, the circum- that they have some peculiar knowledge of stance excites a much larger portion of at- a royal road to cure, which those of the tention; and we really cannot very well regular craft ~iave not. It is llomoeopathy wonder that, with such knowledge as they now; it was something else formerly; and possess of these matters, the empiric should if Homoeopathy were to be extinguished, gain much credit with the public. I there would be something else in its place. So far the practical result would seem to The medical profession must be contented be that Homueopathy can be productive of to let the thing take its course; and they no great harm; and, indeed, considering it will best consult their own dignity, and the to be no treatment at all, whenever it is a good of the public, by saying as little as substitute for bad treatment, it must be the possible about it. The discussions as to the better of the two. But there is great harm evils of Homoeopathy which have sometimes nevertheless. There are numerous cases in taken place at public meetings, have quite which spontaneous recovery is out of the an opposite effect to that which they were question: in which sometimes the life or intended to produce. They have led some death of the patient, and at other times to believe that Homeopathists are rather a the comfort or discomfort of his existence persecuted race, and have given to the sys- for a long time tQ come, depends on the tem which they pursue an importance which prompt application of active and judicious it would never have had otherwise; just as treatment. In such cases, Homoeopathy is any absurd or fanatical sect in religion neither more nor less than a mischievous would gain proselytes if it could only make absurdity; and I do not hesitate to say that others believe that it was an object of jeal- a very large number of persons have fallen ousy and persecution. After all, the harm victims to the faith which they reposed in it, done to the regular profession is not so great and to the consequent delay in having re- as many suppose it to be; a very large pro- course to the use of proper remedies. It is portion of the complaints about which Ho- true that it very rarely happens, when any moeopathists are consulted being really no symptoms show i~hemselves which give real complaints at all, for which a respectable alarm to the patient or his friends, that they practitioner would scarcely think it right to do not dismiss the Homeopathist and send prescribe. for a regular practitioner; but it may well There was a time when many of the mcd- be that by this time the mischief is done, ical profession held the opinion that not only the case being advanced beyond the reach Homocopathy, but all other kinds of quack- of art. ery, ought to be put down by the strong That the habit of resorting to Homoeop- hand of the law. I imagine that there are athic treatment which has prevailed in very few who hold that opinion now. The some parts of society should have occa- fact is, that the thing is impossible; and sioned much dissatisfaction among the mass even if it were possible,as it is plain that of medical practitioners, is no matter of the profession cannot do all that is wanted wonder. It cannot be otherwise than pro- of them, by curing all kinds of disease, and yoking, to those who have passed three or making men immortal,such an interference four years of the best part of their lives in with the liberty of individuals to consult endeavoring to make themselves well ac- whom they please would be absurd and quainted with disease, in the wards of a wrong. As it now is, the law forbids the hospital, to find thtt there are some among employment in any public institution of any their patients who resort to them for advice one who is not registered as being a quali- only when their complaints have assumed a fled medical practitioner, after a due exami- more painful or dangerous character; while nation by some of the constituted authori- they are set aside in ordinary cases, which ties; and it can go no further. The only involve a smaller amount of anxiety arid re- effectual opposition which the medical pro- ~onsibility, in favor of some Homceopathic fession can offer to ilomocopathy, is by in- d~wtor, who, very probably, never studied dividually taking all possible pains to avoid, disease at all. But it cannot be helped. In on their own part, those errors of diagnosia 160 HOM~EOPATHY. by means of which, more than any thing est. The object of a medical consultation is else, the professors of Homoeopathy thrive the good of the patient; and we cannot sup~ and flourish; by eontinuing in all ways to pose that any such result can arise from the act honorably by the public; at the same interchange of opinions, where the views time, never being induced, either by good- entertained, or professed to be entertained, nature or by any motives of self-interest, to by one of the parties as to the nature and appear to give their sanction to a system treatment of disease, are wholly unintelligi- which they know to have no foundation in ble to the other. reality. To join with Homoeopathists in at- I am, dear sir, tendance on cases of either medical or sur- Yours, etc., gical disease, would be neither wise nor hon- B. C. BnoDIE~ A NEW STIMULANT. Attention has lately been redirected in medical circles towards the valuable properties which the leaves of the erythroxylon coca are reported to possess in their power of preserving human life and strength without any other food. The shrub is largely cultivated in several South American States, and it has been fully proved by the tes- timony of many travellers and physicians that the Indians and working men in the above- named countries, who are subject to great hard- ships, habitually chew the leaves along with the alkaline ashes of some plants, or with a little lime, and are thereby enabled to endure an amount of fatigue without food or sleep, which would appear almost incredible were the facts not well authenticated. Tschudi employed an Indian for excavations for five days and five nights in succession, who, during this entire time, ate no food, and only slept for two hours at night; immediately afterwards he accom- panied his employer (who was on horseback), and travelled on foot, in two days, a distance of sixty-nine English miles. During all this time ho merely chewed coca-leaves, and then ex- pressed his willingness to endure the same hard- ships again, provided he was supplied with these leaves. An Indian, in the employ of Scherzer, travelled the distance from La Pazto to Taena, 250 English miles, in four days, then, after rest- ing one day, returned in five days, over a moun- tain 13,000 feet in height; he partook of no food except coca-leaves and some roasted maize. During the wars, in 1817, when the Spaniards were cut off from all supplies, and had to be constantly prepared for fight, they subsisted almost entirely on coca-leaves, thereby retaining their vigor, and preserving themselves from starvation and annihilation by a vigorous foe. The horses of travellers, who are accompanied on foot through tile deserts by Indiaii guides, who chew their coca-leaves, frequently break down on hot days from exhaustion, when their guides are still able to travel many miles. The miners, amid deadly metallic exhalations, and in an unfavorable climate, preserve by coca not only their strength, but also their health; and the bearers of burdens travel through marshes and over steep rocks, where horses and mules cannot go. The Austrian frigate Novara brought, some years ago, from her scientific expedition, a considerable quantity of coco-leaves, with which it was intended to experiment in the army and navy. Nothing has been made public of the re- sults of these experiments, but it is possible that, in another European war, these leaves may exercise a decided influence on the results of battles. Propositions have been repeatedly made, in Europe, to introduce them in the navy, and to cause emigrant and other ships to supply themselves with coca-leaves, so that the crew and passengers, in cases of accident or disaster, may by keeping up their strength, have increas- ed chances of being ultimately saved. The dose of coca-leaves is about one drachm, which is in- creased in the most fatiguing hardships to not over half an ounce, and is renewed after two or three hours. Persons unaccustomed to it require less. A moderate use of coca-leaves does not seem to have any injurious effect upon the constitu- tion, as the Indians of Peru, who habitually in- dulge in it, generally live to a great age; but an excessive indulgence, like all other excesses, will gradually undermine the bodily health. From all reports by reliable authorities, it seems evident that coca-leaves may become a valuable medicine, and that it deserves at least a trial in a military campaign, where an army of perhaps a hundred thousand men may be ex- posed in a warm climate to all the hardships and privations incidental to war. The consumers of coca-leaves are estimated at ten millions, and they use thirty millions of pounds annually.Loadoa 1?eview. DISINTERESTED ADVICE TO LADIES OP A LITERAllY TURN. Never marry an author~ He is sure at some time or other to put you in his books, and the consequence is, you will come otit, like those rare botanical specimens similarly preserved, as fiat, and as dead as pos- sible. Not a fraction of color will there he left in you! There will only be the withered outline, by which you will be able to trace your original beauty. In fact, a wife to an author is only so ni~uch book-muslin to enable him to dress up his char- acters with. To clothe others, the wretch does not scruple to cut up his own wife.Tke flesuzit of the flayrnarket.Puach. From The Saturday Review. CAPTAIN JOHN BROWN. ~ Tins little book has many merits as a bi- ography. It is plain, modest, and carefully put together, is written with a hearty and intelligent sympathy for the man of whom it speaks, and the cause for which he lived and died, and allows him to speak as much as possible in his own words, and tell his own story, without lumbering the narrative with a mass of irrelevant gossip and so-called contemporary history. Besides the chief figure, the book gives a slight but vivid and truthful sketch of a group of families, of a type which cannot perhaps now be paralleled in any other part of the world; of good de- scent, and gentle in blood and manners, poor in this worlds goods and with no de- sire for wealth, and living a primitive and patriarchal life; a simple, God-fearing soci- ety, tilling and subduing the earth quietly, until they are brought face to face with the great question which is tearing their nation in pieces, and then taking their part in a spirit of the noblest heroism and self-sacri- fice. The whole story carries us back near three thousand years, and we can almost fancy ourselves standing by the herdsman of Tekoa, and hearing his answer to King Amaziah, I was no prophet, neither wLis I a prophets son; but I was an herdsman, and a gatherer of sycamore fruit; and the Lord took me as I followed the flock, and said unto me, Go, prophesy unto my people Israel. The book, too, is singularly well timed. We are full of scorn and disgust at the pan- ics, the exaggeration, the coarse bluster and purposeless action of the Americans. It is well that we should get this glimpse into the heart of New England; and never was there a time when Englishmen had more need to fix their eyes steadily on any exam- ple, come from what quarter it will, of faith which goes beneath wrangling and specula- tion, and holds ease and goods and name and life as a trust to be used, kept, or cast away at the call of Him who has bestowed them. We will give a short sketch of the life of Captain John Brown in the hope of leading readers to the book itself. John Brown was born in 1800, in Connec- ticut. He was sixth in descent from Peter Life and Letters of captain John Brown. Smith and Elder. THIRD SERIES. LIVING AGE. 771 161 Brown, one of the pilgrim fathers, and both his grandfathers had been officers in the Revolutionary War. His father moved west when he was five, and was one of the first pioneers in Ohio. John would always sooner stay at home and work hard than go to school, and at twelve, to be sent off alone through the wilderness, sometimes more than a hundred miles with companies of cattle was his great delight, barefooted and bareheaded, with buckskin breeches suspended often with one leather strap over his shoulder, but sometimes with two. When war broke out with England, his father supplied beef to the army. John vis- ited the camp, and was so disgusted with what he saw, that he refused to drill for the militia, and paid fines for exemption until past the age for service. On this occasion he saw a negro boy of his own age, who had done him numerous little acts of kindness, brutally used, beaten with an iron shovel by a man in whose house he was staying, and who made a great pet of Brown. To this he himself attributed his first hatred of slavery, which grew into a belief that he had a commission direct from God to act against it. Unlike many abolitionists, he had a high opinion of the negroes, who, he said quaintly, behaved so much like folks, he almost thought they were so. But until past middle life he had no opportunity of doing more than helping individuals; at last in 1849, the opening he had been so long waiting for presented itself. Up to that time, he had been a ~vell-to-do farmer and tanner, rigidly upright in his dealings, and skilful in business, though he never accumulated much money~ He was twice married, and the father of fourteen sons and six daughters, who had been reared in his own strong faith; and intense hatred ~of slavery. In 1849, Mr. Gerrit Smith, of New York, a rich and well-known abolition- ist, offered plots of ground in the Adirond- ack Mountains to colored settlers, and Brown wrote to him: I see by the newspapers that you have offered so many acres, of land to each of the colored men on condition they cultivate them. Now, they are mostly in- experienced in this kind of work, and un- used to the climate, while I am familiar with both. I propose, therefore, to take a farm there myself, clear and plant it, showing the negroes how such work should be done. I CAPTAIN JOHN BROWN. CAPTAIN JOHN BROWN. will also employ some of them on my land, and will look after them in all ways, and be a kind of father to them. His proposal was accepted, and he moved to the black farm of North Elba, in the Adirondacks, where his family still live, where corn will not grow, and cattle have to be housed six months in the year. Before this time, however,in fact, as early as 1839,he had made up his mind that slav- ery could not be put down without a fight, and had studied drill and military works to prepare himself for the struggle which he foresaw, and would never engage in any business which could not be wound up hon- orably on short notice. In May, 1854, the territory of Kansas, in defiance of the Missouri Compromise, was thrown open to slaveholders, and was at once invaded by bands of border ruf- fians, as they soon came to be called (and rejoiced in the name themselves), who passed over into Kansas from Missouri and other Slave States. The temper of these men may be judged from their leaders. General Stringfellow, speaking in Missouri to a force of them about to start for Kan- sas, exhorts them thus: I tell you to mark every scoundrel among you who is the least tainted with abolitionism or free-soilism, and exterminate him. Neither give nor take quarter from the damned rascals. To those who have qualms of conscience as to violat- ing laws, state or national, I say the time has come when such impositions must be dis- regarded, as your rights and property are in danger. I advise you, one and all, to en- ter every election district in Kansas, in de- fiance of iReeder (the governor of Kansas appointed by the United States) and his myrmidons, and vote at the point of the bowie-knife and revolver. Neither take nor give quarter, as the cause demands it. It is enough that the slaveholding interest wills it, from which there is no appeal. General Stringfellow was mistaken. There were sev- eral appeals open to the Kansas free-settlers the United States Government, to their own friends at home, and to the Judge of all the earth. They carried their cause to each of these courts, failed in the first, and were successful in the other two. Amongst others, four sons of John Brown were on their way to Kansas. They had no arms with them. On their arrival they found border ruffian law prevailing, and were plundered and insulted. They wrote to their father to procure such arms as might ena- ble them in some degree to protect them- selves, and - personally bring them to Kan- sas. John Brown procured arms, started at once, and arrived in Kansas in the au- tumn of 1855. Pierce, the then President of the Union, now openly sided with the slaveholders, who thus gained the upper hand for a time. In October, at the elec- tions, a crowd of ruffians, the Missouri mud scarcely dry on their boots, with rifles in their hands, knives in their belts, bottles in their pockets, and whiskey in their bel- lies, swaggered round the polls, drinking and shouting in exultation over their tri- umph. The Free State settlers were not yet thoroughly roused. Attempts were made on Lawrence, the stronghold of the Free State settlers in the winter. In May, 1856, the United States marshal, at the head of eight hundred men, entered the town on pretence of making arrests. The arrests were submitted to peaceably, the marshal dismissed his men, by whom in twenty-four hours the town was sacked. From this time civil war raged, and the free settlers formed themselves into companies: one at Prairie City, under John Brown, described by Mr. IRedpath, is worth looking at as a contrast to the Missouri ruffians: Brown himself stood near the fire with his shirt- sleeves rolled up, and a large slice of pork in his hand. He was cooking a pig. He was poorly clad, and his toes protruded from his boots. . . . In this camp no profane lan- guage was permitted, no man of immoral character was allowed to stay, except as a prisoner of war. He made prayers in which all the company united every morning and evening, and no food was ever tasted by his men until the divine blessing had been asked on it. Often, I was told, he returned to the densest solitudes to wrestle with God in prayer. . . . He said to me, I would rather have the small-pox, yellow fever, and chol- era altogether in my camp than a man with- out principles. Its a mistake, sir, that ouz~ people make when they think bullies are the best fighters, or that they are the men fit to oppose these Southerners; give me~- God-fearing men.-.-men who respect them2 selvesand with a dozen of them I will op 162 pose any hundred such men as those Buford ruffians. Not the sort of men, these, one would care to be fighting with. $0 their enemies found; they soon were marked men. A certain Captaia Pate and his company cap- tured two of Browns sons, sacked and burnt their houses, and treated them so brutally that one of them went mad. Within a few days, Brown, with twenty-three men, at- tacked Pates company of sixty, entrenched in a strong position, with a ravine behind and a breastwork of wagons in front, and completely routed them, taking Pate and twenty-one men, besides wounded, prisoners. In August, Captain Brown and Preacher Steward, another free leader, united their companies, and, with sixty men, attacked a camp of one hundred and sixty Missourians with the like result, taking thirteen prison- ers, their whole baggage, and one hundred stands of arms. On the 30th, a detachment of five hundred Missourians under General Reid, marched suddenly on the tdwn of Os- sowatomie, near which Captain Browns camp lay. They shot his son Frederick in cold blood on their way. He had just time to throw himself with thirty men (half of whom were almost without ammunition and retired early in the fight) into the wood in front of the town. Before they were driven back across the river with a loss of two killed and three wounded, they had left~ thirty-two dead and fifty wounded of the enemy on the field. The Missourians sacked Ossowatomie and returned in triumph to their own state; but, it is said, that the sight of the killed and wounded, when the number of Browns men who had fought them crept out, spread a feeling of terror I through Missouri which had no small influ- ence in freeing Kansas. The tide was turning; Lane and Stevens were victorious in other parts of Kansas, hut again Lawrence was threatened, while I only two hundred men could be mustered for the defcnce. Brown was in the town, and they unanimously voted him the corn- mmd. He mounted on a packing-case, and addressed his men: Gentlemen,It is said there are twenty-five hundred Missourians dQwn at Franklin, and that they will be here in two hours. You can see for yourselves the smoke they are making by setting fire to the houses in that town. This is proba 163 bly the last opportunity you will have of seeing a fight, so that you had better do your best. If they should come up to at- tack us, dont yell and make a great noise, but remain perfectly silent and still. Wait till they get within twenty-five yards of you, get a good object, be sure you see the hind sight of your gun, then fire. A great deal of powder and lead, and very precious time is wasted by shooting too high. You had better aim at their legs than their heads, but in either case be sure of the hind sight of your gun. After which characteristic speech, he led out the one hundred men who had rifles, routed the advanced guard of four hundred, and the rest drew off. In October, 1856, the ruffians having retired from Kansas, Brown visited the East- ern States, to get funds for properly arming and equipping one hundred mounted men, and for purchasing arms and ammunition. The object of his journey, to a great extent, failed. He left again for Kansas, in April, 1857, in deep sadness; a paper in his hand- writing, entitled Old Browns Farewell to the Plymouth Rocks, Bunker Hill Mon- uments, Charter Oaks, and Uncle Toms Cabin, shows how bitterly he felt this fail- ure. But his spirit was as brave as ever. His brother urged him to go home to his family, and attend to his private affairs. I feared his course would prove his destruc- tion, and that of his boys. He replied he was sorry I did not sympathize with him. That he knew that it was in the line of his duty, and must pursue it, though it should destroy him and his family. To another influential abolitionist who helped him, he remarked, I believe in the Golden Rule, sir, and the Declaration of Independence. I think they both mean the same thing; and it is better that a whole generation should pass off the face of the earthmen, women, and childrenby a violent death, than that one jot of either should fail in the country. I mean exactly so, sir. And in this temper the old man went back to Kansas in the spring, where he had already lost one son, had another son and son-in-law desperately wounded, and a third son driven mad by ill- usage, and where he and his had lost their whole disposable property. He found Kansas comparatively quiet, and on his return the Missourians who had been threatening the border withdrew. He CAPTAIN JOHN BROWN. CAPTAIN JOHN BROWN. at once organized a raid into Missouri to free slaves, and teach the men of that state to mind their own affairs. He and his lieu- tenant, Kagi, crossed the border with twenty men, liberated and carried off four families of slaves, asking them how much their ser- vices had been worth, and taking property to that amount; which feat created such a panic in Missouri, that in a few days the two border counties were cleared of slaves. The governor of Missouri offered three thousand dollars for the arrest of Brown, to which President Buchanan added two hundred and fifty; but he carried his convoy safe to Canada. The story of his march of three months is full of comic and pathetic inci- dent; but too long to be given here. The result of it was the complete confirmation of his belief that a few men in the right, and knowing they are, can overturn a king. Twenty men in the Alleghanies could break slavery to pieces in two years. An old man, he said, should have more care to end life well than to live long; and with this faith set to work on his long-meditated attack on Harpers Ferry. Mr. Brown was sanguine of success, said his wife to the two friends who brought the news of defeat to the family of North Elba; we all looked to it as fulfilling the hopes of many years. For he has borne the yoke of the oppressed, as if upon his own neck, for these thirty years. It is needless to dwell on the story of how those twenty- two men, on Sunday, October 16th, 1859, entered a town of five thousand inhabitants containing an arsenal, and took and held it for nearly three days. Little as Englishmen in general know of or care for American af- fairs, that story, at least, is well known to them. We, as a nation, believe that it was the act of mad fanatics, made respectable by the fact that they went through with their work and gave their lives when they failed. We have no space here to discuss the plan, which was, indeed, never carried out. The attack was made a week before the appointed day, and with only a small portion of the force which Brown had organized for the work. His own view of the matter in the letters written just before his execution, is, perhaps, worth our consideration: As I be- lieve most firmly that God reigns, I cannot believe that any thing I have done, suffered, or may yet suffer, will be lost to the cause of God or humanity. Before I began my work at Harpers Ferry, I felt assured that in the worst event it would surely pay. I often expressed that belief, and can now see no possible reason to alter my mind. I have been a good deal disappointed as regards myself, in not keeping up to my own plans; but I now feel entirely reconciled even to that, for Gods plan was infinitely better, no doubt, or I should have kept to my own. - I can trust God with the time and man- ner of my death, believing, as I now do, that for me at this time to seal my testimony for God and humanity with my blood will do vastly more towards advancing the cause I have earnestly endeavored to promote, than all I have done in my life before. I beg of you all (his wife and children) meekly and quietly to submit to this, not feeling yourselves the least degraded on that ac- count. To his brother he writes: I am gaining in health slowly, and am quite cheer- ful in view of my approaching end, being fully persuaded that I am worth inconceiva- bly more to hang than for any other pur- pose. But the spirit in which the attempt was made has never, that we know of, been fairly known ia England till now. It may be gathered from Browns last words to his men: And now, gentlemen, let me press one thing on your minds. You all know how dear life is to you, and how dear your lives are to your friends; and, in remem- bering that, consider that the lives of others are as dear to them as yours are to you. Do not therefore, take the life of any man if you can possibly avoid it; but if it is necessary to take life in order to save your own, then make sure work of it. The testimony of all the prisoners who were in the power of Brown and his men during the three days and of those who fought against him, agree in showing how thoroughly this counsel was acted out. Ten of the band were killed in the fight, including two out of three of Browns sons who were with him; six besides himself were taken and executed; the remaining five, his son Owen amongst them, escaped. The conduct of all the prisoners, at their trial and on the scaffold, was in keeping with their lives. An attempt was made to plead insanity, which Brown, lying on his c9t within the bar, at once interfered to reject. Insane persons, he said, so far as my 164 CAPTAIN JOHN BROWN. experience goes, have but little ability to judge of their own sanity; and if I am in- sane, of course I should think I knew more than all the rest of the world. But I do not think so. I am perfectly unconscious of in- sanity, and I reject, so far as I am capable, any attempts to interfere on my behalf on that score.~, In the whole five weeks which passed be- tween his sentence and execution, he had to endure the constant visits of citizens curious to look on the chained lion, or interested in trying to extract from him something which should implicate their political enemies. He never seems to have lost temper or heart, or to have given way to repining or boasting. But to every visitor he bore the same wit- ness: You had betterall you people of the Southprepare yourselves for a settle- ment of this question. It must come up for settlement sooner than you are prepared for it, and the sooner you commence that prepa- ration the better for you. You may dispose of me very easily. I am nearly disposed of now; but this question is still to be settled this negro question, I mean. While de- voting great part of his time to prayer and reading his Bible, he sternly refused to see any clergyman who approved of slavery, and none other offered themselves. To one who tried to force on him an argument, he said, My dear sir, you know nothing about Christianity. Of course I respect yc~u as a gentleman, but it is as a heathen gentleman. The rest of his spare time he spent in answer- ing the letters of his friends and writing to his wife and children. These letters are as interesting as any part of the book, and show throughout the same strong, practical, busi- ness-like mind, and the faith which had sup- ported him throughout burning brighter at the last. I have enjoyed remarkable cheer- fulness and composure of mind, he says, in one of the last, ever since my confinement; and it is a great comfort to feel assured that I am permitted to die for a causenot merely to pay the debt of nature as all must. On December 2nd he was led out for exe- cution, after taking leave of his five men who were still in prison. Near the door of the prison stood a black woman with a child in her arms, and he stooped and kissed the child tenderly. He had heen kindly treated while in prison. You are a game man, Captain Brown, said one of those who rode in the wagon with, and was watching him. Yes, he said; I was so trained up; it was one of the lessons of my mother; but it is hard to part from friends though newly made. This is a beautiful country, he said, as they ascended the hill on which the gallows stood. I have not cast my eyes over it before. And so, with three thou- sand troops to guard the ground, the men of Virginia hanged the old New England farmer; and now the question which he ex- horted them to prepare to meet has come up for decision. Philosopida Ultima. By C. W. Shields. Phil- elucidation of this distinction : and we failed. adelphia, Lippincott & Co. Astronomy, for instance, is both discoverable PHILosormA ULTIMA: I. Scientia Scien- and revealable, though in unequal proportions, tiarum. 2. Ars Scientiarum. 3. Scientia Ar- being at once a human system of celestial phys- ics, and a divine manifestat.ion of our Father tium. And why is poor Ars Artium to be ex- who is in the heavens. Into what two parts cluded My unfortunate client , a does this divide astronomy ~Atheaa~um. barrister once began, and stopped to cough. Go on, sir! said a malicious judge; so far _________ as you have yet gone the Court is with you. Our Court is with Mr. Shields so long as he describes the miserable condition of philosophy and theology, both in an inextricable net. But when he comes to his proposals of relief, we be- gin to fed lost. Every science is to he divided into rational and revealed,astronomy and ge- ology, for instance. On this point of the Ap- pendixwhich is a summarywe staked our l*ance of understanding something of our an- hors mear~ing. We looked carefully for an A CONTRABAND REFRAIN. NOW MUCH IN VOGUE AT FOItTEESS MONEOE. WAKE up, snakes, pelicans, and seshuers! Dont yer hear am comm Comm on de run ~ Wake up, I tell yer! Git up, Jefferson: Boholishion s comm Bob-o-lish-i-on. 165 166 PRAYER FOR THE UNION.THE MEMORY OF MONBODDO. PRAYER FOR THE UNION. A LAND of law and Gospel peace, Of richest fruits and flowers Gods Eden of the Western World, What land so blest as onrs IIo~v shall we prove our grateful thanks To thee, 0 bounteous Giver! Whose own right hand bath made us one, By lake and gulf and river Lord! write this law on every heart: Our Union. now and ever! For thou hast taught us through thy Son, That those whom thou hast joined in one No human hand should se~rer! The hero-souls, whose prophet-dreams Shine out in classic story, Find here, at last, the promised land The shrine of Freedoms glory. Our hallowed flag of Stars and Stripes, What memries brighten oer it: The hope of millions yct unborn Een despots bow before it! Lord ! write this law on every heart: Our Union, now and ever! For thou hast taught us through thy Son, That those whom thou hast joined in one No human hand should sever! The serpent crept in Eves pure heart, And by his cunning won it: Woe, woe! unto Eden-land The serpents trail is on it! A million hands, by madness nerved, Would strike the common mother: A million souls cry out for blood The blood een of a brother! 0 God! to whom our fathers prayed, In bonds of sweet communion, Stretch forth thy strong, Almighty Hand, To still this tempest in our land, And save our blessed UNION! N. Y. Evening Post. THE MEMORY OF MONBODDO. AN EXCELLENT NEW SONG. AiaThe Looking Glass. 1. Tis strange how men and things revive Though laid beneath the sod, 0! I sometimes think I see alive Our good old friend Mouboddo! His views, when forth at first they came, Appeared a little odd, 0! But now weve notions much the same; Were back to old Monboddo. 2. The rise of Man he loved to trace Up to the very pod, 0! And in Baboons our parent race Was found by old Monboddo. Their A B C he made them speak; Then learn their Qui, quce, quod, 0! Till Hebrew, Latin, Welsh, and Greek They knew as wells Monboddo. 3. The thought that Men had once had tails Caused many a grin full broad, 0! And why in us that feature fails, Was asked of old Monboddo. He showed that sitting on the rump, While at our work we plod, 0! Would wear th appendage to the stump As close as in Monboddo. 4. Alas! the good lord little knew, As this strange ground he trod, 0! That others would his path pursue, And never name Monboddo! Such folks should have their tails restored, And thereon feel the rod, 0 1 For having thus the fame ignored Thats due to old Monhoddo. 5. Though Darwin may proclaim the law, And spread it far abroad, 0! The man that first the secret saw, Was honest old Monboddo. The Architect precedence takes Of him that bears the hod, 0! So iip and at them, Land of Cakes! Well vindicate Monboddo. 6. The Scotchman who would grudge his praise, Must be a senseless clod, 0 A Monument then let us raise, To honor old Monboddo. Let Noel Paton make the plan, While Rogers * gives the nod, 0! A Monkey changing to a Man! In memory of Monboddo. NoTE.Johnson thus describes Lord Mon. boddo to Mrs. Thrale: He is a Scotch judge, who has lately written a strange book about the origin of lan,uage, in which he traces monkeys up to men, and says that in some countries the human species have tails like other beasts. BoswELLs Life of Johnson, vol. iv. p. 73, note. Blaclcwoods Magazine. #s The reverend getter-np of the Wallace Monument, etc., etc. GONE. From Frasers Magazine. GONE. EDGAR ALLAN POE thought the most touching of all words, Nevermore; which, in American fashion, he made one word. American writers do the like with Forever, I think with bad effect. Ellesmere, in that most beautiful story of Gretchen, tells of a sermon he heard in Germany, in which that pathetic word verloren (lost) occurred many times. Every one knows what Dr. Johnson wrote about The Last. It is, of course, a question of individual associations, and how it may strike different minds; but I stand up for the unrivalled reach and pa- thos of the short word GONE. There is not very much difference, you see, between the three words. All are on the suburbs of the same idea. All convey the idea of a state of matters which existed for a time, and which is now over. AU suggest that the inmost longing of most hu- man hearts is less for a future, untried hap- piness, than for a return, a resurrection, beautified and unalloyed with care, of what has already been. Some how, we areready to feel as if we were safest and surest with that. It is curious, that the saddest and most touching of human thoughts, when we run it up to its simplest form, is of so homely a thing as a material object existing in a cer- tain space, and then removing from that space to another. That is the essential idea of Gone. Yet, in the commonest way, there is something touching in that: something touching in the sight of vacant space, once filled by almost any thing. You feel a blank- ness in the landscape when a tree is gone that you have known all your life. You are conscious of a vague sense of something lacking when even a post is pulled up that you remember always in the centre of a cer tam field. You feel this yet more when some familiar piece of furniture is taken away from a room which you know well. llcre that clumsy easy-chair used to stand; and it is gone. You feel yourself an inter- loper, standing in the space where it stood so long. It touches you still more to look at the empty chair which you remember so often filled by one who will never fill it more. You stand in a large railway station: you have come to see a train depart. There is a great bustle on the platform, and there 107 is a great quantity of human life, and of the interests and cares of human life, in those twelve or fourteen carriages, and filling that little space b~tween the rails. You stand by and watch the warm interiors of the car- riages, looking so large, and so full, and as if they had so much in them. There are people of every kind of aspect, children and old folk, multitudes of railway rugs, of car- pet-bags, of portmanteaus, of parcels, of newspapers, of books, of magazines. At length you hear the last bell; then comes that silent, steady pull, which is always striking, though seen ever so often. The train glides away: it is gone. You stand, and look vacantly at the place where it was. How little the space looks; how blank the air! There are the two rails, just four feet eight and a half inches apart: how close together they look. You can hardly think that there was so much of life, and of the interests of life, in so little room. You feel the power upon the average human being of the simple, commonplace fact, that some- thing has been here, and is gone. Then I go away, in thought, to a certain pier: a pier of wooden piles, running two hundred yards into the sea, at a quiet spot on a lovely coast, where various steam ves- sels call on a summer day. You stand at the seaward end of the pier, where it broad- ens into a considerable platform; and you look down on the deck of a steamer lying alongside. What a bustle: what a hive of human beings, and their children, and their baggage, their hopes, fears, and schemes, fills that space upon the water of a hundred and fifty feet long and twenty-five wide! And what a deafening noise, too, of escaping steam fills the air! Men with baggage dash up against you; women shrilly vociferate above the roar of the steam; it is a frag- ment of the vitality and hurry of the great city carried for a little to the quiet country place. But the last rope is thrown off; the paddles turn; the steamer movesit is gone. There is the blank water,~ churned now into foam, but in a few minutes tr~snsparent green, showing the wooden piles, encrusted with shells, and with weeds that wave about below the surface. There you stand, and look vaguely, and think vaguely. It is a curious feeling. It is a feeling you do not understand except by experience. And to a thoughtful person a thing does not become 168 GONE. commonplace because it is repeated hun- drinking, for stupid joking and laughter. dreds of thousands of times. There is some- No; let small-talk be manufactured some- thing strange and something touching about where else. And the influence of the lonely even a steamboat going away from a pier at place is lost, its spirit is unfelt, unless you which a dozen call every day. go alone, or go with very few, ~nd these not But you sit upon the pier, you saunter boisterously merry. But let us accept the upon the beach, you read the newspapers; picnic as a fact. It has been, and the party you enjoy the sense of rest. The day wears has been very large and very lively. But go away, and in the evening the steamboat back to the place after the party is gone; comes back again. It has travelled scores go back a minute after for something for- of miles, and carried many persons throngh gotten; go back a month or a year after. many scenes, while you were resting and What a little spot it is that you occupied, idling through these hours; and the feeling and how blank it looks! The place remains, you had when it was gone is effaced by its but the people are gone; and we so lean to return. The going away is neutralized by our kind, that the place alone occupies but the coming back. And to understand the a very little part in our recollection of any full force of Gone in such a case, you must passage in our history in which there were see a ship go, and see its vacant space when both scenery and human life. Or go back it is gone, when it goes away for a long after several years to the house where you time, and takes some with it who go for and your brothers and sisters were children ever. Perhaps you know by experience together, and you will wonder to find how what a choking sensation there is in looking small and how blank it will look. It will at an emigrant vessel clearing out., even touch you, and perhaps deeply; but still though you have no personal interest in any you will discern that not places, but persons, one on board. I have seen such a ship de- are the true objects of human affection; and part on her long voyage. I remember the you will think what a small space of mate- confusion and hurry that attended her de- rial ground may be the scene of what are to parture: the crowded deck, thronged with you great human events and interests. It old and young; gray-headed men bidding is so with matters on a grander scale. How farewell to their native land; and little chil- little a space was ancient Greecehow little dren who would carry but dim remembrances a space the Holy Land! Strip these of their of Britain to the distant Australian shore. history and their associations, and they are And who that has witnessed such a scene insignificant. And history and associations can forget how, when the canvas was spread are invisible; and at the first glimpse of the at length, and the last rope cast off, the out- place without them the place looks poor. burst of sobs and weeping arose as the great Let the little child die that was the light and ship solemnly passed away P You could see hope of a great dwelling, and you will un- that many who parted there, had not under- derstand the truth of the poets reflection on stood what parting means till they were in the loss of his, Twas strange that such a the act of going. You could see that the little thing, Should leave a blank so large! old parents who were willing, they thought, There is no place perhaps where you have to part from their boy, because they thought such a feeling of blankness when life has his chances in life were so much better in the gone from it as in a church. It is less so, new country, had not quite felt what parting if the church be a very grand one, which from him was, till he was gone. compels you to attend to itself a good deal, even while the congregation is assembled. Have you ever been one of a large gay But if the church be a simple one, and the party who have made an excursion to some congregation a very large one, crowding the beautiful scene, and had a picnic festival? simple church, you hardly know it again Not that such festivals are much to be ap- when the congregation is gone. You could proved; at least to spots of very noble not believe that such a vast number of hu- scenery. The noble scenery is vulgarized man beings could have been gathered in it. by them. There is an inconsistency in seek- The place is unchanged, yet it is quite dif-. ing out a spot which ought to awe-strike, ferent. It is a curious feeling to look at the merely to make it a theatre for eating and empty pulpit wher& a very great preacher GONE. once was accustomed to preach. It is espe- cially so if it be thirty years since he used to preach there; more so, if it be many cen- turies. I have often looked at the pulpit whence Chalmers preached in the zenith of his fame; you can no more bring up again the excited throng that surrounded it, and the rush of the great orators eloquence, than when standing under a great oak in December you can call up plainly what it looked in June. And far less, standing un- der the dome of St. Sophia, could one recall as a present reality, or as any thing but a dreamy fancy, the aspeot and the eloquence of Chrysostom ages since gone. The feeling of blankness, which is the essential thing contained in th~ idea sug- gested by the word Gone, is one that touches us very nearly. It seems to get closer to us than even positive evil or suffering present with us. That fixes our attention: it arouses us; and unless we be very weak indeed, awakens something of resistance. But in the other case, the mind is not stimulated: it is receptive, not active; and we muse and feel, vacantly, in the thought of something gone. You are, let us suppose, a country parson: you take your wife and children over to your railway station, and you see them away to the seaside, whither you are not to follow for a fortnight: then you come back from the railway station, and you reach home. The house is quite changed. How startlingly quiet it is! You go to the nursery, usually a noisy place: you feel the silence. There are the pictures on the walls: there the little chairs: there some flowers, still quite fresh, lying upon a table, laid down by little hands. Gone! There is something sad in it, even with the certainty of soon meeting again,that is, so far as there is certainty in this world. You can imagine, distantly, what it would be if the little things were gone, not to return. That is the GONE consummate. All who have heard it know the unutterable sadness of the farewell of the Highland emigrant leaving his native hills. You would not laugh at the bagpipes, if you heard their wild, wailing tones, blending with broken voices joining in that Macrimmons Lament, whose perpet- ual refrain is just the statement of that con- summate Gone. I shall not write the Gaelic words, because you could not pronounce them; but the refrain is this: We return, 169 we return, we return no more! Yes; Gone for ever! And all to make room for deer! There was a man whose little boy died. The father bore up wonderfully. But on the fu- neral day, after the little child was laid down to his long rest, the father went out to walk in the garden. There, in a corner, was the small wheelbarrow with its wooden spade; and the footprints in the earth left by the little feet that were gone! You do not think the less of the strong man that at the sight he wept aloud: wept, as Some One Else had wept before him. You may re- member that little poem of Longfellow, in which he tells of a man, still young, who once had a wife and child: but wife and child were dead. There is no pathos like that of homely fact, which we may witness every day. They were gone; and after those years in their company, he was left alone. He walked about the world, with no one to care for him now, as they had cared. The life with them would seem like a dream, even if it had lasted for years. And all the sadder that so much of life might yet have to come. I do not mind about an old bach- elor, in his solitary room. I think of the kind-hearted man, sitting in the evening in his chair by the fireside: once, when he sat down there, little pattering feet were about him, and their little owners climbed upon his knee. Now, he may sit long enough, and no one will interrupt him. He may read his newspaper undisturbed. He may write his sermon, and no sly knock come to the door: no little dog walk in, with much barking quite unlike that of common dogs, and ask for a penny. Gone! I remember, long ago, reading a poem called the Scottish Widows Lament, written by some nameless poet. The widow had a husband and two little children, but one bleak winter they all went together I ette whiles to spin, But wee, wee patterin feet, Come runnin out and in, And then I just mann greet: I ken its fancy a And faster flows the tear, That my a dwined awa, Sin the fa o the year. You have said good-by to a dear friend who has stayed a few days with you, and whom you will not see again for long: and you have for awhile, felt the house very 170 GONE. blank without him. Did you ever think how the house would seem without yourself? Have you fancied yourself gone; and the place, blank of that figure you know? When lam gone; let us not say these words, un- less seriously; they express what is, to each of us, the most serious of all facts. The May Queen has few lines which touch me more than these For lying broad awake I thought of you and Effie dear; I saw you sitting in the house, and I no longer here. Lord Macaulay, a few years before he died, had something presented to him at a great public meetingin Scotland; something which pleased him much. I shall treasure it, he said, as long as I live; and after I am gone There the great mans voice faltered, and the sentence remained unfinished. Yet the thought at which Macaulay broke down, may touch many a lesser man more. For when we are gone, my friends, we may leave behind us those who cannot well spare us. It is not for ones own sake, that the Gone, so linked with ones own name, touches so much. XVe have had enough of this world before very long; and (as Uncle Tom ex- pressed it) heaven is better than Kentuck. But we can think of some, for whose sake we may wish to put off our going as long as may be. Our minister, said a Scotch rustic, aye preaches aboot goin to heaven; but hell never go to heaven as long as he can get stoppin at Drumsleekie. No doubt that the fit of toothache may be gone; or that unwelcome guest who stayed with you three weeks whether you would or not; as well as the thing or the friend you most value. And there is the auctioneer~s Going, going, as well as this July sun going down in glory. But I defy you to vulgarize the word. The water which makes the At- lantic will always be a sublime sight, though you may have a little of it in a dirty puddle. And though the stupid bore who comes when you are busy, and wastes your time, may tell you when you happily get rid of him, that he will often come back again to see you (ignorant that you instantly direct your ser- vant never to admit him more), even that cannot detract frctm the beauty of Mr. Ten- nysons lines, in which the dying girl, as she is going, tells her mother that after she is gone, she will (if it may be) often come back: If I can Ill come hack again, mother, from out my resting-place; Though youll not see me, mother, I shall look upon yonr face: Though I cannot speak a word, I shall hearken what you say, And be often, often with you, when you think Im far away. A. R. H. B. EXTEMPORANEOUS SPEAKING. Carry no scrap of writing into the pulpit. Beware of undue length. Touch and go in these early attempts. Begin at once. When a friend of mine in- quired of the celebrated Gilbert Stuart how young persons should be taught to paint, he re- plied, Just as puppies are taught to swim diuck them in! No one learns to swim in the sea of preaching without going into the water. The more special the subject, the richer will be the flow of thought.Dr. J. W. Alexaader. BRANDY AND HONEY FOR BEARsWahla- chia, one of the Danubian principalities, abounds in honey and bears. The love of honey is the bears great weakness. The peasantry, aware of this, set a quantity of honey, saturated with brandy, in a place convenient of access. Their bearships scent the honey and greedily eat it, notwithstanding the ardent in which it is soaked. In a short time they play most ludicrous and extravagant antics, and finally tumble to the ground literally beastly intoxicated. In this condition the peasants find them an easy prey. DURING the past three months, considerable progress has been made in explorin~ the ruins of the ancient cities of Phmnicia. At Saada and Sour, remains of the crusaders were found, but none above ground of the Phmnicians. Gi- gantic blocks of granite, marking the limits of the ancient port of Sidon, still remain; also, on the plain to the cast of the site of the old city, a subterranean Sidon has been discovered. Some of the sculptures, etc., resemble those of Egypt; others, those of Nineveh and Perseophis. Among the objects brought to Paris are many articles of dress and common use, Phcenician coins, and a leaden sarcophagns of good workmanship. SIR B. BRODIE UPON HOMLEOPATHY. From The London Review. SIR B. BRODIE UPON HOM~EOPATIIY. SIR,Will you kindly allow me a small space in your valuable paper on a subject of great importance to many families P In the Times of last week appeared an article copied from Frasers Magazine, headed Sir B. Brodie upon Homoeopathy. In this article Sir Benjamin repeatedly acknowledges the success of homoeopathy, and that its pro- fessors thrive and flourish; he also con- fesses that its views are wholly unintelligi- ble to him. Having made these two acknowledgments, it might have been expected that he would deem it his duty to investigate practically these successful views, with the care and pains they would seem to demand; and, un- til they should become intelligible to him, would refrain from venturing either to state what they are, or to account for the success which he sees they have. Instead of pursuing this course so obvi- ously reasonable, Sir Benjamin, with youth- like temerity, explains what homceopathic views are, and engages in the enterprising undertaking of accounting for the success of homeeopathic practice. As this is a matter which really concerns every one very much, it is worth while for us to listen to what is said ex cathedrd upon it; and also to inquire what is advanced on the other side, by the advocates of the new method of healing. Whatis homoeopathic treatment? Accord- ing to Sir B. Brodie, this is soon told: it is quite as good as distilled water; it is no treatment at all. While, according to those who practise it, it is not a question of dose, but, as its name imports, a principle or method of selecting the drug remedies to be used, which differs from the former methods, and has reference to the properties drugs are ascertained to possess by experiments upon healthy persons. The dose in which the drugs so selected are given, though com- monly small, is a practical matter, left to the experience and observation of each practi- tioner; some giving the remedy in the form of globule, which is a little sugar saturated with a tincture of any strength; others never using globules at all, and always, or at least generally, giving the remedy in appreciable quantity. Are we warranted to infer from these con.. flicting definitions, that Sir Benjamin Brodie is not competent to write upon the subject he condemns? That he is not in a condition from want of knowledge, to pronounce whether is is right or wrong? But homoeopathic treatment is undeniably successful; how is this to be explained? Sir Benjamin offers three reasons. First, spontaneous recovery. The living machine has the power of repairing itself. If the arts of medicine and surgery had never been invented, by far the greater num- ber of those who suffer from bodily illness would have recovered, nevertheless. This doctrine differs, perhaps, from that which medical men have usually held; but admit- ting it to be true, homoeopnthic treatment, not interfering so much with nature as more active measures, must really be the best. In all cases which can recover spontaneously, strong dosing must rather hinder than help. The homocopathist at least lets his patient get well, while another practitioner, if he does not do worse, prolongs his patients ill- ness, by interfering more than is necessary with natures proceedings. It must be well for the public to understand this, that on Sir B. Brodies own showing, and in his own words, whenever homceopathy is a substi- tute for bad treatment, it must be the better of the two. But, secondly, this does not account for all the success of homoeopathy. There is the large class of imaginary or exagger- ated ailments. It is astonishing, says Sir Benjamin, to what an extent some per- sons contrive to imagine diseases for them- selves. And such feelings will disappear as well under the use of globules as they would under any other mode of treatment, or under no treatment at ill. For this class of sufferers, then, Sir B. Brodie admits that homoeopathy is at least as good as any other treatment. The third reason. Then come cases in which medical men have made mistakes in their diagnosis and treatment. Now, when the en~piric,.---as Sir Benjamin Brodie descends to designate his neighbor, who, it would seem, has been educated as well as himself, and who is as respectable, when the empiric, with the (medical) knowledge he possesses on these matters, succeeds bet- ter, that is, forms a more correct opinion of the nature of the case, and uses more ap 171 172 propriate remedies, we ~really cannot very well wonder that he should gain much credit with the public. It is then to be remembered that, in all these large classes of cases, including those which will of themselves naturally re- cover; those which are more or less imagi- nary; and those in which the physician has made a mistake: in all these eases, and they must form a large proportion of the actual amount of illness, it is admitted by the pres- ent head of the medical faculty in England that homeeopathy is as good as, if not better than, any other treatment. May not the public be congratulated in having met with men who can so often cure them so comfort- ably P But the tug of war comes at length: There are numerous cases in which spon- taneous recovery is out of the question, in which sometimes the life, and, at other times, the comfort or disccimfort of his existence, for a long time to come, depends on the prompt application of active and judicious treatment. It is asserted by the advocates of homatop- athy, and by these are meant educated men who, by patient investigation, think they have qualified themselves to form an opin- ion, and who, in stating facts with which they are familiar, claim to be heard, both by the public and by their medical brethren, SIR L~. BRODIE UPON HOM~EOPATHY. that the cases now under consideration are precisely those which afford the most strik- ing and convincing evidence of the superior efficacy of homoeopathie treatment. These facts are testified to, both by his patients and physician; while, on the other side, there is the assertion of Sir B. Brodie, on a sub- ject unintelligible to him, because uninvesti- gated by him, that homoeopathy is neither more nor less than a mischievous absurdity. Now, upon this matter, do not the inter- ests of the public entitle them to demand something more than assertion? May they not ask for a fair and open inquiry? And for a meeting between men possessing the same education and professional qualifica- tions, conducted with mutual respect, to hear what each has to say, and to see if, by some common investigations, this unmannerly quarrel may not be brought to a close? By laying aside mutual misrepresentations, for there are faults on both sides, by making concessions on minor points, by further sci- entific research, some common ground may, perchance, be discovered, whereby a breach in an honorable and useful faculty may be repaired; and so the public may again de- rive the full benefit, in their hour of need, of the zealous and praiseworthy exertions of a noble band of industrious, honest, and amiable men. J. R. A Kuw AN~sTazTIc.Under the name of~ kerosolene a new anusthetic has lately been un- dergoin,, investigation in America. The sup- posed discovery of its properties was made by its affecting a workman, who was employed to clean a cistern of some works, in which the sub- stance was the product of the operations carried on. Tho a~ent was thereon introduced to the Boston Medical Society; and Dr. Bigelo~v, in a letter to the Boston Medical Journal, reports his experience of it. He describes it as a tasteless fluid, volatile and inflammable, of a faint chlo- roform-odor, changing to that of coal-tar, and then disappearing altogether. Dr. Bigelow ex- perimented on himself The kerosolene, he says, was pleasant to inhale, and left no disabreeable afier-symptoms. In three patients, ho~vever, to whom he administered it, a feeble and intermit- ting palse was produced, with symptoms of asphyxia, and more muscular rigidity than usual in favorable anwsthesia. The properties of the fluid are, we believe, andergoing farther examination; and we shall probably hear in due time whether it is capable of taking the place of chloroform or ether.London Review. DAILY WEATHER MArs.A company has lately been formed for the purpose of issuing daily weather maps of the British Isles. In the map itself, which is permanent, circular cavities are cut against each of the towns from the mete- orolLgical stations at which information is trans- mitted, into which movable type symbols are inserted, these symbols being engraved with lines, dots, and arrows, in various combinations, to show the rising or falling state of the barom- eter, the direction of the wind, and the character of the weather. The information will be despatch- ed from all the provincial stations at nine AM. by telegraph, and the map will be published two hours afterwardseleven oclock. It will scarce- ly be possible to overrate the practical import- ance of these maps to the merchant, the sailor, and agriculturist, if the publication is punctual, and the means of transmission to purchasers rapid and prompt. The Greenwich standard has been adopted for the instruments in use, which, have been manufactured by Messrs. Negretti & Zambra, under the direction of Mr. Glaisher, the well-known secretary of the Meteorological Society.Loadon Review. THE SIZE OF SHIPS OF WAR. From The Examiner. THE SIZE OF SHiPS OF XVAR. WE learn from the Times that the five new iron frigates are each to carry sixty guns. Is this the right thing, or is the mis- take of building great ships of war only transferred from wood to iron? The short question is, whether sixty guns, and the corresponding complements of men, could not be more effectively disposed of in sev- eral vessels than in one. Except for the purposes of a stationary battery, the multi- plication of guns is of doubtful advantage, and, ceteris paribur, six vessels of ten guns each would be more effective than one of sixty, for which they would be a match, or more than a match, united, and if not united, available for six different objects. The whole thing as yet is experimental, and it seems to us that the experiment is com- menced at the wrong end with large ships. It is agreed that the desideratum is the combination of a powerful armament, not in number of guns, but range and weight of metal, with the maximum of speed. If these two conditions can be conjoined in a small vessel, she must have the advantage over any enemy of less speed, whatever may be her size and broadside armament. She would always be able to choose her own dis- tance and raking position, and being her- self a mere speck on the water, presenting no mark, would knock her enemy to pieces at her pleasure. But the question to be solved is where the maximum of speed is to be found. A certain hold of the water is necessary to it, but what it is has yet to be ascertained. If the huge frigates now projected will possess the highest possible speed, and consistently with it carry sixty guns, the plan is good, but not so if smaller vessels with fewer guns of the same calibre, would be more rapid in their movements. And this has not been tried. Suppose, for example, a vessel such as the queens yacht could carry three or four very powerful guns, would she not be irre- sistible? Whether she was iron-clad or not would hardly matter, for end on, the chances of her being hit would be small indeed, and a mere puff of smoke rising from the sea would only mark the place whence, un- touched, she might be riddling her enemy with shot and shell. If the iron plating would diminish the speed which is the real safety power, it would be unadvisable to adopt it. Whether, however, the highest rate of speed can be got out of a vessel of small or moderate size remains to be proved. As yet, hold of the water, which goes with size, has been found necessary to speed, but our fast packets, such as the Holyhead show what can be done where there is not top hamper, and one or two guns of great range and calibre could be borne by them without detriment to their fleetness. We cite pack- ets as example of capability, not as models, for a build peculiarly adapted to the pur- poses of war is to be desired, and the best - way to find it would be to offer a premium for a good sea boat which can carry a single heavy gun with the highest rate of speed. Whenever that model can be found it will be easy to advance upon it in size, if greater size be wanted. But naval men of the old school hold a broadside armament indispen- sable, and though it may be incompatible with speed, they will not hesitate to sacrifice speed to the fashion of armament belonging to their time. Wedded to their old usages, they will not ask themselves the question, what is the use of this broadside armament if it stands in the way of getting at the en- emy by a top hamper adverse to speed? There are remarkable exceptions, however, to this remark, amongst them eminent Lord Fitzhardinge, an admiral of the old school, formerly Sir Maurice Berkeley, whose high authority is in favor of small craft with a long rifle gun or two; also Admiral Sir Charles Elliot (not the leaky), and others we could mention, whose names carry great weight with them, and who all incline to the opinion that it is an error to pack up a great number of men and guns in huge ships, whether wood or iron, instead of distributing them in many smaller and faster vessels, more formidable to an enemy from their number, activity, and power of distant at.. tack in safety. The sting of gnats is bad enough, but what would it be if the gnats could sting without coming within reach of their tormented subject? We may ask of what will avail the fire of small vessels against strongly fortified iron ships? The gun or guns of the small craft we assume to be always equal to the largest of the great ship, which great ship is a broad mark to the small, while the small is a mere speck to the great. But if the shot mako 173 174 DR. WILKINS~ PROPHETIC DREAMS. no impression upon the iron sides, what is ent be considered little recommendation to a the use of hammering at the long range P society of gentlemen learned in the law. The hammering will tell with repetition, or He was one of that small but distinguished if it does not, the conclusion must be that body of learned men to whom England is ships in armor cannot hurt each other, and indebted for the foundation of the Royal that their arms are no more formidable to Society for the Improvement of natural each other than ladies fans. But every Knowledge a body which has since in- screw iron ship has the vulnerable place of cluded, and still includes, most of those who Achilles in the heel, to that point fire will have chiefly distinguished themselves in the be directed, as a single shot hitting the screw pursuit of science in En gland. Appointed would disable the vessel, make her a mere warden of Wadham College, Oxford, in log on the water at the mercy of her enemy. 1648, during the troublesome political dis- turbances of the great rebellion, Dr. Wil- kins does not seem to have meddled much From All the Year Round. with politics, but, marrying a sister of Oh- DR. WILKINS PROPHETIC DREAMS. ver Cromwell, then Protector of England, he INSTANTANEOUS and, in case of need, se- naturally attached himself to the ruling cret communication has advanced within a party. His time, however, at Oxford was few years through the successive phases of a occupied in pursuits congenial to his tastes, wild vision, a bare possibility looming in for there were held at his rooms those meet- the distance, a reality too strange to be fully ings, commenced at the lodging of Dr. appreciated, and an ordinary matter of fact. Petty, at which were assembled the Honor- That it was a short time ago the first, is as able Mr. Robert Boyle, Dr. Willis, Mr. Ash- certainly true as that it is regarded now as mole (founder of the Ashmolean museum), a mere sixpenny convenience, but, like many Dr. Seth Ward (afterwards Bishop of Salis. other of the most important and interesting bury), Dr. (afterwards Sir Christopher) discoveries of modern science, before even Wren, Dr. (afterwards Sir William) Petty, the knowledge of which it is born had come and many others. These kindred spirits into the world, telegraphy had its prophetic discussed subjects antiquarian, astrologic, announcement. Shortly after the discovery medical, and mechanical, rather than politi- of printing, and the religious and political cal, and laid the foundation of a club which ferment that followed closely upon that dis- afterwards ripened into the much more im- covery, there was an amount of speculative portant institution we have named. prescience among the pursuers of science At the Restoration, Dr. Wilkins, who had that has at no other time been equalled. retained the appointment of master of his Men were not overloaded with facts, and college after his marriage, contrary to the they allowed their imaginative and poetic statutes and by a dispensation from Crom- faculties full play. Very vague and uncer- well, was, of course ejected, and, coming to tam, no doubt, was the glimpse of futurity London, his fortune was for some time at they got; but it was often real, and much of the lowest ebb, for he was out of favor both it has since been fully verified, at court and at Lambeth, and could hardly It is now just two centuries ago that the expect much preferment. He did not, how- Honorable Society of Grays Inn selected as ever, for this reason slacken in the pursuit their preacher the Reverend Dr. John Wil- of what then passed for natural philosophy, kins, at that time a puritanical clergyman, but continued to communicate on such sub- in the forty-sixth year of his age, not un- jects with his scientific friends. He also known to his contemporaries, but chiefly re- formed one of a party who met at Gresham markable for his great skill in what were College, first, to hear the lectures there given, then called the mathematicks. Preach- and afterwards for mutual converse, every ers were then, as now, selected for the Inns Wednesday afternoon during term time at of Court with the liberal toleration that three oclock, where, amongst other mat-- looks straight at a mans worth, and Dr. ters that were discoursed of, something was Wilkins was an able, earnest clergyman, as offered about a design of founding a college well as the author of works on the physical for the promoting of physico-mathematical science of his day, which might even at pres- experimental learning. DR. WILKINS~ PROPHETIC DREAMS. There arose at this time, as Dr. Wlie- well observes, a group of philosophers, who began to knock at the door where truth was to be found, although it was left for New- ton to force it open. These earnest and honest men were the actual founders of the Royal Society, and among the foremost of them stands the Reverend Mr. Wilkins. It was while thus occupied that our philos- opher received the appointment of preacher at Grays Inn. His affairs and finances be- ing thereby improved, and his position in London established, he presided on the 28th November, 1660, over a remarkable meet- ing, at which it was finally decided to form a society for the pursuit of natural knowl- edge. This society having shortly after- wards been mentioned to the king, his ap- proval and encouragement were obtained, and, being announced on the following 5th December, the Royal Society may be said to have been from that time established. The chairman of a meeting at which so remarkable a body received life must ever be regarded as a personage in English sci- ence. But he was also a remarkable man in himself, for in spite of his puritanical opin- ions and his intermarriage with the family of the arch-rebel, he contrived to put him- self on good terms both with the political and ecclesiastical authorities after the Res- toration. Thus, in 1662, when the first charter of the Royal Society was granted by King Charles the Second, we find among those mentioned as members of the first and modern council of twenty-one, to whom was devolved the important duty of selecting the first fellows of the society, Rob- ert Boyle, Kenelm Digby, William Petty, Christopher Wren, and others, with John Wilkins, Doctor of Divinity, as worthy as- sociates for so worthy a purpose, the object of the society being to confer about the hidden causes of things, with a design to es- tablish certain and correct uncertain theories in philosophy, and by their labors in the dis- quisition of nature to prove themselves real benefactors to mankind. In the year preceding that in which the charter was granted to the Royal Society, Dr. Wilkins had been presented to a living in the city in the gift~of the crown, a~d soon afterwards he was promoted to the deanery of Ripon. In 1668, he was appointed to the bishopric of Chester, and, we are told by his biographer, that in the exercise of his im- portant functions in the latter part of his career (which terminated in 1672) he filled his episcopal office with a goodness answer- able to the rest of his life, but with a pru- dence above it, considering the two extremes of popery and fanaticism, which were no- where then so much as in his diocese. Turning now to consider the scientific dreams and discoveries of Dr. Wilkins, we begin with a work published in 1638, en- titled A Discovery of a New World; or, a Discourse tending to prove that it is proba- ble there may be another Habitable World in the Moon: with a Discourse concerning the Possibility of a Passage thither. This idea of the moon being inhabited was not then new, and has not quite passed out of date. While at one time we are told that the absence of atmosphere and water would render life on it impossible, at another time astronomers suggest the possibility of vapor and atmosphere different, perhaps, from that to which we are accustomed, but by no means incapable of supporting a mooncalf. As to the passage thither, indeed, no practicable means have ever been suggested, for al- though the author of the tract before us be- lieves that the earths attraction, supposed by him to be a kind of magnetism, might be overcome in various ways mechanically, more complete knowledge of the nature of the force of gravitation has added greatly to the improbability that we can ever move our- selves beyond its local influence. This, there- fore, is a prophecy unaccomplished, and is likely to remain so. A year or two after the publication of the essay just referred to, Wilkins published a treatise entitled Mercury; or, the Swift and Sure Messenger: showing how a Man may, with Privacy and Speed, communicate his Thoughts to a Friend at any Distance. Con- cerning this book the following doggerel lines of a certain Richard West, who edited a sec- ond edition some years afterwards, will serve to give a general notion. He tells us that not only are we to learn the way of attaining perfect secrecy in communication, but Our thoughts will now arrive before theyre stale: They shall no more wait on carriers ale And hostesstwo land remoraes which bind All to a tortoise-pace though words he wind. This books a better ark: we brook no stay, Maugre the deepest flood or foulest way. 175 DR. ~ PROPHETIC DREAMS. Afterwards addressing the author, the editor, rising in a higher poetic vein, ex- claims Thea your diviner hieroglyphicks tell, How we may landskips read and pictures spell. You teach how clouds inform, how smoaks advise; Then saints will incense talk to deities. * * * * * Tis not like jugglers tricks, absurd when shown, But more and more admired the more tis known. Writings an act of emanation, And thoughts speed quick and far as day doth run. Doggerel indeed! Marvellous revelations would be expected from such an announce- ment; and, although the first glance at the book suggests a notion that the secrets thus trumpeted are somewhat shabby and lean, there are some exceedingly singular sugges- tions mixed up with odd and appt~rently un- meaning matter. The art of secret informa- tion generally is defined and set forth in great minuteness of detail, and with a dis- tinct Greek and Latin nomenclature worthy of a new science. It includes three branches: the first of which is a kind of arranged non- sense-talk, made up of broken words, and corresponds well with the peculiar jargon that school-children have adopted from time immemorial when discussing their affairs with favorite companions. The second de- partment includes the formation and use of cypher alphabets, often invented and modi- fied with great ingenuity, but always capa- ble of being made out when there is anyreal necessity for doing so. The third method is a kind of short-hand, but the key to this, like that of cyphers, and also like that of many written languages almost lost, can be with singular ease discovered, owing to the much greater abundance of certain letters and words in every language than others, and an invariable and inevitable law thus obtained. All these methods or departments of secret communication, curious and ingen- ious enough at the time, may now be said to have little value, and possess no general interest. While, however, describing these familiar and not very useful secrets, our author sug- gests others far less probable, as it might seem at the time, but which have been found more useful and practicable. Thus he speaks of a flying chariot than which imagination itself cannot conceive any one more useful, since by this means a man may have as free a passage as a bird, which is not hindered by the highest walls, or the deepest rivers and trenches, or the most watchful sentinels. It is true that the notion of sailing through the air lik~ birds is of very ancient date, and that Roger Bacon states that he has heard of a machine to accomplish this purpose. But it seems certain that no human being ever actually ascended far into the air in any floating balloon till, in 1783, the broth- ers Montgolfler made their first successful experiment near Lyons, in France. It would be difficult, however, to find words to ex- press in smnller space, or with greater ref- erence to the modern contrivances of bal- loons, all that these machines can perform, than those made use of in the above short extract. Balloons, indeed, have not yet been made useful, except on a small scale, in war, but that is because they cannot yet be guided. When this is secured the prophetic descrip- tion will be perfect. On the subject of rapid communication of news generally, we find in this same work a reference to three saturnine angels and certain images by which in the space of twenty-four hours a man may be informed of news from any part of the world. If the saturnine angels or messengers be translated to mean metallic wires, and the images the dial-plates of telegraphic instruments, all that is apparent in the electric telegraph would be described, but as the nature of the power or influence is not alluded to, the hint is hardly sufficient. Much more distinct, however, is the sentence that follows shortly after, when certain fabulous relations that concern secret and swift conveyances, are thus described. Let there be two needles provided of an equal length and business, being both of them touched with the same loadstone. Let the letters of the alphabet be placed in the circles on which they are moved, as the points of the compass under the needle of the mariners chart. Let the friend that is to travel take one of them with him, first agreeing upon the days and hours wherein they should confer together, at which tAmes, if one of them move the nee- dle of his instrument to any letter of the al- phabet, the other needle, by a sympathy, will move unto the same letter in the other 1.76 HOW TO BURN POWDER. iTT instrument, though they he never so far dis- Bishop Wilkins set forth their ideal views of taut. And thus, by several motions of the what science is doing or will do. Although needle to the letters they may easily make what they wrote seems to us now so unprac- up any words or sense which they have a tical, we must not conclude that men of this mind to express. stamp were without wisdom and honesty, or Dr. Wilkins, while he thus describes what that they did not exert themselves to the he was informed could be done, evidently utmost, according to their knowledge and has grave doubts as to its possibility. He oh- powers, for the improvement and enlighten- serves, first, that every natural agent is sup- ment of mankind. They had hut few facts posed to have some certain sphere, which de- to work upon, and little experience of accu- termines its activity, and therefore that this curate observers to fall back upon. Every sympathy hetween distant magnets was im- thing around them was equally new and probable. Secondly, he says, that mag- wonderful, and if they had not generalized netical operations do not arise from mere by instinct they never could have arrived at sympathy, but from such a diffusion of these the useful conclusion that we frequently meet magnetical qualities through the medium with, and the suggestions that abound in that they may he continued from the agent their works. Step by step knowledge has to the patient. Still he describes and re- advanced; one after another the various fers to it as to a fact, and it is not a little sciences and departments of science have curious to see in this suggestion of a result taken their natural place in the great series. only recently attained, how completely the At one time minute accuracy of detail, and imagin~ition has gone ahead of the observ- at another broad generalizations, have ing and reflective faculties. The principle marked the advance, hut those have not involved in all practical telegraphic opera- been the least valuahle friends to scientific tions, that of making soft iron magnetic by research who have collected the facts and passing through it a galvanic current, and suggested the practical applications that the facility thus obtained of making and un- might possibly result from them. There making a magnet at will is not referred to was something of prophecy even in the sci- in these speculations, and is altogether a entific dreams of Dr. Wilkins, because he modern invention. The communication of loved truth, and pursued science for its own magnetjc currents by metallic wires, although sake. The difference between the habit of exceedingly useful and generally adopted, is thought in such a man two centuries ago and not so essential, and thus one very small at the present time is not greater than the step, and one only, really separates this sug- difference that exists between the early and gestion, doubtful even to the suggestor, from later memoirs published in the Transactions the marvellous realization of our own day. of that learned body of which Dr. Wilkins There is something exceedingly interest- was a founder. ing in looking back to the infancy of science _________ and tracing the foreshadowing of great in- ventions in the mind of an ingenious man, From The London Review. whose imaginative and poetic intellect was HOW TO BURN POWDER. enabled to overleap the mechanical difficul- WE bad occasion, a few weeks ago, to lay ties that for centuries prevented the success- before our readers an account of some in- ful carrying out into practice of the ideas he genious experiments by means of which entertained. It may be very doubtful whether Captain Rodman, of the Ordnance Depart- such guesses and vague fancies really assist ment of the United States, had ascertained the more matter-of-fact discoverer in after the varying amounts of pressure in different times, but there is no doubt that they pre- parts of a cannon during the act of discharge. pare the minds of men, and keep alive an ex- He found that when ordinary small-grained citemeat which may often tend in its opera- powder is burned in a cannon the combus- tion to promote discovery. tion is so rapid, and the gases are conse- One word more with regard to the appar- quently so quickly developed and so highly ent vagueness of the accounts, and even the heated, that an enormous pressure is pro- impossibility of obtaining a fairly accurate duced at the breech of the gun before the notion of the details, when such men as ball starts from its seat,; then, as the gases THIRD SERIES. LIVIKG AGE. 772 178 HOW TO BURN POWDER. expand the pressure is rapidly reduced, so shot starts very slowly at the breech, and that the velocity of the hall is small in pro- moves with a constantly accelerated velocity portion to the maximum pressure exerted along the bore, it is necessary, in order to upon the gun. It occurred to him upon as- make the pressure uniform throughout, that certaining this fact, that if the powder were the ga~s should be evolved from the burn- made to horn a little more slowly, the pros- ing powder with a corresponding accelera- sure would he less at the breech, and would tion. follow up the ball with more force during its With granular powder, however, the corn- passage out of the gun, thus giving greater bustion commences on the surface of the velocity to the shot, with less danger of grains, and proceeds inwards; the size of the bursting the cannon. He accordingly at- grains and the extent of burning surface is tempted to produce a slower comhustion by constantly being reduced, and consequently making the powder in large grains, which the rapidity with which the gases are evolved were compressed with great force so that is retarded instead of being accelerated. they could not be permeated by the gas, but Captain Rodman, therefore, devised a form must burn only by gradual combustion com- of cake powder, in which the burning surface mencing from the outside and extending in- was constantly being enlarged instead of re- wards. duced, the pressure of gas increasing in the Powder was accordingly procured of the same ratio. A cylinder of exactly the same same quality, except in the size of the grains, size as the bore of the gun is furnished with which were in one sample three-tenths of an a piston; slightly damp powder is placed inch in size, in another five-tenths, and in into this, and it is moulded into a cake by the last six-tenths. These were experimented means of powerful pressure applied to the with in an 11-inch gun, using the same top of the piston. This latter is armed with weight of charge and of shot at every fire. steel rods at equal distances over its surface, The results are given in a tabulated form in and of the same length that the cake is re- his official report. They prove at a glance quired to be thick; by means of these the that the pressure in his gun is more equal- cakes of powder are pressed into shape, and ized, and the actual velocity of the shot in- are perforated with cylindrical boles at the creased as the diameter of the grains be- same time. Each cake is from one to two comes larger. The smallest grained powder, inches thick, and is made of such a.size and three-tenths of an inch in size, produced a shape that it will exactly fit the bore of the pressure at the bottom of the bore of thirty- gun. The combustion in this case will be five thousand pounds to the square inch, wholly from the insides of the hollow tubes which was reduced to sixty-seven hundred through the cake, and the increasing rapid- pounds, at twenty-eight inches from the ity of the evolution of gas may be regulated bottom of bore, giving an actual velocity to so as to give any desired pressure along the the shot of only eight hundred and ninety bore by establishing the proper relation be- feet per second; whilst the powder of largest tween the number and diameter of the cylin- grain, six-tenths of an inch in size, though drical holes and the thickness of the walls producing a pressure of only twenty-one between them. The thickness of the walls thousand pounds at the bottom of the bore, should be such as to be burned through by followed it up with eight thousand pounds at the time the projectile has nearly traversed twenty-eight inches, and gave a velocity to the length of the bore, allowing the gas to the shot of nine hundred and thirty-three act expansively during the remainder of the feet per second. A little theoretical reason- distance. ing upon the results thus obtained shows It will be readily seen from the foregoing that the granular form of powder is not the that this form of cake powder gh~es us entire best for o:dnance purposes, whatever be the control over the rate of combustion of the size of the grains employed. In order to charge, a fact the importance of which can give the greatest possible velocity to the hardly be overrated. Our own government shot with such degree of pressure as may be has lately been moving gradually in the safely employed, the pressure against the right direction by increasing the size of the shot should continue nearly uniform through grains of powder used in heavy ordnance out its passage from the gun; and as the and we now understand that one of our most DiSCOVERY ~F A NEW COD DEPOT. confirms the first account. One or two ad- ditional vessels had been equally successful with those originally sent out, and their cap- tains and crews give a glowing account of the fish-wealth which may be gathered at this lonely spotand it is lonely enough, being one hundred and thirty miles from lone St. lililda. The statements they give of the great fish they saw, and the wealth to be gathered there, seems [says Dr. IDawson] more like the adventures of Sinbad the Sailor than proved facts by successful fishermen. They tell of encounters with great sharks thirty feet long, with mouths that could swallow calves, and bodies as large and round as tuns; of their fears and surprises from the numberless large whales sporting and rising on every side of them, one having actually grazed the bottom of the Victoria with its huge sides. They also saw numbers of strange fish which they had never seen be- fore, and some black fish larger than por- poises, with flat round heads, and which seemed very numerous. 179 celebrated gunsmiths has been investigating iDawson, in writing an account of the dis- the subject, and is about to introduce solid covery, to the newspapers, says, that each of blocks of compressed powder to fit the bore the smack took a hundred pounds worth of of the rifle, and be dropped down in the fish in five days fishing. Captain Rhodes same way as the ball. No time should be informs me says the doctor, that they lost in verifying, if need be, these results, caught the fish as fast as they could bait and when, if they are such as both experiment haul, and when any of the cod escaped from and theory indicate, the cake form of pow- the book, great monstrous sharks, as blue as der, will, we doubt not, be generally intro- if painted with a brush, darted round the duced into the service, ships side, and swallowed them in an in _________ stant. The very sea-birds were tame, evi From The London Review. dently never having been disturbed there by man, some of them flying on board and eat- DISCOVERY OF A NEW COD DEPOT. ing the offal. THOSE unacquainted with the natural his- Further information, received after a see- tory of fish have been greatly astonished by ond expedition to this fishermans el dorado, an account given in the daily newspapers of the discovery of what may be called a new cod dep6t. The story of the finding out of this new fishing bank is very simple. lathe course of last June, the captain of a London cod smack had in vain tried to obtain a cargo of fish at the once plentiful fishing stations of the Faroe Islands. After persevering for six weeks, he was compelled to leave the place clean, and instead of proceeding to try his fortune at Iceland with the rest of the cod fleet, he made for the Orkney Islands, in company with a Gravesend smack, in or- der to prepare for a campaign at a place called Rockall, situated about three hundred and sixty miles west by south of the Ork- neys. The captains reason for going there arose from a conversation he had some fif- teen years ago with the mate of an Irish ship. They had been messmates together on board of a man-of-war, and upoi~the cap- tain informing his old friend that he was in charge of a cod smack, and went every sum- mer to the North Sea to capture cod, The North Sea be blowed, said the We are very glad to chronicle the discov- friendly mate of the Irishman. You dont ery of this new fishing bankist, because know where to catch cod, you dont; go to the present banks are being rapidly cx- Rockall, where there is a bank eighty miles hausted; and 2nd, because the discovery in lcngth, swarming with fish! I have been goes a long way to settle the fact of the sea two or three times becalmed there, and being colonized by fish much in the same caught cod as big as donkeys and as plenty way that the earth is inhabited by man. as blackberries! This was great news, if The reason, it will be seen, why Rockall it were but true; and that the news was as was tried at all was the failure of the fishing nearly true as could reasonably be expected at the Faroe Isles, hitherto oiie of the great there is now the best authority for believing, strongholds of this particular fishery; and On the 2nd of last July, the two vessels every person at all conversant with the his- sailed from North Isles, and on the 13th of tory of our fisheries knows that the vast the same month they were both enabled to fishing-banks on the coast of Newfoundland return, filled with many tons of fish. Dr. are not nearly so prod~ictive as they used to 180 DISCOVERY OF A NEW COD DEPOT. be. Nearer home we have seen one fish- colonies. Thus we have the term a school ing-ground after another exhausted, till it of whales; we have also the young sal- became a kind of standing wonder that we mon in shoals, each years growth in sepa- obtained any thing like a supply of fish at rate companies, and every fish as local in its all. The great Dogger Bank is nearly used dwelling-place as men are; we know, too, up. Of the supplies of fish derived from that the herrings live also in nations which first to last from this gigantic dep6t, some arrive at maturity in vast groups at differ- idea may be formed from the following state- ent periods of the season. The same laws ment which was published a few years ago govern the crustacere. Persons who deal in in the Quarterly Review: shell-fish can easily tell the different locali- ties from whence they derive their supplies. A Scotch lobster can he readily distinguished from a Norway one; and a native oyster differs considerably from a scuttle-mouth. These are all points which ought, long ago, to have led to a better understanding of the natural and economic history of fish. This ignorance has welinigh ruined our most val- uable fisheries. We have been trading for years in the belief that the supply was inex- haustible, and are but beginning to find out that it is even possible to exhaust the sea. The German Ocean has been so long the fishing-pond of Europe, that we can scarcely wonder, considering the wealth that has been drawn from its depths, that its supplies are beginning to fail us. There can be no doubt, however, that other sources of supply will be discovered; if so, we can only hope that some method will be observed in harrying the nest, in order that the supply may be made to go as far as possible. It is almost time that some new ground were formed in place of the famous Dogger- bank, which has now been preyed upon by so many nations for centuries, and has sup- plied so many generations of Catholics and Protestants with, fast and feast food. No better proof that its stores are failing could be given than the fact that, although the ground, counting the long bank and the north-west fiat in its vicinity, covers eleven thousand eight hundred square miles, and that in fine weather it is fished by the Lon- don companies with from fifteen to twenty dozen of long lines, extending to ten or twelve miles, and containing from nine thou- sand to twelve thousand hooks, it is yet not at all common to secure even as many as four-score fish of a night. The fact that fish heid together in great flocks or nations seems now to be well es- tablished. All the inhabitants of the great deeps, from the mighty whale down to the tiny minnow, live in what may be termed LUCIFER MATCHES. Mr. Gore, a recent writer on this subject, gives some astonishing statistics respecting this branch of manufacture. The firm of Messrs. Dixon employ four hun- dred workmen, and generally have on hand 8,000 or 10,000 worth of timber. Each week they consume one ton of sulphur and make 43,GOO,000 matches, or 2,160,000,000 in the year. Reckoning the length of a match at two and one-fourth inches, the total length of these would far exceed the circumference of the earth. Another calculation has been made, that the whole length of waxed cotton wicks consumed every year by one London manufacturer in the production of vestas, would be sufficient to reach from England to America and back again. The magnitude of the figures relating to the English manufacture of matches is, how- ever, insignificant when we turn to the Austrian production. Two makers alon~, M. Pollak, at Vienna, and M. Fiirth, in Bohcinia, produce the amazing number of 44,800,000,000 matches yearly, consuming twenty tons of phosphorus and giving employment to six hundred persons. The low price at which these necessaries of life are produced is equally astonishing. M. Fiirth sells his cheapest boxes at one penny per dozen, each containing eighty matches. Another maker sells the plain boxes at twopence per hundred, and 1,400 matches for one farthing; whilst a third maker sells a case of fifty boxes, each con- taining one hundred lucifers, for fourpence. The imports of matches into the United King- dom are of the value of 60,000 yearly, repre- senting the enormous number of 200,000,000 daily. The daily consumption is 50,000,000 more than the above number, or upwards of eight matches each day for every individ the kingdom.Loadoa Review. - ual in EPITAPHThe following is the epitaph on a man who was too ~OO~ to be buried with his relations in the church of Kingsbridge here lie I, at the chancel door; Here I lie, because Im poor; The further in the more to pay; Here I lie as warm as they. THE PAiNTER AND THE APPARITION. From All the Year Rocid. THE PAINTER AND THE APPARITION. SOME few years ago a well-known English artist received a commission from Lady F. to paint a portrait of her husband. It was settled that he should execute the commis- sion at F. Hall, in the country, because his engagements were too many to permit his entering upon a fresh work till the London season should be over. As he happened to be on terms of intimate acquaintance with his employers, the arrangement was satis- factory to all concerned, and on the 13th of September he set out in good heart to per- form his engagement. He took the train for the station nearest to F. Hall, and found himself, when first starting, alone in a carriage. His solitude did not, however, continue long. At the first station out of London, a young lady entered the carriage, and took the corner opposite to him. She was very delicate looking, with a remarkable blending of sweetness and sadness in her countenance, which did not fail to attract the notice of a man of observation and sensibility. For some time neither uttered a syllable. But at length the gentleman made the remarks usual under such circumstances, on the weather and the country, and, the ice being broken, they entered into conversation. They spoke of painting. The artist was much surprised by the intimate knowled~e the a young lady seemed to have of himself and his doings. He was quite certain that he had never seen her before. His surprise was by no means lessened when she sud- denly inquired whether he could make, from recollection, the likeness of a person whom he had seen only once, or at most twice? He was hesitating what to reply, when she added, IDo you think, for example, that you could paint me from recollection? He replied that he was not quite sure, but that perhaps he could. Well, she said, look at me again. You may have to take a likeness of me. lie complied with this odd request, and she asked, rather eagerly, Now do you think you could? I think so, he replied; but I cannot say so for certain. At this moment the train stopped. The youno lady rose from her seat, smiled in a friendly manner on the painter, and bade hini good-by; adding, as she quitted the carriage, We shall meet again soon. The train rattled off, and Mr. H. (the artist) was left to his own reflections. The station was reached in due time, and Lady F.s carriage was there, to meet the expected guest. It carried him to the place of his destination, one of the stately homes of England, after a pleasant drive, and de- posited him at the hall-door, where his host and hostess were standing to receive him. A kind greeting passed, and he was shown to his room: for the dinner hour was close at hand. Having completed his toilet, and descend- ed to the drawing-room, Mr. H. was much surprised, and much pleased, to see, seated on one of the ottomans, his young companion of the railway carriage. She greeted him with a smile and a bow of recognition. She sat by his side at dinner, spoke to him two or three times, mixed in the general conver- sation, and seemed perfectly at home. Mr. H. had no doubt of her being an intimate friend of his hostess. The evening passed away pleasantly. The conversation turned a good deal upon the fine arts in general, and on painting in particular, and Mr. H. was entreated to show some of the sketches he had brought down with him from Lon- don. He readily produced them, and the young lady was much interested in them. At a late hour the party broke up, and retired to their several apartments. Next morning, early, Mr. H. was tempted by the bright sunshine to leave his room, and stroll out into the park. The drawing- room opened into the garden; passing through it, he inquired of a servant who was busy arranging the furniture, whether the young lady had come down yet? What young lady, sir? asked the man, with an appearance of surprise. The young lady who dined here last night. No young lady dined here last night, sir, replied the man, looking fixedly at him. The painter said no more: thinking with- in himself that the servant was either very stupid or had a very bad memory. So, leaving the room, he sauntered out into the park. TIe was returning to the house, when his host met him, and the usual morning salu- tations passed between them. 181 THE PAINTER AND THE APPARITION. Your fair young friend has left you? observed the artist. What young friend? inquired the lord of the manor. The young lady who dined here last night, replied Mr. H. I cannot imagine to whom you refer, replied the gentleman, very greatly sur- prised. Did not a young lady dine and spend the evening here yesterday? persisted Mr. H., who in his turn was beginning to won- der. No, replied his host; most certainly not. There was no one at table but your- self, my lady, and I. The subject was never reverted to after this occasion, yet our artist could not bring himself to believe that he was laboring un- der a delusion. If the whole were a dream, it was a dream in two parts. As surely as the young lady had been his companion in the railway carriage, so surely she had sat beside him at the dinner table. Yet she did not come again; and everybody in the house, except himself, appeared to be igno- rant of her existence. He finished the portrait on which he was engaged, and returned to London. For two whole years he followed up his profession: growing in reputation, and work- ing hard. Yet he never all the while forgot a single lineament in the fair young face of his fellow-traveller. He had no clue by which to discover where she had come from, or who she was. He often thought of her, but spoke to no one about her. There was a mystery about the matter which imposed silence on him. It was wild, strange, utter- ly unaccountable. Mr. H. was called by business to Canter- hury. An old friend of hiswhom I will call Mr. Wylderesided there. Mr. H., being anxious to see him, and having only a few hours at his disposal, wrote as soon as he reached the hotel, begging Mr. WTylde to call upon him there. At the time nppointed the door of his room opened, and Mr. Wylde was announced. He was a complete stranger to the artist; and the meeting be- tween the two was a little awkward. It ap- peared, on explanation, that Mr. H.s friend had left Canterbury some time; that the gentleman now face to face with the artist was another Mr. Wylde; that the note in- tended for the absentee had been given to him; and that he had obeyed the summons, supposing some business matter to he the cause of it. The first coldness and surprise dispelled, the two gentlemen entered into a more friendly conversation; for Mr. H. had men- tioned his name, and it was not a strange one to his visitor. When they had con- versed a little while, Mr. Wylde asked Mr. H. whether he had ever painted, or could undertake to paint, a portrait from mere description? Mr. H. replied, never. I ask you this strange question, said Mr. Wylde, because, about two years ago, I lost a dear daughter. She was my only child, and I loved her very deeply. Her loss was a heavy affliction to me, and my re- grets are the deeper that I have no likeness of her. You are a man of unusual genius. If you could paint me a portrait of my child, I should be very grateful. Mr. Wylde then described the features and appearance of his daughter, and the color of her eyes and hair, and tried to give an idea of the expression of her face. Mr. H. listened attentively, and, feeling great sympathy with his grief, made a sketch. He had no thought of its being like, but hoped the bereaved father might possibly think it so. But the father shook his head on seeing the sketch, and said, No, it was not at all like. Again the artist tried, and again he failed. The features were pretty well, but the expression was not hers; and the father turned away from it, thanking Mr. H. for his kind endeavors, but quite hopcless of any successful result. Suddenly a thought struck the painter; he took another sheet of paper, made a rapid and vigorous sketch, and handed it to his companion. Instantly, a bright look of recognition and pleasure lighted up the fathers face, and he exclaim- ed, That is she! Surely, you must have seen my child, or you never could have made so perfect a likeness? When did your daughter die? inquired the painter, with agitation. About two years ago; on the 13th of September. She died in the afternoon, after a few days illness. Mr. H. pondered, but said nothing. The image of that fair young face was engraven on his memory as with a diamonds point, and her strangely prophetic words were now fulfilled. A few weeks after, having completed a beautiful full-length portrait of the young lady, he sent it to her father, and the like- ness was declared, by all who had ever see~t her, to be perfect. 182 SCIENCE AND PASSION. 183 From The Saturday Review, melancholy moral that passion is vanity. SCIENCE AND PASSION. Valvedre is written to show how hollow and Ii any one wishes to estimate the differ- foolish all ill-managed love-making is, what ence which separates the current literature poor, silly creatures the women are who long of the Continent from that of England, the to be idolized at any expense, and what a most instructive writer he can turn to is Un- great gain it is for a man to leave such things questionably George Sand. There are plenty behind him forever. The hero of Valvedre is of writers who outrage more completely the reclaimed in a manner that would be thought feelings which in England are most highly highly proper on this sidethe Channel. Heis honored, and who reveal, with a more brutal made to work very hard and very sedulously frankness, all the extremities of Parisian at a factory for seven years, and is then sud- recklessness. But George Sand has this denly married to the daughter of a Swiss great and distinguishing merit that she pastor. But this is only half the moral of alone gives us the good side of what we set the hook. The writer wishes to show, not ourselves to condemnthat she can feel, if only that passion fails, but that something not expound, a philosophy of life that may else succeeds. This something is science. be a deplorable mistake, but cannot be called The last discovery of the authoress of Lelia ignoble or tameand that she really raises is that wisdom and happiness lie, riot in the problems as to the constitution and the daring discussionof religious difficulties or usages of modern society which are worth in the fierce triumphs of a defiant love, thinking over seriously. She has lately writ- but in botany and mineralogy, in watching ten a novel called Valvedre, which is, in its the path of glaciers, in contemplating the way, a remarkable work. It must be con- order and harmony of nature, and in col- fessed that she has not got more lively as lecting and arranging the contents of a mu- she has gone on writing; and in spite of the seum. finish of its style, Valvedre would be a very No one who reads the book can refuse to heavy dose for any one who read it merely acknowledge that she is perfectly serious in as a tale. But it is not without considerable thisthat she is heartily tired of her old interest to those who are acquainted with the frame of mind, and that she sincerely be- general scope of her writings. It marks a lieves she has found a new life full of beau- great revolution in her opinions and her ties that cannot decay. The names of other philosophy; and though many people, as continental writers also instantly occur who they grow old, are apt to go through some have gone through something of the same change of the sort, yet the particular shape history. The author of the Sorrows of Wer- which this change assumes in a Frenchwoman ter spent the evening of his life in examining of genius has its own special interest. In the growth of plants and the laws of color; her early days, she devoted herself to paint and the most fanciful of French historians the phases, the excuses, and the course of has taken to describing birds, and the loves passion. She claimed that, in defiance of of whales. But in George Sand we get the the judgment of a conventional world, pas- philosophy of this transformation stated as sion should, if sincere, be considered its own a philosophy. Valvedre lays down as a thesis justification. We will not stop now to esti- which the author is prepared to maintain mate what fragment of truth there may have against all disputants, that science is the been in the vast mass of error which she true antidote to passion and the true source poured forth with such amazing rapidity, of human happiness, whereas sensuous ex- But this was her creed, and she shrank from citement is the true source of human misery. none of its consequences, and adorned it with Most English readers would say that this the ardent eloquence and the touches of was a very poor kind of repentance, and that poetical sweetness which never failed her. the sinner ought to turn saintly and not sci- With passion she allied art; and music, entific. Substantially this is true; but it painting, and the artistic representation of ought to be remembered that in nost Cath- scenery were freely used both to express and olic countries, and especially in France, turn- to complete the fervor and romance of her ing saintly means turning into that mixture lovers. She has now apparently outlived of panic and love of excitement which is ~dl this. She has at least attained to the known as becoming devote. George Sand SCIENCE AND PASSION. expressly discusses in Valvedre the worth of this kind of transformation, and decides that it is only a passion in another form, and af- fords no real relief to a mind that is not overtaken by terror, but longs for a relief from the cravings of a spurious appetite for excitement. Whether she is right or wrong is another matter; but it is more important to notice what she accepts, and not what she rejects. This notion of science being the antidote of passion is one not at all familiar to English people. Rare instances in pri- vate life may, indeed, be found where a phi- losophy of the sort has been acted on; but nine people out of ten who would read Val- vedre carefully would be obliged to own that the point of the hook was one that was new to them, and seemed very paradoxical. Of course good young people who have been brought up to work hard at science may be saved by it from many errors, but so they would have been if their work had been mathematics or Sanskrit. All subjects of hard study bring the benefits which hard study confers; and no study, whether sci- entific or not, will keep people right who have nothing else to trust to. But this is quite beside the mark at which George Sand is aiming. The real drift of Valvedre is, that persons who are tired of passion without having bean brutalized by it, or who have recoiled from the abyss on the edge of which they have been standing, may find a new life and security in science; and it is worth while to think what it is that she means, and how far ~vhat she means is true. The chief reason~ we imagine, why science has such a charm for minds like that of George Sand, is that it presents something fixed, external, and impersonal. Those who have felt, and thought, and suffered much, who have listened to the whisperings of fancy, who have loved with a natural and then with a factitious enthusiasm, who have sought in art an aid to sensibility, and have tormented themselves with the mysteries of human existence, get sadly tired, after a time, of the vanity of their pursuits. But where are they to go as a refuge? The sub- jects of thought most congenial and familiar to them only lead them over the same old path, and back into the barren wishes of their own unsatisfied wishes. Men engaged in active life, and women on whom family cares press with a daily load, are easily drawn away from a morbid contemplation of themselves. But people of leisure, the sort of people for whom Valvedre is written, may have nothing in the circumstances of their outer life to call them away from un- profitable meditation. Science, however, must he acknowledged to offer very much of what they want. The world of which it tells is a world that exists in equal beauty and with equal certainty whatever may be the feelings or the cares of man. Science offers a region where facts only prevail, and where what is once apprehended is never lost. In the religious repentance which, in an English book, would replace the scientific repentance of George Sand, one of the great comforts of the wounded, and desolate, and despairing heart is that it clings to a Being outside itself. In however much humbler and more impure a degree, something of the same feeling strengthens and calms the mind that, weary of the world, begins to occupy itself with naturewith nature, that is, not as seen through the spectacles of mans feel- ings, hut as it is apart from man, ~overncd by its own laws and full of its own wonders. It is true that there is nothing in science analogous to the active response vouchsafed in religious repentance. It is only some- thing external and apartit is not something external and apart that returns an answer- ing support. But the mere fact that it has an existence independent of the shifting feel- ings of a tired and depressed mind gives it an inestimable value to the sufferer. It opens to him a door of escape behind which he can leave his burden of glocmy fancies and vague misgivings. Science has also the great charm of offer- ing a complete cure for vacuity of thought. It gives plenty of workof work that may be made unceasing, that may easily be made to fill up every hour of the day, and may em- ploy the body as much as the mind. How passionately people long for workhard, but not too hard, exciting, but not too exciting when the time of weariness and despond- ency has come with the shade of advancing years, may be learned from the eagerness with which many women in middle age throw themselves into the life of conventual estab- lishments, or take to ministering among the poor. It is true that other employments be- sides the pursuit of science afford plenty of work. Hour after hour soon slips away in 184 SCIENCE AND PASSION. writing a book or painting a picture, but the work of science is much more varied, and especially of science as George Sand loves to picture it. Her scientific hero is a man who passes whole weeks in surveying the unexplored portions of the Alps, who is mak- ing the most interesting experiments in light, electricity, glaciers and so on, who has a retinue .of followers, and a faithful friend with a marvellous knowledge of botany. This is the romance of scientific life. To have a fortune and to despise it, except so far as it enables its possessor to do science on a magnificent scale, is not given to every one. But, in a less degree, the enjoyments of the philosopher of Valvedre are within the reach of all students. Those who take up science as a mental diversion rather than in the hope of making a valuable contribu- tion to the stock of scientific knowledge, have one advantage over those who go to work in a more scrious way. They need not confine themselves so closely to the study of details. They can select those portions of not entirely abandon t without a sense of loss and desolation, and who are yet smitten with a longing to connect tbemselvcs with the ordinary world and to check the taste for whatever is morbid and extravagant. If a rhapsodist wishes to indulge his genius, he cannot rhapsodize more easily on any sub- ject than on the wonders of creation. A poetical writer has also the advantage, in studying science, of portraying a feeling which he is sure is genuine, noble, and spon- taneous. The wonders of creation over- power and fascinate the mind that fairly opens itself to the impression they create. A man of science, who expresses with any thing like adequacy the emotions which the marvels disclosed to him naturally awaken, is as sure that he is describing what in all ages must be felt by all men of feeling as the most consummate master of the play and sweep of passion can possibly be. It is easier to be right in delineating the poetical side of science than in analyzing the springs of human action; and although no scientific the particular science they take up which description is more true than Othello is true require locomotion and permit them to en- as an account of human action under certain joy at will the busy idleness of an out-of- circumstances, yet excellence in scientific door philosopher. M. Michelet would prob- description requires infinitely less power ably have had to spend years over the than is exhibited iii Othello. While, there- microscope if he had aspired to reveal to the fore, poetical science is not more true than scientific world any new phenomena of in- the highest truth of the drama, it is much sect life. But a smattering of knowledge, more within the compass of common minds. and a great amount of pleasant wandering And at the same time that science is full of in pleasant places, enabled him to do all he poetry to a poetical mind, it has yet a strong wanted, and to find in insects a new subject tendency to confine the student within the for poetical description. His books are per- limits of common sense. Extravagant, baps scarcely scientific enough to answer to vague, and inaccurate language is glaringly the ideal of science which George Sand has out of keeping with the sober realities and formed. But they are near enough to sup- inexhaustible accuracy of nature. There is ply a good illustration of what she means, an element of the business-like in an occupa- and no one can doubt that the labor spent tion so bound up with method and order as by their author in preparing to write them scientific investigation, and the neutral tints must have been a labor of love, of business and common sense have an at- There is also in science a mixture of poetry mosphere of repose that allures those who, and common sense which may be readily con- like the authoress of Valvedre, have long ceived to be very inviting to persons who been accustomed to glaring colors. have long lived in a poetical world, and can- 185 186 From The Spectator, 1 Sept. ENGLAND AND THE SOUTHERN STArES. WE fear there is no little reason to ap- prehend- that the leading members of the English Government have already under their consideration the propriety of recog- nizing, early in the autumn, the independ- ence of the Southern States; and that un- less some decisive victory and rapid success of the North intervenes, or English opinion declares very strongly against it, this step may be soon taken. The second reinforce- ment of Canada, which has taken place since Parliament separated, and the language and sympathies of the Government journals, are some indications of this danger. At all events, there is no doubt that it is a ques- tion much canvassed in influential quarters, and that the strong desire of the Govern- ment to secure Lancashire against a cotton crisis, together with an impression which is widely prevalent in political circles that it would be a great advantage to England to see the power of the United States broken up into fragments, tends to persuade them to adopt it. It is, therefore, exceedingly important that this country should speak out its mind on the subject at once. We have no difficulty, for our own part, in speaking out ours; though we fear that but one of the great Liberal organswe need hardly say that we allude to the Daily News, the only paper which has done justice to the North throughout this long and pain- ful crisiswill support the same view with any warmth. But from the English people we expect something different. There is, we feel persuaded, a large silent class, who care as much about the slavery cause as their fathers did thirty years ago, and who are not prepared to see England throw her influence hastily into the opposite scale with- out a protest and a struggle. Whatever our opinion may be as to the chances of the war, we must remember what a premature recog- nition of the Southern Confederation would, in fact amount to. It would exert a double set of influences; it would be a great moral discouragement to the North, and it would be not only a great encouragement, but a new lease of strength, to the South. Are we prepared that the same Government, which in the coldest terms declined to ac- knowledge Hungarian independence in 1849, when Hungary was absolutely victorious in ENGLAND AND THE POUTflERN STATES. a great physical as well as constitutional struggle with Austria a struggle which might, for any thing we know, not have to be fought over again this year had England then recognized the Hungarian victory, as she ought to have done, and forbidden the unwarrantable intervention of Russiaare we prepared that this same Government, which knew nothing of Hungary except as a constituent part of Austria, shall now anticipate the issue of this struggle between the American rebels and their rightful Gov- ernment, after a contest of little more than half a year, during which there has been no time to organize the really enormous re- sources of the Free States? If we do this, we shall break our strongest tie with the Free North. An eminent American author has well expressed the disappointment of the Free States in the attitude taken by England in a letter to Lord Shaftesbury It is not to be disguised that one unfor- tunate result of our American crisis has been a weakening of national confidence in England, and a feeling of great sensitive- ness and soreness in our relations with the country. . . . It is not to be disguised that they regard themselves as suddenly aban- doned in the very crisis of a battle by the moral forces of those brethren on whom they had relied as undoubtingly as on them- selves, and the possibility of whose failure had never entered into their most distant calculations. . . . It is not principally by the Government course of the English na- tion that this class among us feel aggrieved. It is not with that that they principally con- cern themselves. . . . By false representa.. tions and false issues, our friends in Eng- land have been blinded to the real signifi- cance of the sublime movement which the American nation has just commenced. How will this feeling be increased by any official recognition of the South while yet the contest isin the mind of the Northern States at leastquite undecided and still hopeful? It may be all very well for Eng- lish politicians, who get almost all their im- pressions through the cotton interest in the United States, to say that the struggle has no connection with slavery. The Northern people know that it has. They know, as Mrs. Stowe asserts, that the election of last year hinged entirely on the question of slav- ery-extension; that the organization of the Republican party w~s founded on the re- solve to pen up slavery within its existing ENGLAND AND THE SOUTHERN STATES. limits; and that it was the triumph of this policy which determined the Slave States to rebel. This is so notorious that no one can dispute it for a moment. The taunt that Mr. Lincoln is not prepared to fight the bat- tle on the issue of emancipation is true. But it is quite as true that he is being com- pelled to take this line by his supporters, as well as by the fQrce of circumstances; and it is certain that the Northern States would consent to no terms which did not settle the question of slavery-extension at once and forever. Practically, therefore, if we antici- pate their defeat, if we paralyze them by giving our verdict in favor of the new South- ern power, and sending an ambassador to Montgomery, we shall have gone out of our way to foil the Free States in their first pitched battle against slavery. We did not recognize even the kingdom of Italy while Francis II. held the field against his oppo- nents. We paraded our diplomatic incapac- ity to comprehend that Hungary had broken loose from Austria; and if here, in a coun- try where no political right has ever been denied to the rebel states, where the only grievance is that, after a long supremacy, they have been outvoted and defeated in their love for the most debasing element in modern civilization, if here we make haste to hail the rising power, New England will be justified in saying that Old Englands anti-slavery sympathies are mere hollow sentimental pretences, since she can rest satisfied to stuff her ears with cotton against the cries of the slaves, and to compensate her gentle regret over the new impulse given to slavery by her lively gratification over the paralyzing shock suffered by De- mocracy. This rupture with the Free States at the very juncture when we can learn most from them and give them heart- ier sympathy than at any time since their independence, would, to our minds, be a great national calamity. Again, we shall certainly draw much closer our alliance with the chivalric~~ South if we are among the first, perhaps the first, to recognize her independence. Is this what the people of England really wish? The crisis seems to be one expressly intended to relieve England of the humiliat- ing obligations under which she lies to an institution wholly abhorrent to all our high- est 1olitical tendencies. Let us but for a 187 single year develop the cotton resources of India and the other subsidiary free cotton countries, and we should be freed forever from the nightmare with which all thought- ful politicians have been oppressed during the last generation. They have felt, and felt most justly, that to depend for the mainte- nance of millions on a cotton supply which is the fruit of frightful guilt, is at once a dis- grace and a perila disgrace, because, as we now see, it restrains the natural drift of our political sympathies; a peril, because the system is so~ radically corrupt that it may collapse at any moment with a crash. All this they have felt; and if now that the time is come when Providence forces us to look elsewhere,to turn to a country where we should confer boundless prosperity by our purchases instead of boundless misery, if at such a moment we hug our chains and cannot tear ourselves at any persuasion from our beloved long-staple cotton, then we deserve to be subjected to the same hu- miliation and peril under which we have so long groaned for another cycle of Egyptian servitude. This, too, we say, would be a great national calamity. Let us remember distinctly what it means. It means the re- lapse of our national conscience into, first, a toleration,then, probably a positive ap- proval of slavery. Once let us draw close our relations with an independent South by the ties of a mutually selfish gratitude, once let us feel committed to the advocacy of that noble and patriotic cause, of which a repudiator is the Washington and slavery is the corner-stone, and we may be sure that slavery sentiment will fast gain head in England. The generous sympathies of Mr. Gregory, the member for Galway, will soon be shared by numbers of our leading men, and it may not be long before the same country which paid twenty millions sterling to wipe out the blot of slavery upon our col- onies will be glad to lend as much to a thriv- ing slave commonwealth for the purpose of making good its frontier against the en- croachments of a free republic. Nor will it stop here. No sooner shall we have assisted the South to attain its in- dependence, than new questions of the first importance will come up as to slavery-exten- sion and the slave trade. Mexico and an Anglo-Saxon slave commonwealth can never be peaceable neighbors. The South already ENGLISH LAW AND JUSTICE IN INDIA. intend to absorb Mexico. For twenty years back their policy has tended in this direction. The Knights of the Golden Circle are pledged to the attempt. The genius of the slavery cotton-system requires constant en- largement of area, and Mexico is not the state to resist any consistent and well-organ- ized pressure. We shall have soon to face the efforts of the South to absorb Mexico as part of the slave commonwealth, and the same peril which makes us bend before it now will bid us bend before it then. We shall be involved in the meshes of the slav- ery net, and be more sensitive than ever to the danger of slave insurrections, the men- aces of Northern abolitionists, in short, the moral necessity of supporting the South against its Northern foe. And what will be our reward Pthat we shall have a less formidable rival in Disu- nited than we could ever have in the United States. This is one of those political mo- tives which we can never hear confessed without wondering at the unblushing self- ishness of statesmen. It has, we know, a real influence on English thought at the pres,ent moment. It is thought that we shall find our advantage in the quarrels of our rivals. Perhaps so; if it be our advantage to fear them less, and to be more than ever in the hands of one of them at least. The South may become to us another Turkey, with far more than the moral complications of Turkish misgovernment. We may drift sooner than we think into a real or fancied necessity for maintaining the integrity of the South against the North. A weak and unscrupulous ward contrives practically to impose a far more galling yoke than a pow- erful and audacious rival. We are now at the meeting of the ways. If we are wise, we shall stand sedulously aloof from all diplomatic action till the contest is over, and either one combatant is vanquished or the two have made their own terms. But all our moral influence ought to be clearly given to the North, and if the conclusion of the struggle leaves any por- tion of the Southern States independent, it should be our earnest endeavor to support the Northern States in the policy of sealing up slavery within certain impassible limits, and forever terminating the slave trade. If the moral influence of England is cast into the other scale, we shall say that a Liberal Administration will have deliberately in- flicted a greater injury on the cause of free- dom than any singlegeneration of ]~iberals can hope to retrieve. From The London Review. ENGLISH LAW AND JUSTICE IN INDIA. A STORY reaches us from Calcutta that would be very difficult to believe, if the facts were not placed before us in the unimpeach- able form ~of a report of proceedings in a Court of Justice. As the details unwind themselves before us, we read and wonder, inclined to hope that the printers must have made a mistake in laying the scene in a country governed by English law.~ But no; the prosecutor, the defendant, the witnesses, the jury, the judge, are all subjects of Queen Victoria; and the case is reported with such elaboration and minuteness as to prevent all suspicion of its being a hoax. The facts of this very strange story are as follow The Rev. Mr. Long, a missionary of the Established Church of England, has labored in his vocation in India for twenty years, preaching Christianity among the undoes, and endeavoring, in order that he might be the better able to understand the peculiar idiosyncracy of the native mind, to make himself thoroughly acquainted with the pep-. ular literature current in their own tongue among the race which it was his mission to Christianize. Among other works in Ilindostanee, which came under Mr. Longs notice, as a student of contemporary literature, was a play, en- titled, Nil Durpan; or, the Mirror of In- digo Planting, in which the dramatist sat- irized the life, manners, and oppressive conduct, real or alleged, of the British in- digo-planters in India, and held them up to the ridicule or hatred of his countrymen. The reverend gentleman, being struck with this work, not for its beauties or its merits, but for the insight it afforded into the work- ings of the native mind, and for the light it threw upon their prejudices and their griev- ances, actual or imaginary, translated it carefully, printed it, and transmitted copies to the principal people concerned in the gov- eminent of India, as well as to a few of the leading philanthropists, men of letters, and journalists of England. The sensitive in- 188 ENGLISH LAW AND JUSTICE IN INDIA. (ilgo-plaLters chosQ to consider this drama as a inclicious libel upon them, and put forward one of their number to prosecute Mr. Long for publishing it. Incredible as it may ap- pear, Mr. Long was tried upon the charge, found guilty, and sentenced to a months imprisonment in the common gaol, and to I pay a fine of one thousand rupees. The presiding judge, Sir Mordaunt Wells, in passing sentence, dwelt severely upon the insinuations in the play against the charac- ter of planters wives in India, and asked the jury to consider in their verdict whether the insinuation was not a reproach against the whole middle class of the women of Eng- land, and whether it could have been published by a clergyman of the Church of England, with a bond fide and conscientious belief that it would forward the interests of society? The jury were of the same mind as the judge, and found the defendant guilty;~ on which the judge pronounced the astound- ing sentence above mentioned. Evidently the indigo-planters must have sore consciences if they cannot endure as a body charges which were not levelled against any individual among them. Their attempt to sacrifice Mr. Long, for rendering both them and the Government of India the ser- vice of showing them what the native popu- lation thought of them, whether rightfully or wrongfully, will recoil upon themselves. A sentence so utterly preposterous cannot, we should hope, be allowed to stand; but if it lead, as we trust it will to a thorough in- vestigation, on appeal in this country into the true relations subsisting between the in- digo-planters and the peasantry of India, and (if the report of the trial be correct, as we presume it to be) to a rigorous inquiry into the conduct of the presiding judge, and into the administration of justice in India, it will not have been passed in vain, and Mr. Longs condemnation will have aided the cause of truth and justice. It is possible that the insinuations or charges in~ the play were wholly false ; but that is not the point at issue. Mr. Long, it appears, has also translated from the Hin- dostanee attacks by native philosophers upon the fundamental truths of Christianity, and has circulated them among the clergy of the Established Church, the officials of the Gov- ernment, and the leading Europeans in In- dia, besides sending copies to London; and in so doing he has rendered good service to the cause of the Gospel, by thus giving every missionary who, like himself, may design to spend his life in the conversion of the na- tives of India to a purer faith, an opportunity of confuting statements of the existence of which they might otherwise have been igno- rant. To know and understand the current of the native mind in questions of theology, is necessary for every teacher of religion, if he would combat error and clear away mis- conception; and it seems to us that Mr. Long might have been prosecuted for blas- phemy, for translating and circulating such tracts among educated and zealous Chris- tians, with as much reason as he has been prosecuted for libel for circulating among the same classes the play of Nil Durpan. The fine levied upon Mr. Long was, it ap- pears, paid into court as soon as inflicted, by a wealthy native; and there will be, we hear, no lack of funds to carry the case through every court in the empire, if need be, until it reaches the highest. We may therefore expect to hear more of it at some future time; and, unless a very different color be given to the case, it is plain that justice will not be satisfied by a reversal of the decision, without the dismissal of the judge, whose charge to the jury and whose sentence on the defendant shows a spirit of partisanship which is never witnessed on the bench of England and cannot be tolerated in her dependencies. AIds METAL. The composition of this siderably bent without cracking or breaking, celebrated alloy for cannon, with which such whilst its absolute and relative resistance cx- valuable results have been obtained in the Aus- ceeds that of iron of good quality. Recent cx- trian marine arsenals, has hitherto been kept a periments assign to it the composition of 60 parts copper, 382 zinc, and 18 iron. It is, secret. It possesses a high degree of tenacity; however, supposed by some that the iron is of it can be puddled, hammered, and worked, like no real ~aluc, being only useful in diminishing the best forged iron, and when cold can be con- the net cost of the alloy.Londoa Review. 189 190 THE GOLDEN TREASURY. From The Saturday Review, is however, much to be lamented, that the THE GOLDEN TREASURYA~ wholesale insertions and restorations of over- MR. PALGRAVES volume is no ordinary zealous collecting editors should have tainted book of extracts for schoolroom consump- many of our finest examples with undue sus- tion, jumhled together without rhyme or picion. In the first and second hooks, which reason, and where Dr. Watts invariahle should to all intents include the whole class busy hee alternates with a platitude of Mrs. chronologically (excepting, of course, the Barhauld. Our author confines himself to media~val specimens), we can only find 0 lyrical pieces hy dead poets. He does not waly waly up the Bank, Fair Helen of commence hefore the Elizabethan era, which iKirconnell, and The twa Corhies, de- excludes Chaucer, the morning star of signedly printed together. These three English song, and others of whom we would specimens are, it is true, as good as are to gladly see specimens, as rendering tbe cob he found, but we are dissatisfied at the ab- lection more complete in an historical aspect. sence of others, and could even afford to The first Book comprises the ninety years ter- oust some of the Celias and ILucastas (not minating with 1616. The second takes us the one with the nunnery metaphor) to make down to 1700. The third to 1800. The room for them. Take, for instance, the fourth includes the deceased poets of this Bonnie Bairns, with the requisite central century. These Books are named from idea dbveloped strongly enough into an cx- Shakspeare, Milton, Gray, and Wordsworth quisite ballad, considerably more lyrical thaii respectively, the average of its class. Or, should we here To our authors definition of lyrical poetry suspect some modern touches of Allan Cun- we are not disposed to except, especially as ningbam, it might be inserted a century later. it is advanced with hesitation and modesty. The religious character of the piece is not Lyrical has been here held essentially to sufficiently strong to warrant exclusion, if imply that each poem shall turn on some compared with The Ode on the Nativity. single thought, feeling, or situation. In ac- Now that the works of Mr. Tennyson are cordance with this, narrative, descriptive, hecoming so thoroughly classical, it mit, ht and didactic poemsunless accompanied hy be interesting to his contemporaries, as it rapidity of movement, brevity, and the col- certainly will be to future commentators, to oring of human passionhave been exelud- observe the influence of the second ballad, ed. Certainly nothing can well be more Fair Helen, p. 87, on his Oriana. vague than the changes and combinations Wordsworths success, we may remark, in which the term lyrical has lately under- versifying this fine relic was in nowise not- gone on wrappers and title-pages of sensi- able. Mr. Palgrave has given us further on tive minor poets as yet ungathered to fame, two comparatively modern variations on the Yet we conceive that by stretching a little its uncertain original text of the Braes of original meaning into suitable for music, Yarrow,one anonymous, the other by Lo- or fit to be sung, we can get a rough but gan,besides printing Wordsworths Yar- sufficient test for working purposes, without row unvisited and visited. Among this analyzing so deeply as our author what the abundance on one particular theme, we yen- term is intended to imply. There must oc- ture to regret the absence of, to our minds, cur a good deal of debatable land between the best version of allthat by William lyrical and narrative rhyme in the real old Hamilton of Bangour, published about 1760, ballad poetry, as opposed to its most sue- according to Percy. This Mr. Palgrave, in cessful modern imitations, such as Lord a note, considers inferior to what he has Ullins daughter or Rosabelle. It is given. At any rate, Wordsworth chose the probably on this score that so many genuine version which we prefer for imitation. Coin- ballads are here excluded, that we are in- pare, for instance, one of Hamiltons verses dined to consider this kind of composition with any thing in our authors ballad of pp. as somewhat too slenderly represented. It 118120 ~ The Golden 7reasury of the best Songs end Lyr- ical Poems ie the English Language. ~ Selected and Curse ye, curse ye, his useless, useless shield, Arranged with Notes, by Francis Turner Paigrave, The arm that wrocbt the deed of sorrow, Fellow of Exeter College, Oxford. Cambridge The fatal spear that pierced his breast, Macmillan and Co. 1861 His comely breast, on the Braes of Yarrow/ THE COLDEN TREASURY. We admire and applaud Mr. Paigraves courage in admitting a thoroughly typical and honest ballad of a totally different tone and manner, Sally in our Alley, the fresh- ness and genuine feeling of which will out- last many more showy productions. It abounds with a most quaint expression of real and deep pathos, yet one can scarcely repress a rising inclination to smile at every other line. We do not doubt that Mr. Palgrave has found the task of selection from among the sonnets of Shakspeare difficult enough. He warns his readers, with great justice, that these pieces are not to be mastered or under- stood offhand. Indeed, we know nothing which requires tougher study or thought. Among the smaller lyrical fragments out of the plays, we are glad to find an old favorite of ours, seldom quoted and almost unknown as compared with Crabbed Youth and Age, or When Icicles hang by the Walls. It occurs in the Twelfth Night: What is love tis not hereafter; Present mirth hath present laughter XVhats to come is still unsure; In delay there lies no plenty Thea come kiss me, sweet-and-twenty, Youths a stuff will not endure. This we take to be perfect quintessence of Shakspeare, and yet it is often passed over unnoticed. For exhaustive statement, preg- nancy of meaning, and closeness of thought, it is seldom equalled. The words are all of the commonest, or even homeliest descrip- tion; and the ideas at first sight seem al- most trivial. Shelley and Keats might have studied such an extract with advantage. l,7~Te miss in Mr. Palgraves work, however, one verse out of Hamlet which, unlike the former, is justly celebrated, and claims, we suggest, admission in this collection, as being more essentially lyrical than the great pro- portion of the Shaksperian extracts already admitted therein. It is the well-known-. Why, let the stricken deer go weep, The hart ungalled play: For some must watch, while some must sleep! Thus runs the world away. Mr. Palgrave has headed the Twelfth Night extract with Carpe diem. He apologizes, once for all, in a note for the va- rious titles he has prefixed on his own re- sponsibility. No doubt he has bestowed much thought on this, as on other incidental difficulties of his task; yet in most cases we should prefer to print the first line of the extract, for to give a new title is a kind of retouching pro tanto, and a modern Shak- sperian heading generally looks like a res- toration in an Elizabethan structurethat is, very rarely of a piece with the rest. Carpe diem especially has an Epicurean echo about it totally foreign to the more real philoso- phy and more earnest atmosphere of the quotation. We also suggest that one speci- men at least of the many mad songs once so curiously current in this country, and, we believe, almost peculiar to it, might be added to the volume. A well-arranged and conscientiously se- lected collection like that before us is pecul- iarly valuable as conducive to and encour- aging a more expansive appreciation of the poetry of different schools and centuries. Such universality of taste is but little cur- rent at the present day. There is an in- creasing tendency to swear by some partic- ular poetic master and to hate and deny all merit to the rest. Thus the lover of Shak- speare must be the hater of Pope; and the reader of Byron shall hold no converse with Wordsworth or Coleridge. We suggest, no doubt, extreme cases, but to speak roughly and in all generality, Pope, Wordsworth, and Mr. Tennyson may be said at the pres- ent moment to be the suppliers of ideality to old age, middle age, and youth respect- ively. These parties of verse-readers inter- changeably hate each others gods, and thereby much after-dinner discussion is pro- moted and no very tangible result ensues. It is, however, about equally probable that a ploughboy should come to be lord chan- cellor utterly without talent, as that any man should raise himself to be the poet of his own or any subsequent age without some intrinsic merit of the highest character. Granting this, the fault will be in ourselves and not in their verses if we cannot discern their excellence. It is therefore folly to in- sist upon proselytizing every one to that par- ticular style of composition which may suit our individual age or temperament. Another advantage of such a collection of miscellaneous pieces is, that chances of com- parison and more extended reputation are thereby afforded to the poets of one poem, whose single work is often only a& cessihle in such volumes. Charles Wolfe, who wrote 191 192 the Burial of Sir John Moore, is the most remarkable type of the class we allude to; for although his literary remains were published, and to a certain extent known, his whole fame rests on these few stanzas. But besides Wolfe, and putting out of sight all the anonymous pieces, equal to the best, where all record of the hand that wrote them has been lost, we have only to turn over the pages of Mr. Palgraves Treasury to find de- tached poems of the highest excellence by authors whose very names many will proba- bly meet with there for tbe first time. As of the poet, so of any particular workcon- tinued popularity would undoubtedly, in a very great proportion of instances, presup- pose certain merit; but in reviewing a lyr- ical collection, we may in all justice qualify this conclusion by observing that the pres- ervation of some songs to the present day may have resulted entirely from their lyrical success,that is, because they were songs, and not from their excellence as poetry. More than this, the personal reputation of some favorite vocalist of the time may have earned them undeserved popularity. Thus, any song which Mr. Robson takes in hand would have an excellent chance of street success. These remarks arise from our find- ing Gays Black-eyed Susan among the fortunate candidates for admission into Mr. Palgraves exclusive volume. We confess to suspecting that the popularity of this poem is, in a great measure, to be thus ac- counted for. To our minds, there is a stage- marine flavor about it, redolent of later liMb- dinism, if we are allowed the expression. A really perfect specimen of the genuine sea- song is given us here, at p. 201, without title. This is by Allan Cunningham, and we have always heard it called The Snor- ing Breeze. As Mr. Palgrave does not ob TUE GOLDEN TREASURY. ject to manufacture new headings, it is not unfair to ask him to prefix an old one when tolerably expressive. In one collection of songs we have seen, the perverse delicacy of the editor has softened this to swelling breeze. We are glad to observe that our author has printed a remarkable piece called To- morrow (p. 163), of the author of which, it appears, nothing has survived except his surname, Gollins. We had also aeon this song before in a manuscript version, with some trifling differences from the present. Mr. Palgraves note here is to the point, and suggests a novel and unexplored direction of criticism It is a lessen of high instructiveness to examine the essential qualities which give firatrate poetical rank to lyrics such as To- morrow, or Sally in our Alley, when com- pared with poems written (if the phrase may be allowed) in keys so different as the subtle sweetness of Shelley, etc., etc. . . . Intelli- gent readers will gain hence a clear under- standina of the vast imaginative range of poetrythrough what wide oscillations the minds and the taste of a nation may pass how many are the roads which truth and na- ture open to excellence. In conclusion, we thank Mr. Palgrave for a pleasant and instructive volume. In the arrangement and carefully considered juxta- position of the different extracts, it is cer- tainly superior to any book of the class we have yet seen. With his evident knowledge of the subject, our author has modestly con- fined himself to four pages of preface, and a very moderate amount of notes at the end of the work. In other respects, he is con- tent to retire into the background, and let each poem speak for itself; but whenever Mr. Palgrave does speak, it is sensibly and without pretension. JzwIsH MARRIAGzs.What is the reason fourth day, because the assembly of the Twenty. that most Jewish marriages, mentioned in the three meet on the fifth; so that if the husband newspapers, take place on a Wednesday2 I~ should find his wife unworthy, he may have re- there some religious reason in favor of that course to the consistory in the heat of his dis- pleasure, and procure just punishment accord- day ing to law. Vide Dr. Lightfoots Works, ed. [Among the Jews a virgin marries on the 1684, ii. 534.1Notes and Querzes.

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The Living age ... / Volume 71, Issue 909 Littell's living age Every Saturday; a journal of choice reading Eclectic magazine The Living age co. inc. etc. New York etc. November 2, 1861 0071 909
The Living age ... / Volume 71, Issue 909 193-240

THE LIVING AGE. No. 909.2 November, 1861. CONTENTS. ?AGI 1. Secret History of the Court of France, Louis XV., Examiner, 195 2. Virginie de Leyva, Athenceum, 199 3. Leaders of Public Opinion in Ireland, Examiner, 205 4. Comets Press, 207 5. Snubbing, Saturday Review, 212 6. Private Correspondence of Thomas Raikes, Examiner, 216 7. Emperors and Empires..differ from Kings, etc.? Saturday Review, 222 8. An Emperor out of Harness, . . Robin Goodfeltow, 226 9. Un-English Wishes for America, . Spectator, 229 10. Contingency of Servile Insurrection, . 231 11. The Saturday Review on Mrs. Stowe, 233 12. The Prospects of the North 234 POETRY.T1Ie Bells at Spire, 194. Stand by the Flag, 194. No more Words, 194. Shakspeare on this War, 211. Charity, 211. General Lyon, 215. Hora Novissima, 215. Extract from Hamlet, 225. Autumn, 237. The Power of Virtue, 237. A Summer Night, 237. Calsars Assassination, 237. Qui Transtulit Sustinet, 238. The Song of the Irish Legion, 238. The Will for the Deed, 238. Little Rhody, 239. To Arms, 239. Rule Slaveownia, 239. April 19, 1775.1861, 240. The Gathering, 240. The De- parture, 240. SHORT AwrrcLEs..-National Savings-Banks in England, 198. Consumption by the Sea-side, 204. PUBLISHED EVERY SATURDAY BY LIT TELL, SON, & CO., BOSTON. I For Six Dollars a year, in advance, remitted directly to the Publishers, the LIvinG Acsa will be punctually for- warded free of postage. Complete sets of the First Series, in thirty-six volumes, and of the Second Series, In twenty volumes, hand- somely hound, packed in neat boxes, and delivered in all the principal cities, free of expense of freight, are for sale at two dollars a volume. ANY VOLTJMI may be had separately, at two dollars, hound, or a dollar and a half in numbers. ANY NUMBER may be had for 13 cents; and it is well worth while for suhicribers or purchasers to complete any broken volumes they may have, and thus greatly enhance their value. STAND BY THE FLAG.LAISSEZ ALLER. THE BELLS AT SPIRE. FROM THE GERMAN OF VON OER. I. IN Spires last hovel, poor and mean, An old man lies in death-pangs keen; His covering, rags, and hard his bed; Ah, many tears those dim eyes shed! Theres none to watch his failing breath, His sole attendantbitter death! As on that heart He sets his seal, Suddenly rings a won4rous peal! The bell that tolls for dying kings, Untouched by mortal ringer, swings ; And great and small, in perfect time, Rings out each bell to swell the chime. In Spire, and far and wide they say The emperor is dead to-day; The emperor died, the emperor died! Knows no one where the emperor died? II. In Spire, that royal city old, The emperor on his couch of gold, With weary hand and weary eye, Henry the Fifth lies down to die! In haste and fear the servants crowd, The rattle in his throat is loud, As on his heart death sets his seal, Suddenly rings a wondrous peal! The little bell so long unswung, Only for some poor sinner rung ; Rings out alone, and ringeth long, No other bells the peal prolong. In Spire, and far and wide they say; Some criminal is judged to-day, Who may the wretched sinner be, And prithee, wheres the gallows-tree? Albany. L. B. P. STAND BY THE FLAG. STAND by the flag !its stars like meteors gleam- ing, Have lighted arctic icebergs, southern seas, And shone responsive to the stormy beaming Of old Areturus and the Plelades. Stand by the flag !its stripes have gleamed in glory, To foes a fear, to friends a festal robe, And spread in rythmic lines the sacred story Of Freedoms triumph over all the globe. Stand by the flag !on land and ocean billow, By it your fathers stood unmoved and true, Living defendeddying, from their pillow, With their last blessing passed it on to you. Stand by the flag !immortal heroes bore it Through sulphurous smoke, deep moat and armed defence, And their imperial shades still hover oer it A guard celestial from omnipotence. Stand by the flag it is a holy treasure- Though wrong may dim some stars which should be light, A steady, gentle, and persistent pressure, Kindly exerted, yet will make them bright. Stand by the flag !though death-shots round it rattle, And underneath its waving folds have met, In all the dread array of sanguine battle, The quivering lance and glittering bayonet. Stand by the flag ! all doubt and treason scorning Believe, with courage firm, and faith sublime, That it will float until the eternal morning Pales, in its glories, all the lights of time! LAISSEZ ALLEE. BY FRANKLIN LU5EINGTON. No more words; Try it with your swords! Try it with the arms of your bravest and your best! You are proud of your manhood, now put it to the test; Not another word; Try it with your sword. No more notes; Try it by the throats Of the cannon that will roar till the earth and air be shaken~ For they speak whit they mean and they cannot be mistaken: No more doubt; Come fight it out. No childs play! Waste not a day- Serve out the deadliest weapons that you know; Let them pitilessly hail on the faces of the foe; No blind strife; Waste not one life. You that in front Bear the battles brunt When the sun gleams at dawn on the bayonets abreast, Remember tis for government and country you contest; For the love of all you guard, Stand and strike hard. You at home that stay From danger far away, Leave not a jot to chance while you rest in quiet ease; Quick! forge the bolts of death; quick! ship them oer the seas; If wars feet are lame, Yours will be the blame. You, my lads, abroad, Steady! be your word: You, at home, be the anchor of your soldiers young and brave; Spare no cost, none is lost, that may strengthen or may save; Sloth were sin and shame, Now play out the game. Boston Transcript. 194 SECRET HISTORY OF THE COURT OF FRANCE. From The Examiner. The Secret History of the Court of France under Louis XV. Edited, from Rare and Unpublished Documents, by Dr. Challice. In Two Volumes. Hurst and Blackett. THERE is reason in Dr. Challices com- plaint that French history, as read in Eng- land, is too full of scandal. The greaterpart of what is told is true; b~~t other truth, pleasanter and better deserving of study, is too little heeded. Such injustice is un- worthy of a time that boasts of progress, and of England which proclaims universal toler- ation and free inquiry. Therefore this book has been written. Having inherited some valuable manuscripts prepared by two Eng- lishmen, father and son, who were resident in Paris at the time, Dr. Challice has col- lated them with all other available authori- ties, and especially with a mass of unprinted document in the British Museum, and worked the whole into readable shape, with the main object of giving a truer and more favorable account than is elsewhere presented of Ma- dame de Pompadour, and her surroundings. Handling his subject with enthusiasm an enthusiasm, we may note in passing, which, in its intensity, sometimes breaks through the rules of grammar, and does det- riment to a style which, with a little curbing, wouldbe unusually good,he often, in avoid- ing error on one side, inclines to error on the other. It is right to vindicate the fa- mous mistress of Louis XV. from the asper- sions of her enemies; but she is not exactly the woman whom we care to see canonized. Nor is French society in the eighteenth cen- tury entitled to a great deal of favor. This, indeed, is readily admitted by Dr. Challice. In removing many grievous charges from his heroine, he has had to transfer them to other individuals, or to the whole degraded nation. Everywhere there was a heavy and unsightly burden of vice that pressed down, almost stifled the goodness yet remaining in the land. All that can be done is to pick out the worthiest exceptions to the rule of degradation, and give them the justice which is their due. That this has been attempted in right manly spirit, and has to a great extent been affected in the volume before us, we readily acknowledge. In the score of years here traversed there is certainly no lack of interest. The story opens with the commencement of the French 19~ war against Hungary in 1744. Four years before Maria Theresa, heiress of the house of Austria, had been placed in the greatest peril by Frederic the Great, the new king of Prussia; and in a foolish moment, Louis XV. had pledged himself to join in the strife. He had done so mainly through the influence of his then mistress, the Duchess of Chateau- roux, and when, after a little hard fighting, he received, as it was thought, his death wound, the popular execrations against her were loud and furious. Soon the king re- covered; but the duchess, startled by a sud- den access of joy to her mind, long tormented by private grief and nationalinsult, fell down dead. Straightway, we are told, the high- est ladies in the land were rivalling each other in their endeavors to supply to the monarch the loss of his favorite. The for- tunate one is the heroine of these volumes. The daughter of a woman famous even in that dissolute time, for her utter viciousness, she had been married, while yet a girl, to a financier named dEtioles. In her very child- hood, a fortune-teller, struck by her strange beauty, had predicted that she should become part and parcel of the king, and she never forgot the words. To her friend Voltaire she used to say, I believe in my destiny, and she satisfied her husband with the promise, I will never be unfaithful to you, save for the king of France. Yet she was better than the average of women in her day. It was a day of reckless perversion of all sacred laws, and most of all of the law of marriage. Whenever a true wife was found, she was accounted a saint, and mocked at accord- ingly by the philosophical atheists of the age. Madame dEtioles knew that she was floating down a stream which issued in foul waters, and she made some effort to save herself. She might have been saved had not a mere accident placed within her reach the glittering prize promised to her from childhood. The king being out hunting one day, it chanced that he shot a stag while it was speeding past the gate ofthe financiers dwell- ing, and etiquette required that the antlers of a victim so slain should be presented to the master of the house. He therefere entered, and there for the first time saw the lady of whose wit and beauty he had heard. Before long Madame dEtioles, then in her twenty-. second year, was installed at Versailles with 196 the new title of La Marquise de Pompadour, and her accommodating husband was a royal pensioner, free to live gayly wherever he liked, provided only he came not too near to the court. When the news was conveyed to the new favorites mother, at that time on her death-bed, she ejaculated, I have noth- ing more to wish for! It is curious to follow the marchioness to the court and observe her demeanor there. Strangest of all was the friendship formed between her and the queen of France. For, of course, there was a queen, and one of whom her rival could write thus approv- ingly: She has laid at the foot of the cross her domestic troubles. Far from mur- inuring at a destiny which would have filled the days of one less excellent with bitterness, she rather regards it as a trial to her con- stancy which will find its recompense in an- other life. When mothers could rejoice upon their death-beds at their daughters infamy, and when queens could accept the friendship of their husbands concubines, a good deal of allowance must be made for a young and beautiful woman, covetous alike of love and of power, led on as she thought by the star of destiny, and tempted as cunningly as was Madame de Pompadour. And undoubtedly, as far as it might be, the influence which came with her to Versailles was a healthy one. If a woman was needed to preside over France, and if adultery was the neces- sary stepping-stone to power, a better choice could hardly have been made. The king had hitherto given himself to gambling; one of madames first conquests was the curing him of this vice and the obtaining of an Or- der in Council which forbade all games of chance. In her modest home she had been famous for her splendid powers of mind; she now inspired the king with something of her own liking for music, painting, and the drama, and won his patronage for her for- mer literary and artistic friends. Montes- quieu and Voltaire, Marmontel and De Bernis received especial favor, and an in- tellectual stimulus was imparted to the whole nation. She possessed, says her last biog- rapher, plenty of head but still more heart. The latter never failed her where true merit was pining for recognition. Thus, she not only drew around her the brilliant and SECRET HISTORY OF THE COURT OF FRANCE. gay, and showered down benefits on those who could entertain the king and herself, but her protection sheltered the old, the decrepit, and the unfortunate. There was Cr6billon the elder, who had written fine tragedies, but who was now broken down by infirmity, whom she revived by the magic of her kindness in obtaining for him the honor of a gratuitous impression of his works at the Imprimerie Royate, and for this grand edition (of the Louvre) herself engraving the illustrations. When the good old Cr6- hillon, then eighty-one years old, heard of this, he was half mad with joy, and started at once to Choisy to thank the marquise, who was ill there. She gave orders for the aged authors admission, and even permitted him to seat himself near the balustrade by which her bed was surrounded. In a transport of gratitude the old man caught the hand of the marquise, just as the king entered. The wit of Cr6billon was startled into fresh life by the occasion. Ah, madame, he cried in mock terror, we are lost; the king has surprised us! The king himself laughed heartily at this exclamation, and, approaching the marquise, gallantly raised her hand to his own lips, in appreciation of her kindness to his subject. In her honest patronage of literature and art, and in her encouragement of them by her own example, the royal mistress only followed her old predilections. But it was not long before she learned a new art. Be- ginning with a mere wish to know every thing which interested the king, whom she really enough loved, she applied herself to the study of politics, taking careful note, so she has recorded, of the past as well as of th~ present, and sparing no pains to be thor- oughly expert in the theory of government. Her next work was to practise it. We need not follow her into this public and best known portion of her life. Very soon the king learned to seek and implicitly to follow her guidance on all affairs of state. Every thing that was good and much that was bad in the administration of France during fl!- teen years are traceable to her bold mascu- line mind. She it was who sent the Young Pretender to Great Britain and planned the invasion of English America; who treated haughtily with Maria Theresa in her time of power, and who was held out against the machinations of Frederic of Prussia. If France could have been regenerated, she would have effected the work. In attempt- ing it she neglected nothing. Let one illus SECRET HISTORY OF THE COURT OF FRANCE. tration of her policy be quoted from Dr. Challice Not contented with those vast buildings which have survived the storm of the Revo- lution, and stand as monuments to her zeal and genius, she elaborated even the fan- taisies of art so as to give employment to hundreds, to carry the adornment of taste into the homes of thousands, and to afford a fresh source of revenue to the state. The French Government, at her instigation, had for some time past encouraged attempts to rival the celebrated Dresden china. These attempts had succeeded so far as to justify her recommending to the king to establish a manufactory, or school, for this delicate branch of art at the Chateau of Vincennes. The choice of place was in itself a fine trib- ute to peace and the progress of civilization. Afterwards, when the plan of this manufac- tory was developed by a lucrative result, it was transferred to S~vres. The marquise there bought a building which belonged to the company of the farmers-general, who, truth to say, were generally at the head of industrial improvement. This building, sit- uated above the village of S~vres, and tow~ ering above the woods of Meudon, she caused to be reconstructed on a comprehensive plan of her own, for which she, as usual, drew the appropriate designs. Considering that the manufacture, which she desired should equal that of China and Japan, would employ not only workmen, but artists, she caused this vast building at S~vres to represent under a palace-like exterior a grand republic, where each, from the highest to the lowest engaged in the work, co-operated according to his capacity for the glory of the general result. This important branch of ormimental manufacture was attempted, and had failed, in the reign of Louis XJIL, but under the di- rection of the Marquise de Pompadour in that of Louis XV. it succeeded, and that at a time when the people had most need of employment, and the king of wholesome dis- traction from his gloomy thoughts, sensual temptations, and the petty dissensions of his kingdom of which he was the victim. But for all this, Madame de Pompadours life was a miserably unhappy one. She had not been three years raised to her false great- ness before she seemed to have drunk all its pleasure to the dregs, and to have nothing but wretchedness left to her. It is the old, old tale of sin where conscience is too strong to be stifled. The pomp, the grandeur, the pleasures of this world enchant me no longer, she wrote in 1747 to one of the few friends to whom she ventured to speak her real thoughts. The charm is broken, and I find in my heart nothing but an immense void which cannot be filled. The world is a liar: it promises a happiness which it can- not give. It is now I know that kings can weep like other men, she said else- where. For myself, I often weep over the ambition that has brought me here, and over the weakness which retains me. And again, I feel alone in the midst of this crowd of small grandees, who hate ~ne and whom I despise. Hated, indeed, she was. Against her, and against the king who loved her, such a combination was formed as it needed all her strength of mind to meet and baffle. Per- haps she was honest in saying that, but for the sake of France, she would have given up the battle. But in seeking to do her justice we must not yield more than was her due. She loved power, and for its sake would bear a great deal of mi~ery herself, or cause a great deal to others. lathe time of her great- est power the temptation to use it recklessly was strong. Yet all along there was a cer- tain honesty, a desire to act rightly, and towards the end of her life, when the body broke under troubles which could not weaken her mind, when the hollowness of her posi- tion and the worthlessness of her ambition became most apparent, there is most ground for our sympathy. Suffering in body herself, she yearned to enlarge and humanize the public hospitals. She fain would soothe pain, but the world was full of fire and blood. In vain she cast her worldly goods to the Treasury; in vain she strove to increase national resources by works of internal manufacture and art. In vain she wrote through the hours of the night, her head fluttering with pain, weari- ness, and sickness, to do good to the king and to redeem the past while she had time. In vain, her bright fancy struggling through the lowering clouds, caught at the rays of vic- tory and devise how to vindicate the Genius and Glory of France to posterity. The tide was too strong against her. The cross was laid most heavily upon her when she had reached the very summit of power, and had attained the goal of hu- man ambition. It pierced her in every di- rection. Envy ;.~Hatred ;Detraetion ; the kings waning energy and wavering hu- mor in Council, the knowledge of his fanati- cal weakness and private vices, the continued strife against him of the Parliament, and the unceasing quarrels that disgraced the 197 198 SECRET HISTORY OF THE COURT OF FRANCE. name of religion between the Jesuits and though in queenly robes, chose to receive their opponeats; the iacreasing want of the last sacrements of the Church. After funds at home and abroad, the ever-dreaded me the deluge, was her saying sometime news of fresh losses of war on land and on before death; and already the heavens were the sea. All this the marquise had to bear. darkening for the hideous deluge of blood which was to fall in the French Revolution, the inevitable retribution for all that heaped- Her last work, the procurement of the ban- up wickedness and deep-sunken depravity ishment of the Jesuits, by whom long ago she which made it natural for an adulteress to had been excommunicated, was completed take foremost place as the patroness of lii- in November, 1764. She died in the pre- erature and art, the promoter of social re- vious April, at the age of forty-two. From form, and the champion of political greal. the Cur6 of the Madeleine, she a Magdalen, ness and of religious liberty in France. NATIONAL SAvINGs BANKS. Oa Monday three hundred post-office savings banks will be opened for the deposits of the public. This an- nouncement may probably not strike the reader as one of a very important nature, but the new system which will he thereby inaugurated is one calculated to have the very best possible influ- ence in engendering thrifty and provident habits amongst the poorer classes of the community. Hitherto, the savings bank has been an institu- tion which the people, for whom it was originally and expressly intended, have been either unable or else ashamed to approach. The grand im- posing-looking building was open perhaps twice a week, and then only for a few hours in the middle of the day, when the laboring man or his wife, could not attend to deposit their weeks accumulation, which was, therefore, generally squandered upon an object either unnecessary or else positively harmful. Thus, instead of the money heing laid by for a rainy day, it generally found its way, before it could possibly be depos. ited in safety, into one of those flaring brazen man traps which everywhere abound in our streets. But the banks which are now to be opened in connection with the post-offices will be ready to receive deposits all day, and every day in the week, so that the artisan may, even up to eight oclock on Saturday night, instead of walking into the gin palace, put away in the post-office what he does not require of his weeks wages, with the certainty of being able to receive the money so saved whenever he requires it. Another of the great advantages which this sys- tem will possess over the old one is, that the de- positor will have the express security of govern- ment for the payment both of his principal and interest. In short, the utmost facility will be afforded to him in depositing his money, and the bc~ possible guarantee given for its repayment; so that, beyond multiplying as far as practicable such excellent establishments in opposition to the man traps to which we have alluded, we hardly see that more could possibly he done to encourage hahits of thrift amongst those classes of the public who are the first to suffer on the approach of evil times, such as a want of em- ployment, or a hard winter like our last. The forms which the depositor will have to go through are exceedingly simple, and will occupy little or no time, and certainly ought never to he productive of delay, in observing them. It will only be necessary to give his address and occu- pation to the postmaster; to deposit his money and sign his name, as every stranger has to do on opening an account in any hank; and to re- ceive his deposit book, with the entry duly made, and attested by the postmasters signa- ture. The next day the depositor will receive from the district office an acknowledgment of the sum lodged at the local office; and if such acknowledgment should not be received within ten days, or if it should when received he found inaccurate, the depositor will have to notity the same to The Controller, Savings Bank Department, General Post Office. Should the experiment justify the expectations formed of it, of which there can be little doubt, the system will hereafter be extended so as to embrace every money-order office in the kingdom, when instead of the three hundred now to be opened there will be, in addition to the savings banks previously in existence, twenty-five hundred Post-office Savings Banks. Such a system can- not but be attended by the best wishes for its success of every thoughtful man in the country, as calculated, almost beyond any other social cause, to introduce the highest possible degree of happiness, contentment, and prosperity into the homes of our laboring classes.Ps-ess, 14 Sept. VIRGINIE DE LEYVA. From The Athena3um. Virginie de Leyva; ou, Int& ieur dun (iou- vent de Femmes en Italie, au Commence- ment du Dix-septi~ Siicle, dapris les Doc- uments Originaux, par Philar~te Chasles, Professeur au Coll6ge de France, Con- servateur ~\ la Bibliotheque Mazarine. Paris, Poulet-Malassis et Do Broise. MADEMOISELLE DE LEVE, as the French have called her, La Signora di Monza, as the Italians style her, is a high person- age in the world of drama and legend. Ex- cept Beatrice Cenci, no woman of private rank has entered so much into the poetry and fable of modern Italy. She figures in an episode of Manzonis great romance The Betrothed, and is the heroine of Rb- sinas Lady of Monza. But the true his- tory of this ardent and voluptuous woman is more singular and dramatic than the wild- est efforts of the Italian poets. Massinger should have told her story. A modern writer is bound by the conventional laws of probability even in his fictions; and what fabulist could dream of presenting to his reader a young girl, pensive and charming, vowed to a religious life, who would admit a lover to her cell, who would corrupt her nuns into becoming the accomplices in her crimes, and who would remove by violence every one who came across her guilty path P The line o( probability must be drawn. It may be at the Chateau dIf, or in the Isle of Monte ~Uiristo. It must be somewhere; and wher- ever it is drawn, it would be outside the walls of the Convent of St. Catherine of Monza. A heroine who stood by, and saw murders committed for the gratification of her lust and her revenge, would be rejected by every sense. Dumas himself would not adventure on such a figure. Such, however, was the real Lady of Monza, whose story M. Philar~te Chasles, following the documents collected by the zeal and industry of Signor Dandolo, has told in Virginie do Leyva, with deep philosophical insight and with sin- gular literary power. Signor iDandolo, who has brought to- gether, as the workman brings brick and mortar to the architect, the materials on which M. Chasles narrates and speculates, is not only an Italian author of many good volumes, an antiquarian and archt~ological scholar, a searcher amongst the archives of Milan, of Monsa and Pavia, but a descend- ant of the great Venetian :Doges of his name. Possessed of a small estate in the Apen- nines, he retired from political agitations into solitude in 1850, to meditate under the shade of the fir and chestnut trees on the history of his country in past times. Here, the descendant of the Doges, following his labor of love (as well capable of doing his work in his own day and generation as we~ the Doges, his ancestors, to govern their re- public and conduct its foreign wars), re- stored and annotated the authentic docu- ments of which M. Philar~te Chasles hits made use. Don Antonio de Leyva, born in the prov- ince of Navarre, of an obscure but gentle race, was a soldier by profession, a bandit by nature. Pride and poverty had made him a Free Lance, and at the bidding of Charles the Fifth he went into Italy, with hordes of his proud and impoverished countrymen, to cut Italian throats and surprise Italian seign- iories. Indeed, he was one of that race of brigands which profited by the intestine quarrels of Italy to establish in both north and south that Austro-Spanish influence which has just been swept away by the guns of Solferino and Marsala. Don Antonio was the man for his work. Danger was to him a delight, and exercised over him the fascination of a personal vice. It is a trite enough saying, that a man who cares noth- ing for his own life is the master of every man who does care; but this respectable old truth is the secret of Don Antonios success in the Milanese. Contdmpt of death made him a great man. Brave, instant, unscrupu- lous, his passions were restrained by neither love nor fear. At once sensual and ambi- tious, he cared little for persons and nothing for principles in the exercise of his great bodily and mental powersfor nothing in- deed beyond the riotous joy of carrying his point against a friend, a mistress, or an en- emy. No desperate wretch in the army of Bastard William or in the forlorn hope of Pizarro set his life more completely on the throw of the dice than Don Antonio. But he won the game. In his own poor country, had there been no wars to draw him off, he would have been a contrabandista or a mata- dor. In the conquered province of the Mi- lanese he became a powerful partisan war- nor and the Lord of Moaza, that Richmond of Milan, in. which until lately was preserved 199 200 VIRGINIE DE LEYVA. the Lombardic crown. Charles took care ias will on such a point was law to iPirivano. that his faithful servant should be well en- Osio went to thank her, and the young as- couraged. So Antonio de Leyva, the poor sassin fell in love with his beautiful bene- Navarrese, was raised into the highest rank factress. Virginia was twenty years of age; of Italian nobles, and when he went to his by nature ardent, and by habit self-indul- rest a sumptuous monument in the Church gent. She returned his passion. The dif- of San IDionigi of Milan recorded the vir- ficulty in the way of their meetingnot to tues and exploits of the heroic and exem- speak of its enormous immoralityhad been plary Antonio de Leyva, Prince of Ascoli! very great; and only that the convent of The family took root in their new home. St. Catherine was cursed with a most de- Don Martino, son of Antonio, sent his prayed confessor in Arrighonea man who daughter Virginia, a girl of such rare and seems to walk visibly out of one of Boccac- noble beauty that her portrait (painted in cios garden-gates,the pollution that en- after life by Daniel Crespi) might be mis- sued upon their meeting would have been taken for an artists dream of St. Catherine, impossible. Osio had gained Arrighone to to be educated at the convent of Monza. his interests; and the monk, who had been In her own right, she was Lady of the dis- repulsed in some dishonorable proposals of trict. The frugal family desired to retain his own to the beautiful and noble nun, had this rather splendid part of their property, shown the impassioned boy how he might and Don Martino left his son the IPrinci- approach the woman of his heart. Under pailty of Ascoli, and placed his daughter the pretence of thanking her for staying the Virginia, as the fashion in the highest fain- process against him, he had counselled him lies was, in the convent in which she had to make known his love boldly. I saw herself been trained. This convent, which this young man, said Virginia, in one of was at Monza, and within her own magiste- her many depositions, for the first time rial jurisdiction, belonged to the order of St. from the window of my Sister Candidas Catherine. Its inmates gave their time to cell, at which I happened to be standing. teaching, and among the pupils who came This window looked upon the garden. He to them for instruction was a young lady of made a polite bow, and signed that he had Monza, Isabella degli Ortensii. A hand- a note to deliver to me. I was very much some youth, Osio degli Osii, whose house incensed against Moltenos murderer, and looked down into the convent-yard, saw Is- resolved to follow him without pity. He abella and made love to her by signs. The had a very humble, suppliant, yet well-bred girl accepted his admiration. Sister Vir- air; his bearing was so noble and distin- ginia, who caught Isabella making signs to guished that I could not refuse to receive Osio, not only reprimanded her for such the note. When she had first seen the gay levity, but sent for Signor Molteno, notary and youthful figure, she had said to Can- of Monza, and instructed him to inform the dida, Oh, can any thing be more beauti- family of what she had seen. Isabellas fa- ful 1 Candida confessed these words to ther took her from the convent and mar- Arrighone, and Arrighone repeated them ned her to a man of her own age and rank, over their wine to Osio. Osio, vexed with Molteno, struck a poniard Virginia struggled in the toils spread to his heart, went home to his house, armed around her by the gay seducer who was fol- his servants, barricaded his doors, and stood lowing his pleasure, and the false confessor on his defence. Carlo Pirivano was the who was following his cupidity and revenge. magistrate of Monza, but Pirivano had a The force of her own passions made their most unwholesome dread of Moltenos fate. work but too easy. It was a power, she Osio was a gentleman, and the offences of said in her depositions, altogether devilish. gentlemen were not to be searched too For all the treasures of Spain, and for all strictly. Justice was blind. Virginia felt a the thrones of its princes, I would not have feminine compassion for a young lover who loved Osio. I would have made a pilgrim- had lost through her act a mistress, and had age. I beat myself with rods until the revenged himself upon the more immediate blood ran down my body. But the passion instrument of his loss. As feudal Lady of increased in vigor. I saw him in every, Moaza, exercising seignionial rights, Virgin- thing. I no longer slept; I no longer lived. VIRGINIE DE LEYVA. One day he begged that I would consent to kiss a gold box set with diamonds, which he at once took back and pressed to his lips; it was an amulet which Arrighone had prepared for him, and which, being blessed with holy water, would overcome all my scruples. Osio gave me a book from the library of my Father Confessor, the same Arrighone, in which it was written that a layman might enter without sin into the cell of a nun, and that the only sin consisted in the nun quitting her retreat. I was in despair, and wished that I were dead. The poor lady struggled with the coil; but the insolent audacity of Arrighone put an end to her scruples; for even in the cell of her convent, and in a province of which she was the feudal head, Virginia found that she needed a protector against his arts. He unmasked, or pretended to unmask, his face. He sent her a short and insolent note, de- claring that he was the true writer of all the letters signed by Osio; that he loved her and would insist on some return. Virginia treated him with lofty and tragic scorn, and threw herself at once into her young lovers arms. The amour lasted long. A servant girl, Catherine de Meda, took the responsibility before the world of the children born of this intrigue. Now and then the better mind of Virginia returned upon her; when she shut herself in her room, threw the secret keys into a well, and had the passage from Osios house built up. But she soon repented of her virtue; and the amour which began with a murder soon grew into a strange familiar- ity with blood and crime. Meda was the first to fall. This girl, after going all lengths to screen her mistress, threatened to expose her. Virginia, with the help of two of the nuns, tried to kill her, but failed. Osio dashed her brains out. The two nuns as- sisted him to bury the body of the poor girl. An apothecary, named Ranieri, spoke of the disorders in the convent, and the Princes of Ascoli, Virginias kinsmen, hearing of the intimacy formed between Osio and Vir- ginia, and fearing lest political troubles might fall upon them in consequence, had him arrested and confined in the state prison of Pavia, on the charge of violating a relig- ious house. Virginia stirred herse~lf to save her lover. A solemn protestation of the nuns, declaring that the rumor of disorders at St. Catherine was a vile scandal, and that there had never been the slightest intimacy between Osio and Virginia, being drawn up, Osio was set at liberty, and in a few hours after his return to Monza, Ranieri was shot. Virginia hid her lover for fourteen days in her cell; but the cry for pursuit and ven- geance reached the Cardinal Borromeo, who paid a visit to the convent of St. Catherine, had a long interview with Virginia, and, startled by the frank audacity of her confes- sions of sin in the matter of love, ordered the Lady of Monza herself to be arrested and sent to Milan. This interview would make a picture. The cardinal was an old man of princely and saintly race. Virginia was thirty-two years old; her beauty brightened by passion and preserved by the cloister. The cardinal received her gently; spoke of many trifles with the graceful ease acquired by long habit of dealing with high-born sinners; glided into more serious topics, religious and moral; and chatted with her playfully about her duties to herself, her race, her profession, and her country. She saw his drift and met him boldly. You placed me, she exclaimed, against my will, in a religious house; you made me take the vow before I was of age. I was bound to the altar by force. Therefore, my profession of a relig- ious life is null. I emust marry. I have made my choice. Unite me to the man that I have chosen. The cardinal struck dumb by this plain and prompt avowal, left the room without a word. A carriage with four mules came to the gates at night: Virginia was put into it, and it carried her to the con- vent of the Bochetto, at Milan. The two nuns who had tried to kill Meda, trembling for their lives, sent to Osio; and the very next night after Virginias depart- ure, they escaped from St. Catherines under his protection. Two of his servants, Otta- via Hicci and Benedetta Homati, were near at hand, to aid him or avenge him. They arrived at the banks of the Lambro, a little mountain torrent, with which the tourist of Lake Como is familiar. Ricci hurled one of the nuns into the flood. Osio disembar- rassed himself of the murderer by a few strokes under his mantle, and the remaining three personsthe nun, the seducer, and the servant..pursued their journey into a wood, where Osie threw the second nun into 201 202 a well, and then stabbed Homati, the witness of these new crimes. But the two nuns were not killed. By a miracle, the woman was recovered from the well, and the one thrown into the Lambro escaped with her life, to become the chief witnesses against Osio and Virginia. Osio had to fly into the forests which still cover the mountains at the foot of Lake Como. There he lived as an outlaw, with a band of followers desperate as himself. The Conde de Fucutes, the Spanish governor of Milan, ordered his house at Monza to be razed, a ruined wall alone being left to mark the site. Foiled in every attempt to arrest him by stratagem or force, Fuentes pro- claimed a reward for any ~one who would bring him in, alive or dead. A companion of his youth betrayed and murdered him, in a manner the most singular. This compan- ion asked him to his house as a change from his desolate life in the woods. Osio went. In the midst of their excesses Osio told his friend how he had killed Catherine de Meda. His host had an instrument made exactly like that with which Meda had been knocked down, and when all was ready for the act, he invited Osio to go down into the wine-cellar with him to drink a particular wine. A friar was below to receive his confessions; the servants of the house seized him, and the master struck him in ~he nape of the neck precisely as he had struck the girl in the convent of St. Catherine. Next day his handsome head was fixed on the ruined wall at Monza. The parties were tried and condemned to various penalties. Arrighone, the vilest sinner of the whole, received three years in the galleys. Virginia was immured in a convent. Once or twice we get glimpses of her in the letters of Cardinal Borromeo. She passed her life, he says, in prayers and tears; and she died at last in the very odor of sanctityas Borromeo says, Come una santa! Signor iDandolo and M. Chasles appear to consider that the conventual system made Virginia what she afterwards becamethe rival of Beatrice Cenci in shame and suffer- ing, as she was in the fatal gifts of beauty, will, and individuality. We think, in snap- ping at general conclusions on the influences of religious seclusion, they underrate the force of personal character. Doubtless, M. VIRGINIE iDE LEYVA. Chasles is philosophically right in saying, that in the monastic system the best edu- cation of manthat which teaches him to judge and then leaves him free to choose for himself, is absolutely prohibited. In the monastery the first of all virtues is obedi- ence, and the habit of obedience, oi~r philos- ophers urge, is relaxing and destructive to the individual mind. This may be also true. Clear, very clear, it is that the education of a monk or of a nun is not the best training for a man or woman entering on the rough duties of active life; but then it ought to be remembered, for the other side, that a monk is not meant for the life of a skipper, nor a nun for that of a vivandi~re. A woman who takes the veil, whatever may have been the cause, looks forward to a career of order, calmness, and devotion; one in which there should be no temptation to resist, no diffi- culties to be met. Dash, energy, and will may be required in the world, even from girls and women, and when softened and mellowed by gentler qualities, these robust and masculine virtues may become very at- tractive in the eyes of men, but the very the.- ory of a religious life, which excludes all contest, rivalry, and passion, also excludes, and that logically and necessarily, the teach- ing which would make girls useful in a booth or successful at a bazaarrivals to Mrs. Jarley or Rebecca Sharp. Surely, it is but fair to judge each system by its effect in producing what it is intended to produce. It is no impeachment of the value of geome- try that it will not teach you to swim. It is no fault of a musical education that it will not make you a dead shot. Geometry makes geometricians, music musicians, monasteries monks. When M. Chasles complains that the monastic system takes away the right of judging and choosing for ones self, he makes, we submit, an unphilosophical com- plaint. He might as well object to the earth being round or sugar being sweet. It would be as proper to attack the Institute of France, because it has never produced a great general, as to impeach the convent of St. Catherine, because its system of training is not one that would strengthen a Mdlle. de Mars to walk through her slippery world without a fall. The habit of submission may have a virtue of its own humble kind, though such a virtue would be useless to Robinson Crusoe on his island, or to Gen VIRGINIE DE LEYVA. eral Bonaparte in his first Italian campaign. A more robust and active quality is re- quired for success. But a nun does not wish to succeed. She aspires to no more than to endure or to serve. Sworn from her youth to a career divided between charity and prayer, she puts away with the fascinations of womanhood, all need for the strength or cunning which resists the tempters arts. That in evil days temptation may intrude into the convent, as it intrudes into the home, there are too many facts in history to prove. We know the stories of the Med- ici. We have heard the scandals against the regent. We have read Boccaccio and the imitators of Boccaccie in our own time. But we are not aware that any body of facts has ever been produced to show that, in such evil days, the license has been greater in the convent than in the cottage,each measured, as is fair, by the opportunities and immunities for vice which it presents. When the whole body of society is dissolved in sensuality, it is impossible for even the best to escape some sort of contamination; yet no man in his senses will maintain that, even in the very worst periods of social dis- order, the inmates of religious houses were not better, measured by their temptations, than the women of the surrounding hamlets. Our analysts, in their pride of science, forget, we think, how much, in such a case as that of Virginia de Leyva, is due to in- dividual character. In the world, as in the cloister, she would have fallen into lawless love. Had she not been Virginia, she would probably have been Lucretia. The Borgias were De Leyvas on a grander scale and in a more splendid scene. Virginia was the true complement of Don Antonio; with the same vigorous, daring, self-indulgent nature, carrying into the recesses of the convent the principles of a camp. The scene which M. Chasles quotes from the interview between the sinful lady and the cardinal destroys the theory that her vicious life had been in any way the result of the conventual system of education, as established in Italy and exem- plified at Monza. M. Victor Euph6mion Philardte Chasles (who dedicates this volume to the author of Pendennis and Vanity Fair ) is under- stood to be a candidate for the honors of the Academy; the English candidate he is called by his opponents: and the story of his literary life is such as to interest Eng- lish readers in no common degree in his suc- cess. The son of a revolutionary general, who had been a professor of rhetoric before he took up the profession of war, and of a Huguenot mother, he was apprenticed in Paris to a printer. This printer, a discipie of Rousseau, was arrested by the Govern. ment of the Restoration as a man of dan-. gerous opinions; and little Philar~te, as his apprentice, passed two months with him in jail. Chateaubriand took pity on the child, and procured his liberation. Philardte then came to London, where he remained for about seven years, completing his education, and acquiring our language and literature. From London he travelled into Germany. On his return to Paris, a Saxon in culture, a Gaul in spirit and style, he became secre- tary and assistant to M. de Jouy. Soon he won attention to himself; in 1827 he divided with 14. Saint-Marc Girardin the prize of Eloquence proposed by the Academy for an Essay on the Sixteenth Century; and was immediately attached to the staff of the Journat des De7iats, on whieji excellent pa- per he has continued down to the present day, very much to the profit of its readers, and, among other things, very greatly to the advantage of English and German writers. He also began to write for the Revue des Deux Mondes. Successively he became, as his power expanded and his fame enlarged, Doctor of Letters, Director of the Mazarine Library, Chevaliar of the Legion of Honor and Professor of Foreign Languages and Literature in the College of France. His literary works are of peculiar interest to an Englishman. More even than M. Guizot, M. Chasles represents English literature in France ;and the election into the Academy of the English candidtste, when it event- ually occurs, may be taken as a compliment by the whole English nation. Among his printed works we have a volume of Studies of the English Civil Wars, two volumes On the England of the Eighteenth Cen- tury, a volume On English Manners and Literature in the Nineteenth Century, and a volume On Shakspeare. These works are not merely popular summaries, like some other works which we could name, thrown off by a learned Frenchman for the use of Frenchmen less learned; but are pro- found studies of the several subjects, based 20.3 204 VIRGINIE DE LEYVA. on real reading, and illumined by a rare and this without penalties. The French are the masculine intelligence, slaves of rules. Voltaire found Shnkspeare M. Chasles position in the republic of an inspired savage. M. Chasles, who has letters is sufficiently original, and yet he is in his genius somewhat of the philosophic thoroughly representative of a class. By humor of Elia, is treated by the small fry birth a Gaul, by training an Englishman, of literary badauds as a savage without the he brings together and harmonizes two liter- inspiration. Strange to say, this extension ary methods and two systems of thought. of culture beyond the ordinary domain of The deep admiration for Shakspeare which is the French writer has been M. Chasles visible in all his writings, leads him to deny chief impediment with the Academy. The the force and reject the authority of many Forty never forget that they are French, of those artificial conventions of arrange- and some of the meaner spirits among ment and style which have so long ruled them jealously deny the merits of every lit- despotically over the French mind, to the erature save their own. But exclusion on exclusion, as Englishmen think, of nature, such a ground from a seat otherwise won is freshness, and individuality from some of evidently untenable in reason, and we should the most brilliant and perfect productions of think will not be much longer maintained in French genius. Of course, he has not done practice. CONSUMPTION BY THE SEAFrance is not ravaged with scrofula so severely as several other countries of Europe. There is more scrofula in England than in France, and still more in Holland than in England. But there is yet enough scrofulous disease in France to put a m~dical man upon his mettle. Ever since popular crcdnlity withdrew its faith from the touch of kings, the faculty have been anx- iously inquiring, where is the remedy, what is the specific, against that dreadful disease the Kings Evil According to M ichelet, it was reserved for England to solve the problem. One of the most striking features of England at the present day are her innumerable marine vil- las, the love of a sea-side reidenee, and the bathing continued late into the autumn: all which are modern, premeditated, and intentional habits. The Duke of Newcastle asked Dr. Russell why, in so many of the fairest forms, rottenness lay hid beneath lilies and roses ~ The doctor, by way of answer, published in 1750, a book entitled De Tabe Glandulari, seu de Usu Aqute Marinai (On Glandular Disease, or the Use of Sea Water). His object was, through its use, not to cure but to remake and recreate his patients. He proposed to work a miracle, although a possible miracle; namely, to make new flesh, to create fresh tissues. It follows clearly that he greatly preferred to work upon children. At that period, Bakewell had just ihvented meat; cattle, which had hitherto Bearcely supplied any thing else besides milk, were in future to yield a more generous aliment. Russell, on his part, by his little book most op- portunely invented the sea; that is to say, he made it the fashion. His whole system may be resumed in one wordTHE SEA. You must drink sea-water; you must bathe in it, and you must eat all sorts of marine thingsshell-fish, fish proper, sea-weeds (there is not a single poi- sonous marine vegetable), in which its virtue is concentrated. Secondly, Dr. Russell ordered his scrofulous children to be very slightly clad, and always exposed to the air; sea-air and sea- water, at their natural temperatures, and noth- ing more, were his remedies. The latter pre- scription was bold and decided practice, which is followed with considerable modifications, by practitioners of the present day. To keep ~ child half-naked in a damp and variable climate, amounted to a resolution to sacrifice the weak- liest. The strongest only would survive; and the race, perpetuated by them alone, would be reinstated in its pristine vigor.Dickeas All the Year J?ouad. FICTIONITS HIDDEN FACTS. The an- nexed observations, by the author of Ash- combe Churchyard, apply to several works that appear to be pure fiction. There is many a bitter passage of the writers own life to be found in his novels, tales, or romances. Fic- tion is the keenest, and deepest, and most real of all realities; the result of years of experi- ence, observation, inquiry, reflection, and learn- ing; the outpourings of a heart enriched too amply for its own peace, with all the varied con- tributions that a life of study, disappointment and suffering can bestow; the upheaving of hidden treasures, which the bosom throws back again to fertilize the world from which it called them, as the fountain flings over the earth the waters that it had been silently gathering from the ocean, the cloud, and the mist. THE LEADERS OF PUBLIC OPINION IN IRELAND. 205 From The Examiner, whole people, but against the followers of Tke Leaders of Public Opinion in Ireland. leaders whose cruelty and oppression were Saunders, Otley, and Co. the heaviest curse that could fall upon the TERSE, well-written biographies of Jona- island. It was needful that these should than Swift, Henry Flood, Henry Grattan, first be removed from their time-honored and Daniel OConnell, form the substance but ruinous authority; and they were hardly of this little volume. In the public lives of removed before the era of the Revolution of these men the author finds illustration of the 1688. The effects of that crisis, however, progress, triumphs, and decline of healthy soon showed themselves, not only in such political thought in Ireland. The subject is memorable occurrences as the Battle of the a good one, and it is ably handled in a book Boyne, but also in the quieter, slower, and which deserves not to be slighted, but rather less noticeable, though very large and note- to be thought the more of, because it is com- worthy conquests of English opinion. The pact and unpretending. better sort of Irishmen learned to feel that Irish history, if it is painful, is instructive. William of Orange was really and worthily There is profit to every one in watching the their king. Many crossed the channel either career of an island geographically, physically, to mend their fortunes or to mix in the wider and politically, so closely linked to our own, world of thought which centred in Lon- yet until lately so very different in the meas- don. Chief of them all, and influenced by ure of its national and social advancement, both motives, was Swift. There is practical value in the question which Under Swift, writes the present author, the writer of this volume sets himself to an- public opinion first acquired a definite form swer: To what causes are we to ascribe and an improving influence. The man who the present disorganized state of public opin- began life in such poverty that at one time ion, the strange combination of extreme lib- he nearly died of starvation, and whose mind eral politics with strong sympathies for for- was so one-sided that he could not frame a eign despotisms, the intense aversion to syllogism, and only obtained his degree at every thing English manifested by the mass college by special favor, was really the of the people P greatest Irishman, in not a few respects also Prior to the eighteenth century political the greatest man of his day. The Tale of thought was of a very crude sort in Ireland. a Tub and Gullivers Travels are his How matters stood in Queen Elizabeths most splendid literary achievements, but the reign we learn from the graphic writing of highest political value belongs to his stray the poet Spenser in his single prose work, pamphlets. One published in 1720, on and from the numerous State Papers of the Irish Manufactures, in which with won- period. By a few powerful chieftains the derful vigor he sketched the wretched state country was split up into rival factions. The of Ireland, and besought the people to use constant tyranny of their masters and con- none but home-made articles, burning every stant strife among themselves weakened the thing that came from England except the people as to mere numbers, and seemed to coal kindled through the whole country root out from them all social and all in- a fitful flame of patriotic zeal, and the famous dividual virtues. Perjury, robbery, and Drapiers Letters quickened and extended murder were counted allowable, wrote Sir it. He declared himself, and called upon Henry Sidney, thrice Lord Deputy of Ire- every man to declare himself, a true subject land, in one of his despatches; Christian of George, king of Ireland, but owing no truth was utterly neglected, and the natives allegiance to any king of England. Ire~ were without conscience of sin. Parlia- land, he said, was rightfully a free nation, ments were sometimes held; but these meet- entitled to make its own laws; for gov- ings served only as exhibitions of national eminent, without the consent of the gov- degradation. Indeed, nationalityin any good erned, is the very condition of slavery. sense was a thing unknown. We cannot Swift wrote other pamphlets, which were share the common indignation at the severe learned by heart; he wrote ballads which dealings of Queen Elizabeths and of Crom- were sung in the streets; and when he died wells governments. The severity, be it re- his country possessed such a con3titutional membered, was not practised against the partywith noble desires, albeit in many 206 THE LEADERS OP PUBLIC OPINION IN IRELAND. ways misguidedas she had never had be- fore. Flood was fifteen years old when the great satirist died, and he was twenty-seven when he entered Parliament in 1759. Swift had fiercely laughed at the Irish Parliament, Not a bowshot from the college, Half the world from sense and knowledge; but it was Floods glory to be, within its walls, the first able asserter of the doctrines Swift had taught. At first alone, and after- wards in conjunction with Grattan, his junior by a dozen years, he fought bravely and elo- quently the battle of words, whereof the issue ought to have been a large accession of national liberty. There seemed likeli- hood, indeed, of a battle with other weapons than words. When French invasion was talked of, the two leaders encouraged the formation of a volunteer army, and with strange quickness eighty thousand men, out of the scanty population of Ireland, were met together. In England there was rea- sonable fear that this huge force would turn to rebellion, and with it rebellion would have been revolution. Undoubtedly the object of the Irish patriots was much more to estab- lish their own rights than to resist any for- eign attack. But they were guided with singular judgment and moderation, and the statesmen of Westminster were wise in their concessions. In 1782 the coveted indepen- dence of the Irish Parliament was acknowl- edged, and all present danger overpassed. How Grattan led the Irish cause through eighteen yearsFlood having sunk into in- significance after the famous quarrel between the sometime friendsmay be fairly learned from the volume in our hands by those who do not already know the story. The wrongly conceived and wildly conducted Rebellion of 1798 brought about the establishment of the Union, with abrogation of the privileges lately granted to Ireland, and extinction of its Parliament. I watched by its cradle; I followed its hearse, exclaimed Grattnn in his maiden speech as a member of the Eng- lish Legislature. If Ireland could have been made great, the thing might have been done by Grattan. But its public opinion had no stability; it was not to be led in any right direction. Therefore the life of Daniel OConnellhim- But who shall be the leader P Shall Mr. self partaking more of the national weakness Hennessy, or Mr. Scully P than his last biographer will admitwas un- availing. Referring to the speech from which we have quoted a line, he proudly declared, Grattan sat by the cradle of his country, and followed her hearse; it was left for me to sound the resurrection trumpet, and, to show that she was not dead, but sleeping! But after a long life of misapplied zenl, he died disheartened, and his death left the na- tional mind free .to make real advance. On the latter portion of his theme we differ often from the author of Public Opinion. In many of his hopes and wishes we are not able to sympathize. He would like to see Ireland again self-governed, and speaks confidently of the future The liberality of sentiment pervading the literature of the century will sooner or later do its work, and should any man of tran- scendent intellect arise in Ireland, he will find that the public mind has been gradually preparing to receive him. There is, perhaps, no country in the world that would respond to the touch of genius so readily as Ireland in the present day. All the elements of a great movement exist among the people~a restless, nervous consciousness of the evil of their present condition, a deep disgust at the cant and the imbecility that are dominant, a keen and intense perception of the charm of genius. Irishmen sometimes forget their great men when they are dead, but they never fail to recognize them when they are living. That acute sense of the power of in- tellect, and especially of eloquence, which sectarianism has never been able to destroy, which has again and again caused assem- blies of the most violent Roman Catholics to hang with breathless admiration on the lips of the most violent Orangeman, is, we think, the most encouraging symptom of re- covery. Should a political leader arise whose character was above suspicio~k and whose in- tellect was above cavil, who was neither a lawyer nor a lay preacher, who could read the signs of the times, and make his elo- quence a power in Europe, his influence with the people would be unbounded. The self- ishness, and bigotry, and imbecility, that have so long reigned, would make the re- splendency of his genius but the more con- spicuous; the waves of sectarian strife would sink to silence at his voice; the aspirations and the patriotism of Ireland would recog- nize him as the prophet of the future. 207 COMETS. From The Press. people did not look upon them in any fear COMETS: of what they might do, but only in vivid ap- WHAT THEY AREXND 110W THEY AFFECT prehension of what their coming might sig- us. nify. It was simply as omens that they ter- THE long-tailed celestial visitor which so rifled the nations. Nor has the belief been suddenly appeared and disappeared in our confined to the vulgar. And, after all, what skies gives a renewed impulse to astronom- does the belief in such physical omens ical studies and speculations. Such, indeed, amount to but this, that there is a general is the unexampled dulness of the publish- accord in the affairs of the worlda sympa- ing season, that even books and pamphlets thy between physical and moral events, on Comets fail to illumine the literary night that where there is a truth there is also a that has settled down upon us. But old symbol; so that a belief in astrology, or in books of this sort are coming forth in second the signs of the heavens as prognostics of editions, or re-appear as if with a renewed coming events in the earth, whether it be existence in advertisincr columns. Cometic correct or not, is simply a belief that a har- literature is again in vogue, and is likely ere mony and sympathy pervade all parts of this long to reach a new perihelion. The ex- divinely framed universe, and that as clouds pected advent of the great comet of 1556 gather and the air moans before a storm, so first gave an increased stimulus to the inves- comets and eclipses are the celestial prelude tigations and speculations of the learned to wide-spread trouble and distress of na- star-gazers; and if, though expected for a tions. If there are any who still draw omens dozen years, the great comet which from the aspect of the heavens, the signs of frightened Charles V. into abdication has the times ought certainly to appear to them not yet appeared, its absence has been corn- very menacing. One enormous comet in pensated by the advent of two others, en- 1858, another not less enormous now, and a tirely new to astronomers, and perhaps not third, the great comet of 1556, expected inferior in size and splendor. Hardly had next year, is unquestionably a rare and ?VIr. Hind published his book on the expected startling succession of celestial phenomena. return of the comet of 1556, when the comet If increased knowledge of physical science of 1858 revealed itself to the telescope of lessened the prestige of comets as harbin- Donati, and for two months became a splen- gers of woe and trouble, it brought in lieu did sight to the naked eye over the greater thereof very strong opinions as to the dread- part of the world. Again a new and unex- ful injury which our planet might suffer by pected comet has risen into our skies, and coming into collision with them as they passed away before we could know almost rushed across its orbit in their fiery course any thing of it, except the vast size of its to or from the sun. Whiston was one of blazing nucleus and luminous tail, stretching the most fearful of those scientific fore- over a hundred degrees of sky. Nor does boders. Some thought our planet might be this end the remarkable cometic phenomena smashed to atoms by the tremendous velocity of the time, for, unless astronomy be wholly of their impetus, and that Earth might one at fault, we shall assuredly have the comet day be thus split up into aerolites or aste- of 1556 at last bursting upon our sight ere roids, such as those which already circle another year is gone. Since, then, comets around us, as if betokening the destruction are coming upon us so fast and in such of some fellow-planet. Others with less cx- grand style, let us ask what is the nature of travagance, contended that close contact or those strange and impressive visitors, and collision with a comet might, by changing for what purpose do they thus circle through the position of the earth~s axis, or simply the abysses of space and set agog the minds by attracting the mobile portion of the of men. earths surface, submerge every thing by the As yet, it would appear, they have come rush of the seas across the existing conti- in so questionable a shape that science nents of land. This was the cold-water doe not profess to tell much about them. catastrophe. Others, regarding comets as Does their coming benefit us ?would a col- masses of intensely heated vapor, thought li~ion with them hurt us P At firstwe that our fate would rather be to be scalded mean until within the last few centuries or stifled to death as if in a vast vapor- 208 COMETS. bath. Of late years the fashion has been to nor even their light impaired, by the transit ridicule the idea of injury from such a col- of a comet. To some eyes, the star Arctu- lision altogether, and to speak in very dis- rus appeared to shine with increased bril- paraging terms of comets as mere imposing liance when transited by the comet of 1858; humbugs, who, despite all their vaporing, and we shall never forget with what interest, were not strong enough even to crush a fly. on that clear starlight night, we watched the We remember well, in our college days, the comet pass over the face of the star without self-satisfied air with which the Professor of producing the smallest diminution of its Natural Philosophy used to demonstrate to brightness. How could this be if comets us the vanity of our own or our graudmoth- were composed of vapor? Whether we ci s fears, inasmuch as learned calculations sider the brilliant light, the perfect transpa- showed that the whole matter of the biggest rency, or the fearful rapidity of comets, it comet was vapor so widely diffused tb at it seems a gross absurdity to regard them as might be compressed into a square inch of composed of so dull and sluggish a thing as terrestrial substance, and therefore was too vapor-cloud. On the other hand, if we re- unutterably flimsy to do damage to any gard them as masses of electricityas we thing. This appeared to settle the matter; have no doubt they areevery difficulty of but by and by the thought aroseIf comets the case is met, every requirement fulfilled. be mere vapor, how do they shine? and Is not electricity the most luminous of sub- how is it they fly through space with such stances, the most subtilized or incorporeal, lightning velocity? And how is it, also, and the most powerful and rapid in its that they are so wonderfully transparent ? movements? We see stars shining through for does not the faintest mist or puff of steam the br6ad streams of the aurora borealis, blot out aU the stars, and make the sun and the tails of comets most closely resem- himself appear shorn of his beams? ble, indeed, we may affirm are substantially Our purpose is to broach some ideas on the same as, the boreal light. comets which will of course be held unor- As we dont believe comets exist simply thodox, but which may be interesting, and to frighten people, or even to presage events, we think are true. During the last two we may next ask what purpose they serve? months we have again heard the old talk of What place do they hold in the universe? comets being composed of vapor, of which What effect do they produce upon the other we heard so much in 1858 and for several bodies, whether suns or planets, which cir- years previously. The public was comforted dc through the boundless fields of space? with the assurance that even if the largest Before attempting to answer this question, comet came in contact with the earth, it let us observe how comets conduct them- could do no harm, as it was composed of selves. Emerging into view out of the abyss matter so amazingly sparse that a whole of unoccupied space which surrounds our substance of a comet could be compressed planetary system, dividing it from the Qther into a single square inch of earthy matter. systems which belong to what we call the Comets, therefore, they said, must be masses fixed~~ stars, the comets bear down in- of vapor heated to a degree far surpassing creasing in brilliance towards the sun, cross- any thing we can imagine,. although how ing in turn the orbits of most of the planets, they could hold such an opinion, and yet and in some cases all of them. Speeding comfort us with the assurance that our across the orbit of far-off Neptune, they pass planet might pass through a comet and in quickening flight through the region of never be the worse, we leave them to cx- Saturn, Jupiter, Earth, Mars, Venus, Mer- plain. They forgot also to prove that the cury, then making a sharp close wheel round substance of comets is, as they allege, mere the immense body of the sun, they fly off vapor, and not something much more p0- again through the planetary system, and tent, and therefore more efficacious for good disappear with slackening speed, relaxing or evil, density, and rapidly diminishing light in the We differ entirely from the current opin- outer darkness. Their course forms a~ nar- ion. Astronomers first framed this vapor- row ellipse, stretching from the sun, where hypothesis in a vain attempt to explain the their speed is like that of the lightning, to & singular fact that stars are not obscured, distance in some cases a dozen times greater COMETS. than that of the furthest planet, at which point of aphelion their speed is hardly greater than an express railway train. Their density and activity are manifestly enor- mously increased by contiguity to the sun and his satellite planets, and subside almost to zero amidst the unoccupied fields of space. This is precisely what we should expect to see in an orbed mass of the electric fluid. Now, the more powerfully a comet is excited, or attracted, the more powerfully does it act upon the bodies which thus excite it. Ob- viously, therefore, it must act most power- fully as a stimulus upon the sun, and subor- dinately upon those planets with which it comes into closest propinquity. Of the pre- cise effects of this stimulus we cannot pre- tend to speak. As electricity is of various kinds, it is even possible that different com- ets may to some extent exert a different influence. But this at least is certain, that, in one mode or other, they stimulate what may be called the life-power of the bodies with which they came into propin- quity. Electricity is, par excellence, the life-power of the material universe. It is to matter, and the worlds of matter, what the nerve-force is to the human frame. The approach of a comet, therefore, must stimu- .latein most cases, probably in all, benefi- ciallythe vital action in sun and planets, enduing them as it were with greater life, and power of producing life. Had we been disciples of Lamarck, we should certainly have fixed on the embrace of a comet as the most probable explanation of that develop- ment of species, that raising of one type of existence into a higher, which forms the creed of certain philosophers of the present day. For our part, we hold the common faith. But if asked to conjecture what agency the Supreme Being employed in raising our planet from one platform of ani- mated existence to successively higher ones, we should venture to affirm that, so far as puny human knowledge goes, there is no agency so probable, and seemingly so fitted to produce those changes, as the embrace of one of those erratic orbs of the electric fluid. Observe this. However close a comet may approach the sun, we have little fear of its falling into it. We hold that to be as un- likely as that two positive, or two negative, poles of a magnet should form a union. But the case is different with a planet. In sweep- THIRD SERIES. LIVING AGE. 774 209 ing towards the sun, a comet would at once envelop a planet in its course. In recent times we have had some proofs of this. The comet of 1779 came in contact with one of Jupiters satellites,the comet was evidently attracted by it, and hung round the satellite enveloping it in its electric mass, and was so affected in turn that, on parting from it, the comet flew off in a different orbit from that which it previously had. If this is true of a comet, it will also be true of a comets tail. A planet passing through the tail of a comet will not only be temporarily enveloped in it, but will unquestionably retain, by attraction, a portion of the sparse electric mass. The matter of a planet being far less electrified than a comet, which is entirely composed of electricity, will attract and become saturated as it were with the fluid, and hence acquire an increased electric action. The mere ap- proach of a comet, we believe, will produce an increased electric action in a slight de- gree upon the nearer planets ;a planet passing through the tail of a comet will ex- perience this physical ex~dtation in a greater degree ;and a planet which comes into actual contact with a comet, we believe, although the planet should be unaltered in its course, would experience such an acces- sion of life-power as would tend to produce a higher animated existence on its surface, and probably also new forms of existence. We believe, in short, that comets constitute a reserve of vital force for our planetary system, and doubtless also for others masses of light, heat, and physical life wan- dering in elongated courses which cut the orbit of every planet, nearing now and now another, and always the sunexciting each to renewed or higher vitality. One comet passed so near the earth that it has been maintained for some time we were envel- oped by the outer edges of its tail. The same has been said of the late comet. Mr. Hindsays: Judging from the amount of curvature on the 30th June (Sunday), and the direction of the comets motion, I think the earth would very probably encounter the tail in the early part of that day, or; at any rate, it was certainly in a region which had been swept over by the cometary matter shortly before. I may add that on Sunday evening, while the comet was so conspicuous in the northern heavens, there was a pccu- liar pho& horescence or illumination of the 210 COMETS. sky, which I attributed at the time to an auroral glare; it was remarked by other persons as something unusual, and, consid- ering how near we must have heen on that evening to the tail of the comet, it may per- haps be a point worthy of investigation whether such effect can be attributed to our proximity thereto. Several persons wrote to the Times that they had observed a simi- lar illumination of the heavens; but we do not think this settles the point,.for the ap- pearance of a luminous haze has been more than once recorded in past times when a large comet was in our skies, and under cir- cumstances which induce us to regard the phenomenon as similar to the zodiacal light, and as occasioned by the increased electric action of our planet produced by the prox- imity of the comet. In our opinion, the effect of the propinquity of a large comet, or mass of electricity, upon the planets cannot fail to be considerable, and common experi- ence testifies that comet-years are generally hot years, and that the wine of those years is particularly good. Comet-years are also popularly said to be fruitful in twins. Cer- tainly, both as regards heat and the vintage, this season does not belie the character as- cribed to comet-years. The planets have an aphelion and perihe- lion as ~vell as the comets. Once in every year the earth approaches nearer to the life- giving sun, and having thus replenished its fires circles off again into its aphelion. Ve- nus and Mercury do the same in shorter periods: Jupiter in twelve years, Saturn in thirty, Uranus in eighty-four, Neptune in one hundred and sixty-four. Every month the relative position of the planets varies endlessly; and it is demonstrable that in certain positions a particular planet is much more acted upon by its fellow-planets and by the sun than ia others. In fact every day of the year the electric action of our earth must vary, changing of course chiefly in accordance with our position relatively to the sun, but also in consequence of its posi- tion relatively to the other planets. The sun itself, it could be shown, must be more acted upon by the planets at one time than another. Thus, while the general balance of action is kept up, there are ceaseless tem- porary librations in the magnetic power of the various members of our planetary sys- tem: presenting that beautiful effect of Di- versity harmonized and subordinated to Unity which marks all departments of the divine cosmos. To add to these cyclical changes ceaselessly going on in the condi- tion of the sun and planets, come the com- ets, which as it were superimpose an ebb and flow of vital action peculiar to them- selves. Several thousands of those erratic visitors are believed to be tenants of our planetary system, performing their journey round the sun at intervals of from three to three thousand and even nine thousand years: the smaller ones, as is the case with the solid planets, moving in comparatively small orbits, and the large ones having suffi- cient force first to seek and then to be re- pelled from the sun in orbits whose length can hardly be set forth in figures. Now it is a small comet that nears the sun, now it is a large onenow it passes near earth, now near Jupiter or some other planet: and thus, what with the comets, and what with the constant changes of position among the planets themselves, an endless variety of action, an ebb and flow of physical life, goes on, changing from year to year, and culmi- nating at vast intervals in the actual contact and embrace of comet and planet, producing results as to which we can only speculate, though we know they must be singular and powerful. One lesson in science, one correction of our kno#ledge of the cosmical forces, is plainly taught usthough savans are slow to receive itby the motions and ongoings of the comets. We must now supplement the discoveries and extend the scientific views of Newton. He discovered the law of attraction: we must now recognize another and entirely opposite force, in the law of repulsion. How the great astronomer should so clearly recognize the former law, and yet~ remain insensible to the latter, appears ex- traordinary. If the sun simply attracted the planets, they would not fly round it, but fall into it. It is a law of alternate attrac- tion and repulsion which keeps the planets in their courseswhich through one-half of their course draws them towards the sun, and in the other half, after they have replen- ished their fires, sets them spinning off to the further end of their elliptical orbit. Comets display the operation of this law in a very marked manner. They approach the sun with tremendous and ever-increasing COMETS. velocity, yet, no sooner do they actually come close to it than, instead of being at- tractcd into it, they wheel off again, and fly from the sun as rapidly as they approached it. The large comets of 1680 and 1844 ap- proached so close to the sun that a space equal to less than one-sixth of the suns diameter intervened between the comet and the central luminary. Now, attraction in- creases geometrically as the distance dimin- ishes; and since the attraction of the sun upon comets is so powerful as to draw them from their far-off aphelions, it must act with 211 infinitely augmented power when the comet approaches up to the very skirts of its at- mosphere. Every force in the universe, it would appear, has its opposite. And un- questionably the law of repulsion, so bril- liantly revealed to us in the case of comets, ought now to be recognized as an equally potent force in maintaining the life motion, and orderly harmony of material creation, as the old long-known rival, the discovery of which immortalized the great name of Newton. R. WARS VICISSITUDES. THIS battle fares like to the mornings war, When dying clouds contend with growing light; Now sways it this way, like a mighty sea, Forced by the tide to combat with the wind: Now sways it that way, like the self-same sea, Forced to retire by fury of the wind; Sometime the flood prevails, and then the wind; No~v one the better, then the other best; Both tuggin,, to he victors, breast to breast, Yet ncither conqueror nor conquered; & is the equal poise of the fell war. A HORRID SPECTACLE. Alarum.[Enter a son that has killed hisfather, dragging in the dead body.] SonIll blows the wind that profits nobody. This man, whom band-to-hand I slew in fight, May be possessed with some store of crowns; And I that Imply take them from him now, May yet, era night, yield both my life and them To some man else, as this dead man doth me, Whos this? 0 God! it is my fathers face, Whom in this conflict I unawares have killed. o heavy times, begetting such events! From London by the King was I pressed forth; Mv father, being the Earl of Warwicks man, Came on the part of York, pressed by his mas- ter; And I, who at his hands received my life, Have by my hands of life bereav~d him. Pardon me, God, I knew not what I did! And pardon, father, for I knew not thee I My tears shall wipe away these bloody marks, And no more words till they have flowd their fill. King ilenrq Vl.O piteous spectacle! 0 bloody times Whilst lini war, and battle for their dens, Von mini l~ss lambs abide their enmity W~ep, ~vretched man, Ill aid thee tear for tear; And let our hearts, and eyes, like civil war, B~4lind with tears, anti break oercharged with grief. REPLECTION AND DESPAIR. Cl~jThrd.Henry, hadst thou swayd as kings should do, Or as thy father, and his father, did, Giving no ground unto the house of York, I, and ten thousand in this luckless realm, Had left no mourning widows for our death, And thou this day hadst kept thy chair in peace. For what doth cherish weeds but gentle air? And what makes robbers bold but too much lenity? Bootless are plaints, and cureless are my wounds Come, York, and Richard, Warwick, and the rest; I stabbd your fathers bosom, split my breast. 3d Part of King Henry VI., Act 2. CHARITY. WHEN you meet with one suspected Of some secret deed of shame, And for this by all rejected As a thing of evil fame; Guard thine every look and action, Speak no word of heartless blame, For the slanders vile detraction Yet may soil thy goodly name. When you meet with one pursuing Ways the lost have entered in, Working out his own undoing, With his recklessness and sin; Think, if placed in his condition, Would a kind word be in vain? Or a look of cold suspicion Win thee back to truth again? There are spots that hear no flo~vers, Not because the soil is bad, But the summers genial showers Never made their bosoms glad; Better have an act thats kindly, Treated sometimes with disdain, Than by judging others blindly, Doom the innocent to pain. 212 SNUBBING. From The Saturday Review. SNUBBING. WhAT is that thing which everybody re- members, which in the most grateful of us outlives all benefits and overtops all ser- vices? How may a man construct himself a niche in every mind, connect undying as- sociations with his name, haunt innumerable memories, make himself a household word, point a moral, and become a standing illus- tration? How may he get himself thought of and talked of most lastingly and surely? The answer is really too obvious. Simply by cultivating the art of snubbing, or, in fa- vored instances, by merely withdrawing all checks on a natural bias and yielding to the dictates of an inborn acidity. It is an old word, and was very appropriately used in other days to express the withering action of the east wind; but we make no apology for using it in its modern and more famil- mr sense, as a social blight, as nipping our budding joys, and breathing its cold blast on human jollity. And yet what is a snub, after all, that it should brand itself so in- delibly? Why should we be more vulner- able to its attacks than to more formidable thrusts? If it were any thing very seriously touching character or credit, it would not go by that name. The word affects to be hu- morous, and the wound is assumed to be slight, and men are not unused to plain speaking. They acquiesce in the rights of au- thority in others; and youth, which is espe- cially sensitive to snubswhich experiences all the fever fit of shame at being merely told to mind its own businessmakes compara- tively small account of more serious censure, and indulges in a playful nomenclature for the graver forms of reproof. How does it give more pain than many a heavy rebuke from quarters whose displeasure is serious, considering that the man who snubs does not primarily mean to give pain at all? There are people who are conscious and proud of the faculty of giving pain, who have a morbid appetite for making people uneasy about them, to whom a comfortable person is an eyesore. They feel the promptings of an impulse akin to that which made the Ro- man emperor, seeing a: fat and jovial sena- tor enjoying himself in the amphitheatre, bid his attendants put a sword in that mans hand and make him fight a lion; and which stirs in the domestic tyrant Pluto, they called him, and they called him well, For twas no heaven where he was pleased to dwell. But there need be nothing cruel in the man who snubs. It is good sort of people who are tempted to ithonest, sincere men, who have a notion of doing their friends good, of disabusing them summarily of their faults, and shaking them out of follies and mis- takesas when Dr. Johnson, thegreat mas- ter of the art, turned upon one of his flatter- ers, Sir, you have but two topics, your- self and me. I am sick of both. They go right at the offence against taste, sense, or propriety, as it may be, and have a confi- dence in their way of putting things so as to confound and convince the sinner at a stroke. They are alive to two thingsthe matter to be exposed and put down, and their aptitude for the work. The feelings of their friend are the only part of the question not taken into accountwhich, however, happen to be dearer to the patient than either his friends perspicacity or abstract truth, even though there existed no difference of opinion on this latter point. When we endeavor to analyze it, the im- mediate effect of a snub is to induce a feel- ing of deprivation and exposure. Its physi- cal sensation is like the sudden loss of a garment, and the consequent rush of cold; and we do in fact lose, in the surprise, the snug covering of our usual self-respect. We are dependent creatures. We are apt, on the instant of others not respecting us, to feel ourselves not respectable, small, inferior, incompetent, unable to hold our own; and. hence the main annoyance. That which pre- dominates in a snub is the pressing difficulty of how to take it. We are caught at una- wares without our weapons. There are as- saults and aggressions of a nature to rouse our courage and to quicken our powers which call for and suggest an answerwhich may be resented on the spot without injury to our dignity; but this is not one of them. All that can be done generally under a snub all, at least, that we actually dois to pull up suddenly with an inner b~tnk sense of tingling, a doubt as to where we are, a confused feeling of having the worst of it, which our instinct teaches us to keep to our- selves as much as possible. For it must be noted that a snub is of necessity a sudden SNUBBING. blow , gi+en when we are at a disadvantage, careless, and at ease in the security of social intercourse. Social intercourse takes sym- pathy for granted. It assumes one general genial sentimenta disposition to follow a lead, to pursue subjects ia the spirit in whieh they are started. A snub is a check, a blank it is a curtain suddenly drawn downit is pulling up against a dead-wallit is cold ob- struction and recoil. Either the snubber has authority on his side, and we have laid ourselves open by some inadvertence, bya misplaced trust in his condescensionand we have been parents painfully snub their children in this sort, first allow them liber- ties, then stop them with a harsh check in mid-career of spirits, and in the presence of strangersor perhaps we have given way to enthusiasm, and are met by ridicule. Or we have made a confidence which we think tender, and it is received with indifference. Or we tell a story, and are asked for the point of it. Or we are given to understand that we are mistaken where ~ve have assumed ourselves well informed. Or our taste is coolly set at naught; or we talk, and are re- minded we are prosy; or we are brought face to face with our ignorance in a way to make us feel it most keenly. The strength of a snub lies in the sudden appreheusion that we have committed ourselves, and a consequent painful sense of insignificance that there is somebody quite close to us, re- gardless of our feelings, looking down on us, and ostentatiously unsympathizing. This is an elaborate description of perhaps a mo- mentary sensation following on an encounter probably as short, after which each party may seem to pursue his way unconscious; but in human affairs time is not the measure of importance, and one of the two at least treasures a memory of it in his heart bear- ing no proportion whatever to the time it took in acting. Perfectly collected and self-satisfied per- sons are impervious to snubs. Sam Weller is represented as receiving one from his master (we need not say well merited) with perfect smiling serenity. So are the happy few gifted with the power of repartee and rejoinder, who may be called social debaters, whose glory is an emergency, who can collect their powers on the instant, and give the check they take, with usury. When M. Scribe, according to the newspaper story, 213 answered the millionnaire who wanted him to lend him the use of his genius for a consid- eration, that it was contrary to Scripture for a horse (so he wrote it) and an ass to plough together, it was a perfectly fair snub. The man deserved any thing he got, but he must have felt triumph rather than mortification when, on the spur of the moment, he could demand what right had M. Scribe to call him a horse. But these cases are too few to be taken into account, and the practised snub- ber has generally the game in his own hand, and secures a victory. If morals are his forte, he will have demonstrated how much more prompt are his moral instincts than our own, how quick he is to discover the right which our dulled perceptions or stolid selfishness had missed. If his line is intel- lectual, he will have reminded us of our il- logical habits of thought and our bounded views comparedwith his keen intelligence and clear judgment. If life and manners are his care, he will have convicted us of mistakes, awkwardnesses, solecisms; if information and general knowledge, he will have suc- ceeded in impressing us with a sense of our deficiencies; if taste, he will take care to show us that there is nothing he values so slightly as our opinion. That natural human sensitiveness is con- stantly lost sight of by quick and clever peo- ple, is clear even from fiction. In the dia- logue of most novels, we find snubs which could not be inflicted in real intercourse with- out bringing all intercourse to an end. All historical conversations professing to have actually taken placefrom Canutes reproof to his courtiers to the Sir, you dont know the poor figure you make, quoted by Ma- caulayfoster the delusion that mankind will stand wounds to their self-love which they will not stand; and the snubbers may thus be tempted to try experiments which, in spite of momentary triumphs, end in their own real defeat. There are men exemplary in all the duties of life who never pass a day without snubbing somebodyof course their wives (natural victims, used to he told that they say nothing and do nothing right), their children, their servants, their underlings, their acquaintances, their associates. Every day something has passed their lips which has acted like a blow at the time, and worked on the recollection like a blisterwhich has been repeated with querulous soreness and 214 SNUBBiNG. been passed on to the world as a fresh trait of characterwhich has added to the grow- ing barrier which daily rises between the man and his species. Not that we can cut himwe do not even wish to do so. All the ceremonies of friendly intercourse continue to pass between us; there is no reason they should ever be left off. But at every en- counter he gets shoved farther and farther away from our secrets. One by one he loses the key to the hearts of his friends, who stand on the defensive, keep watch, shut themselves up in his presence with instinct- ive caution, till we doubt not he often in his inner heart wonders at his own isolation. For our part we are sincerely sorry for him; and we are so conscious besides that men may have the habit without knowing it, that we would offer one general counselnever under any temptation to practise a talent for setting down on people worth caring for. Risk a good deal, take a circuitous route, leave good advice unsaid, or said in less trenchant telling fashion, bear irritations, nuisances, what not, rather than inflict any sudden wound on your friends self-love. Do not put him on your behalf on the duty of Christian forgiveness. Allow him to rest in some ignorance of your opinion, even though he may believe it more to his advantage than it happens to be. Submit to be incom- plete; sacrifice the pleasure of being sharp and acute at his expense; for it is very cer- tain that he will not like you the better, and very unlikely also that he should himself be the better, for your having made him feel like, and perhaps look like, a fool. If he is often put under the apprehension of it, the least that can be expected of him is, that he will eschew your confidence, and carefully keep on the windy side of intimacy. Here lies the secret of so many charges of ingrati- tudeof benefits forgotten, of unrequited, unvalued sacrifices. Not that a few, or even a series, of ill-considered, unpalatable words ought to counterbalance real services, but that they put human nature to a strain which too severely tests its weak points. And there is this to be saidthat contempt, of all things the hardest to bear, is, if we go to the bottom of it, the motive force of most snuhs. The practice is certainly incompati ble with a respectful habit of mind. Our friend is in a hurry to tell us that our judg- ment is worth nothing, that our expression of it must be stopped, that we, or something about us, must be put down. As we think over the matter, the examples that first oc- cur come from contemptuous mindsmen without deference, who are accustomed to lean upon themselves, who do not expect to find much in other people. We do not find them appealing to others, or wishing to know their thoughts, or willing to follow out their speculations, or listening to their sugges- tions. They live and think alone, impatient of interference and interruption, and nourish some notion of themselves which practically, though it may not take the form of vulgar arrogance and vanity, sets them above the possibility of benefit from the crude, un- formed, untaught intelligences around them. Indeed, it is their impatience of other mens ideas and conclusions which leads them to commit themselves. And it is to be ob- served that such men never do see others at their best. A person of ordinary modesty, not gifted with self-reliance, not confident of his position, cannot show himself to advan- tage under such circumstances; and thus men are encouraged in their self-esteem by the consequences of their own ungracious-~ ness. Nobody is quite himself before them unless he is also past the possibility of an open show of contempt, though even this immunity depends on the rank of the snub- ber. The Duke of Wellington could tell an earl, his colleague, You are over-educated for your intellect;~ and when wit and learn- ing were rank, Warburton and Swift could and did snub all the world. If our remaxks lack the pungency of appropriate illustration, it is not because apt examples do not crowd upon us. We could fill columns with them the collegiate, the social, the domestic all of them very much to the purpose, and some very amusiI~g; but, as we have said, these are just the things people never forget. Disguise them as we would, they would be traced to their right source, and the sancti- ties of private life must be respected, though our disquisition lose half its value and all its liveliness by the sacrifice. GENERAL LYON.HORA NOVISSIMA. GENERAL LYON. PROMOTED AUGUST 10, 1861. SET the air all athrob with the roll of drums, Let it flutter with banner and pennon! For bold Cmur-de-Lion, our hero comes, Greet him with chimes and the roar of can- non; IJnfetter each tongue, and uncover each head, Let children his pathway with blossoms oer- spread: Ay, welcome him nobly, with shout and with ptuan, All hail to our hero, to hold Cceur-de-Lion! What! no flush on the cheek that was wont to flame Like a girls, when we nttered his praises? No flash of the eye, while his stainless name The people shout, and the ~var-torch blazes? The voice that rang through the thunder of battle, Over the din and the roar and the rattle, is it dumb to the swell of the nations psean? All hail to our hero, to bold Cceur-de-Liou! Has he grown theu so proud, since the bloody fmay, When he led his brave lads, that summer morning? Promoted so high he can fling them away The honors we bring himbelow his scorn- ing? Promoted? Ay, lifted above our poor praises As far as ~jse heaven above earths sad mazes: Sobs choke down our shouting, tears drown our brave ptuan, Our hero! our martyr! 0 deed Creur-de-Lion! So gentle, so noble, so foully undone Lay him to rest by his own native river, And swear while to ocean its bright currents run, The nation shall mourn him, he died to de- liver! A nation of freemen, washed clean by the flood, That sweeps oer the land, red with patriots blood, And worthy to name him, with shout and with puan, Our hero! our martyr! our own Cmur-de-Lion! L. E. P. Albany, August 23d, 1861. [These lines were mislaid, I should hesitate to send them to you, so long after the mournful event they commemorate, but I know that our noble Lyons death is an eterael sorrow, and can nevem fade from the nations heartL. E. P.] flORA NOVISSIMA. FAR down the ages now, Her journey welluigh done, The pilgrim Church pursues her way, In baste to reach the crown. The story of the past Comes up before her view; How well it seems to suit her still Old, and yet ever new. Tis the same story still, The brier and the thorn - And tis the same old solace yet The hope of coming morn No wider is the gate, No broader is the way, No smoother is the ancient path That leads to light and day. No lighter is the load Beneath whose weight we cry No tamer is the rebel flesh, Nor less our enemy. No sweeter is the cup, Nor less our lot of ill; Twas tribulation ages since Tis tribulation still. No greener are the rocks, No fresher flow the rills; No roses in the wilds appear, No vines upon the hills. Still dark the sky above, And sharp the desert air; Tis wide, bleak desolation round, And sorrow everywhere. Dawn lingers on yon cliff, But oh, how loth to spring: Morning still nestles on you wave, Afraid to try its wing. No slacker grows the fight, No feebler is the foe, No less the need of armor bright, Of shield and spear and bow. No less we feel the blank Of earths still absent king, Whose presence is of all our bliss, The everlasting spring. Thus onward still we press Through evil and through good, Through pain, and poverty, and want, Through peril and through blood. Still faithful to our trust, And to our Captain true, We follow where he leads the way, The kingdom in our view. 215 216 From The Examiner. Private Correspondence of Thomas Ilaikes with the Duke of Wellington and oilier distinguished Contemporaries. Edited by his Daughter, Harriet iRaikes. Bentley. THIs correspondence presents itself under two aspects, ,the one almost entirely social, the other wholly political. The select friends of Mr. Raikes, the leaders of the fashionable clique known as The Dandies,contrib- ute to the former ;the Duke of Wellington and his private secretary, Mr. Greville, f~r the most part supply the latter. From these two sources are derived both amusement and interest, for the Dandies, with whom Mr. Baikes was on the greatest terms of inti. macy, were well-educated and observant men, andas Miss Raikes truly sayshad an equal facility and predilection for letter- writing; while the opinions of the Duke whatever his political viewswere invari- ably characterized by the soundest common- sense. Without particularly caring to inquire whether the fraternity of the Dandiesas the Introduction to this volume asserts was founded upon the Science of Civi- lized Existence, we are content to know, that their speech was pleasant, their lan- guage thorough-bred, their raillery concilia- tory, and their satirewhat they intended it to be; that many among them were highly gifted,doing all that they did well; the less apt, always to the point, let- ting it alone; without enthusiasm, without illusionsa school of gentlemen, liberal and open-handed; ephemeral as youth and spir- its, yet marked by this endearing quality, that they remained (with few exceptions) true and loyal friends, tested through years of late adversity, and even Deaths obliv- ion. We shall not quarrel with this elab- orate and rather contradictory description of an extinct and almost forgotten species, but suffer them to speak for themselves, which, fortunately for us, they do in a clearer and more attractive style than their somewhat laborious apologist. The autocrat of the clique in question was Beau Brummell, but he is only exhibited here in the dark day of his dethronement, a ref- ugee at Calais, dependent for all his society upon Monsieur Quillacthe landlord of his hotelhis waiter, a servant upon trial, and an old abb6 who taught him French at three PRIVATE CORRESPONDENCE OF THOMAS RAIKES. francs a lesson; and for his sole enjoyment upon the mixture called Fa9on de Paris, the best snuff, he says, with which his nose was ever nourished; butthese agmiments not- withstandingaltogether, what he calls him.~ self, a poor exiled, disconsolate devil. All the rest of Mr. Raikes correspondents are still in full feather, and wherever he is they keep him au courant of what is going on. here, to begin with, is something new respecting the circumstances attendant on the death of the Princess Charlotte of Wales. The writer is Colonel Cooke, who says The faculty of mind never abandoned her; she asked, about an hour previous to death, whether there was any danger P the difficulty of breathing from about that time prevented her speaking much. When Baillie and Croft administered brandy, hot wine, sal volatile, etc., she said, You make me drunk; pray leave me quiet; I find it affects my head; and, shortly after this, raising herself in the bed, she heaved a deep sigh, fell back, and expired. The lion. Brummond Burrell (yet living and bearing the title of Lord Willoughby dEresby) sends amusing accounts of society in Italy, characterizing his travelling coun- trymen as denizens of Bulldom. Es- terhazy, p~re, he says, is gone to Flor- ence, on a reduced establishment of forty horses and fourteen carriages; Paul is here (at Milan) on his way to pay a paternal visit, and to request him to book up some 100,- 000 for his expenses to England. The Duke of York writes of dinners, and sport, and whist; thanks Mr. Baikes for settling his account at Ascothaving frequent cause, no doubt, for returning thanks on that score, and, on the chances of play discourses philosophically as follows: As to whist the vicissitudes of fortune, as you well know, render it impossible to say what may be the case before the conclusion of my jaunt: as yet I have done no good. And will not, most likely, to the end of time. His royal highness adds, with his usual good-nature: I am sorry to learn that fortune has lately treated you so scurvily, andthough he left his creditors in the lurch, never neglect- ing his debts of honor I will take care to pay George Anson the hundred and eight pounds which I owe you. If the duke did take care to keep his promise he behaved better than the Hon. , who used always to accost a friend of his to whom he owed money lost in the West Indies, By the by, 0, I owe you forty joes! .a con- fession which he kept up to his dying day. Lord Yarmouth (the late Marquis of Hert- ford) requests Mr. iRaikes to undertake a most perilous adventure, one in which, he hopes, his friend will feel with bowels of compassion for his forlorn state. My prayer is, that you will look out, if possible, for what is called a valet de chambre cuisi- nier, a good patissier, above all things and a perfect operator, and not above casting his eye towards the d4jeuner ?z la fourehette, or the coffee manufacture, etc. I hate a fine or a difficult gentleman; and I abhor a rogue, more from irritation even than economy. I care not whether I give him one or two hun- dred a year. I am looking out, so do not engage anybody till you have written to me, Zest 1 should have 1iwins. Montrond will speak to Boucher; ask him to do so for mc. I hope you feel a little interest in my dinners being good, which diminishes the scruples I should otherwise feel. Montrond, of whom mention is frequently made in this corre- spondence, was the private secretary to the Prince de Talleyrand, and, like Yorick, a fellow of infinite jest. Lord Alvanley gives the following on his authority Montrond is wonderful: apoplexy and gout do their worst, but cannot subdue his spirits and esprit; he killed us with laugh- ing at his stories about M. de Talleyrands death, which, though it deeply affected him, has still its ludicrous side; and his legacy of a stand-up desk to write at did not soften his natural inclination to be a little sarcas- tic. He said that when the signature to the retractation was signed, a priest declared it was a miracle, on which he gravely said that he had already known of just such another miraclethat when General Gouvins was killed, he, Montrond, with General Latour Maubourg, went to the spot where he lay, and that they asked the only person who had seen the catastrophe how it occurred; this was a hussar who replied: Le boulet la frapp~, et il navait que juste le temps de me dire, Prenez ma bourse et ma montre; et il est mort! This apologue, as you may suppose, was like a shell thrown into Dino~s coterie. Five years after the death of his patron Montrond had a retractation of his own to make. Apoplexy and the gout,.or pa- 217 ralysis rather,had done the usual work, and Mr. iRaikes found him in Paris, fast sinking into the grave. He describes his death in a letter to the Duke of Welling- ton Having so long known his antecedents, I was naturally very curious to learn the tone of his feelings and the state of his mind at such a crisis, more particularly as I had also heard that his head was as clear and as collected as ever. Three or four days back, when it was said to him, Prenez boa cour- age, vous irez peut-& re mieux; assez bien m~me pour sortir en voiture. He replied, Oni, je sais bien la voiture dans laquelleje sortirai. Since this, I find, to my great surprise, that the IDuc de Broglie took upon himself to opirer son salut, and was unceas- ing in his efforts to bring him to a sense of religion; as also Madame Hamelia, who is become a very strict devote. The same effort was made some years ago by that excellent woman the late IDuchesse de Broglie, when Montrond was also in a state of extreme danger. She came and prayed by his bed- side, but at that time without making the slightest effect on his mind, for he was then convinced he should recover, and by dint of his own energy. I remember very well he afterwards said to me, Jaurais tr~s bien pu mourir, si je lavois voula. Now it is said that he has shown great signs of religion and contrition. Ii a 6t~ administr~, et il sest confess6 trois fois. The Abbe Petit- pas was constantly with him, and during his first entretien said to him, Vous avez sans doute dans votre tems dit beaucoup de plai- santeries contre la religion. His reply was, Non, jamais; jai toujours v~cu en bonne compagnie; an expression which, though by no means true, showed his good worldly taste. This change (for I will not call it conversion) is, however, very remarkable, particularly as we all remember that he did every thing in his power to dissuade M. de Talleyrand from signing his r~tractation on his death-bed, and then turned it into ridi- cule. Enjin, he died yesterday in what the Catholics call odeur de saintet~ he desired the crucifix to he placed at his beds head, and would not allow it to he removed. The dukes comment on this account is as follows: I am sorry for poor Montrond, but pleased that he died a Christian. I dont believe that these sudden death-bed conver- sions are of good example; but it is better that they should take place for such a man as he was, rather than not at all. They pro- duce some effect on those who imitate them, PRIVATE CORRESPONDENCE OF THOMAS RAIKES. 218 PRIVATE CORRESPONDENCE OF THOMAS RAIKES. and the few who admire them. I dont think that his last moments were calculated to conciliate the generality of the society at Paris or in France, who rarely think seri- ously on any subject. Amongst the foreign allies of the Dandies was Count Matuscewic, who was a fast man before the phrase was well-established, for he apologizes for postponing the answer to a l& tter till his Sunday leisure, for the following reason: On any other day writing forces me to increase my pace to cover, or to incur the risks of being too late: you have been yourself pursuing the same sport, therefore I trust you will understand and forgive me. The count, who mingles politics with his communications, looks at France (in 1832) from an eminently Russian point of view: Things, he says, look more and more gloomy in France; all I wish is, that no power would attack them, nor act upon a system which might be considered as oppressive. They are sure to have a blow- up in a short time, and then they must cut their own throats, which will be a great bless- ing to Europe; or attack their neighbors in which case they will meet with a much stronger and much more successful resistance than they seem to anticipate. Scrope Da- vies (a friend of Lord Byron, who dedicated Parisina to him) tells Mr. Raikes (at second-hand) a good story illustrative of the historical knowlAge of the Welsh. On the restoration of Charles the Second a form of prayer and thanksgiving was sent down into Wales, to be read in all churches and chapels. This is all very well, perhaps, for the Charles the Second, said the Welsh; but what is become of Charles the First P Of Cromwell they had never heard a syllable. They are better informed now, for the Pem- brokeshire peasants of the present day show the mark of Oliver Cromwells horses hoof in the pavement before the high altar of St. Davids Cathedral. Lord Rokeby (the late) and Lord Alvanley both write to Mr. Raikes from various parts of Europe and the East. The first, at Rome, says the Corso looks like a patched pair of breeches, so unlike the gloom and filth of the circumjacent palazzi, and mentions the discovery of a bakers tomb: The great sul)ject of discus- sion is, whether he baked his rolls for Re- publicans or Imperialists. No one can doubt his profession, as the whole operation is kneaded in very imperishable bas-relief; but the quality of his customers divides the critics. Petre thinks one way, Visconti another. Of a Dandys hardships in Rome Lord Rokeby (who, however, was for the time a cripple) says, Lady Coventry donne beaucoup ~ diner, and is splendidly estab- lished; the only inconvenience for me is, that there are one hundred and twenty-two steps to mount, and four to descend, before one arrives in her presence, and all in the open air. Life in Naples was (and is) en- joyed at Naples on easier terms. Lord Al- vanley writes: This place is intended for elderly gentlemen, who wish to go easily down the inclined plane. Pleasing but quiet society, plenty of gayety out of doors for the eye, and very good cheer in the house for the appetite, and perfect liberty to do what you like without being questioned. The peo- ple of the world here are glad to see you if you come to them, and dont come if you dont. All this, and in air perfumed with orange-flowers, makes existence glide away imperceptibly and easily; I have got a house at Castellamare which is delicious, in the shade, half-way up the hill, planted in the centre of a garden of oranges, lemons, and vines, with a terrazzo that commands the whole bay,Yesuvius, Ischia, etc. It is a perfect Paradise; but the evil of it is, I am alone in itno Eve, not even a serpent to tempt me. Lord Alvanley, like most of those who dwelt in the watch-tower of the Dandies (Whit& s clubhouse), was fond of the good cheer he speaks of. In his boat on the Nile, his cook, Achmet, served up as the first dish at dinner, the patriarchal lamb, roasted whole, and though it looked very like a dead dog, it was excellent. Less doubtful was what follows: I am living like a Sardanapalian. Achmet improves every hour. Certain lambs tails, as big as muffins, and heads as small as French rolls, broiled with Egyptian onions, and an agro dolce sauce of lemons and fresh sugar-cane, are beyond praise. Other pleasurable ob- jects he described in the following terms The Nile is a very magnificent river in point of size, but the water is deep mud- color, and offends eyes accustomed to the blue A~gean and Neapolitan seas. The banks are high; and as the country is a dead fiat, you see nothing but the villages which hap- pen to be on the banks. They are of mud, PRiVATE CORRESPONDENCE OF THOMAS RAIKES. and look either like beehives, sugar-houses, or pig-styes. The country, however, is be- yond belief fertile, bearing three and four crops a year, and being always in fruit or flower. The date-trees are beautiful. Wild birds are in millions; pelicans and the graubal white dwarf crane are the most seen, and make an agreeable contrast. The cli- mate is delicious; the air quite balmy; and every hour as I go south I more completely cheat the winter. The Nile water, when fil- tered, is excellent; and there are bottles here, which are made of porous earth, called gurgoulets, and that almost ice it by evap- oration. Here is a bit of Lord Alvanleys experi- ence of female society in Egypt As I was sitting alone after dinner yes- terday, having given my dragomen leave to go out, and no one speaking Arabic being at home, the door opened, and in walked two very handsome women, Arabstall, and with the peculiarly beautiful shaped forms and figures for which they are famous. They sat down, and, after wine, coffee, and a pipe that I offered them, they began talking to me in Arabic. As I had soon exhausted my little stock of that language, we came to a dead-lock; nor could I by any means elicit who had sent them. They were, however, very amiable and very quiet; for, as it was the night, I could not send them away, and was, therefore, obliged to pass the evening with them, and leave them to sleep on the divan when I went to bed. This they did without fuss or trouble. I locked them into the drawing-room; in the morning opened the door, gave them backshisb, and away they went, without my having the least no- lion who they were. Que le diable empeste les Philantropes !they will overturn every thing with their absurd theories. The same gentleman is equal~ uneasy about the policy of English states- men. Forbearance and submission have been too long Zordre du jour. The invasion of Spain was undertaken in direct opposition to our wishes. The Russians attacked and overwhelmed the Turks in spite of us. And now the French, witbout saying by your leave, take possession of a vast country, which gives them the sceptre of the Medi- terranean (Algiers to wit)! Next will come the Americans, who have long cast a wistful eye to that question, as likewise the Rus- sians, and then we shall open our eyes and discover that our policy has been bad. It is really heart-breaking to reflect how the Brit- ish name has sunk in public estimation all over Europe, and how British influence has dwindled. Etcetera. There is a good deal more of the same sort of stuff, which shows that if Mr. Harcourt King aimed at being the political mouthpiece of the Dandies, his political knowledge had not, like Dandyism, been studied as a Science. But such was not the case. Mr. Raikes himself was the man whose political information was worth communicating, as the iDuke of Wellington abundantly testified. From 1837 to 1846, Mr. Raikes lived chiefly in Paris, and the current events of that period form the sub- jects of his letters and the Duke of Wel- lingtons replies. We may quote from these without much necessity for comment, though such themes as the Pritcbard affair, and the Spanish marriages, are now nothing more than auld warld stories. The Question dOrient, which so nearly provoked a war between England and France in 1840,and may yet again be the cause of difference,.is not of so fleeting a nature. While the subject was still in abeyance, the Duke of Welling- ton wrote Letters containing this sort of gossip, with traits of manners and notes of travel, fill up about one-third of the correspondence,the rest is almost exclusively political. The Thindies generally were great alarmists, and in political matters looked at every thing en noir. With them something terrible was al- ways going to happen, and above all things I understood that as far back as August they deprecated change. One of the gloom- last, a proposition had been made to renew iest of the set was Harcourt King, who finds the negotiations for the settlemeat of what is fault with the government of Charles the called the Question dOrient on a new basis, Tenth for not using more repressive meas- which should be put in terms satisfactory to ures. The system of non-intervention, i France; and that the king of the French should he says, has been carried too far, and it be asked to join in them. I never heard of the has been too much the fashion to yield to result. I can understand that France might popular clamor. Mankind have been gov- thinkthat her interests and views were not suf.. ficiently attended to in the first negotiation, erned but by force, and I defy all the exist-, and in that subsequently proposed. ButIcon- ing wiseacres to find out any other means. fess that I have never been able to discover 219 220 PRIVATE CORRESPONDENCE OF THOMAS RAIKES. cause for offence in any of these transactions; but whether there is cause for offence or not, nations may quarrel and go to war upon ques- tions solely of interest and claim compensa- tion. But I never heard of a nation claiming compensation from a third party; that is to say, that France, claiming compensation from England, Prussia, Austria, and Russia, should claim it from the Porte. When the question was approaching a set- tlement the duke said: I believe I know as much of the Eastern Question as any one individual not con- cerned in the negotiation of it. There have been many mistakes, and much mismanage- ment, on both sides, in the negotiation. The original error between England and France was to suppose that these two nations, both maritime, both commercial, both manufac- turing, both having capital, both having and still seeking colonial dependencies, could be what is termed intimate allies. The intimacy must always have been the same as that be- tween the cat and the mouse; each watching every step of the other, each complaining of every advantage enjoyed, and most particu- larly of every one taken by the other. The truth of this Eastern Question is, that both nations were interested in the settlement of it very much upon the plan stipulated in the Treaty of July, 1840. 1 am certain of one thing: the Eastern Question never could have been settled till Mehemet Ali should be turned out of Syria. But both parties, that is to say each of the nations, looked to the acquirement of some advantage in the negotiation and settlement of the question. England has been the successful party. This is the result of which France has to com- plain; all the rest is matter of form, of which the legislature and people of both countries have a right, an equal right, to complain. My opinion is, that France and England at peace, respecting each other, and each the rights of the other, are strong enough to preserve the general peace, and to prevent the oppression of the weak of this world by the strong. But if it is endeavored to carry further the intercourse between these rivals, for every thing interesting to the prosperitf, the ambition, and the vanity of a nation, they must quarrel, and their quarrel must deluge the world in blood. And again, on the subject of the mutual relations of France and England, the duke thus expresses himself: We may do each other, and the world, a great deal of injury by our quarrels; and thus we shall do bet- ter to remain on terms. I do not mean as if we were lovers; but as two nations which respect each other, or even as two individuals. The armed peace, as it is called, is nonsense. It is to the credit of Mr. Raikes that he saw through the character of Louis Philippe, who, he says, slipped into his seat like a thief in the night; who then gave promises which he has since constantly eluded; who, solely intent upon increasing his own power, when his people asked for bread, has given them a stone; and who, having himself be- gun by singing the Marseillaise, now orders his troops to cut down those who repeat the chorus. The king, he says, in another place, desires the preservation of peace as synonymous with the preservation of his throne. He has incurred immense expenses at Versailles, Fontainebleau, etc. The Civil List is at this moment sixty millions in debt. Almost all his quarrels with, or separations from, his ministers, arise from this source. He has compiled above fifty projects of pri- vate ways and means to fill his coffers. Ap- panages for children; exchanges of forest lands for others belonging to the crown, which have a benefit in his favor; inspec- tions of public works, which give him a sur- plus on the grants, etc. These demands and expenditures have driven M. Humana to his wits end, and hence the daily reports of his resignation, and a break-up of the Cabinet. He was not a bad guardian of the public purse. The king said of him, Cest un vrai Cerh~re assis sur la Caisse; and, indeed, he must have a bitter time of it. The royal family and court party are now so confident of passing the bill, that they no longer think disguise at all necessary; and your grace will hardly believe that, the other day, when the son of the late Baron de Talleyrand, a young man of ability, who has been appointed attache to the embassy at Vienna, called on Madame Adelaide previous to his departure to ask her commands, that her royal high- ness said to him, You will say at Vienna, that we are enchanted to have carried the Fortifications. We know we have no right to the post we hold, but are determined to maintain it, and have taken such measures as will preclude our undergoing the same fate as that of the exiled family. Innumerable were the traps laid by Louis Philippe for the peers to obtain their votes on this Fortification Bill. Amongst other lures, says Mr. Raikes, is that which gained the adhesion of General C. Mademoiselle Noblet, his mistress, had long been dismissed from the theatre, but a royal order, given PRIVATE CORRESPONDENCE OF THOMAS RAIKES. 221 for her re-admission and engagement on de main on Madrid, and endeavor to scize the very favorable terms, won the heart as well person of the young queen. This being ac- as the vote of her gallant protector. complished, they are to declare hcr majesty, On the durability of the throne of July and establish a new government. In the Raikes made in 1842, the following re- mean time, Christine will be despatched from Nfr. hence, as called by the nation, to aid her marks daughter with her maternal care and advice. This family has gained no hold in the Once arrived there, she is of course pledged country: where they are not positively dis- to promote and bring about her marriage liked, they are looked upon with perfect in- with the Duc dAumale. And, when a formal difference. They have not the prestige of proposal to that effect shall arrive from Spain, legitimacy to secure them a few followers of his majesty, Louis Philippe will hold up his divine right, and their mendicant marriages hands in astonishment, and declare that he have proved that they had lost their caste never had any share in the business! The abroad, which has not raised them in public most curious part of the story is, that Chris- estimation. The future prospect of an in- tine is very unwilling to play her part in the fant king and an inefficient regent afford lit- comedy. She has had no objection to lend tle idea of security for a country where party her name; she has advanced certain sums spirit rules in so many forms, and all the as scantily as she could; but she is extremely great links of society are denaturalized and averse to going back to Spain, and embroil- disjointeda country where there is no aris- ing herself with these contending factions, tocracy to surround the throne, no combina- who would very soon demand an account of tion of talent and patriotism to support it. her previous stewardship, and make her dis- Add to this, a treasury exhausted by past gorge a large portion of her ill-gotten wealth profusion, a violent demoralized press, and and plunder. It is known that she brought a dark spirit of egotism which pervades all with her out of that country twelve Madeira classes; while the nation still writhes under bottles, carefully sealed, and passed as such the mortification which the foreign policy in her baggage, which were filled with every of Louis Philippe has entailed upon France. sort of precious stones taken from the crown The army is numerous and formidable; but jewels and different palaces belonging to the a great part of this force is engrossed by the royal family. Thus do matters stand at occupation of Algiers and the garrison of present; and the Due dAumale has been Paris. This army is now composed not so called away from his little laurels in Algeria much of conscripts as of paid substitutes to wait the tide of events in Paris. from the lowest classeshired adventurers, We have left ourselves r~om for only a who take to the military life as a speculation, word on the Prince de Joinvilles pamphlet, and are disappointed at finding how little the motive for the publication of which the chance it affords of promotion or emolument Duke of Wellington ascribes to an inordinate under this pacific system. They have no desire for popularity. What but that, he attachment to any family or government: asks, could have induced a man in his sta- they would readily prefer that which offered tion, a prince of the blood royal, the son of the best chance of reward and advancement the king, of high rank and pretensions in to themselves. that profession of the service, to write and Mr. ~aikes made mention of the proposed publish such