THE LIVING AGE. No. 996. 4 July, 1863. CONTENTS: PiG 1. Epigrams, . . . 2. DeQuinceys Remains, . 3. The English Court, . . 4. A ConPAerate Apocalypse, . 5. Heir Hunting, . . . 6. Miss Powers Arabian Days and Nights, 7. Mrs. Kembles Georgia Journal, 8. False Ground and Firm, . 9. Recent Visit to Paris, . . 10. Mene, mene, tekel, upharsin, 11. French Elections, . . 12. Prussia, . . . . Blackwoods Magazine, Reader, Saturday Review, Reader, Saturday Review, Reader, Spectator, Frasers Magazine, Spectator, 3 13 16 18 20 23 25 28 37 39 Spectator, Economist, and Press, 41 Saturday Review and Press, 43 POETRY.ThO Black Regiment, 2. Song for the Loyal National League, 2. In War Time, 47. When thou Sleepest, 48. The Flower, 48~ SHORT ARrIcLEs.Literary Intelligence, 12, 15, 22. The Nile.Mr. Petherick, 22. North American Review; National Quarterly Review, 36. Lord Clydc, change of name, 36. 9 PUBLISHED EVERY SATURDAY BY CO., B LITTELL, SON & OSTON. For Six Dollars a year, in advance, remitted dzrectly to the Publishers, the LIVING AGE will he punctually forwarded free of postage. Complete sets of the First Series, in thirty-six volumes, and of the Second. Series, in twenty volumes, handsomely bound, 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 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 com~ plate any broken volumes they may have, and thus greatly enhance their value. 2 THE SECOND TRB SECOND LOUISIANA. MAY 27TH, 1863. BY GEORGE H. BORER. DARK as the clouds of even, Ranked in the western heaven, Waiting the breath that lifts All the dread mass, and drifts Tempest and falling brand Over a ruined land; So still and orderly, Arm to arm, knee to knee, Waiting the great event, Stands the black regiment. Down the long dusky line Teeth gleam and eyeballs shine; And t.he bright bayonet, Bristling and firmly set, Flashed with a purpose grand, Long ere the sharp command Qf the fierce rolling drum Told them their time had come, Told them what work was sent For the black regiment. Now, the flag-sergeant cried, Though death and hell betide, Let the whole nation see If we are fit to be Free in this land ; or bound Down, like the whining hound~ Bound with red stripes of pain In our old chains again! Oh, what a shout there went From the black regiment Charge! Trump and drum awoke, Onward the bondmen broke; Bayonet and sabre-stroke Vainly opposed their rush. Throuuh the wild battles crush, With but one thought aflush, Driving their lords like chaff, In the guns mouths they laugh; Or at the slippery brands Leaping with open hands, Down they tear man and horse, Down in their awful course; Trampling with bloody heel Over the crashing steel, All their eyes forward bent, Rushed the black regiment. Freedom! their battle-cry...... Freedom! or leave to die! Ah! and they meant the word, Not as with us tis heard, Not a mere party-shout: They gave their spirits out Trusted the end to God, And on the gory sod Rolled in triumphant blood. Glad to strike one free blow, Whether for weal or woe; L O1J 151 A NA. Glad to breathe one free breath, Though on the lips of death. Prayingalas! in vain That they might fall again, So they could once more see That burst to liberty This was what freedom lent To the black regiment. Hundreds on hundreds fell; But they are resting well Scourges and shackles strong Never shall do them wrong. Oh, to the living few, Soldiers, be just and true! Hail them as comrades tried; Fight with them side by side Never, in field or tent, Scorn the black regiment! SONG FOR TILE LOYAL NATIONAL LEAGUE, On the Anaiv sary qf the Attack on Fort ~Sumter, April 11, 1863. BY GEOHOE B. BOEEa. WHEN our banner went down, with its ancient renown, Betrayed and degraded by treason, Did they think, as it fell, what a passion would swell Our hearts when we asked them the reason? Ghor~usOh, then, rally, brave men, to the standard again, The flag that proclaimed us a nation! We will fight on its part, while theres life in a heart, And then trust to the next generation. Althongh~auseless the blow that at Sumter laid low That flag, it was seed for the morrow; And a thousand flags flew, for the one that fell true, As traitors have found to their soi~row. CherusOh, then, rally, brave men, to the standard again, The flag that proclaimed us a nation! We will fight on its part, while theres life in a heart, And then trust to the next generation. Twas in flashes of flame it was brought to a shame, Till then unrecorded in 3tory; But in flashes as bright it shall rise in our sight, And float over Sumter. in glory! ChorusOh, then, rally, brave men, to the standard again, The flag that proclaimed us a nation! We will fight on its part, while theres life in a heart, And then trust to the next generation. .7 EPIGRAMS. 3 From Blaekwoods Magazine. Few, indeed, were they who needed the warn- ing which Wailer most elegant of loves epigrammatistsputs into the mouth of his messenger, the Rose, Tell her thats young, And shuns to have her graces spyd, That had she sprung In deserts where no men abide, She must have uncommended died. Bid her come forth, Suffer herself to be desired, And not blush so to be admired. EPIGRAMS.* Wn live, it is said, in a prosaic and real- istic age. With all our modern science and modern refinements, our life is not so imag- inative, so gay, so insouciant1 as that of our grandmothers and grandfathers. Even con- versation, we are told, has lost its brilliancy. Women, who used to talk so charmingly, vi- brate now between slang and science. Men are either too busy or too languid to exert themselves to talk at all, unless to constitu- encies or mechanics institutes. Thefew who could talk well are suspected of keeping their talk to put into books. We all trite and read instead of conversing. And even read- ing and writing have become occupations rather than amusements. The warmest and most imnginativc lover never now pens a son- net to Delias eyebrow, or an impromptu upon Sacharissas girdle. The modern representa- tives of those charmers would only vote him a muff for his pains. Ters de societd are gone out of fashion altogether. Such poetry as we want (and we do not want a great deal) is done for us by regular practitionerslau~ reates, and so forth; we no more think of making our own verses than our own pills. Any man or woman who was to produce and offer to read in polite company a poetical ef- fusion of their own ~or a friends, such as would have charmed a whole circle in the days of Pope or of Fanny Burney, would be stared at upon reasonable suspicion of hav- ing escaped from a private lunatic asylum. Even if the offered verses should be warranted to contain the severest remarks upon a mu- tual friend, we of a modern audience should have strength of mind enough to rcsist the temptation. Perhaps society has grown more charitable and less scnndalous; perhaps it is only less easily amused. It could hardly have been comfortable, after all, to live in the nge of epigrams and im- promptus. It was, all very well for the Dc- has and Sacharissas aforesaid to have their charms celebrated by the wits and poets of the day; and though it is notoriously true that their admirers did not err on the side of reticence, female delicacy in those days was hardly startled by the warmth of the homage. A lady had no more objection to be compared to Venus than to the Graces. Epigrams, Ancient and Modern. By the Rev. J. Booth, B.A. Longinan and Co. The days when such verses passed from hand to hand, and were read instead of Punch and Mr. Darwin,were indeed a good time, as the American ladies call it, for the fair enchantresses who, strong in the charms of youth, had only to come forth to insure admiration; but it was quite a different case with poor Chloe, who was repairing the dam- ages of years with a little innocent paint, or with Celia, who had just mounted a new wig of her very own hair, honestly bought and paid for. human nature, we suppose, wns human nature then; and it could never have been pleasant to have ones little personal pe- culiarities, or some untoward accident, or slight social sin, done into verse forthwith by a clever friend, and handed round the breakfast or tea-tables of your own particular circle for the amusement and gratification of other dear friends, clever or otherwise. It was a heavy penalty to pay for living in an Augustan age. In this present generation, if you find yourselt the victim of a severe ar- ticle in a popular revie~v, you have yourself half solicited the exposure by being guilty of print in the first place; even if, in the hon- est discharge of your ordinary duties, you awake some morning to a temporary notoriety in a column of the Times, you can satisfy your feelings by stopping the paper; and in either case, you have the consolation of know- ing that probably a majority of your personal friends will never read, the abuse, and that most certainly nine-tenths of those who do read it xviii have forgotten it in a week. But the terse social epigram, of some four or eight lines, communicated first from friend to friend in a confidential whisper, and then handed about in manuscript long before it escaped into print, was remembered by the dullest dolt amongst a mans intimates, stuck to him all his li,fe, and, in many instances, became his only memorial to posterity. Like Sin- trams co-travellers, there was no escape from EPIGRAMS. its dreadful companionship; if bad, it was the more readily remembered; if neat and well- pointed, it was wore generally admired and more widely circulated. True, the author of the satire did not always put in the ac- tual name; the victim of his verse figured commonly under some classical alias; but everybody knew and none better than the unfortunate object that Grumio meant Sir ilarry, that Chremes stood for old Brown, and that Lady Bab was intended by Phryne. Even if there was nothing -more personal than a row of asterisks in the original, there were always plenty of copies in circulation with the hiatus carefully filled in. Let no one suppose for a moment that the polish and the humor of such productions made the attack more endurable. Few men, and perhaps fewer women, are of Falstaffs happy temper- ament, content to be the subject of wit in others. There is more sound than truth in the epigram which says, As in smooth oil the razor best is whet, So wit is by politeness sharpest set; Their want of edge from their offence is seen Both pain us least when exquisitely keen. End both cut deepest too, and leave scars that are longest in healing. Johnson was quite right when he pronounced, on the other hand, that the vehicle of wit and delicacy~ only made the satire more stinging; com- pared with ordinary abuse, he said, the difference was between being bruised with a club, or wounded with a poisoned arrow. One is surprised, however, on the whole, in looking over any collection of epigrams which were considered extremely good things in their day, to find how poor the majority of them are. They would read better, no doubt, to those who knew the parties. The spice of neighborly ill-nature, which gave them their chief zest originally, and made up for the poverty of the wit, is losthappily to the cool judgment of the modern reader. They are like the glass of champagne kept till it has lost its sparkle. A nicely printed little book, recently pub- lished, containing a selection (for a collection it certainly is not, though so called in the dedication), will impress this fact upon most of its readers. Of course, such jews desprit do not show to advantage when gathered to- gether at random, as these seem to have been. They find their best place as illustrations of biography or political history; often, an epi gram of four lines would require a page of j~refhce to make its point fully intelligible to an ordinary reader. But certainly, as one turns page after pt~ge of this literature of Society, one gets confirmed in the impres- sion that society was very ill-natured in those days. The science of making ones self beautiful forever, by the aid of paint and other accessories, is still studied by some la- dies, if we may trust law-reports and adver- tisements, and, no doubt, sharp-sighted friends detect this false coinag~ of beauty; but they do not mercilessly nail it down on the social counter, as in the case of poor Dorinda (whose real name was doubtless pei{ectly well known to her contemporaries) Say, which enjoys the greater blisses John, who Dorindas picture kisses, Or Tom his friend, the favored elf, Who kisses fair Dorindas self? Faith, tis not easy to divine, While both are thus with raptures fainting, To which the balance shall incline, Since Tom and John both kiss a painting. There is a sequel, too, even less gallant, which calls itself The Point Decided: Nay, surely Johns the happier of the twain, Because the picture cannot kiss again. The rude wits of society delighted in attack- ing these adventitious charms unconscious, probably, that in this as in many other things, the Greek epigrammatists had been long be- fore them. Ifere is one of the best amongst manyanonymous, so far aswe knowwhich we miss in Mr. Booths volume Cosmelias charms inspire my lays, Who, fair in natures scorn, Blooms in the winter of her days, Like Glastonbury thorn. If eer, to seize the tempting bliss, Upon her lips you fall, The plaistered fair returns the kiss, Like Thisbe, through a wall. Modern gallantry keeps its eyes open, and its lips to itself, under suspicious circumstances; and perhaps not being so readily taken in by false colors, is not so bitter against those who wear them. There are blockheads amongst fashionable physicians in our own days, andjealousies, it is to be feared, are not unknown in the pro- fession; but they do not put their professional antagonism into the form of epigrams, as Dr. Wynter, Dr. Cheney, Dr. Hill, Dr. Lettsonn, Dr. Radcliffe, and a host of others did (or their friends and enemies did for them) in 4 / 6 EPIGRAMS. the days of good Queen Anne and the Ger- This, again, has escaped Mr. Booth, though man Georges. Dr. (afterwards Sir John) he has given his readers another, on the sub- Hill, one of those universal geniuses whom ject of Sir Richards unfortunate poem of the public is apt to mistrust, is the hero of Job a kind of poetical paraphrase of the some of the best of these medical squibs. lie Scripture original wrote plays as well as prescriptions. Poor Job lost all the comforts of his life, And hardly saved a potsherd and a wife Yet Job blest Heaven ; and Job again was blest; His virtue was assayed, ant bore the test. But,had Heavens wrath poured out its fiercest vial Had he been thus burlesqued ,without denial, The patient man had yielded to the trial; His pious spouse, with Blackmore on her side, Must have prevailedJob had blasphemed and died. For physic and farces, his equal there scarce is; His farces are physic, his physic a farce is. There is a little series of epigrams upon him which we cannot resist quoting here from Mr. Booths book, though they must be al- ready old acquaintances (as most of the best epigrams are) to all whose reading is not wholly of a modern kind. Some of the wits of the Literary Club,of which Garrick, John- son, Burke, etc., were members, began upon the unlucky physician as follows Thou essence of dock, and valerian, and sage, At once the disgrace and the pest of your age, The worst that we wish thee, for all thy sad crimes, Is to take thine own physic, and read thine own rhymes. To which is replied, by a sort of semi-chorus of the members, The wish should be in form reversed, To suit the Doctors crimes; For if he takes the physicfirst, Hell never read his rhymes. Dr. Hill himself is supposed to rejoin in an- swer) and if it were really his, the doctor would have had the best of it), Whether gentlemen scribblers or poets in jail; Your impertinent wishes shall certainly fail Ill take neither essence, nor balsam of honey, Do you take the physic, and Ill take the money. The anonymous quatrain on Dr. John Lett- som, the Quaker, is one of the very best of punning epigrams; its brevity may excuse its reappearance here If anybody comes to I, I physics, bleeds, and sweats em; If, after that, they like to die, Why, what care I? I. Lsrvsx. Sir Richard Blackmore, like Hill, was am- bitious to combine poetry with physic; and was dealt with no less severely by the popu- lar weapon. An anonymous octrain (of which the first six lines are weak) ends with this climax, which reads much better alone Such shoals of readers thy dd fustian kills, Thoult scarce leave one alive to take thy pills. W~ do not know where the compiler got this from, nor does he give any authors name: there were a whole volley of contemporary squibs flying about the head of this unfortu- nate translator, who had got himself into bud odor with the licentious wits of his day by employing his pen against the immoralities of the stage. This drew upon him the wrath of Dryden, Sedley, Swift, and others; and his reputation has suffered rather unfairly in consequence; for the jests against his pro- fessional skill were unfounded, whatever may be thought of his poetry. A volume was ac- tually published in 1700, in which the squibs upon him were all collected under the title of Commendatory Poems, etc. here is another of them which we have met with, as good, perhaps, also anonymous When Job contending with the devil I saw, It did my wonder, but not pity, draw; For I concluded that, without some trick, A saint, at any time, could match Old Nick. Next came a fiercer fiend upon his back I mean his wife, with her infernal clack; But still I did not pity him, as knowing A crab-tree cudgel soon would send her going. But when this quack engaged with Job I spied, Why, Heaven have mercy on poor Job, I cried; What wife and Satan did atteni.pt in vain, The quack will compass with his murdering pen, And on a dunghill leave poor Job again; With impious doggrel hell pollute his theme, Aud make the saint against his will blaspheme. Coleridges epigram upon Jobs wife is printed in the book before us, and is perhaps less generally known than some others Sly Beelzebub took all occasions To try Jobs constancy and patience He took his honors, took his health, He took his children, took his wealth, His camels, horses, asses, cows, Still, the sly devil did not take his spouse. 6 EPIGRAMS. But Heaven, that brings out good from evil, And loves to disappoint the devil, Had predetermined to restore Twofold of all Job had before His children, camels, asses, cows ; Short-sighted devil, not to take his spouse! The germ of this lies where very many good things lie unsuspeeted, and are oceasionally dug out and made~use of with very little ~c- knowledgementin the writings of St. Au- gustine; and has been used by Donne in one of his remarkable sermons, where Coleridge probably found it. The old divines im- provement of the passage beats any epi- gram that ever was founded on it Misericordem putatis Diabolum, says that father, qui ei reliquit ii orem? Do you think that Job lighted upon a merciful and good-natured devil, or that Job was be- holden to the Devil for this that he left him his wife? Noverat per quam deceperat Adam, says he; suam reliquit adjutrzc , non ma- rito consolationem; he left Job a helper, but a helper for his own ends. * We must have done with the physicians, only quoting some more recent lines, neat but not over complimentary, upon the trio who were in attendance on poor George ITT. The king employs three doctors daily, Willis, Heberden, and Baillie All exceedingly skilful men, Baillie, Willis, and Heberden But doubtful which most sure to kill is, Baillie, Heberden, or Willis. Law escapes these satiric rhymers better than physic. No doubt the lawyers were able to hold their own against the world in this as in other matters. Two~. or three clever thin6s of Sir George Rose nrc given in Mr. Booths book; but there are, we suspect, some still better in private circulation, per- haps rather too personal on contemporaries to be suitable for publication. The following, though it deals with names well known at the bar, is good-humored enough as well as clever. It purports to be The History of a Case shortly reported by a Master in Chan- cery : Mr. Parker made the case darker, Which was dark enough without; Mr. Cooke quoted his book,. And the Chancellor said I doubt. Of course the chancellor was Lord Eldon. But the editor should have given the sequel. his lordship soon after decided a ease against Rose, and, looking wag0ishly at him, said, In this ease, Mr. Rose, the chnneellor does not doubt! Mr. Booth has omitted one (or rather two) of the very best epigrams which touch upon the gentle~en of the long robe. We thought the lines were very well known, and they have certainly appeared more than onde in print, as a proposed Inscription for the Gate of the Inner Temple As by the Templars holds you go The Horse and Lanib, In emblematic figures, show The merits of their trade. That clients may infer from thence How just is their profession The Lamb sets forth their innocence, The Horse their expedition. 0 happy Britons! happy isle! Let foreign nations say, Where you get justice without guile, And law without delay. The reply is equally good Deluded men, these holds forego, Nor trust such cunning elves These artful emblems serve to show Their clients not themselves. Tis all a trick ; these are but shams By which they mean to cheat you; But have a carefor youre the Lambs, And they the wolves that cat you. Nor let the hope of no delay To these their courts misguide you Tis youre the showy Horse, and they The jociceys that would ride you. The universities have had their wits and their butts in at least as great abundance as the courts of law. Especially was this likely to 1)e the case in a society like Oxford, which maintained upon its staff, for many years, a sort of licensed jester, under the name Tcrr Filius, whose office was, at the Bachelor~s Conunencement, to satirize, with the most unbounded license, all the recognized author- ities. We feel sure that the Oxford social records might have supplied a collector of this literary sinaliware with some very toler- able specimens and we hardly think that Mr. Booth can have availed himself as fully ~Donnes Works, vol. iii. p. 332 (Alfords Edition), as he might have done of the current witti Mr. Le h made a speech, Angry, neat, but wrong; Mr. Hart, on the other part, Was prosy, dull, and long. Mr. Bell spoke very well, Though nobody knew what about Mr. Trower talked for an hour, Sat down fatinued and hot. E PT C~R A MS. cisms of his own University of Cambridge. lie gives us only a few of Porsons and these not his best. For instance, we might at least have had that upon Hermauns scholarship, in the English dress which the professor gave it The Germans in Greek Are sadly to seek; Not five in five-score, But ninety-five more; All, except Hermana And Hermanns a German. Of Oxford epigrams, we have a sin0le mod- ern specimen, by a living professor of well- known conversational powers, and a more ancient one, we suppose by a wit of the same college, on Dr. Evans (he was Bursar off St. Johns, as the editor should have explained) cutting down a row of fine trees there Indulgent Nature on each kind bestows A secret instinct to discern its foes The goose, a silly bird, avoids the fox Lambs fly from wolves, and sailors stenr from rocks; Evans the gallows as his fate fores~es, And bears the like antipathy to trees.~~ These, with Dean Aldrichs Five Reasons for Drinking, are all that he has gathered from the banks of Isis. There must surely be others of modern date current in the Ox- ford Common-Rooms, which mi6ht have been recovered, without much trouble, for a pub- lication like this, and which would have been better worth printing than some which have found a place there. We subjoin two or three which may be new to non-academical readers. It was suggested, some little time ago, to alter the cut of the commoners gowns proverbially ugly. This produced the fol- lowing Our gownsmen complain ugly garment~ oppress them; We feel for their wrongs, and propose to re-dress them. An alteration having been made in the statu- tory exercises for divinity degrees, by which two theological essays were required in future from the candidates, the following was circu- lated in congregation The title D.D. tis proposed to convey To an .11 double S for a double S .d. The honorary degree of D.C.L. having been declined by a distinguished officer, on account of the heavy fees at that time demanded, his refusal was thus set forth 7 Oxford, no doubt you wish me well, But prithee let me be; I cant, alas! be D. C. L. Because of L. S. D. This, again, on a proposal to lower the uni- versity charges upon degrees conferred by what is termed accumulation (i.e., when two steps are taken at once), is remarkably neat Oxford, beware of over-cheap degrees, Nor lower too much accumulators fees Lestunlike Goldsmiths land to ills a prey Men should accumulate, and wealth de- c y. All these are, we believe, from the same well-known hand, as the old collectors would have phrased it; flashes of the pleas- ant humor which, in all generations, has marked the lighter hours of scholars. As these are the latest, so the following is among the earliest which has come down to us: it will be found amongst the epigrams of John Heywood, of Broadgate Hall (now Pembroke College),circa 1550. He is said to have been the only person who could draw a smile from gloomy Queen Mary. So far as the point of the epigram is concerned, it might have been written yesterday. Alas! poor fardingales must lie i the streete, To house them no door i the citie is meete; Synce at our narrow doors they in cannot win, Send them to Oxforde, at Broadgate to get in. The followin~ can scarcely be reckoned amongst collegiate witticisms, its birth hav- ing been extra-academic. It is given by the editor with just enough of its history to give it interesta course which, if adopted in the case of some other epigrams in the book, would have well repaid in value the addition to its bulk George II. having sent a regiment of horse to Oxford, and at the same time a col- lection of books to Cambridge, Dr. Trapp wrote the following epigram Our royal master saw with heedful eyes The wants of his two Universities; Troops he to Oxford sent, as knowing why, That learned body wanted loyalty: But books to Cambridge gave, as well discerning That that right loyal body wanted learnino An epigram which Dr. Johnson, to show his contempt of the Whig0ish notions which prevailed at Cambridge, was fond of quoting; but having done so in the presence of Sir William Browne, the physician, was an- swered by him thus : 8 E P I4~R A MS. The king to Oxford sent his troop of horse, For. Tories own no argument but force; With equal care to Cambridge books he sent, For Whigs allow no force but argument. Johnson did Sir William the justice to say, It was one of the happiest extem- poraneous productions he ever met with; though he once comically confessed that he hated to repeat the wit of a Whig urged in support of Whiggism. This book is poor, too, in those scholastic epigrams of which a good many were in cir- culation in more scholarly days. We have, indeed, Porsons upon poor Dido. Di-do- dum,which is rather schoolboyish, after all; but there is a much better one upon the same lady, which we remember to hayc seen somewhere in print, with the name of the re- puted author: Virgil, whose magic verse enthralls (And where is poet greater?), Sometimes his wandering hero calls Now Pius, and now Pater; But when, prepared the worst to hra~e (An action that must pain us), lie leads fair Dido to the cave, He calls him Du~c Trojanus. Why did the poet change the i~ord? The reason plain is, sure; Pius neas were absurd, And Pater premature. Some sort of historical arrangement of epi- grams might (like a good collection of carica- tures) throw an amusing light upon contem- porary history; and we should like to see .a careful collection attempted on this principle. One of the best of these quasi-historical jeux desprit in the collection before us is new to us, and may be so to many of our readers ON THE ROYAL MARRIAGE ACT, PA5SED 1772. Quoth Dick to Tom, This Act appears Absurd, as Im alive: To take the crown at eighteen years, The wife at twenty-five. The mystery how shall we explain? For sure, as well twas said, Thus early if theyre fit to reign, They must be fit to wed. Quoth Tom to Dick, Thou art a fool, And little knowst of Life Alas! tis easier far to rule A kingdom than a wife. These kind of gatherings, trifling as they are, are pleasant dalliance for the student of national history, and may even help to im- press the dry facts upon his memory. We remember Addingtons short-lived Adminis- tration all the better, if we chance to associate with it the witty French epitaph suggested for him, Ministre sol-disant, .M~decin maigre lui. It would be very easy to add to the few given in this little book. That of the Anti-Jacobin, on the Paris Loan upon Bugland, should at least have found a place The Paris cits, a patriotic band, Advance their cash on British freehold land But let the speculating rogues beware; Theyve bought the skinbut whos to kill the bear? The times that followed the Revolution of 1688 were perhaps the great age of what we may call historical epigrams. The bittej~ne~s of political hostility found vent in satiric verse, as well as in other less harmless outlets; and those who concealed their Orange or Jac- obite feelings from motives of self-interest, often indulged themselves with handing about this kind of political weapon, which was sometimes claimed by the authors in safer days. William on the one hand, and good Queen Anne on the other, were unfailing subjects. But the epigrams of that day had more rancor than wit; and even in the best, their coarseness generally forbids quotation. Swifts were, of course, the wittiest, and the least decent. None were so happy, and few so delicate, as that little epigram of his in prose, when it was suggested for the new kings coronation motto, Recepi, non rapui, and the dean rejoined that he supposed the translation was, The receiver is as bad as the thief. The Duke of Marlborough with his wavering allegiance, his penurious habits, and his uxorious fondness for his termagant Sarah, came in for a large share of this ques- tionable literary homage. Swifts epitaph upon him (Booth, p. 58) is too long for quo- tation, and there are more serious objections to some others which do not want for point. His new palace of Blenheim was ridiculed in strings of couplets, bad and good. One of the best is not in this collection; on the high arch built over the little brook in the park, The lofty arch his high ambition shows; The stream an emblem of his bounty flows. In order to understand the violence displayed in the language of some of these effasions, it is necessary to understand thoroughly the rela- tions between the parties, and the provocation EPI G~iAMS. which has been sometimes given. An epi- gram on Lord Cadogan by Bishop Atterbury, given in the collection before us, will strike the reader as mere rabid abuse, unless he re- members the circumstances which called it forth which should certainly have accompa- nied it by way of explanation. It ends thus Ungrateful toth ungrateful men he grew A bold, bad, boisterous, blustering, bloody booby. Atterbury had been imprisoned in the Tower on a very well-founded charge of treason. Such cases were embarrassing to the ruling powers; and in the royal drawing-room the question had been mooted, What was to be done with the man? Cadogan was present, and replied, Throw him to the lions. The brutality of the suggestion may excuse the Bishops retaliation. A contemporary epitaph on iBishop Ilurnet shows how the rancorous spirit of party pur- sued the dead with a bitterness which is really horrible, even if we charitably hope it was meant half for jest If Heaven is pleased when sinners cease to sin, If Hell is pleased when sieiiners enter in, If men are pleased at parting with a knave, Then all are pleasedfor Burnets in his grave. Perhaps the best of the Jacobite epigrams is one which Mr. Booth has not given C~ God bless the King! God bless the Faiths Defender! The devil take the Pope and the Pretender ! Who the Pretender is, and who the King God bless us all! is quite another thing. The modern definition of an epigram im- plies that it should have a spice of malice. We have adopted the Roman notion of it, contained in the Latin distich which the edi- tor takes as the motto for his preface. Oinne epigramma sit instar apis; sit aculeus illi, Sint sua mella, sit et corporis exigui. Of which he adds a rather washy translation, and which is perhaps rather difficult to trans- late; sooner than risk the attempt ourselves, we will give one which we find in an old miscellany, and which is at least more con- else than Mr. Booths The qualities three in a bee that we meet, In an epigram never should fail; The body should always be little and sweet, And a sting should be left in its tail. But the original meaning of an epi~raxu is 9 quite a different thing as Mr. Booth observes; it was merely an inscription, usually short, inasmuch as it was to be engraved on an al- tar, temple, or monumental tablet; and far from being bitter or personal, it was usually laudatory or simply commemorative. The well-known inscription at Thermopyke was one of the earliest and best which have come down to us: Go, traveller, tell it in Sparta that we lie here in obedience to her laws. Even when the Greeks extended the term to something more like our modern use of it a few short pithy verses with some special point in viewthey did not consider that a sting was any necessary part of it. Few of the Greek epigrams, except the latest, are satirical. But the Roman satirists adopted the form, and degraded the use, in which our English writers have followed them. But though popular to a certain extent in our minor literature, the epigram is not a thor- oughly English thing: it hardly suits the genius of the language. The Greek, the Latin, and even the French, preserve its point and neatness in a degree which our writers can rarely imitate. The Spartan brevity, the Attic salt, the neat turn of the Latin distich, arc of the very elements of its excellence; though there seems no need for quite so strict a limitation as Boileaus un hon met de deu nines orne. The Romans gave it the most pungency; but for simple elegance it has never been surpassed in its natural home, the Greek. Mr. Booth in this collection gives a good many translations from the Greek anthologynot always of the best specimens to be found there; though nothing can be more beautiful than this free version by Lord Nugent, fully worthy of the original I loved thee beautiful and kind, And plighted an eternal vow; So altered are thy face and mind, Twere perjury to love thee now. Or this again, which has no anthors name, On a statue of Niobe: To stone the gods have changed her ;but ia vain; The sculptors art gave her to breathe again. But comparatively few of us are aware of the extent of the obligations in this way to the Greek writers, of whom the very names are lost. Many which pass as English originals in this collection, as in others, are really only adaptations of the classical Greek idea. How EPIGRAMS. many of our present readers remember that the proverb which has such a true homely English sound that it seems as though it must be a native Theres many a slip, Twixt the cup and the lip. is the merest literal translation of a Greek versean epigram in the original sense an inscription on a drinking-cup? Did the French king know, when be uttered the fa- mous met, Apr~s moi le deluge, that he was merely quoting an anonymous Greek, of no one knows how many centuries before him? We forget in what English divines published devotions we noted a thought which struck us at the time as very beautifuland original, till we turned it up in the old An- thologia Give us those things which be good for us even though we ask them not; and those things which be hurtful to us, even if we ask them, withhold. Heathens, were those Greek~? they were not altogether wrong in the matter of prayer at any rate. Fas est et ab lsoste doceri.. There is a temptation to linger among the classics (especially after reading throur,h a book of English epigrams like the tailor who stands up to rest) to which we plead guilty, and for which we hope we have shown some excuse. Let us recommend, in reparation to the country gentlemen, an inscription for their clocks or sun-dials well worth adopting, and which may have the merit of novelty, for we have never yet seen it in an English versionan- other Greek epigram, in the real sense of the worda beautiful variation of the hack- neyed moral, Tempus fugit; we give the original below, * to make amends for any shortcoming in our translations Brief while the rose doth bloom; gather it straight No rose, but thorns, remain for those that wait. ~f course, even in English, there are epi- grams which can be classed as Moral and Panegyrical, as well as Satirical and Hu- morous; though the present editor can find only ninety pages of these latter to balance some two hundred of the more piquant and better remembered class, and even to do this, has thought himself at liberty to include a good many extracts that are not epigrams at all, such as long passages from Shak * Tb ~66dov hcjz& 4 Bat~v xp6vow ~ & wapiAi9~, Zy~v pi~art~ ob A6dov, d?2~d f3& i-ov. speare, Goldsmith, and Cowper, and from Aytouns Bothwell. After all, there are several which ~cem curiously out of place in this second division; the well known Bainea, vina, Venus hardly comes under the category of Moral; and we doubt whether the subjectof the following, whether spinster or widow, would have received it as ~anegyrical Though age has changed thee, late so fair, I love thee neer the~ worse; For when he took thy golden hair, He filled with gold thy purse. Some of the older complimentary verses are really elegant and worth preserving. Take this on the beautiful Duchess of Devon- shire canvassing Westminster for Charles Fox Arrayed in matchless beauty, Devons Fair, In Foxs favor takes a zealous part; But, oh! whereer the pilferer comes, beware She supplicates a vote and steals a heart. We do not care much for tributes of this kind to anonymous young ladies, though some of them are prettily turned enough. As has been remarked before, epigrams which have a personal history are by far the most interesting. Of these Mr. Booth has omitted several which were very easy to be found, and better in their way than very many of his selections. Such as these surely deserved a place for every reason ON MISS VASSAL (LADY hOLLAND) AT A MAS- QUERADE, FEB. 27, 1786. Imperial nymph! ill-suited is thy name To speak the wonders of that radiant frame; Wherecr thy soverei~,n form on earth is seen, All eyes are Vassalsthou alone a queen.~ ON THE TWO BEAUTIFUL MISS GUNNINGS. Sly Cupid, perceiving our modern beaux hearts Were proof to the sharpest and best of his darts, His power to maintain, the young urchin, grown cunning, Has laid down his bow, and now conquers by Gunning. ERSHINE TO LADY PAYNE. (He had con~plained of feeling unwell at her house.) Tis true I am ill, but I need not complain, For he never knew pleasure that never knew Payne. And in spite of its being anonymous (so far as we know) both as to author and subject, we should like to add this last to the editors collection 10 / EPIGRAMS. ON A PATCH ON A LADYS rACE. That artful speck upon her face Had been a foil in one less fair; In her it hides a killing grace, And she in mercy placed it there. We have not much faith in impromptus, which usually cost their authors much time and pains to compose; but we are glad to see again one of Theodore Hooks (who really had the gift of making them) which if the circumstances of its production are faithfully recorded, is one of the very best that was ever put into print. He is said to have been sit- ting at the piano, composing and singing one of those extempore songs in which he adapted a verse to the name of each one of the com- pany present, when a Mr. Wynter entered the room quite unexpectedly. Hook at once started off as follows Here comes Mr. Wynter, surveyor of taxes, I advise you to give him whatever he axes; And that, too, without any nonsense or flummery, For though his names Wynter, his actions are summary. Of such as are really epigrams in the orig- inal senseinscriptionsone of the best in the hook, and perhaps not so commonly known as some others, is that said to he still visihle at the Duke of Richmond Inn, at Goodwood, on the carved figurc-head (a lion) of Ansons ship the Centurion Stay, traveller, awhile, and view I who have travelled more than you; Quite round the globe in each degree, Anson and I hav~ plowed the sea; Torrid and frigid zones have passed, And safe ashore arrived at last, In ease and dignity appear He in the Ilouse of LordsI here. The collection is not improved by the addi- tion of a third class, containing Monumental Epigrams. If intended as a collection of gen- uine epitaphs remarkable for their terseness or eccentricity, it is anything but complete, and the thing has been much better done be- fore. But in point of fact it is a jumble of old tombstone verses, either genuine, or which have passed for such, with the playful or bitter last words which wits have sug- gested for their friends or enemies. By the side of inscriptions which are known to have a local existence, we find such things as tboldsmiths Madam Blaize, Moores lines upon South cy, and Punchs suggested epi- taph on a locomotive engine Her end was pieces. The classification of epigrams is 11 perhaps not very easy; but this kind of divi- sion into Humorous and Monumental is certainly the most illogical that ever was attempted. We wonder under which head- ing the editor would have classed the follow- ing verses, if he had happened to meet with them. They are an anticipatory dirge for Professor Buckland, at that time the great popular geologist, from the pen of Arch- bishop Whately. We do not know that they have been printed, except in the columns of a newspaper. Mourn, Ammonites, mourn oer his funeral urn, Whose neck ~ ye must grace no more; Gneiss, granite and slate,he settled your date, And his ye must now deplore. Weep, caverns, weep, with infiltering drip, Your recesses hell cease to explore; For mineral veins or organic remains, No stratum again will he bore. His wit shone like Crystalhis knowledge pro- found From Gravel to Granite descended~ No Trap could deceive him, no Slip confound, No specimen, true or pretended. Where shall we our great Professor inter, That in peace may rest his bones? If we hew him a rocky sepulchre, Hell get up and break the stones, And examine each strata that lies around For hes quite in his element underground. If with mattock and spade his body we lay In the common alluvial soil; Hell start up and snatch those tools away Of his own geological toil In a stratum so young the Professor disdains That embedded should be his organic remains. Then exposed to the drip of some case-harden- ing spring, His carcass let stalactite cover; And to Oxford the petrified sage let us bring, When duly encrusted all over; There mid mammoths and crocodiles, high on the shelf, Let him stand as a monument raised to himself. 1st Dec. 1820. The reader will find, in this last class, four Latin lines which have always been a puzzle to curious scholars. They are said to be found on a stone in Lavenham Church, Nor- folk Quod fuit esse quod est Quod non fuit esse quod esse ~ The ladies of Dr. Bucklands familyif not the professor himselfoccasionally wore necklaces of ammonites. EPIGRAMS. Esse ~iod non ease Quod eat non est erit esse. (We prefer leaving out the commas, as we have found the punctuation of other passages, whether the printers or the editors, of rather a hap-hazard character.) There is a translation givenone of several which we have seen, perfectly intelligible in themselves, but quite impossible to be got, by any fair grammatical process, out of the original Latin. The most plausible interpretation sug- gestedand if not the true one, it has, at least, tbe merit of great ingenuitygoes upon the supposition that the name of the deceased was Toly Watt. Then it comes out some- thing like this: That which was Toby Watt, is what Toby Watt was not; to be Toby Watt, is not to be what Toby Watt is; Toby is not, he will be. It is true that the Lavenham epitaph is said to be upon one John Wales: but we believe it exists else- where, with various readings: and it is by no means impossible the John Waless rela- tives borrowed the inscription, admiring it none the less that it was unintelligible. That some such play upon words is the key to the riddle, seems probably from another epitaph in Mr. Booths book Hic jacet Plus, plus non est hic, Plus et non plusquomodo sic? Of whic~a the following, said to be in St. Benets Church, Pauls Wharf, seems to be a free translation Here lies one .More, and no more than he; One More and no morehow can that be? Why, one J~fore and no more may well lie here alone, But here lies one More, and thats more than one. Such grim puns were not thought irreverent to the dead by the taste of the day. We are not fond either of monumental witticisms or monumental eulogy: if we must needs choose a poetical memorial, there is one in the book (which really exists at Peterborough) whose plain-speaking strikes our fancy Reader, pass on, nor idly waste your time, In bad biography, or bitter rhyme; What I am now, this cumbrous clay insures, And what I was is no affair of yours. It will be seen that we have been unable to compliment the present editor on his selec- tion. Especially we regret to see some of the modern personalities of Puneh copied into his pages. They may be excused in an ephemeral publication; they are not really maliciousindeed, nothing is more remark- able than their general good-humor and free- dom from bitterness, when the temptations of the professional joker are considered and they answer the intended purpose of raising a laugh. But in a book intended for the drawing-room table, as this seems to be, the same sense of propriety which has excluded some of the wittiest epigrams of former gene- rations on account of their grossness, should also have suffered verses of no remarkable brilliancy, which described living and late bishops (whose names are supplied in a note as Soapey and Cheesey, to remain in the files of periodical papers, or in the mem- ories of their admirers. FROM the American Publishers Circular for May, just received from Messrs. Trubner & Co., we find that Messrs. Ticknor and Fields, of Boston, announce a Life of W. H. Prescott, by Dr. George Ticknor, to be published in quarto, with illustrations; Messrs. Lippincott & Co., of Philadelphia, have in press the History of Charles the Bold, by the late Mr. Prescotts assistant, Mr. John F. Kirk; Messrs. Mason Brothers, of New York, will shortly publish a History of General Butlers Campaign and Ad- ministration at New Orleans, by Mr. Parton, whose Life of Benjamin Franklin has been looked forward to for several years; the Hon. Edward Everett is completing the manuscript of The Law of Nations, a book to which the pre- sent state of America will furnish much new and curious matter; and Mr. B. J. tossing announces a History of the Rebellion. Dr. Allibones Dictionary of Authors is getting towards com- pletion, and the MS. of the second volume will soon be in the printers handsthe letter S., and the Smiths in particular (there being no less than 680 authors of that name, of whom more than eighty are Johns) having been a sad stum- bling-block in the compilers way. MIcHEL CHEVALIER is engaged at this moment, by command of Napoleon ILL., on a large work on the internal resources of Mexico, drawn from reports prepared by special messengers, sent out for the purpose in the train of the French army of invasion. 12 From The Reader. DE QUINCEYS REMAINS. DE QUINCEYs writings hardly belong to what can be called current literature. They are now rather a portion of that past English literature of which we are proud as a national inheritance. Hence the comple- tion of the collected edition of Dc Quinceys works in fifteen volumes by Messrs. A. and C. Black of Edinburgh is a topic rather for our leading article than for one of our re- views. But it is an event that ought not to go by unchronicled. A few years ago, while De Quincey was yet alive, the only collected edition of his writings was an American edi- tion, which had been very creditably under- taken by an American publisher in order to meet the demand in the United States caused by Dc Quinceys fame. Based on this edi- tion there at last came forth a British. edition, superintended by De Quincey himself, and all but finished when he died. The present is a re-issue of that edition, with improve- ments and additions. The fifteen volumes ought to be in every library that aims at con- taining what is m\ost excellent in English literature. For Dc Quincey is one of our classics, one of our real immortals, and his remains are one of the richest and most pe- culiar bequests that have recently fallen in to the great accumulation of our standard Eng- lish prose. Whoever knows not Dc Quincey has his education in our higher English liter- ature. still to complete. What a strange life was Dc Quinceys! A dream rather than a life, a passive flitting to and fro, almost a disembodied existence, un- bound, unregulated by any of the ties and punctualities that bind and regulate ordinary lives! The end of it is within recent recol- lection. You were walking, perhaps, with a friend in one of the quiet country-lanes near Edinburgh; and there passed you timidly a strange diminutive creature, with his hat hung on the back of his head, at whom you could not help looking back, and whom, when you did look back, you found also stopping, as if in suspicious alarm, and looking back at you. That is Dc Quincey, your friend would whisper; and the diminutive creature would hastily move on, as if fearful of being caught, and disappear round the first turn- ing, the rim of his hat still sloping back over his shabby coat-collar. And so, in wander- ings about in the lanes and country-roads near 13 Edinburgh, in the vicinity of which he then had his homevaried by occasional disap- pearances, during which he could not be tracedwere passed the last years of a man who, some fifty years before, had been the companion of Wordsworth and Southey and Coleridge in the Lake-district, who had there- after started out from that illustrious group as an intellectual notability sui generis, and who, for thirty years or more, had been fa- mous in London and everywhere as the Eng- lish Opium-eater, and one of the finest writ- ers in the English language. Quietly and furtively, with all this retrospect of notoriety behind him, like some small and enfeebled ticket-of-leave man, amazingly afraid of the police, and dimly conscious that they might still have a right to him, did De Quincey flit about lanes and country-roads in his last obscure retreatoccasionally clutched and borne away in a cab (which was the only way of securing him) to be the lion of an Edin- burgh evening-party, when, after he had dis- coursed most bcautiful talk for hours, the problem would arise how on earth to get him away again. At last, on impulse or on sua- sion, out into the Night, as thef~erman novelists have it, he would go; and what be- came of him no one knew, and no one cared. And yet this strange life must, from first to last, have been a life of singular industry and labor. This singular being, this migra- tory and almost disembodied intellect, this little wandering anatomy, topped with a brain, whom a habit of opium-eating con- tracted in its early youth had loosened, as it seemed, from all the social realities of life, and almost from all sense of worldly respon- sibility, had been leading an indefatigable life of its ownall observation, all memory, all reverie, all speculation. Howsoever and whensoever he had acquired his scholarship, there were few such learned and accomplished men in his day as Dc Quincey. He had read enormously, without ever seeming to have books by him, much less a library. He had made himself his own encyclopmdia, and, wherever he was, could quote all that he wanted to quote, dates and references in- cluded, from memory. Then, not belonging to the world, but only as some merely intel- lectual spirit moving about in the world, he had taken note of everything in it, serious or humorous, and had forgotten nothing that he had once noted. With a memory thus DE QUINCEYS REMAINS. 14 DE QTJINCEY S REMAINS. full and ever becoming fuller, and wIth a fleation followed in the actual arrangement tendency at the same time to investigation, of the volumesprobably for the practical reasoning, and fantastic constructions of his reason, that the classes of writings theoreti- own ideas, he had, nearly all his life, and in cally discriminated, shade into each other; the main for the mere purpose of earning the but,theoretically, the classification is perfect; necessary sustenance of bread or opium, been and, had it been possible, we should have in the habit of throwing offnay, not throw- preferred an arrangement of the writings ac- ing off, for they were carefully written, with cording to it to any other arrangement cx- corrections and interlineationsarticles for cept the strictly chronological. In a collected magazines and other periodicals. Each edition of an authors writings, and especially article, when written, seems to have been in a posthumous edition, the chronolo~ical thrown over his shoulder, unregistered, un- arrangement, where possible, is always the filed, uncared-for; and yet, incessantly and very best. Leaving that matter, however, laboriously, he was writing fresh articles, let us attend to Dc Quinceys theoretical dis- Of books, or things originally shapedas books, tribution of the contents of these fifteen vol- he gave but one or two to the world; his nines. They might be distributed, he said, whole literary life was a succession of articles into three classes :I. Writings offact, r for periodicals. It seemed to be the same to niscence, and historical narration. Under such him where his articles went, provided they a head, though not precisely so named, Do brought him the small immediate payment he Quincey included a large and very interest- wanted- whether to periodicals of note or to ing portion of the contents of these fifteen obscure periodicals; and it is one of the odd- volumes. He cited the Autobiographic est things we know that this English literary Sketches as an example. These Autobi- celebrity, this veteran main of genius, whose ographic Sketches contain recollections of services the greatest periodical in the land his own life, and of his acquaintance with ) might have been glad to command at any Wordsworth, Coleridge, Southey and others; price, should have spent some of his last years but there are, in the fifteen volumes, many in composing articles for local periodicals, papers of the same order, not autobiographic, posting the packets of manuscript at the but more generally historical or biographic, Lasswade post-office, and fearing lest, from which are extremely substantial and valuable. being too late, they should be rejected alto- All Dc Quinceys literary biographies are gether. Not till the very end of his life, and worth reading; and we recollect his sketch then probably less on his own motion than on of Bentleys life as especially interesting and the urging of friends, did he set about col- thorough. On the whole, we will make but lecting his scattered papers, or indicating, one remark on this portion of De Quinceys from the lists in his memory, from what writings; and that is that, whereas we have miscellaneous quarters they might be col- found that the statements of all opium-eat- lected. And yet these scattered articles in ers of facts relating to themselves are to be all sorts of periodicals for some thirty or forty received with caution~ or even, where they years were what Dc Quincey was and now is are very picturesque, are to be punctually to the world; and the fifteen volumes in disbelieved, we have found,on the other hand, which they are now collected are, with the that, in general matters of history, opium- exception of a book or two, and some articles eaters are not necessarily inventive, but may left out as scarcely worth reprinting, Dc be extraordinarily exact and accurate. II. Quinceys total remains. Speculative writings, or writings addressed to It is seldom that an author attempts a the purely rational faculty. A large propor- classification of his own writings, and more tion of De Quinceys writings are of this seldom still that a classification which an kind; and, in our opinion, theseor those author does propose of his own writings is others in which criticism and speculation are satisfactory to others. Dc Quincey, how- blended with biography and historyare ever, in the preface to the collected edition of among his best. his was, indeed, a singu- his writings which he himself superintended, larly subtle and, as the Germans say, spitz- proposed a classification of these writings Jindig intellect; and, out of the class of ex- which cannot be improved upon. Neither in pressly systematic thinkers, we do not know that edition nor in the present is the elassi- a recent writer whose investigations of vexed DE QUINCEY S REMAINS. 15 problems are finer and more ingenious, or, more confidently to his ~3uspiria de Profun- what is more, whose conclusions are more dis. There is no doubt that he was right, distinct and trustworthy than Dc Quinceys. and that from these and other writings of Dc He reminds us here, both in matter and in Quincey specimens i~ay be cited of what may~ manner, ~f Coleridge~whom, indeed, in the be called prose-rhapsody or rich and weirdly main, he resembled more than he resembled prose-phantasy, such as can be cited from no any other of his predecessors.; and we would other English prose-writer. Nor, whatever say of him, as we would say of Coleridge, may be the intrinsic value of this style of that whoever is investigating any question. writing,is that value abated hy the fact that ought to make a point of seeing whether this Dc Quincey, as a critic of his own writings, thinker has s~id. anything about itconfident was aware of the peculiarity of this portion that, if he has, he has gone into the very of them. crevices of the subject, and made deep and All in all, since Coleridge s death, we know exquisite incisions in the right direction. In of no English writer, speculative in the cast all matters relating, in particular, to literary of his genius, without being expressly sys- criticism, and the philosophy of style and tematic, whose remains are a more valuable literature, De Quincey, like Coleridge, is bequest to British literature than those of De masterly; and his essays on such subjects Quincey. He died in the same year with are worth a score of the older English treat- Lord Macaulay; and, while all Britain was ises on Rhetoric. Nor, though De Quinceys ringing with proclamations of the national method i -subtle, are his conclusions unsound loss sustained by Lord Macaulays death, the or merely ingenious. His Letters to a young. sole tribute to poor old Dc Quincey was the man whose education has been neglected tribute of a few short and scattered obituary are replete with good sense, and are about notices in the newspapers. The difference the wisest advices on the subject of literary was proper as regarded the relative social culture we have ever read. III. imaginative importance of the two lives. And yet, per- Prose- Writings~ De Quincey claimed to be haps, the worth of Lord Macaulays literary a practitioner of a style of imaginative and remains, as compared with those of De Quin- rhythmical, or highly impassioned prose, of cey, is as the worth of some highly burnished which, in universal literature, there had been mass of a metal of gold and copper mixed, few precedents; and, as examples of such compared with the worth of an equal mass prose-poetry, he pointed to passages in his of pure white silver worked into foliage and Confessions of an Opium-Eater, and still frosted filagree. MESSRs. TRUBNER & Co. have just ready M. libraries of Normandy are possessed of most val- Frolichs Lords Prayers (with an etched dedi- nable collections of ancient documents, not a few cation plate and prefatory plate and ten etched of them relating to the early connection between designs lilustrative of the text), dedicated to the France and England. Princess Alexandra. In all these designs the subject proper is combined with arabesques of appropriate foliage. Thus, in the Lords Prayer, THE long-expected correspondence of Goethe the pimpernel and small corn-flower frame the with Duke Charles Augustus of Saxe-Weimar, design for Give us this day our daily bread; containing, it is stated, matter of the very highest the alms of triumphant beatitude support the interest, is now d~flnitely announced to appear at design for Thy kingdom come; thorns and the beginning of June. The work will be in two brambles hed0e in the designs appropriated to volumes, published by Voigt and Gunther, Leip- the averting temptation and the deliverance from zig. evil. The plates are exquisitely executed from graceful designs. TEE flint-hatchet difflcu1ty is at last settled. A popular curate in Hertfordsbire, in a lecture lately A LITERAHY association, under the title of on the connection between geology and the Bible, Society of Norman Bibliophiles, has just been said that these flint hatchets had been a difficulty established at Rouen. Its object is to collect and to some people, but for his part he had not ,the print rare works and manuscripts relating to slightest difficulty in the matter; he had no doubt Normandy. It is stated that many of the private that they were made by the Fallen Angels. THE ENGLISH COURT. From The Saturday Review, 23 May. THE ENGLISH COURT. Lo~noN saw a very strange sight last Satur- day. it saw carriage after carriage ~ ladies, old and young, in the brightest and gayest dresses possible, waiting quietly in a block far away towards Kensington and Regents Park, in order that, at the end of a May spring afternoon, they might reach the Pal- ace of St. James. There they sat, like sheep decked out for a sacrillce, smiling vaguely on the crowds that stared at them, bleating per- haps in an undertone to each other, but with- out power to move, losing gradually, first pa- tience, and then hope. These ladies were all going to court, and this is what going to court is practically like in England. They were the flower of beauty and wealth and fashion, on their way to pay their first hom- age to a bride. At last, after hours of ex- haustion, they reached the dingy, shabby little Iriansion where it is the fancy of English sovereigns to receive their subjects. They had then to squeeze, and to be squeezed, to lose temper and finery, to vent their feelings in those looks of fire which are to women a facile substitute for oaths. They had to fight as the wild eager outlaws from society fight to get a good place at an execution, and at last they reached the presence of the Princess. She, too, shared the pleasures of an English Court Reception. She had to stand bowing for hours until at last she could stand no lon- ger. E.tiquette tried to turn out nature with a fork, but nature came back. This was what all the state and ceremony and wealth and loveliness of England ended in. It is only England that could have had so much to throw away,nnd only England thatwould have thrown it away. There could scarcely be any sight more beautiful than the sight of an Eng- lish drawing-room as it might be; and there is scarcely any sight so aggravating and ludi- crous as an English drawing-room as it is. The spectacle of an Eastern durbar has ap- pealed to the imagination and gratified the taste of every successive generation of Eng- lishmen in India. The harmony of colors, the blaze of jewels, the repose and dignity of those there, the quiet, the order, the gran- deur of the whole, have never failed to charm those who have seen the spectacle. But Eng- land could gather a durbar of which india has never dreamed. If vast halls, and mag- nificence, and palatial stateif the treasures of art, and the delights of form and color, as accessoriesconld enhance the effect, we have them. Th~~ gay clothing, the blazing jewelry, the personal grace of Orientals would be eclipsed by the splendor of English dresses and the loveliness of English faces. The respectful homage which Orientals pay to their sovereign is repeated in England, but it has the additional worth of a selt~. respect felt by those who pay it, and of the genuine emotion of affection and iegard which an English sovereign awakens so easily. A drawing-room might be a delight to the eye, and a gratification to the sense of beauty and perfectiona link between the sovereign and the subject, and a tribute to the excellence of English charms. It is a crash, a dim battle of worn-out sufferers, an ugly, heart-rending disappointment. The fact is, that the times have changed, and the habits of th~ people are changed, but the ways of the court have remained the same A hundred years ago, the Palace of St. Jamess suited the sovereigns of the house of Hanover very well. They saw a limited number of people, and saw them in a friendly way. They knew something of the history of those presented to them, and were not above a taste for the gossip and scandal of an idle, sociable circle. They were like a family great enough to go on in their own way, and to expect that their neighbors should be pleased to drop in upon them. The days of the court pageantry which suited the tastes brought with them by the Stuarts from the old connection of Scotland with France, were no objects of envy to royalty in the early days of the Georges. Roy~dt~y had come from Germany, and in Germany royalty considers that the truly royal thing i8 to be simply the first family in the countrythe richest, and the best-born and the most pow- erful, but still perhaps one of the homeliest, simply because a family that is past rivalry is past affectation. The fashion in such fuat- ters was soon set; and England was quite content that its sovereigns should keep court as German princes are wont to do. So St. Jamess was pronounced to do very well. The aristocracy and a few adroit people at the top of professions made their w~~y into the pres- ence of the king and queen, and ate and chatted with them, as in these days country neighbors eat and chat in the great house of the district. Those old days are gone by, 16 ) THI~ ~T~GL1SU COURT. 17 and the court has ~hanged in some degree, should scarecly wish to encourage this pas- and its relations to the people have also sion for going to court in people who have changed. There is no longer a small priv- no official reason for going, and who have not ileged set which is born to go to coart, and been born in the court circles. It lowers the which alone presumes to go there. Now, sition of the sovereign that royalty should every lady goes that is a little ambitious and be treated as it was in Paris, when the citizen- can afford the dress. England is much more king was expected to behave as a citizen to before the world; and a royal spectacle is a his fellow-citizens. Nor is it by any means matter of far more than local interest. I2he a duty to encourage the abandonment of the sovereign is now the head of the nation; and, old distinctions of station, the love for show, in matters of show and magnificence is to a the silly pretences involved in a general rush great extent expected to lead the nation and to court of nobodiesof ladies who are not represent it properly. The court and the in court circles, nor the wives or daughters upper society of England is daily more and of distinguished men. It is a very moderate more brought into intimate relations with the estimate to say that at least a fourth of those courts and the society of continental capitals; who go would be much better at home. and although there is little of the old Ca- Even if the sovereign is not entitled actually miliarity which was natural in the meetings to exclude them, the sovereign is not bound of members of small circles in frequent com- to facilitate their trying to blow themselves munication with each other, yet there is a out to the size of the proper court visitor. much more extended acquaintanceship than Many families, perhaps, will date the begin- there used to be, and the court is looked to ning of the pretensions that will harass and as a basis for this widely spread connection, cripple them for years, from the evil day The court has more to do than formerly, and when vanity prompted the desire to sit in has to do it for people who are not nearly so one of those blocked earriages, and fight in intimately bound up with its daily life, that disastrous crush. The conservatism of And yet drawing-rooms are still held at the English court in this respect has there- St. Jamess and ladies are crushed and wor- fore not been without its use and its justifiea.. ned to death, and royal brides fatigued to tion. Only the time has come when things exhaustion, rather than change the manners cannot go on as they are. It may be desir- with the times, and listen to the whisperings able that the English court should forego of common sense and the dictates of a proper some of the magnificence which it could so pride. But it must not be supposed that the easily command. Some sort of check may be English court acts without a settled purpose, pardonably imposed on presentations by hun- or without reasons entitled to considerable dreds and hundreds at a time. But it is a weight. The court clings, at the cost of all great pity that the business should be done so this inconvenience, to old customs, because absurdly ill as at present. These are not bad they are linked with something which it is times for royalty, and especially for royalty thought ought not to pass away. The royal in England; and the little drawbacks of happy family has lived for a century and a half in times must be taken with the advantages. It England on the plan of German royalty. It is a drawback on being lovable and pretty has been simply a family, but a royal one, and good, that the world likes to look at you and the only exception is certainly not one to sometimes when you had much rather not make it seem very desirable to abandon the have the bore of being looked at. It would old order for a new one. The court of the re- be pleasanter, perhaps, to have the glory gency was of the sort of brilliancy which is and the respect of royalty without the duties not liked by the English court or the Eng- often so unavoidably tedious. But it eannot lish people. It might not be safe to change. be; and an English sovereign has, if duty The constitution, to say the least, harmonizes is done, a very busy time of it. It is now a very well with the German theory of royal piece of necessary business to arrange the life. It might not be quite so well if our drawing-room properly, and a very little con- sovereign were like the sovereign of the sideration, once for all, and a very little cx- Tuileries, and spent millions in state shows tra trouble every summer would suffice to and in fetes and pageants for the world. And carry out all that is wanted. then, again, it is very natural that royalty THIItD axaIxa. LIYTh~G AGE. 1043 A CONFEDERATE APOCALYPSE. From The Reader. A CONFEDERATE APOCALYPSE. Anticipations of the Future, to Serve as Les- sons for the Present Time. In the Form of Extracts of Letters from an English Resi- dent in the United States to the London Times,from 1864 to 1870. With anAp- pendix on the Causes and Consequences of the Independence of the South. (Richmond, Va., 1860.) AMID the emotions produced by the intel- ligence now in course of transmission from America, it might appear almost preposterous to bestow any attention on an attempt to fore cast the lineaments of the Great Civil War on a scale as petty as if it rather concerned the squabbles of two principalities than the destinies of two continents. Yet this singu- lar work before us deserves notice, both as a curiosity and as a valuable testimony to the motives and feelings which impelled the Southern Americans to a conflict of the ex- tent and seriousness of which they had evi- dently avery inadequate conception. Pub- lished in June, 1860, six months before the secession of South Carolina, the hook is a de- liberate anticipation of the step, and a minute detail of its progress and results as visible to the prophetic eye of a fanatic and exasperated Southerner. The writer, however, is evi- dently a man of intelligence and cultivation, accustomed to political life, of mature years he remembers the blockade of 181215 and of good standing among his countrymen, as may 1)e inferred from the fact that his ap- pendix is reprinted from De Bows Review, almost the only respectable literary organ they posscss. The machinery employed is unexceptionable enough, being neither vision nor trance, but simply the correspondence of an imaginary Times reporter at Washington. Had we seen this volume on its first appear- ance, we might have objected to the improb- ability inherent in the character of aii Eng- lishman represented as the thorough-going apologist of slavery. It is needless to observe that we are now fully convinced of our mis- take. At first sight, confidence in the discernment of our prophet would seem impaired by his fixing the foreboded disruption for 1868. But we learn, on consulting his preface, that this is but a condescending accommodation of the mens divinior to the timidity of unbelievers. His own conviction is that secession will and should take place immediately upon the an- ticipated election of Mr. Lincoln. But there are, unfortunately, numerous submission- ists in the SoutWsouls so mean and das- tardly as to be positively unwilling to take up arms against their countrymen till they have received some injury at their hands. Magnanimonsly according these mean spirits eight years to arrive ~t a sense of propriety, he fixes the meeting of the secessionist con- vention at Atlanta, Ga., for January 20, 1868. Always, be it remembered, under protest. And, in fact, his views of Southern reasonableness reflect so much credit upon his discerrnnent that it is a pity to find them coupled with eC strong opinion that the North would never dare to en~,agc in hostilites at alla conviction which underlies the whole book. Let ns suppose ourselves, then, promoted to A.Ii. 1868, and able to bestow a hasty glance on the path by which we have trav- elled to Secessia. President Lincoln, it seems, was elected in 1860 by a small majority. Public indignation would not permit a South- ern vote to be offered for him a pretty comment on freedom of election south of Ma- son and Dixon. It is interesting to observe the improvement in the presidents appear- ance when brought into the light of prophecy. He was courteous to all, conciliatory to his personal enemies, and did not show any re- sentment against those who had been his loudest vilifiers. . . . His policy and admin- istration were praiseworthy, and respected for probity, wisdom, and firmness. . . . He maintained the dignity of the Government abroad and its respectability at home. So, at last, we have fiund a Southerner speaking well of President Lincoln. But the serpent entered Eden in the shape of President Sew- ard, elected in 1864. The first step of the new ruler was to offer increased inducements to immigrants, who, being mostly low and ignorant, naturally reinforced the Abolition- ~ists. Everybody connected with John Brown got a place, more particularly the notori- ous Helper, who was made one of the ncw Receivers of the Land Office. General Fremont became commander-in-chief; the rabid abolitionist, Joshua Giddings, was appropriately despatched to Ilaytithe Gov- ernment of which state returned the compli- ment by sending the Duke of Marmalade to Washington. Traffic on the underground 18 (I A CONFEDERATE APOCALYPSE. railway increased notably; and slavery disappeared altogether from the District of Columbia. The naval and military forces were augmented; six Northern States were divided for t~he purpose of manufacturing new senators: President Seward was re- elected; and the Gulf States seceded, elect- ing Mr. M. of South Carolina (Memminger, we presume) President, and Mr. C. of Ala- bama (whom we fail to identify) Vice-Presi- dent. Viewed by the light of actual events, the military anticipations of our Southerner seem the perfection of comicality. Operations commence by the capture of Fort Sumter not a very difficult operation, inasmuch as the garrison consists of one old sergeant. Fort Moultrie is next blockaded, and in due course reduced to submission, though not be- fore the seceders have had time to achieve a great moral triumph by unanimously repudi- ating their d~bts. In consequence wh.ercof, before the war had lasted three months, as many as one-fourth of all the usually labor- ing and self-supporting poor of the great northern cities, and throughout the manu- facturing rural districts, were paupers and beggars. This being the case, it seems sur- prising that the Northern Government could not collect more than seven thousand men for the invasion of the SoUth. After the de- struction of this force by the brave General S., the rest of the Slave States secede, Wash- ington is taken and made the seat of Govern- ment, a Federal army is demolished in Mis- sissippi, the Confederates win a naval battle, and their wicked enemies are reduced: to their last resort of exciting a servile insurrection. Need it be said that this also results in fail- ure, or that the prisoners were all hung as soon as a gallows could be erected among them the not~rious abolition-leader and apostle of insurrection and massacre, William L. Garrison, and with him seven negro and nine white public lecturers on slavery and abolition? Another invasion, under a son of John Brown, is similarly discomfited, not- withstanding the ingenious stratagem of the commander, who,, because of the manifest selection of the whites as marks for the Ken- tucky rifles, had ordered that every white should blacken his faceand had himself set the example. After the execution of this tactician and his officerswhich the failure. of the North to capture a single prisoner al- lowed to take place without any fear of re- prisalsthe Confederates had only to sit still and enjoy the spectacle of the total destruc. tion of New York by the work-peopleBos- ton and Philadelphia escaping with a slight singeing, as it were. After this it is hardly necessary to add that the North-Western States conclude a separate peace, that the European powers refuse to acknowledge the ineffective blockade, and that the curtain drops upon Secessia at the threshold of her millennium, and the Free States considering how best to get rid of the predaceous and troublesome New England States, with their pestilent fanaticism, and their political and economical position scarcely superior to those conditions of the present Republic of ilayti. All this seems sufficiently ludicrous; but, before joining in a laugh at our Southerners expense, it may be as well to consider how far we can afford to do so. Have we, as a nation, given evidence of a much more en- lightened appreciation of the contest, the principles it involves, its probable duration and issue? Have not the determination and resources of the Free States proved as great a surprise to most of us as to this unlucky Virginian vaticinator? Has not our policy been shaped by the conviction that the ter- mination of the struggle might be looked for: from one week to another? And has not this: delusion ruined our most important branch of industry by paralyzing every ra- tional effort for its relief? 19 HEiR HtrNT1I~G. From The Saturday Review. HEIR HUNTING. THE sufferings which people who have any- thing that can be dunned out of them by im- portunity are condemned to undergo at the hands of those who are impudent enough to dun them, have long been the subject of gen- eral commiseration. The system of Com- petitive Examination is believed to owe its origin chiefly to the anxiety of statesmen to rid themselves of the intolerable throng of applicants who were gathered rovind them by the hopes of patronage. The Mendicity So- ciety owes its existence to the absolute neces- sity of providing some protection against the swarm of beggars whom the merest rumor will draw round any man who has had the weakness to be guilty of an act of benevo- lence. It is said that a distinguished phi- lanthropist, who has had the misfortune to make his name famous by an act of singular munificence, has been fairly driven into a for- eign country by the lev~e of piteous cases that has taken to assembling round his street door. There are better-dressed beggars also, who do not beg less valiantly, though it is for other things. The great people who have the reputation of giving agreeable or splendid parties are severe sufferers from the imper- turbable assurance with which those who are laboring up the lower rounds of the fashion- able ladder petition for a card. But of all the sufferers of this kind, there is no set of people so deserving of pity as elder sons. The men- dicants by whom they are beset are not of the outcast class, who can be got rid of by an appeal to a police magistrate or a mendicity officer; nor is the favor for which they arc importuned a very small matter. Turbaned dowagers, of awful presence and remorseless tongues, laden with unmarketable daughters, and with the word Intentions trembling on their lips, are the lazzaroni by whom their footseps are dogged; and, like their Neapol- itan prototypes, these persecutors are always ready to turn to and abuse their victim if he refuses them the trifling dole of title and es- tates for which they are asking. Happily for themselves, the hunted ani- mals in question are comparatively rare. Loudon ball-rooms and country-houses are the spots in which their persecutors generally find them; but, like the Alpine chamois, ex- cessive hunting has made them scarce in their ancient haunts. They survive, however, in sufficient numbers to enable a careful observer to watch their habits in every stage of their troubled existence. The change that comes over thcm in the ci~urse of it is both striking and melancholy. The length of time during which tiny one of them has been the object for which some dowager has spread her toils may in general be inferred from the extent of timidity and caution he displays. On his first entrance into society, the elder son is cheer- ful, conversable, and trustful in his manner. He betrays no consciousness that his every gesture is watched, or that every phrase that falls from him is carefully analyzed, to find whether a latent or embryo proposal can be detected in its composition. He does not even know his enemies as yet. He will talk and laugh with a dowager, and listen to her com- pliments, and accept her invitations, and will speak of her to his friends as though she were nothing else to him but a rather ugly old woman, with a large development of skirt and head-dress. But the great sign that an elder son is still enjoying the bliss of youthful ignorance is the ease and composure with which he practises the manly accomplishment of flirting. He will plunge into a family of maiden daughters, if pheasants should lend him there, without a tinge of fear. He will sit by a young lady at dinner, if chance should thrust him into such aposition, and his appe- tite will never be blunted by a thought upon the dangers that surround him. Nay, he will devote himself to her all the evening, will bank with her at the round game, and turn over her leaves at the pianoforte; and at the end of it all, he will hand a candle to her mother, without a suspicion that those ma- ternal eyes are already glancing at him that question about Intentions which in a few days will send him a scared and breathless fugitive from the hall-door. Very different is the bearing of the elder son who has learnt wisdom in the bitter school of experience. lie no longer ventures willingly into danger. After a score of hairbreadth escapes, like the partridges in November, he is decidedly wild. lie is mentally scarred all over with the wounds he has received. Good-natured friends have confided to him more than once that Lady So-and-So is saying all over Lon- don that he has behaved infamously; and I his manner shows that he is no longer insen- sible to the constructions which may be placed on the ordinary politenesses which are only 20 /1 HETIL UUNTING. practised with impunity by younger sons. something of his former self still remains to him as long as only married women are in the room. He speaka and laughs at bisease, sits down wherever inclined, and does not shrink even from a t~te-~-t~te. But the mo- inent the form of a marriageable female dark- ens the doorway, a cloud comes over him. If he can, he flees from the open plain by the fire, and hides himself in distant corners or behind impregnable writing tables. if he cannot make his escape to a place of security, he throws himself upon the defensive by making hard love to the nearest married lady, or by taking a sudden but absorbing interest in the agricultural prospects of a country neighbor. Sometimes hard fate forces him to sit through a whole meal next to the ob- ject of his terrors, and then it is very pretty to watch his coy and maidenly embarrass- macnt. He is evidently puzzling himself the whole time how to draw the narrow imper- ceptible line which, in the case of elder sons, separates rudeness from love-making, lIe is calculating how many observations upon the weather it will be safe to make, and whether he can dare to desert that innocent subject of criticism without exposing himself to the risk oP being supposed to have behaved in- famously six months hence. His manner becomes very like that of a witness who has been put forward to prove an alibi, and is undergoing a severe cross-examination. At last, of course, he attains to a wonderful dexterity in the use of a glacial politeness, in which nothing matrimonial can be scented even by the keenest dowager nose. It is not all elder sons, however, who attain to this conversational agility. Many are taken in the process of learning how to elude their pursuers. In spite of all his care, many a one finds himself at last undergoing that dreaded interview in which the dexterous dowager drives in her last harpoon, by telling him in a i)roken voice, from behind her pocket-handkerchief, that she fears her dear daughters peace of mind is gone forever. Conscious of their weakness, the elder sons seldom run too close to danger. They prefer to flock together out of its reach. Just as a shoal of herrings indicates the neighborhood of a dog-fish, and as the terror among the small birds betrays the presence of a hawk in the air above, so if you see a number of elder sons congregated at one end of a break- fast or luncheon table you may be quite sure there is a young lady at the other. After a time, this phase, too, in the elder sons career pa~es away. The dowagers whose toils he has constantly eluded give him up in despair at last. lie is beyond the age when he can he expected to believe in the fracture of a young ladys peace of mind; and it is of no use asking for intentions when there are no intentions forthcoming. Noth- ing remains of his many hazards and narrow deliverances, but a quarrel with two or three families to whom he is supposed to have be- haved infamously, lie has not resumed, however, the unsuspecting gaiety of youth. lie has acquired a precautionary habit of sheering off at the approach of a young lady, to which he probably adheres. lie has also contracted a practice of keeping his hands in his pockets, which has attracted the observa- tion of the naturalists by whom the species has been studied. The reason is supposed by many to be analogous to that which induces the Persians who live in disturbed districts to cut their beards short, in order that their ad- versaries may have nothing to take hold of. This explanation, however, requires to be verified. It is needless to say that, in this advanced stage of elder-sonship, he does not dream of marriage. To propose it to him would be like proposing amalgamation to Federals and Confederates, or to Poles and Russians. A long course of social hardships and privations has made such an idea abhor- rent to him.. The resultsat least those re- sults which we can examine without lifting up the veil of our decorous social system are curious enough, not only with respect to the elder sons, strictly so called, but with respect to all who are in any degree worth being hunted down. Refined female society they will, as a rule, have, though they can- not ktve it in the conversation of young ladies, the greater number of whom are brought up to look on them with a purely commercial eye. The demand from such a quarter is pretty sure to create a supply; and as the young unmarried ladies are shut out by the manceuvres of their mothers, it must be furnished by those who have removed that disqualification. Snake-charming is a peril- ous amusement except with snakes whose fangs are drawn. The arrangement is, no doubt, a very pleasant one for the young men. Married women are in themselves more prac 21 HEIR HUNTING. tised, and, therefore, more agreeable talkers than young ladies: and even if they were not, a friendship which does not lead up to a question about intentions is necessarily a very mueh pleasanter and more comfortable kind of intimacy than one that does. But it is not to be expected that the prevalence of such a state of thin~s should be free from consequences of a more serious kind upon the morality and the repute of the classes among whom it exists. For the present the game appears to go on merrily. Skating on thin ice is a delightful amusement until the ice breaks and, perhaps, for~ some time after. But if the pastime should result in extensive scan- dal, no small share of the blame will belong to the dowa~er-system, and especially to the vigorous practitioners who have pushed it to such a length in our day. Tm NmE.Deeper in human interest than the reported discovery of the source of the White Nile, the geographical secret of many ages, by Messrs. Spoke and Grant, is the intelligence from Egypt that Mr. Petherick is not dead, as late news from that country represented him to be. He is alive and well, at Gondocoro. We now know that all the gallant men whom we have sent out into the great African desert, to extend the bounds of knowledge Baker, Petherick, Grant, and Spekehave, so f r, escaped the fate which has followed so many of our noblest explorers in every part of the worldFranklin, Leichardt, Burke, and many othersover whose graves we have had to write the glories of discov- ery. In gratitude for their safety, we can tell the story of their trials, and reckon up the gains of science. Our conjecture, made on the 9th of May, that Mr. Baker must have fallen in with Messrs. Grant and Speke on the upper waters of the White Nile, and rendered them important aid, turns out to have been correct. This adven- turous traveller was the first European whom they met on their descent from the tropics; and from him they obtained aid in money, stores, and boats. To him they communicated their discov- ery that the Bahr ci Abiad, the main stream of the White Nile, has its source in the Victoria- Nyanza lake; information which induced him to turn his face in another direction, towards the south-east, in search of another inland lake, which is supposed to feed a second branch of the White Nile. He will be lost to us for a year; though the public need not doubt that he will, in due time, turn up again. Lower down the stream they fell in with Consul Petherick and his gallant wife. The news which Captains Speke and Grant bring to London will excite attention in every city of the civilized globe. The source of the Nile was a puzzle in the time of Moses, and long before the time of Moses. The enigma is suggested on the most ancient monuments of Egypt; it excited the curiosity of Rameses and Sesostris ; confounded the wisdom of the Ptolemies; won attention dur- ing the Roman occupation ; amused the leisure of the Schoolmen ; tantalized the Portuguese Jesuits in the sixteenth century ; engaged the adventurous spirit of Bruce; aroused the wonder, and baffled the researches of Mohammed Au; and defied the zeal, the ability, and endurance of oar old correspondents, the Brothers DAbbadie. At length, the mystery is solved; and the source of the Nile is found, by a couple of Englishmen~ to be a lake about four degrees south of the Equa- tor, very near the position which Dr. Beke, so long ago as 1846, assigned to it theoretically. It is curious that the thot has been discovered not by following the waters of the river upwards from its mouth, the natural course of discovery, but by descending upon it from above.4the- nceum. MEssas. BACON AND Co. have published some interesting engravings of the Northern and Southern American statesmen and generals. Of course, the series contains General Washington, who, like the British king here, is an immortal institution in Arneriea, but whether as being a Virginian he is to be considered Southern, or as beina eager for the Union, Northern, we do not know. The most striking head by far is that of the Confederate President Jefferson Davis, whose perfectly calm and commanding face expresses more power of self-denial, more rest in its own strength, though not a more clear-cut purpose than even his public acts would enable us to ex- pect. There is power of intrigue in it r~ ther than thelove of intrigue, but endless and unscrupu- lous ambition. General Jacksons thee is disap- pointing; it is rather young, fat, and encumbered with padding in the lower part, and altogether gives the idea of a character that has not burnt itself clear, the fuel smothering the fire. Gen- eral Lees is, probably, not a good likeness, as it is a common-form military face. Of the Northern Generals likenesses, General Hookers has far the most character and ability; General Burn- sides forehead has run to seed, and General Scotts head looks simply thick. The head of General Banks has power and honesty; General MClehlans is that of an earnest youth anxious to learn.Spechaor. AN artificial slate, for use in schools, etc., is spokeh of as invented by a Mr. J. N. Pierce. Al- most any material may be coated with this slate, as with a wash, and then written or drawn on. The wash may be put on paper or linen, which may be rolled up. 22 MISS POWER S ARABIAN DAYS AND NIGHTS. From The Reader. MISS POWERS ARABIAN DAYS AND NIGHTS. Arabian Days and Nights; or, Raysfrom the East. By Marguerite A. Power. (Samp- son Low & Co.) FROM Lulu, the monkeywho ate the greater part of a composition-candle, a pot of pomatum, a quantity of tooth-powder, and the remains of an unfinished dose of rhubarb, all without the slightest inconvenienceup to the coarse, easy-going pasha who lets his favorites supply him with sham kid gloves at 5 a dozen, and 700 mirrors at 10,000 each, all Miss Powers characters are sketched with a firm clear hand that does great credit to the artist. There the hot-headed little horses, dirty lazy fellahs, fat prize-pig-like matrons, udder-guarded goats, sore-eyed chil- dren, etc., etc., clearly struggle, crouch, squat, hrowse, and heg under the glorious E~yptian sun and sky, or in the mysterious hareem, as scene after scene passes before the readers eye, with unwearying interest to him though he may have read dozens of hooks of Eastern travel before. And yet, though the picture glows with the warm light of that Eastern sun, and the memories of those old Arabian Nights that rejoiced our youth, the impression left by Miss Powers hook is a sad one. For, with the instinct of her race, she has tried to get at the facts of the daily life of the people among whom she sojourned; and these facts. prove not cheering ones, spe- cially those concerning the women, as well Levantine and Turk as Arab. Leaving the many other topics of interest in the book, we propose to extract an account of the feminine inhabitants of the land. Jntro~[uced by her friend Mrs. Ross, who has settled at Alex- andria, our authoress goes to affte at this town, where she sees the fat Levantine belles and their fatter once-belle chaperones. One of the latter she sketches thus She can hardly be forty, and her smooth face. yet bears traces of considerable comeli- ness. But the bright dark .ey~s are im- bedded, the nose is sunk, the smiling mouth is buried in swelling flesh; of neck there is no symptom; the head rests behind on a hump of fat, in front on a proturberance like the crop of a pouter pi0eon. . . . Yet she does not seem to mind it; there she sits, smiling benignly, the picture of serene contentment. These fatties have & special preference for French or English husbands; and the reply to the question Do such matches answer? is Cela depend: if the man wants a doll to play with; a child who can barely read or write, and never does either if she can help it; who talks nonsense in three or four lan- guages; who is not without a talent for cook- ery, and who dotes upon dressfor which she has not a talenthe may get on well enough with her. Unfortunately, in a very few years there comes to be so very much of her! ~ At Cairo Miss Power and her friends are asked to a Turkish wedding, that is, betroth- ment. The bridegroom is a boy of fourteen, son of the late Selim Pacha Titurigi; and his tutor gives him a weeks holiday to get mar- ried in. The bride is sixteen, a woman in body though not in mind, and her chief duty seems to be to sit on a table and be looked at. The visitors are received by a set of ladies of all colors, from black to fair, few young, and fewer still good-looking, a few hand- somely attired, others mere bundles of old clothesof whom one quietly takes off Mrs. Rosss pretty bracelet and asks her to make her a present of it. Pipes and chat go on from five till twilight, and then they are led into the presence of what appeared to me at the first glance some glittering image or idol, seated in the corner of the room on a high triangular divan of state, covered with crimson satin embroi- dered in gold. This was the bride. Round her neck was a gorgeous necklace of pearls, ememids, and diamonds, and, stran6e to say, on her oUin, and on either cheek, diamonds were stuck in little clustersI suppose with some paste or gum. For an hour and a half the poor bride sits to be stared at, taking no notice of any one. Afterwards, leaving the bride, they adjourn to dinner; a slave tears off strips from. a Tur- keys breast for them, and numerous nonde- script dishes are tasted. A determined-look- ing dame takes possession of Miss Powers locket-bracelet, and asks her for a lock of her hair to put in it and keep for a keepsake and tender souvenir of her! At last comes a message from Mr. Ross that it is time to ~o, and the ladies depart. Setting aside the Turkish womans fancy for their visitors bracelets, Miss Power says The manners of these women are pre- cisely those of children; children who lived 23 24 MISS POWER S ARABIAN DAYS AND NIGHTS. a life of perpetual idleness, who were for the most part considerably bored thereby, and who were pleased and amused to get hold of anything in the way of novelty, and disposed to be kind and courteous to the strangers who brought them a new sensation. Of course the blame for their present posi- tion is laid on their shouldersas here, too, the weak are always blamed for the faults of the strong; and ilalim Pacha, brother to the Viceroy, said to a friend of mine, Some of our women complain that we care little for them individ- ually, and ask why European husbands are content with one wife, to whom they can be fond and faithful. But how is it possible for us to attach ourselves seriously to one of our women? They have nothing to win re- spect and regard; they know nothing, they do nothing, they understand nothing, they think of nothing; they are mere children, utterly foolish, ignorant, and uncompanion- able; we cannot love them in your sense of the word. True, 0 Pasha! bat whose. fault is it? Of the Arab women our authoress sees only the outward ways: they are only fellah-ahs, fellabs or working mens wives, and about as ugly a set of women, looking only at their faces, as I was ever among. But their gen- eral bearing is highly graceful, their make slender, and they are seen to perfection when carrying their large water-pots, or goullas, on their heads. They seem, however, to he greatly in want of that famous tract of the Ladies Sanitary Association, How to Man- age Baby, for the children are generally very ugly and dirty, with lean limbs and great stomachs, and they seldom escape oph- thalmia, which not unfrequently causes the loss of at least one eye. You may often see them wrapped in a few rags lying on the wet ground outside the mud hut, while the woman is engaged in washing, cooking, or winnow- ing beans or barley, all of which operations she performs squatted on the earth. She never either sits or stands at any employ- ment. But though the sad condition of women in the East, and the dread indo- lence, indifference, immutability fatalism those great curses that lie on the heads of all, and never, never will be shaken off are fully brought out in Miss Powers book, yet the variety of beings and topics treated in it, and its admirable style, render it one of the most interesting books we have seen for a long time. We have Cairo with the sense it gives of a new phase of life, of totally new sensations, of vastness, of immutableness, of the past and present blended into one, of the thousand years as one day, the one day as a thousand years; Buckle, the most bril- liant, inexhaustible, and versatile of talkers; whirling dervishes in their maddened rock- ing; the English travelling-snobs, Brown and Browness; the hero Outram; the Italian assassins in Alexandria; Turkish dealers; flame-winged flamingoes; gorgeous point- setias; trees of roses; convolvuli vast in size, divine in color; camels, dromedaries, lions, Jews, and girafl~s; a princess always smok- ing; her adopted daughter in a -pink satin tunic and a cage; the Prince of Wales; lovely-eyed Maltese girls, etc., etc., etc.; and, at last, the hurry of Paris, and the cold, plashy streets of London. Certainly our fogs and mud are not a pleasant change from a scene like this The brilliancy and clearness of the at- mosphere are beyond all description, partic- ularly of an evening, just beibre the brief twilight veils the world. Often as we re- turned from our drive, about half~past fivevr six oclock, I used to gaze in rapture on the sight presented to us. Unspeakably clear and distinct lies the outline of the low sand ridges, dark against a daffodil sky 2 varying into rose, blue, and tale lilac hi ack, and still, and sharp, as thougheut in metal, stand up the bare stems and plumed summits of the palms on a background of burning gold, like the heads of saints in the old Byzantine p~- tures; and presently, out of the dark blue above, grows into brilliance a glittering cres- cent, with one large diamond of a star. All the East is in that picture (p. 86). F. MISS KEMBLES GEORGIA. From The Spectator. MISS KEMBLES GEORGIA. * THERE is but one argument for slavery which is openly produced in England, and that is something like this; slavery is, after all, but a name; in every country the laborer is subjected to the power of the capitalist,. and the compulsion of hunger, if not more severe, is more regular and persistent than the compulsion of physical pain~ For the rest, slavery as a form of labor has large com- pensations, the workman being saved from anxiety, from the dread of starvation, and from the terror of an old age of poverty and want. Except for the immutability of his condition, an incident accompanying free la- bor everywhere except in the United States and a small section of Europe, the slave is aa well off as the unskilled white artisan. We would recommend all to whom this line of argument seems effective to read a series of lettere just published by Messrs. Longman. They were written in 1838, by Miss F. A. Kemble, then the English wife of a planter in Georgia, whose estate on the island of Darien is now occupied by the Fed- eral troops, and were not originally intended for publication. The wife of a planter of strong Southern opinions, living on the profits of the system, and not moved apparently by any strong religious ideas, Miss Kemble bad singular opportunities for unprejudiced ob- servation, and the result is a condemnation of slavery more severe than any in which pro- fessed philanthropists would venture to in- dulge. It is a system based upon human misery and degradation, having no end save the owners profit, no bulwark except inces- sant terror. Miss Kemble, it will be remem- bered, was on a well-managed plantation, held by merciful owners, where punishment, by a rule of the estate, was strictly limited, and where the head man was himself a grave, intelligent negro. On this property she found the negroes lodged in wretched huts, with one room twelve feet square and two little side cabins like those of a ship. Two fami- lies, sometimes eight or ten in number, lived in each, sleeping on mattresses of strewn for- est moss, and covered with a pestilential blanket. Each house had a little garden, usually untended and uncultivated, and the inmates and swarming children were all * Journal of a Re8idence on a Georgian Plantation. By F. A. Kemble. Lougmans. alike crusted with dirt, covered with vermin, and stinking from the absence of any habit of bathing. The infirmary was a long build- ing of two stories, crowded with women who lay under every extremity of suffering, wrapped in dirty blankets, on the bare floor, and shivering with the cold. It was the women to whom Miss Kemble chiefly at- tended; among them the forms of suffering were manifold and terrible, for besides every kind of pain to which free laborers are lia- ble, there is one peculiar to the slave women, and of which Miss Kembles book is full till it is sickening to read. Slave-breeding pays well, and, as a consequence, the women, transferred to one husband after another, and at the mercy of every overseerhead- man Franks wife was quietly taken away while the authoress was there, kept a year by the overseer, and then returnedperish of childbearing. The women are stimulated by the pride of being valuable to the estate, and wretched creatures worn out with labor still exultingly told their mistress that they would yield plenty of little nigs for massa. They have frequently ten or eleven children, are flogged when pregnant, and three weeks fter confinemcnt driven back to work in the cotton field. The consequence is an illness not often mentioned out of a medical journal, pain in the hack, and every conceivable form of uterine disease. The one petition of these pool women was for a longer period of rest, and they were flogged for petitioning, flogged, as a pretty young negress herself told the story She had not finished her task one day, when she said she felt ill, and unable to do so, and had been severely flogged by driver Bran, in whose gang she then was. The next day, in spite of this encouragement to labor, she had again been unable to complete her appointed work; and Bran having told her that hed tie her up and flog her if she did not get it done, she had left the field and run into the swamp. Tie you up, Louisa! said I, what is that? She then described to me that they were fastened up by their wrists to a beam or branch of a tree, their feet barely touching the ground, so as to allow Lhem no purchase for resistance or evasion of the lash, their clothes turned over their heads, and their backs scored with a leather thong, either by the driver himself, or if he pleases to inflict their punishment by deputy, any of the men he may chodse to summon to the office; it might be father, brother, husband, MISS KEMBLES GEORGIA. or lover, if the overseer so ordered it. I turned sick, and my blood curdled listening to these details from the slender young slip of a lassie, with her poor piteous fi~ce and murmuring pleading voice. The rule is relentlessly enforced, the over- seers pleading, what is probably the truth, that if any excuses were accepted there would be no end to the contrivances to obtain the much desired rest. Among others, a poor woman called Mile, who could hardly stand for pain and swelling in her limbs; she had had fifteen children and two miscarriages; nine of her children had died; for the last three years she had become almost a cripple with chronic rheumatism, yet she is driven every day to work in the field. She held my hands and stroked them in the most appealing way, while she exclaimed, 0 my missis! my missis! me neber sleep till day for de pain, and with the day her labor must again be re- sumed. I gave her flannel and sal volatile to rub her poor swelled limbs with; rest I could not give herrest from her labor and pain this mother of fifteen children. This eternal labor was supported on two meals of hominy a day, one of them eaten after six hours of hungering labor, a prac- tice, however, we are bound to add, which is not intended as an aggravation of cruelty. Though extremely injurious, it is almost uni- versal among the free ac,riculturists of Ben- gal, the motive beinn economy. An early breakfast followed by hard labor goes for nothing, and the plowman, unless he eats after his first spell of toil, would be compelled to eat like an Englishman three times a day. But it will be urged, in what does this state of affairs differ from that common among the proletariat of every country? In all there are classes who are overworked, whose wives are forced to field labor, who live in filth and misery, and who die early, worn out by toil and childbearing. That is true, though not to the same dreadful degree, the terror of the lash being extinct, for instance, in the two countries, Ireland and Belgium, in which there is the greatest amount of physical suffering. But the special aggra- vation in Georgia is that this condition is permanent, that there is a deliberate inten- tion not to allow the slave to better herself, or, if possible, to obtain the intelligence to wish for .a higher position. Miss Kemble found that the laws against teaching slaves to read were strictly enforced; she was told by her own overseer that her mere presence among the slave~ was full of ~danger to the institution; her husband forbade her to pr& sent petitions, and she was finally compelled to leave the South utterly unable to endure the sense of her own powerlessness. And this is an inevitable incident of slavery, and prohibits even the influence of voluntary be- nevolence from above. Suppose, for exam- ple, a slaveowner, full of intelligence and courage, chose to rely on the military force which is always in practice behind him, and treat his slaves as the Roman patrician did, i.e., retain his despotic power, but cultivate every man to the limit of his ability, making one a scholar like 2Esop, another a physician such as St. Luke probably was, a third an armed athlete, such as every slave gladiator must have been. The system under the pres- sure of modern ideas would collapse in a twelvemouth, and the planters, well aware of the fact, intercept the danger at the be- ginning by making intelligence a crime. The slave can never improve, for he can never learn. Thrift is valueless, for he can hold no property. Carefulness is waste of thought, for losses are not his. Industry is hateful, for why do more than is necessary to avoid the lash? Even native brain-power is dan- gerous, for the able are always an irritation to absolute masters, who require, as the Em- peror Francis said,obedient subjects, not pro- fessors. Moreover, the most wretched peas- ant in Belgium, whose life passes in toil for bare subsistence, whose wife helps to draw the plow, and whose children begin ditching at ten, has, at least, some alleviations. lie can have a home, sympathy from his wife, love from his children, excitement from vil- lage gossip, consolation from the assured hope that his condition in the next world will com- pensate him for his sufferings in this. How does it stand with the slave? She was the wife of headman Frank, the most intelligent and trustworthy of Mr.s slaves; the head driversecond in command to the overseer, and, indeed, second to none during the pestilential season, when the rice swamps cannot with impunity be inhabited by any wh~te man, and when, therefore, the whole force emplo~ed in its cultivation on the island remains enti.rely under his authority and control. His wirea tidy, trim, intelli- gent woman, with a pretty fi~ure, but a de- cidedly negro facewas taken from him by 26 MISS KEMBLES GEORGIA. tbe overseer left in charge of the plantation by the Messrs. ,the all-efficient and all- satisfactory Mr. K, and she had a son by him, whose straight features and diluted color, no less than his troublesome, discon- tented, and insubmissive disposition, bear witness to his Yankee descent. I do not know how long Mr. Ks occupation of Franks wife continued, or how the latter endured the wrong done to him. When I visited the island, Betty was again living with her hus- banda grave, sad, thoughtful-looking man, whose admirable noral and mental qualities were extolled to me by no worse a judge of such matters than Mr. K himself, during the few days he spent with Mr. , while we were on the plantation. This outrage upon this mans rights was perfectly notori- ous among all the slaves. The same overseer, the instant there was any dispute between husband and wife, used to separate and remarry them to other slaves, celibacy for any period being unprofitable to the owner. The children die horribly fast, faster even than among the outcasts of Lon- don; and as for religion, the most successful overseers are utterly opposed to any mode of religious teachinb. On this plantation a slave was allowed to preach; but the creed which teaches that all men are brothers is a dangerous one for a slave plantation. To make the system consistent the planters should be Mahommedans, but then every slave who turned Mahommedan would be free, every woman who had borne a child to her owner, every child of a white man, and every slave endangered by violence in life or limb, and so the plantation would be depop- ulated. As a rule, according to our author- ess, the negro is brutishly ignorant, the women unable even to tell their childrens ages; the men unable to do anything, except the work to which they are fio~ged. The system, wholly apart from its merits or demerits on moral grounds, establishes bar- barism as the condition of the laboring class, and consequently cripples society at its base. We have one more extract to makea tes 27 timony to the condition of the mean whites on the pine lands, the class whose existence is so stoutly denied by men familiar only with, Maryland and Virginia. I speak now of the scattered white pop- ulation. who, too poor to possess land or slaves, and having no means of living in towns, squat (most appropriately it is so termed) either on other mens land or Gov- eminent districtsalways here swamp or pine barrenand claim masterdom over the place they invade, till ejected by the rightful proprietors. These wretched creatures will not, for they are whites (and labor belongs to blacks and slaves alone here), labor for their own subsistence. They are hardly pro- tected from the weather by the rude shelters they frame for themselves in the midst of these dreary woods. Their food is chiefly supplied by shooting the wild fowl and veni- son, and stealing from the cultivated patches of the plantations nearest at hand. Their clothes hang about them in filthy tatters, and the combined squalor and fierceness of their appearance are really frightful. These are the so-called pine-landers of Georgia, I suppose the most degraded race of human beings claiming an Anglo-Saxon ori- gin that can he f6und on the face of the earth .,filthy, lazy, ignorant, brutal, proud, penniless savages, without one of the nobler attributes which have been found occasion- ally allied to the vices of savage nature. They own no slaves, for they are almost with- out exception abjectly poor; they will not work, for that, as they conceive, would re- duce them to an equality with the abhorred negroes; they squat, and steal, and starve, on the outskirts of this lowest of all civilized societies, and their countenances hear witness to the squalor of their condition and the utter degradation of their natures. To the crime of slavery, though they have no profitable part or lot in it, they are fiercely accessory, because it is the harrier that divides the black and white races, at the foot of which they lie wallowing in unspeakable degrada- tion, but immensely proud of the base free- dom which still separates them from the lash- driven tillers of the soil. FALSE GROUND AND FIRM. From Frasers Magazine. FALSE GROUND AND FIRM. Ich habe gelebt und geliebt. SOMEWHrRE in the county of Wiltshire. is a pleasant sunny piece of down, embroidered with cowslips, gilded with patches of gorse, and off~ring here and there the plcasantshelter of a small tangled copse, or a clump of young beech-trees. In these trees and copses the blackbirds pipe their nest-music, and the nightingales make the air ring and bubble with the delicious caprices of their May mad- ness. On one side, the down is bounded by a farm-road, which, as it nears a mansion below, assumes a statelier aspect, and becomes a fine beech-avenue; on the other it forms a wall of considerable height and steepness to the pr~tty little valley which nestles at its base, its emerald floor mapped out into blue- veined water-meadows, and its low, gray church-tower, and ivy-gabled rectory, and deep cottage roofs, huddling all together in one corner under the protection of some old rook-haunted elms. Down in this little valley lived, at the time my story begins, a fair young foreigner, gov- err~ess to the rectors children; and up in the clump on the downs above was a young beech- tree, whose smooth stem bore, in clear and well-cut characters, the un-English name of Ottilia. It was not often that the se- cluded and. somewhat uncultured spot which I have described was honored by a visit from the lord of the domain in which it was in- eluded; he preferred to it a tour through his orchard-houses, or a constitutional turn on the broad, smooth, gravelled terrace of the kitchen-garden; or, still more, a drive in his wifes brougham, and a gossip with such stray country gentlemen as he was lucky enough to meet in tbe neighboring market- town. But on the day which witnessed the inscription of the pretty foreign name, it did happen to come into his head that he would step up to the down8 and see how the young trees were coming on; and in the process of this inspection he came upon his son, a young gcntleman at present waiting at home for his commission, just as he was en- gaged in giving the final scoop to the tail of the last a in Ottilia. What. are you about there, Augustus, hacking away at the young trees, and killing them? said Mr. Bryant, somewhat testily: cannot you find anything better to do this morning? Some rather heavy bills from the tobacconist and tailor which had come in at breakfast, had, disposed him to be some- what captious tow& ds this usually much-in- dulged son. Oh, nothing, nothing at all; I am doing no harm in the world, said Augustus, rather hastily, edging between the tree and his fa- ther: I am only waiting for Wilcox and his ferrets. By the by, have yon seen what work the rabbits have made of the young barley? We shall have Farmer Jarret grum- bling at a fine rate presently. And with diplomatic address he walked his father on through the little wood to the arable land outside; but here, unfortunately, at the sight of the steep sheep-path which led from the down into the vale, his prudence or hj~ fear forsook himsooth to say, the tree and his late occupation upon it had entirely gone out of his headand, saying he must see what fly was on the water, he started at a dangerous pace down the slippery steep, leaying his fa- ther to take his homeward way alone. Mr. Bryant also had for the moment forgotten the piece of mischief on which he had found his son engaged, but as, in his return, he came up to the tree, the Ottilia was so conspicuous, and stared him so uncompromisingly in the face, that he could not fail to observe it. He stopped, surveyed it grimly, and calling to mind, what he had once heard without pay- ing any attention, that a pretty German gov- erness was in the immediate neighborhood, he hastened homewards to impart the suspi- cions which had dawned on his mind to Mrs. Bryant. This lady was on the alert immediately. She had met with better opportunities than her husband of noticing the unusual charms of Fraulein Berthal, but had prudently held her tongue concerning them, fondly flattering herself meantime that they had been undis- covered by her son since his return from his private tutors. Here, however, was proof too evident that they had not only been dis- covered, but sufficiently dwelt upon to pro- duce the immemorially lover-like custom of this inscription. Full of lofty indignation and energy she instantly set off for the par- sonage to have the whole matter out with Mrs. Mowbray. Poor, meek, little Mrs. Mowbray, anxious to clear her governess, whom she liked, and to palliate the wrath of Mrs. Bryant, whom 28 I FALSE GROL~ND AND FIRM. 29 she feared, hoped, and was sure, and lady knew no bounds; no terms of indi~na- was sorry, and did not think there was tion were strong enough to reprobate the con- anything such as Mrs. Bryant supposed; duct of the good-for-nothing girl ; while but her assertions and denials were all the it was evidently expected that Mrs. Mowbray time much weakened by an uneasy remem- should be overwhelmed with shame, and con- brance, called up by Mrs. Bryants words, of trition, and anguish of mind, for having been the frequent mention made by her children, the primary cause of such machinations hay- on their return from their walks, of Augustus ing been employed against the heart and for- Bryant; how he had found a birds nest, or tune of the illustrious Augustus. hit a squirrel, or started them on their races Mrs. Bryant was anxious to see the cul- on the downs; she recalled to mind also that prit, and deliver her mind in person; but the visits of that gentleman and his rod had here Mr. Mowbray was called into the coun- of late been far more frequent than formerly cil, and objected. It did not yet appear, he on the river-bank opposite the rectory gar- said, how far, if at all, Miss Berthal had con den. sented to any over-frequent intercourse with Mrs. Bryant was not to be put off with Mr. Bryant; and she would be far, more faint denials or suppositions; she desired likely to speak frankly, and to confess the that Mrs. Mowbray would question her chil- exact state of matters between them, ia a dren as to the frequency of their meeting quiet conversation with Mrs. Mowbray, than with her son, and the behavior of their gov- in an agitating and alarming interview with erness when these meetings took place. Of the mother of the young man himself. course, Mrs. Mowbray, she said, you will Mrs. Bryant submitted with an ill grace; see, with me, how absolutely necessary it is but Mr. Mowbrays quiet manner always cx- that any such designing and improper be- ercised over her a repressing influence which havior, as it appears this young person has she could not shake off; and she returned been guilty of, should be discovered and put home, after flinging this Parthian dart: a stop to immediately: it is not to be borne Pray, dear Mrs. Mowbray, do not commit that a young man of the expectations and yourself to another governess till you have position of my son should be exposed to her consulted me: it is so necessary, you see, to low arts. have a knowledge of the world, to judge of Poor Mrs. Mowb~~ would fain have de- the character of this sort of people; and I dined this task of examining her children, have so many friends who apply to me: in a but she was allowed no excuse; and that day, day or two I shall be able to recommend with faltering voice which she tried to make some one who will exactly suit you. indifferent, and burning cheeks she asked After indulging in a good cry in her her little ones if they had seen Augustus own room, Mrs. Mowbray proceeded to the Bryant. schoolroom, and, sending away the children, Oh, yes, mamma, we see him every day, began questioning Miss Berthal in a confused, now! he nearly always comes and walks with hesitating manner. It was unnecessary to us, say much: when she once understood Mrs. Oh, he walks with you, dears, does he? Mowbrays drift, the cheek of the young girl said their mother, catching at a straw; and flushed deeply, then became very pale; and what does he talk about? she answered with a peculiarly sweet voice, Oh, he does not talk much to us: when and great quiet: It is true that I do meet we come to a dry place he sits down with Mr. Augustus, that I do talk with Mr. Au- Fraulein, and wont run any more, because, gustus; Lam the affianced of Mr. Augustus. he says, he has sprained his ankle; and then The affianced! gasped Mrs. Mowbray. we go and pick up snail-shells and make Oh, my dear Fraulein! what are you say- nosegays. Isnt it funny, mamma, that he ing; what do you mean? always sprains his ankle just when we get u~ He loves me, said Ottilia, looking down, to the beechwood? while a happy light overs~rcad her fair face; Poor Mrs. Mowbray! she heard this with and so I do love him. sinking heart, and her conscience obliged her For a few moments Mrs. Mowbray sat in to report all the informatioii thus gained to blank dismay at this cool statement, which Mrs. Bryant. The righteous wrath of that went so far beyond her worst fears. Then FALSE G~ROUND AND FIRM. she began to pour out reproaches: Oh, how could you! Oh, I could not have believed it, Fraulein! and to carry it all on so secretly, without a word to me! Forgive me this, dear Madame; I wished to tell you, who have been to me as a mother; but ever he said to me: Not now, not now; tell no one till I shall have told my father. And when in the world did he mean to tell his father? When he shall get his commission; then he will tell all in the adieu: and, he says, then his father who loves him tenderly, will say, Let it all be as you will. Augustus is a goose, or else he is taking you in: his father and mother will no more give their consent to his marrying you than old Kitty Jones. I beg your pardon, Frau- lein; but I mean that, of all people in the world, those who have made their money by commerce, and are trying to take their place among the old families of the county, will be most particular as to their sons marriage. I know they have their eye on Lady Harriet Hardie. Augustus does not like Lady Harriet Hardie: he amuses himself at her grimaces, and he does not admire the yellow color of her hair. Oh, dont talk to me about Lady Harriet and her hair! how can you sit there, answer- ing me so coolly, when you have got me into such a sea of troubles? and you suited mc so exactly, and the children were getting on so well; and now I shall have to take some hor- rid old frinht, like my last one, of Mrs. Bry- ants recommending. Now it was Ottilias turn to look dis- mayed: her deep-blue eyes widened, and her lips trembled, and then she spoke slowly. So I must leave you! you send me away from you! and for what? because I have re- ceived a true love from an honorable man! But this was inevitable; Mr. Mowbray himself saw and acknowledged it, even while he inwardly resented the arrogant dictation and selfishness of Mrs. Bryant. He had one long and explicit conversation with Ottilia, in which, without blaming her at all severely, he pointed out to her the danger, and even the questionable propriety, of an engagement with so young a man as Augustus Bryant: he endeavored to convince her of its utter hopelessness, and the expediency of rooting this boy and girl love fro~a her mind as soon as possible; and he pointed out to her that, in giving any further encouragement to the young man, she would be instigating him to rebel against The known wishes and the lawful authority of his father. I cannot forget him, and I wish not to forget him; but what matters it? Jam go- ing: no one need fear me longer. This was her answer to Mr. Mowbray. To his wife she would sometimes say, But tell me, dear Madame, what have I done that you shake your head at me? I sought him not; but when he came and said, I love you, be my wife, where was my duty to say, No? This unconsciousness of evil-doing which Mrs. Mowbray repeated to Mrs. Bryant as an extenuating circumstance, was but as fuel to the fire of her anger. Great had been the commotion at Woodbridge hall, and stormy the scene between Augustus and his parents, when the fact of his actual engagement had been unwillingly reported by Mrs. Mowbray. Mr. Bryant had positively assured his son that he would take away every shilling of his present allowance, if he went again near the Parsonage while Miss Berthal remained there; and that if he dared in any manner to continue the intercourse after she had left, he would leave all his money to a hospital. Mrs. Bryant had atlast, by harsh persist- ence, gained her point of an interview with Ottilia; and had left her clutching the cush- ions, and pressing her forehead on the arm of the sofa, in an agony of neuralgic head- ache. She had at first attacked her with bitter invective, but this the young girl met with a composure and dignity which baffled her, and forced her to change her tactics; and it was by working on her conscience rather than her fea.rs, that she induced her to make a promisewhich, however, Mr. and Mrs. Mowbrays kinder remonstrances had already half won from herthat she would not speak again to Augustus before she left. A promise once made Ottilia Berthal would keep, if it were to ruin her whole life. Many were the little notes which, during the fol- lowing week, Augustus caused to reach her, imploring her to see him, if but for one mo- ment. She always wrote back the same an- swer. I have promised not, and you must obey your parents; but I will never forget you. During this week she never stirred out; but on the last evening, when the loud 30 dinner-bell at the ball had rung, and she knew that Augustus was safely engaged in- doors, she hurriedly put on her bonnet, slipped out of the house, and sped up the narrow path into the beech clump on the down. There it was that he had first called her Ottilia, and asked her if she loved him. There had they often sat in a delicious silence themselves, while the merry voices ~f the children made the air busy round them; thence had they looked forth together on the fair scene of wood and meadow, and he had whispered to her of the time when all this would be hers. lie had never allowed a breath of despondency or a hint at any great diffi- culties in the way of their love. You know they have not a chick or a child ~but me, and there is nothing I have not been able to get out of them, when I wished it, ever since I was born. Oh, I am quite sure it will all come as right as possible; perhaps a little grumble just at first, but I am used to that every time I have to ask for an extra five- pound note or so; I get it all the same, and so you shall see it will be now. Young and trusting, ignorant alike of Eng- lish habits and the character of those on whom her fate depended, Ottilia had listened to these hopeful words from the beloved lips; had believed them, and had lived on from day to day in a dreaih of uninquiring, un- fearing, passive happiness, leaving all that concerned her ultimate destiny in the hands of this boy, who was to her adoring eyes the ideal of all manly strength as well as grace. And now she stood in the sun-dappled clump, recalling every tone of his voice, every look of his eye, every tender word which he had uttered in this very spot. She threw herself on the ground, and kissed the moss on which they had sat; there were twigs lying about which she remembered to have seen him twist and break~while they were talking; she caught them up, and pressed them pas- sionately to hcr lips, and hid them in her breast. August, mein Liebling, August, mein Liebling, niinmermehr, ach! nimmermehr! Leb wohl, mein Geliebter! So she exclaimed aloud amid her sobs; for the first check, the first breath of adversity to young love brin6s despair, and absence seems toitas death. In this outpouring of her grief she forgot how time was passing, and she was suddenly roused by a quick footstep close to 31 her, and in another instant an arm was thrown tightly round her, and Au~ustus was stooping at her side. I have caught you at last, oh, you cruel girl! how could you treat mc so, all this week ?~ You have driven me nearly crazy.,~ The first wild thrill of joy in Ottilias breast was succeeded by a pang of conscience. Oh, I have promised, she cried; August, dear one, leave me. I have said I would speak to you no more. Oh, pray go from me! I shall do no such thing; what business have you to make such a promise, I should like to know, or who has dared to ask it? It was your mother. Oh,you must not disobey your parents, it would be sin; it was not sin till they spoke, but now you must think of me no more. Think of you no more! I shall think of you every moment of the day, and every hour of my life, I can tell them that. I love you a thousand times more, my darling, since they have set themselves against you in this shameful way. And what I have been want- ing to get at you for all these days, is to ask you to go off with me. Go off! how? Whyto run away with me, to be sure; to go somewhere where we can get married, and then snap our fingers at them all. I have got ~all the plan settled, dearest, about the money, and the carriage, and the place, and all; you just drop out and be on the Netton side of the bridge to-night, at nine oclock, and Ill have a fly waiting, and you shall be my own wife before twenty-four hours are over. Ahnono! What are you saying? what am I doing here? Listen, my Au- gust! Mr. Mowbray has shown to me that you are still as a child ; that is, you do de- pend for all on your father, and you must 5u1)mit to him and obey him; and I know well that a curse rather than a blessing does fall on those who have made undutiful mar- riages in rebellion to their parents. I will never, never be to you the cause of such a fate. lie would have tried further persuasion, but she rose from the ground and broke from his arms. Lebe wohl, lebe wohl, she re-- peated, in piteous, love-freighted tones, as she turned away. And you are going, actually going to- FALSE GROUND AND FIRM. FALSE GROUND AND FIRM. morrow, he cried, following her; and you will leave me in this way? What an abominable shame of my mother, and of those cowardly Mowbrays, to turn you out after this fashion! You will write to me, darling, every day, and let me see that you dont for- get me? Need I tell that? But I may not write, and you must not write to me; unless, in- deed, God should have pity on us, and turn to me your parents hearts. They will come round, dearest, never fear, said Augustus, beginning to reconcile himself to the unavoidable present, and to take refuge in the future. We shall have you back here in no time, and they will he asking your pardon for all their rudeness. Mr. Mowbray says never. Does he? what makes him so wise, I wonder? But never mind if they dont. I shant be a child, as you call it, all my life; in two years I shall be twenty-one, my own master lawfully, according to the law of the land, and then Ill come and claim you, Ot- tilia; and if my father cuts me off with a shilling, as he says he will, why then well live on my pay. Good-by, my precious, my angel, my own! Ill never forget you. I have your fathers address in Germany, you know, and I shal~1 turn up there some day, you see if I dont; in two years time, if not before. These were his last words, uttered as she sped from him between the stems of the beech trees; she turned for an instant as she heard them, while a beam from the setting sun played around her, and a fairer light than that of the sun, a smile of love, and faith, and hope, illumined for an instant her tear- ful face. Two years is but a little time when our lot in life is settled, when our prospects have be- come facts, and we have nothing more par- ticularly to desire or expect on this side of our life. But it is an arena all too large for the battle-ground of hope and despondency, the action of suspense and yearning on a young and sensitive heart. Ottilias consti- tution was naturally fragile, and ill calculated to bear any pressure, either from within or without; and when in the second July after her parting with Augustus, she appeared at home for her midsummer holiday, her thinness, and some vague alteration in her looks, excited her good mothers uneasiness. But towards the end of her stay her eye grew brighter, her manner livelier, and the color in her cheek alter~ately cheered and alarmed her mother. The 28th drew on; it was a day which despite her resolutions to expect nothing, had been set apart in Ottilias mind as the crisis of her fate, for on that day Augustus would be one-and-twenty. It was true that the birthday might make no real difference in his power of acting according to his wishes, but he had spoken of it so confidently that, almost unconsciously, it had been fixed by the trusting girl as the goal of her hopes. The morning brought no letter; but with a pervading expectation of she scarce knew what, with a flushed cheek, and hot hands, she ~vent through the little businesses of the day, looked over the household linen with her mother, made the coffee, and cut the tar- tines ready for her brothers return from school; took the pipe to her father in the alcove, and read to him from the Ilildeskeim Zeiturtg till he fell asleep. The night came, and brought no sign; but as she laid her head on the pillow, she remembered that the last thing likely was that she should hear any~ thing on the day itself, that she ought to al.. low time for a letter, written upon the 28th, to reach her. That time, reckoned to its furthest margin, passed by, and so did her holiday. On leaving, she repeated so many times If a letter should come for me, dear mother, you will send it directly to me at Mr. Johnstones, that her mother began to suspect some heart trouble connected with this expected letter, which caused her childs loss of bloom. And four more years went by: making six in all since she had parted from Augustus under the beech trees. The vicissitudes of a governesss life had by this time brought her into the family of a Scotch laird who owned a fine place in Perthshire. Ottilia was now six-and-twenty; the positive beauty of her early youth had yielded to the united effects of suspense, final disappointment, and con- stunt work; but her expressive eyes and sweet countenance still made her attractive. She was much valued by her employers; the only drawback to Mrs. Arbuthnots perfect contentment being her delicate health and fre- quent cough, but this she always maintained 32 FALSE GROUND AND FIRM. herself to be a chronic tendency of no serious consequence. Her manner was soft and quiet, and an even, gentle cheerfulness beamed over all she said and did, the sure token of a well- trained spirit, at peace with itself and all the world. This was its usual characteristic; but in the evening on which my tale is resumed, her demeanor was strangely altered. Fraulein, have you a headache? said one of her young pupils to her in the course of the walk; and on her answering hastily in the negative, she fell back and whispered to her sister, What can be the matter with Fraulein? she has seemed so out of spirits to- day, and has spoken quite sharply now and then; and in the drawing lesson her hand shook so when she took my pencil that she was obliged to leave off. Oh, she is unwell, no doubt, though she will not own it; she never does alloW that she is ill. She was not well last night, for after she had dressed, she changed her mind and would not go to the drawing room. We must make mamma look to her. On returning from the walk, Ottilia told her pupils to go in, saying that, as the air was still so pleasant, she would remain out a little while longer. As soon as she was alone, she hurried with a step that kept pace with the feverish disquiet of her mind, through the most secluded paths of the grounds, and then down the steep wooded hank of the river, till she came to the waters edge. It seemed as if she wished for the rush and whirl of the turbid stream to sympathize with her excited feelings. Poor Ottilia! she had flattered herself that her old wound was healed forever; she thought she had hid good- by to earthly love, and its feverish pain, but a name which she had heard, and a voice which had met her ear the evening before, seemed to have undone the work of years, and to have carried her back into the midst of that region of struggle and yearning which appeared to have been left so far behind. Augustus Bryant had come a guest to the house in which she lived: as yet they had not encountered each other, but he had passed the open door of the room in which she was, and though she had been prepared, by hear- ing his name mentioned as one of the party just arrived for the autumn shooting, the ef- fect upon her of this glimpse and of this voice had been overwhelming. How should she be able to meet him, as a stranger, and in a THIRD szaixs. LIVING AGE. 1044 room full of company, to whose bosom ~he had been held when last they met and parted, in the Wttle beech clump of Woodbr.idge? Or should they not meet at all? Would he come and go, ignorant that one who, once at least, had been so much beloved his own Ottilia, as he had delighted to call herwas under the same roof, breathing the same air, and treading the same floor as himself? Per- haps it would be better so; yet she felt this would leave a bitter regret, a long and deeply rankling pain. Revolving these things, she paced upand down that part of the bank which was clear from both bushes and rocks, when a cry or shout which she had heard once or twice without noticing it, made itself pres- ent to her attention. It struck her that there was something urgent in it, something different from the shout of a shepherd or keeper, and she moved along the river side in its direction. The ground became soft and spongy as she proceeded, so much so that her foot sunk to the ankle. She suddenly re- membered having heard that a piece of the river bank was rendered dangerous from its boggy nature, and that a post had been set up to mark where this unsafe ground began. Looking around, she saw, lying just behind her, and partly hidden in the rushes, an old, much decayed log. Witla a breath of tbank& . giving for her escape, she drew back, and moved by a newly awakened idea, she ran up the hank, which here receded a good deal, leaving a considerable area between itself and the stream, so as to skirt the bog, and yet keep its surface in view. As she went the cry was repeated, now close at hand; and on passing a bend of the river, she saw before her the figure of a man, from a little above the waist, rising awfully distinct against the pale yellow of the evening sky, out of the green-tufted expanse below her. She flew on through the straggling bushes, judging al- most by instinct of the place where she might, turn down again to the river side. The man was within a few yards of the edge of th.. bog, with his face turned in that directio~, he had evidently observed his danger after going a little distance, and had vainly en- deavored to return. Occasionally he made a forward struggling movement, when the whole face of what seemed solid sward, quiv- ered, rose, and sank like a pond in a breeze; and the figure looked a little less high thank before. 33 FALSE GROUND AND FIRM. Do not mive! Oh, keep still! cried Ottilia, as she saw this; and sinking down panting on a tongue of firm turf, from which an old willow stem leaned over the bog1 she stretched her hand, as far as she could reach, towards the sinking man; he caught it in his with the gripe of utmost need. At the same moment their eyes met, and Ottilia ut- tered a low cry; for the face before her was that of Augustus. For the first moment or two he only looked at her with the grave, earnest look of a man in great peril; then there came a flush over his face ; Ottilia! he said, in a low, husky voice; yes, I have deserved this, and I see now it is a judgment. Oh, thank God I was at hand to hear you! she cried, disregarding all but his danger. Now, with the help of my hand now you can get out, can you not? All- gn~idiger Gott erbarme uns! she continued, as, at the strong movement which he made towards her, he sank several inches, almost drawing her at the same thnu from her foot- ing. It is of no use, he said; every mo- meat only hastens the end. Oh, what a hor- rible death for a man to die!~ You am not going to die, August; 1 will hold you up. As long as you are still, I can keep you from sinking, and we must call for help. Is there no one near? No; they are a mile off by this time; they took the other branch of the river, and, like a fool, I chose to come up here alone. But shout, shout! they may be return- ing, or some one else may be near.~ He shouted; many a time did he shout; and many a time did Ottilia take up that cry, in tones made sharper and clearer by anguish. Both voices died away alike in the lonely dis- tance; nothing was heard but the sullen mutter of the water, and the sound of the wind in the trees high above. After awhile, even when motionless him- self, the figure of Augustus no longer re- mained stationary; slowly, almost impercep- tibly, yet always was it sinkin,,. Ottilias arm was strained till the tendons seemed to crack, and the cold drops stood on her face; sometimes it became numb, and a horror came upon her lest she should faint, or at least lose the power of maintaining the inn- tual clasp of their hands. She tried to sup- port herself by clutching with her other hand at the stem of the tree. Is there nothing more than this that I can do? she said. 0 AugAst! can you think of no way? There is none, he replied; it must come. Leave go of my hand, Ottilia, and let me be put out of my misery at once. Oh, talk not so! Pray, pray, August, that God may save you, if he will, and if not, take you to himself that he may take us both! And lifting up her eyes from the face of Augustus to the darkening sky above them, she wrestled aloud in prayer, less now for the earthly life of her beloved than for the pardon and acceptance of the deathless soul. God reward you! he said, faintly, when she paused. I have been a villain to you; there is many a sin that lies heavily enough upon me now, but this is the worst to think of Think not of that, nor of methink but of your Redeemer, and lay tight, tight hold of his cross ! There was silence for many minutes. Then there came a rustling in the trees on the bank; hope sprang up in both their hearts. Alas! it was but the flap of some large birds wing, quarrelling with its fellows for a roost- ing-place. Suddenly a more rapid fall of Augustus body almost separated their hands; one arm, his head and shoulders were now alone visi- ble. Ottilia rose on her knees, and lifted her arm as high as her reaching posture would allow; and with every fibre of her hody knit in this hand to hand struggle with the grave, she strove to hold back from it its prey, while her very soul seemed to pour itself out in suc- cessive shrieks, which made the still air shiver and ring in tortured vibrations along the rocky bank. And harkthere is something besides their echoes: the sound of a mans halloo. An- other! nearer! and now the noise of feet run- ning on the high road above; and now the crashing of branches, and a round, glimmer- ing light coming down the bank. Where are you! cried voices. here! shouted Augustus, restored to the vigor of life and hope in an instant; here, to the right; but be quick, or its of no use! 34 FALSE GROUND AND FIRM. 35 In another minute ropes are flun~, round and day, for his special mercy in sending me him; and while one man lifted back Ottilia, to you. It is all just as I would have it. speechlc~s and passive as a baby, Augustus You are too good for this world, or any was drawn forth to the spot which she had one in it, Ottilia; and I cannot look on you just occupied. without shame at thinking of the past. But A fervent Thank God? escaped his I am come, he continued, with some effort lips, as he lay back, trembling in every limb and agitation of manner, to say something against the knees of the men. A flask of that I have wanted to say for some time; but whiskey was put to his lips; he drank, and when I saw you the first time you were not then turned hastily towards Ottilia. She well enough to hear it. If you will forgive wants it more than I do, he said. Where me all myall my bad behavior, I will try to is she? make amends for the past. The lady, sir? I am afraid the lady is An expression, not of surprise, nor of ill, said one of the men, stepping back to- pleasure, but of suffering, passed over her wards her with the lantern. She was half- face. lying, half-sitting on the ground, and leaning How long did you continue to love me? on her elbow; while a handkerchief was she asked. pressed to her mouth, and in the light of the Oh, a long time. I was miserable at first, lantern they saw that this handkerchief was ~ttilia, and my head was full of plans, night marked with patches deep and dark of hue. and day, how to get at you; then, you know, * * * * * my commission came, and I had to get ready, May Mr. Bryant come in, dear Frau- and to go to Malta; and, you know, when a fel- 1cm? said a little girl, half opening the low has a lot of things of that sort in his mind door of a bedroom, at the window of which he cannot always think so much about love as lay on a sofa a shadowy form, with a face of he did belbre. But I never meant really to marble whiteness; he wants to see how you forsake you, Ottilia. I always meant to look ar6. you up some day or other. Then, you know, Yes, he may come in, said Ottilia, in a when my father died, there was such a deal voice which was almost a whisper; and her of business to scttle, and my mother wanted chest was seen for a minute to heave more me; and somehow the time slipped by, and I quickly, and the transparent hand made some thought you had probably forgotten all about slight arrangement among the frilled dra- mc long ago. But I see now what a scoun peries. drel I was, and how ungratefully I behaved You are better to-day, are not yiiu? to you, and that it is my duty to make up said Augustus, corning with quiet step, and to you all I can; so if you will take me a voice of grave, tender respect, towards the thus late in the day, I will try to make you invalid. I was so glad to hear Dr. Mackays happy, though I know I do not deserve yoii? report; he says he has great hopes now. Though he put it in the form of a question, Has he? hopes of what? she said with he seemed to have little doubt of the answer; a faint smile. m~nd after he had finished speaking, he put Why, of your getting well; he says out his hand to take hers. some of the worst symptoms have abated. You ask me to marry you? she said, You do not think I shall get well; no one letting him have her hand. can really, she answered. Yes, I do, Ottilia. Oh! I doI do, indeed. If I did not, August, I am dying; but if I knew I I think I should lose my senses. should be well to-morrow, I should say, I Why? she said, fixing her eyes on his will never marry you. face. Why not? he said, with some surprise; Because I should feel that it was all my you love me still, dont you. fault; that your life was lost for my sake. I love you still, August; I have loved She turned away her eyes again, and the you ever since the day I told you s~ on the faintest of ighs came from her lips. We down at Woodbridne; but you do not love will not talk of this, she said; I will tell me, and so I could never marry you. you hut once more what I have said already, Not love you !he said, with real e~ lotion. that I have never ceased to bless God night Not love you, 0 ttihia? when you have be- FALSE GROUND AND FIRM. bayed like an angel to me, when you have saved my life! Never shall I forget how you gripped my hand and held me up, and how you prayed for me as I did not think before any human being could pray. And now you say I do not love you! You love me, dear, with such a love as is fit for a dying woman; and this is well; for if it had been another sort of love, I should soon have had to grieve you. But, August, I know more than you think. I have not lain here so long without questioning about you; and Mrs. Arbuthnot, who knows nothing con- cerning the past, has told me she believes you love a young ladya good, beautiful maiden who is coming to stay here soon. I have said nothing to her, he said, looking down gloomily; I am ready to give her up for you. And you think I would take thfs? she said, while a faint color for a moment came to her face. Oh, August! will you never know what true love really is? But I did # not mean to say this; I want to tell you how glad I am to hear of this love; how I have prayed, since I knew of it, that it may be a true, heart-whole love on your side, and on hers a love likelike what womans love usually is; and that you will go hand in hand through a happy, happy life on earth towards heaven! And, oh, August if spirits are al- lowed to come near those they have left be- hind them, I will keep so near you both, I will so love you both, and watch over you and your children, and rejoice in your happi- ness! Ottilia, said Augustus, shading his face, while something like a sob rose in his broad chest, I have been a careless, good-for-noth- ing fellow; but if anything changes me, it will be that I have had to do with an angel like you. No, she whispered; it will be that you were so near the valley of the shadow of death, and were not ready, and that Ood has brought you back to begin again. * *, * * * Ottilia sleeps in a mountain kirkyard in Scotland; and the ehildren of Augustus and his wife gather flowers, and make moss-gar- dens in the beech clump where their father once vowed love to her who has now, perhaps, become to. them ~s a a guardian angel. 9 The North .~rnerican Review, April, 1863. The National Quarterly Review, March, 1863. There is not much ability or interest in either of these representatives of American periodical literature. They both preserve a profound silence as to the position and prospects of the war, pre- ferring to gratify their readers with a number of rather thin di nisitions on general subjects, most of which are devoid alike of the charm and the danger of novelty. Perhaps the most notic~- able point in conne ion with them is that each contains a short notice of Rutsells Diary North and South, which, while taking a comparatively low view of the ability of the writer, deprecates the storm of indignat.i6n with which the work s been received in the Northern States.Spec- tator. LORD CLYDE. The Lord Lyon (the king-at- arms in Scotland) will not, as is popularly be- lieved, grant authority to any individual to change his name; but on the narrative that he has already changed it, he will grant him arms under his new name; and in the patent, or if desired, in an extract from the record, he will certify the fact of the change. This certificate has been recognized both ~t the War Office and by the Admiralty, as identifying the bearer of the new n me with the bearer of the old name, which is the only object of the Queens Letters Patent; and officers of the army and navy have been permitted to change their names on the sts and to draw pay under their new denomination. (Steton on Heraldry in Scotland, p.407.) The above statement is made on the authority of Mv. Lorimer, Professor of Public Law in the Univer- sity of Edinburgh. Letters Patent are issued under the great seal, and are named in error for Warrant or License under the sign-manual. The statement, however, shows that the 1 ws of England and Scotland are alike, namely, that surnames may be assumed and will be officially recognized when adopted without a royal license. The present Lord Clyde is the lawful son of John AicLiver and of Agnes Campbell, of Glasgow, and he is thus registered on the list of births in that city. He entered the army as Cohn Campbell, and there can be no doubt that his promotion would have been impeded if he had retained the name of .McLiver, which he abandoned for that of Campbe~. (Seton on Heraldry, p. 892.) If young Cola MeLiver had not been able to renounce this surname with- out cost to himself, the country might have lost the services of one of its greatest generals. From a Correspondent of The Spectator. A FEW NOTES ON A RECENT VISIT TO PARIS. May 21st, 18(33. Sia,You ask me to give you the im- pressions of a late visit to Paris. Owing to the pecLiliar cirenm~tnnees of my journey, I found myself inhabiting a quarter of Paris which I had hardly ever passed through before, quite at the top of the Fau- bourg St. Jacques, close to the former Boulevard Ext6rieur, It is a sort of Par- isian Mount Atho~, or Holy Mountain; con- vents, male and female, on all sides; the in- terstices being filled up with schools and hosptals. You can scarcely go into the street without meeting priests, monks, friars, nuns, sisters, on foot or in carriages. Low-browed, coarse-looking capuchins, with their cord- girdles, seem quite at home on the pavement; girls consecrated ~to the Virgin (vouees au blanc) do their best to dirty themselves or avoid dirtying themselves in the gutters; the noise of hells and childrens hymns (sung in loud rasping tones) scarcely ceases by day, nor that of hells by night; in the still plenti- ful and often beautiful gardens the favorite clerical tree, the arhre de fudJe (which Prot- est~int England has so cruelly transmogrified into the Judas tree), is in full blossom. In- deed, notwithstanding the immediate neigh- borhood of a railway terminus, there is a strange semi-rural look about the quarter, and the very nightingale comes still to sing on the trees of the Boulevards z I heard him once with my own incredulous ears. Now, although an omnibus leads straight down from this clerical stronghold through the Rue Montmartre and the busiest quarters of Paris, and up again to the Barrii~re Pigale on the other side of the town, this is pretty nearly a terra incognita to half Paris at least, as it was to me: and, indeed, so completely is it out of Paris morally, that the residents the old folk, at leastspeak still of going into Paris from thence. And as I had but little time for such journeys, it was not much that I could see with my own eyes. One or two points, however, struck me; 1st. The absolute popular indifference to all the display of surrounding Romanism. I never saw a single working man, and scarcely any one at all, notice or touch his hat to a priest, monk, or friar. So far from this, I happened one day to give a good look to a priest of rather remarkable physiognomy, and tbe poor man instantly touched his hat to me, as if he must know me, since I deigiied to look at him. In a house with convents in front and rear, though the Friday fast ap- peared to be observed as a custom by the women, there was not the slightest pretence 37 of doing so on the part of the men at the mann table. 2d. An evident, though still mild revival of political feeling, as compared with my recollections of eighteen months ago. One or two political posters~ were prominent on every wall amidst those of theatres, railways, and houses or lands to sell.--M. Gu~roults Etudes Politiques (I think that is the title), and Un Drame Electoral, by M. Gagneur. When the ordinance fixing the date of the elections was in turn posted up, you could distinguish the place from a dis- tance by the readers, working men mostly, who were sure to be about it. More marvel- lous still, passing through the Luxembourg one morning, I heard two working men, seated on a bench, talking politics aloud, and no spy in or out of uniform was li~tening ~o them. This observation was abundantly confirmed to me by the few intimate friends whom I saw, but who, belonging to different profes- sions and shades of opinion, might, within certain limits, serve as representative men in their way. Some years ago, with the excep- tion of Paris and a few large towns, people did not dare to put forward opposition can- didates. Now, I heard on all sides of solic- itations addressed to men of independent opinions, who had sat in Louis Philippes chambers, in the republican assemblies, by their old constituents, urging them to come forward, and for the most part pledgin~ suc- cess. M. dc Persignys forbiddance of elec- tion committee meetings, instead of rousing indignation, was rather hailed with pleasure as a confession of weakness. Still, although the invitation to stand had been addressed to some of the men who can be least expected to swear faithfulness to the emperor, such as poor Greppo, so shamefully prosecuted with- out a tittle of evidence against him last year, the prevalent feeling was that the hour of the men of advanced opinions was not yet come, that the oath imposed upon candidates as a condition precedent to their standing should exclude every man who may accept the em- pire as a fact, but not as a right. hence there is a general acquiescence in the candi- dateship of the men of the old parties, of the old left centre especially, with Thiers at their head,that clever, experienced, elo- quent, idealess left centre, master of tongue-fence and parliamentary use and xvont, whose utter barrenness was the real ruin of Louis Philippe, whose utter blindness and vanity were the making of Louis Napoleon. For the work of destruction of the next two or three years these men are amply sufficient; it is but fair that they should undo their own mischief. There are, indeed, two or three upright and respected men among them, such RECENT VISIT TO PAI3Ig. 38 RECENT VISIT TO PARIS. as Dufaure, whose honesty may add weight very difibrent tempers of mind. It seems to the adroitness of their chiefs. we are to he guarded by Arabs whilst our I need hardly say how far more deeply own men are sent to perish in Mexico, said than ever I was impressed with the utter one. You see how little trust he is begin- rootlcssness of the empire. In vain does Na- ning to have in our soldiers, said another, poleon III. upset all Paris, as if he wished to since he actually requires Arabs to garrison 1 ave nothing 1)ehind him but what proceeds Paris. from himself; the absolutely universal feeling The fact of the rapid spread of republican is that this is simply provisional nnd cannot principles, which I had already heard asserted last. It is curious, indeed, how this provi- eighteen months ago on the best authority as sional character stamps itself even on mate- to the working classes, both of the provincial rial improvements. You may see in some towns and of Paris, was confirmed to me from places quite new houses, scarcely three or four a wholly different quarter, as respects the years old, pulled down for newly devised em- professional classes. Still, I could see that bellishments to the capital. At one entrance Orleanist feelings were yet very strong among of the Luxembourg Gardens, near where the the middle-aged and older men and women. do ~dicis has caused, probably, more cousin is of the Duke de Chartres to his takin~ away of the pleasant old Fontaine The marri~~ecially rejoiced in by these, as heart-hur~iings than any other single pahlic preserving the purity and nationality of the work in Paris, the strange sight is seen of Orleans blood. three different levels of street side by side, On the whole, I am strongly confirmed in each official and compulsory in its time,but the conviction impressed upon me in my last as ugly and inconvenient as they might be visit, that the second empire is decidedly in dangQrous in their present juxtaposition. One its period of decline. It is rapidly losing its might also say that an ironic fate compels prestige of terror, and is felt more and more this man, who pretends to have closed the as a nuisance rather than as a hughear. era of revolutions, to keep the material idea The old Association movement, so many a of revolution constantly before his people. time pronounced extinct ex cat kedrd by S oak to a Parisian, man or woman, poor or Frenchmen and foreigners, is not yet stopped. p well-to-do, of the alterations in Paris, and it A new working tailors association is prepar- is three to one that within five minutes you ing to start next winter. The working build- hear the expression, Tout est en revolution. ers, who *ere in a had way last year, seem The personal indifference towards his dynasty to have got well afloat again. A body dos (let the newspapers say what they please) is tined to act as a bank of association is all but complete. I passed one morning in the Tuil- constituted, and amongst other distinguished eries whilst the prince imperial, a tutor and men who take an interest in it, and are likely, a lackey, were alone on the terrace by the in some way or other, to be connected with river side. Every one must have known him, it, I heard the name of M. Elis~e Reclus, who yet no one stopped for one instant to look at has written many admirable articles for the him; no one gave him more than a single Deux Mondes, and, indeed, I hear, lately glance; very many passed by, I believe de- contributed two papers on our English co- signedly, without so much as looking up. operative bodies to the Revue Germanique. Compare this with the way in which with us The great drawback to the work is the want the public gaze follows nny member of the of education among the working men. The royal family as soon as recognized. amount of absolute illiterateness in France Of the deepening hatred towards the pros- is something still enormous. and would 1)0 eat rule indeed, I saw one striking witness in shameful to the nation wore it under any but mens feelings as respects the Mexican war. a despotic rule. I had a practical instance Not only is this universally condemned, as of this in the fact that I literally, from the being alike senseless and iniquitous, but for house I lived in, had to walk for a quarter of the 7first time I heard Frenchmen actually an hour down the Rue St. Jacques before I wish for disaster to the French arms. The came to a stationers shop, and one-half of general policy of those distant wars is, in- this was devoted to umbrella-mending ;this, deed, disliked by all; whilst another event, nmind you, in a characteristically educational quite trifling as yet in its proportions, seems quarter. I do not believe there is any part to have aroused very bitter feelings, the of London where I should have had to go half brin~ing ~ver of a company of Arabs to do the distance. garrison duty in Paris. Although this meas- I have been speaking of the Parisian work- ure had been prepared and announced long ing men. I believe I can answer for it that, beforehand, and perhaps was taken with no notwithstanding all the efforts made by the specially evil intentions, it was quite singu- Second Eampire to occupy them, feed them, lar to eec what effect it had produced on men coax them, they are just as fur as ever from wholly unacquainted with each other, and of being favorable to it. Of course it is far worse with the provincial ones. The 40,000 Norman cotton-weavers out of employ know well that public subscriptionsfor the relief of their distress have been damped as much as possible by official policy. Those of Al- sace know that it is only owing to the public spirit of their masters, as well as to the more favorable economical conditions of the trade in that quarter (finer numbers spun, finer stuffs woven), that they are still at work. St. Etienne knows as well that the compara- tive ruin of its trade (from 15,000 to 20,000 of the best workmen are reckoned to have left the place within the last few years) is owing to the amalgamation of the coal companies, effected, it is said, only through Onsparing bribery in high quarters, and the result of which has been to raise the price of coal from five to thirty francs a load as the sole means of paying dividend on a grossly exaggerated capital. Let me conclude by an anecdote of 48, told me from personal experience by a friend of nearly thirty years standing; one who, though an advanced Liberal in feeling, has no sympathy with the special social tendencies of that revolution, lie was president of clubas who was not in Paris in those days? and a workman came to him: Sir, I want to have your opinion. I have a quar- rel with an old friend, lie came to mc some while ago: What good wind brings you? said I. I have no work, and I have no more bread. So much the better, said I; I have. So I gave him half what I had. Not long after I found myself in the same case, and I went to see him: What good wind brings you? said he. Well, said I, I have no work and no bread now. All right, said he, just now I have some. And he brought out a hunch, and was about to cut it in two. That wont do, said I, your hunch is twice as big as mine was; cut it here. No, said he, you gave mc half yours, you must take half mine. We dis- puted for some time, and I would not take his big half, and he would not give me less, and since then we do not speak to one an- other; for I say he does not practice equality, and he says I do not. Perhaps those days of feverish social enthu- siasm, when two half-starved friends could quarrel as to the practical meaning of equal- ity in sharing ones all, are past, never to re- turn. But the class from which such exam- ples can proceed is, depend upon it, the very marrow of the French nation, lie who im- agines any permanent political future for France, in which the ouvrier element should not have its due place, is building in the air. 39 From The Spectator, 6 June. MENE, MENE, TEKEL, UPHARSIN. PARIs has given the Moniteur its first warn- ing; that seems, in brief, the result of the French elections. Throughout the provincial districts, wherever the electors could be influ- enced, or coerced, or isolated, the Administra- tion has secured a complete and, possibly, not difficult vietory. The Imperialist majority is still overwhelming, something like ten to one, and the determined effort made by the Oppo- sition only makes their defeat more conspic- uous and more galling. Even the minor cities have disappointed expectation, Bordeaux, for mnstia~ce, having rejected Dufaure, whose massive oratory might have told even more heavily than Thierss tinselly though effective displays, or Jules Simons biting jests. She has seat a Liberal, but not the man the Ad- ministration feared. Casimir Perier, whose election seemed certain, was not returned after all, and M. de Montalemberts defeat was almost ignominiousa fact the more re- markable, because bitter Ultramontanes like Kolb-Bernard and Plichon have been restored to their seats in spite of official condemna- tion. Judged by the ordinary constitutional rules, the Government may fairly exult in a complete if not overwhelming triumph. And yet France nd Europe and M. de Persigny all alike believe that the empire has received a shock, and are right in so believ- ing, for Paris has not endorsed the decism n of the departments. We are not about to re- peat the stale epigram that Paris is France, for, were it true, France would not to-day be at the mercy of Napoleon, or French electors doubting whether it is safe to vote as they will. Paris is not France, any more tlman the brain is the body; but then that which the brain wills to do, the body, unless paralyzed, sooner or later does, and for three hundred years Paris has always anticipated the final decision of France. It is the representative city, to which all that is most able, and am- bitious, and intellectual, and noble, and vile between the Rhine and the Pyrenees gravi- tates as by a natural law. The Parisians do not govern the French, but they lead them, and their lead in these elections is in the di- rection the Government most strictly forbade. The nine divisions of Paris, separated by deep gulfs of circumstance and hal~it and convic- tionfor what is there in common but the sky and the cemeteries between St. Germamn and St. Antoine ?have discovered a bomid of union in resistance to the existing r~yime. Orleanist or Republican, Thiers or Picard, doubted like ilavin or trusted like Favre, any candidate has been welcome, provided only he hated the creed professied by the minister of the interior. So vast is the majority a0ainst Government, that if we deduct from MENE, MENE, TEREL, LYPHARSIN, 40 MEN1~, MENE, TEI(EL, UPIIARSIN. the minority the officials who voted under city which, like Paris, sends up at once compulsion, thc old soldicrs who voted be- Thiers and Jules Favre, or, like Marseilles, cause Napoleon is the heir of his uncle, the elects at once M. Marie and M. Berryer, is jobbers who thrive on corruption, the con- not thinking specls~lly about dynasties. But, tractors enriched by improvements, the then, can the dynasty survive the system it bribed, the cowardly, and the class which has created, and the vote is most unquestion- breeds in the empire as vermin ia stagnant ably directed against that? It is an an- water, unanimous Paris would seem to have nouncement that Paris, which always wishes voted against the Imperial system. So keenly to-day what France will agree to to-morrow, was this felt that the victors became calm is longing for a new system, for greater lib- from the very intensity of their sense of tri- erty to intellect, a freer play for thought, umph. I went, writes an acute observer less restriction in action, a new relation be- on the spot, through several sections at the tween the executive and the people. It is an time when the votes were being counted; assurance that Paris, and, therefore, by and there was a serenity in triumph which~ was by, France, will not bear such circulars as quite touching. In the evening, men gave a M. de Persigny directed against M. Thiers, franc for the second edition of a paper, and will not submit to elect mere nominees, will read aloud outside the figures of the majori- not give up its right, if not to dictate, thea ties, which were really incredible ia some to criticise, the action of ministers of state. sections; people spoke briskly, without dis It is a gasp for more air, the expression of a guise or fear. Fifteen days more, and the passionate wish for that regiine of healthy departments would have sent up thirty more conflict which we call constitutiona.l life. deputies to the Opposition. Patience; he And this is what the great cifies have taken laughs well who laughs the last. That vote means to secure. was the more decisive because there was no It is not because the Opposition is twenty- ground for local discontent. Whatever the eight instead of five that its vote has become empire may have neglected it has pampered of impoitance. Twenty-eight men cannot Paris. M. ilausmana told but the truth vote the emperor out of his throne, or refuse when he talked of the gratitude which,sup- supplies, or punish a tyrannical minister, posing man lived by bread alone,Paris any more than five. It i because the twenty- would owe to the emperor who found her eight are of the class who can make Parlia- brick, and may one day perhaps leave her mentary conflicts real, can, even when out.. marble. All that an absolute court, aided voted, exercise political power. No president by genius like that of Visconti, and admuinis- can silence M. Thiers by interruptions on trative ability like that of NI. llausmann, points of form. N@ minister with a voice could do to beautify and enrich and amuse can argue down M. Pehletan, or make M. the beautiful city has been done, done with Berryers ringing sentences other than influ- a heartiness, a cordial enjoyment in the do- ential. No official, however triply cased in ing, most unlike the grudging spirit which so impudence and dotations, can be indifferent often mars official beneficence. There are to the ts which will drop from the lips of hundreds of tradesmen in Paris who can trace I M. Jules Simon. Even animals with six their fortunes directly to the decrees of Louis stomachs cannot drink oil of vitriol and re- Napoleon, thousands of workmen to whom main alive. It does not do in France to be M. ilausmauns plans have brought work hopelessly outmatched in talk, yet if the Gov~ and wades and security. Parisians, too, eminent resort to argument, there is Parlia- love Paris as Athenians once loved Athens, mentary life revived, and can the dynasty and feel a just pride in every improvement survive revived Parliamentary hifej? how is which seems to justify her claim to be called it to send expeditions to the endsof the world the metropolis of civilization. It is fromn no when its finance is proved to all men un- local annoyance, therefore, no citizen sore- sound, or war for ideas with M. Berrycr tell- ness at neglect, no municipal spite, that Paris I ing tIme peasants that conscription eats up has returned all the men whom the emperors their sons, or send the suspect to Cayenne servants proclaimed the enemies of his rule. with M. Favre denouncing the laws of pub- Their vote is a political manifesto, signed by i lie safety. If it be silent, and rely upon all the intellect of the country, a resolution force, then all the argument will be on one carried by the representative population of side, and France is unfortunately lo~ical, and France, that they are weary of a regirnc of thinks action should follow proof; if it repression, of rulers who avow their belief speaks, it has entered the ar~a iii which vie- that the Frenchman is all stomach. tory is to the wise and the eloquent, and It is this which makes the elections seem therefore not to M. de Pctsigny or his. In so formidable to the entourage of the court. either case, the elections have secured greater The Parisian vote may not be, and, we think, freedom and vividness to political life, and is not, directed against the dynasty. The the Imperialists wisely doubt whether they 41. THE FRENOR ELECTIONS. are among the plants which can survive re- moval into fresh air. The effect, too, of the Parisian vote is not restricted to Paris or the Parisian members. The declaration of the capital will embolden every form of antagonism in the provinces. Had it been known only three days before the election, twenty cities would have sent up members of the Opposition. The waverers among the members themselves feel that the Liberal may soon be also the stronger side, and every member whom the Administration may irritatc sees a party to which he may transfer his services with some hope of a fu- ture reward. Frenchmen always need hope as a stimulus to energy. Eloquence, too, is not wholly lost within the Chamber itself, and inside and out the new members are men who can evoke as well as lead public opinion. On all sides the apathy which was more fa- tal than hostility, as a mud fbrt is harder to pierce than a stone bastion, is vi ibly giving way, the Orleanists look up with new hope, and even the Republicans begin to believe that they see the handwriting on the wall. Both may be mistaken as to the realization of their ultimate ends, for they are matched against an opponent of a rare elass,a man at once subtle and audacious, a despot who can give way, and who, so his dynasty may but endure, would accept any conceivable government France might agree to imposc. There is a fund of power in reserve in the emperors mind which his antagonists have no means of measuring, but the limits of which, are the first, if not the sole, condi- tions of the great game. But the realization of their immediate end, a reh~xation of pres- sure, seems to us more thati probable. They may not upset the dynasty, nor will English- men wish they ohould, but they may yet be able to offer it the alternative of reignin ~ un- der conditions compatible with the orderly freedom of France, and, therefore, with the peace of the world. From The Economist,. 6 June. THE FRENCH ELECTIONS. THERE is some danger we think lest the im- portance of the incidents now occurring in France should be exaggerated. Any motion in a body presumed to be dead, affects the imagination with terror, and terror always magnifies facts. There is too, no doubt, in England, a secret ill will, not so much to the emperor as to the ministers whom he per- mits to misuse his name, and who are con- sidered more repressive than the security of his throne requires, which predisposes men to exult in any blow inflicted on them. Nei- ther fear nor exultation are favorable to re flection, and there is a~ very visible tendency to deduce a great deal more from the resul b of the French elections than the facts will bear out. They are sufficiently simple. By dint of immense exertions and a momentary though imperfect union, the parties opposed to the emperor have succeeded in seating twenty-eight representatives of very varied opinions, ranging from M. Berryer, Legiti- mist advocate, to M. Marie, member of the Provisional Government, but all more or less opposed to the Napoleonic regime. Among these representatives are all the nine whom Paris has the right to return, and the repre- sentatives of Marseilles. The Opposition, therefore, may be said to have carried the capital and the French Liverpool, and to have quintupled their strength in the agricultural districts, hut they have, nevertheless, secured only one-tenth of the representation. it is evident, therefore, that it is not the number of the new Opposition which is sup- posed to be formidable. Twenty-eight votes cannot interfere with official designs any more than five, or indeed rather less, foi as the number increases, so does the chance of in- ternal differences or disputes. The five sup- plemented one another: the twenty-eight may, and probably will, on questions like the occupation of Rome, neutralize one anothers strength. The cause of alarm must, there- fore be sought either in the character and power of the new members, or in the state of opinion revealed by the mode of their election. That power is considerable, and that feeling is dangerous; but in politics there are degrees, and the degree of good or mis- chief to be expected is we believe, exagger- ated. It is thought that the members now elected will bring to the aid of the Opposition very formidable critical power. Some of them, like M. Thiers, are familiar with practical statesrnanship,some, like M. Berryer, ca- pable of bursts of most moving eloquence, some, like M. Simon, full of those sayings which are so terribly effective in France. how, it is said, is the empire, which above all things fears scrutiny, to bear scrutinylike this? The simple reply is that it has borne it. It is not possible for men to utter m,ore. searching or eloquent criticism than Jules Favre has done, yet his speeches were pub- lished in the Moniteur, and still the empire stands. Indeed, on certain points the Or- leanist chiefs did last year speak in Parlia- ment, for rumor belies some of the debaters on Rome if they did not read speeches pre- pared by M. Thiers, M. Guizot, and M. Un- faure. There is no one of the Republican members who can say things more cutting than the Marquis St. Pierres said of the law of public safety, or who will dare to treat 42 THE FRENCH ELECTIONS. foreign policy with more audacious freedom pable. It is very doubtful whether, had the than Prince Napoleon, yet laws and policy minister and the prefect left the matter alone, are unreversed. M. Berryer brings a hi0her or bowed with profound deference to the in- order of eloquence, but then his influence is tellect of Paris, M~ Devinek would not have poisoned at the source by his connection with been returned. An election thus dictated by an impossible party. If Sir George Bowyer anger may be very dangerous to the subject could speak like Gladstone he would still never of anger; but then that is NI. de Persigny, influence the English middle-class mind, be- not the Emperor Napoleon. cause people would all the while be thinking But even accepting the returns as indica- this man says these things because he is an tions of the true feeling of Paris, as springing Ultramontane. Theobjectiondoesnotinleed from a desire for total change and not merely apply to M. Thiers, and that gentleman can for more freedom of discussion, their effect is strike one chord very near to the heart of still somewhat exaggerated. The empire does France, her love of grandeur and glory. not rest upon Paris. On the contrary, the He might, if he asked very often, like the emperor has almost avowed that he reigns by Duke dAumale, What have you done with the choice of the a6ricult ml peasants and France? prove very formidable; but then the army, and neither of these classes have is NI. Thiers altogether an enemy of the Bo- deserted him. They have returned his nomi- napartes? He has passed his life in exalting nees en masse. It may be said, and it is pro- Napoleon the First,why should he give up bably true, that excessive official pressure his heart to opposition to Napoleon the ~vas applied by the prefeets, and that the Third? And if he does not give up his heart, peasantry of the more secluded departments his opposition will be timid and compara- were not so much invited as driven to the tively valueless. That debate will hen little polls. Neverthel& s the fact remains that livelier, and that a little more care must be they did not hate the empire enough to defy taken in selecting talking ministers, is cvi- the official influence, a course which, as the dent; but that seems the extent of the an- example of Paris shows, was, if they chose, ticipation justified by the facts. open to them to try. The rcasonable.concla- But Paris, we are told, has pronounced sion is that they are either favorable or in- against the empire. Has it, or only against different, and in either case that which exists Peraigny? It must not be forgotten that has the advantage of its dead weight. The eight out of the nine elected belong nominally tree may he rotten, but it will not fall till or really to the Republican party, and as the t it is either cut or pushed. bouryeoisie certainly do not desire a Republic. - But Paris is France? There is at last the their vote must be considered as given to men thought which is in the minds of those who who could be relied on to oppose, and there- believe this election so important; but we fore ameliorate, the existing reyime, and not do not so read history. On the contrary, we to men devoted to a particular substitute. In believe Paris t~ have been always so far in the sin~le exception, M. Thiers, it is admitted a vance of the provinces as to be almost in by all Parisians that the cireulars of M. de antagonism to them. During the Revolution Persigny and M. Ilausmann really secured Paris was constantly threatened with the his election. The former, who seems during vengeance of the departments, and the first the past year to have lost all judgment, time they were really represented, the Coun- openly dictated to the electors, abused the cil of Five Ilundred proposed to abolish the old rfgirne in a style which politicians usually revoluti@nary authority and restore the Bour- avoid, not because they are politicians, but bons. After 1848 the provinces sent up an because they are gentlemen, and so clearly Assembly utterly conservative, which passed pitted the crown against Paris that the mo~t restrictive laws on the press, restrained the dauntless population on earth at once took liberty of meeting, undid all distinctly re- up the gauntlet. M. de Persigny could have publican acts, crushed the masses of Paris made any one almost equally popular, and, under grapeshot, and but for fear of civil war as it was, half the constituency of the second would probably have restored constitutional division refused to vote at all. iVI. Ilausmunun monarchy. Napoleon in 1852 shot down Pa- again pathetic~ lly appealed to Paris on the risians mercilessly, and was certainly five ground of the improvements which the eui- times as much hated then as he is now, yet pire had carried outan argument which the empire stood. lIe has throughout his always annoys the Parisians. They like the reign watched Paris like an enemy, covered improvements, but they never can bear to be it with fortresses called barracks, laid out told that benefits descend on them from above, streets for artillery, organized an under- or to see that their rulers appeal to their in- ground railway specially intended to trans- terests and not their intelligence. The sen- port troops in safety into the stronghold of timent of honor, which is often the best thing the workmens power. Paris never loved the left in France, revolts from a cynicism so pal- empire, and the new manifesto adds nothing PRUSSIA. 43 to her strength: on the contrary, it dimin- ot the press, and the ministerial responsibility ishes it, for the opportunity of constitutional of the Administration. There is also another criticism decreases the temptation to revolu- reason for the difference. In the provinces tionary plots. It is in the streets, not in the Government officials are omnipotent, and the tribune, that Republicans are dangerous. electoral districts are so formed that towns That the emperor has received a lesson by and villages can have no direct control or su- which he may profit is certain, as is also perintendence over the general result. It the fact that the election will slightly affect was quite the reverse in Paris. There a his external prestige; but the apprehension constant watch was kept night and day over that it will produce immediate, or very strik- the ballot-boxes, and no opportunity was ing, or revolutionary results, is, we conceive, afforded to official myrmidons of qualifying to say the least, somewhat exaggerated. objectionable votes. It is, however, very _________ significant that Mi. dePersigny desired that the time allowed by law before the ballot- boxes can be opened should be extended for twenty-four hours. It is hardly possible to attribute too much importance to this defeat, considering that the whole power and influence of the Govern- ment were exerted to secure a victory, and that the candidates who have been elected were declared by the minister of the interior to be the most dangerous enemies of Imperi- alism. From The Press, 6 June. IF we are to believe the prognostications of M. de Persigny, the result of the French elections must he considered a heavy blow to the imperial regime. The issue plainly put before the electors in the several arrondisse- ments of Paris was, that if they returned the Oppositidn candidates they would thereby directly pronounce against the empire, and condemn by their votes the means by which the alleged prosperity of the country had been secured during the last twelve year~. With one exception, the Government has been beaten by overwhelming majorities in the capital. Such is the result of the uncon- stitutional interference of the minister of the interiorsuch the significant mode in which offensive official dictation has been resented. Altogether there will be about twenty-five deputies in opposition to the Government in the new chamber, instead of five, which was the number in the old one, and among them are sonic of the ablest and mast distinguished men in France, great writers, and what is of more importance, celebrated orators, against whom, in debate, the speaking ministers of the Government will not have the least chance of success. Nearly a foi~rth of the Opposi- tion members have been returned by the electors of Paris, and many of the great towns have also declared against the Govern- ment. These facts, which are calculated to disturb the peace of mind of the Imperial party, have taken people by surprise. It has always been said that Paris is France. Is she so still; and if this be the ease, how has it hap- pened that the elections throughout the country have terminated, with the exceptions above alluded to, in favor of the Government? We arc inclined to thinkthat the result would have been different if the elections in Paris had preceded those in the provinces, and if the people throughout the country had known how unanimous the electors of the capital are in their desire to return to the paths of Con- stitutional Governmentto secure once more the privileges of liberty of speech and liberty From The Saturday Review, 30 May. PRUSSIA. TIrE quarrel between the King of Prussia and his subjects is now complete, and for- eigners may be very well surprised both at the history and at the termination of the struggle. If the King of Prussia and his ad- visers really wished to build up a new policy, to overshadow Northern Germany with a des- potism after the Russian pattern, and to force all opponents into silence at the point of the sword, the design would be intelligible, but nothing could be more stran e than the means taken to fulfil the end. A great scheme of ambiiion, and a project for a bold and defiant tyranny, would he very ~trangely inaugurated by the little arts to which M. Von iBismark and his colleagues have had re- course. To insist on the right of abusing everybody and misstating everything in the Lower House unchecked, to retire into a lobby during the invectives of the Opposition, on the plea that quite as much reached the ear there as was worth listening to, and to claim the proud privilege of going on declaim- ing after the president has put on his hat, are the petty tricks by which a very small mind tries to irritate and wound, not the signs of a statesmanship that can ho bold either for good or bad. On the other hand, the deputies, although the nation is incon- testably with themalthough they are sup- ported by all that is respectable and liberal ia the press and in public opinion and al- though they know that the rest of Germany and lurope is, for the most part, warmly on 44 PRUSSIA. their side, yet take these insults very pa- tiently. They behave, indeed, exactly as they ought to do. They refuse, with great spirit, to accept the new doctrines of Parlia- mentary humiliation which the minister of- fers to teach them; they present addresses to the king, couched in firm, moderate, and hold language, and they act well together, sink- ing all minor differences in the generous de- sire to be true to their trust and to their country. But those who are full of the mem- ories of English political history wonder why they do not do more. Our ancestors cut off a kings head for little graver faults than William of Prussia has committed, and the crown in England has been compelled, on more than one occasion, by force, or the in- stant threat of force, to respect the rights of the people. English critics of Prussia, there- fore, are apt to ask, with a sort of puzzled wonder and contempt, why it is that Prus- sians take things so quietly? Nor is this without reason. After all, personal courage is the foundation of political liberty, andEng- land is free because a certain proportion of Englishmen for a good many centuries have been without fear not merely without the fear of death, for that is a small thing, but without fear of incurring censure and oblo- quy, and the Opposition of the great and powerful. Unless a people will resist a des- potism, there is no security for liberty. Per- haps the Prussians are rather sluggish by habit, and they may not have the energy and spirit which give political life an easy start. But they themselves say, that to s~uppose this a crisis for active opposition betrays a total aisapprehension of the state of affairs. They have, they think, everything to lose and noth- ing to gain by a revolution, even if the revo- lution were successful. They deny that Eng- lish history furnishes any true parallel to the circumstances in which they now find them- selves, and they assert that the course they are taking, is the one most likely to lead to success. We can scarcely pretend to know Prussia better than the Prussians do; and it is therefore worth while to understand what they mean. They have shown great good sense, and a considerable aptitude for self- government, in their contest with the minis- try. They have never given an advantage to their opponents, and never quarrelled among themselves. The probability is, that men of whom this can be said are driving towards an end which, at any rate, is not absurd or contemptible. The Prussians do not wish to quarrel with their sovereign more than they can possibly help. They think that King William is a silly, stiff old soldier, cajoled and bullied by the people with whom he lives, hut well- meaning and honest in his way. They do not dislike him personally, and would be sorry to do him any injury. And if they put up with him tolerably well, they have the strongest admiration and affection for the house to which he belongs. Prussia was invented by the llohenzollerns. They, and they alone, created it, amplified it, and kept it alive. Norisit only gratitude that binds the people to the throne; or, if it is gratitude, it is of the kind that expects favors to come as well na remembers favors that are past. Prussia is a great State almost by accident, without a frontier, without coherence, without any com- mon centre of life. The Prussians feel that Prussia might fall to pieces as easily as it was bound together, if any serious derange- ment occurred in the working of the ma- chinery that keeps it in order. And jt is the sovereign who is the. head to which all the mixed population of Prussia has become ac- customed to look up. Resistance to the king, even when he violates the Constitution, may easily lead to civil war, and civil war may shake the royal family from their seat. This is not what Prussia wants. A Hoheuzollern must, indeed, be tyranni- cal and odious before Prussians come to think that rather than put up with him they would do without Hohenzollerns altogether ,and take the risk not only of that anarchy which attends revolution in all countries, but of that political break up which is the peculiar dan- ger of Prussia. Nor is it, merely fear that ~ would make Prussian Constitutionalists veiy reluctant to quarrel with the army. They want, above all things, to avoid a collision with the army; for the army in Prussia is so national a force; and the soldiers belong so much to every class, that the ordinary Prus- sian would have a feeling of personal pain if he had to do anything by which the lives of the soldiers were sacrificed. It is the very complaint of the military authorities of Prus- sia that their men are too short a time under arms, and remain too much of civilians. And if this is so, other civilians naturally wish to avoid shooting, or being shot by, them. But above all, it must be remembered that this contest is not so much a political as a social one. The true issue is not whether the power of the crown shall be limited, but whether there shall henceforth be the strong line of demarcation which at present sepa- rates the Prussian noble from the plebeian. M. Von Bismark and his colleagues are the representatives of one of the shabbiest, mean- est, most spiritless aristocracies that ever flicted a nation. But they belong to au aris- tocracy which socially is very powcrfnl, which glories in giving itself airs, xvhic~i tri- umphs in the silliest exclusiveness, and, what is of more importance, which has now for two centuries at lea~t been revered and PRUSSIA. petted and magnified by the mass of Ger- mans, although its proper eminence has been so Bmall. The puerility of minor dandies and exquisites is exactly the quality which M. Von Bismark and his friends display and de- light in displaying. General Von Iloon be- haved, and claimed to behave unquestioned, very much as the vulgar type of provincial magnate goes on at a county ball, where snobs of all sorts are to be astonished and put down. This does not lessen the bitterness with which the conduct of the Prussian ministers has inspired those who have suffered under it; but, as they are sensible men, they know that patience is the best weapon in such a case. They are aware that nothing brings down the affectations and insolence of a sham aristocracy so much as the quick, punctual, methodical discharge of the duties of business. If they play carefully, they are sure of the game; for no aristocracy that has not got in it qual- ities and a capacity of which Prussian nobles never dream can stand long against the at- tacks of men possessing wealth, and educa- tion, and political fame, and national esteem. And, politically as well as socially, the Prussians think themselves sure to win. They have told the king a simple truth. They have bid him understand that, unless he sends his present advisers away, the Chamber and the sovereign must remain separated. There is no other alternative. Either the king must do without a Parliament, or he must get a set of ministers who will be de- cently civil to the representatives of the peo- ple. The king has replied that he pref~rs to do without a Parliament; an~ so the dep- uties are sent away, and the Government is to see what it can do by itself. The Prus- sians say that they are confident the attempt must be a failure. For some time, a Prus- sian king can do very well without a Parlia- ment. The ordinary revenue of the crown does not depend on a yearly vote, and the ordinary revenue is nearly enough to go on with. - The army can be recruited and kept up, and officials can get their salaries, with- out any puhlic grant. It is true that the or- dinary revenue would not quite suffice, and that this must lead to a deficit, while no loan could be negotiated without the sanction of Parliament. No new legislation could be ixiade on any subject, and although the ne- cessity for new laws is not a pressing one in Prussia, yet a sovereign who is incapable of introducing any recognized change into any great department of affairs be,,ins after a time to feel himself in a very pitiable condition. The position of Prussia, too, in Germany, would soon alter for the worse if the king stood alone. It could make no new arrange- ments with regard to the Zollverein, and the commercial leadership of the Zoliverein is one 45 of the greatest elements of Prussian ascend- ancy in Northern Germany. Nor could his neighbors reckon on King William being able to protect them In war or to preserve peace for them. He can scarcely go to war with- out the consent of his.subjects, for war costs money, and the money is Knot to be ~ot at easily. Of course all this calculation sup- poses that the courts of law would do their duty, and that, if a tax were illegal, judges would boldly pronounce that the law forbade its being levied. The Prussians feel sure of their judges. They think them an honora- ble, upright, fearless set of men, and several of the highest and most eminent Prussian judo s are members of the Lower house and have taken a leading part in the opposition to the unconstitutional action of the minis- ters. Nor is it very likely that the judges would go out of their way to please the court; for judges, if warped by anything, are much more likely to be influenced by the general opinionof the society in which they live than by a Vague wish to stand well with ministers; and the judges belong to that class of societ which is fighting its battle against the old privileged order. It is true that if the king v~ere resolved to set up a tyr- anny, he need care very little for 1 xv courts. Lie could treat judges as they are treated in Fi~ance, and the Federal States, and Turkey. He could make martial law supersede every other. But this is exactly what those who have watched him most closely feel sure he will never do. He will shrink from that al)y55 which yawns at the feet of every gov- ernment and dynasty that places itself in open opposition to law. He will stick by hi aris- toeratical friends when they merely bully and hector in a legal and peaceable way, but he will not do anything that will make him feel that his-position is entirely altered, and that he reigns altogether as a despot. Whether this is a true prophecy time alone can & but it has no absurdity on the face of it which should make us refuse to listen to it. From The Press, 6 June. PRussiA has at last completely thrown off the mask. The unwisest sovereign of these times, encouraged by his ministers, who are proving themselves the greatest enemies of their country, has determined to rule hence- forth without a Parliament. From its very origin the constitution was a farce. By it were granted powers which it was never in- tended should be fairly exercised. It was apt. parently thought by the king that the Cham- ber of Deputies would entertain so deep a reverence for his divine~ office that it would never think of seriously opposing his 46 PRUSSIA. wishes. So long as the decrees of the Gov- ernment were obediently registered by the Chamber all went on swimmingly. But a Constitutional Government is not to be car- ried on in such a milk-and-water fashion. If the deputies had the right of approving wl~at was brought before them, they thought it only a necessary and natural consequence that they might also disapprove, and give free expression to their views, showing the grounds upon wbich they differed in opinion from the Administration. This, however. did not suit the ministers nor their kingly master. It was absurd to think, according to their view of the case, that a Budget, for example, should be modified to please the Chamber of Deputies. It is true the Consti- tution required that the Lower Chamber should approve of the Budget before taxes were collected under its authoritybut such opposition was never apparently contem- plated, and when it arose the Chamber was treated as a nullity, and the consent of the Upper House was deemed sufficient. Several other collisions occurred, and last of all took place the personal dispute regarding the privilege of the ministers to insult the Lower Chamber, and to occupy in it a position above its control. This, if anything, showed a much greater contempt for the representa- tiVes of the people than the previous differ- ence regarding the Budget. The result is that the Chamber has been dismissed, with- out apparently the least intention of re- assembling it for the discharge of its duties, or of dissolving it and electing another in its stead. It is felt to be useless to try the tem- per of the people any longer. If a dissolu- tion took place, the same deputies, or others pledged to support their policy, would in- falliby be returned. ~o the king is deter- mined to rule without a Parliament, and to enforce measures which are known to be di- rectly anainst the wishes and feelings of the nation. This is a dangerous game to play. To levy taxes without authority is an as- sumption of power which, after their recent constitutkmnal experience, the Prussians may think it worth their while to oppose by pas- sive if not active resistance. A legion of German Hampdens may be forthcomin0 to test the prerogative of the monarch in the courts of law. But the Prussian Govern- ment has determined to go any length in sup- port of its unwise and arbitrary proceedings. It has now gagged the press. In the name of the Constitution, which was framed to pre- serve and promote the liberties of the people, it has done~ its utmost to instal despotic power. This is the necessary consequence of ruling without a Parliament. During the Budget dispute the expression of opinion in the newspapers of the country was unfettered. But it is useless to silence the representatives cthe people in Parliament without also silencing their supporters, who made themselves heard throughout the length and breadth of the land. Hence the decree, based on the 63d article of the Constitution, which at a stroke makes every newspaper either the slave of the mini try, ~r its victim. Article 63, upon which this is alleged to be founded, empowers the inistry, when the Chambers are not assembled, and under cir- cumstances of unusual urgency, to issue de- crees which shall have the force of law, pro- vided that such are not in opposition to the constitution. The devil can quote scripture to suit his own purposes; but not morc clev- erly can the King of Jesuits plead his cause from holy Writ than the King of Prussia and his ministers when taking the Constitu- tion for their text. Upon the authority of the article alluded to they have issued a de- cree which empowers the administrative authorities to prohibit, temporarily or alto- gether, after two warnings, the publication of newspapers whose attitude is, on the whole, dangerous to the public welfare. The min- istry is also empowered to forbid the intro- duction of foreign newspapers into Prussia, on similar grounds, when thought advisable. In short, the press is at the mercy of the Gov- ernment, which is determined henceforth to role with despotic power. But what utter absurdity it is to think of ruling sueh an in- telligent people as the Prussians upon prin- ciples which would disjhce a barbaric age. It is useless to prevent the expression of opin- ion. The people will in consequence give a hundred-fold worse character to the Govern- ment than any writer would ever think of attribr;ting to it. The unwise men who are thus seeking to coerce a whole people may as well endeavor to prevent them from thinking or to shut out the light of the sunas at- tempt to suppress public opinion in so en- lightened a nation. The age is too advanced for such measures. We confidently believe that the Prussians will emerge from the diffi- culties by which they are surrounded with- out giving their enemies the opportunity which they desire of overwhelming them. Passive resistance can conquer armed force. And such, we trust, will be the opinion of the friends of Constitutional Government in Prussia. IN WAR TIME. IN WAR TIME. [Read before the Alumni of the Friends Yearly Meeting School, at the annual meeting at Newport, R. 1., 15th 6th Mo., 1863.] BY JOHN 0. WHITTIER. ONcE more, dear friends, you meet beneath A clouded sky; Not yet the sword has found its sheath, And on the sweet spring airs the breath Of war floats by. Yet trouble springs not from the ground, Nor pain from chance; Th Eternal order circles round, And wave and storm find mete and bound In Providence. Full long our feet the flowery ways Of peace have trod, Content with creed and garb and phrase: A harder path in earlier days Led up to God. Too cheaply truths, once purchased dear, Are made our own; Too long the world has smiled to hear Our boast of full corn in the e~k By others sown. To see us stir the martyr fires Of long ago; And wrap our satisfied desires In the singed mantles that our sires Have dropped below. But now the cross our worthies bore On us is laid, Professions quiet sleep is oer, And in the scale of truth once more Our faith is weighed. The cry of innocent blood at last Is calling down An answer in the whirlwind blase, The thunder and the shadow cast From Heavens dark frown~ ~he land is red with judgments. Who Stands guiltless forth? Have we been faithful as we knew, To God and to our brother true, To Heaven and Earth? how faint through din of merchandise And count of gain, Has seemed to us the captives cries! How far away the tears and sighs Of souls in pain! This day the fearful reckoning comes To each and all; We hear amidst our peaceful homes The summons of the conscript drums, The bugles call. Our path is plain: the war-net draws Round us in vain, While, faithful to the Higher Cause, We keep our fealty to the laws Through patient pain. The levelled gun, the battle brand We may not take; But, calmly loyal, we can stand And suffer with our suffering land. For conscience sake. Why ask for ease where all is pain? Shall we alone Be left to add our gain to gain, When over Armageddons plain The trump is blown? To suffer well is well to serve; Safe in our Lord The rigid lines of law shall curve To spare us; from our heads shall swe~v~ Its smiting sword. And light is mingled with the g1oo~. And joy with grief; Divinest compensations come, Through thorns of judgment mercies bloom In sweet relief. Thanks for our privilege to bless By word and deed, The widow in her keen distress, The childless and the fatherless, The hearts that bleed! For fields of duty opening wide, Where all our powers Are tasked the cager steps to guide Of millions on a path untried: Tmc SLAVE IS OURS. Ours by traditions dear and old Which make the race - Our wards to cherish and nphob1~, And cast their freedom in the mold Of Christian grace. And we may tread the sick-bed floors Where strong men pine, And, down the groaning corridors, Pour freely from our liberal stores The oil and wine. Who murmurs that in these dark days His lot is cast? Gods hand within the shadow 14s The stones whereon his gates of praise Shall rise at last. Turn and oerturn, 0 outstretched Hand! Nor stint, nor stay The years have never dropped their sand On mortal issue vast and grand As ours to-day. Already, on the sable ground Of mans despair, Is freedoms glorious picture found, With all its dusky hands unbound Upraised in prayer. Oh, small shall seem all sacrifice And pain and loss, When God shall wipe the weeping eyes, For suffering give the victors prize, The crowa for cross. 47 WHEN THOU SLEEPEST. WHEN THOU SLEEPEST. BY CHARLOTTE I3RONTE. WHEN thou sleepest, lulled in night, Art thou lost in vacancy? Does no silent inward light, Softly breaking, fall on thee? Does no dream on quiet wing Float a moment mid that ray, Touch some answering mental string, Wake a note and pass away? When thou watchest, as the hours, Mute and blind, are speeding on, Oer that rayless path, where lowers Muffled midnight, black and lone; Comes there nothing hovering near, Thought or half reality, Whispering marvels in thine ear, Every word a mystery, Chanting low an ancient lay, Every plaintive note a spell, Clearing memorys clouds away, Showing scenes thy heart loves well? Songs forgot, in childhood sung, Airs in youth beloved and known, Whispered by that airy tongue, Once again are made thine oWn. Be it dream in haunted sleep, Be it thought in vigil lone, Drinkst thou not arapture deep From the feeling, tis thine own? All thine own ; thou needst not tell What bright form thy slumber blest ~ All thine own ; remember ~vell Night and shade were round thy test. Nothing looked upon thy bed Save the lonely wateblights gleam; Not a whisper, not a tread Scared thy spirits glorious dream. Sometimes, when the midnight gale, Breathed a moan and then was stifl, Seemed the spell of thought to fail, Checked by one ecstatic thrill; Felt as all external things, Robed in moonlight, smote thine eye; Then thy spirits waiting wings Quivered, trembled, spread to fly; Then th aspirer, wildly swelling, Looked where, mid transcendency, Star to star was mutely telling Heavens resolve and fates decre~ Qh, it longed for holier fire Than this spark in earthly shrine; Oh, it soared, and higher, higher, Sought to reach a home divine! Hopeless quest! soon weak and weary Ilagged the pinion, drooped the plume, And again in sadness dreary Came the baffled wanderer home. And again it turned for soothing To th unfinished broken dream; While the ruffled current smoothing, Thought rolled on her startled stream. I have felt this cherished feeling, Sweet and known to none but me; Still I felt it nightly healing Each dark days despondency. IHE FLOWBR. aT GEORO HERBERT. How fre.h, 0 Lord, how sweet and clean Are thy returns! evn as the flowers in spring; To which, besides their own demean, The late past frosts tributes of pleasure bring. Grief melts away, Like snow in May, As if there were no such cold thing. Who would have thought my shriveld heart Could have recovered greennes .? It was gone Quite undergound; as Jiowers depart To see~their mother-root, when they have hlozGssA Where they together All the hard weathcr Dead to the ~vorld, keep house unknown. These are thy wonders, Lord of power! Killing and quickening, bringing down to hell, And up to heaven in an houre; Making a chiming of a passing bell. We say amisse This or that is Thy word is nile, if we could spell. Oh, that I once past changing were, Fast in Thy paradise, where no flowercanwither! Many a spring, I shoot up fair, Offring at heavn, growing and groning thither: Nor doth my flower Want a spring-showre, My sinnes and I joining together. But while I grow in a straight line Still upward bent, as if heaven were mine own, Thy anger comes, and I decline: What frost to that? wh~ t pole is not the zone Where all things burn, When Thou dost turn, And the least frown of Thineis shown? And now in age I bud again, After so many deaths I live and write I once more smell the dew and rain, And relish versing; Oh, my onely light, It cannot be That I am he On whom Thy tempests fell at night. These are thy wonders, Lord of Love, To make us see we are but flowers that glide, Which when we once cnn finde and prore Thou hast a garden for us, where to bide. Who would be more Swelling through store, Forfeit their paradise by their pride. 48

THE LIVING AGE. No. 997.li July, J863. CONTENTS: 1. Science and Traditions of the Supernatural, 2. Eugdnie de Gudrin, . 3. Weights and Measures, . 4. Sibyls Disappointment, 5. TwoYears Hence, . . 6. Songs in the Night, . Dublin University Magazine, Cornhill Magazine, Spectator, Corn/till Magazine, Richmond Inquirer, Atleenceum, PoETRY.The Itinerants Wife, 50. Ballad on a Bishop, 65. Shakspeare on Copper- heads, 65. The Nile Song, 77. Spring at the Capital, 96. Out in the Cold, 96. SnORT AarIcLEs.Source of the Nile, 77. The Many Mansions in the House of the Father, 92. ~ Sorry that we cannot go so far out of our line as to copy from the Knickerbocker for July the leading article, from which our correspondent has derived so much advantage. We have read it with interest. It is on the Movement Cure ; the curative effects of special bodily exercise. It is, we see, by our friend Mr. Henry C. Williston, one of whose California articles was copied into The Living .~ge from an English Magazine. Mr. W. when we saw him last, tea or fifteen years a~o, was in full health and vigor ; but we can hardly entirely regret a change which has given occasion for so much fortitude and perseverance. PUBLISHED EVERY SATURDAY BY LIT TELL, SON& GO., BOSTON For Six Dollars a year, in advance, remitted dzrectly to the Publishers, the LIVING AGE will be punctually forwarded flee of postage. Complete sets of the First Series, in thirty-six volumes, and of the Second Series, in twenty volumes, handsomely bound, 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 VOLUME may be had separately, at two dollars, bound, or a dollar and a half in numbers. ANY NUMBER may be had for 11 cents; and it is well worth while for subscribers or purchasers to com- plete any broken volumes ey may have, and thus greatly enhanco their value. PAGE 51 66 78 Si 93 95 THE ITINERANTS WIFE THE ITINERANTS WIFE. HY AN ITINERANTS DAUGHTER. SHE is her gray-haired fathers pride, She is her mothers surest stay: One stands and whispers by her side, Will you leave these and come away? Lo! East and West and South and North The fields all white and ready lie, Waiting the laborers coming forth To reap for immortality. My Lord bids me a reaper be; Will you go forth and work with me? She giveth him her heart and hand, She strengtheneth her soul with prayer, Leaveth for aye that household band To tread a path of toil and care. She layeth by her girlish ways, Her new life awes her with its weight Of earnestness ; 0 Christ, she prays, Help me to honor my estate. Sho lives a pure, devoted life The young itinerants noble wife. They wander here, they wander there; They find no sure abiding-place ~ God gives a people to their care, They tarry for a little space. She sees the seeds of friendship grow To firm-laced vines in kindly soils; The summer comes Arise, and go! She looseneth the clinging coils, And forth again doth sadly roam To find another transient home. These early years with hope are bright, Her heart with zeal and love is warm; Her hands are strong, her step is light, And lithe and buoyant is her form. Her household is in order found, The most exacting call it good; She visits all the circuit round, Just as the pastors helpmeet should; Her footsteps linger by the door Where dwell the suffring and the poor. Time glideth by on swiftest wings; She bears the name of mother now; Deep joy unto her heart it brings, But lines of care unto her brow. For wants are many, income small, And given oft with poorest grace; Her children must be fitted all To fill in life an honored place; She layeth self aside for this, And counteth sacrifice as bliss. Death entreth now and then the door; Small, busy hands grow strangely still; Small feet no longer tread the floor, Small forms lie stretched out white and chill. The mother weepeth by the clay, The father stands with bowing head, And unto pitying friends doth say, Give us where we may lay our dead. Small graves far, far apart are found Upon a wide, wide burial ground. Still swiftly on the years do go; Her heart with zeal and love is warm; Her hands are weak, her step is slow, And thin and nerveless is her form. Her people seldom see her face, She does not visit anywhere They wonder that so oft her place Ls vacant in the house of prayer. They think not of her many cares, Nor all the weight of pain she bears. Thus, day by day, her duties grow More heavy, but her strength is gone; But that the others may not know, She meekly toileth on and on, Till strangers take the work away, And let the weary fingers rest; They fold the hands grown cold as clay, And lay them on her quiet breast; There falls a silence over all, There comes the shadow of the pall. Her years the bell rings on the air, We wonder they so soon are told, For there was silver in her hair, And we had thought that she was old. We say, Tis well that she hath died, For she was weak and frail at best; He soon will find another bride, One of more zeal and strength possessed. We speak with dry and careless tone, He and his children grieve alone. They, standing on the hither shore Of that dark stream that onward rolls, With ceaseless flow and sullen roar, Unto the shadowy land of souls, Watch where her life-boat went across, And though they feel that she is blest, They struggle with a sense of loss, And long to follow her to rest; Then hide their loneliness and pain, And turn them to their toil again. She, standing on the farther shore, Greeteth her loved ones on the %trand Who went across the stream before: She takes her children by the hand, And in the light of Gods white throne, Heads her life-pages, one by one. Reading with vision clear, doth find That what she had not understood What here seemed ill and strange and blind Hath wrought out everlasting good: Thus happy, blessed for evermore She waits upon the farther shore. ..Melhodist ,~dvocate snd Journal. 50 SCIENCE AND TRADITIONS OF THE SUPERNATURAL. 51 From The Dublin University Magazine. THE SCIENCE AND TRADITIONS OF THE SUPERNATURAL. MAGIC, SORCERY, AND WITCHCRAFT. TarN wide and full view of nature and its operations enjoyed by our first parents was probably much contracted after their fall, and only descended in a fragmentary manner to their posterity. After the flood, this treas- ure, diminished and broken up, was far from being common property to the sons of the children of Noah. It remained in greatest fulness among the heads of f~imilies of the de- scent of ileber; and, when idolatry began to prevail, it continued in an inferior and per- verted form among the Assyrian and Egyptian priests. Among them were known, or be- lieved to be known, all means by which knowledge of present and future things, and of the cure of diseases, could be innocently obtained, or evilly wrung from spiritual pow- ers. This knowledge got in time the name of magic, for which different derivations have 1)een given. Priestly knowledge is prob- ably the best equivalent. When any one gifted with a portion of this science chose to exert it for the mere attainment of power or temporal possesEAons, or for the destruction or harm of others, he was looked on as a ma- lignant sorcerer or witch would be in modern times. Sir Edward Bulwer, who has made magic, in its use and abuse, his particular study, has well individualized the higher class of sages in the noble-minded Zanoni, and the evil-disposed professors in Arbaces, priest of Isis, and the poison-concoeting witch of Vesuvius. There were at all times individuals tor- mented with a desire to penetrate the designs of Providence, the cause and mode of natural processes ever before their eyes, the dark Inysterics of life, and of the union of mind and matter, and they ardently longed that these deep and inexplicable arcana should become intelligible to their intellect. These classes of men saw within the range of their mentnl and bodily faculties no means of gratifying their wishes. Unblessed with patience or acquiescence in the Divine Will, or faith in the power, or confidence in the goodness of the Creator, they determined on devising some means to oblige those beings whose presence cannot be detected by bodily organs, to be their guides through the laby- rinth which they never should have thought of entering. From Zoroaster to the man who subjects household furniture to sleight-of- hand tricks, all professors and disciples of forbidden arts are obnoxious to be ranged in one of these categories. It would take us out of our way to examine the various processes through which the clear insight, accorded to our first parents of the relation in which all creatures stand to the Creator, passed in degenerating to the wor- ship of created things, human passions, the functions of nature, and the souls of departed heroes. It is merely requisite for our pur- pose to say that the heavenly bodies, so mys- terious in their unapproachablbness, and in their motions, and the undoubted influence of the apparently largest two on the condition of the parent earth, became chief objects of adoration. The prolific earth, which appeared to give birth to all living beings, to furnish them with food, and all things essential to their existence, and in whose bosom all seek their final rest, was the loved, The genial Alma Mater. Her handmaidens, the subtle and (as was supposed) simple elements, the water, the fire, and the air, came in for their measure of worship. The original notion of the heavenly messengers and guardian angels ~became deteriorated in time to that of dmemons or genii. Our modern verse-makers, when mentioning the genius of Rome, the genius of Caesar; etc., scarcely reflect that what to them is a mere poetic image, was an existing, potent being to the contemporaries of the Tarquinii, the Fabii, and the Julian family. As has been observed, nothing evil was necessarily connected with the word magic. The Persian Magi were well qualified to rule their subjects by their superior attainments in science. They sacrificed to the gods; they consulted them on their own affairs, but par- ticularly as to the issue of events pregnant with the weal or woe of their people. The E~,yptian priests were depositories of all the knowledge that had survived the dispersion at Babel in a fragmentary form. Both priests and Magi had recourse to rites in presence of the people for the foreknowledge of future events. This, in fact, formed a portion of the state religion; but an acquaintance with more recondite and solemn ceremonies, which they practised in secret, was carefully kept from the commonalty. While the Greeks and Romans paid divin~ honors to Jupiter and Juno, or their doubles, 52 SCIENCE. AND TRADITIONS OF THE SUPERNATURAL. Zeus and H6r6, and the other divinities, great and less great, some tradition of the primeval truth held its ground among the more intel- ligent, and the existence of a Supreme Ruler was acknowledged. With some Destiny was chief ruler, and an uneasy feeling was abroad that Jove would be deprived of power some day. It was the same in the Scandinavian mythology. The giants and the wolf Fenris were to prevail against the sir, though themselves were, in turn, to perish also, and after this twilight of the gods, the world was to be renewed under the sway of the All-Fa- ther. Nearly everything in the mythologies was a corruption, or a distortion, or shadow of some primeval revelation or religious ceremo- nial, or commandment solemnly given. The dread inhabitants of Jotunheim, though inferior to Odin and his family in Asgard, were an enduring trouble to them, especially as they were aware of the dreadful strife when the~ horrible twilight was to come. This had a parallel in the Grecian mythology. The Titans, though subdued and bound, could not be destroyed and Prometheus, sufferin~ tortures on his rock, was less in awe of Zeus than Zeus was of him. These views, both Grecian and Scandinavian, were the remains of earl~r traditions of truths debased and dis- figured. The powers of evil were permitted to exert their forces to contravene the designs of Providence in reference to the human race. Towards the end of the world their baleful energies will be exerted with their fullest force, br~t to be finally crushed; and then Gods kingdom will indeed come, and all, except the thorougl ly reprobate, will have no will but his. Etherealized beings as they were, the gods might perhaps be happy in Olympus feasting on their nectar and ambrosia; but for their oxvn meagre, shivering shades, once this life was past, they expected but a chill, comfort- less existence. A long life on the warm, genial boiom of mother Earth formed their most cherished wish, and the spiritual beings that ruled the air, the earth, and hades, were invoked and questioned as to the future earthly weal and woe of the consulters. What a disheartening picture is given in the eleventh hook of the Odyssey of the exis- tence after death, and of the gloomy rites performed by Odysseus in order to know his own future fortune . He leaves the abode of the goddess Circe, who can do nothing better than direct him to sail to the confines of Or- cus, situate on the?outer rim of the earth-en- circling ocean stream, and consult the shade of the blind Seer Tiresias. He arrives at the gloomy beach that never basked in the warm light of the sun, scoops an ell-wide trench, pours into it milk, honey, water, wine, and meal, and last, the blood of the black ewe and ram given him by the enchantress. No sooner has the blood been poured in than the poor spectres of the mighty deadhungry and wancrowd, round the pit to drink the blood. The sage warriors heart aches when theshade of his revered mother presses for- ward, impelled by hunger, and all ignorant and regardless of the presence of her unhappy son. Oh, stern destiny! he knows her well enough, but is forced to keep her off at the swords point till Tiresias has satisfied his thirst in the sacrificial gore. Then after learning the destiny of his house, he may permit the poor maternal shade to come and satisfy her unnatural appetite. This maybe said to be the earliest account of a necromantic rite, which was not, how- ever, practicable in ordinary cases. If the body had not obtained sepulchral rites, the poor, shivering soul could not cross the Styx, and perhaps it might avail itself of the op- portunity to appal some late relative by its ghastly presence, exhort him to collect its mortal relics, burn them, move three times round the pyre, and pronounce the farewell charm which privileged the poor shade to cross in Charons cranky cockle-shell, and enjoy the sad comforts of Elysium. Once there, the shade was deaf to the voices of all mortal charmers,* and the curious inquirer into futurity either consulted an oracle, or employed the legal trafficker in omens, or made ~olemn perquisitions to the evil or good genius who was born at the same moment, and would at the same moment perish with him. The system of paganism, being based in error could not be expected to be consistent. Whatever the Grecian poets might think con- cerning the state of the separated souls, their ~ There were exceptions, however, to this gancral rule. Some terrible adepte in magic incantations were even powerful enough to draw down dread Hecate from her sphere nay the Dii Majores themselves were obnoxious to their hellish charms. In the Ilindoo mythology such power eou~d be oh- tamed by severe penances. Witness Southeys Ke- heme. SCIENCE AND TRADITIONS OF THE SUPERNATURAL. Roman brethren wonid persist in considerin6 nod from wine, to drink w~ er, to bathe, to the spirits of the good as taking interests in be furnihated, to be rubbed well, and in fact the ~ cal of their native cities or their own to observe a regimen similar to what a skilful surviving families. They hovered unseen physician of modern times would recommend. near the family hearths, and were believed The sick man was put to rest (generally on to dwell in the little images, the Lares, which the skin of a black ram) * where no glimpse were placed near the kitchen fires. These of heavens light conld penetrate, and where loved and reverenced little images resembled no sound from the outer world could be heard. monkeys rather than men. They wer9 ap- Next day he was questioned by the priests as propriately clad in the skins of the dog, the to how the night had passed; and in most faithful house-guard, and their festivals were cases he had a vision of the bod to communi- held in the genial month sacred to ~Iaia. cate. The heavenly visitor had appeared in The souls of wicked men, the Larvre or Le- such or such a guise, and had prescribed mures, employed themselves on the other such and such remedies. These remedies, hand in workin6 evil to their survivors, whose mostly extracted from herbs, and generally lot they envied. They received a kind of won- accompanied with superstitious circumstances ship arising from fear. They were besought and charms, were resorted to with a most un- not to work harm to the house non its inmates, hesitating faith on the part of the invalid. hut to be their defence against stranger be- The cures were numerous, and the failures ings of their class. The homane paid to but few. Access to the adytum of the god them had thus a Fetish character. Frightful was out of the question. It was a great little idols were made to propitiate them, and privilege to be allowed to approach the apart- probably to frighten away strange Larvni. ment of high priest or priestess, and all the Teraphira * of this elass have been discovered active a~encies of the secret machinery of under entrances to buildings at Nineveb. the establishment were religiously kept a Some have thought that the little idols car- mystery to the profane. ~ Hence the man- ned away by Rachel were of this frightful agement of the sick worshippers can only be character. We incline rather to suppose guessed at. One of these two theories may them to belong to the class of the benevokni ho rationally adopted. The priests, well ac and protecting Larest quainted with the science of optics, and the As all the knowledge possessed by the other divi~ions of natural philosophy, as well priests and philosophers of heathen times as the skilful treatment of the sick, would and in which the generality of men did not find it a matter of little difficulty to present sharewas properly magic, the name was to the patient under the influence of a nar- not connected with any idea of evil. It was cotic, amid fumigations and sweet music, a the abuse of this knowledge, such as causing, personification of the deity of the temple, by incantations, gods on d.emi-gods, on souls and make him listen entranced to the .words of departed men to appear, and do for the of wisdom, and the health-imparting oracles theurgist something evil and out of the or- proceeding from his sacred lips. dinary cours. of nature; this was what was Theory number two supposes the existence odious, to which they gave the name goetia, of animal ma~netism. and which was continued under the Chris- After the skilful preparation of the patient tian dispensation by the title of sorcery. already described, and while his faith was In the Egyptian temples, and in those strong, and his expectation of seeing glorious raised to Appollo, Esculapius, and others, sights was eager and intense, and while his were dormitories devoted to the convenience senses of smelling and hearing were en- of patients, who, previous to a near approach tranced, he was subjected to a process of an- to the divinity were required to abstain for imal magnetism. Then, while gifted with sonic short time from food, for a longer pe- * When the highland chief wished his seer to Rephchone who rela es with fear, or strikes brin~ him information from the world of spirits, he with terror. caused him to take his unhallowed r st on the hide ~ In liussian cottages were to he seen not long of a newly-slain hull, and within hearing of a cat. since the tutelar Obro8s. In an islet off one of 0 aract. The rite was in force when Ilerodotus was British isles, an unshapely stone is, or was some collecting materials for his history, a black sheep. time ado, propitiated with hihations, so that he skin heing the hed-sheet in the earlier period. mi~ht seiid some good shi wrecks. t Pro Fanumbefore or outside the temple. 54 SCIENCE AND TRADITIONS OF THE SUPERNATURAL. clairvoyance, and his attention powerfully directed to this or that matter connected with his complaint, he gave utterance to the names or dcscriptions of the medicines on which depended his cure. Of course, when the wise priests lighted on a happily-condi- tioned subject, they did net. neglect to direct his regards to scenes and events about which they required some definite information. If the passive instrument of the skill and knowl- edge of the priests retained any memory of his experience next morning, he of course gave credit to the god for the fancied visions or ecstacies. His cure followed. Isis, or Horns, or Ceres, or Apollo, was powerful and propitious; the priests were their wise and benevolent ministers and favorites, and greater lustre and glory were shed on the fane in which these wonders occurred. At Delphi, where a priestess was the me- dium through whom Apollo gave counsels and uttered prophecies, she was questioned by her managers while her brain was excited by intoxicating fumes. She needed to lead a mortified and chaste life, otherwise excite- ment produced death. The priests made a happy selection, when choosing their instru- ment, among maids of a delicate organization, and fine-strung or partly diseased nervous system. She was never seen by any of the numerous worshippers that thronged to the temple for insight into their future lives or relief from their present maladies. She was carefully bathed, rubbed, anointed, fumi- gated, and in all respects treated as the un- sound suppliants who came to be healed at this or that temple. Among the answers given at Delphi are two remarkable ones, both returned to Croc- sus, the rich King of Lydia. He directed his aml5assadors to inquire of the oracle on the hundredth day after their departure, and at a certain hour of that day, how he (Croesus) was employed at the moment. The priests having their unhappy Pythia composed in the magnetic trance at the moment, directed her from headland to headland; and, having landed her on the Asian coast, spirited her on to the palace of Sardis. What is the rich monarch of Lydia doing at this moment, cried they? and an answer came in Greek hexam- eters See, I number the sands; the distances know I of ocean; hear even the dumb; comprehend, too, the thoughts of the silent. Now perceive I an odoran odor it seemeth of lambs flesh, As boilingas boiling in bronzeand mixed with the flesh of a tortoise. Brass is beneath, andwith brass is this covered all over. * And indeed, just then. Crcesus was seeth- ing a lamb and tortoise in a brazen pot cov- ered with a brazen lid. The other question waswhether the kings son, then dumb, would ever enjoy the faculty of speech, and this was the an- swer Lydian, foolish of heart, although a potentate mighty, Long not to hear the voice of a son in thy palace. Twill bring thee no good; for know, his mouth he will open, Of all days, on the one most unlucky. Croesus, on the point of being slain in his last battle with Cyrus, was prcservcd by his hitherto dumb son crying out to the Persian soldier Man, do not kill Croesus! One of three suppositions must be made in relation to these answers. 1st. Herodotus has related the things which were not. 2d. The Pythia was in the magnetic sleep when she was asked the questions, saw the events, and gave true answers. 3d. The devil had a certain knowledge of what was passing where he was not personally present, and a limited knowledge of future events, and was thus able to keep up the de- lusions of mythology. Old-fashioned Christians, who consider it safest to look on the natural sense as the rule and the non-natural as the exception, when studying the historic portions of Scripture, will, if they trust to the good old Geoffrey Keating, of Halicarnassus, adoj* at once our third hypothesis. German rationalists and their English admirers, and all who put faith in Mesmers buckets and brass rods, and ig- nore the personality of the spirit of evil, and are certain that the demoniacs of Judea were only afflicted with epilepsy, will favor the second supposition. We have now seen magi and priests using such lights as were vouchsafed to them for the benefit of their kings and patrons, and for the recovery of the sick; but, beside these reverently disposed sages, there were others of more or less proficiency in the learning of * Enaemosers History of Magic, translated by William Howitt. SCIENCE AND TRADITIONS OF THE SUPERNATURAL. 55 the time who were strongly acted on by a desire to pierce deeper into the secrets of na- ture, so as to procure a long enjoyment of this worlds goods, as they looked but to a joyless after-life. These became incessant in sacrificing to, and otherwise propitiating, the mysterious Ilecate, the powers that ruled Hades, and the elements of the earth, the fire, and the air, that they might be admitted to communication with those subtle and powerful beings from whom they were sep- arated by their envelope of earth. The means used were travesties of the forms in which adoration had been paid from the beginning to The Supreme Beingincantations in mys- tic numbers instead of prayers, and sacrifices chiefly of unclean animals, and offerings of various substances always looked on with dis- gust as connected with the decay of our mortal fraxhes. All that may be fairly looked on as super- stitious practices among Christians, all belief in fairies and ghosts, are relics of paganism, which, despite the zeal and teaching of the early missionaries, remained fixed in the minds and hearts of the partly converted. Some pagan ideas remained the objects of lin- gering attachment and reverence, others of fear and dislike. Tbe great shaggy satyr, Pan, concerning whom the awful voice was heard by the coast-dwellers of the central sea The great god Pan is dead, lost his prestige, and became the hoofed and horned devil of medi~val story and legend. The Lares and Lemures began to feel their iden- tities and dispositions blending and getting confused; and at last the brownie or goblin, drudging lubber-fiend, lurikawn or pooka, was the resultnearly as well disposed as the Lar to the happiness of the family in which he was domesticated, but retaining something of the malignity of the Larva, and taking de- light in whimsical and ludicrous annoyance, inflicted on lazy man or maid-servant. He still was grateful for food, but his reason for decamping from any house where new clothes were laid in his way, has not, as far as we know, been satisfactorily accounted for. The old familiar was only provided with a dog- skin dressing-gown, so that for want of a suit of ceremony, he could not go out to evening parties however wPling he might be. Per- haps had the Latian or Veian, or Tuscan Lar, been gladdened with the sight of a good surtout, the temptation would have been above his strength, and his comfortable berth by door or hob of Penetralia, would have known him no more. The spirit of prophecy made the soul of the chaste priestess of Delphi his favorite rest- ing-place; but, when the oracle became dumb, the genius, now a lying, and perverse, and ill-informed one, selected for abode the breast of a woman, young or old, who, for the gift, had bartered her salvation with the Evil One. It fared somewhat better with the fauns and the female genii of the hills, the forests, the lakes, and the rivers. These became fairies, more or less kindly disposed to man; and the worst that happened to the fauns was their transformation to pookas, fir-darrigs, and lurikeens. In the heathen dispensation, Zeus, Ares, Poseidon, and Orcus, contract morganatic marriages with mortal women; and some favored mortals, such as Anchises, Endym- ion, Tithonus, and Numa Pompilius, found favor in eyes of goddess, nymph of stream or sea, Oread of the hill, or Hamadryad of the wood. Those good times having come to an end, Michael Scott is found dwelling with the fairy queen in her kingdom; the hand- some fisherman sitting by the side of the northern fiord, is enticed by the mermaid to descend to the meads and bowers at the bot- tom of the green waves; Ossian follows a golden-haired maiden through the sun-lighted waves till they reach Tir-na-n-Oge, land of youthful delight, at the bottom of the Atlan- tic; and the founder of the house of 0 Sulli- van Mhor is equally fortunate. Women, neglecting the sacred Christian rites, are car- ried into fairy hills, and recognized after many years by old neighbors, who, belated and slightly affected by mountain dew, have entered an enchanted rath, lighted lip brighter than the day, and filled with beauti- ful men and women with rich dresses, such as he never before saw, and probably will never see again. But the representatives of the Celtic or Gothic superstition have received damage from their remote ancestors. The graceful fairy, dressed in red and green, skimming over a Kerry meadow by moonlight, or the Neck, sitting by Scandinavian lake, and play- ing on his harp, is equally doubtful of future happiness, when their present home shall wither like a parched scroll. If priest or peasant tell the anxiously inquiring Neck 56 SCIENCE AND TRADITIONS OF THE SUPERNATURAL. that he will be saved through the Saviours merits and goodness, then will he joyfully dance on the smooth lake to the sound of his harp; but if a harsh answer is made, he ut- ters a shriek, and dives to the waters deep- est recess. These parallels might be extended to the utmost limit of a volume; so we give them up in despair. In adverting to the successors of the magi- cians, white and black, of ancient times, we must necessarily refer to that repository of recondite knowledge, the Cabbala. The root of the word is kibbel, to receive, which had reference to the supposed lofty learning ac- quired by Moses, while on the Mount, and which he afterwards communicated to Joshua. This was orally handed down to succeeding scholars, and passed in time to Christian adepts, whom the later Jewish sages admit- ted to their confidence in the spirit of Free- masonry. By degrees, those secret commu- nications, in which the hidden designs of Providence, and all the mystic relations of spirit and matter were revealed, were en- trusted to ink and parchment. The adepts beban to feel less interest in the vast scheme of creation than in their own supposed re- lations with the lower invisible beings among whom they lived; and at last the studies of the sages seemed confined to the means for obliging the elementary spirits to appear and reveal their knowledge. Has any reader of the University not yet perused the Rape of the Lock, that gem of ethereal poesy? Without pausing f~r an- swer, we beg to remind him that the poet, in dedicating the work to Mrs. Arabella Fer- mor, the beautiful heroine of the piece, re- fers her to certain memoirs of Le Comte de Gabalis for illustration of the spiritual ma- chinery of the fable. He tells her that many ladies had read the book on the supposition of its beinb a romance, but says nothing as to the authors name or station. The witty and learned writer was the Abbe de Villars, of the Moutfaucon family, and near relative of the learned P6re de Montfaucon, Benedictin. He was assassinated on the road from Paris to Lyons in 1675, by a relative of his own. The Cbunt of Gabalis, a profound Rosicru- cian, pays a visit to the representative of the author, a young gentleman with a penchant for occult studies, and reveals the mysteries of his peculiar science to his half incredulous listener. The disciple taking the masters hypotheses as certain, deduces preposterous conclusions from them, but is not able to shake the counts confidence in the soundness of his system, of which the following meagre outline is presented At the creation, beings of a refined and subtle essence were created to watch over the four elements, and kept the machinery of our terrestrial orb in the most pleasing and useful order. They were not spirits in the common acceptation of the word, but rather the quintessence of the several elements, re- fined and condensed, and differing from each other much in the same proportion as the grosser particles from which they were sublimated. These were the nymphs, the sylphs, the salamanders, and the gnomes, their respective charges being the waters, the air the fire, and the earth. There were male and female spirits, even as the human race consisted of men and women; and if our first parents had consulted the well-being of them- selves and their posterity, Eve would have wedded one of these pure and powerful beings, and Adam another. Then, instead of the sickly, weak, and wicked race that now in- cumbers the earth, there would flourish, during the time allotted for its endurance, a noble race of intellectual, powerful, and glo- rious beings, exempt from the yoke of passion and appetite, and enriched with a profound knowledge of the operations of nature, the mystical relations of the other heavenly bodies with ours, and the duties of all crea- tures to the Creator. This desirable state of things, however, was not to be. Our first parents foolishly (and even wickedly according to the Cabba- listic philosophy, of which Count Gabalis was a high professor), preferred each other for life companions, and, we their unhappy offspring, are enduring the bitter consequen- ces of their folly. Noah was wiser in his generation than Adam. Being actuated by the most lofty motives, he and. his wife, Vesta, agreed to live apart, and select new partners from the elementary genii. She selected the Salaman- der, Oromasis, for her new lord and master, and their children were the renowned Zoro- aster (otherwise Japhet), and Egeria, the beloved of Numa in aftertimes. Sambethe, a wise daughter of Noe, had the same good- fortune. It is scarcely necessary to explain that the sybils had the blood (ichor, we meant to say) of the sylphs in their arteries. Ham did not approve of this conduct of his parents, nor of the similar one of his brothers and their partners. He was a man of low propensities, and preferred his earthly wife to sylph, ondine, gnome, or salamander, and see the result in the inferior African race, their pos SCIENCE AND TRADITIONS OF TUE SUPERNATURAL. 57 terity. The vestal virgins were instituted in honor of her mother by Egeria, and Zoroaster shed his lights on Persia and other countries of Asia. The noble race (Ham~s posterity excepted) that so rapidly peopled the world after the flood, owed thcir personal greatness and the stupendous works they were able to execute (still an enigma to the little peDple of later times) to the wisdom of Noah and Vestas selection of partners.* It is not su~- prising that the grand feature of Manichmisrn, the denouncing of matrimony as being of the Evil Principle or Arimanes, should have taken its rise in the favored country of the son of the Salamander, Oromasis. One little inconvenience attending the condition of our Rosicrucian essences, was their being suJ~ject to annihilation after longer or shorter periods of existence. However, there was not wanting balm in Gilead. As soon as marriage rites were solemnized be- tween mortal and sylph, that moment the aerial bride or bridegroom became immortal. SQ the tutelary spirits of fire, air, and water, were well disposed to these profitable and pleasing alliances ~ith the adepts of the Cab- balistic science. The devils, notwithstanding the prevalent belief concerning their state, were strictly confined within the glowing cen- tre of the earth, and unable to look abroad on our fair world, or induce man or woman to displease the Creator. The gnomesthe spirits of the earth produced by the selection and etherization of its finest particles, resid- ing in the regions next to the demons habi- tation, had good opportunity of witnessing their horrible condition, indefinitely aggra- vated by the idea of the eternity of their suf- ferings. The demons, on their side, improved the occasion by representing to the simple- minded gnomes, that if they formed earthly connections they would be damned, and their torments lengthened ont for an eternity of eternities. This had the desired effect. Scarcely a gnome would consent to be united to the finest man or woman born (hear in mind that there are male and female gnomes), while the only bar that prevented every nymph, sylph, and salamander from obtaining the boon of immortality, was the fewness of the lame minded philosophers of the occult sci- ence, who alone were calculated to make them happy. The following great fact jars a little It may he reasonably supposed that the text The sons of God saw the daughters of men, etc., etc., misunderstood and misinterpreted, led, to the adoption of these ahsurdities and the Manichean errors, amon~ the professors of the Cabbala. A va- riety introduced by some sa,c makes Nemeh, wife of Noah, to have been beloved by the spirit Azasi, who for her sake voluntarily renounced his high privi- lege, and has continued an outcast to the present time. in principle with what has been explained,but we are not to blame. Durine the period from the days of Nee to the commencenwnt of the Christian era, and in the rampant days of Paganism, the elemental spirits wished to furnish to man these helps, which an outraged Providence seemed indisposed to afford. So fine weather was sent and prophecies were uttered by vari- ous oracles, the foreseeing power of each be- ing an individual of one of the four orders. As in most cases the human Media of old prophecies were of the gentle sex, they must have got their inspiration from spiritual beings of the ungentle ditto, who imparted their knowledge of futurity to their mortal spouses in return for the great boon of im- mortality received through them. Gnome, nymph, salamander, or sylph, partaking in no degree whatever of the malevolent nature of the demons, thoughtgood easy spirits! that they were doing great good by imparting their knowledge of future and distant occur- rences t6 their favorites; but see how the best things may be abused by mortal folly and demon wickedness. The deVils finding man abandoned to hi~ own devices, and no powers looking after his lowly condition but the b!nevolent bein0s of the Cabb ala, ~ot it circulated among the degenerate sons of men, that the priestess who sat on the uncomfort- able tripod at Delphi, received inspiration, not from an elemental sprite, but from a deity, who deserved and ought to receive di- vine honors from the hands and lips of man. Moreover, the spirits the refined quintessen- ces and the guardians of the elements from which they had been formed, were not merely to be cherished and honored, but adored yes,adored! * Oh, cunning and baleful fiends, how like the bees of Trehizond, you con- vert the finest juice extracted from the flowers of creation into deadly poison, driving the souls of men into madness. It might be naturally supposed that the marriage of an ondine or a sylph with a son of Eve, would be attended with some jeyful ceremonial; such, indeed, was the case. The sprites on these occasions would, as a prepar- atory exercise, listen to a Prone from a head doctor in Cabbalistic lore. If it were a re- luctant gnome brou ht at last to see the er- ror of his ways, the professor would hold forth on the great benefit conferred on him. We nrc not ignorant of the jarring of this per- tion of the Cabbalistie theory upon that already enunciated concerning the innocuous and confined condition of the natives of Pandemonium. But if any theory-monger whose system is not . based on. Gods Word finds fault, we will he at the trouble of ohli,,immg him to produce his own. The vulgar theory as to the necessity of a good memory to a liar is very~ applicable here. scini,cx~ AND TRADITIONS OF THE SUPERNATURAL. by his union with a daughter of earth, all that his neighbors of the burning pit could sa~y against it, notwithstanding. Orpheus was the first of mortal mould who held forth to these subtilized beIngs; and on his opening speech the great gnome, Sabatius, abjured annihilation and celibacy, and took a mortal bride. These meetings have since borne the name of the wise con- vert, and a new trait of the malice of the devil has manifested itself thereby. We do not hear much of Witches Sabats, so called, till the middle of the fifteenth century, but they existed long before; and the Satanic agents took care to spread abroad that instead of intellectual and mildly joyful reunions, they were meetings held by repulsive old bags, and shameless young women, and the reprobate men, all presided over by the great goatish-looking wretch himself, who made villanous music for them, exhorted them to do all the mischief practicable between that and the next meeting; and instead of allow- ing them to kiss his .hand or mouth, obliged each man or woman to bestow his or her ac- colade upon a less honorable portion of his person. Another pal~pable instance of the devils vain-glory, and his spite against gnomes and men! Knowing the noble and lofty position to be attained by man when united in brotherhood to the elemental genii, he gets his fauterers on earth to throw an air of sordid indecency, impiety, and horror over these reunions, Goethe and other poets giv- ing their aid, and thus deterred men from an acquaintance so beneficial to themselves and their posterity. We must give another instance or two of the malicious aspersions thrown upon the descendants of the gnomes and sylphs. The great (impostor according to some) Appolo- nius of Tyana understood the language of birds; could vanish into thin air when Domi- tian wished to lay hands on him; raised a dead girl to life; announced in an assembly in Asia, that at the same moment they were putting a tyrant to death in Rome ; * but all these great deeds of his are imputed to the devil instead of the ondine or salamander, to whom he was tied in Hymens chain. An English princess bears the sage Merlin to a spirit-husband, and the world, instigated by the evil one, denounces her as an unchaste woman. Yea, many will contend that the * This Cagliostrb of the ancients was born in Cap- padocia, a few years before the Christian era. lie was a Pythagorean, and renounced wine, women, meat, and fish, at least in appearance. He died towards the end of the first century, making sure to conceal the manner of it, even from his confident, Damis. This honest man wrote his life, which was afterwards enlarged and polished intd a romance by Philostratus. fay or genius, Melusina, is not the ancestress of the noble house of Lusignan, in Poitiers. If any ambitious and inquisitive reader is induced to seek the acquaintance of these wise, beautiful, and benevolent beings, and is anxious to know the mode of opening a communication with them, let him restrain his impatience a little. The learned Comte de Galalis offered to introduce his disciple to an assembly whom he was going to address in public; this was to be on the next interview between disciple and sage; but if it took~ place, the Abb6 has left presentation and ac- quaintance unrecorded. There is a supposi- tion that the Teraphim carried off from Laban Were used by him for obtaining interviews with the sprites, and therefore his concern at being robbed of them was so great. Mi- cheas, in the Book of Judges, also bitterly lamented his idols, probably for the same reason. The only hope we can hold out to our presumptuous friend lies in a search after these idols or Teraphim The mystics of the Middle Ages cher- ished tutelar genii, as well as these beings just enlarged on. These undertook to warn the mortals to whom they were attached of impending danger, to point out the right line of conduct in doubtful concerns, and to be of as much use to him in worldly matters as his guardian angel in the afihirs of his spirit- ual ones. Hence the warnings sent in dreams the sudden thoughts that enter the mind, as by inspiration, pointing to this or that line of conduct or action, sure to lead to a good result. Those who appear born to disap- pointments and misfortunes are naturally wayward and negligent and indocile to good instruction: hence their gei~ii at last get tired of their charge, and lea4e them to the ordinary adverse course of events. What earthly chance would all the non-beautiful women have of winning desirable partners in life were they not aided by their genii, who communicate a charm to their tones and ges- tures, infuse an agreeability of manner int~ them, and cause their homely features to be seen through an enchanted medium? An ex- ample will exhibit the proceedings of these good genii better than whole pages of essay. A savant of Dijon, contemporary with Christina of Sweden and Descartes, was an- noyed by a passage in one of the Greek poets for days. lIe was unable to penetrate the sense; and, at last, despairingly betook him- self to sleep. In a dream his genius con- ducted him to the royal library of Stockholm. He accurately observed the arrangement of the shelves, busts, etc., and at the end, opened a volume, and found, about the twenty-fourth page, a passage in Greek which completely solved his difficulty. Awaking, he struck a light, wrote down the lines while they were SCIENCE AND TRAJ5ITIONS OF THE SUPERNATURAL. 59 fresh in his memory, and ~n rising next morn- ing, he found the solution of his perplexity on the table. Hp questioned by letter the philosopher, Descartes, who had charge of the library at Stockholm at the time, and found the description given of its local fea- tures to correspond exactly with the picture presented to him in his sleep. A duplicate of the very scarce volume, which he had up to the date of his dream, never seen, was sent to him, and his wonder and perplexity were great. Let no professional mountebank as- cribe this wonderful circumstance to his dar- ling clairvoyance; the savant had no profes- sor by to throw him into the mesmeric trance, and bid him cherche. This case was nearly matched by what happened to a councillor of the French Par- liament, to whom a young man appeared in his sleep, and uttered a few words in a for- eign and (to him) unknown tongue. He wrote down the sounds as well as he could, and showed the paper to the learned Mons. de Sommaise, who pronounced the piece to be a Syriac passage written in Roman char- acter, and the purport this: Go out of thy house; for it will be a heap of ruins to- morrow evening. The councillor showed himself a man of sense. He removed his fam- ily and his furniture; and the house, when it fell, caused no loss of life nor valuable fur- niture. These and other wonderful interferences of genii for good are given on the authority of an Irish adept, whom his French laudator called Magnamara. He made no difficulty of bringing a young aspirant face to face with his guardian genius. In an obscure apartment he drew a circle on the floor, and a square within the circle (Sir E. Bulwer Lytton would have preferred a pentagon), placed a mysterious name of the Deity at each angle of the figure, and the powerful name, Agla, in the centre. lie then stripped the postulant, clapped a brimless hat on his head, and a winding-sheet round his shoul- ders, made him so stand inside the square that the powerful Agia would lie between his feet, punctured some characters on his fore- head, and wrote certain words in two small circles in his right hand. This was all, ex- cept some very vigorous prayers said on his knees, with his face to the rising sun. It will be recollected that the Comte de Gabalis forgot to summon, or was prevented from summoning, one of the elementary sprites for the edification of his disciple; but the Irish sage, after gratifying his pupil with the sight of his genius, called up a refractory gnome, to whom he read an unavailing lec- ture on the stiff-neckedness of his tribe re- garding intermarriages with mortals. The dress of ceremony was the same as on the visit of the genius the brimless hat, the wind- ing-sheet, and the inscriptions, and fusniga- tions, and lustrations, were not omitted. The tyro went on his knees, and recited a certain formula, with his face to the east, his eyes having previously been rubbed with a collyrium used by Psellus * when invoking spirits. He had also swallowed some drops of a concentrated essence of pure earth. The gnome prince appeared, small of size, but finely proportioned, and in his reply to the great Magnamara, he was as little compli- mentary to the human family as the King of Brobdingnag to Lemuel Gullivers fellow- men, after the little man had endeavored to impress his gigantic majesty with the good- ness and power and ability of Euro p can hu- man nature in the reign of the First George. Such sages as the imaginary Count of Gab- alis and Mr. Magnamara would, of course, shudder at being obliged to seek aid from genius or elementary sprite in obtaining any gift less than the Universal Menstruum or the philosophers stone, and this chiefly for the advantage of their fellow men. They re- nounced the agency of the devil and his imps (in theory) as earnestly as ever did Miss Miggs prenounce the Pope of Babylon and all his works which is Pagan. The contrast betweem the knowledge-seeking, disinterested spirit of Rosicrucianism f evident in the dreamy theori~s of Cardan, Agrippa, Para- celsus, Albertus Magnus, and ethers, and the malignant, disgusting, and horrible practices of sorcery, from its rise among the earliest idolators, is very striking. It is not surpris- ing, that those who believed every portion of the earth and its products, and all the powers of nature, to be represented by some numen or spiritual influence, should endeavor to propitiate the superior essences, and subju- gate the inferior ones to their will. The moon, so mystical in its motions and changes, its apparent waning and extinction, and re- newal of being, could not fail to attract the deepest attention from every tyro in the study of occult sciences. The priests boasted ~ A Greek writer who flourished in the reign of Constantine Ducas. t Ros, dew; and crux, cross. The dew was sup- posed one of the most effective dissolvents for all stubborn substances. Crucibles were marked with the cross, and the compound word was deemed a fit title for sages in search of the Universal Menstraum and the philosophers stone. John Valentine An- dren, born in the end of the fifteenth century, makes first mention of the society. They guarded their secrets as carefully as the Druids. They seem to have dwindled into the Illuminati of the eigh- teenth century. 60 SCIENCE AND TRADITIONS OF THE SUPERNATURAL. the possession of occult knowledge; they had their neophytes, and impiously parodied in their profanc ceremonies, the primeval modes of offering homage, or invoking the Creator of the world. When spiritual and powerful qualities were imputed to matter, or those influenees that produce modifications or changes therein, it was but a natural se- quence that the heavenly agents, the angels, should become the genii, or good dremons, or intelligences, and that the memory of the evil spirits shduld keep its hold on the popular imagination, and their essences be perpetu- ated in those malignant beings represented in survivin~ specimens of Etruscan art, in the Egyptkin Typhon, in the Scandinavian Loki, and the Wolf Fenris, and the world-encir- cling Serpent, and the Giants of Jotunheim. and the Orcus or Pluto of Greece and Rome, and his grisly satellites, and triple-headed dog, and the Incubi and Succubi, and the fearful Larvte, and the dread Parere, and the representatives of war,~ind of natural scourges and evils, and of mans own baleful passions. The primeval knowledge possessed by man of the subserviency of all the powers of pain or evil to the great and good Creator, became enfeebled and perverted, till they came at last to be looked on as influences whose powers did not depend for their continuance on the pleasure or will of ileavens Ruler or Rulers. Osiris and Isis could not extinguish Typhon, or even deprive him of his evil privileges; the Giants, and Loki, and the Wolf, bade defiance to the dwellers in Asgard, to whom man was dear; the Titans, the Furies, and the Grisly King of hell, paid no direct wor- ship to Zeus or Jupiter. So all these sinister and baleful sub-divinities, gradually found incense burning to them, and sacrifices offered in deprecation of their dread offices: These sacrifices were mostly the intestines of black animals, and the hair and nails of human be- ings; and the institution still survives, wher- ever Fetish worship is kept up by the igno- rant and lazy denizens of tro-dcal countries, or the heni0hted dwellers within the Arctic circle. The Manichean belief in Arimanes the in- dependent Evil Principle, over Ormuzd, the Good Principle, could not obtain any decided victory, harmonizes well with this portion of mythology. As our lighter and more grace- ful fairy fictions, and resorting to holy wells, and our bonfires on the eves of May Day and St. John the Baptfst, and our efforts to dive into the secrets of futurity on All-Saints eve, remain lasting and compar~ively harmless re- mains of Celtic or Teutonic Mythology, so all attempts by means of witchcraft,* to recover lost goods, to avert evil from ourselves, or in- flict it on our neighbors, are connected with the gloomy rites paid to the representations of evil in the operations of nature or their own passions, by the ancient seekers of infer- nal aid. Every sincere believer in the inspiration and authenticity of the Scriptures, will ac- knowledge that before, and at the period of, Our Lords appearance on the earth, the de- mons were permitted to sensibly afflict the bodies of men.f Witness Job and the de- moniacs relieved by the Saviour. They like- wise exerted some influence over irrational animals, the possession of the swine for in- stance. To those who cannot suppose or believe that there is a spiritual essence capable of all evil and incapable of good, and whom we des- ignate by Satan or Devil, and who, if they granted his existence, cannot conceive how he could open a communication with a hu- man being, or how he could, by entering into such human being, set him distracted, or how he could produce madness in an irrational herd of swine, and drive them to their de- struction ,to such, part of What is said above will appear void of sense. But if we are to grant nothing but what we can under- stand, then there are no such things as dreams, muscular motion is not the result of intel- lect acting on fine, soft, sensitive threads of nerves, and cQmmunicating messages through them from the central seat of consciousness. In fact, no animal functions were ever dis- charged, for it is beyond human intellect to conceive how the soul, undecaying and al- ways the same, is now ultimately united with the tissues of a certain body, and is found after the lapse of some months, as intimately united with an entirely different set of nerves, muscles, bones, etc. The former frame hav- ing been entirely decomposed, and sunk into the earth, or flown into the air in minute particles. ~ IVissen to know hence also Wit. t If any weight were to be given to the interpre- tation of some who pretend that demoniacs were merely relieved of some ailment incident to humun nature, all certainty as to the meanin,, of ordinary speech would be at an end. SCIENCE AND TRADITIONS OF THE SUPERNATURAL. 61 The children of Israel could not have abode ~o ion~ among the idolatrous Egyptians with- out having seen magic-rites practiced, and having been more or less influ~nced for the worse by evil examples. So we find Moses forbidding such practices as the following: Divining by the motions of the clouds, or perhaps enchanting by the eye, consulting the fi4hts of birds, or the movements of terrestrial animals, enchanting by drugs or charmed forms of speech, unlaw- ful prying into the occult qualities of matter, consulting familiar spirits or the souls of the departed. The prohibition was not unneeded, na the Woman of Endor is found invokin0 or pre- tending to invoke a spirit to give an answer to the reckless King of Juda. She evidently was confident of producing in person some familiar spirit or phantasm of her own con- trivance, and hence her surprise when the ghost of Samuel, or an angel in his likeness, made his appearance. If evil spirits had prescience of coming events before the reign of Christ was estab- lished on earth, then it is scarcely to be doubted that they imparted this gift to the priestesses who ministered at Delphi; or those who served Jupiter at Dodona, or in the Libyan Oasis. No means more effective could the devil have used to confirm the wor- ship of the false deities, who were supposed to communicate this foreknowledge. If this were not in the power of the fiends, and if there be such a faculty incident to persons in a diseased state of nerve as clair- voyance, the priestesses were in this category, and the impostor priests, the hard-headed magnetizers, throwing them into the state of lucid trance, got from them the information they needed. Supposing that these means were not resorted to, they who were the de- positaries of the learning of the times would use drugs or fumes to produce a kindred ef- fect. Besides these, the only remaining the- ory available is, that the agency of many inoenious agents were at work to procure all sorts of informatien; and that juggling re- plies, answers dictated by extensive knowl- edge, and deep human penetration were returned. To those whose object was their own aggran- dizement, different modes presented them- selves according to circumstances; sacrifices were offered to Mercury, or other deities, for success in individual speculations; witch- hazel twi0s held upright~y two forks would turn down when over concealed treasures; or a candle, made with the fat of a dead man, and held in a dead mans hand, would light the selfish and unscrupulous seeker to con- cealed hoards; and the practitioners would never omit the muttering of charms during the operation. Then, if the life of an undesirable indi- vidual was aimed at, there were powerful charms devoting him to death; and a waxen image, set slowly to melt before the fire would involve his gradual decay; or pierced with knives or bodkins, would inflict sympathetic pangs on his sensitive frame. horaces ~Ganidia was skilled in such ma- nipulations, and the art was not lost in the days of the wife of good Duke humphrey (herself a professor), nor for a score of cen- turies later. however the charms still used by ignorant and superstitious people may savor of Chris- tian faith somewhat abused, there can be no doubt but modern incantations are the mere relics of some that were spoken years before the Christian. era. Ihere is a charm, once popular in parts of Ireland, at all events. There are varieties of it to be found in End- land CHARM FOR THE TOOTH-ACHE. St. Peter sitting on a marble stone, our Saviour passing by, asked him what was the matter. Oh, Lord, a tooth-ache! Stand up, Peter, and follow me; and whoever keeps these words in memory of me, shall never he troubled with a tooth-ache. Amen. The next charm is worthy this one. We have not heard it in Ireland CHARM F~l CRAIP. The devil is tying a knot in my leg, Mark, Luke, and John, unloose it, I beg. Crosses three we make to ease us, Two for the thieves, and one for Christ Jesus. CHARM FOR EPILEP5Y.NO. 1. Caspar brin~,s myrrh, Melehior incense, Balthazar * gold; whoever carries these three names about with him, will, through Christ, be free from the falling sickness. While using No. 2, the operator takes the patient by the hand, and whispers in his ear, thus combining animal magnetism and in- cantation ~ These are the traditional names given to the Magi that came to adore the infant Saviour. Their relics are supposed to rest in Cologne. 62 SCIENCE AND TRADITIONS OF THE SUPERNATURAL. I abjure thee by the sun, and the moon, and the gospel of this day, that thou arise, and no more fall to the ground. In the name, etc., etc., etc. Among th,e peasantry in portions of Ire- land some fifty years since, the following prayer, slightly tinged with the character of a charm, would be repeated after lying down to rest Here I lay me down to sleep, To God I give my soul to keep; Sleep now, sleep never, To God I give my soul forever. Four corners on my bed, Four angels oer them spread, Matthew,. Mark, Luke, and John, God bless the bed that I lie on! When Im asleep and cannot see, Wake, sweet Jesus, and comfort me. Jesus within me, Jesus without me, Twelve Apostles round about me! God the Father bless me, Illuminate and sanctify me, This good night and for evermore. Amen. Ilewever objectionable the form here and there, it was repeated in good faith and with genuine piety. There is scarcely a variety of witchcraft or sorcery witnessed or suspected in modern times, which cannot be traced to anti-Chris- tian times. The following instance is selected from the Gold2n Ass of Lucius Apu- leius * Pamphile, a married woman, is distin- guished by her want of fidelity to her hus- band, Milo. She can control the elements, shake the stars in their sphere, raise the spirits of the dead, and enthrall the divinities themselves. Being anxious for a dark night, that she may execute a love spell, she threat- ens the sun himselfewith a misty veil if he does not accelerate his chariot wheels down the western slope. She has seen her new * This writer was born at Madaura, SW. of Car- thage, in the second century. While travelling to Alexandria, for the purpose of study, he stayed at Occa (now Tripoli), at the house of a young friend; and the mother of this youth, a rich widow, thought fit to endow him with her hand and her treasures. He was brought to trial by her family for the al- leged crime of having bewitched her, but was hon- orably acquitted. His cpelogy on this occasion was a favorite with sueceeding scholars. ills Golden Ass is a curious specimen of early romance. In the translation of it into English by Sir George Head, Lougman and Co., 1851, the indelicate pas- sages and expressions are omitted. In a story of Heathen Society, written by a Heathen, such blem- ishes were certain to abound. favorite under the hands of the barber, and his fair locks falling from the scissors. She hurries her maid to the shop of the artist in hair, to secure some of the curly locks, and when welcome darkness arrives, she brings out on a balcony open at both ends Divers sorts of aromatics, tablets engraved with unknown characters, nails wrenched from ships wrecked on the ocedn, limbs and remnants of buried and unburied corpses, noses and fingers, pieces of flesh of crucified criminals sticking to the iron nails, blood- stained daggers of assassins, and skulls, front which the teeth of wild beasts had ripped the scalp. All these things she arranged in proper order; and then, after performing a sacrifice, and pronouncing an incantation over the palpitating entrails of the victim, she poured over them a libation of cows milkT mountain honey, and wine diluted with spring water. Finally, she took the hair, mixed with it much perfume, plaited it in several distinct locks, tied all the locks in a knot together, and threw them on the live coals of a chafing dish to be consumed. The next expected result would be the hastening of the young man to her door; but something had gone wrong in the pre- paration of the unholy rite. Photis, the maid, prowling about the barbers chair, had conveyed some of the Thebans flowing ring- lets into her bosom, but the worthy barber was on the watch. lie seized and searched her, recovered the stolen honors, and gave the roguish maid the key of the street. She coming home in great fear of a beating, saw three goat-skin bags of wine resting on a wall; soffie tufts of hair resembling the de- sired ones in color, were soon detached from these skins and burned unsuspectingly by Pamphile. Now comes the l~izarre result of the sorcery. No sooner had the hair begun to crackle than the wine-bags, with their contents, roused to a factitious state of exist- ence, and obeying the potent spell, rushed furiously towards Milos house. Arrived there, they thundered at the dooi, and the hero of the tale, a temporary visitor returning belated, saw what he supposed were three bluff robbers striving to effect an entrance. He rushed on them, and his sword was in their vitals before they could devise any effective plan of defence. He was taken up by the patrol, tried for the murder of the three citizens, and exposed to public deri- sion and laughter, as all but himself knew SCIENCE AND TRADITIONS OF THE SUPERNATURAL. 63 what and who the sufferers were. Apulcius is supposed to have introduced this passage into his philosophic tale for the purpose of throwing ridicule on his own prosecutors for their treatment of himself, on the score of his magic. Pamphile, wondering at the ill-success of her charm, took an opportunity next night to chang,e herself into an owl, to fly away tc~ her love, as he would not, or perhaps could not, come to her. Sh& first divested herself of all her gar- ments, and then having unlocked a chest, took from it several little boxes, and opened one which contained a certain ointment. Rubbing this ointment a good while between the palms of her hands, she anointed her whole body, and then whispered many magic words to a lamp, as if she was talking to it; then she began to move her arms, first with tremulous jerks, and afterwards by a gentle undulating motion, till a glittering downy surface overspread her body; feathers and strong quills burst forth presently, her nose became a hard, crooked beak, her toes changed to curved talons, and Pamphile was no longer Pamphile, but it was an owl I saw before me. And now, uttering a harsh, quer- ulous scream, leaping from the ground by little and little, in order to try her powers; and presently, poising herself aloft on her pinions, she stretched forth her wings on either side to their full extent, and flew away.~~ Lucius, envying the witch her power, begs of Photis to furnish him with a box of the ointment. She is at first unwilling, but finally complying, she unfortunately hands him a wrong one; and when he is swinging his arms in triumph, expecting to be on the wing in a mon~ent, he finds his tender skin hardening, his soles degenerating into horny hoofs, his palms the same, his mouth becom- ing a muzzle, his ears lengthening, and his entire structure and nature metamorphosed into those of an ass. Photis is in despair for a moment, but recollecting herself, she bids him be of courage. He has nothing to do but to masticate the first rose he meets in the morning, and he will be as good a man as ever. Had he changed to a bird, a drink of water, in which a little anniseed and a few laurel leaves had been steeped, would have restored him.* Alas! before morning came, We give with some reluctance, formulas of sor- cery, but have no hesitation in quoting this one at length, for who that can honestly quote Terenees he had been kicked by his own beasts, seized on by banditti, and begun to be hurried through all the strange adventures in the work, including the original of the bandit and cavern-scene of Gil Blas. The higher and nobler portion of the sci- ence having been transmitted to the profes- sors of the Cabbala, resulted, to the great surprise of the sage experimenters themselves, in valuable chemical discoveries, and a great advance in our knowledge of astronomy. Canidia and Pamphile, and their sisters, left to modern wizards and witches, n6thing bet- ter than skill in the concocting of poisons and love philters, and charms to withdraw the produce of cultivated fields, and of cattle, from their rightful owners, and spells pro- ducing lingering sickness and death, by melt- ing wax effigies of the victims, and other dia- bolical means. There have been but few varieties in the rites of sorcery during three thousand years, the change of faith from Paganism to Chris- tianity having effected little worth notice. It will be sufficient to quote the ceremonies of which the Lady Alice Kyteler, of Kilkenny, her son, William Outlawe, and their accom- plices, were accused about the year 1300. Ireland has had in her time a liberal quota of troubles, but certainly very few of them proceeded from witch-finding and witch-bum- ingon a large scale for this let us be duly thankful! The Kilkenny cause celibre was a very remarkable one, but we have no space to enter into its details, with the exception of some of the alleged magic rites. Lady Alice was accused of having been seen sweep- ing the dust of the street * to the threshold of her son, William, mumbling this charm the while, To the house of William, my son, Hie all the wealth of Kilkenny town. Herself and her friends were accused of re- Bemo & m would not take pleasure in restoring to manhood a poor brother, who by any means, magic or what you will, had gothimself converted into owl or ass. ~ There was much symbolism in all these devils doings. A witch, desirous to transfer the produce of a farmers lands to herself or another, would be found on May morning skimming the dew off the grass of one of his meadows into a howl. She would draw the spancel of one of his cows, to take the milk. from his flock ; she would draw the pot-rack, and. after awhile, removing the pot-lid, she would find. the pot filled with curds and whey, if the spell was lucky; all the operations being accompanied by charmed rhymes, chanted in a low, mysterious t~iae.. 64 SCIENCE AND TRADITIONS OF TIlE SUPERNATURAL. nouncing their faith in the Saviour for cer- ness of goat, or dog, or the old god Pan, re- tam periods, during which time they would ceived them; how he made inquiries as to not attend at Mnss, say a prayer, nor dis- the amount of mischief each had done since charge anyreligious function whatever. They last reunion, and how he distributed rewards. killed certain animals, and flung the torn por- or stripes, according to the greater or less tions about at cross-roads, thus offerin~ them amount of evil wrought. as a sacrifice to Robin, Son of Artis, a devil After these reports were handed in, and of low degree. They mimicked the ceremony the needful labor finished, the amusement of excommunication against sundry parties grew fast and furious. When dancing was to whom they bore ill will. They sacrificed the order of the night, the fiend made music to the demons the intestines of cocks, mingled on a peculiar fingeolet, sometimes using his with horrible worms, baleful herbs, nails and nose as a substitute; and when th& orgies, hair of dead men, the clothes and portions of altogether unfit for description, came to an the bodies of unebristened children. They end, each jaded old girl and boy (for men boiled these and other such ingredients in the were also of the horrible society) were con- skull of an executed criminal, over a fire of veyed by the same steeds to the place from oak sticks. They made magic powders and whence they caine, and were scarcely able to magic candles fr6m the hellish mixture, to leave their beds for a week. excite love in some, and procure lingering Early in the sixteenth century, trials for deaths for others. witchcraft began in Scotland. The celebrated Lady Alice had held conferences with the case connected with the Munroes of Foxvlis, said Robin Artisson in the shapes of a black occupied public attention from about 15Th to cat, a black dog, and a black man. She was the end of the century. known to have sacrificed to him nine red It is we7fi known that when the Scottish cocks, and nine peacocks eyes, at a stone Solomonwas not hunting, cased in his padded bridge; and on more than one occasion to suit, or writing Latin polemics, or indecent have anointed a coulter, and performed long, songs, or unbending with his favorites, he airy journeys on it. So far her accusers. was gloating over the revelations made by Lady Alice, however, got in safety to Eng- the miserable, distracted creaturesin great land. Williai Ontlawe, a man of influence, part the result of insidious questions put to submitted to imprisonment for a season; and them by their torturers, or of the workings poor Petronilla de Meath was burnt. ~She of their own crazed intellects on the subjects had been flogged six times; and it is proba- of past trials, and fireside conversations in ble that she confessed to being present at the city and country. One trial for sorcery came horrible rites above named, in company with too near to himself to be pleasant. Lady Alice, to escape a repetition of the de- Lady Essex married very young, cared lit- grading torture. She was the first real or tje for her lord, but much for young Carr, suspected witch burned in Ireland. We do Jamess minion. Doctor Forman and Mrs. not at this moment recollect another. Turner were employed by h,er to use their In the reign of Philip Augustus, the Tem- knowledge of sorcery to put the Earl of Es- plars were put on their defence in more than sex out of the way, and secure for herself the one kingdom, and accused of crimes too hor- affections of the Earl of SomersetCarr. The rible even to be mentioned in this place, and husband obstinately continued to live; so a the suppression of the Order was the re- divorce was got on plausible grounds, and the sult. From the middle of the fifteenth ecu- guilty pair were wedded. Sir Thomas Over- fury, with little interruptions, there were in bury, who had been the most useful agent Germany and Belgium and France, a series in the commencement of the intrigue, some- of searches for, and findings of, witches. how displeased the earl and countess, and was Sabat meetings were the subjects into which committed to the Tower. lie is supposed to the judges entered with the greatest zest. have been there poisoned, and Carr and his They were never weary of hearing how the lady were brought to trial. James, for very poor, old, demented creatures anointed twig, urgent reasons, exerted himself to get an ac- or broom, or tongs, and how they flew through quittal. Mrs. Turner was executed in her the air to the broeken, or any other conven- yellow ruff. Dr. Forman would also have ient dance-floor; how Old William, in like- suffered only for having met with a sudden SCIENCE AND TRADITIONS OF THE SUPERNATURAL. 65 death, foretold, as it is said, by himself on the previous day. Stranc,e to say, accused witches fared bet- ter before the Spanish tribunals than else- where. Their revelations were rightly judged to be the result of their own diseased imag- inations. One woman gave a circumstantial account of her ride to the meeting, and the orgies there witnessed and shared, but a crony of her own proved, that after anoint- ing her stick, she had lain down on her own hearth and dreamed the rest. The terrible Malleus Maleficarum, the Hammer of Witches, was put forth in 1484, by the inquisitors Jacob Sprenger, and one who called himself ilenricus Institor. Reginald Scott, Dr. Cotta, and Thomas Ady, were among the few that had sufficient sense to. see through the general delusion under which their contemporaries labored, and courage to publicly express their convictions in writing. While lamenting the hard treat- ment experienced by the accused, we must take into account the general disregard of life which distinguished the witch period, and~ that many, very many, of those burned, de- served hanging, at least, for real crimes. A BALLAD ON A BISHOP. THE Bishop of Rochester thinks its the ticket To hinder his clergy from playing at cricket; That parsons should bowl well, or make many notches, ter- Rifle appears to the Bishop of Rochester. The Bishop of Rochesters awfully skeared At the thought of the clergymen wearing the beard: Nor cares for the plea of heretical railer That theyve done it from Aaron to Jeremy Taylor. The bishop prohibits, with Claphamite rigor, The spring to the saddle, the touch on the trigger, Nor, Fishers of Men, he remarks, do I wish a man To angle, though Peter, I know, was a fisher- man. To the bishop a parson, as strong in the arm As he is in the pulpit, says, Pray, may I farm? No, sir, you shall breed neither small ewe nor big ram While Im your diocesan, cries Dr. Wigram. Replies the bold parson, Please, bishop, to mind That the Church hath a glebe to the pastor as- signed, Which means hes to farm it : a brave rara avis Appears, by the way, this recalcitrant Davies: Says the bishop, Look here: its reported to me That you mix with coarse farmers too much, Mr. D. My lord, some false notions youve taken aboard- ship, ii do no such thing, I declare to your lordship. I dont buy or sell. I dont hunt, fish, or shoot. Wont you leave a poor parson one manly pur- suit? THIHD SERIES~ LIVING AGE. 1046 But the wisdom of Solomon backed by young Sirach Would never have moved the inflexible hierareh The bishop, whose name is both Wigram and Cotton, The. latter well rammed in his ears must have gotten, For in periods as swollen as elephantiasis He turns Mr. Davies slap out of the diocese. With how little of wisdom in state or in creed The world may be governed, said Axel the Swede, And this bishop, who useth episcopal pen so, Owns he doesnt know hebrew, but censures Colenso. His brother, the Bishop of Punchester, waits To see how hell get out of Daviess Straits; But wishes that Pam had been rather more wary When Vaughan tacked a nob to e-piscopari. Punch. SHARSPEARE ON THE COPPERHEADS. To the Editors of the Pveniaf Post: The following extract from Coriolanus has a direct application WHAT would you have, you curs, That like uor peace nor war? The one aifrights you, The other makes you proud. He that trusts to you, Where he should find you lions finds you hares; Where foxes, geese ; you are no surer, no, Than is the coal of fire upon the ice, Or hailstone in the sun. Your virtue is, To make him worthy whose offence subdues him, And curse that justice did it. Who deserves greatness Deserves your hate; and your affections are A sick mans appetite, who desires most that Which would increase his evil. He that depends Upon your favors swims with fins of lead, And hews down oaks with rushes. PEa SE. EUGENIE lYE GUE~RIN. From The Cornhill Magmine. EUGENJE T)E GUERIN. Wue that had spoken of Maurice de Gu~rin could refrain from speaking of his sister Eug~nie, the most devoted of sisters, one of the rarest and most beautiful of souTh? There is nothing fixed, no duration, no vi- tality in the sentiments of women towards one another; their attachments are mere pretty bows of ribbon, and no more. In all the friendships of women I observe this slight- ness of the tie. I know no instance to the contrary, even in history. Orestes and Pylades have no sisters. So she speaks of the friendships of her own sex. But Electra can attach herself to Orestes, if not to Chrys- othemis. And to her brother Maurice Eu- g6nie de Gu6rin was Pylades and Electra in one. The name of Maurice de Gwirin,that young man so gifted, so attractive, so, careless of fame, and so early snatched away; who died at twenty-nine; who, says his sister, let what he did be lost with a careles~e~s so uPjust to himself, set no value on any of his own productions, and departed hence without reaping the rich harvest which seemed his due; who, in spite of his imma- turity, in spite of his fragility, exercised such a charm, furnished to others so much of that which all live by, that some years after his death his sister found in a country house where he used to stay, in the journal of a young girl who had not known him, but who heard her family speak of him, his name, the date of his death, and these words, ii etait leur vie (he was their life); whose talent, exquisite as that of Keats, with less of sun- light, abundance, and facility in it than that of Keats, but with more of distinction and power, had that winning, delicate, and beautifully~ happy turn of expression which is the stamp of th~ master,is beginning to be well known to all lovers of literature. This establishment of Maurices name was an object for which his sister Eug~nie passion- ately labored. While he was alive, she placed her whole joy in the flowering of this gifted nature; when he was dead, she had no other thought than to make the world know him as she knew him. She outlived him nine years, and her cherished task for those years was to rescue the fragments of her brothers composition, to collect them, to get them published. In pursuing this task she had at first cheering hopes of suc- cess: she had at last baffling and bitter dis- appointment. 1-Jer earthly business was at an end; she died., Ten years afterwards, it was permitted to the love of a friend, Ni. Tr~butien, to accomplish for Maurices mem- ory what the love of a sister had failed to accomplish. But those who read with de- light and admiration, the journal and letters of Maurice de Gu6rin could not but be at- tracted and touched by this sister Eug6nie, who met them at every page. She seemed hardly less gifted, hardly less interesting, than Maurice himself. Audnow M. Tr6butien has done for the sister what he had done for the brother. He has published the journal of Mdlle. Eug6nie de Gu6rin, and a few (too few, alas!) of her letters. The book has made a profound ~mpress~on in France; and the fame which she sought only for her brother now crowns the sister also. Parts of Mdlle. de Gu6rins journal were several years ago printed for private circula- tion, and a writer in the National Review had the good fortune to fall in with them. The bees of our English criticism do not often roam so far afield for their honey, and this critic deserves thanks for having flitted in his quest of blossom to foreign parts, and for having settled upon a beautiful flower found there. He had the discernment to see that Mdlle. de Gu6rin was well worth speaking of, and he spoke of her with feeling and appre- ciation. But that, as I have said, was sev- eral years ago; even a true and feeling homage needs to be from time to time re- newed, if the memory of its object is to en- dure; and criticism must not lose an oceasion like the present, when Mdlle. do Qu~rin s journal is for the first time published to the world, of directing notice once more to this religious and beautiful character. Eug~nie de . Gu~rin was born in 1805, at the chateau of Le Cayla, in Languedoc. Her family, though reduced in circumstances, was noble; and even when one is a saint one can- not quite forget that one comes of the stock of the Guarini of Italy, or that one counts among ones ancestors a Bishop of Senlis, who had the marshalling of the French order of battle on the day of Bouvines. Le Cayla was a solitary place, with its terrace looking down upon a stream-bed and valley; one may pass days there without seeing any liv- ing thing but the sheep, without hearing~ny 66 RUGENIE DE GUERIN. 67 living thing but the birds. M. de Gu& in, Qthcr sisters have loved their brothers, and Eug6nies father, lost his wife when Eug6nie it is not her affection for Maurice, ad~irabIe was thirteen years old, and Maurice seven: a this was, which alone could have made he was left with four children, Eug~nie, Eug~nie de Gu6~in celebrated. I have said Marie, Erembert, and Mauriceof whom thai both brother aud sister had genius: M. Eug~nie was the eldest, and Maurice was the Sainte Beuve goes so far as to say that the youngest. This youngest child, whose beauty sisters genius was equal if not superior to and delicacy had made him the object of his her brothers. No one has a more profound mothers m t anxious fondness, was corn- respect for M. Sainte Beuves critical judg-. mended by her in dying to the care of his ments than I have; but it seems to me that sister Eug~nie. Maurice at eleven years old this particular judgment needs to be a little went to school at Toulouse; then he went to explained and guarded. In Maurices spe- the Colli~ge. Stanislas at Paris; then he be- cial talent, which was a talent for interpret- came a member of a religious society, wh~ch ing nature, for finding words which incom- M. de Lamennais had formed at La Ch~naie parably render the subtlest impressions which in Brittany; afterwards he lived chiefly at nature makes upon us, which brings the in- Paris, returning to Le Cayla at the age of timate life of nature wonderfully near to us, twenty-nine, to die. Distance, in those days, it seems to me that his sister was by no means was agreat obstacle to frequent meetingsof the his equal. She never, indeed, expresses her- separated members of a French family of nar- self without grace and intelligence; but her row means. Maurice de Gu4dn was seldom words, when she speaks of the life and ap- at Le Cayla after he had once quitted it, pearances of, nat.ure, are in general but in- though his few visits to his home were long tellectual signs; they are not like her broth- ones; but he passed five yearsthe period erssymbols equivalent with the thing sym- of his sojourn in Brittany, and of his first bolized. They bring the notion of the thing settlement in Pariswithout coming home at described to the mind, they do not bring the all. In spite of the check from these ab- feeling of it to the imagination. Writing sences, in spite of the more serious check from the Nivernaisthat region of vast wood- from a temporary alteration in Maurices re- lands in the centre of France It does one ligious feelings, theunion between the brother good, says Eugdnie, to be going about in and sister was wonderfully close and firm. the midst of this enchanting nature, with For they were knit together, not only by the flowers, birds, and verdure all round one, tie of blood and early attachment, but also by under this large and blue sky of the Niver- the tie of a common genius. We were,says nais. How I love the gracious form of it, Eug.inie, two eyes looking out of one fore- and those little white clouds here and there, head. She on her part brought to her love like cushions of cotton, hung aloft to rest the for her brother the devotedness of a woman, eye in this immensity! It is pretty and the intensity of a recluse, almost the solici- graccful, but how different from the grave and tude of a mother. Her home duties pre- pregnant strokes of Maurices pencil: I vented her from following the wish, which have been along the Loire, and seen on its often arose in her, to join a religious sister- banks the plains where nature is puissant hood. There is a tracejust a traceof an and gay; I have seen royal and antique early attachment to a cousin; but he died dwellings, all marked by memories which when she was twenty-four. After that, she have their place in the mournful legend of lived for Maurice. It wa~ for Maurice that, hulnanityChambord, Blois, Amboise, Che- in addition to her constant correspondence nonceaux; then the towns on the two banks with him by letter, she began in 1834 her of the river, Orleans, Tours, Saumur, journal, which was sent to him by portions Nantes; and, at the end of it all, ~he ocean as it was finished. After his death she tried rumbling. From these I passed back into to continue it, addressing it to Maurice in the interior of the country, as far as Bourges Heaven. But the effort was beyond her and Nevers, a region of vast woodlands, in strength; gradually the entries became rarer which murmurs of an immense range and and rarer; and, on the last day of December, fulness (ce beau torrent de rumeurs, as, with 1840, the pen dropped from her hand: the an expression worthy of Wordsworth, he journal ends. elsewhere calls them) prevail and never 68 EUGENIE DE GtYIl~RIN. cease. Words whose charm is like that of good? Everything is green, everything is in the sounds of the murmuring forest itself, bloom, all the air has a breath of flowers. and whose reverberations, like theirs, die How beautiful it is! well, I will go out. away in the infinite distance of the soul. No, I should be alone, and all this beauty, Maurices life was in the life of nature, when one is alone, is worth nothing. What and the passion for it consumed him; it shall I do then? Read, write, pray, take a would have been strange if his accent had basket of sand on my head like that hermit- not caught more of the soul of nature than saint, and walk with it? Yes, work ,work! Euginies accent, whose life was elsewhere, keep busy the body which does mischief to You will find in him, Maurice says to his the soul! I have been too little occupied to- sister of a friend whom he was recommending day, and that is bad for one, and it gives a to her, you will find in him that which you certain ennui which I have in me time to fer- love, and which suits you hetter than any- ment. thing elselonction, leffusion, la mysticitJ. A certain ennui which I have in me: her Unction, the pouring out of the soul, the wound is there. In vain she follows the rapture of the mystic, were dear to Maurice counsel of F~n6lon: If God tires you, tell also; but in him the bent of his genius gave Him that he tires you. No doubt she ob- even to those a special direction of its own. tamed great and frequent solace and restora- In Euginie they took the direction most na- tion from prayer: This morning I was suf- tive and familiar to them; their object was fering; well, at present I am calm, and this the religious life. I owe to faith, simply to faith, to an act of And yet, if one analyzes this%eautiful and faith. I can think of death and eternity most interesting character quite to the bot- without trouble, without alarm. Over a tom, it is not exactly as a saint that Euginie deep sorrow there floats a divine calm, a de Guirin is remarkable. The ideal saint is suavity which is the work of God only. In a nature like Saint Frau9ois do Sales or Fin- vain have I tried other things at a time like ~lon; a nature of ineffable sweetness and se- this: nothing human comforts the soul, noth- renity, a nature in which struggle and revolt ing human upholds it is ove~r, and the whole man (so far as is p08- A lenfant il faut sa mere, sible to human infirmity) swallowed up in A mon ame il faut mon Dieu. love. Saint Theresa (it is Mdlle. de Guirin herself who reminds us of it) endured twenty Still the ennui reappears, bringing with it years of unacceptance and repulse in her hours of unutterable forlornness, and making prayers, yes, hut the Saint Theresa whom her cling to her one great earthly happiness Christendom knows is Saint Theresa repulsed her affection for her brotherwith an in- no longer; it is Saint Theresa accepted, re- tenseness, an anxiety, a desperation in which joicing in love, radiant with ecstasy. Mdlle. there is something morbid, and by which she de Gu6rin is not one of these saints arrived is occasionally carried into an irritability,, a at perfect sweetness and calm, steeped in jealousy, which she herself is the first, in- ecstasy; there is something primitive, indom- deed, to censure, which she severely re- itable in her, which she governs, indeed, but presses, but which nevertheless leaves a sense which chafes, which revolts; somewhere in of pain. the depths of that strong nature there is a Mdlle. de Gu~rins admirers have compared struggle, an impatience, an inquietude1 an her to Pascal, and in some respects the com- ennui, which endures to the end, and which parison is just. But she cannot exactly be leaves one, when one finally closes her jour- classed with Pascal, any more than with nal, with an impression of profound melan- Saint Fran9ois de Sales. Pascal is a man, ~holy. There are days, she writes to her and the inexhaustible power and activity of brother, when ones nature rolls itself up, his mind leave him no leisure for ennui. He and becomes a hedgehog. If I had you here at has not the sweetness and serenity of the this moment, here close by me, how I should perfect saint ; he is, perhaps, der strenge, prick you! how sharp and hard! Poor kranke Pascal,ihe secere, morbid Pascal soul, poor soul, she cries out to herself an- as Goethe (and, strange to say, Goethe at other day, what is the matter, what would twenty-three, an age which usually feels Pas- you have: Where is that which will do you cals charm most profoundly) calls him; but EUGENIE DE GIJERIN. the stress and movement of the lifelong con- flict, waged in him between his soul and his reason keep him full of fire, full of agitation, and keep his reader, who witnesses this con- flict, animated and excited; the sense of for- lornness and dejected weariness which clings to Eug6nie de Gu~rin does not helong to Pas- cal, Eug6nie de Gmirin is a woman and longs for a state of firm happiness, for an affection in which she may repose: the in- ward hliss of Saint Theresa or F~n~lon would have satisfied her; denied this, she cannot rest satisfied with the triumphs of self-abase- ment, with the sombre joy of trampling the pride of life and of reason underfoot, of re- ducing all human hope and joy to insignifi- cance; she repeats the magnificent words of Bossuet, words which both Catholicism and Protestantism have uttered with indefatiga- ble iteration: On trouve au fond de tout le vide et le n6antat the bottom of everything one finds emptiness and nothingness, but she feels, as every one but the true mystic must ever feel, their incurable sterility. She resembles Pascal, however, by the clearness and firmness of her intelligence, going straight and instinctively to the bottom of any matter she is dealing with, and ex- pressing herself about it with incomparable precision; never fumbling with what she has to say, never imperfectly seizing or imper- fectly presenting her thought. And to this admirable precision she joins a lightness of touch, a feminine ease and grace, a flowing facility which are her own. I do not say, writes her ~brother Maurice, an excellent judge, that I find in myself a dearth of ex- pression; but I have not this abundance of yours, this productiveness of soul which streams forth, which courses along without ever failing, and always with an infinite charm. And writing to her of some com- position of hers, proddced after her religious scruples had for a long time kept her from the exercise of her talent; You see, my dear Tortoise, he writes that your talent is no illusion, since after a period I know not how long of poetical inaction, a trial to which any half-talent would have succumbed, it rears its head again more vigorous than ever. It is really heart-breaking to see you repress and bind down, with I know not what scru- ples, your spirit, which tends with all the force of its nature to develop itself in this di- rection. Others have made it a case of con- 69 science for you to resist this impulse, and I make it one for you not to follow it. And she says of herself, on one of her freer days: It is the instinct of my life to write, as it is the instinct of the fountain to flow. The charm of her expression is not a sensuous and imag- inative charm like that of Maurice, but rather an intellectual charm; it comes from the texture of the style rather than from its ele- ments; it is not so much in the words as in the turn of the phrase, in the happy cast and flow of the sentence. Recluse as she was, she had a great correspondence: every one wished to have letters from her; and no won- der. To this strength of intelligence and talent of expression she joined a great force of char- acter. Religion had early possessed itself of this force of character, and reinforced it: in the shadow of the Cevennes,in th esharp and tonic nature of this region of southern France, which has seen the Albigensians, which has seen the Camisards, Catholicism too is fervent and intense. Eug6nie de Gudrin was brought up amidst strong religious influ- ences, and they found in her a nature on which they could lay firm hold. I have said that she was not a saint of the order of Saint Fran~ois de Sales or Fdn6lon; perhaps she had too keen an intelligence to suffer her to be this, too forcible and impetuous a charac- ter. But I did not mean to imply the least doubt of the reality, the profoundness, of her religious life. She was penetrated by the power of religion; religion was the master- influence of her life; she derived immense consolations from religion, she earnestly strove to conform her whole nature to it; if there was an element in her which religion could not perfectly reach, perfectly trans- mute, she groaned over this element in her, she chid it, she made it bow. Almost every thought in her was brought into harmony with religion; and what few thoughts were not thus brought into harmony were brought into subjection. Then she had her affection for her brother: and this, too, though perhaps there might be in it something a little over-eager, a little too absolute, a little too susceptible, was a pure, a devoted affection. It was not only passionate, it was tender, pliant, and self-sac- rificin~, to a degrce that not in one nature out of a thousand of natures with a mind and will like hersis found attainable. She thus EUGENIE DE GUERIN. united extraordinary power of intelligence, extraordinary force of character, and extraor- dinary strength of affection; and all, these under the control of a deep religious feeling. This is what makes her so remarkable, so interesting. I shall try and make her speak for herself, that she may show us the char- acteristic sides of her rare nature with her own inimitable touch. It must he remembered that her journal is written for Maurice only; in her lifetime no eye but his ever saw it. Ceci nest pas pour lepu6lic, she writes ; cest de lintime, cest de ldme, cest pour un. This is not for the public; it contains my inmost thoughts, my very soul; it is for one. And Maurice, this one, was a kind of second self to her. We see things with the same eyes; what you find beautiful, I find beautiful God has made our souls of one piece. And this gen- uine confidence in her brothers sympathy gives to the entries in her journal a natural- ness and simple freedom rare in such compo- sitions. She felt that he would understand her, and be interested in all that she wrote. One of the first pages of her journal relates an incident of the home-life of Le Cayla, the smallest detail of which Maurice liked to hear; and in relating it she brings this sim- ple life before us. She is writing in Novem- ber, 1834 I am furious with the gray cat. The mischievous beast has made away with a lit- tle half-frozen pigeon, which I was trying to thaw by the side of the fire. The poor little thing was just beginning to come round: I meant to tame him; he would have grown fond of me; and there is my whole scheme eaten up by a cat! This event, and all the rest of to-days history, has passed in the kitchen. liere I take up my abode all the morning and a part of the evening, ever since I am without Mimi.* I have to superintend the cook; sometimes papa comes down and I read to him by the oven, or by the fireside, some bits out of the Antiquities of the Ang?o- Saxon Church. This book struck Pierril ~ with astonishment. Que de mouts aqui de- dins! What a lot of words there are in ide it! This boy is ~r real original. One even- ing he asked me if the soul was immortal; then afterwards, what a philesopher was? She had books, too; not in abiindance, not We had got upon great quemtions. as you for the fancyi see. When I told him that a philosopher ng them: the list of her library was a person who was wise and learned: is small, and it is enlarged slowly and with Then, mademoiselle, you arc a philosopher. difficulty. The Letters of Saint Theresa, The familiar name of her sister Marie. which she had long wished to get, she sees f A servant boy at Le Cayla. in the hands of a poor servant girl, before This was said with an air of simplicity and sincerity which might have made even Soc- rates take it as a compliment ; but it made me laugh so much that my gravity as cate- chist was gone for that evening. A day or two ago Pierrel left us, to his great sorrow: his time with us was up on Saint Brices day. Now he goes about with his little dog, truf- fle hunting. If he comes this way I shall go and ask him if he still thinks I look like a philosopher. Her good sense and spirit made her dis- charge with alacrity her household tasks in this patriarchal life of Le Cayla, and treat them as the most natural thing in the world. She sometimes complains, to be sure, of burn- ing her fingers at the kitchen fire. But when a literary friend of her brother expresses en- thusiasm about her and her poetical nature: The poetess, she says, whom this gen- tleman helieves me to be, is an ideal being, infinitely removed from the life which is ac- tually minea life of occupations, a life of household business, which takes up all my time. How could I make it otherwise? lam sure I do not know; and, besides, my duty is in this sort of life, and I have no wish to escape from it. Among these occupations of the patri- archal ?We of the chatelaine of Le Cayla in- terbourse with the poor fills a prominent place To-day, she writes on the 9th of De- cember, 1834, 1 have been warming myself at every fireside in the village. It is a round which Mimi and I often make, and in which I take pleasure. To-day we have been seeing sick people, and holding forth on doses and sick-room drinks. Take this, do that~ and they attend to us just as if we were the doctor. We prescribed shoes for a little thing who was amiss from having gone bare- foot; to the brother, who, with a had head- ache, was lying quite fiat, we prescribed a pillow; the pillow did him & od, but I am afraid it will hardly cure him. He is at the beginning of a bad feverish cold, and these poor people live in the filth of their hovels like animals in their stable; the bad air poisons them. When I come home to Le Cayla I seem to be in a palace. 70 EUGENIE DE GUERIN. she can procure them for herself. What then? is her comment: very likely she makes a better use of them than I could. But she has the Imitation, the Spiritual Works of Bossuet and F6milon, the Lives of the Saints, Corneille, Racine, Andr6, Chenier, and Lamartine; Madame de Sta~ls hook on Germany, and French translations of Shak- speares plays, Ossian, th& Vicar of WaKe- field, Scotts Old Mortality and Red Gauntlet, and the Promessi Sposi of Manzoni. Above all, ~he has her own mind; her meditations in the lonely fields, on the oak-grown hill- side of The Seven Springs; her medita- tions and writing in her own room, her cliambrette, her de7icieu chez moi, where every night, before she goes to bed, she opens the window to look out upon the skythe balmy moonlit sky of Languedoc. This life of read- ing, thinking, and writing, was the life she liked best, the life that most truly suited her. I find writing has become almost a necessity to me. Whence does it arise, this impulse to give utterance to the voice of ones spirit, to pour out my thoughts before God and one human bein.r? I say one human being, because I always imagine that you are present, that you see what I write. In the stillness of a life like this my spirit is happy, and, as it were, dead to all that goes on up- stairs or down-stairs, in the house or out of the house. But this does not last long. Come, my poor spirit, I then say to myself, we must go hack to the things of this world. And I take my spinning, or a book, or a saucepan, or I play with Wolf or Trilhy. Such a life as this I call heaven upon earth. Tastes like these, joined with a talent like Mdlle. de Gu~rins, naturally inspire thoughts of literary composition. Such thoughts she had, and perhaps she would have been hap- pier if she had followed them; but she never could satisfy herself that to follow them was quite consistent with the religious life, and her projects of composition were gradually relinquished. 71 allowed to occupy itself with great matters until it occupies itself with them in Heaven. And again My journal has been untouched for a long while. Do you want to know why? It is because the time seems to me misspent which I spend in writing it. We owe God an ac- count of every minute; and is it not a wrong use of ou~r minutes to employ them in writing a history of our transitory days? She overcomes her scruples, and goes on writing the journal; but again and again they return to her. Tier brother tells her of the. pleasure and comfort something she has written gives to a friend of his in afflic- tion. She answers It is from the Cross that those thoughts come which your friend finds so soothing, so unspeakably tender. None of them come from me. I feel my own aridity; but I feel, too, that God, when he will, can make an ocean flow upon this bed of sand. It is the same with so many simple souls, from which proceed the most admirable things; because they arc in direct relation with God, without false science and without pride. And thus I am gradually losing my taste for books; I say to myself; What can they teach me which I shall not one day know in Heaven? let God be my master and my study here! I try. to make him so, and I find myself the better for it. I read little; I go out little; I plunge myself in the inward life. How infinite are the sayings, doings, feelings, events of that life! Oh, if you could but see them! But what avails it to make them known? God alone should be admitted to the sanctuary of the soul. Beautifully as she says all this, one cannot, I think, read it with~ut a sense of disquie- tude, without a presentiment that this ardent spirit is forcing itself from its natural bent, that the beatitude of the true mystic will never be its earthly portion. And yet how simple and charming is her picture of the life of religion which she chose as her ark of refuge, and in which she desired to place all her happiness; Would to God that my thoughts, my Cloaks, clogs, umbrellas, all the appara- spirit, had never taken their flight beyond tus of winter, went with us this morning to the narrow round in which it is, my lot to Andillac, where we have passed the whole live. In spite of all that people say to the day; some of it at the cures house, the rest contrary, I feel that I cannot go beyond my in church. How I like this life of a country needlework and my spinning without going j Sunday, with its activity, its journeys to too f~ar: I feel it, I believe it : well, then, I I church, its liveliness! You find all your will keep in my proper sphere; however neighbors on the road; you have a courtsey much I am tempted, my spirit shall not be J from every woman you meet, and then, as EUGENIE DE GTJERIN. you go along, such a talk about the poultry, the sheep and cows, and the good man and the children! My great delight is to give a kiss to these children, and to see them run away and hide their blushing faces in their mothers gown. They are alarmed at las dournaiselos,* as at a being of another world. One of these little things said the other day to its grandmother, who was talking of com- ing to see us: Minino, you mustnt go to that castle; there is a black hole there. What is the reason that in all ages the no- bles chateau has been an object of terror? Is it because of the horrors that were com- mitted there in old times? I suppose so. This vague horror of the chateau, still lin- gering in the mind of the French peasant fifty years after he has stormed it, is indeed cu- rious, and is one of the thousand indications how unlike aristocracy on the Continent has been to aristocracy in England. But this is one of the great matters with which Mdlle. de Guirin would not have us occupied; let us pass to the subject of Christmas in ban- guedoc Christmas is come; the beautiful festi- val, the one I love most, and which gives me the same joy as it gave the shepherds of Bethlehem. In real truth, ones whole soul sings with joy at this beautiful coming of God upon earth,a coming which here is announced on all sides of us by music and by our charming nadalet.f Nothing at Paris can give you a notion of what Christmas is with us. You have not even the midnight mass. We all of us went to it, papa at our head, on the most perfect night possible. Never was there a finer sky than ours w~s that midnight,so fine that papa kept per- petually throwing back the hood of his cloak, that he might look up at the sky. The ground was white with hoar-frost, but we were not cold; besides, the air, as we met it, was warmed by the bundles of blazing torch- wood which our scrvants carried in rront of us to light us on our way. It was delightful, I do assure you; and I should like you to have seen us there on our road to church, in those lanes with the bushes along their banks, as white as if they were in flower. The hoar- frost makes the most lovely flowers. We saw a long spray so beautiful that we wanted to take it with us as a garland for the com- nwnion table, but it melted in our hands: all flowers fade so soon! I was very sorry about my harland; it was mournful to see it drip away and get smaller and smaller every minute. The young lady. ~ A peculiar peal rung at Christmas-time by the church-bells of Languedoc. The religious life is at bottom everywhere alike; but it is curious to note the various- ness of its setting and outward circumstance. Catholicism has these so different from Prot- estantism! and in Catholicism these accesso- ries have, it cannot be denied, a nobleness and amplitude which in Protestantism is often wanting to them. In Catholicism they have, from the antiquity of this form of re- ligion, from its pretensions to universality, from its really wide-spread prevalence, from its sensuousness, something European, au- gust, and imaginative: in Protestantism they often have, from its inferiority in all these respects, something provincial, mean and prosaic. In revenge, Protestantism has a future before it, a prospect of growth in al- liance with the vital movement of modern so- ciety; while Catholicism appears to be bent on widening the breach betwen itself and the modern spirit, to be fatally losing itself in the multiplication of dogmas, Mariolatry, and miracle-mongering. But the style and cir- cumstance of actual Catholicism is grander than its present tendency, and the style and eircumstance of Protestantism is meaner than its tendency. While I was reading the journal of Mdlle. de Gu5rin, there came into my hands the memoir and poems of a young Englishwoman, Miss Emma Tatham; and one could not but be struck with the sin- gular contrast which the two lives in their setting rather than in their inherent quality, present. Miss Tatham had not, certainly, Mdlle. de Guirins talent, but she had a sin- cere vein of poetic feeling, a genuine aptitude for composition. Both were fervent Chris- tian~, and so far, the two lives have a real resemblance; but in the setting of them, what a difference! The Frenchwoman is a Catholic in Languedoc; the Englishwoman is a Protestant at MargateMargate, that brick-and-mortar image of English Protes- tantism, representing it in all its prose, all its uncomeliness,let me add, all its salu- brity. Between the external form and fash- ion of these two lives, between the Catholic Mdlle. de Gu5rins nadalet at the Languedoc Christmasher chapel of moss at Easter- timeher daily reading of the life of a saint, carrying her to the most diverse times, places, and peoplesher quoting, when she wants to fix her mind upon the staunchness which the religious aspirant needs, the words of Saint Macedonius to a hunter whom he met 72 ETYGENIE DE GUERIN. 73 in the mountains, I pursue after God, as ber of those who prefer regarding that by you pursue after game her quoting, when which men and nations die to regarding that she wants to break a village girl of disobe- by which they liveone is glad to study. dience to her mother, the story of the ten La confession, ~he says twice in her jour- disobedient children whom at Hippo St. Au- nal, nest quune e panszon du repentir dans gustine saw palsied ;between all this and lamour: and her weekly journey to the the bare, blank, narrowly English setting of confessional in the little church of Cahuzac Miss Tathams Protestantism, her union in is her cher pdlerinage; the little church Church-fellowship with the worshippers at is the place where she has laisse tant de Hawley-Square Chapel, Margate; her mis~res: singing with soft, sweet voice, the ani- mating lines My Jesus to know, and feel his blood flow, Tis life everlasting, tis heaven below; her young female teachers belonging to the Sunday school, and her Mr. Thomas Rowe, a venerable class-leader,what a dissimilarity! In the ground of the two lives, a likeness; in all their circumstance, what unlikeness! An unlikeness, it will be said, is that which is non-essential and in- different. Non-essentialyes; indifferent no. The si~nal want of grace and charm in English Protestantisms setting of its relig- ious life is not an indifferent matter; it is a real weakness. This ought ye to have done, and not to have left the other undone. I have said that the present tendency of Catholicismthe Catholicism of the main body of the Catholic clergy and laityseems likely to exaggerate rather than to remove all that in this form of religion is most re- pugnant to reason; but this Catholicism was not that of Mdlle. de Guirin. The insufli- ciency of her Catholicism comes from a doc- trine which Protestantism, too, has adopted, although Protestantism, from its inherent ele- meat of freedom, may find it easier to escape from it; a doctrine with a certain attraction for all noble natures, but, in the modern world at any rate, incurably sterile,the doctrine of the emptiness and nothingness of human life, of the superiority of renounce- ment to activity, of quietism to energy; the doctrine which makes effort for things on this side of the grave a folly, and joy in things on this side of the grave a sin. But her Catholicism is remarkably free from the faults which Protestants commonly think in- seperable from Catholicism; the relation to the priest, the practice of confession, assume, when she speaks of them, an aspect which is not that under which Exeter Hall knows them, but whichunless one is of the num This morning, she writes one 28th of November, I was up before daylight, dressed quickly, said my prayers, and started with Marie for Cahuzac. When we got there the chapel was occupied, which I was not sorry for. I like not to be hurried, and to have time, before I go in, to lay bare my whole soul before God. This often takes me a long time, because my thoughts are apt to he fly- ing about like these autumn leaves. At ten oclock I was on my knees, listening to words the most salutary that were ever spoken; and I went away feeling myself a better being. Every burden thrown off leaves us with a sense of brightness; and when the soul has laid down the load of its sins at Gods feet, it feels as if it had wings. What an admira- ble thin~, is confession! What comfort,what light, what strength is given me every time after I have said, I have sinned. This blessing of confession is the greater, she says, the more the heart of the priest to whom we confide our repentance is like that divine heart which has so loved us. This is what attaches me to M. Bones. M. Bones was the cure of her parish, a man no longer young, and of whose loss, when he was about to leave them, she thus speaks What a grief for me! how much I lose in losing this faithful guide of my conscience, heart, and mind, of my whole self which Gods had appointed to be in his charge, and which let itself he in his charge so gladly! He knew the resolves which God had put in my heart,, and I had need of his help to follow them.. Our new cur6 cannot supply his place: he is so young! and then he seems so inexperi- enced, so undecided! It needs firmness to pluck a soul out of the midst, of the world, and to uphold it against the assaults of flesh and blood. It is Saturday, my day for going to Cahuzac; I am just going there, perhaps I shall come back more tran quil.God has, always given me somne good thing there, in that chapel, where I have left behind me so many miseries. Such is confession for her when the priest, is worthy; and, when h~ is not worthy, she ETJGENIfl DE GiJERIN. knows how to separate the man from the of- fice To-day I am going to do something which I dhlike; but I will do it, with Gods help. Do iiot think I am on my way to the stake; it li only that I am going to confess to a prie~t in whom I have not confidence, but who is the only one here. In this act of re- ligin, the man must always be separated froi ~ the priest, and sometimes the man must be t~.nnihilated. IT ie same clear sense, the same freedom frori superstition, shows itself in all her re- ligiius life. She tells us, to be sure, how ono~, when she was a little girl, she stained a new frock, and on praying, in her alarm, to an image of the Virgin which hung in her room, saw the stains vanish: even the aus- terest Protestant will not judge such Mariol- atry as this very harshly. But, in general, the Virgin Mary fills, in the religious parts of her journal, no prominent place; it is Jeses, not Mary. Oh,how well has Jesus said: Come unto me, all ye that labor and are heavy laden. It is only there, only in the bosom of God, that we can rightly weep, rightly rid ourselves of our burden. And again: The mystery of suffering makes one grasp the belief of something to be expiated, something to be won. I see it in Jesus Christ, the Man of Sorrow. It was necessary that the Son of Man should suffer. That is all we know in the troubles and calamities of life. And who has ever spoken of justification more impressively and piously than Mdlle. de Gu~rin speaks of it, when, after reckoning the number of minutes she has lived, she ex- claims My God, what have we done with all these minutes of ours, which thou, too, wilt one day reckon? Will there be any of them to count for eternal life? will there be many of them? will there be one of them? If thou, 0 Lord, wilt be extreme to mark what is done amiss, 0 Lord, who may abide it? This close scrutiny of our time may well make us tremble, all of us who have advanced more than a few steps in life; for God will judge us otherwise than as he judges the lilies of the field. I have never been able to under- stand the security of those who place their whole reliance, in presenting themselves be- fore God, upon a good conduct in the ordi- nary relations of human life. As if all our duties were confined within the narrow sphere of this world! To be a good parent, a good child, a good citizen, a good brother or sis- ter, is not enough to procure entrance into the kingdom of heaven. God demands other things besides these kindly social virtues, of him whom he means to crown with an eter- nity of glory. And, with this zeal for the spirit and power of religion, what prudence in her counsels of religious practice; what discernment, what measure! She has been speaking of the charm of the Lives of the Saints, and she goes on Notwithstanding this, the Lives of the Saints seem to me, for a great many people, dangerous reading. I would not recommend them to a young girl, or even to some women who are no longer young. What one reads has sueh power upon ones feelings; and these, even iu seeking God, sometimes go astray. Alas, we have seen it in poor C. s case. What care one ought to take with a young person; with what she reads, what she writes, her society, her prayers, all of them matters which demand a mothers ten- der watchfulness! I remember many things I did at fourteen, which my mother, had she lived, would not have let me do. I would have done anything for Gods sake; I would have cast myself into an oven, and assuredly things like that are not Gods will: he is not pleased by the hurt one does to ones health through that ardent but ill-regulated piety which, while it impairs the l*ody, often leaves many a fault~ flourishing. And, therefore, Saint Fran~ois de Sales used to say to the nuns who asked his leave to go barefoot: Change your brains, and keep your shoes.~ Meanwhile Maurice, in a five years ab- sence, and amid the distractions of Paris, lost, or seemed to his sister to lose, something of his fondness for his home and its inmates; he certainly lost his early religious habits and feelings. It is on this latter loss that Mdlle. de Gu6rins journal oftenest touches, with infinite delicacy, but with infinite an- guish: Oh! the agony of being in fear for a souls salvation, who can describe it! That which caused our Saviour the keenest suffer- ing, in the agony of his Passion, was not so mueh the thought of the torments he was to endure, as the thought that these torments would be of no avail for a multitude of sin- ners; for all those who set themselves against their redemption, or who do not care for it. The mere anticipation of this obstinacy and heedlessness had power to make sorrowful, even unto death, the Son of Man. And this feeling all Christian souls, according to the 74 measure of faith and love granted them, more or less share. Maurice returned to Le Cayla in the summer of 1837, and passed six months there. This meeting entirely restored the union between him and his family. These six months with us, writes his sister, he ill, and find- ing himself so loved by us all, had entirely re-attached him to us. Five years without seeing us had perhaps made him a little lose sight of our affection for him; having found it again, he met it with all the strength of his own. He had so firmly renewed, before he left us, all family ties, that nothing but death could have broken them. The separ- ation in religious matters between the brother and sister gradually diminished, and before Maurice died it had ceased. I have elsewhere spoken of Maurices religious feeling and its character. It is probable that his divergence from his sister in this sphere of religion was never so wide as she feared, and that his re- union with her was never so complete as she hoped. His errors were passed, she says, his illusions were cleared away; by the call of his nature, by original disposition, he had come back to sentiments of order. I knew all, I followed each of his steps; out of the fiery sphere of the passions (which held him but a little moment) I saw him pass into the sphere of the Christian life. It was a beautiful soul, the soul of Maurice. But the illness which had caused his return to Le Cayla reappeared after he got back to Paris in the winter of 18378. Again he seemed to recover; and his marriage with a young Creole lady, Mdlle. Caroline de Ger- vain, took place in the autumn of 1838. At the end of September in that year, Mdlle. de Gu~rin had joined her broeher in Paris; she was present at his marriage, and stayed with him and his wife for some months afterwards. Her journal recommences in April, 1839 zealously as she had promoted her brothers marriabe, cordial as were her relations with her sister-in-law, it is evident that a sense of loss, of loneliness, invades her, and sometimes weighs her down. She writes in her journal on the 4th of May 75 present and for the future, this troubles me more than I can say. My sympathies, my inclinations, carry me more towards you than towards any other member of our family. I have the misfortune to be fonder of you thnn of anything else in the world, and my heart had from of old built in yon its happiness. Youth gone and life declining, I looked for- ward to quitting the scene with Maurice. At any time of life a gre at affection is a great happiness; the spirit comes to take refuge in it entirely. 0 delight and joy which will never be your sisters poi~tion! Only in the direction of God shall I find an issue for my heart to love, as it has the notion of lovino~ as it has the power of loving. From such complainings, in which there is undoubtedly something morbid,complain ings which she herself blamed, to which she seldom gave way, but which, in presenting her character, it is not just to put wholly out of sight,she was called by the news of an alarming return of her brothers illness. For some days the entries in her journal show her agony of apprehension. He coughs, he coughs still! Those words keep echoing for- ever in my ears, and pursue me wherever I go; I cannot look at the leaves on the trees without thinking that the winter will come, and that then the consumptive die. Then she went to him and brought him back by slow stages to Le Cayla, dying. He died on the 19th of July, 1839. Thenceforward the energy of life ebbed in her; but the main chords of her being, the chord of affection, the chord of religious long- ing, the chord of intelligence, the chord of sorrow, gave, so long as they answered to the touch at all, a deeper and finer sound than ever. Always she saw before her that be- loved pale face; that beautiful head, with all its different expressions, smiling, speaking, suffering, dying, regarded her al- ways I have seen his coffin in the same room, in the same spot where 1 remember seeing, when I was a very little girl, his cradle, when I was brought home from Gaillac, where I was then staying, for his christening. This christening was a grand one, full of rejoicing, more than that of any of the rest of us; spe- God knows when we shall see one another cially marked. I enjoyed myself greatly, and again! My own Maurice, must it be our lot went back to Gaillac next day, charmed with to live apart, to find that this marriage, which my new little brother. Two years afterwards I had so much share in brin~ing about, which I came home, and brought with me for him I hoped would keep us so much together, a frock of my own making. I dressed him leaves us more asunder than ever? For the in the frock, and took him out with me along EUGENIE flE GUERIN~ 76 EUGENIE DE GUERIN. by the warren at the north of the house, and there he walked a few steps alone, his first walking alone, and I ran with delight to tell my mbther the news: Maurice, Maurice has begun to walk by himself! Recollections which, coming back to-day, break ones heart! The shortness and suffering of her brothers life filled her with an agony of pity. Poor beloved soul, you have had hardly any happi- ness here below; your life has been so short, your repose so rare. 0 God, uphold me, stablish my heart in thy faith! Alas, I have too little of this supporting me! How, we have gazed at him and loved him and kissed himhis wife, and we, his sisters; he lying lifeless in his bed, his head on the pillow as if he were asleep! Then we followed him to the churchyard, to the grave, to his last rest- ing-place, and prayed over him, and wept over him; and we are here again, and I am writing to him again, as if he were staying away from home, as if he were in Paris. My beloved one, can it be, shall we never see one another again on earth? But in heaven ? and here, though love and hope finally prevailed, the very passion of the sisters longing sometimes inspired tor- turing inquietudes I am broken down with misery. I want to see him. Every moment I pray to God to grant me this grace. Heaven, the world of spirits, is it so far from us? Oh, depth, oh, mystery of the other life which separates us! I, who was so eagerly anxious about him, who wanted so to know all that happened to him, wherever he may be now, it is over! I follow him into the three abodes, I stop wist- fullyin the place of bliss, I pass on to the place of sufferingto the gulf of fire. My God, my God, no! Not there let my brother be! not there! And he is not: his soul, the soul of Maurice, among the lost - . . - horrihle fear, no! But in purgatory, where the soul is cleansed by suffering, where the failings of the heart are expiated, the doubtings of the spirit, the half-yieldings to evil? Perhaps my brother is there and suffers, and calls to us amidst his anguish of repentance, as he used to call to us amidst his bodily suffering! Help me, you who love me. Yes beloved one, by prayer. I will go and pray; prayer has been such a power to me, and I will pray to the end. Prayer! Oh! and prayer for the dead! it is the dew of purgatory. Often, alas, the gracious dew would not fall: the air of her soul was parched: the arid wind, which was somewhere in the depths of her being, blew. She marks in her journal the first of~May, this return of the loveliest month in the year, only to keep up the old habit: even the month of May can no longer give her any pleasure: Tout est changdall is changed. She is crushed by the misery which has nothing good in it, the tearless, dry misery, which bruises the heart like a hammer. 1 am dying to everything. I am dying of a slow moral agony, a condition of unutter- able suffering. Lie there, my poor journal! he forgotten with all this world which is fad- ing away from me. I will write here no more until I come to life again, until God re- awakens me out of this tomb in which my soul lies buried. Maurice, my beloved ! it was not thus with me when I had you! The thought of Maurice could revive me from the most profound depression: to have him in the world was enough for me. With Maurice, to be buried alive would have not seemed dull to me. And, as a burden to this funereal strain, the old vide et neant of Bossuet, profound, solemn, sterile So beautiful in the morning, and in the evening, that! how the thought disenchants one, and turns one from the world! I can understand that Spanish grandee, who, after lifting up the winding-sheet of a beautiful queen, threw himself into a cloister and be- came a great saint. I would have all my friends at La Trappe, in the interest of their eterm 1 welfare. Not that in the world one cannot be saved, not that there are not in the world duties to be discharged as sacred and as beautiful as there are in the cloisters, hut.... And there she stops, and a day or two af- terwards her journal comes to an end. A few fragments, a few letters carry us on a little later, but after the 22d of August, 1845, there is nothing. To make known her brothers genius to the world was the one task she set herself after his death ; in 1840 came Madame Sands noble trbute to him in the Revue des deuce Mondes; then followed projects of raising a yet more enduring mon- ument to his fame, by collectin6 and publish- ing his scattered compositions: these proj- ects, I have already said were baffled Mdlle. de Gudrins letter of the 22d of August, 1845, relates to this disappointment. In silence, during nearly three years more, she faded away at Le Cayla. She died on the 31st of May, 1848. EUGENIE DE GUERIN. 77 M. Tnibutien has accomplished the pious This quality at last inexorably corrects the task in which Mdlle. de Guirin was baffled, worlds blunders, and fixes the worlds ideals. and has established Maurices fame; by pub- It procures that the popular poet shall not lishing this journal he has established Eu- finally pass for a Pindar, nor the popular his- g~nies also, she was very different from her torian for a Tacitus, nor the popular preacher brother; but she too, like him, had that in for a Bossuet. To the circle of spirits her which preserves a reputation. Her soul marked by this rare quality, Maurice and has the same characteristic quality as his Eug~nie de Gu~rin belong; they will take talent, distinction. Of this quality the their place in the sky which these inhabif, world is impatient; it chafes against it, rails and shine close to one another, luczda cidera. at it, insults it, hates it; it ends by receiving MATTHEW ARNOLD. its influence, and by undergoing its law. THE NILE SONG. As Sung at the Meeting of the Royal Geographical So ciety, May 25, 1863, when it w announced that the Nile wo~s Settled. HAIL to the chiefs who in triumph advancing Bring us as trophy the Head of the Nile! Light from the African Mystery glancing Brightens the name of our Tight Little Isle. Honor to Spoke and Grant, Each hold hierophant Tells what the Ages have thirsted to know: Loud at the H. G. S. Sets out their great success Roderick vich Murchison, ho, ieroe! Theirs was no summer trip, scaling a mountain, Making gilt picture-hooks, dear to the Trade; Far in the desert-sand, seeking yon fountain, Perilous tracks the brave travellers made. They are no Longbows, Who, south of Calbongos And Galwen, discovered the source of the flow They need no rhyme-prater, Their Lines the Equator, Says Roderick vich Murchison, ho, ieroe! Nor, boys, alone of the Nile fountain brag we, Now of Ungoro the site we decide, Now we know all of Uganda and Kragwh, And how King Kamrasi must fatten his bride. Stanford, of Charing Cross, Swears by King Charless horse, Splendid addition his next map shall show: Travelled by Grant and Speke,~ Vainly he will not seek, Roderick vich Murchiaon, ho, ieroe! Shout, buffers, shout for the African Highlands, Shout for Nyanza, the Lake on the Line! Nile, that now wanders through silent and shy lands, Some day may roar like the Thames or the Rhine. While the Moons Mountains stand, Speke and Grants gallant band Down to posterity famous shall go: And far below zero Are Ciesar and Nero, Cries Roderick vich Murchison, ho, ieroe! Punch. Tau SOURCE OF THE NILE.To the Editor of The Times.Sir: The lustre of Captain Spekes brilliant achievement in settling once and forever the fact that the Lake Victoria Nyanza is the source of the Nile will not, I am sure, be impaired by the disclosure of the strange fact to which I wish by your permission to direct the attention of geographers,the fact, namely, that this great lake is correctly laid down in an Atlas, published 116 years ago, by the name of the Lake Zambre, extending from the 4th to the 11th degree of S. latitude, and being about 400 miles by 60 in breadth, while the accompanying letter press in a very curious detailed account of the district distinctly states the fact that it is the source of the Nile and of two other great rivers. The work in question is The Complete System of Geography, by Emanuel Bowen, geographer to his majesty, published in two vols., folio, in 1747. The Lake Zambre (alias Victoria Nyanza will be found in the two maps inserted at pages 384 and 480, and this remarkable paragraph at page 482 under the head of Congo proper This kingdom is watered by several rivers, the most considerable of which is the Zaire above- mentioned, otherwise called the great river of Congo, which Dapper says springs from three lakes. The first is called Zambre, out of which the Nile issues ; the second Zaire, which forms the rivers Lelunde and Coanze, and the third is a lake made by the Nile ; but the chief of all is the Zambre, which is as it were the centre from which proceed all the rivers in this part of Af- rica. The fact that the true source of the Nile was thus accurately defined more than a century ago appears well worthy of record. I am, sir, your obedient servant, T. HERBERT NOTES, Jx. Paxhill, June 6. 78 From The Spectator. WEIGHTS AND MEASURES. THERE is nothing more illustrative of the growth of the social life of England than the system of weights and measures now in use. It is a huge tree, which has developed itself in the open air, under sunshine, wind, and rain, untouched by the scissors of art, and unbiassed by scientific culture. Nearly all the. sovereigns and parliaments of Great Britain, from the Conquest to the present time, have tried to regulate and ad,just this multiform produce of ages; hut it ever es- caped their grasp, rewarding all attempts to create uniformity by shooting up in more luxurious disorder. It was enacted in Magna Charta that, there shall be through our realm one weight and one measure, and the injunction was repeated by royal and legisla- tive edicts innumerable, with the only ulti- mate effect that there are now at least a hun- dred different weights and measures. Every county, nay, every town and village in Eng- land, is happy in its particular standards of weight, capacity, and length. Slight differ- ence in the latitude and longitude of a place will decide whether the measure called a bushel shall consist of one hundred and sixty- eight pounds, or seventy-three pounds, or eighty pounds, or seventy pounds, or sixty- three pounds, or only sixty pounds. The most universal article of consumption, wheat, is sold by the bushel of eight gallons at Salt- ash, in Cornwall,~ and of twenty stones at ])undalk, in Leinster; it is sold, in towns near to each other, by the load of five quar- ters, by the load of five bushels, and by the load of three bushels; by the load of four hundred and eighty-eight quarts at Stow- market, in Suffolk, and of one hundred and forty-four quarts at Ulverston, in Lancashire. It is quite doubtful whether a so-called hun- dredweight shall contain one hundred and twenty pounds or one hundred and twelve pounds. By custom, a hundredweight of pork at Belfast is one hundred and twenty pounds; while at Cork it is one hundred and twelve pounds. The most popular of all measurements, the bushel, is fluctuating from five quarters in some places to four hundred and eighty-eight pounds in others, the quar- ter itself being an unsettled quantity, vary- iag no less than from sixty pounds to four hundred and eighty. Nor is it even settled what is meant by a mile. The English mile WEIGHTS AND MEASURES. is 1,760 yards; the Scotch mile is one Eng- lish mile and two hundred and seventeen yards; and the Irish mile is one English mile and four hundred and eighty yards. As to the smaller standards of weight and length used in trade and commerce, they are almost endlessly diversified. A grocer subdiv~dcs his pounds by sixteen; a goldsmith by twelve, twenty, and twenty-four; and an apothecary by twelve, eight, three, and twenty. Again, a firkin of butter is fifty-six pounds, and a firkin of soap sixty-four pounds; while a bar- rel of soap is two hundred and~ fifty six pounds, but a barrel of gunpowder only one hundred and twelve pounds. A sack of flour is twenty stone, and a sack of coal fourteen stone, or two hundred and twenty-four pounds. But the little matter as to what the term stone means is not at all settled, for a stone of butchers meat or fish is eight pounds, a stone of cheese sixteen pounds, a stone of glass five pounds, and a stone of hemp thirty-two pounds. In sum total, there seem to be almost as many different weights and measures in this country as there are towns and villages and articles of commerce. It is the quintessence of indivIdualism and self-government-enough, probably, to sat- isfy even Lord Stanley. The history of the efforts made by succes- sive governments, for the last six hundred years and more, to bring order and uniform- ity into this state of things is as curious as amusing. In the long struggle of central authorities with the spirit of individualism, the latter invariably ended by getting the upper hand, and not only defeated the ob- jects of the former, but turned them in the very opposite direction. Scores of parlia- mentary commissions deliberated on the vexed question of weights and measures, and nearly every one finished the business by adding a few more to the multifarious standards al- ready existing, instead of subtracting there- from. The standards of measure and weight adopted by the people were always taken either from some part of the human body, such as the foot, the length of the arm, and the span of thc hand, or from some natural objects, such as a barleycorn, or other kind of grain. But the early English sovereigns or- dered the adoption of the yard, supposed to be founded upon the breadth of the chest of our burly Anglo-Saxon ancestors. The yard continued till the reign of Henry VII., when WRIGUTS AN~~ MEASTJRE~. the eli, being a yard and a quarter, or forty- five inches, was introduced by the trading Flemings and the merchants of the Ilanse Towns. Subsequently, however, Queen Eliz- abeth brought the old English yard back to its post of honor, and had an imiperial stan- dard yard made of metal, and safely depos- ited in the Tower. After that, a series of parliamentary commissions began legislating upon the subject, increasing a hundredfold the confusion. Every generation saw a new standard springing up, based on the ever- changing size of barleycorns, or human feet and hands, and the ever-changeable state of human minds. Finally, by an Act passed in 1841, the Legislature annihilated all preced- ing legislations, abolished all natural stand- ards of hands and feet and chest, and recom- mended reference to certain pieces of metal enclosed in a case, hermetically sealed and embedded within the masonry of some public building, the place to be pointed out by a conspicuous inscription on the outside, and not to be disturbed without the sanction of an Act of Parliament. But the standard pieces, and the masonry, and the conspicuous inscription were never made; new parlia- mentary commissions took up the work of the old ones, changing it entirely; and so the thing has gone on till the present moment, the last select committee appointed to con- sider the practicability of adopting a simple and uniform system of weights and meas~ ures having been nominated as recently as the month of May, 1862. The labors of this youngest-born of select committees have been, of course, severe; and the evidence gathered in eighteen sittings was presented to the pub- lic in the shape of a tremendous blue-book of three hundred pages. It is about the fifteenth blue-book of the kind issued, and in whatever else parliamentary commissions may have been deficient, the literature of weights and measures which they have produced certainly weighs and measures something by this time. In France, too; the eonfu~ion in weights. and measures was great before the Revolu- tion, but the Constituent Assembly of 1789 carried through a radical reform, as far as legislation was concerned, in the shortest possible time. The demand for uniformity being universally acknowledged, the Assem- bly, without further ado, resolved to apply a remedy, and for this purpose requested the Academy of Sciences to nominate a number 79 of learned men who should settle the matter. They appointed five, among them the famous trio Lagrange, Condorcet, and Laplace, and their report was laid before the Legislature at the end of a few months. The unit of length upon which they fixed was ~he ten- millionth part of the quadrant, or fourth of the meridian of the earth, which measure they proposed to call a metre, deducing there- from, upwards and downwards, on the deci- mal system, all other standards of length, weight, and capacity. The scheme was beau- tiful in theory, and irreproachable from the philosophical point of view; and though it was well known that its practical execution would be productive of many unwelcome changes and much monetary embarrassment, the Assembly at once adopted it, postponing, however, the operation of the law for some years. Meanwhile, steps were taken to dif- fuse information on the subject; an immense quantity of tables and books were issued at nominal prices for the instruction of the gen- eral public, and everything was done to pre- pare the peeple for the coming change in the traffic of every-day life. A request had been previously sent to the English Government to co-operate in the great work, so as to bring about an international uniformity of weights and measures; but the invitation was de- clined with thanks on this side of the Chan- nel. The French people themselves did not seem to admire the metric system at all in the commencement, and it took a long time before it found favor, particularly with the lower classes. The law came into force on the 1st of July, 1794; but so great was the resistance against it, even at the end of eighteen years, that the Emperor Napoleon found it necessary to agree to a thorough change of the system at a moment when a widely popular measure was required of him. On the 12th of February, 1812, his majesty issued a decree which virtually superseded the law of the Constituent Assembly, and authorized in all retail transactions the use of the eighth, the sixteenth, and the fourth as divisors, and also the old standard of weights and measures which were still in use throughout France. There were, therefore, now two systems of weights and measures legally established in France; and the two were used side by side for a quarter of a cen- tury, with the result that the philosophic metric system gradually got the upper hand, WEiGHTS AND MEASURES. 80 driving the old practical one out of the field. visible in every one of the revolutions, and The victory of science over habit and custom goes to the extent of leaving even to the pub.. having thus been satisfactorily established, lie the duty of giving names to the new King Louis Philippe, in 1837, passed another weights and measures. On the important law, repealing tbat of 1812, and rendering question whether the new standards of meas- it penal, not only to use the old system, urement which are henceforth to be in legal but even to keep the old. weights and meas- use, side by side with the old ones, shall be ures in shops, warehouses, or offices. Since denominated by the Greco-French terms in then the system of Laplace and Condorcet use among our Gallic neighbors, or be de- has had all its own way, and at the present seribed in good English words, the select moment no other is known, even in the re- committee is absolutely mute. Yet it is in motest districts of France. Most of the con- this that lies the real difficulty of the matter. tinental countries, among them Belgium, It was very justly observed by Mr. Drinkwa- Holland, Sardinia, Tuscany, Spain, Portugal, ter Bethune, one of the parliamentary com- Switzerland, and Greece, have also adopted missioners in 1841, that it is much easier to the metric system, and Russia is preparing change values than to chanue names; and to do the same. The Teutonic States of Eu- Mr. Quincey Adams made the same remark rope, however, and with them Great Britain, while inquiring into the decimal system for have as yet withstood the voice of science, and introducing it into the United States. The kept to habit and custom. It is an exem- great repugnance of the French people, for plification of the whole growth of Teutonic more than twenty years, to adopt the new lifeabhorring violence, and adhering to the law of weights and measures, was not so slow development of time and nature. much owing to the alteration in values and The parliamentary commission which dis- quantities, but to that of names, which fact cussed during last session the whole question is abundantly proved by the whole literature of weights and measures decided that Eng- on the subject published during the period land, too, shall accept the metric system; from 1794 to 1812. But if the French did but, under this proviso, that no compulsory not like the long words hectometre, kil- measures shall be resorted to until they are ometre, myriametre, decimetre, and sanctioned by the general conviction of the so forth, as denominating measures, and the public. To carry out the system, it is rec- words, kilogramme, kilolitre, etc., as ommended that a Department of Weights describing weights, the English can far less and Measures be established in connection be expected to adopt them with anything with the Board of Trade, entrusted with the like good-will. Even in France many of the conservation and verification of the standards, old names of weights and measures are still as well as the duty of making the metric sys- in daily use, although, as already said, the tem known to the public. To aid in this new system has been completely adopted. object, the Committee of Council of Educa- What would seem, therefore, most reasona- tion shall order the metric system to be taught ble is that before introducing metres and kil- ometres into this country as proposed by the in all the schools receiving Government last parliamentary commission, some idio- grants; and it shall furthermore be included matic nomenclature should be settled and in papers of competitive examinations for the fixed upon, ready to be bestowed upon the civil service. Lastly, Government shall sane- strangers from abroad. The metric system, tion the use of the metric system in the levy- according to the select committee, must inev- ing of the Customs duties; shall publish the itably come upon us, for the simple reason statistics of income and expenditure in terms that our present non-system has become cum- brous and inconvenient, and that as it would of the metric system, and shall interdict the be unwise and almost impossible to invent a employment of any other weights and incas- new one, all that remains is to adopt the ures but the metric and imperial, until the system already in use over the greater part metric has been generally adopted. All of Europe. The metric system is ready these recommendations of the select commit- made to our hands, is the sum total of par- tee are evidently based on the experience liamentary recommendations, which is un- gained by the introduction of the decimal doubtedly true. But it is equally so that the Greco-Gallic names of the new system are by system in France, in the two periods of 1794 no means ready made to our ton~ues, and be- to 1812, and 1812 to 1837. The fear of en- fore gaining naturalization will have to go wring the road of compulsory legislation is through the old Anglo-Saxon mill. SIBYL S DISAPPOINTMEMT. From The Coruhull Magazine. SIBYLS DISAPPOINTMENT. THE gentlemen were still lingering over their wine or their conversation in the dining- room below, but the ladies had flocked up- stairs into the little drawing-room, and were clustered over the ottoman and cushioned seats, which furnished the deep bay-window looking through the thick summer leafage of the trees in the Close towards the minster. The hour was drawing on towards sunset, the sunset of a rich August evening; and the crimson light that suffused the cloud-flakes of the sky reflected a soft roseate blush on all faces. These faces were five, two matronly, three youthful. Lady Anne Vernon, the deans wife, and her widowed sister, Lady Mary Rivers, were the matrons; the maidens were their children, Julia and Isabel Vernon, and Sibyl Rivers. Julia and Isabel Vernon were fine young women of four and five and twenty, well bred and well educated, but not dowered with the fatal gift of beauty; Sibyl Rivers was a spoilt child, lovely as a May morning, sweet as vio- lets, fresh as dew; all manner of things fair and fragrant rose to the mind to compare with her. The ladies after-dinner talk was drowsy at the beginning, as such talk commonly is, but it brightened into vivacity by and by, over last nights race ball, where Sibyl had made her dThut, and had achieved without effort that intoxicating triumph and success which are all the more delicious from being wholly unanticipated. Yes, Aunt Mary, Sir John Needham said, and Mr. Dighy Stuart, whose word is law, solemnly agreed with him, that your Sibyl was the very prettiest three-year-old that had come out in Hillminster since Lady Ray- monds year, said Julia Vernon, who was good-natured, and had no moral scruples about making Sibyl vain. If only this dear little head be not turned! whispered Lady Mary, shaking her own as she stroked her daughters glossy hair. The possessor of the dear little head in question shook it in reply, looking rosily delighted; but just in the crisis of her happy blush she caught her cousin Isabel watching her with cold, scornful eyes, and shuddered as old wives say we shudder when some foot treads on the place of our grave that is to be. TKIRD SE& IIES. LIVING AGE. 1047 81 Twas so strange, so very strange she thought, this dread and repugnance she could not help feeling for Isabel; she remembered no sensation like it si~ve one thrilling moment of terror in Wales, when she trod upon a snake, saw it rear its baleful head and hiss at her, then wriggle away through the tall grass, which stirred in its tops as the wind stirs it when it is low; and nestling lower amongst the cushions of the ottoman, she turned half away to avoid her cousins gaze, and into the full light of the setting sun which wrapt her from head to foot in its warm glow. When you invited Aunt Mary and Sibyl out of their seclusion in Wales to enjoy the modest gaieties of Hillminster, you did not think you were introducing so dangerous a rival amongst the well-known belles of your own town and county, did you mamma? went on Julia, appealing to Lady Anne with mock seriousness. But you found out your mistake last night, when you saw how Sibyls grace and newness piqued the jaded admira- tion of the men, while your own girls endured even more than their usual neglect. I always felt that mamma was deficient in the first qualifications of a chaperone, Aunt Mary, and we suflbr for it. My dear Ju! ~ remonstrated her mother, but Lady Mary smiled kindly on her out- spoken niece. She saw a vista opening out from that crowded whirl where her dear little Sibyl shone brightest and fairest, ending in a good husband and a happy home such as her own married life had never known. For Lady Mary had nade a runaway match with a handsome Irish subaltern, and she had been reaping the consequences ever since in pen- ury and neglect. Lieutenant Rivers died when Sibyl was about ten years old; and since that event, which nobody but his ill- used wife deplored, she had hidden herself in Wales, teaching her child herself, and doing: her best to avoid those errors in the training of her darling which had been the source of her own long trials and troubles. Thus far Sibyl had answered well te her loving care. She was not by any means a perfect character, for pride was rank in her; her feelings were impetuous, her passions strong, and her will weak. But she had no small jealousies, no irksome vanities. The dean had taken to her with a sponta- I SIBYLS DISAPPOINTMENT. neous kindliness, Lady Anne Vernon caressed her, and her cousin Julia treated her with patient indul6ence Only Isabel stood coldly aloof~ At first sight Sibyl had shrunk from her with a gesture of shuddering repulsion that was utterly inexplicable; for Isabel was prepared to give her as warm a welcome as the rest. She saw the expression of fright- ened antipathy, and was dismayed even more than she was bewildered. She could not in- terpret it, but neither could she forgive it. She laia up the remembrance secretly in her heart, unwitting yet of the soil fertile for evil in which she planted it: but it germinated there, and in due season brought forth leaf and bud, blossom and bitter poison-fruit, as all indulged hate and anger must unless God in his mercy give us grace and strength to pluck up the deadly growth by its roots. Lady Anne Vernon had an evening party after the dinner, and as the rosy sunset yielded to twilight, the group ensconced in the pleasant window dropped off one by one to adjourn presently to the great drawing- room, where the coming guests were to be received. Some few arrived before the gen- tlemen made their appearance, the only no- ticeable person amongst them being old Sir Jasper Raymonds young wife. Lady Raymond was the most popular woman in Hillminster. She had been popu- lar as a girl, lovely and penniless, but she was even more popular now. She had had suitors galore, but the tale went, that with genuine feminine perversity she had set her heart on almost the only man of her ac- quaintance who was indifferent to her; which tale was not and could not be precisely cor- rect, because no one save herself knew the true story of her love and her griefs, for the simple reason that she had never told it. But ~all the world was clear on one pointthere had been something serious between her and Mr. Digby Stuart, of Alverston Priory, which had ended in nothing, and after an interval of a few months, her marriage at Nice with Sir Jasper Raymond was announced to the general confusion, surprise, and indignation of Hillminster. Why had she thrown her- Eelf away on a man of seventy? It was wicked., unnatural, monstrous! The men could not forgive the cruel sacrifice; the women, except a few, could not understand it. Mr. Digby Stuart was still her friend, and her husbands friend, but gossip had never meddled indiscreetly with such honorable namec. lie was in the dining-room of the deanery now, and soon after nine had struck from the minster tower, he came in with the rest of the gentlemen, made his cordial greet-. ing to Lady Raymond as to others of the evening guests, and the shrewdest observer or the most idly malicious could have found no whisper of doubt to circulate over the manner of their meeting. They were two who, if they could not have met thus inno- cently and without pain, would have parted to the uttermost ends of the earth that they might never meet at all. Mr. Digby Stuart was a fine-looking per- son, distinguished in bearing, and serious in countenance, but with some play of sarcasm about his mouth, and a kindly penetration in his steady gray eyes. There was a mystery about him that he did not marry, being past thirty, the head of an old family, and in possession of a good estate. Several romances explanatory of the riddle had been coined for him, the most popular of which was that he had been a changeling at his birth, and that only on condition of his leading a single life, and leaving the property at his death to the lawful heritors thereof, was he suffered to continue now in undisturbed enjoyment of it. This grotesque story was as far wide of the truth as it well could be; but it served the purposes of conversation now and then, and there were perhaps one or two persons who even believed it. Twelve oclock had struck same time be- fore the last carriage rolled away from the deanery door on this memorable night, from which dates the beginning of that sorry jest played out in cruel earnest, which I am about to narrate. But when are the eyes of seven- teen drowsy? Sibyl Rivers was as wakeful as at the beginning of the evening; and though her mother gently admonished her that she had better come to bed, she must needs adjourn for five minutes talk to her cousins room. The five minutes lengthened out to half an hour, during which Isabel Vernon found or invented occasion to make so many cold, disenchanting remarks, that the impression of pleasantness the evening had left on Sibyls mind was quite rubbed o~ thereby. Mr. Digby Stuart says you are a pretty child, was one of these remarks. He SIBYLS DISAPPOINTMENT. 83 asked how old you were, and was surprised Hush, hush, Sibyl! Say your prayers, to hear you were more than fifteen. It is my child, and ask God to keep you loving time you dropped your baby airs, though and true. hate; darling,you dont know they suit your dimples very well. Still af- what hate means. fectation of naturalness is as much affecta- tion as any other grace you might choose to Alverston Priory was about six miles up put on, and it looks silly when girls are the river from Ilillminster, and though not grown up to women. important enough to be a show-place, it was Sibyl pouted like six years old; she paid still one of the best and handsomest houses no heed to the latter clause of her cousins in that part of the countya house, as the speech, but replied to the former part with neighborhood agreed, that only wanted a visible pique. Mr. Digby Stuart did not mistress to make it perfection. talk to me as if I were a child, said she. Lady Mary Rivers and Sibyl drovi thither No? I saw you listening to him, as if the next day, escorted by Lieutenant George his commonplaces were pearls of wisdom Lansmere, a nephew of Lady Marys, the dropped from the lips of a god. second son of her eldest brother, the present Isabel! He was only inviting mamma to earl. George Lansmere was two-and-twenty, go over to luncheon at Alverston to-morrow, and held a commission in the cavalxy regi- and to take me. She knew the priory long ment then stationed at Hillminster. It Was ago in his fathers time, and he wants to very pleasant for the young officer in country- show her the improvements. He is very quarters to have a family of hospitable kins- kind, and I was pleased to think of the ex- folk at the deanery. His cousins, Julia and cursion. Isabel, made much of him, and he submitted Well, dont be too pleased, and dont for some months to the flattering process with run away with any delusion that he is too serene masculine assurance that such atten- kind; for it is his way to be kind to every- tions were his due; but when Sibyl Rivers body. How exquisite Lady Raymond was appeared on the scene he fell straightway to-night, Julia! into captivity to her bright eyes, and lost all Perfect-~--she always is. thought and consideration for himself~. He Sibyl stood smothering her indignation for was genuinely and heartily in love, and to a minute or two while the sisters discussed sit opposite the beaming face of his divinity, Lady Raymonds dress in detail, and then six miles out to Alverston and six miles home saying, as by an irresistible impulse, Oh, ~gain to Ilillminster, was, in the present state Isabel, how you hate me! turned to leave of his feelings, a paradisiacal delight. He was the room. Julia looked up startled and in- not a young man to set the world on fire, but he terrogative, but Isabel only laughed. was honest and honorable; and Lady Mary You silly child, as if I could hate any- Rivers, whose thoughts day and night rested thing like you! sneered she; throwing into in hopeful contemplation of her daughters the you as much sic,niflcance of scorn as the future, was by no means reluctant to en- monosyllable accentuated by her bitter lips courage his tolerably evident pretensions. could convey. By what mesmeric fatality is it that one Sibyl felt at once ashamed of her impetu- man wins love unsought, possibly undesired, ous speech, and with hot tears ia her eyes while another may wear himself out in de- and a passionate red on her cheek, she sobbed voted painstaking efforts to gain the faintest goodnight, and rushed away to her mother. response to his passion and not succeed? Come into that quiet, kindly presence, her From the first hour of Sibyl Rivers meeting first words were again, How Cousin Isabel with Mr. Digby Stuart, her fancy had been hates me! attracted; her thoughts insensibly followed My darling! exclaimed Lady Mary, in it, and when Geotge Lansmere began his a tone of deprecation, you must not give wooing her heart was gone. Neither co- way to such fancies. Why should your Cousin quette nor flirt was Sibyl; she reflected Isabel hate you? never, she only felt; and when George was I dont know, but I am sure she does! most eager and assiduous she repaid him was the emphatic reply. with gentle smiles and sweet kindness to 84 SIBYLS DISAPPOINTMENT. compensate for her real indifference, and was safe, but it soon passed into the pos- thus misled him perhaps further than the session of her cousin, Isabel Vernon, whose ~iaost elaborate wiles could have done. eyes were quickened to all opportunities of On this day of her visit to Alverston Pri- inflicting a quiet stab on the tender soul that ory she was the same simple, childlike crea- instinctively distrusted her. She made the ture she had always been; a miracle of discovery in this wise :One morning about ignorance and unworldliness, with conscious- midway the month of September, Mr. Dighy uess slowly awakening, and womanly instinct Stuart rode over to the deanery to confer with awakening with it, but utterly removed from the dean on some matter of public business. speculation on possiblities or consequenees. The ladies up-stairs in the little drawing-room She was glad to be there; five minutes of heard of his arrival, and Lady Anne Vernon listening to Mr. Digby Stuarts conversation sent down a message to the library bidding with her mother, five minutes of slow saun- him Btay to luneheon. An answer was re- tering by his side through the conservatory turned that he was sorry, but being iu some where he enriched her with. a sprig of ge- haste he must despatch his business and go. ranium, were sweeter in the passing and When she heard this Sibyl vanished from her dearer in the remembrance than the longest nest amidst the cushions of the ottoman, and and most joyous holidays of her past life, a few minutes afterwards Isabel silently fob It is hard work to amuse a preoccupied lowed her. She had seen Sibyls breast rise mind; and George Lansmere on the home- and fall, her color glow and fade during the ward drive Was troubled twice or thrice with passage of the messages to and fro between an intrusive suspicion that Sibyl was rather drawing-room and library, and a shrewd sus- absent, but it never entered into his heart to picion born of these emotional changes sprang conceive that she could be dreaming about that into sudden and full vitality in her brain. very grave and proud personage, the master She is in love with Mr. Digby Stuart! Oh, of Alverston Priory. The dashing lieutenant the vain little Quixotic fool! She might as of hussars would have felt small dread of such wisely cry for the moon at once !. thought a rival, even had his imagination directed she, and a mingling of something not unlike him to look out for any in that quarter; and pity shot through her scorn; for Isabels hate when Sibyl announced to Lady Anne Vernon, was not yet grown to that height which tri- on reaching the deanery, that they had had umphs in the great calamity of its object, a most charming day! perhaps he may and much less was it grown to that height be excused for the pleasing delusion that his ,whieh expends itself in procuring such ca- own presence had contributed materially to ~amity. its deli~htfulness. Sibyl had betaken herself to her mothers The first to detect poor Sibyls secret was room, whence, from the window in the high Lady Raymond, who, with the inexplicable Gothic gable, she could see Mr. Digby Stuart freemasonry of women who love, read its ride through the Close, and then, over th& subtle signs with deepest dismay. She tried tops of the houses in the precentors court, to save the child by hints and warnings, and watch him again if by chance he were return- pretty parables involving much literal truth ing at once to Alverston direct by the road; personal to herself; but the only effect of these watch him a mile on his way until man and attempts was to make Sibyl shy of her; and horse diminished to a mere speck in the dis- she had not the courabe, even had she the tance. Isabel assured herself from her own right, to speak openly. For a moment, a lit- window that he went that way; and then, tic moment and no more, she watched Mr. passing through the pretty dressing-room Digby Stuart with a jealous regard, but in that served Lady Mary Rivers as boudoir, she his manner to Sibyl there was nothing more cautiously put aside the porti6rc that sepa- than in his manner to other. girls; and what- rated it from the bedroom adjoining, and came ever food for her dreams she had was evolved upon Sibyl unawaresupon Sibyl lost in purely out of her own fervent fancy. If it be sweet reverie, leaning her forehead against a reproach to a woman to love unsought, and the glass, straining her eyes after the fast the popular voice has decided that it is, then diminishing figure on the white high road, had Sibyl Livers incurred it heavily, and deaf and blind to everything outside the With Lady Raymond her pityful secret sphere of her own thoughts. SIBYL S DISAPPOINTMENT. 85 Isabel stood for a minute hushed and oh- No; and Sibyl turned a~vay from her Bervanttime enough to repent, time enough questioner to hide the passion of tears she to steal awa~y, time enough to save her own could no longer repress. soul from the first active step into a tempta- If you do not wish all the world to know, tion that was to beguile her whither she would you must exercise self-control; you must be have shrunk from imagining even now; but on your guard, said Isabel, after a short the demon was strong in her at that instant, pause. There is nothing that lays a girl and stepping over the thick carpet with noise- more open to ridicule than the impjitation less tread, she laid a hand on Sibyls shoulder that she has fallen in love with a man who and whispered, with a laugh which made no has shown her no preference; and I am sure pretence of inaskin~ her contempt, Im Mr. Dighy Stuart has shown :you none. sure Mr. Digby Stuart would feel immensely Hush! this is like a baby! Dont let us flattered if he knew who takes such a tender have all thegossips in Ilillminster set a-chat- interest in his comings and goings. Sibyl ter! Ill lock the door, and then you can cry sprang back with an inarticulate sound be- your cry out; but I hope nobody will come. tween a cry and a sob, her visane blanched Nobody did come, and Sibyls agony had for a moment, then dyed scarlet with guilty its way. Isabel brought her some sal vola- blushes. She did not utter a word; and Isa- tile and water to drink, and stood over her bel, eyeing her with a steady, sarcastic pene- putting in words of wisdom and counsel at tration, went on: So this is the clue to every lull in the storm; and when it was your fits of pretty abstraction! I wish you spent bathed her eyes, smoothed her hair, joy of your love? Dont let concealment, dressed her for a walk round the Close, tied like a worm in the bud, feed on your damask a veil under her chin, and carried her off cheek; dont pine away in green and yellow finally to evening prayers at the minster, melancholy, but let yourself go, let your hid- without exciting a word of remark, so mat- den passion reveal itself. Men are mostly ter-of-fact and quiet were her manceuvres. vain. If Mr. Digby Stuart were told ~ho Sibyl felt very humble and grateful now, in lavishes on him such deep devotion, his heart, spite of her distrust. The reaction after her though proverbially tough as bend leather, excitement left her depressed, shame-stricken, would surely yield. and trembling. Till to-day her secret had Isabel! gasped Sibyl, in a tone and been the glory of her youthnow it was its with a gesture which were of themselves an bitterest blot. She could never have iina0- ample confession; and in that light her cousin med the tortures that she felt because of it. understood, accepted, and responded to them. Isabel had put it before her in its ugliest You have made me your confident against light. If you betray mel shall die!~~ was your will, said she. I dont covet the her often reiterated moan. If you betray burden of sentimental secrets, but I suppose me I shall die! I must keep yours for the credits sake of our Isabel experienced no pain at seeing her sex. I declare I am very sorry for you, suffer; she was driftIng before the evil im- Cousin Sibyl; for to speak the honest truth I pulses to which she had yielded at the be- believe you have no more chance of winning ginning, and her heart, without preconcert- a return to your feelings than I have of be- ing plans to harm the child, readily adopted coming Empress of China. If Mr. Digby the opportunities thai circumstances pre- Stuart had been inclined to marry, he would sented. had Sibyl been bolder or less ingen- not have let Lady Raymond slip through his uous, she would have stubbornly denied the fingers; and compare Lady Raymond with charge, but it was now fully admitted, and yourself~ How came you ever to indulge she lay at her cousins mercy. It seemed to in such a cruel delusion as that you could her just then that though Isabel spoke satin- rival her? cally she was practically kind. What I dont know; I dont know, muttered should I do without you? sighed she as Sibyl, her lips parched, her eyes fixed, her they returned homewards across the Close. heart in her boson growing colder and heavier Oh, what should I do without you? at every word until it was cold and heavy as It appears to me that you would still clay. rather have kept your secret to yourself, was Have you told aunt Mary? Isabels response. SIBYLS DISAPPOINTMENT. Oh, yes L It did not make me wretched or afraid; it was easier to bear when no one knew it. Isabel, if you betray me I shall die! That became Sibyl14 one idea now concealment. The unveiling of her love had profaned it, made it an absurdity, a mockery something to be utterly, profoundly, and forever ashamed of. lie would despise it despis~ her for giving it; so Isabel had told her, and Isabel knew how the world and the men of the world spoke of such unsought love. Henceforward Isabel must be her screen, her safety, her adviser; and if Isabel betrayed her she should die! There was a dinner-party at the deanery that evening, consisting chiefly of the clergy and their wives, but George Lansmere was coming, and the dean had added Mr. Digby Stuart to the number of guests by an invita- tion given that morning and accepted condi- tionally. 1t is not certain that he will be able to come, said the dean, only mention- ing his impromptu invitation to Lady Anne when they assembled in the drawing-room before dinner. It is not certain that he will be able to come, but I want him to meet Danversthey were both Christchurch men, and of the same year. Danversthe Rev- erend Canon Danverswas the canon newly come into residence, and also newly come into office; a stranger te Hillminster, but not to the diocese; a widower with two boys, and considerable privtite means independent of the emoluments of his positiona great ac- quisition in every way to the society of a Ca- thedral town. Sibyl heard the deans announcement with a shudder; she turned hot, then cold, then glanced timidly towards Isabel, who was look- ing away from her, and making conversation with her sister over a new song. Presently the company began to arrive, George Lans- mere as usual being the earliest. The young officer had not made satisfactory progress with Sibyl since the day of the drive to Al- verston, and was sometimes almost like to be disheartened over his prospects. She was very uncertain; one day sweet and summery, the next, shy, impatient, or repellent. He had opened his mind to Lady Mary, who had exhorted him to have patience, and had pri- vately lectured Sibyl on her capriciousness, and at this point they continued stationary; Georges reflection being I dont think she cares for me, she has a fancy for some one else; and her mothers equally grave and anxious, I cannot understand why Sibyldoes not take to George, unless she has conceived a secret attachment to some otlft~r person. Mr. Digby Stuart did come, but not until he had been waited for ten minutes, and, while apologizing to Lady Anne Vernon for his tardiness, he continued to hold in his hand a spray of beautiful white flowers, very rare and choice, and of exquisite perfume, which he presently offered to Sibyl. It is the first bloom, said he. You wished to see it in flower, if you recollect; and I promised you the earliest branch that came out in perfection. Sibyl blushed, and accepted it with shy eagerness which escaped notice then, but which was pitifully remem- bered later; and in spite of all the foregone miseries and humiliations of the day, she felt inexpressibly happy until she caught Isabel watching her with cold eyes of scorn. De- lirious little fool! Isabel thought, and her glance expressed her thought. She hated Sibyl vehemently, actively, at that instant, for her childish elation; and Sibyl, shrink- ing within herself again under her freezing contempt, felt all her temporarily vanished distrust return. As luck or rn-luck would have it, Sibyls place at dinner was between Mr. Digby Stu- art and the new canon, and Labels place was opposite, between George Lausmere and a fat old married rector, very loquacious and fond of his jest. The natural consequences ensued. When the ladies returned to the drawing- room, Sibyl was pleasantly excited, and Isa- bel was dull, tired, and cross. Then again, in the drawing-room, Sibyls gift, which her mother tenderly insisted on fixing in her hair, became a nucleus o.f conversation which ranged away to Alvertson itself, coming round ever and again to that spray of white blossoms. What a fuss about a flower! said Isabel; it was to be seen at Kew three years ago. She.~demolished the nov- elty of the flower; but she suggested to one or two commonplace minds then present that she was jealous of the distinction Mr. Digby Stuart had conferred on her pretty cousin. That night, when the guests dispersed, Sibyl went straight to her mothers room. She would have given much to have her secret all to herself again; for she was afraid of Isabel. She took the white flower from her hair, and put it into a glass of water, 86 first touching the sweet blossoms tenderly with her lips; a happy gleam passed over her face as she indulged in this caress, hut it soon vanished, and the weary sadness that suc- ceeded it was very pathetic. She knelt so long at her prayers that Lady Mary, at ease in her mind, tired and comfortable, fell fast asleep on her pillow, and only awoke in the dead of the night to hear Sibyl shuddering and sobbing in her dreams, and uttering broken words of piteous entreaty, the only Sense of which to her mothers ears was If you betray me, I shall die; oh, Isabel, if you betray me, I shall die! Lady Mary closed no eye again until Sibyl had been roused from her nightmare of dread, and had poured the story of her love and her grief into her mother~s breast. The following morning when Isabel met her aunt, she perceived at once that her in- terfe~ence with Sibyl was known and the manner of it strongly disapproved. She ex- pected that Lady Mary would speak to her on the ~ubject, but she did not, and then Isabel understood that it was to be left un- discussed. Sibyl was very quiet and subdued all day, and in the evening Lady Mary began to talk about carrying her off to the s~aside for a week or two before the cold autumvd winds began to blowSibyl was so fond of the sea. Isabel listened with a silent, expressive sneer, but Julia good-humoredly cxpostu- lated, saying that Lady Mary must not keep her cousin away from the October hall. I dont care for the October ball, sighed Sibyl, who would have done better not to have spoken just then. Eb, what? cried the dean. Not care for the October ballthe best ball of the year! Lady Mary, you must look after your inissykin, who expresses such unnatural sen- timents, or the next news will be that she has fallen in love at cross-purposes like the heroine in a novel! Sibyl grew scarlet, others looked confused too, and an awkward silence ensued, which was not broken until somebody proposed music. The rest of the evening passed off without inci& nt. Of course, as soon as they were in private Lady Anne Vernon asked explanation of her sisters sudden resolve; she was told that it was on Sibyls account. I think it wise to take her away from Hillminsterat any rate, for a little while;, 87 for she has conceived an attach~nent that is never likely to prosper. Unless Isabel has told you, you will hardly guess for whom, said Lady Mary. Is it Mr. Dighy Stuart? Yes. But how do you know it? The idea came into my head last night, and but for certain other circumstances I could imagine he had a predilection in her favor too. I am sure he admires her, and if he were free to marry, which from past events it is commonly supposed he is not, I would never advise you to take her out of the way. I am sorry for you, Mary; I wish she could have loved George, poor child! And then it was decided that Sibyl had better go; whether ever to return to Hill- minster or not, might be left for subsequent consideration. But she could not go for sev- eral days yet. Ladies travel with impedi- ments which cannot be packed up at a mo- ments notice, and during those several days occurred certain circumstances which, trivial as they were in themselves, tended to increase the feverish ill-feeling of Isabel. She had acted a cruel part by Sibyl in making her feel herself degraded by her secret love, and Lady Marys displeasure and resentment were evident. Then Mr. Danvers came to call, bringing his two pretty boys, and during his chat with Lady Anne Vernon, he committed them especially to Sibyls care, and they made friends with her sweet face at once. Again, each afternoon on one pretence or an- other came poor George Lansmere, like a de- mented moth fluttering round a candle-flame that is dropping low in the silver socket; and though such frequent visits were unusual, Mr. Digby Stuart was to and fro every day between llillminstcr and Alverston, and twice the dean brought him in to luncheon. Then he met Lady Mary and Sibyl in the High Street, attended them on a shopping expedition. and conducted them home to the deanery when it was over. The next morning he dropped in at eleven oclock, and sat chatting in the little drawing-room for an hour with the girls. I dont know what to think, I never knew him do such a thing before, said Lady Anne, musingly, to her sister. If it means. anything, he will not be frustrated by your carrying Sibyl off, depend upon that. He will either follow you or xuirite. Lady Mary indulged in the pleasures of hope, too; she was very willing to believe SIJ3YL S DISAPPOINTwrR~NT. 88 what she would have liked to be true. Isa- bel looked on with jealous rage. Sibyl was almost happy, almost herself again, during those final days at the deanery; her child- like love was easily fed and satisfied. You are in a state of beatitude now; take care, or you will have to repent it in dust and ashes! said Isabel to her, with a vicious glance and a tone of anything but blessing. 0 Isabel, how you do hate me! was Sibyls indignant rejoinder. This was on the last night of their being tocrether. The next morning Isabel went out at a quarter before tcn to minster prayers, and during her absence Lady Mary Rivers and her daughter left. The cousins thus parted without good-byes. Neither had good- by been said to Mr. Digby Stuart. He does not know where we are going, does he, mamma? Sibyl asked on their way to the station. No, darling! he is not aware of our leaving Hillminster, unless you have told him. I have not told him, mamma. If he wishes to know he can find out by inquiring at the deanery. Aunt Anne has our address. The same evening Lady Mary Rivers and Sibyl were at home in their pleasant lodgings at Scarbro. Two days passed over without incident, bright September days, sunny in fading woods, sunny on lake-like sea. On the third night the wind changed and blew for a storm. On the third morning a heap of letters was brought in b, the landlady and ranged on the breakfast-table. When Lady Mary Rivers came down-stairs with Sibyl, she took them all in her hand, looked them over, and tossed one lightly across to her daughter, saying: From your Cousin Isabel; and then with a half-sigh of disappointed expectation opened another from Lady Anne Vernon, and plunged into its closely written pages, where she found enough to interest her, and take her attention entirely away from Sibyl, until she heard her cry in a voice of thrilling delight, Mamma, mamma! when, look- ing round, she saw her clutching her letter to her bosom, while her face grew rosy with blushes and her eyes glistened through tears of unutterable joy. SIBYLS DISAPPOINTMENT. What is it, my own darling? Sibyl came and knelt down by her mother, and put the letter into her hands. My happy child, my fortunate child! murmured Lady Mary as she read it. My happy child, my fortunate child! How shall I thank heaven enough for sparing you the anguish of a wasted love? The letter was a proposal of marriage to Sibyl from Mr. Dighy Stuart, couched in al- most romantically tender terms; full of affectionate enthusiasm and professions of unalterable fidelitya lovers letter to a girl of whose responsive love he entertains not the slightest doubt; a little reproachful now and then that she should have left Hillminster without warning him; but only reproachful as by right. Lady Mary remembered her Irish subaltern and her own courting days as her eye ran swiftly along the sweet, fey- vent lines, and blessed God who had given her darling such a joyful lot when she seemed to be hanging on the brink of a womans sorest tragedy. It was a morning of quite delirious happiness for them both. Outside the rain lashed vehemently, the wind ravened, the sea was churned into yeasty mountains of foam; but indoora hope and love reigned su- preme. Sibyl must answer her letter, and she needed no teaching how; her heart bade her respond to it with honest joy, and Lady Mary could not find ft in hers to curb the sweet utterance of such pure and fond af- fection. So the letter was written and sent, Sibyl carrying it to the post herself through the blustering storm, and her mother, after a gentle, ineffectual remonstrance, accompa- nying her. By night she seemed to have lived half a life since the blissful morning, and by night she was a little weary; glad to lie by the fire and dream silently over her glorious happi- ness. Lady Mary watched her with tender satisfaction, and suffered her to rest a long while us~disturbed; but at length she asked, By-the-by, Sibyl, what news had you from your Cousin Isabel? I did not remember to inquire before. I had no letter from Cousin Isabel; I had no letter but this. This was warmly hidden somewhere in the bosom of her dress. Indeed! the address struck me as being like her hand: she does write a bold hand like a mans. Sibyl drew out the precious document to SIBYLS DISAPPOINTMENT. consider it, and took the opportunity of re- perusing it down to the last dear word. By that time she had forgotten her Cousin Isabel and all about her; and with a kiss on the signature, and a sigh of intense joy, she re- stored it to its safe hiding-place, and fell into another delicious reverie. All that night the winds heat and the tom- pest raged. Wrecks, broken wrecks, drifted in upon the strand, and still the gale gath- ered and grew until the morning. It has been an awful night, said Lady Mary; and it is an awful morning. God have pity on all poor souls at sea! She was standing at the window, gazing out on the writhing trees and shrubs of the cliff- gardens, and Sibyl stood by her with hand and chin resting on her mothers shoulder. Lady Mary, turning round by-and-by from her dreary contemplation, saw tears standing in her childs eyes, and asked, with sudden anxiety, what ailed her darling. I dont know, mamma, but I have had such cruel dreams. I cannot recall them, but I feel the pain, the dreadful pain and oppression of them yet, was the grievous reply; and then the brimming tears over- flowed and fell. Lady Mary did not try to rally Sibyl out of her weeping mood; a strange sense of trouble impending took possession of herself. She endeavored to reason it down, and to think this depression was a simple conse- quence of yesterdays excitement; but do what she would, or say what she would, her feeling of uneasiness increased. She had a presentiment, as people say, that something was going to happen. If it were fit weather we would walk on the cliff and get these cobwebs hlown out of our brains, said she, as they sat down to breakfast. how the blast howls in the chimney! I never heard it howl as it howls here. So Lady Mary fancied; hut the storm that was ragin~, over Searbro was raging all over the county, and all over the kingdom. Through the windy towers of Hillminster and through the creaking fir-woods at Alver- ston howled the blasts, with the same hoarse triumph as they howled round about the house by the sea, where she and Sibyl sat watching the livelong day. At Hillminster all went on in the regular routine; at Alverston the master came down- stairs in the morning quietly non-expectant, like a man who has little to hope and little to fear, either from the world within or the world without. The post-hag lay on the table, hut he went first to the window and scanned the weather, noted how the great trees swayed and bent before the long rush of the storm, then rose erect and tossed their wild hair, as if in frantic defiance of their tormentors. The entrance of a servant bringing inbreak- fast caused him to relinquish his survey; and before seating himself at the well-spread ta- ble he unlocked the bag and drew forth its contentsThe Times, the Quarterly Revi and a dozen or more letters, amongst them Sibyls, conspicuous in its delicate, blush- tinted envelope. It was so different from the rest that Mr. Digby Stuart naturally singled it out paused a nioment over the unfamiliar writing, and then broke the seal. The ser- vant had quitted the room, and he was alone ~fortunately alone. As he rbad the first few lines a feeling of utter bewilderment came over him: he turned the page to look at the signature, and then a dark flush suffused his face, which deepened and deepened as the sense of the letter forced itself on his under- standin0, until no girl ever showed more cowed with shame and confusion than did he. What an infamous jest! was his low- spoken comment. Wtat a cruel, infamous jest! Mr. Digby Stuart was not a vain man, but he knew at once this letter was no for.,ery; it was the naive, happy response of an inno- cent girl to some base fabrication that had been hut too successfully imposed upon her in his name. If he had been her mother he could not have felt more indignant and more pitying. Not a grain of contempt mingled with wrath. If it lay with me only to pre- vent it, she should never know what a wicked trick has been played upon her. She is a good little thing. It was such a pleasure to look at her blithe face, to listen to her blithe tongue! He was about to take up the letter and read it again, but he checked himself What can I do? what ought I to do? groaned he. It is some woman, some malicious, bad woman who hates her, that has done it. He sat a long while con- sidering, his breakfast untouched, his other letters unopened; and the Ion 6er he consid- ered, the more painful and perilous appeared the way out of this atrocious dilemma. Ill 89 SIBYLS DISAPPOINTMENT. ride over to Hiliminster, and consult Jessie; I must prevail on her to undertake it. I dare not face Lady Mary; and as for this child, he paused, with an exclamation of intolerable compassion and rage, his hand on the letter containing her fond confession, her innocent, joyous reciprocation of all the tender things said to her in the fictitious epistle which she had received as from himself. lie rang the bell, and gave orders to have his horse sad- dled and brought round to the door within ten minutes; and at the end of that time he was mounted and galloping away to 11111mm- ster, through the driving rain. Sir Jasper Raymonds house was in the Close, not far from the deanery, and Mr. Digby Stuarts appearance there before ten o clock in such inclement weather gave rise to some speculations amongst the inmates of other stately dwellings about the minster, who happened at thathour to be taking note of what was passing out of doors. He dis- mounted, drenched and dripping, and, asking for Lady Raymond, was ushered into the li- brary. where she joined him almost imme- diately. Jessie, I want your help, said he, ad- vancing to meet her as she entered. It is always at your service, Philip; what is your present need? Sit down, pray; you look ill. Some person has played off a sorry jest upon Lady Mary Rivers daughter and my- self. I hardly know how to tell even you, Jessie, it is so cruelly mortifying: and I am at my wits end how to act. Sibyl has writ- ten me a dear little letter in answer to one she believes me to have written to her, of which, God knows, I never thought or penned a line. It is Isabel Vernon, said Lady Ray- mond. Isabel Vernon! 11cr own cousin! A woman who must have known the sweet, in- nocent thing she is. Yes; Isabel hates Sibyl only her own bitter heart can tell why and this is her shameful revenge. The poor girl betrayed her secret to me early; and Isabels sharp eyes spied it out a week ago. Let me see Sibyls letter, then I can advise you better what steps to take. Mr. Dighy Stuart gave it reluctantly, but hedid give it; and as Lady Raymond read it, womanly tears glittered in her eyes. 11cr sole comment, as she came to the conclusion, was If you were free, Philip, I would bid you make her your wife; you could not have a. dearer or a better. But I am not free, was his response. You were kind to her; I observed that you liked to be near her, listening to her songs and her prattle. Yes, yes; I am conscious of it now. She pleased rsethere can be no blame attached to her. Many a man has offered marriage to a woman, and been accepted on slighter grounds than I gave her. But, Jessie, it is not to excuse her I am here now she needs no excuse to me of all the world. It is to entreat you to be my mediator; to en- treat you to see Lady Mary, and explain the cruel jest that has been played upon the child. If any sacrifice within my power could spare it to them I would make it, but I am fast bound hand and foot. Lady Raymond was frightei~ed at his prop- osition. Would it not be easier to compel Isabel Vernon to write, and own to her wicked mischief? suggested she. Easier for us, certainly, but not for Sibyl or her mother. You have kind ways, Jessie; if any one can soften the pain of wounded love and pride, you can. Let me burn her poor little letter; it is sacred as a surprised secret of life and death. He took a few per- fumed twigs from a spill-case on the chim- ney, lighted them at the fire, and held the letter in the flame, until it shrunk into tin2 dery film, and fluttered down upon the ashes of the hearth. Youwish me to go to them, and to-day? said Lady Raymond. Yes, Jessie, I am requiring a hard thing of you! My heart aches for Sibyl, Philip; have I not known the sorrow? but mine was the sorrow without the cruel shame that will em- bitter hers. I know not how she will bear it, for she is as proud and pure as she is pas- sionate and tender. Isabel Vernon has one plea for her basenessshe does not know what love means. No woman who has ever loved could have played this sorry jest in such deadly earnest. Isabel Vernons part can wait. You will go to Sibyl and Lady Mary? Yes. Sir Jasper is not ailing much this morning; you must keep him company in my absence, and explain as far as needs. If I 90 prepare now, T can start by the noon train which reaches Scarbro about five. God bless you, Jessie! you are a good woman. Trouble has made you very piti- ful? They shook hands on it, trusty friends now, who had been lovers once, and in half an hour Lady Raymond was on her way. At Scarbro the hours had been strangely long with Sibyl and her mother; and nei- ther had done much to occupy them. Sibyl watched the rain, and the trees, and the sea, with folded hands on her lap and frequent sighs. When it began to darken, Lady Mary bade her come away from the window to the fireside; but she either did not heed or did not hear, for she was still cowering within the curtains when the maid arrived to close them, and brought in lights. The room-door was left ajar while the young woman per- formed her duties, and during that moment a voice was heard on the stairs which caused Sibyl to start to her feet and cry: It is LadyRaymond. Why does she come here? Her mother had no time to answer before Lady Raymond entered with an ineffectual pretence of ease which she soon dropped. She kissed Sibyl, who stood on the spot where she had risen and made no advance to greet her, and then seated herself beside Lady Mary, keeping fast hold of her tremulous hand. Tell us, whispered the mother faintly, glancing towards her daughter. I guess, but tell us quicklyY Lady Mary, that love-letter Sibyl replied to yesterday was not written by Mr. Digby Stuart, but by her cousin Isabel Vernon, answered Lady Raymond, forcing out the words with a choking sensation. She could not have added another syllable to soften them if her own life had depended on it, and for the next five minutes there was not a sound ia the room. Lady Mary-was the first to break the silence. Where is that letter, Sibyl? Let us show it to Lady Raymond, was what she said. Sibyl neithermoved nor spoke. My darling, give me the letter, repeated her mother, rising and going to her. Still Sibyl was mute and motionless, Her mother took it put of her bosom; she neither resisted nor uttered a word. Her mother kissed her cooingly as she would have kissed a baby, but she imi~,ht as well have kissed a face of stone. What 91 is it? What ails her, Lady Raymond? stammered she, greatly alarmed. It must be the shock; let us lay her down: when she gets leave to cry she will be better. So they laid her down, and where they laid her there she remained, never clos- ing eye or moving limb or lip, suddenly stricken as by a total suspension of every sense, every faculty. They watched by her the night through, and there was no change. They watched by her till the morning, and there was no change. They watched by her through the sunny autumnal day that came after the storm, and there was no change when the sun went down; there was no change any more on earth in the breathing statue that had been instinct once with youth and joyous love, and all the hopes of life in blossom-time. And how did it all end? This is a true tale, and therefore it can have po end in par- ticular; no neat tying up of loose tags; no decisive sentences of moral or poetical justice. I did it in jest. I never expected the letterwould deceive her or Aunt Mary either, was Isabel Vernons quivering defence when her work was brought home to her. Good-. natured persons gave her the benefit of the doubt. Sibyl survived several years. Many expe- dients were devised to rouse her; cruel cx- pedients they may seem to us. For a little while she was parted from her mother, and during that period Mr. Digby Stuart and her Cousin Isabel were introduced into her pres- ence, with some vague hope that the sight of them might break the spell that held fast- bound her powers of volition. All in vain. They were alike to her; him she had loved, and the woman who had done worse than slain her! Isabel disguised herself carefully in her dread of recognition ; she need not have dreaded it; Sibyl did not know her own mother. After a time, professional treatment fail- ing, and the poor soul being quite harmless, Lady Mary took her home again, and they lived in an old-fashioned house, iiclosed in a walled garden, in one of the quiet suburbs of Hillminster. George Lansmere once begged to be allowed to see her. Why give your- self the pain, my dear boy? Lady 1~Iary said. She will not remember you, nor will SIBYL S DISAPPOINTMEMT. SIBYLS DISAPPOINTMENT. you remember her. But he did; he saw sweet Sibyl still in that passive figure sitting in the sun, burnt-brown her face as a glean- ers in the harvest-fields, with short rusted hair, and wide pathetic eyes, in which there was no expression but the expression of an animal, wounded, and in desperate pain. Whether she really suffered I cannot tell. Lady Mary long entertained hopes of her res- toration; and when friends asked after her daughter, which they did often because it gratified her to know her darling was not for- gotten, her usual reply was that she fancied she was a little clearer, a little brighter. She had been in this state nearly seven years, when one Sunday morningEaster-day morning it wasLady Raymond was sum- moned from her pillow an hour before dawn, by a message from the old-fashioned house in the suburb. Through the still streets, crc the world was awake; she hurried; and when she entered the garden, where the first sun- rays were gleaming, and the birds were all a-twitter, Lady Mary met hermet her al- most cheerfully. Too late! you are too late, love; she is gone. It has pleased the good God to take her, said she; then reply- ing to a felt but unspoken inquiry, she added, No; she did not know menot even at the last. But she will know me in heaven, she will know me again in heaven! Sir Jasper Raymond died in the autumn of the sameyear as Sibyl ,and then the gossips be- gan to say again that Mr. Digby Stuart would marry the widow; but he did not. VllIiy, remained still their secret. It was not until nearly ten years after the holy Easter morning when Death came with his merciful order of release to Sibyl, that they were privately mar- ried in London. They were then no longer young, but Jessie was always a sweet andloving woman; they married as soon as he was free free from what or from whom is matter of speculation to the general community of lull- minster still. But Lady Anne Vernon, and one or two others of Mrs. Digby Stuarts nearest and dearest friends, know now that their long separation was due to an old, old folly of his boyhood, when he was deluded into a secret marriage in Paris with a beautiful white witch of a woman who shortly left him, and would afterwards neither live with him nor die to release him. She set up her tent in Rome, and held there a semi-vagabond court of all nations, maintained in part by his lib- eral allowance, but chiefly by the contribu- tions levied on her train of Platonic admirers, artist folk, gamblers, and the like. She called herself by a picturesque title, and was eccen- tric rather than bad. Julia Vernon married Mr. Danvers. She has no children of her own, but she is an excellent mother to his. Isabel also marriedwell as to rank and fortune, very meanly as to mate. She also is childless, and on the face of her, she is an unhappy, dissatisfied woman, whom few per- sons loveshe herself loving few or none. The dean is dead, and Lady Anne lives with her sister Lady Mary, in the old-fash- ioned house in the suburb. George Lansmere is lieutenant-colonel now by promotion won in the field of battle. He wears many decorations, a.niongst others the Cross of Valor~, and a bit of glory in an ugly sword cut across the left cheek and temple. He is still a bachelor, and his own mother being long since dead, he calls Lady Mary mother; when he has a few days leave to spare he goes home to her like a son. This is all the end I have to tell to this story of a sorry jest played out in earnest. The Many Mansions in the House of the body. He believes, moreover, that angels are Father, Scripturally Discussed and Practical- like man, and are spirits combined with matter; ly Considered. By G. S. Faber, B. D. Brown and that the Place of what he calls Penal & Co. Pp. 456.This thick volume is inscribed Confinement is in the bowels of the earth, while to the late Archbishop of Canterbury, and con- the Intermediate State (which he by no means tains a prefatory memoir of the author by Vrancis confounds with Purgatory) is immediately un- A. Faber, B. D. The writer believes the heav- der the surface of the earth. In support of enly bodies to be The Many Mansions, and these and kindred views he brings erudition and that heaven will be the Earth renewed, and not scriptural and church authority, and he argues a moral but a material heaven, as after the out his case very calmly.Re der. Resurrection we shall exist in a solid material 92 TWO YEARS HENCE. From The ilichinond Inquirer, 12 June. TWO YEARS HENCE. IN two years, as many persons hope, we may possibly have peace that is, always provided we continue to repulse and defeat the invading enemy. The Yankee Democ- racy is certainly rousing itself, and prepar- ing for a new struggle (at the ballot-box) in the great cause of the spoils, or, as they call it, the cause of Constitutional Liberty. Those Democrats are evideAtly beginning to raise a Peace platform for their ne t Presi den- tial election: and if they have the good luck to be helped on and sustained by more and more serious disasters of the Yankee army in thd field, there is no doubt that the present devourers of the said spoils at Washington may soon be so discredited and decried that our enemys country would be ripe for such peace- ful ballot-box revolution. It is sincerely to be hoped that those ear- nest champions of constitutional freedom will he helped on and sustained in the manner they requirenamely, by continued and severe reverses in the field; and it is the first and most urgent duty of our countrymen so to help and sustain that Democratic party. It is nothing to us which of their factions may devour their spoils; just as little does it signify to s whether they recover or do not recover that constitutional liberty which they so wantonly threw away in the mad pursuit of Southern conquest and plunder. But it is of the utmost importance to us to aid in stimu- lating disaffection among Yankees against their own Government, and in demoralizing and dis- integrating society in that God-abandoned coun- try. We can do this only in one way namely, by thrashin~ their armies and carry- ing the war to their own firesides. Then, indeed, conscientious constitutional principles will hold sway; peace platforms will look at- tractive; arbitraryarrests will become odious, and habeas corpus be quoted at a premium. This is the only way we can help them. In this sense, and to this extent, those Democrats are truly ou~ allies, and we shall endeavor to do our duty by them. But they evidently look for other and fur- ther help at our hands, and of quite a differ- ent sort. No doubt they are pleased for the present, with the efficient aid which the Con- 1~dcrate army is affording them. Chancel- lorsville was a God-send to them, and the tre- mendous repulse at Port Hudson is quite a 93 plank in their platform. Yet they under- stand very well that no matter how soundly their armies may b~ happily beaten; no mat- ter how completely Lincolns present war policy may be condemned by its results, yet all this will not be enough to enable the un- terrified Democracy to clutch the spoils ore as they phrase it, to restore the Constitution of their fathers. This, of itself would never give them a Peace-Democrat President and Cabinet; it would only result in another Abolitionist Administration, with a new Sec- retary of War, and a new Commander-in- Chief, and a slightly different programme for crushing the rebellion. Those Black Re- publicans are in power; after long waiting, pining~ intriguing in the cold shade of the opposition; and they have now the numeri- cal preponderance so decidedly that they both can and will hold on to the office with a clutch like death. The Democrats can do absolutely nothing without the South, as they per- sist in terming these Confederate States; and they cannot bring themselves to admit the thought that we would refuse to unite with them (as alas! ue used ta do) in a grand Universal Presidential campaign, for a Democratic Pres- ident, with a Peace platform, and the Con- stitution as it is., In fact, this whole two years war, and the two years more war which has yet to be gone through, is itself, in their eyes, only a Presidential campaign, only somewhat more vivacious than ordinary. This explains the Yallaudigham Peace Meetings in New York and New Jersey ; and the manly declarations~ of Mr. Horatio Seymour and other patriots. Do not let us forget, says Fernando Wood, writing to the Philadelphia meeting, that those who perpetrate such outrages as the arrest and banishment of Mr. Yallandi~ham, do so as necessary war measures. Let us, therefore, strike at the cause, and declare for peace and against the war. This would sound very well if the said declaring for peace could have any effect whatever in bringing about peace. If a man falling from a tower could arrest his fall by declaring against it, then the declarations of Democrats against the war might be of some~ avail. As it is, they resemble that emphatic pronouncement of Mr. Washington hunt: Let it be proclaimed upon the housetops, that no citizen of New York shall be arrested without process of law. There is no use in 94 bawling from the housetops what everybody knows to be nonsense. Or this resolution of the New Jersey meeting Resolved, That in the illegal seizure and banishment of the Hon. C. L. Vallandigham, the laws of our country have been outraged, the name of the United States disgraced, and the rights of every citizen menaced, and that it is now the duty of a law respecting people to demand of the Administration that it at once and forever desist from such deeds of despotism and crime. [Enthusiasm.] Demand, quotha? The starling that Mr. Sterne saw in the cage, said only I cant get out. It would have been moremanly to scream, I demand to get outI prochdm on the housetops that I will get out. Another of the New Jersey resolutions throws an instructive light upon this whole movement, and its objects. Resolved, That we renew our declaration of attachment to the Union, pledging to its friends, wherever found, our unwavering sup- port, and to its enemies, in whatever guise, our undying hostility, and that, God willing, we will stand by the Constitution and laws of our country, and under their sacred shield will maintain and defend our liberty and rights, peaceably if we can, forcibly if we must. [Great cheering.] This phrase, wherever found, implies that there are friends of the Union in this Confederacy, and the resolution obligingly pledges to them the support of the New Jer- sey Democracynot surely without an equiv- alent return. To the same meeting, Gen. Fitz John Porter writes a letter, declaring, of course, for the Constitution and resistance to despotism, and ending thus The contest of arms, however, will not ~e required; the certain and peaceful remedy will be found in the ballot-box. Let us all possess our soul in patience. The remedy is ours. Gen. Fitz John knows well thst the remedy is not theirs, unless the South consent to throw its votes into that same ballot-box; and it is for this, and this only, that the Democratic hook is baited with Peace. But in a speech of Senator Wall, of New Jer- sey, before a Democratic Club of Philadelphia (which we find printed in The Sentinel), is a passage more fully expounding the Demo- cratic plan than any other we have seen. He says TWO YEARS HENCE. Subjugation or annihilation being alike impossible, I am in favor of an immediate cessation of hostilities, for ~rn armistice, that mid the lull of the strife the heat of passion shall have time to cool, and the calm, majestic voice of reason can be heard. In the midst of such a calm I am for endeavoring to Icarn from those in arms against us what their demands may be, and inviting their co- operation in the name of a common Chris- tianity, in the name of a common humanity, to some plan of reconciliation or reconstruc- tion by which the sections many unite upon a more stable basisa plan in which the ques- tions upon which we have differed so long may be ha adjusted; and each sec tion, by virtue of the greatness developed in this war, may profit by the experience. If it shall be found that sectional opinions and prejudices are too obstinate, and the exaspe- rations of this war have burnt too deep to settle it upon the basis of reconciliation or re- construction, then I know that separation and reconstruction are inevitable. Here is the whole plan: an armistice, and then inviting our co-operation. During that armistice they hope that the calm, majestic voice of reason and a common Christianity might do something consider- able. The game, as they calculate, would then be on the board, with stakes so tempt ing! Mr. Wall would endeavor to learn from us what our demands are. Anything in reason he would be prepared to grant us: but if we replied, our demands are, that you bring away your troops from every inch of our soil, that you leave the Border States free to decide on their own destiny, that you evacuate all our forts and towns which you now hold, and make us rid of you and the whole breed of you forever, then Mr. Wall would exclaim, What, do you call that the calm, majestic voice of reason? is that your common Christianity? He would say, when I spoke of the calm majestic, etc., I meant the spoils; when I said a common Chris- tianity, I meant money. Let us talk ration- allyhow much common Christianity will you take? In vain is a net spread in the sight of any bird. We are ware of them; and we will watch them well, and the friends of the Union, wheresoever found. Our views go a little further than theirswe hope to so dis- organize and disintegrate society in their coun- try that they will rush into armed revolution and anarchy. We spit upon their 6allot-boz. SONGS IN TH~ NIGHT. We care not what they demand in res- olutions, nor what helpless trash they pro- claim on the housetops. We do not believe in their power to attain so much as an armis- tice for two years to come. If an armistice, indeed, were offered, and the invading troops were withdrawn, of course we should not ob- ject to it, and good use could be made of it. But, mark well, ye armistice mongers! Dur- ing that suspension of hostilities all negotia- tions must be between government and gov- ernment. Our lines should be more strictly guarded than ever. No negotiations or fra- ternization of parties by public meetings or private conferences; no bargaining with the calm voice of reason; no secret pocketing of Walls Common Christianity. But armistice there will be none, and we are glad of it. Our sovereign independence is already won and paid for with treasures of brave blood. It shall not be sold by pedlers, to be built into a Yankee platform. From The Athenisum. Songs in the Night. A Collection of verses by the late Grace Dickinson. Wertheim & Co. THESE are songs in the night in sad verity! sung by a poor bed-ridden woman in a union workhouse. The description of the circum- stances under which they were sung is touch- ing indeedone of those pathetic facts of life which beat the best fictions of literature. Grace Dickinson became an inmate of the Halifax workhouse in consequence of being in a decline; and it was there she wrote this collection of verse. At first she jotted her thoughts down on a slatelater she was un- able to do this; but curiously enough she had learnt the deaf and dumb alphabet on pur- pose to converse with a poor deaf and dumb workhouse companion, and when she could not sit up in bed to hold her pencil, she dic- tated her verses to her mute amanuensis. Books have been composed under many sin- gular conditions, but these we look upon as among the most singular and interesting. The chaplain of the Halifax union workhouse vouches for the verses being a genuine ex- pression of the writers religious feelings, and as such they give us one more proof that many and many a jewel of God gets trampled and darkened in the mire of this world that shall one day shine very brightly in its heav- enly setting. They also suggest the thought that men in the. position of workhouse chap- lains may do a world of good and be great comforters to suffering souls who are let out of life by that grimmest door of death, the paupers grave. Blessings be upon all who in this way are true to the Masters word! Several of the pieces in this little book may fairly claim a place in collections of hymns, as the following characteristic specimen will show My lot on earth is poor and mean, My circumstances sad indeed; But Jesus cheers the dreary scene: He meets me in my greatest need. He smiles on me though some may turn, He pities failings none can see; He. welcomes me, whoeer may spurn: How kind my Jesus is to me! He comforts and he succors me; He teaches me to look above, Beyond this life and its rough sea, To yonder land of rest and love. He hushes all my passions still, He makes the storm become a calm, Brings sweet submission to his will, And holds me with his mighty arm. He makes the curse a blessing prove; He turns my sorrow into joy He teaches this bard heart to love, And make His praises my employ. He turns my darkness into light, He makes this earth become a heaven~ Gives inward peuce midst outward fright: All glory to His name be given. The piety is better than the poetrysuch is often the case with hymns; and, apart from the literary estimate, the little book deserved publication for the facts which it contains. There must be many kind hearts that will be touched by the story to put forth a helping hand; for it appears that when poor Grace Dickinson fell worn out at the workhouse- door she had with her a burden oCtwo chil- dren. These she had toiled hard for during eighteen months of widowhood, and failed at last. These are still living in the workhouse. The book is printed in their behalf; and the dying mother would undoubtedly have thought her verses had won ample fame if she had known that they would be of service to her little ones, as we trust they may be. 95 SPRING AT THE CAPITAL. SPRING AT THE CAPITAL THE poplar drops beside the way Its tasselled plumes of silver-gray; The chestnut pouts its great brown buds, impa- tient for the laggard May. The honeysuckles lace the wall; The hyacinths grow fair and tall; And mellow sun and pleasant wind and odorous bees are over all. Down-looking in this snow-white bud, How distant seems the wars red flood How far remote tbe streaming wounds, the sick- ening scent of human blood! For Nature does not recognize This strife that rends the earth and skies No war-dreams vex the winter sleep of clover- heads and daisy-eyes. She holds her even way the same, Though navies sink or cities flame A snow-drop is a snow-drop still, despite the na- tions joy or shame. When blood her grassy altar wets, She sends the pitying violets To heal the outrage with their bloom, and cover it with soft regrets. o crocuses with rain-wet eyes! o tender-lipped anemones! What do ye know of a~oay and death and blood- won victories? No shudder breaks your sunshine trance, Though near you rolls, with slow advance, Clouding your shining leaves with dust, the an- guish-laden ambulance. Yonder a white encampment hums The clash of martial music comes; And now your startled stems arc all atremble with the jar of drums. Whether it lessen or increase, Or whether trumpets shout or cease, Still deep within your tranquil hearts the happy bees are murmuring Peace! O flowers! the soul that faints or grieves New comfort from your lips receives; Sweet confidence and patient faith are hidden in your healing leaves. Help us to trust, still on and on, That this dark night will soon be gone, And that these battle-stains are but the blood-red trouble of the dawn Dawn of a broader, whiter day Than ever blessed us with its ray A dawn beneath whose purer light all guilt and wrong shall fade away. Then shall our nation break its bands, And, silencing the envious lands, Stand in the searching light unshamed, with spotless robe, and clean, white hands. .dtlcrntic .Monthly. OUT IN THE COLD. sv aucv LAHcoM. WHAT is the threat! Leave her out in the cold? Loyal New England, too loyally bold: Hater of treason !ah, that is her crime Lover of freedom, too true for her time. Out in the cold? oh, she chooses the place, Rather than share in a sheltered disgrace, Rather than sit at ~ cannibal feast, Rather thanmate with the blood-reeking beast. Leave out New England? and what will she do, Stormy-browed sisters, forsaken by you? Sit on her Rook, her desertion to weep? Or, like a Sappho, plunge thence in the deep? No; our New England can put on no airs; Nothing will change the calm look that she wears. Lifes a rough lesson, she learned from the first, Up into wisdom through poverty nursed. Not more distinct on his tables of stone Was the grand writing to Moses made known, Than is engraven in letters of light On her foundations the One Law of Right. She is a Christian ; she smothers her ire, Trims up the candle, and stirs the hone fire, Thinking and working and waiting the day When her wild sisters shall leave their mad play. Out in the cold, where the free winds are blowing, Out in the cold, where the strong oaks are grow- ing, Guards she all growths that arc living and great; Growths to rebuild every tottering State. 4 Notions~ worth heeding to shape she has wrought, Lifted and fixed on the granite of thought; What she has done may the wide world behold; What she is doing, too, out in the cold. Out in the cold! she is glad to be there, Breathing the northwind, the clear healthful air, Saved from the hurricane passions that rend Hearts that once named her a sister and friend. There she will stay while they bluster and foam, Planning their comfort when they shsll come home, Building the Union an adamant wall, Freedom-cemented, that never can fall. Freedom, dear-bought with the blood of her sons; See the red current! right nobly it runs! Life of her life is not too much to give For the dear nation she taught how to live. Vainly they shout to you, sturdy Northwest; Tis her own heart that beats warm in your breast; Sisters in nature as well as in name, Sisters in loyalty, true to that claim. Freedom yourbreath is,O broad-shoulderedNorth! Turn from the subtle miasma gone forth Out of the South land, fiom Slaverys fen, Battening demons, but poisoning men. Still on your Rock, my New England, sit sure, Keeping the air for the great country pure. There you the wayward ones yet shall enfold; There they will come to you out in the cold. Taunton Gazette. 96

THE LIVING AGE. No. 998. 18 July, 1863. CONTENTS: 1. The Primeval Forests of the Amazons, 2. Christmas Evans,. . 3. De iRossis Ancient Inscriptions, 4. Fools and Knaves, . 5. Mormonism in Wales, 6. llorsebaek in Mantchu Tartary, 7. Marie-Antoinette, . 8. The Confederate Evangel, 9. Results of French Elections, 10. Poland, . . - New Monthly Magazine, - Good Words, Saturday Review, - Examiner, - Spectator, - Saturday Review, - Spectator, - Saturday Review, PoETRY.Little Charley, 98. The Sunken City, 98. May, 98. Archery at Sydenham, 143. The Stagnant Pool, 143. Crinoliniana, 144. Spring, 144. SHORT ARTTCLES.The Sunday Question, 123. Pheebus Apollos Complaint, 131. Mr. Buckle as a Talker, 134. The Great Stone Book of Nature, 142. Novel Mode of Lighting a Church, 142. PUBLISHED EVERY SATURDAY BY LITTELL, SON & CO., BOSTON. For Six Dollars a year, in advance, remitted dsrectly to the Publishers, the Lcvne~ AGE will be punctually forwarded free of postage. Complete sets of the First Series, in thirty-six volumes, and of the Second Series, in twenty volumes, handsomely hound, packed in neat boxes, and delivered in all the principal cities, free of expense of freight, are for sale at two dollars a volosne. ANY VOLUME may he 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 com- plete any broken volumes they may have, and thus greatly enhance their value. PAGE 99 114 120 122 124 128 132 135 138 140 LITTLE CHARLEY.THE SUNKEN CITY. LITTLE CIJARLEY. 0 SUNSHINE, making golden spots Upon the carpet at my feet, The shadows of the coming flowers; The phantoms of forget-me-nots And roses red and sweet! How can ye seem so full of joy, And we so sad at heart, and sore? Angel of Death, again thy wings Are folded at our door! We can but yearn throngh len~th of days, For something lost we fancied ours; Well miss the darling when the Spring has touched the world to flowers. For thou wast like that dainty month, Which streams the violet at its feet Thy life was slips of golden sun, And silver tear-drops braided sweet, And thou wast light, and thou wast shade And thine were sweet, capricious ways; Now lost in purple languors, now No bird in ripe-red Summer days Were half so wild as thou! O little Presence! Everywhere We find some touching trace of thee! A pencil mark upon the wall That naughty hands made thoughtlessly And broken toys around the house, Where he has loft them they have lain, Waiting for little busy hands That will not come again Will never come again, Within the shrouded room below He lies a-cold ; and yet we know It is not Charley there; It is not Chancy cold and white, It is the robe that in his flight He ~ently laid aside. Our darhin., hath not died! O rare pale lip! 0 clouded eyes O violet eycs grown dim! Ah, well this little lock of hair Is all of him. Is all of him that we can keep For loving kisses, and the thought Of him and death may teach us more Than all our life hath tan~ht! God walking over starry spheres, Doth clasp his tiny hand, And leads him through a fall of tears, Into the Mystic Land Angel of Death! We question not Who asks of Heaven, Why doth it rain? Angel, we bless thee, for thy kiss Hath hushed the lips of Pain! No, Wherefore? or To what good end?~ Shall out of doubt and anguish creep Into our thoughts ; we bow our heads. He giveth his beloved sleep! T. B. Aldrich. THE SUNKEN CITY. By day it lies hidden and lurks beneath The ripples that laugh with light But calmly and clearly and coldly as death, It glooms into shape by night, When none but tke awful heavens and me Can look on the City thats sunk in the Sea. Many a castle I built in the air; Towers that gleamed in the sun; Spires that soared so stately and fair They touched heaven every one, Lie under the waters that mournfully Closed over the City thats sunk in the Sea. Many fine houses, but never a home; Windows, and no live fhce! Doors set wide where no beating hearts come; No voice is heard in the place: It sleeps in the arms of Eternity The silent City thafs sunk in the Sea. There the face of my dead love lies, Embalmed in the bitterest tears No breath on the lips! no smile in the eyes, Though you watched for years and years; And the dear drowned eyes never close from me, Looking up from the City thats sunk in the Sea. Two of the bonniest Birds of God That ever warmed human heart For a nest, till they fluttered their wings abroad, Lie there in their chambers apart, Dead! yet pleading most piteously In the lonesome City thats sunk in the Sea. And oh, the brave ventures there lying in wreck, Dark on that shoreof the Lost Gone down, with every hope on deck, When all-sail for a glorious coast. And the waves go sparklin~ splendidly Over the City thats sunk in the Sea. Then I look from my City thats sunk in the Sea, To that Star-Chamber overhead And torturingly they question me What of this world of the dead That lies out ofsight, and how will it be With the City and thee, when theres no more sea? All the Year Round. MAY. THE wet leaves flap, the sad boughs sway; The Spring is dead, and her child May May, who fed the nestling bird May, who sang at every word May, who turned the dew to wine May, who bade the sun to shine May, who gave us skies of blue May, who brought the cuckoo too May, who gave the sunbeams power May, who sent the hawthorn flower May, who buds with soft rain fed May, the Springs dear child, is dead. Chamberss Journal. 98 A THE PRIMEVAL FORESTS OF THE AMAZONS. From The New Monthly Magazine. THE PRIMEVAL FORESTS OF THE AMAZONS.* THE boundless forest district which, in the torrid zone of South America, connects the river basins of the Orinoco and the Amazon is, undoubtedly, one of the wonders of the world. This region deserves, according to IDe Humboldt, to be called a Primeval, or Virgin Forest, in the strictest sense of the word. If every wild forest, densely covered with trees, on which man has never laid his destroying hand, is to be regarded as a prim- itive forest, then, argues that great natural- ist, the phenomenon is common to many parts both of the temperate and the frigid zones; if, however, this character consists in its im- penetrability, primitive forests belong exclu- sively to tropical regions. ( Views of Na- ture, Bohns ed., p. 193.) This is the view entertained of a primeval forest by one of the great authorities on the subject one who, of all old investigators, Bonpiand, Martins, Poppig, and the Schom- burgs, and before the time of Wallace and Bates, had spent the longest period of time in primeval forests in the interior of a great continent. Although we prefer to use the term in its simplest and accepted sense, of a forest with which mans toil has had noth- ing to do, we may add, that in Humboldts somewhat arbitrary definition as to its im- penetrability, that this is by no means, as is often erroneously supposed in Europe, always occasioned by the interlaced climbing lianas, or creeping plants, for these often constitut~c but a very small portion of the underwood. The chief obstacles are the shrub-like plants, which fill up every space between the trees in a zone where all vegetable forms have a tendency to become arborescent. In these great primeval forests man is not. In the interior of part of the new conti- nent, Humboldt says, in another work, we almost accustom ourselves to regard men as not being essential to the order of nature. The earth is loaded with plants, and nothing impedes their development. An immense layer of free mould manifests the uninter- rupted action of organic powers. The croc ~ The Naturalist on the River Amazons: a Rec- ord of Adventures, habits of Animals, Sketches of Brazilian and Indian Life, and Aspects of Nature under the Equator, during Eleven Years of Travel. By Henry Walter Bates. Two Vols. John Murray. odi~es and the boas are masters of the river; the jaguar, the peccari, the dante, and the monkeys traverse the forest without fear and without danger: there they dwell as in an ancient inheritance. In fact, just as, geo- logically speaking, the earth in the epoch of the growth of arboreal ferns in temperate cli- mates, the reign of huge and paradoxical am- phibia, and the possible predominance of a hot and humid atmosphere, charged with carbonic acid, was not prepared for man, so the great primeval forests of tropical America are in the present day in the same condition, in a certain sense, and, as yet, the habitation of the predecessor of man onlythe monkey except where clearances are effected. This aspect of animated nature, in which man is nothing, humboldt goes on to re.. mark, has something in it strange and sad. To this we reconcile ourselves with difficulty on thu ocean, and amid the sands of Africa; though in these scenes, where nothing recalls to mind our fields, our woods, and our streams, we arc less astonished at the vast solitude through which we pass. here, in a fertile country adorned with eternal verdure, we seek in vain the traces of the power of man; we seem to be transported into a wbrld dif- ferent from that which gave us birth. These impressions are so much the more powerful, in proportion as they are of longer d2ratzon. A soldier, who had spent his whole life in the missions of the Upper Oroonoko [us Dc Humboldt spells the name of the river], slept with us on the bank of the river. He was an intelligent man, who, during a calm and se- rene night, pressed me with questions on the magnitude of the stars, on the inhabitants of the moon, on a thousand subjects of which I was as ignorant as himself. Being unable by my answers to satisfy his curiosity, he said to me, in a firm tone: With respect to men, I believe there are no more above than you would have found if you had gone by land from Javita to Cassiqunire. I think I see in the stars, as here, a plain covered with grass, and a forest traversed by a river. In citing these words, I paint the impression produced by the mon~otonous aspect of those solitary ions. There is more in it, though, than appeared at the moment even to the philosophic Hum- boldt. It is the deeply humiliating sense in man that the primeval forest is not yet pre- pared to be his abode, that, except in the 99 100 THE PRIMEVAL FORESTS OF THE AMAZONS. spirit of adventure or necessity, renders it so repugnant to him. He feels that it is as yet the inheritance only of arboreal man the monkey. Another class of philosophers, like Buckle, have assigned the exceeding luxuriance of vegetation in the primeval forest as the rea- Bon why civilization cannot gain a firm footing in a region where so much of labor ~nd energy is expended in keeping down the thousands and thousands of germs of vegeta- ble life ever ready to dispute with man the possession of the soil. The expression, how- ever, is erroneous. It should have been population. There is nothing at all to prevent the highest amount of civilization dis- playing itself in Amazonia. The great riv- ers are navigableopen a tract in the forest, and it can be cultivated, and the produce elaborated by all that is most perfect in ap- pliances and machinery but the energetic vegetation opposes itself to the more humble settler, and hence it acts as a bar upon the spread of population, not of civilizationsim- ply as such. The first great feature of the primeval for- est is, then, its impenetrability; the sec- ond,is its non-adaptation to the development of the human species; the thi~d,is the ex- ceeding energy and restless rivalry of vegeta- tion. A German traveller, Burmeister, has said that the contemplation of a Brazilian forest produced on him a painful impression, on account of the vegetation displaying such a spirit of restless selfishness, eager emula- tion, and craftiness. He thought the soft- ness, earnestness, and repose of European woodland scenery were far more pleasing, and that these formed one of the causes of the su- perior moral character of European nations. According to this view of the case, the prime- val forest is not only not suited for the devel- opment of man, but is not calculated to im- prove his moral and intellectual faculties. how this happens will be best explained by an extract from Mr. Batess admirable work now before us In these tropical forests each plant and tree scents to he striving to outvie its fellow, struggling npwards towards light and air branch and leaf and stemregardless of its neighbors. Parasitic plants are seen fasten- ing with firm grip on others, making use of them with reckless indifference as instru- ments for their own advancement. Live and let live is clearly not the maxim taught in, these wildernesses. There is one kind of parasitic tree, very common near Para, which exhibits this feature in a very prominent manner. It is called the Sipo Matador, or the Murderer Liana. It belongs to the fig order, and has been described and figured by Von Martins in the Atlas to Spix and Martiuss Travels. I observed many speci- mens. The base of its stem would be unable to bear the weight of the upper growth; it is obliged, therefore, to support itself on a tree of another species. In this it is not es- sentially different from other climbing trees, and plants, but the way the matador sets about it is peculiar, and produces certainly a disagreeable impression. It springs up close to the tree on which it intends to fix itself, and the wood of its stem grows by spreading itself like a plastic mould over one side of the trunk of its supporter. It then puts forth, from each side, an arm-like branch, which grows rapidly, and looks as though a stream of sap were flowing and hardening as it went. This adheres closely to the trunk of the victim, and the two arms meet on the opposite side and blend together. These arms are put forth at somewhat irreg- ular intervals in mounting upwards, and the victim, when its strangler is full grown, be- comes tightly elasped by a number of inflex- ible rings. These rings gradually grow larger as the murderer flourishes, rearing its crown of foliage to the sky mingled with that of its neighbor, and in course of time they kill it by sto~pping the flow of its sap. The strange spectacle thea remains of the sel- fish parasite clasping in its arms the lifeless and decaying body of its victim, which had been a help to its own growth. Its ends have been served it has flowered and fruited, reproduced and disseminated its kind and now, when the dead trunk mould- ers away, its own end approaches; its sup- port is gone, and itself also falls. The Murderer Sipo merely exhibits, in a more conspicuous manner than usual, the struggle which necessarily exists amongst vegetable life in these crowded forests, where individual is competing with individual and species with species, all striving to reach light and air in order to unfold their leaves and perfect their organs of fructification. All species entail in their successful strug- gles the injury or destruction of many of their neighbors or supporters, but the pro- cess is not in others so speaking to the eye as it is in the case of the matador. The efforts to spread their roots are as strenuous in some plants and trees as the struggle to mount up- wards is in others. From these apparent / THE PRIMEVAL FORESTS OF THE AMAZONS. strivings result the buttressed stems, the dangling air roots, and other similar phe- nomena. The impenetrability of primeval forests, their non-adaptation to the human species, and the rivalry of vegetation, are not their only almost peculiar and certainly striking phenomena. The climbing character of the plants and animals is equally remarkable. The tendency to climb, forced upon specific creations by the necessities of circumstance the getting up in so dense a vegetation to light and air is peculiarly attested by the fact that climbing trees do not form any particular family or genus. There is no or- der of plants whose especial habit it is to climb, but species of many and of the most diverse families, the bulk of whose memlSers are not climbers, seem to have been driven by circumstances to adopt this habit. The orders Leguminosm, the Guttifer~, Binnoni- acem, Moracem, and others, furnish the greater number. There is even a climbing genus of palms (Desmoncus), the species of which are called, in the Tupi language, Jaci- tarn. These have slender, thickly spined, and fiexuous stems, which twine about the taller trees from one to the other, and grow to an incredible length. The leaves, which have the ordinary pinnate shape characteris- tic of the family, arc emitted from the stems at ions intervals, instead of being collected into a dense crown, and have at their tips a number of long recurved spines. These structures are excellent contrivances to ena- ble the trees to secure themselves by in climbing; but they are a great nuisance to the traveller, for they sometimes hang over the pathway and catch the hat or clothes, drag6iwr off the one or tearing the other as he passes. The trees that do not climb are for the same reasons exceedingly tall, and their trunks are everywhere linked together by the woody flexible stems of climbing and creeping trees, whose foliage is far away above, mingled with that of the taller inde- pendent trees. Some are twisted in strands, like cables, others have thick stems con- torted in every variety of shape, entwining, snake-like, round the tree trunks, or form- in~ gigantic loops and coils among the larger branches; others, again, are of zig-zag shape, or indented like the steps of a staircase, sweeping from the ground to a giddy height. The very general tendency of the animals that dwell in the primeval forests to become climbers is as remarkable as in the plants. It must be premised that the amount and variety of life in the primeval forests is much smaller than would, ~t priori, be expected. There is a certain number of mammals, birds, and reptiles, but they are widely scattered, and all excessively shy of man. The region is so extensive and uniform in the forest clothing of its surface, that it is only at long intervals that animals are seen in abundance when some particular spot is found which is more attractive than others. Brazil, more- over, is throughout poor in terrestrial mam- mals, and the species are of small size; they do not, therefore, form a conspicuous feature in its forests. The huntsman would be dis- appointed who expected to find there flocks of animals similar to the buffalo herds of North America, or the swarms of antelopes and herds of ponderous pachyderms of South- ern Africa. The largest and most interest- ing portion of the Brazilian mammal fauna is also aboreal in its habits. All the Ama- zonian, and in fact, all South American mon- keys, are climbers. There is no group an- swering to the baboons of the Old World which live on the ground. The most in- tensely arboreal animals in the world are the South American monkeys of the family Ce- bi& e, many of which have a fifth hand for climbing in their prehensile tails, adapted for this function by their sti~ong muscular development, and the naked palms under their tips. A genus of plantigrade carniv- ora, allied to the bears (Cercoleptes), found only in the Amazonian forests, is entirely arboreal, and has a long flexible tail like that of certain monkeys. Even the gaili- naceous birds of the countrythe represent- atives of the fowls and pheasants of Asia and Africaare all adapted by the position of the toes to perch on trees, and it is only on trees, at a great height, that they are to be seen. A great proportion of the genera and species of the Geodephaga, or carnivor- ous ground beetles, are also in these forest regions fitted by the structure of their feet to live exclusively on the branches and leaves of trees. This, according to Mr. Bates, who adopts the. Darwinian theory, would seem to teach us that the South American fauna has been slowly adapted to a forest life, and, 101 102 therefore, that extensive forests must have always existed since the region pled by mammalia. was first peo- Even reptiles and insects do not abound in primeval forests so much as might have been anticipated. A stranger is, at first, afraid in these swampy shades of treading at each step on some venomous reptile. But, although numerous in places, they are by no means ~o generally, and then they belong, for the most part, to the non-venomous genera. Our traveller got for a few moments once com- pletely entangled in the folds of a snakea wonderfully slender kind, being nearly six feet in length, and not more than half an inch in diameter at its broadest part. It was a species of dryophis. The hideous sucur.ugu, or water-boa (Eunectes murinus), is more to be dreaded than the forest snakes, save the more poisonous kinds, as the javaraca (Cras- pedocephalus atrox), and will often attack man. Boas are so common in the wet season as to be killed even in the streets of Para. Amongst the more common and most curious snakes arc the Amphisho~nm, an innocuous gc- nus, allied to the slow-worm of Europe, and which lives in the subterranean chambers of the saliha ant. The natives call it, as the Orientals would do, Mai das Sajibas, the mother of ants. The primeval forest is also, for the most part, frcc from mosquitoes and insect pests. It is this that, with the endless diversity, the comparative coolness of the air, the varied and strange forms of vegetation, and even the solemn gloom and silence, combine to render even this wilderness of trees and li- anas attractive. Such places, Mr. Bates re- marks, are paradises to a naturalist, and if he be of a contemplative turn, there is no situation more favorable for his indul~ing this tendency. There is something in a hop- ical forest akin to the ocean (humboldt had made the same remark before) in its effects on the mind. Man feels so completely his insignificance there, and the vastness of na- ture. Some idea may be formed of the appear- ance of things ia the low ground, by conceiv- ing a vegetation like that of the great palm- house at Kew spread over a large tract of swampy ground, but he must fancy it min- gled with large exogenous trees, similar to our oaks and elms, covered with creepers and parasites, and figure to himself the ground THE PRIMEVAL FORESTS OF THE AMAZONS. encumbered with fallen and rotten trunks, branches, and leaves; the whole illuminated by a glowing vertical sun, and reeking with moisture. This is not the case, however, with the great extent of the primeval foreststhat which is truly geographical in importance, and which stretches many hundreds of miles in some directions without a break. The land is there more elevated and undulating; the many swamp plants, with their lon~ and broad leaves, are wanting; there is less un- derwood, and the trees are wider apart. The general run of these trees have not remark- ably thick stems; the great and uniform height to which they grow without emitting a bTanch, is a much more noticeable feature than their thickness, but at intervals a veri- table giant towers up. Only one of these monstrous trees can grow within a given space; it monopolizes the domain, and none but individuals of much inferior size can find a footing near it. The cylindrical trunks of these largcr trees are generally about twenty to twenty-five feet in circumference. Von Martins mentions having measured trees in the Para district which were fifty to sixty feet in girth at the point where they become cylindrical. The height of the vast column- like stems is not less than a hundred feet from the ground to their lowest branch. The total height of these trees, stem and crown together, may be estimated at fiom a hundred and eighty to two hundred feet, and where one of them stands, the vast dome of foliage rises above the other forest trees as a domed cathedral does above the other buildings in a city. The gal- linaceous birds of the forest, perched on these domes, are completely out of reach of an or- dinary fowling-piece. A very remarkable feati~ire in these trees is the growth of buttress-shaped projections around the lower part of their stems. The spaces between these buttresses, which are generally thin walls of wood, form specious chambers, and may be compared to stalls in a stable: some of them are large enough to hold half a dozen persons. The purpose of these structures is as obvious, at the first glance, as that of the similar props of brick- work which support a high wall. They are not peculiar to one species, but are common to most of the larger forest trees. Their na- ture and manner of growth are explained when a series of young trees of different ages THE PRIMEVAL FORESTS OF THE AMAZONS. is examined. It is then seen that they are the roots which have raised themselves ridge- like out of the earth; growing gradually up- wards as the increasing height of the tree re- quired augmented support. Thus they are plainly intended to sust~iin the massive crown and trunk in these crowded forests, where lateral growth of the roots in the earth is rendered difficult by the multitude of com- petitors. Many of the woody lianas suspended from trees~ it is also to he observed, are not climb- ers, but the air roots of epiphytous plants (Aroide~e,) whose home is at the top of the forest, in the air, and has no connection with the soil belowa forest above a forest. The epiphytes sit on the strong bouahs of the trees above, and hang down straight as plumb-lines. Some are suspended singly, others in leashes; some reach half way to the ground, and others touch it, ultimately, and then strike their rootlets into the ground. The underwood of the primeval forest va- ries much in different places; at times it is composed mainly of youPger trees of the same species as their taller parents; at others, of palms of many species, some of them twenty to thirty feet in height; others small and del- icate, with stems no thicker than a finger: then, again, of a most varied brushwood, or of striving interlacing climbing lianas. Tree ferns belong more to hilly regions and to the forests of the Upper Amazons. Of flowers there are few. Orchids are very rare in the dense forests of the low lands, and what flowering shrubs and trees there are, are in- conspicuous. Flower-frequenting insects are, in consequence, also rare in the forest. The forest bees belonging to the genera Melipona and Euglossa, are more frequently seen feed- ing on the sweet sap which exudes from the trees, or on the excrement of birds on leaves, than on flowers. The annual., periodical, and diurnal cycle of phenomena, in the primeval forest, are all worthy of notice. As in all intertropical re- gions, the season is pretty nearly always the same, and there is no winter and summer; the periodical p~nomena of plants and ani- mals do not take place at about the same time in all species, or in the individuals of any given species, as they do in temperate coun- tries. Of course there is no hybernation, nor, as the dry season is not excessive, is there any estivation, as in some tropical countries. Plants do not flower or shed their leaves, nor do birds moult, pair, or breed simultaneously. In Europe, a woodland scene has its spring, its summer, its autumnal, and its winter aspects. In the equatorial forests the aspect is the same, or nearly so, every day in the yeara circumstance which im- parts additional interest tQ the diurnal cycle of pher.~menabudding, flowering, fruiting, and leaf-shedding, are always going on in one species or another. The activity of birds and insects proceed without interruption, each species having its own separate times. The colonies of wasps, for instance, do not die off annually, leaving only the queens, as in cold climates; but the succession of generations and colonies goes on incessantly. It is never either spring, summer, or autumn, but each day is a combination of all three. With the day and night always of equal length, the atmospheric disturbances of each day neutral- izing themselves before each succeeding morn; with the sun in its course proceeding midway across the sky, and the daily temperature the same within two or three degrees throughout the year, how grand in its perfect equilibrium and simplicity is the march of Nature under such peculiar circumstances! At break of day the sky is, for the most part, cloudless. The thermometer ranges from 72 to 73 deg. Fahr., which is not oppressive. The heavy dew, or the previous nights rain, which lies on the moist foliage, is quickly dissipated by the glowing sun, which rising straight out of the east, mounts rapidly towards the zenith. All nature is refreshed, new leaf and flower-buds expanding rapidly. Some mornings a single tree will appear in flower, amidst what was the preceding even- ing a uniform mass of green foresta dome of blossoms suddenly created as if by magic. The birds all come into life and activity, and the shrill yelping of the toucans makes itself more especially heard. Small flocks of parrots take to wing, appearing in distinct relief against the blue sky, always two by two, chattering to each other, the pairs being separated by regular intervals; their bright colors, however, not apparent at that height. The only insects that appears in great num- bers are ants, termites, and social wasps; and in the open grounds, dragon-flies. The heat increases rapidly up to two oclock, when the thermometer attains an average of from 92 to 93 deg. Fahr., and by that time 103 104 every voice of mammal or bird is bushed; only on the trees the harsh whirr of the cicada is heard at intervals. The leaves, which were so moist and fresh in early morning, be- come lax and drooping; the flowers shed their petals. The Indian and mulatto inhabitants of the open palm-thatched huts are either asleep in their hammocks or seated on mats in the shade, too languid even to talk. On most days in June and July a heavy shower falls, sometimes in the afternoon, producing a most welcome coolness. The approach of the rain-clouds is interesting to observe. First the cool sea-breeze, which commenced to blow about ten oclock, and which had in- creased in force with the increasing power of the sun, would flag, and finally die away. The heat and electric tension of the atmos- phere then becomes almost insupportable. Languor and uneasiness seize on every one even the denizens of the forest betraying it by their motions. White clouds appeared in the east; and gather into cumuli, with an in- creasing blackness along their lower portions. The whole eastern horizon becomes almost suddenly black, and this spreads upwards, the sun at length becoming obscured. Then the rush of a mighty wind is heard through the forest, swaying the tree-tops; a vivid flash of lightning bursts forth, then a crash of thunder, and down streams the deluging rain. Such storms soon cease, leaving bluish-black motionless clouds in the sky until night. Meantime all nature is refreshed; but heaps of flower-petals and fallen leaves are seen un- der the trees. Towards evening life revives again, and the ringing uproar is resumed from bush and tree. The following morning the sun rises in a cloudless sky, and so the cycle is completed; spring, summer, and au- tumn, as it were, in one tropical day. The days are, more or less, like this throughout the year. A little difference exists between the dry and wet seasons; but generally the dry season, which lasts from July to De- cember, is varied with showers, and the wet from January to June, with sunny days. We often read, in books of travels, of the silence and gloom of the primeval forest. They areMr. Bates adds his testimony to the factrealities, and the impression, he says, deepens on a longer acquaintance. The few sounds of birds are of that pensive or mysterious character which intensifies the feeling of solitude rather than imparts a sense of life and cheerfulness. Sometimes, in the midst of the stillness, a sudden yell or scream will startle one; this comes from some defenceless fruit-eating animal, which is pounced upon by a tiger-cat or stealthy boa- constrictor. Morning and evening the howl- ing monkeys make a most fearful and har- rowing noise, under which it is difficult to keep up ones buoyancy of spirit. The feel- ing of inhospitable wildness, which the forest is calculated to inspire, is increased tenfold under this fearful uproar. Often, even in the still hour of mid-day, a sudden crash will be heard, resounding afar through the wilder- ness, as some great bough or entire tree falls to the ground. There are besides, many sounds which it is impossible to account for. Mr. Bates found the natives, generally, as much at a loss in this respect as himself. Sometimes a sound is heard like the clang of an iron bar against a hard, hollow tree, or a piercing cry rends the air; these are not re- peated, and the succeeding silence tends to heighten the unpleasant impression which they make on the mind. With the natives it is always the Curn- pira the wild man or Spirit of the Forest, which produces all noises they are unable to account for. Myths are the rude theories which mankind, in the infancy of knowledge, invent to explain natural phenomena. The Curupira. is a mysterious being, whose at- tributes are uncertain, for they vary accord- ing to locality. Sometimes he is described as a kind of uran-utan, being~covered with long shaggy hair, and living in trees. Atothers he is said to have cloven feet, and a bright red face. He has a wife and children, and has been even known to come down to the ro~as to steal the mandioco. At one time,~~ Mr. Bates relates, I had a Mameluco (cross-breed) youth in my service, whose head was full of the legends and superstitions of the country. He always went with me into the forest; in fact, I could not get him to go alone, and whenever we heard any of the strange noises mentioned above, he used to tremble with fear. lie would crouch down behind me, and beg of me to turn back. He hecame easy only after he had made a charm to protect us from the Curupira. For this purpose he took a young palm-leaf, plaited it, and formed it into a ring, which he hung to a branch on our track. With all these drawbacks, there is plenty, THE PRIMEVAL FORESTS OF THE AMAZONS. ( THE PRIMEVAL FORESTS OF THE AMAZONS. 105 in the contemplation or exploration of the tures of the primeval forest: The impenetra- primeval forest, to counteract any unpleasant bility of this for~t vierge par excellence; impression which these various phenomena, its non-adaptability to human existence; the and especially the reckless energy of the veg- rivalry of vegetation; the climbing plants etation, might produce. There is the incom- and animals; the few insects, and especially parable beauty and variety of the foliage, the the freedom from mosquitoes; the marsh vivid colors, the richness and exuberance forest as contradistinguished from the upland everywhere displayed, which makes the rich- forest; the colossal trees with their huge est woodland scenery in Northern Europe a buttresses and pendent air-plants (a forest on sterile desert in comparison. But it is espe- a forest) ; the various underwood and strug- cially the enjoyment of life manifested by in- gling lianas; the absence of flowers; the un- dividual existences which cbmpensates for the varying character of the annual, pcriodical, destruction and pain caused by the inevita- and diurnal cycle of phenomena; the silence ble competition. Although this competition and the gloom broken by mysterious and is nowheri~ more active, and the dangers to hitherto unexplained sounds; and the sources which each individual is exposed nowhere of enjoyment to be derived from the beauty more numerous, yet nowhere is this en,joy- and variety, richness and exuberance, and meat more vividly displayed. If vegetation the vivid sense of existence with which all had feeling, its vigorous and rapid growth, living creatures are endowed. uninterrupted by the cold sleep of winter, But there are also other and various phe- would, one would think, be productive of nomena which belong to the details of the pleasure to its individuals, same extensive regions, and which enter In animals, the mutual competition may more particularly into a narrative of local be greater, the predacious species more con- explorations. Mr. Bates arrived with Mr. stantly on the alert than in temperate cli- Wallace at Para on the 28th of May, 1848. mates; but there is, at the same time, no This city is hemmed in by the perpetual for- severe periodical strug~,le with inclement sea- est on all sides landwards, but the white sons. In sunny nooks, and at certain sea- buildings roofed with red tiles, the numerous sons, the trees and the air are gay with birds towers and cupolas of churches and convents, and insects, all in the full enjoyment of ex- the crowns of palm-trees reared above the istence; the warmth, the sunlight, and the building, all sharply defined against the clear abundance of food producing their results in blue sky, give an appearance of lightness and the animation and sportiveness of the beings cheerfulness which is most exhilarating. congregated together. We ought not to There are also picturesque country-houses to leave out of sight, too, the sexual decora- be seen scattered about, half buried in lux- tionsthe brilliant colors and ornamentation uriant foliage. On landing, however,, the of the males, which, although existing in the hot, moist, mouldy air, which seemed to~ fauna of all climates, reach a higher degree strike from the ground and walls, reminded. of perfection in the tropics than elsewhere, our explorer of the atmosphere of the trop-~ This seems to point to the pleasures of the ical stoves at Kew. The merchants and. pairing seasons. I think, Mr. Bates re- shopkeepers dwelt in tall, gloomy, convent-.- marks upon this, it is a childish notion looking buildings near the port; the poorer. that the beauty of birds, insects, and other class, Europeans, negroes, and Indians, with. creatmes is given to please the human eye. an uncertain mixture of the three, in houses. A little observation and reflection show that of one story only, of an irregular and mean this cannot be the case, else why should one appearance. 1-lere, were idle soidiers,dressed sex only be richly ornamented, the other clad in shabby uniforms, carrying their muskets in plain drab and gray? Surely, rich plu- carelessly over theirarms; there, werepriests, mace and song, like all the other endowments and negresses with red water-jars on their of species, are given them for their own pleas- heads, and sad-looking Indian women carry- ure and advantage. This, if true, ought to ing their naked children astride on their hips. enlarge our ideas of the inner life and mu- Amongst the latter were several handsome tual relations of our humbler fellow-crea- women, dressed in a slovenly manner, bare- tures. foot or shod in loose slippers, but wearing Such, then, are the main and leading fea- richly decorated earrings, and4 round their THE PRIMEVAL FORESTS OF THE AMAZONS. necks strings of very large gold beads. They had d~irk expressive eyes, and remarkably rich heads of hair. It was a mere fancy, Mr. Bates says, but I thought the mingled squalor, luxuriance, and beauty of these women were pointedly in harmony with the rest of the scene, so striking in the view was the mixture of natural riches and human poverty. The houses were mostly in a dilapidated condition, and signs of indolence and neglect were everywhere visible. The wooden pal- ings which surrounded the weed-grown gar- dens were strewn about broken; and hogs, goats, and ill-fed poultry wandered in and out through the gaps. But amidst all, and compensating every defect, in the eyes of a naturalist, rose the overpowering beauty of the vegetation. Mangoes. oranges, lemons, dates, palms, bananas, and pine-apples are among the common fruits. There were also all kinds of noises by day and by night, cicidas, crickets, and grasshoppers rivalling the plaintive hooting of tree-frogs. This up- roar of life never ceases, night nor day, and is one of the peculiarities of a Brazilian cli- mate. The stranger becomes accustomed to it after a time; but Mr. Bates says that, after his return to England, the death-like stillness of summer days ia the country ap- peared to him as strange as the ringing up- roar did on his first arrival at Para. The first walks were naturally directed to the suburbs of Para, through avenues of silk ~nd cotton-trees, cocoa-nn~t palms, and al- mond-trees. Much was found to interest our naturalists in their first explorations, the more especially as the species of animals and plants differed widely in the open country from what are met with in the dense primeval forests. Parroquets, humming-birds, vul- tures, flycatchers, finches, ant-thrushes, tan- agers, japirus, and other birds abounded. The tanagers represent our house sparrows. Geckos aud other lizards are met with at every step. The gardens afforded fine showy but- terflies and other insects. The most remark- able and obnoxious of this tribe were, how- ever, the ants. Of these, two species make themselves more particularly obnoxious. One of these is a giant, an inch and a quarter in length, and stout in proportion. The other is the saubathe pest of Brazilwhose un- derground abodes are very extensive. The Rev. H. Clark has related that the sai.iba of Rio de Janeiro has excavated a tunnel under the bed of the river Parahyba, at a place where it is as broad as the Thames at London bridge. These are the Brunels of the insect world. Besides injuring and destroying young trees, the sailba ant is most trouble- some to the inhabitants, from its habit of plundering the stores of provisions in houses at night. Mr. Bates speaks of Paraalbeit a tropi- cal cityas very healthy. English residents, who had been established there twenty or thirty years, looked almost as fresh in color as if they had never left their native coun- try. The equable temperature, the per- petual verdure, the coolness of the dry senson when the suns heat is tempered by the strong sea-breezes, and the moderation of the peri- odical rains, make, he says, the climate one of the most enjoyable on the face of the earth. It is, however, exposed to fearful attacks of epidemics. The original Indian tribes of the district are now either civilized, or have amalgamated with the white and negro immigrants. Their b b mes have Ion been distin~uishin~ tribal n~ forgotten, and the race bears now the gen- eral appellation of Tapuyo, which seems to have been one of the names of the ancient Tupinambas. The Indians of the interior, still remaining in the savage state, are called by the Brazilians, Indios or Gentios (hea- thens). All the semi-civilized Tapuyos speak the Lingoa Gerala language adapted by the Jesuit missionaries from the original idiom of the Tupinambas. The language of the Guaranis, living on the Paraguay, is a dia- lect of it, and hence it is called by philolo- gists the Tupi-Guarani language; printed grammars of it are always on sale at the shops of the Para booksellers. The fact of one lan- guage having been spoken over so wide an extent of country as that from the Amazons to Paraguay, is quite an isolated one, and points to considerable migrations of the In- dian tribes in former times. At present the languages spoken by neighboring tribes on the banks of the interior rivers are tally distinct; on the Juara, even, scattered hordes belonging to the same tribe are not able to understand each other. The mixed breeds, which now form, prob- ably, the greater part of the population of the province of Para, have each a distinguish- ing name. Mameluco denotes the offspring 106 A THE PRIMEVAL FORESTS OF THE AMAZONS. 107 of White with Indian; Mulatto, that of White with Negro; Cafuzo, the mixture of the Indian and Negro; Curiboco, the cross between the Cafuzo and the Indian; Xibaro, that between the Cafuzo and Negro. These crosses are seldom, however, well demarcated, and all shades of color exist; the names are generally only applied approximately. The term Creole is confined to negroes born in the country. Trade and planting is chiefly in the hands of the whites, the half-breeds constitute the traders, the negroes th~ field laborers and porters, the Indians the watermen. Amus- ingly enough, there are Gallegos, or Gallican water-carriers in Para, as well as in Oporto and Lisbon. The semi-aquatic life of the people is one of the most interesting features of the coun- try. The montana, or boat of five planks, takes the place of the horse, mule, or camel of other regions. Almost every family has also an igarite, or canoe, with masts and cabin. Our travellers first experiendes with the mon- taria was not happy. He got upset, and had to run about naked whilst his clothes were being dried on a bush. Marmosets, a family of monkeys, small in size, and more like squir- rels than true monkeys in their manner of climbing, are common in Para, and are often seen in a tame state in the houses of the in- habitants. Many other species of monkeys are also kept tame. We have seen a French sketch of Para which has a monkey at every door. In August, 1848, Messrs. Bates and Wal- lace started on an excursion up the Tocantins, a vast tril)utary to the Para River, which is ten miles in breadth at its mouth, and has been compared by Prince Adalbert of Prus- sia to the Ganges. Unfortunately, the util- ity of this fine stream is impaired by the nu- merous obstructions to its navigation in the shape of cataracts and rapids, which com- inence about a hundred and twenty miles from Cameta a town of some importance, pleasantly situated on the left bank of the river some twenty miles from its embouchure. The river at that place is only five miles in width, and the broad expanse of dark green waters is studded with low, palm-clad isl- ands. There arc towns, villages, and large planters establishments along the banks. The inhabitantsare chiefly Mamelucos, show- ing that the mixed race thrives best in this climate, and they lead an easy, lounging, semi-amphibious kind of life. There is, says Mr. Bates, a free, familiar, pro bono p~ublico style of living in these small places, which requires some time for a European to fall into. People walk in and out of the houses as they please. There is, however, a more secluded apartment, where the female mem- bers of the families reside. These Mamelu- cos are, however, by no means ignorant, and there is many a classical library in mud- plastered and palm-thatched huts on the banks of the Tocantins. Higher up the river they met with families of tawny white Main- elucos encamped in the woods, to enjoy the cooler air and fresh fish. When we say en- camped, their hammocks were slung between the tree trunks, and the litter of a numer- ous household lay scattered about. They had even their pet animals with them, and they picnic thus for three months at a time, the inca hunting and fishing for the days wants. On the 16th of September our travellers ar- rived at the first rapids, beyond which the river became again broad (it was about a mile at the rapids) and deep, and the scenery was beautiful in the extreme. They per- severed up to the second falls at Arroyos, where the bed of the river, about a mile wide, is strewn with blocks of various sizes, and the wildness of the scene added to the roar of the rapids was very impressive. The descent by which they exchanged the dry atmosphere, limpid waters, and varied scenery of the up- per river, for the humid fiat region of the Amazons valley, was effected without any particular incidents. One day, when fhey were running their montana to a landing- place, they saw a large serpent on the trees overhead; the boat was stopped just in the nick of time, and the reptile brought down with a charge of shot. At the mouth of the Tocantins, numbers of fresh-water dolphins were rolling about in shoaly places. There were two species: one, the Tucuxi, rises hor- izontally, showing first its back fin, draws an inspiration, and then dives gently down, headforemost; the other, the Bouto, or por- poise, rises with its head upwards, it then blows, and immediately afterwards dips, head downwards, its back curving over. It seems thus to pitch head over heels. There is noth- ing that speaks more eloquently of the vast size of the Queen of Rivers than the pres- ence of these fresh-water dolphins and por- poises. Both species are exceedingly numer 108 THE PRIMEVAL FORESTS OF THE AMAZONS. ous throughout the Amazons and its larger tributaries, but they are nowhere more plen- tiful than in the shoaly water at the mouth of the Tocantins, especially in the dry sea- son. In the Upper Amazons, a third pale flesh-colored species is also abundant. With the exception of a species found in the Gan- ges, all other varieties of dolphin and por- poises inhabit e~clusively the sea. In the broader, parts of the Amazons, from its mouth to a distance of fifteen hundred miles in the interior, one or other of the three kinds here mentioned are always heard rolling, blowing, and snorting, especially at night, and these noises contribute much to the impression of sea-wide vastness and desolation which haunts the traveller. Besides dolphins, porpoises, river cows, and anacondas in the water, frig- ate birds and fluviatile gulls and terns in the air are characteristic of the same great river. Flocks of the former were seen on the Tocan- tins hovering above at an immense height. Mr. Bates stayed some time, at an after period, at Cameto, the chief produce of which are cacao, india-rubber, and Brazil nuts, and the population about five thousand. The in- habitants are almost wholly of a hybrid na- ture. The Portuguese settlers were nearly all males, the Indian women were good-look- ing, and made excellent wives; so the natu- ral result has been, in the course of two cen- turies, a complete blending of the two races. The lower classes are as indolent and sensual as in other parts of the province, a moral condition not to be wondered at in a country where perpetual summer reigns, and where the necessaries of life are so easily obtained. But they are light-hearted, quick-witted, communicative, and hospitable. The forest here is traversed by several broad roads, which pass generally under shade, and part of the way through groves of coffee and or.- ange-trees, frabrant plantations of cacao, and tracts of second-growth woods. The houses along these beautiful roads belong chiefly to Mameluco, mulatto, and Indian families, each of which has its own plantation. Besides the main roads, there are endless by-paths which thread the fores